Poor Bubbabub.

Bubba is a rescue dog, and like most still has some demons. It makes me sad when I see them come out, and it even chokes me up, thinking of that past life Bubba had with some horrible person who treated him badly.

Does this happen to anyone else--a sad animal story gets you outright teary, but hearing about two kids locked in a 135 F car who later die just kind of makes you shake your head in disgust? I wonder if that's about outrage fatigue.* I feel guilty that I get more emotionally involved with pet abuse stories than people abuse stories.

Back to Bubba. His mom was out for the evening earlier this week, and I was Bubbasitting (in other words, I was home). Bub is so very very mild-mannered that he only occasionally barks. Only when he thinks something is at the door. Typically, he moves slowly, and doesn't make much of a fuss. Well, Bubster came over to me at one point that evening, and he was dancing around, jumping up in the air and pointing to the door. I thought he was going to bite my pants and drag me to the back door!

He bolted out the door to eat grass, barely letting me clip on the leash. Baby boy has had some tummy troubles recently, and when he needed to puke, by golly, he was going to be thoughtful enough to get a person to let him outside to do it, already! (He's done the same when he was sick with diarrhea a few weeks before this incident. Good Bubba.)

Seriously, how wonderful is that? Asking to be LET OUT to vomit. Good Bubba. Good Boy.

Here's the thing, though. Bubba's mom thinks that Bubba is getting into the trash at a friend's house. And that garbage gut is what's been causing his gastric distress.

Well, last night I caught Bubba in our trash. Trash that had contained raw chicken for over 24 hours. I caught Bubs in the act, and so I clapped loudly, sternly saying "Bubba NO!"

This is where I cried.

See, Bubba's reaction to my loud voice and the clap was to skitter away, cowering as though I was going to hit him. He didn't look just a little guilty. He hid. His tail was curled under, and he contorted his body so that the blows he thought where inevitable would land on his back, not his belly or flank.

Poor Bubba.

His flinch reflex is so strong that all it takes is me reaching up to adjust my hair for him have a similar reaction. Same thing happens with his mom. Poor sweet loveydo.

I made sure to lavish love on him as soon as I could after scolding him. I came out and paid him extra attention over the evening, even lying down on the floor to pet him. (The floor is hard.) Eventually we ended up both on the ground, sharing the same pillow with our heads, my arm around him. Sweet Bubba.

Of course Mom will always be preferred. Shortly after he cuddled with me, he jumped up on the couch with her.

Sweet Bubba, keep healing.


*Wow. The first time I heard the expression I immediately identified with the sentiment. I had no idea that The Onion coined or at least popularized the term.

Bebbe

Chuck looks like my dog. Uncannily so. Occasionally it makes me cry--like right now. We got her when I was five, and she was put down my freshman year of college.

I wish I had a picture of her.

Chuck helps, though.

Waiting to leave

Isn't he a handsome guy? A good friend, too. I've had a fantastic almost-week here in DC, mostly due to the company. Yes, Toby Toberson was a highlight, as he let me snuggle him half to death and loved it. But Marc, well, Marc was the best part. He's a fantastic host, and really easy to share living space with.

Other features: good eats, good drinks, afternoon naps, crosswords, and of course walks both with and without the Tobinator.

I was originally only going to stay until Sunday, but then we learned that our sweet Nem was coming into town yesterday for a conference this week. So with very little arm-twisting, I stayed until this morning. We all had dinner last night at a rooftop restaurant in Marc's neighborhood, and for the first time in ages I felt at home. Emily and Marc and I all met at around the same time at the same workplace almost 10 years ago. Others from that time are no longer much in my life, but those two have staying power. We haven't all lived in the same place for years now, and life gets complicated as we get older--jobs, families, moves. So it was a really, really nice reunion.

I never much remember the sightseeing I do on trips like this. I did go to the National Portrait Gallery, as well as the aforementioned trip to the zoo and Natural History Museum. I suppose if I lived here, I'd ignore all of that--it tends to be my M.O.

Yesterday afternoon I had a small attack of the blues. I tried to stay mindful, but I knew I was going home today, to a job that doesn't pay as well as I deserve, a messy house, a lack of companionship, and not much motivation.

