THE DOG

So as I mentioned, Elsa and I did, a bit early, accomplish our goal of acquiring a dog that we will keep forever and ever. This is Aldo, and he is pure evil:

Selecting a victim...

Making the kill!

Well, now that I am all divorced and single again, I have gotten to thinking, what are the qualities I want in the man that I find to spend eternity with? Here is my list:

· Inexplicably moody: To me, there is nothing hotter than when you meet a guy and he stares you down, gets totally pissed at you without you saying one word, storms of, refuses to be in the same room with you for a while and then suddenly becomes Mr. Friendly and social without any explanation. And then, as you get to know him, alters between warm and friendly and cold and distant at the drop of a hat. It really gets the heart pumping, am I right girls?

· Attracted to me instantly for physical qualities: I know a lot of chicks are in to that whole, “I think a relationship is more real if we start out as friends and slowly build up a mutual respect and attraction based on similar values, thought patterns, or interests” crap, but I think it’s very un-poetic, unexciting, and unromantic. Come on, real love is like, meant to be. It’s cosmic. And the second a guy sees me, if I am his soul mate, he will totally know me by some physical rise he gets the moment he spots me –like the scent of my blood- and regardless of my personality, likes, dislikes, age, world view, choices, or understanding, he will be obsessed with my based on that one physical thing alone. Now that is real love and all that other stuff is for people who just don’t get it.

· Fights an impulse to hurt me: The world is full of guys who don’t hurt their girlfriends, but they just…you know…don’t want to. Give me a guy who has it in his very chemistry to want to violently mutilate pretty much everyone he meets, but chooses not to. It’s one thing to be with your lover and have him be gentle cause he’s a gentle guy, but just think of the depth of a guys commitment, and adoration for you if every time he sees you he wants to mutilate you for pleasure and he chooses not to. I really don’t think it proves anything when a guy treats you nicely if he just is a nice guy, but if he treats you nicely even though he would prefer to kill you, well baby, you got that guy hooked.

· Can’t figure me out so watches my every move, even when I sleep: All guys love a challenge and a girl they can’t figure out twenty seconds in is going to peak their interests. A lot of guys would just chat and expect ME to let them get to know me slowly and on my own terms. But I am looking for the guy that would ignore my potential desire to have privacy in my own bedroom and sit outside of it, night after night, watching what I do when I think I am alone. That would be a guy who wants to get to know the real me. I would be so flattered when I found out he did that for me. Plus, then we could skip all that boring stuff people do, where they talk about likes, dislikes, ideas, feelings- you know, the unimportant things that just drag on and on.

· Protective: I want to be treated like a cross between and invaluable porcelain antique vase, and a two year old child. I want the guy to tell me what I can and cannot do, and if I stray from his advice, I want him to scold watch my every move. I want him to follow me, be there at the first sign of danger to rescue me, and then scold me for almost breaking his heart by being hurt. I sigh in desperation at the thought that I may never find a man who considers my personal safety his mission in life, even if I don’t ask him to, and who, even when he is with me, looks at me with fear that I may fall, or break in some other way. It would make me feel like his most valuable possession.

· Let’s me live on the edge when I am with him: Nothing impresses me like a guy who needs extreme thrills to survive. You know, like a guy who goes crazy going 80 because it’s just too slow, so he has to REALLY floor it. That’s hot, especially when he shows me how in control of my life and death he is by doing it with me in the car. It’s like, total proof that I do belong to him and he knows it. And he will protect me from myself, or any outside harm, and when I am at risk, it will be the risk he chooses to put me in. How much more proof could I possibly want that he is both the strongest protective force I have on this planet, and the most dangerous thing I am involved with. It’s what every woman is secretly dreaming of. It’s like he’s telling me that if someone kills me, he only wants it to be him.

For a man like that, I would leave my entire world behind, including my family, any friends who don’t approve, and I would change, even on a molecular level, who I am . Seriously, for a love like that, without a thought, I am so there.

