Poor Milo ... he's just a boy.

I just returned from taking Milo to (what Corey refers to as) the Doggy Hospital. Milo has to be snipped. The shelter we adopted him from requires it. It is also something I believe very strongly in. All our dogs have always been spayed or neutered. And besides, Bob Barker says it is a must, and that is good enough for me.
I have to tell you a story about this though.
Because all of our male dogs were neutered, I have never seen a dog with balls before. Really. This was very odd for me. I felt like Milo should be wearing pants, or boxers at least. And they are not olive size or anything, we are talking golf balls here.
So I thought they were going to, ya know, cut those off today. Harsh, but I thought that is what they do. Nope. They do some internal snipping and the sacks just kind of shrivel up and disappear. I mean they go from plums, to prunes, to raisins. Uh, weird.
I mean how sad is that? Not only does the poor guy lose them, but, he has to watch as they slowly wilt away. That can not be good for the ego. Wouldn't it be more humane to just take them off quickly? Ya know, like a band-aide.
Poor guy. And he went so happily into the back room. Mr. Happy -go-lucky himself. Do-duh-do.
He will never trust me again.

I'm just a girl

I huffed and puffed my way in and out of the crowded laundry mat. I had what equaled three loads of laundry to do. One load of blankets, one of towels, and one of Corey's darks. I negotiated my way around people and their baskets, strewn with carelessness, and started my wash.
Keeping to myself, I drank a soda and read a book, looking up only to glance at the news report coming from the t.v. mounted on the wall. I felt out of place here. The people were all smokers, some wearing pajama pants, some no shoes, and one even had what appeared to be a grape Kool Aid stain around her mouth.
While waiting for my turn at the dryers, I noticed I was being stared at. At first I thought perhaps because I was fully clothed, clean, and obviously out of my element. Not wanting to make eye contact, I pretended to be glancing around the room.
She never took her eyes off of me. She was about my height, with very short hair. It was bleached blond on top, and very dark around the sides. She wore a woman's softball T-shirt, knit shorts, and sandals. Not knowing why she was so intensely focused on me, I prayed for a dryer to become available, and jumped into action when one did. She unloaded several loads of laundry with the assistance of a friend. I loaded mine alone, but very slowly.
I went back to my book, and read the same paragraph more than seven times. I could feel her staring at me. It made me very uncomfortable. Did she know me? Had I offended her in some way? Did I too have grape Kool Aid on my face?
It was very difficult not to look up at her. But some how I knew to avoid her eyes. They way a woman knows to avoid the gaze of some men at the bar. I just knew I did not want to engage her.
While she finished loading her baskets with clean and folded clothes, I began unloading and folding mine. Diligently and methodically. Trying to waste time so that we did not leave at the same time. I did not want her to know what car I was driving. All the while the question of "Why is she staring at me?" was pounding at my temples as quickly and intensely as my pulse was racing.
Then the answer to my question came.
"Why are you staring at her?" the helpful friend asked of my haunting observer.
"What? I'm not!"
"Yes, you are. You have been. How long did you expect me to ignore it?"
"What ever, let's just get going."
"No, take your time. Get a good look. Maybe she will give you her number and you can ask her to fold your underwear!"
"Knock it off! You are being way too sensitive."
"Bull shit! You're being total bitch! I can only put up with so much you know!"
"Look, I am not going to get into this right now, let's just go."
"Fine."
And with that, they left. And I stood there like a deaf mute, folding clothes, begging God to keep the catfight away from me.
The whole drive home I wondered if I had given her the impression that I was gay some how. Was it my NHL hat? What threw her off? I was not wearing anything close to a rainbow. How did she not know that I was straight?
Do gay people lack gay-dar too? I mean I have a couple of gay friends, men, and they seem to have a great sense of who is gay and who is not. They call it gay-dar. I guess I assumed that all gay people have it. Maybe not. Maybe they miss the queues on who is straight the same way we miss the queues on who is gay from time to time.
None the less, I'm just a girl, a girl who likes boys, a lot. Maybe I should have that tattooed on my forehead. Or maybe I should just stay away from that laundry mat. I can not tell you how badly I want a washer and dryer now!

Congrats Mom & Dad!