My reaction to being in a city was one of pure joy at first. Built-in exercise, interesting sights, seemingly HUGE numbers of hot, single men, and a whole world outside my door. But there's also a part of me that knows that even if I moved here for good I'd still be the same person. A person in a major rut.

I have to get out of it.

Loose ends

I can't figure out what to do with my time. There are things I should be doing (ahem, taxes), but it's the weekend, and well, yuck.

So I'm in bed, awake for the past 4 hours, but I haven't done anything other than cruise along on the internet. I want coffee, but seem to be too lazy to make it. I suppose the plan was to get up and go to a coffee shop, but I couldn't find the motivation. I didn't know where to go, and I didn't know what I'd do when I got there. I suppose I'm just feeling like I'm at loose ends.

There's a little bit of a bummer-drag feeling inside of me today, also. I got a text message from someone who I have no respect for, but who is inextricably linked to my three favorite boys. They're apparently in Nashville currently, and The Father (who I really dislike interacting with) wanted to see if he could call me "since it's a favorite place of yours" or some such. Well, I haven't been to Nashville in 15 years. What's really bumming me out/pissing me off about this is that The Father was a friend of mine way before he was The Brother In Law and then The Father and then the Asshole. And in that role of friend, he came to visit me in Nashville. So the text message makes me just that much more bitter and sad and pissed off, remembering those nice memories and how tainted they are now.

I'm crying a little bit now for that lost friendship. And for knowing that right now I *can't* call them because he still makes me so angry, even four years later. And that makes me feel guilty, because a big part of me wants to let bygones be bygones for the sake of my dear sweet boys. Why shouldn't they talk to their aunt when they're in a town that she lived in? It's my inability to deal that's upsetting me. I don't want to be that person who stops talking to other people. It messes with kids. I mean, if it were just some random person who fucked me over I would have no problem with just cutting them out of my life. But this isn't comparable.

I also feel guilty, of course, because I'm not the one who was most wronged in this situation. My anger is mostly by proxy, but also directly. He lied to everyone. I trusted him and he fucked up royally, and for a very long time, and very badly.

So kids, if you have friends who become relatives, a word to the wise. Don't be an untrustworthy asshole who hurts those around them, who trusted you and loved you and welcomed you with open arms. Don't lie and disrespect and screw over your friends' loved ones, their family, their friendship.

Just don't. It leads to days like this.

Thanks.

Daddy

So, Art's not doing so well, a month after his surgery. Sure, he's lost 60 lbs and is almost unrecognizable because of it, but he's also suffering greatly.

Every day he wends his way through never-ending nausea, diarrhea and dry heaves. His back hurts so much he's unable to move around much. He doesn't sleep at night. He's lost his voice. He's got blood coming out of places it shouldn't be. Dying goes through his mind. He can't keep even water down. The day I talked to him he'd managed to consume three saltine crackers with jelly and three blueberries.

I'm sad and worried.

The good news is his blood sugar and blood pressure look fantastic.

RIP Bobo

Marc had to put his sweet Boris down this morning, in Ethiopia. It was time, but as y'all know all too well, that doesn't take away the pain. Bobo was about 20 years old. Read Marc's beautiful memorial here.

Bleh

I'm actively not looking forward to tomorrow, but at least I'll be out of the house. And it has to be better than my weekend has been.

Oh, and my roommate's birthday is on Tuesday. Any suggestions on what I should do? I feel bad that I've been being so solitary and messy of late.

Turn that frown upside down!! :-D

Again with the 7:30 a.m. start time 40 minutes from my house! And I almost got thrown up on to boot, by a kid who couldn't go home and yet wasn't allowed to lie down in the nurse's office, for liability reasons. I love my job. Wouldn't you?

Annual doctor's visit today, woo hoo. They did this horrible thing where you hold onto a contraption that looks like a videogame controller and it tells you JUST HOW FAT YOU ARE...as in the percentage and total pounds of your weight that are fat.

I'm *really* fat. The quantitative felt worse than the qualitative. I cried. My lovely, holistic, empathetic and yet kind of weirdo doctor hugged me and told me to be a food snob (quality, not quantity) and to make sure I'm breathing. The phlebotomist promised not to lose my blood this time. I have a psuedo plan for increasing my exercise. I'm cutting out sugar and carbs, per doctor's request.