Ever since I was 5, I was force fed this idea that I could be my own person, choose a career, date several guys and have lots of friends before choosing “the one.” I was told I ought to develop my OWN identity and then find someone who compliments it, instead of finding the man I want and doing whatever I need to do, and becoming whomever I need to be, to make him want me. And I just want to thank the general population of women ages 14-45 in this country for finally banning together and pouring out in THRONGS to support Edward and Bella’s love in one of the most meaningful and well written pieces of literature to be published this century. Apparently, this is our collective fantasy, to say “be dammed with free thinking! We want a brute from the Victorian age to rescue us! Pronto! And throw in an animal or two he can fight over us with, all the better!”

Ladies, I am not sure we even deserve the vote anymore.

Cry with me, Joss Whedon.

I am Going to Jail (and it's Julinne's Fault!)

https://www.joinmda.org/2008americanfork/Zaissa

Every week they put up a new quote on the wall at work. I really like this week’s:

“Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we're here we should dance.”

Problem (Sadly) Solved

I tried LostPaws this morning. They do take on injured animals but they are full right now. They suggested I call the Humane Society, but before I got that number looked up, the vet called to let me know the kitten had died. 

I guess, although I sorta wish I had spent less to just have it put down last night, but I guess atleast I didn't let it die alone in the freezing rain and maybe he spent a little less time in pain? I don't know. 

Thanks, Warrior, for your kind offer to help me save him. I guess in some of the important things, we do think alike. 

Benefactor Needed

Trauma tonight. To the tone of, so far, $80 bucks. Here's what happened:

I was cutting though the alley way in the back of a supermarket on the way to pick Els up from my grandmother's house when I spotted an itty bitty kitten in the road. He lifted his head as I rolled past and I swear he made eye contact and screamed, yes, screamed at me.

I stopped the car and hopped out. It was starting to rain, and I figured even if the little guy wasn't hurt, I couldn't just leave a baby kitty there in the middle of the road. I jumped out of my car and moved toward him. I could not see anything wrong, and I called him to me. He stood up, took one step, and fell over. I went to him, lifted him and saw he had blood everywhere on his back end and one of his legs was twisted so that the foot faced a different direction than the feet on all of his other legs. I panicked. I put him on my coat in the car and drove frantically to my Grandma's.

So what is the right thing to do here? I have already been told I am an idiot for the series of choices I made at this point, but really, what could I do? Leave a suffering animal in the road? Run him over the rest of the way? Uh hu, I know a few males might be nodding at that, but I wouldn't do that!

It was nearly 5pm so I knew animal shelters were out and I don't think they can do emergency medical care anyway, and my only thought was to get the little guy out of pain ASAP. He was panting hard and "mewing" in pain. I mean literally crying.

There is only one emergency vet clinic I could find in the area online at my grandma's, and it didn't open till 6. I could not think of making him suffer for another hour. So I called every imaginable vet (I had been on the phone talking to Paul about something...I should call him back maybe, and see if it was important, I can't remember at all what it was, anyway, he was on his phone searching for a vet at my request too) and found ONE clinic that still had a vet there.

I rushed to the vet, with Elsa in tow, and I explained the concept of "put to sleep" to her. She railed against this, and she did not accept my assurance that sometimes that was the very nicest thing to do for a hurt animal.

The vet looked the kitten over, with Elsa leaning over him asking every two minutes if we had to "kill him. Dr. Dave, as he told me to call him, well just Dave actually, said the leg looked broken (it was backward on his body, do you need to be a vet to figure out it's broken?) and other than that, because of the blood he said was coming from the anus, there could be internal bleeding, plus his temp was really low, which could mean bleeding or could be from shock. Anyway, he said he couldn't really say until he had treated him for shock and then tomorrow could evaluate better.

So my options were laid out. Put the cat to sleep, that may well belong to someone else, although I don't know how to find that someone. Or, pay to get the cat some pain meds, and meds for shock, and for the vet to watch him for the night.

I went with option B.