My parents just celebrated 25 years of marriage. And we kids threw them a surprise renewing of their wedding vows ceremony. It was wonderful, and the perfect gift for such great people and loving parents.
They were both single parents when they met, when it wasn't so ok to be single parents. They took three kids, two ex's, and several families, and made one of their own. They did a wonderful job of doing the exact opposite of those who appear on Spinger, Sally, Jenny, Ricki, and other such stalk shows. We are a close and loving family. The ex's are all friends, and in fact I consider my dad's ex-wife, and her second husband, family.
My parents worked hard at creating a home and maintaining a marriage in the face of many tribulations. They did a wonderful job. They spent the last 25 years creating a very unique family and showing others that it can be done.
They now have three grown children, each different, each very sure of who they are. They also have three grandchildren who love them very much.
We are all very proud of them. Way to go mom and dad!

Domesticated

Today, I was shocked to discover that there is a domestic goddess in me. In the last 15 hours I have:
measured and ironed material to sew for my large kitchen window
built a self for my collection of shot glasses
repaired a vacuum
cleaned the house
walked the dog
sorted laundry
did the dishes
balanced the check book (although it is easy to do when there is nothing in it)
hosted a play date at my house for Corey, his friend McCoy, the little sister Claire, & mom Steph
made a chocolate cream pie
made a killer pasta salad
organized half my photos to be put in albums at a later date
and even found time to talk to my best friend Nicole, who just had dental surgery, John who is dealing with family stuff, Angie who is suffering a man issue, my sister in law, and my mother.
Now I am blogging, and will soon be headed to bed, as I am completely exhausted.
But I have to admit, I would love to have the opportunity to do this all the time. I mean, I would need a part time job for variety after a while. But the thought of having the time and energy to be a mom, head of household, and full time friend, WOW! Don't get me wrong, this is a lot of work, but I would love it. Maybe I could actually cook more than three dishes, and maintain a dust free and homey environment. It would be nice.

surpise!

tj here ... just putting a new template up for cindy. oh yeah, cindy, here's your new style.

let me know if there's any tweaks you want made and i'll get to them. k? k. oh, and make sure you use the "title" box in blogger for your titles. that way they'll show up all purty and everything. k? k.

@$%&!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So the mouse and I went at it again tonight. My attempts at traps have not worked. It ate four holes in my vacuum, destroyed a new bag of flour, and has been stealing food from Milo's dish. We can hear it under the stove a few times a day, but the little nazi refuses to back down. It doesn't even scurry when I pond on the counter or have the decency to wait until night to go rummaging.
Milo notified me that the little terrorist was in the empty soda box. I flipped it into the previously used rubber bin and prepared to do the unthinkable. I was going to follow someone’s suggestion, and flush the freaking thing down the toilet. Cruel, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
So I tipped the bin to one side and cracked the lid open. The little piece of $#%& run across my hand, up to my elbow, and jumped to the floor. Yes, I screamed. I didn't expect it to be at the top corner. Milo tried to corner it, but it skirted past him and we lost it.
The good news is that Milo is now on a mission with me. We agree that this pest needs to pay for it's messes, and for freaking us both out! I hate that mouse. I hate it more than I can tell you. I can not believe that I once felt sorry for it. That I suffered from guilt over killing it. It should have gone quietly, cause now I am really ticked off! Even if it talked like Stewart Little, or danced with the mop like freaking Mickey Mouse, I would bash it over the head with my broom and send it deep sea diving.

What were they thinking?

Ok, so you all know that I have been on a job-hunt for about 6 weeks now. And I really started to get down on myself because there have been little results. I know, I hear the pep talks now, but here is why I keep slapping my forehead wondering what is wrong with me: my competitors are freaks! Read the following list of fellow applicants, and then tell me you wouldn't check above your head for a flashing neon sign that read "Just kidding, I don't want a job."
1. Archie bunkers wife, who came bounding into her interview in jeans and a blouse straight off of the set of Designing Women. She then proceeded to interrupt the receptionist to ask if there was "a bathroom in this place?" And nearly knocked me over trying to get there. Apparently stopping at Loco Taco before your interview is a bad idea.
2. Mini-Me, in jeans, T-shirt, and an open short sleeve flannel, who left the waiting room to go get a news paper. When he returned, he promptly sat on the table, placed his foot on the chair, opened the paper, and began to read. (I kid you not) Why waste time sitting in a chair waiting for an interview, when you can scope out the "Scene" section to find out who is playing at what bar tonight.
3. Bertha the wonder horse, with olive green cargo pants (equipped with fish net like pockets) and a pink and yellow plaid blouse that was too small, so that I could have the pleasure of looking at all her back fat and belly blubber hang over the rim of her low riding pants. I guess when you have a rally to attend after your interview; this is the perfect multi purpose outfit.
4. Then there was Ron. Ahhhhh, Ron. He was undoubtedly once a line backer for some logger camp. He put his full effort into his attire. Acid washed jeans, gray snake skin pointy toed boots, brown leather dress belt which he altered to hold a large belt buckle bought at the county rodeo, a blue flannel button up shirt, complete with dog or cat hair, cigarettes in his front pocket, a pony tail, and 1991 Raybans. He came in and announced he was here for his interview. The Receptionist hands him the same form she handed us all, but apparently she must have (correctly) called him an asshole or something because he went off the deep end. "I have better things to do than fill out paper work. I asked you yesterday if there was anything for me to fill out and you said no. Now you hand me this." She tried to explain that this was the office procedure and that is why she said it would take about 2 hours for his interview today. There would be testing, interview, and paperwork. When he finally took the paper work, he sat down and began to fill it out, all the while yelling over his shoulder at her. His ponytail tearing through the air like an angry dragonfly. I guess harassment and vulgarity is the way to get their attention. You definitely stand out.

