I hear the cone a comin'...

He's comin' round the bend
And he ain't seen the sunshine, since I don't know when.
But his tail is always waggin'
Whenever I come home...
And he's humpin' his bitch, Maya,
She's from San Antone...

This is the song Michael and I have been singing (put it to the tune of Johnny Cash's 'Folsom Prison Blues') every time we see Cirrus. He really seems to like it, at least he doesn't seem to hate it anyway. I know, we're both a little crazy, but unfortunately our poor little puppy is kind of one of the most important living creatures in our life right now. So, until he passes on or we actually conceive, then we will be writing and dedicating songs to him (and our other puppy, Maya).

'B' is for bad and you can call me Ostrich

I got a 'B.' I got a gosh-darn-freakin' 'B.' (I'm trying to curb the cursing as I feel God is punishing me for my slight indiscretions and honestly there's enough nastiness in this world without me polluting the air with my own obscenities, but anyways...) I had two classes this summer, I got an 'A-' in my design class, which I must say I was slightly disappointed in because I had this sick fantasy that I would emerge with my Master's Degree from an Ivy League school with a 4.0 and so that little minus sign really ticked me off. But then I thought, it's OK, I'll get an 'A+' in my history class where the only grade was for a paper that I worked my tushy off on and I feel I deserved an 'A+' but my professor, who is also the head of the department, apparently feels that I am a 'B' student. Which might not sound bad, but it is. See, 'B' is the lowest grade I can receive and stay in the program. My GPA cannot fall below a 3.0 or I'm out. And now, well now it's a lowly 3.335... I suck. As of September 5 I am quitting my job and I am devoting my entire life to school and studying. In fact, I am going to go right now and find out what my books are for my fall classes and go ahead and read them now so that I can read them again and really learn it during classes. If I can just get a few 'A+'s then maybe it will pull my GPA up to an acceptable level. Until then I am in hiding. I'm an ostrich. My head is officially buried in my books. Oh and I want to lose 10 pounds...

The tail tail boot

My injured dog is on the road ro recovery but I must admit that I am still feeling extremely guilty over the whole situation. So guilty in fact that I actually played hooky from work today so that he wouldn't have to wear his lampshade for a few hours.
Am I sick? Am I crazy? I swear everytime he looks at me he's reminding me that I broke his foot. And everytime he slams his cast (boot) down on the concrete my heart breaks just a little more... he just makes me so sad.
Michael keeps telling me that I'm crazy, but I know he thinks the same thing. I'm a bad mom. Every time he tells me to 'watch his toontsies!' he's really saying, 'you should have been more careful.'
I just want to go away for a while. I just want to fly away. Unfortunately instead of me flying away Michael is. He's leaving me for a week, the week of our five year anniversary. And me, in all my brilliance, bought my mother a plane ticket so she could fly up and spend the week with me. What the hell was I thinking? I think I actually seek out stress and unhappiness. I must be out of my freaking mind. An entire week with just my mom and her yappy little pomeranian. Please, do the world a favor and just kill me now.

If the South Would've Won...

I never appreciated growing up in the South until I moved to a place so removed from all things Southern that sometimes I feel like I am on another planet. I took so many simple things for granted in Tennessee and now, these simple things seem so precious and sacred that I almost cry just thinking of them.
What I wouldn't give for a driveway and a guaranteed parking spot. A grocery store with normal sized buggies would be Heaven to me... And Cracker Barrel, boy do I miss Cracker Barrel (and Waffle House and Hardees, yes, we have Carl Jr, but it's just not the same...)
Men holding doors open for women and people who actually say excuse me when they accidentally bump into you instead of 'Watch it Bitch!' as they barrel their way down the sidewalk.
Apple jelly and biscuits with gravy. Country music radio stations. Oh and people who speak English! (We are, after all in America. When, might I ask, did Spanish become the official language of the United States?)
And what ever happened to clogging? I distinctly remember clogging being a class each year in school. Up here kids take English as a second language and sex education for health.
I just can't take it. My sensibilities are really being put to the test. I am beginning to feel a sick connection to the main character in 'Fallen Down.' I can so totally understand his need to just annihilate all of the evil people around him.
I miss the simple life.
I miss complaining about the traffic on Kingston Pike and on having to take the interstate to my mom's because there was construction on Middlebrook.
I miss going to Ryan's after church on Sunday and then going to the mall to walk off the buffet.
I miss opening the back door to let my dogs out and then sitting on the back porch watching the fireflies light up the back yard. My own personal light show.
I miss ordering tea and having to specify that I wanted it 'unsweetened' and knowing that it would be delivered with ice and not in a mug.
I miss my mom and my family and my cats...
I just really want to go home, just go back to normal.