Here is the problem. If the stinkin cat is messed up internally, I am out the $80 from tonight plus I am responsible for the process of putting him down. If he's not messed up internally, then his leg needs pins. Appearantly kittens with broken legs need pins. And this cost...he didn't quote price...alot.

I can't have a cat. Especially not one recovering from surgery. I have a small apartment and a dog (to whom I will be getting in another post. STUPID DOG!) so I don't have room for a cat, I am not allowed to have a cat, I don't want a cat, if I were to get a cat it would be Lolita anyway, and anyway, the dog would further injur that cat.

But I also can't put a cat down for having a broken leg. I can't, I can't, I can't. And that $80 put a hole in my carefully managed budget for the rest of the month anyway. I just can't budget for a giant vet bill for a stray cat.

Ok. Tell me what an idiot I am, and then tell me what to do. Seriously, does anyone know of pet organizations that help in these situations? OR charitable vets? Or have a rich uncle who has been meaning to get a crippled kitten for himself? Or have knowledge of what animal shelters do?

I am going to call Lost Paws tomorrow and see if it is the sort of charity case that they take on or if they can refer me to any sort of animal charity. I know there is a pet over population and that perfectly healthy cats are euthanized every day. But he looked at me, right at ME, and cried out. I swear he did.

I am also going to post a sign at the supermarket I was near when I found the thing. It's a long shot, but maybe the owner will turn up. I don't want to be the one to make the call. And if anyone knows someone in PG missing a kitten, have them call me.

Earthquake!!!

Southern California is having WAY more fun than we are today!

I grew up on the San Andreas fault line and I really miss Earthquake drills like we had in elementary school. Instead of doing your assignments, you got to get under your desk, duck your head, and cover your neck with your hands. When I do that at work these days under my desk instead of doing my assignments, they start getting all, “You need to take a mandatory personal day” to “work things out.”

It’s been weird living in Utah. When I lived in California, “The Big One” I was told, would occur in my life time inevitably; it was a fact of life, like wrinkles and taxes, just a thing that was coming. Now all I have to worry about geologically is the day when that super volcano in Yellow Stone blows the entire Rocky Mountain region to smithereens. It should be any century now. Hmn, I wonder if I can get my boss to go for a super volcano drill. What does one do when they ground under one’s feet turns to molten lava?

My Daughter?

My Baby, My Little Girl. Sometimes I just sit and stare at her. I just take her in and I can’t believe she is mine. I can’t equate her with that thing that caused that little blue line so many years ago, that line that made me shake and crumple in to tears on the bathroom floor and pray and make promises into the air I was terrified I could not keep.


When she sleeps, the way her face relaxes and her body curls reminds me of that little baby I used to dress in cotton onesies, and lay on my chest, and hope she would stay asleep for at least a few hours. And then hope even more that she would wake up every time too.



And when I see her run in, with leaves in her hair, and sometimes dirt on her face, with no shoes and blackened feet, from play time outside, I often look at her and wonder where the parents of this little urchin can be found.



Her little frame seems so tiny in comparison to the early pubescent bodies of the older girls that pass her by more quickly on the way into the building. Her tiny, skinny arms and legs are no match for the doors that seem so heavy while she struggles to open them, and her three pound back pack threatens to pull her to the ground. I watch this scene every morning that I drop her off at her school, and I still get tight throat when I send that itty bitty thing off into the world all alone. She is taller than most of the boys and girls in her class, so why, when I look at her, does she seem so much tinier and more fragile than all of the other children?



And then, yesterday, with her hair in curls, wearing her velvety dress with the green sash, and a ridiculous necklace, this tall pretty girl, with a face that looks vaguely like my mother’s, stood against the wall so I could take a picture. She paced the living room with her head held high, taking proud pristine steps, and moving so as not to muffle her hair. Her freckles seem to be fading and her cheek bones are beginning to take a deeper shape than before, so her cheeks aren’t so chubby, her eyes are not so wide, her nose is not so flat against her skin. She doesn’t fall when she crosses one ankle over another to walk like a beauty queen, and she doesn’t press her teeth together in a grit and open her lips to “smile” for a camera like the little clown she used to be; she’s growing up.