And, still I have not been hired. These are from different job searches. What is wrong with me? Is combing my hair, dressing professionally, sitting quietly, speaking politely, and wearing a smile a bad idea? I am honestly at a loss.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What is it about people that they think they have the right to let their dogs run around a public park without a leash?
I have always hated that. Now that I have a dog, I hate it even more.
What makes them think that I would trust that their 200 lb. beast will not cause harm to my son, self, or pet? Because they say so? And when I point out that the dog should be on a leash (and you better believe I always do) they get pissy.
Excuse you ...
A. It is the law
B. I would not be a good mother if I assume that every strange animal that runs full speed at my son is merely in a hurry to lick his hand.
C. I do not want to risk my safety and especially that of my son, trying to defend my dog against yours.
& 4. I leash my dog for your comfort and everyone's safety, including the dog himself. I expect the same courtesy and respect in return.
These are animals, regardless of how domesticated, and regardless of how dear they are as pets. The fact that they are animals does not change.
I mean, would you let a horse stroll through the playground? No. That would be ridiculous. Yet it is far less likely to cause harm, intentional or otherwise, to anyone or thing in the area.
Common sense here people, that is all I am asking for. And if you missed your serving of that during creation, then I merely ask that you follow the law!

Welcome Milo!

Today Corey and I adopted a dog. He was a stray turned into the shelter, where he was cleaned up and named Milo. He was a staff favorite.
He is a mutt mix of Terriers. He kinda looks like Toto (Dorothy’s dog, not Michael’s brother), but bigger. He comes up to about Corey's knee and is built like a rock. They guess his age to be about 10 months. He is as cute as a dog can be.
Big sweet eyes, a floppy tongue, and a curled perky tail. He is mostly a charcoal color, but the top of his head is lighter, almost like some one gave him highlights. (Maybe there is a Queer Eye for the Strait Guy in the doggie world.)
He has excellent house manners, sticks close to me or Corey at all times, does not come up stairs unless I do, and prefers to stay down stairs.
Corey is a little timid around him, and Milo seems to recognize that, so he is very slow moving around Corey. However, he loves when I get on the floor with him so he can give me, what I can only describe as, a hug. He loves to play fetch with Corey. And I think we will have many years of joy from this dog.
I know many people are not dog people. (If John actually read my blog, he would be rolling his eyes, i.e. not a dog person.) But this is not a yappy, jumpy dog. In fact, the neighbor's dogs started up when we were outside and Milo seemed to roll his eyes at them. Didn't bark once.
And I promise not to become one of those "Dog People." You know, that expect you to love their dog, let their dog in your lap, not get grossed out by the licking and the fur everywhere. And I will never, ever call Milo one of my children. He is a dog. Let’s keep things in perspective here folks.
But I will say this, a dog can be a wonderful addition to the household. They are eager to please, never critical, loving, loyal, and devoted. That right there is more than any boy or man I have ever dated! And I kept some of them around for years!
Plus, I will sleep well at night now that I have a mobile alarm system.
So, I welcome Milo to our home and into my son's life. The smile on Corey's face says it all.