What is your feather?

Yesterday on Oprah, her guest was some interior decorator who was making over the inside of some widow's apartment. He hung a feather on the wall because she told him that feathers made her think of her husband and that he was always watching over her and their daughter. Well, this guy said that everyone should hang something special like that in their home, and he asked Oprah, what is your feather?
Well, that got me thinking. And after a while I realized that I don't just have a feather, I have a whole fucking bird. I mean between my family and my animals and my friends, well, I would have wall space left if I hung some memorabilia up for all of them. It made me feel kind of bad.
See, here lately I've been a bit of a whiner. A moaner and begroaner if you will. Nothing seems to be going my way and I've been a bit of a crabby patty for the last week or so. But I kind of realized, and I hate admitting to any of my supposed faults, that my life is pretty alright. In fact, I kind of have a lot going for me and I need to buck up. So, since I know that I won't be making it to church before the end of the decade because honestly I really enjoy sleeping in and making banana pancakes(yeah Jack) on Sunday mornings, I feel the need to say a small thank you to whoever is in charge of keeping me and my little life on the right track. I know it must be a huge job, and I am truly grateful, so thanks.

Where'd all the good people go?

Right now I am really enjoying a certain songbird by the name of Jack Johnson. All of his music is just so head bopping happy that I can't help but smile when I listen to it. He's like a little hug for my ears.
Well, this afternoon on the train home I was about to flip out when yet another homeless asshole starts in on his spiel "I am a homeless man in New York and this is through no fault of my own. I have aids... I am asking for anything you are willing to give..." blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda, it doesn't matter what they say, it's always the same. "I don't want to actually work but you can give me your hard earned cash so I can go get high and drunk." Wait, I got a little off-track, so anyways, this man starts in and like a sign from God on my IPod Jack Johnson starts serenading me with "Where'd all the good people go?" And I had to say, 'Yes dear Jack, where have all the good people gone to?'
What is wrong with everyone? Why does everyone have to be so mean, so underhanded, so just down right evil? Why can't someone just say, "Listen, I'm down on my luck and I need a beer, could you give me mone so I could buy one?" Honesty people, it's called honesty. And when you see a bleeding woman and screaming dog on the stoop of their building... hey, I don't know, STOP. Stop and ask, 'hey, are you all right? Could I , oh I don't know, maybe help you?' Or how about when a gaggle of nuns walk onto a crowded subway car, all you fat assholes could actually give up your seat and let the holy women sit down!
The whole world is going to hell. And it makes me so stinkin' mad. I'm going to turn into one of those people who never leaves home. I'll order all my groceries on line and NetFlix already sends me my happy movies, I can order my books online and well, I can let my dogs piss on the patio. That way I won't have to see the bad, so please don't tell me about it, I just really don't want to know.

To love and to protect...