I know she’s still little, and there is so much left to teach her, and watch her do, before I have to really let her go, but now and then, when she holds herself like this, I see a flash of the woman she might become. I hope she will always cross a room so confidently and so plainly and proudly aware of how beautiful she is.

Why I Voted for This Guy

I don’t think I have seen a blog today that has not mentioned that last night something rather momentous occurred in this country.

I feel like I should say something about it, but I feel at a loss really, for words that add to how amazing last night must have been for people of previous generations, who were alive and aware when a man with black skin could not in many places go to college, or manage a company, or sit his tired body down on any empty bus seat, let alone say, “I want to be president of the United States.”

And of course my throat had a lump in it when my next president spoke to the nation and Oprah and Rev. Jesse Jackson’s faces were tear soaked. That may sound like a silly comment, but both of those people have determinedly and bravely broken through barriers, and have helped evolve the American consciousness over the last several decades into what it is now, and they must know their work helped contribute to changing this into a country which could and would elect a black man. I think to them it must have felt like this is the final outcome of what they have worked and stood for, and not just them, every man or woman of any color who marched with Dr. King, or faced a fire hose, or who believed and lived by the belief that anyone who worked hard enough can do anything, this has to feel like the final outcome of what they believed in, and in many cases fought and sacrificed for.

Not to belittle what this elections means to those people, or what it says about who we are as a nation, or that I was lucky enough to cast my vote in this election, that I am sure will be a big one in the history books, for a man I admire a good deal, but I hope the celebration that we elected a black man ends soon and that we will let him get to work. Because, we didn’t just elect a black man, we elected a smart man, we elected a good man, we elected a thoughtful, knowledgeable, inspirational man. And we haven’t done that for a while.

A man at work today said that we elected and ideal. He said that Americans were just ready to say we would elect a black man so we did, without regard to the man's ideas. I normally won't participate in political arguments with people I don't care about, since it's nothing but an "I am right, no I am, no I am" contest and no one ever listens the other side or thinks about what the other guy is saying anyway. But I answered this man. I told him that that is not why I voted for him. I voted for him because I strongly agree with his ideas, and the fact that we finally elected a black man, to me, was an incidental bonus. But I find it demeaning to our next president to say he was elected merely because of his race (as I would find it demeaning had Hillary won, if they said it was because she was a woman, and that is why I hope we will move on soon from celebrating his race, and quickly start to celebrate his work).

I do imagine that there was a certain demographic that voted for him due mostly to his race, as there was another demographic who voted against him for the same reason. But, if it were not for the majority of us, who believe in his ideas and philosophies and voted for those, the turnout of those black voters who don't usually vote, would not have won the race alone. That Senator Obama was able to reach people that have previously felt disenfranchised and unheard, and make them believe their voices DO matter in this new world, well that is a testament to the inspirational power of the leader we have just chosen.

I don’t usually loudly proclaim my political opinions, except to my nearest and dearest, because I know we all have deeply personal ideals that are deep rooted in our own sacred and basic beliefs about the nature of man, God, and our responsibilities to one another as human beings and so on. So this is probably a one time blog thing for me. But, let me try to explain my personal jubilation over this new president.

Imagine you are on an airplane, and it’s losing altitude fast. And the pilot just keeps doing his fancy tricks, loopty-loos and spinny-caboos and what not, and every one keeps clapping. Then people start to notice that the ground is getting much, much closer all of a sudden and the pilot and crew say, “well, he’s a great pilot and all but the last guy who flew the plane left the buttons and levers all screwy” (but the last time anyone else flew the plane it was like…eight years ago.”

Then finally everyone decides we need a new guy to fly the plane. Then after a bit we have it whittled down to two volunteers and the first guy is like, “I should do it because I can do the same loopty-loos as the first guy, and also I have seen Top Gun like nine times and I am a lot that guy in it. What’s his name again?”