The fat didn't stop mustached waiter Gonzalo from asking probing and direct questions at lunch, though. All I wanted was my favorite tortilla soup*.

What's your name?
Are you married?
Why not?
Do you have a boyfriend?
How can that be?
Do you have kids?
How old are you? What? You look 8-10 years younger than that!
How do you say "bonita" in English?
Are you going to come back here?
Where do you live?
You're really pretty.

Jesus. NOT IN THE MOOD FOR THAT. I felt like someone had taken every single social skill out of my body and replaced it a mouth that can only say "I really like the soup here." "It's my favorite soup** in the whole Triangle"

I'm tired. I've been crying a lot--every day this week so far, in fact, and at the drop of a hat. I didn't sleep well last night.

*$3.99!!! A whole quart of tasty, rich broth, rice, small bits of mixed veggies, tortilla "noodles" fresh avocado, cilantro and pico de gallo. And a lime to squeeze in.
**I sing high praises as well for their chicken soup. Both hit the spot when you're sick. Ultimate comfort food.

No good, very bad day

NB: It always passes. And it already has...HA! (9:30 a.m.)

How can I be feeling like this day is crap and all other days will be crap and crappity crappiness and that I'll never ever have what I want or need and that who cares?

It's only 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday!!!

The trigger was just now seeing that someone had looked at a profile I have up online. It was the someone I was so excited about going out with a while back who didn't work out in the least. I clicked back onto his profile after I saw he'd been by, and he's now "in a relationship" with this other woman who apparently I have friends in common with outside of Web 2.0 stuff.

Logically, I shouldn't give a rat's ass. We had a brief, crazy roller coaster ride and just about everything about him is wrong for me. He does occasionally read here (GO AWAY!), so I won't go into *all* the reasons why that is, but one major one is just a lack of values in common. Maybe I really mean priorities? Materialist-over-the-top vs. tending towards asceticism. Going out every night vs. wanting to be settled and putter around the house. (I left any judgment behind in this description. I do, however, have opinions that I'll go ahead and leave unspoken)

I don't even like or respect him all that much, for chrissake.

Emotionally, though, I'm feeling wrung out and hung to dry. It's not just this new information, which, remember, was only a trigger for this angst.

Been having bad thoughts...like that I suck (not true) and that I suck (not true) and that I'll never (fill in the blank with concern of the day/minute)and that I'll always (fill in the blank with things I'd like to change but haven't yet). That a, b or c aspect of life is just horrible and why bother trying to interact or change things?

I'm dealing with an extreme lack of optimism for the future, an inability to manage the present, and just overall feelings of hopelessness.

I spent all weekend with myself and only me; this lack of intimacy will eventually kill me, I fear--not physically.

I want to do something now to get rid of this horrible state, but can't think of anything I would be able to do.

I'm lonely.

Stupid Drought. Stupid bears.

This just made me cry. Damnit.

Momentary Lapse

Am currently mourning the man who(m)* I've not been seeing for a few weeks now. It was truly a flash in the pan and caused more angst than anything, so this minor grief is annoying.

Actually, it's not the loss of the man that's got me down; it's the loss of the hope, promise and possibility that came along with him.

He wasn't the right guy, and now he seems to be unresponsive to any communication at all. That's probably for the best, but it hurts nonetheless. It's actually what I wanted. I deleted his phone number, de-friended him on social networking sites, and deleted him from my IM list. But...I put him back on the IM list. I've tried a couple of times to IM him a "hey, how's it going" IM, but he doesn't IM back to me.

Maybe I should be grateful for that?

I'm writing this down so that I can take note of how I react when disappointed about situations that don't resolve themselves the way I'd like--at least when it comes to the Dave Neuhauses of the world.

It's like I feel like I'll NEVER meet anyone. Damnit. I know that's not true. Y'all are sick of hearing it. I think it a lot. Often I don't. I'm feeling like I lost a little bit of hope and perhaps more importantly, confidence.

Sigh.


*I hate the word whom. It's so damn pretentious sounding, and yet I feel compelled to show the world I know how to use it. Grrrrrrrr.

There's a first time for everything.

I'm sure it's bad form to say this, but I'm kind of glad that I'm working with visually impaired teens this afternoon; they won't see how badly I've drooled all over myself.