I don't remember much about my wedding day almost five years ago. I remember not sleeping the night before and I remember the preacher being late (30 minutes late) and I remember Rev. DeFur freaking out when my sister forgot to hand over Michael's ring and him trying to pull my ring (the band and engagement ring are sautered together) apart and the confusion that followed when Michael tried to explain that they were supposed to be that way. But, I don't remember much else. I don't remember lighting the candles I see us lighting in the photos and I certainly don't remember our vows. I remember Michael crying when he looked at me and recited them, but I don't remember what he said. But he was crying, so I felt pretty sure that he meant them and I've been to enough weddings to be pretty sure there was something in there about loving and honoring and protecting, but again, I don't remember.
But I know, and I will remember this, that last night he broke one of those vows.
The whole evening started out innocently enough. Walk to Circuit City, buy a printer, walk home. Well, unbeknownst to me, Michael had a bad day at work, so when Circuit City had no bags to put our new printer in, well, this pushed him right over the edge and evil Mikey came out to play. Lesson #1, keep mouth shut, walk one step behind and let husband rant and make a fool of himself on busy NYC sidewalk. Liquor up once home. Failed. Argument ensued on still busy NYC sidewalk. Name calling occurred, very ugly, extremely inappropriate behavior on both our parts.
But then, all of a sudden it wasn't funny anymore.
The dog lady appeared. With the dog. The dog that attacked me and her evil owner stepped out of a building three feet in front of us. (This happened just as I was telling him that he needed to learn how to behave in public and not be so rude to the poor cashiers and customer service industry people.) So, out she steps with the dog that I am now terrified of and he turns to me and says, "Oh, and there's a fine example of how you behave in public." And walked on. He left me shaking and scared on the sidewalk staring down a dog that attacked me and walked home. He didn't even pause to think about confronting this woman and killing her and protecting me. He mocked me and walked home, he left me.
The man that I have always called my guardian angel, the man who has always fought for me (literally and figuratively) the man who I've always joked and called my gigantor protector... He left me.
And now, 15 hours later, he still hasn't apologized, and he won't, and I don't know if I can ever forgive him. And now I wonder if he's still the man that I pledged my heart to. Maybe after all this world has put us through, maybe all the tests, the moves, the furloughs, the promotions, the lack of offspring, the dogs, the families... Maybe it's all finally too much.
A wise woman once told me that men are like shoes. Shoes don't stretch and men don't change. But, I think she may have been wrong. Because that man last night was not the man I cried with five years ago and as much as I hate to admit it, I think I may have known this for a while now. Because I've missed him.

"Why you always break shit?"

I broke my sweet angel.
I shut my babies paw in the 300lb front door of our building and broke two of his little toes. He had to have surgery to reattach the toes and remove bone fragments. He has to wear a cast and a lampshade for 1 1/2 months. He's on antibiotics and pain killers and he can't walk outside - he has to go potty on our patio.
I'm such a bad mom. See, God knows this and this is why he refuses to put a baby in my belly. I'd probably drop it on its head or squish its soft spot or give it diesel instead of unleaded...
Meanwhile, I hurt my baby so bad that he bit me on my hand which is now swolen to twice its normal size. I had to get a tetnus shot, which I feel I deserved since I almost killed my dog.

Please ignore the screaming girl in the park

I will be the first to admit that I am a little sad in that my entire world pretty much revolves around my loving husband and our two precious babies (ok, dogs.) But, really? Is that so bad? I mean, they love me unconditionally and I feel that it's the least I can do to constantly pamper them and smother them with treats and walks and fun. So, it was completely natural when I turned into a screaming ranting witch last week in the park when psycho-cell-phone-bitch allowed her "puppy" (the beast is 15 months old) to attack me instead of my dogs because I threw myself between the crazy mutt and my own two precious angels. This crazy ass woman yelled at me telling me it is cruel to walk your dog on a leash because it's not their natural habitat! HELLO! We live in fucking NEW YORK CITY!!!! Is that their "natural habitat?" I don't think so! Not to mention the fact that she was letting this wild dog run in an unfenced park next to two busy NYC streets! She's a fucking moron and deserves to die.
But back to me. So, I start screaming my head off telling her all of the above with a few of my own expletives thrown in for good measure and surprise surprise, no one responded. Not a single passerby stopped to check on the screaming, crying, muddy girl in the park or offer up help or a quick phone call to our local police. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. And what does said bitch lady do? Walk away. Walk away with her dog off leash.
If I see her again, she dies. I will release the hounds and let them eat her leather-hide skin right off her bitch face. And I will laugh and laugh and laugh.
I feel much better now. Thank you.