And then the other guy is like, “Ok, I am not so in to loopty-loos, but I have studied airplane mechanics a good deal and I see what is causing the decrease in altitude, and, although the flight won’t be as flashy and showy, I can probably keep us from smacking into the ground, and I also know what all the button and levers are for.”

And then the first guy brings out a pretty stewardess in a short skirt, big glasses, and lipstick and says, “well also I have her to help me” and every one is like, “oooooooh” cause she is a babe, but you are in your seat thinkin’ “Uh…just cause she has served drinks on flights to and from Russia, does not mean she can fly this thing!” and you are sure they are ganna hand the plane over to the first guy and Bambi, when all of a sudden, every one says, “Yeah, we’ll take the guy that’s read the manual and knows what the buttons do.” And a wave of relief washes over you. People finally get it, they actually understand, we don't need a showman, we need a guy who can make things work right.

That’s how I feel. Like we handed the plane over to a guy who can fly it, and I don’t know if a machine this close to the ground can be pulled up, and I guess we are all ganna have to hang on. But I am really, really glad we have a pilot that knows about the airplanes.

I think it’s great that we have grown up enough to choose him without being afraid of his skin color or name, that means a lot to a lot of people and it’s wonderful. I am just so relieved we have also gotten smart enough to choose him.

***Ok, I know my plane metaphor will bug people who love McCain, and I know he has political and world experience, and I do respect the guy, but I just don’t think he understand economic or social issues the way Obama does, is not even close to having the ability to understand or repair the damage we have done to our relationship with the rest of the world as Obama, and I don’t think his world experience, or time served in office, is he is the equivalent of the education Obama has continually pursued in sociology, law, or government theory.

***Also, I still love my girl Hillary. A LOT!

Things I Would Blog About

Monday night of last week I was sitting in the study of my new apartment (ok it’s actually a little alcove the building management calls a dining room, but since formal dining is beyond me, I stuffed some desks, computer, and books in there), leaning back in my beat up old comfortable computer chair that’s missing its arm, watching my daughter play with her puppy, and chatting about nothing with this very good looking person I know, and then it suddenly struck me that I love my life.

I love my stupid, narrow hall way-ed, no linen closet, overpriced- for- what- it- is apartment. I love that little argumentative, constantly full of frustration and sarcasm, little freckled faced blonde God gave me.
I love my carpet spotting, fuzzy faced, butt waddling when he walks, lazy, pansy-arsed, scared of the dumbest things dog.
I love my good lookin’ friend.

I love my cut-off blue sweat pants that say Moab down the side and make my butt look huge! I love the stories I have to tell, and the ones I can’t yet, and the ones I finally spit out to the right people with satisfaction, and the way more things make me laugh than make me cry.

Sitting there I remembered that feeling I get sometimes when I am watching a movie and I look at the city the characters live in, or their houses, or swanky flats, or flawless skin, or adventures, and just something about their lives seemed so much more interesting, or promising, or just…you know, like a movie. Better. And I would think how nice it would be to be in the character’s place. But sitting there I realized, I didn’t want to be any of them. I wanted to be me, in this apartment. My life suddenly seems full of promise and I get to be in it.

And I thought, “Hey, I should totally post the feeling this moment is giving me on my blog.”

But then…dun dun dun ....

The following morning, Elsa woke me up at 5 am to say she did not feel well. By the time she woke me up she had already…how do I put this delicately for those with no children? She had thrown up all over her bed.

We spent the next 3 days, both of use throwing up violently every few hours. I know there were at least 72 hours in which I did not keep any food in my stomach at all and if I retained 2 ounces of fluid a day that would surprise me. These 3 days were followed by several days of feeling better, but experiencing excruciating stomach aches after eating even slight meals. Elsa described the same thing.

Yesterday was the first day we both were both "normal" again. And so my lovely post about my lovely moment got side tracked.

Then I got to thinking, I am continually thinking of things I should post...and I am continually getting sidetracked.

I was going to post a summary of those things I will probably never get around to, but I am a bit tired. Instead, at the top of this post, is a picture of the cutest kid there was in Utah County Halloween night.