My follow-up dental appointment today, instead of being the tooth-saving, happy, pain-relieving godsend I had hoped for, has turned out to be the beginning of HELL.

I've never cried at the dentist's before today. I've never had the anesthetic completely numb me but still let through the pain. I had to leave without them even doing any work on me. The filling I was there to get fixed is apparently not the main cause of the pain. Just a stream of air on the next-door-neightooth was enough to elicit a full-body jerk away. A second shot farther back in the mouth made no difference. I called the endodonist's office from my dentist's chair. I've an appointment for evaluation Monday. They had an opening Thursday morning, but that corresponds with my organization's big fund raiser; I'm one of the speakers.

Let's hope my mouth un-numbs by then.

Meanwhile, both my tomato-zucchini soup AND my super-protein chocolate shake are mostly wiped from my right chin.

I didn't have a straw.

Because who DOESN'T want a decorative hidden litterbox?

Coming back from MI on Tuesday, I picked up the SkyMall catalog. I thought about ganking it from the seatback in front of me and taking it with, but decided that would be a waste of glossy paper.

Here's a list, because it's all I'm compelled to share with you today.

A partial list of things I hope I'll never buy or receive as a gift.

By: Stewbrain McButterpants

Ergonomic Hair Care System
Kitty Washroom (not the only version of this type of product)
Hands-free Binocular Glasses
Inflatable Movie Screen
Basho The Sumo Wrestler Table
Flying Alarm Clock
Voice Activated Grocery List Organizer
Sacro Wedgy (what???)
Deluxe Prism Glasses
Stress Eraser (quack alert!)
The Perfect Pushup
Hollywood Cookie Diet
Be Nice or Leave Sign
Towelmatic
Chilled Shot Machine


What?

Here's where someone less lazy than I am at the moment would go ahead and blather on about the culture of consumption and how my values tend towards less not more. How these types of items are unnecessary and ego-feeding. Or else they're symptoms of a very sad, boring life. And how it's way more in line with my own belief structures to make-do with things you find or can borrow or buy used.

Nobody ever lives 100% by their values, but I'm going to keep trying.

I still owe about $20K for this one.

The Role of /s/ Duration as a Perceptual Cue for Gay-sounding Male Speech.

"This thesis is an experimental analysis of the role that /s/ duration plays in how listeners perceive male sexual orientation based on speech. With listener responses measured as both a categorical (forced choice) response and a continual mean 'gayness' score, listeners' perception of a man as gay increased substantially with the longer /s/ durations in word-initial, stressed /skV/ and /spV/ environments. Listener participants heard one of 3 /s/ durations of a man whose sexual orientation had been perceived as neutral. ANOVA analysis showed that listeners who heard the longer /s/ durations perceived the man as sounding 'gayer'. In addition, multiple regression analysis showed that listeners who heard the longer /s/ durations were significantly more likely to judge the speaker as sounding 'gay'."

Oy

I'm reading that book that everyone else is. I'm near the end of it. I promise not to say anything about the content. But you know how with a suspenseful book there's a point where no matter how late it is, no matter how tired you are, no matter how many other things you should be doing you just can't stop?

I'm there now. I only stopped to write this because it's making me a little overwhelmed and I need a distraction. So maybe you *can* stop. I make no sense. Típico.

I've had a crap weekend. I only left the house today to pay rent and buy gas. I was up at 6 (!) and didn't get moving until 9 or so. I harvested worms for a woman from Freecycle who seems to have bailed on me. She's not responded, and I've a paper bag of slithery things near my front door. They're probably not very happy, but I did leave them with a cantaloupe rind.

I worked yesterday, a couple of hours, and then I did manage to do something social. A movie. Which, though excellent, wasn't a movie it's really necessary to see in the theater. I didn't go for the movie though. I went for the company. And that was way better than the movie.

But still, it felt like I'm just biding my time today. Until what, I don't know.

I dunno. I'm in a negative mood. It will pass. It always does, remember? It's good to document it here, even if I'm slightly freaked about the spike in blog views I've seen happening recently. I still think it's important to be open and such, but it's weird knowing this new site is posting all my entries for an extremely local audience. That I don't know.

Glad I'm not going directly home today....