Grrrrr !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have you ever waited for a phone call that never came? Looked for mail that wasn't delivered? Stood by the window, waiting for a guest that never arrives. Don't you hate that feeling? I just hate it!
It seems to be happening to me a lot lately. Be a friend who doesn't call as promised, a check that is not sent, or a visitor that doesn't show.
What I hate most about it is that, 9 times out of ten, you know better. You know you shouldn't wait. But there you are, ringing your hands, biting your lip, holding your breath, checking your watch, getting your hopes up. It's like touching the oven even though you know it is hot, but damn if those cookies don't smell great!
Almost as bad, is if the call, mail, or guest does come, it is less than hoped for. The friend only wants to say a quick hello, complain and hang up. The mail is only a portion of what you were hoping for. The guest arrives late, is tired, and has to leave early.
I am guilty of committing these heart retching crimes too. But I have become much more aware of it, and have improved on it lately. Just ask Nicole and TJ.
My question is this, who should we be more upset with, the criminal, or the one aiding and abetting the crime?

Over-looked no more.
I just returned from a visit to the ocean. I went with some family and had a wonderful time.
Corey loves the ocean. He loves the way the waves come to "grab his toes." It is amazing to watch the ocean through a child's eyes. Because they see it very differently than we do.
They see fun, adventure, games, and new discoveries. They relish in chasing the waves as it pulls back off the shore, and scream in glee as the wave appears to play tag, and seemingly chases them. They explore the life, debris, and plants it brings ashore with great zest. They wonder how so much salt ended up in the water. Did God drop his salt shaker? They laugh, sing, and play with it as if it is an old friend.
We, as adults, on the other hand, see it very differently.
As a mother I fear it. I am afraid it will take my child away like some horrible monster. I watch it closely, never trusting it, never letting my guard down.
The child in me also combs the beach for shells and sea life, amazed at the strange creatures and agriculture the ocean brings forth. I marvel at it's wonder, the vast world that lies beneath. Then I think to myself "How did all that salt get into the ocean?"
As a woman I appreciate it's ability to create and sustain life. To bring forth, not only individual beings of immense difference and variation, but the bountiful nutrients and shelters needed to foster and protect it's creations. The miracle and pain only a woman could fully understand.
As a human, I stand afar and lose myself in it's hypnotic energy and rhythm. Peace and tranquility overcomes. I gaze in awe at it's power. It's strength unsurpassed. Respect forms. It's will to move, constantly pounding the shore, never content to stand still, motivates the spirit.
A trip to the beach is so much more than we give it credit for. It is a soulful event, no matter the age. I better understand the pirates passion for the ocean's beauty and power. I recognize why they refer to it as "she". I appreciate it's ability to reach beyond the shore, and into my very core.

In Loving Memory of Nina ...

Today I found out that my good friend, Marija, lost her sister.
Nina was a beautiful, intelligent, fiery young woman of only 21. She passed away on September 27th in an auto accident. She is being laid to rest today.
Nina was full of energy, and spunk. She spoke in blunt honesty and never apologized for who she was. Although I did not know her extremely well, and she was much younger than me, I always admired her confidence, candor, and spirit.
I hurt for her family. As a mother, I can not imagine the pain her parents feel. I especially hurt for my friend Marija.
Nina and Marija were not just sisters, but the best of friends. They spent nearly all their free time together and shared everything. I have never seen two sisters so close. Marija lost her sister and best friend.
Of course Nina will be carried in their hearts and in our memories, but so will the pain. A wonderful young life is over, and it happened in a moment. The only conciliation is that she knew she was loved, and that she loved. She and her family were very close, and they never failed to express how much they loved one another. The same in her friendships. I have hope that this validation will carry my friend and her family through their pain.
It also reminds me why I tell the people in my life that I love them every chance I get. I don't just throw those words around. When I say it, I mean it. I express it in my actions too.
But I also think of those that I have a strained relationship with. Those that I may not say I love you to. Those that I wish I talked to more often. In an instant I could lose my chance to let them know how I feel. Even if it is just to make peace.
I know we have heard it all before. But we file it away for another day, assuming that we will have the time. I hope we all do. But really, in that moment, will you have that little bit of peace knowing they knew? Or you? Will you know how they felt before they passed on?
Because, Marija doesn't have her sister to pick on anymore, she doesn't have her best friend to shop with, her keeper of secrets, her closest love. She has lost her, in an instant. There will be an empty place at the table, a sense of incompletion at every family event, a hole in their hearts. All my sweet friend has of her sister are precious (few) memories and the knowledge of their love.
That is so very little, and barely enough. But in a time like this, it is all you have to hold on to. That is all you have to get through each day. Do you have that with the people in your life? Really?
Hug the ones you can, call the ones you can't.

May the angels greet Nina with open arms and tender love. And may they comfort my dear friend, and her family, in this time of need, and for the rest of their lives.