Dropping like flies

Pardon the crude title. Saturday, I found out this morning, Pedro's mother, Grandma Elaine, died. Keash's mom, Liz, died a couple of weeks ago. That means that in the last month, two of my surviving three grandparents have died. Since Christmas, it's actually three of four who've died. Remember Lewis?

That means I've only got Grandma left. Of all the eight (nine?) grandparents I began with, Grandma has always been my favorite. She's the one who worked when other women didn't. She had an urban garden much like mine is now. She's my hero. She was the one who used to mow her lawn with a reel mower, and she is the one who gave me mini-boxes of sugar cereal. She's the one who taught me about sprinkling white sugar on home-grown lettuce and rolling it up for a very special treat from the Great Depression.

She talks in baby talk to both children and animals. She tells me stories about my mom's childhood and gives me the pictures Mom would rather I not have, but which I treasure. She comes to me with personal questions and tells me secrets. I love my Grandma, and I'm really worried now. When she dies, it will be a very different level of sadness and grief that I'll have to process. It's hitting home that Gram isn't going to last forever, no matter how much I want her to.

All together now: AWWWWWWWW

I've been deeply lonesome for some time. There's a distinct lack of intimacy in my life on any level at all. Most of the time I accept it pretty stoically, but from time to time it just kills me.

Today I helped a friend move. I hadn't seen this group of friends in toto for a long while, so there was lots of catch-up to play. For some reason, I openly copped to being pretty sick of my loner status. The more I thought about it, the more I kind of felt pretty shitty, and then I almost cried. Remembering it makes me teary, too!

On the way home from the move (which, aside: OY! they got the truck stuck!) I thought about moving back to Michigan, because at least there I'd have my family around. Even with my very extra super closest friends I have some kind of barrier to intimacy. I don't have anyone I can call no matter what time of day or night it is. I mean, that's not strictly true. I don't have anyone that I'd feel OK with calling, though. I know that's about me. That's not about my friends. I bet that any and every last one would be OK with a middle-of-the-night emergency call. I mean, shoot, I'd be happy to help in the same situation.

When I mentioned it to my mom, the maybe, what-if, huh, should I thoughts towards going back to where I've vowed I'd never go back again, she jumped with excitement. Audibly, anyway.

I dunno. The growing season is SO short. The people are SO conservative. The town is SO boring. The economy is SO shitty. But the wilderness is equally beautiful. And my family is even more important. And face it, how can you not miss THIS?

Sigh.

Well, I did get to hold a very cute baby last weekend who made it her job to give everyone kisses.

That was good.

Or maybe I'm just boring/bored and trying to sound all erudite and shit to hide it.

I've been thinking a lot in the last few days about identity, but also about minutia. I really like learning about the different minigroups that people can feel a sense of belonging about.

Maybe that's why I like Craigslist.

Just looking in one section tonight has provided me with a ton of interesting new information about the different appeal people find in animals.

Humans feel a LOT of emotion about their pets. That's not new to me. Most of the postings here are about finding new forever homes for their babies. Posters worry about their pet's mental health. There's also a fair amount of activism. Marketing, too. And who knew that there were fake pet scams?

This listing is just sad. I wonder what's going on? The desperation pet owners feel is just so touching to me.

I've heard of crazy cat owners, but not this. Odd? I'd say so.

I've decided not to look up what sugar gliders are, because really, I'd prefer to fantasize over what they might be.

Finally: some randomness that caught my eye:

* Horse hair pottery made from your horse's hair *
Chicken-eating Bulldogs must go
Aren't Quakers supposed to be real peaceable? I wonder why these ones are so aggressive.
Perhaps the best dog name ever.

Crrrrrrrrap!

Um...I bet you're as sick of my whining as I am of feeling like whining. That said, this is day way-too-many-in-a-row of This Sucks.

I almost wept for real in a role play at the training today, where I was playing a women with an intellectual disability* who had to tell her mother about the breast lump she had found. The woman playing my mom, an older, rural African-American woman, was way too empathetic ("It's okay, baby, we'll go to Dr. Jones's and you'll be good."), which almost made me lose it right there.

*This is apparently the new term for what more recently called "developmental disability" and prior to that "mental retardation".

*****
In other news, my mattress edges out from the back wall during the night, leaving a space perfect for me to lose my pillow and/or Snoopy.

*****

Finally, I don't really feel like saying anything. So I might go quiet for a bit.