It Started with a Chicken Sandwich

I wound up in a short, somewhat intense Twitter spat with a local news anchor today.  She quickly and incorrectly decided I was angry and I just had to laugh.  

But when a former acquaintance of mine, who became a former acquaintance during the last Presidential election season, “favorited” the Tweet calling me angry, it nagged at me. 

No, I don’t consider myself an angry person.  I vaguely remember taunting my former acquaintance over his enjoyment of Chick-Fil-A and/or his support of Mitt Romney in 2012, but I genuinely don’t see myself as an angry person.  I guess that’s how I come off to some people.

But I have to wonder…

How angry would you be if you were denied basic governmental benefits and protections because of your hair color?

What if the owner of a multi-million- (billion?) dollar company donated his profits to organizations that strove to make being Caucasian a crime punishable by death?

Would you be angry if you awakened every single day of your adult life and despite being a good, ethical, caring person, you were reminded that you and your partner and your relationship and your family were invalid in the eyes of the law? 

You got married last year, Former Acquaintance.  How was that for you?  Did you enjoy it?  Did you enjoy standing up before your friends and family and declaring your love for, and commitment to, each other and having that commitment legally bound?  Do you rest easy knowing your wife will be taken care of financially if anything should happen to you?  Did you have to hire a lawyer to make that happen?  Is it nice knowing you can stroll into a hospital and see your wife without any questions being asked?  If your wife gets pregnant and decides to stay home, how wonderful for you that she will be covered by your insurance and that the child you raise – even if you’re not the biological father – will be yours in the eyes of the law simply because you are married.

So yes, maybe I am angry.  Maybe it simmers below the surface and causes me to muck it up with people on occasion and make them aware of how their actions, whether knowingly or unknowingly, contribute to making me and people I care about…less.

Because that’s what it comes down to.  We’re less.  Until we are afforded the same rights and protections that you take for granted, we’re less than you.

Enjoy your chicken sandwich.

Great news!

Dear Polly,

I've got fantastic news for you!  The grooming for both girls this morning was free.  And here's why.

That's a small quantity of Sophie's blood, from a nicked dew claw, on the side of my shirt.  This is from the second time she started leaking and from my second trip to the vet next door to the groomer.

They called me at work to say she'd been nicked and that they were taking her over.  I remembered she was a vaccine-reactor and called the vet to make sure they wouldn't give her any medications without checking with me first, so that I could relay the information to you.  The receptionist replied condescendingly that they would not be vaccinating her.  I then told them that she's a hyperactive foot licker, in case they needed to bandage her.  The receptionist sighed and said they would probably put her in an Elizabethan collar as a result.  

It was then I decided I needed to leave work and go supervise.

Checked in at the groomer, prepared my argument for the parking lot nazi as I was going to a location beyond the approved parking lot use list, and went to the vet.  They were slammed and she was already being seen.  One of the groomers was sitting in the exam room waiting for her.  They crazy-glued the wound, which was tiny, and said she probably wouldn't need antibiotics, but that he'd write me a scrip if I wanted them.  I declined and said we'd keep an eye on it.  The vet suggested we have her dew claw removed since she was so young.  They told him she was 1.5-years-old.  Since she's 8 or 9, she must be aging well.  She was her usual rambunctious self the whole time.  And only half-groomed.  The vet said the glue should work, but if she sprung a leak again, he might have to wrap the foot.

Off we three went back to the groomer's.  The owner could not have been kinder or more apologetic.  Layla had been groomed in the meantime and they got busy finishing Sophie's cut.  We all agreed to avoid the injured foot.  

They brought her out front and she was fine.  But then as I was getting ready to pay, I noticed blood on the floor.  And then more blood as she walked around.  They'd brought Layla out in the meantime, so I asked them to take Layla back and off Sophie and I went to the vet once again.  

That's when I got the blood on my shirt.

They took her into the back, cleaned her foot off and said the bleeding had stopped and the glue seemed to be working.  They said as long as she didn't smack the foot into anything, the bleeding shouldn't start again.  

Back to the groomer to collect Layla and pay.  It was then they told me the visit was free.  I told them that wasn't necessary -- that it was a normal part of grooming and they handled it and were paying for the vet, but they wouldn't accept payment.  Especially since Sophie had had The Eye Incident a few years ago.  I asked them if they'd like us to start going somewhere else.  They laughed and said no, that they want us to keep coming there and that's why they weren't charging.  I told them their business model was flawed.  :)

And so, Sophie is OK.  She enjoyed some air conditioning on the way home:

She and Layla waited patiently for me to let them out of the car:

Sophie now has the rap name she's always wanted (Lil' Fuzzy Foot):

They're chilling on a blanket on the couch, in case Old Faithful starts gushing again:

And I'm enjoying Mother's Little Helper, after an interesting morning:

I'm purposely not telling you this while you're at work because I don't want you to worry, but I had to tell SOMEONE, so here we are.  :)

Weather's Beautiful, Glad You're Here

Two men were side-by-side.  Both very sick, both with sick hearts.  Both near death more than once.  One spent a month in the hospital and unexpectedly, miraculously chose the path back to us.  Involuntarily?  Voluntarily?  We’ll never know.  But his roommate spent three months in the hospital and isn’t coming home.  He lost his battle yesterday.  Involuntarily?  Voluntarily?  We’ll never know.  Similar circumstances.  Same amount of love and hope.  Same doctors, same care.  I’m so sad for the friends and family who ‘lost,’ and so thankful for the friends and family who ‘won.’  Life has never been fair.  It’s always been survival of the fittest with a dusting of dumb luck.  I don’t know how you made it and he didn’t, but I’m glad you’re here.  And I feel guilty about that in the face of their loss.  Be strong, be healthy, and live your life.  You have the memory of a good man by your side.   

Super Club

I saw an ingenious anti theft device in a car earlier today, on my way to work.  At first I thought the driver must not know it was there, because surely she'd be embarrassed, but then it occurred to me that she may have put it there on purpose.  

As garlic is to vampires, this product is to men:

A giant box of maxi-pads were shoved into the rear window area.

Brilliant!

No guy is going within 10 feet of those things unless he absolutely has to and he sure as hell isn't stealing a car so he can drive around with them visible in the back.  

I'm going to tie some tampons to my steering wheel.  Think of them as The Club, just smaller and more absorbent. 

Things I Learned Today

Cabbage soup and gastroenteritis don't mix.

A tuna sandwich and chips and gastroenteritis REALLY don't mix.

When you have gastroenteritis and your trunk feels like a solid block of bloat and pain, carrying a 33-pound sack of dog food is not a good idea.

More cabbage soup on top of your gastroenteritis shit storm belly is an even worse idea.

Mon Petite Chou Chou

Girlfriend came back from Thanksgiving at her mother's with a recipe for cabbage soup.  She announced this afternoon that she'd be making it for dinner.  It gave me a little pause, but I thought maybe I could have the broth.  I hadn't had anything other than white rice, toast, or pretzels for the last two days.  Since I had gastroenteritis and all.

Yeah...

I've been home the last two days.  It hit me like a lightning bolt on Sunday afternoon.  I think I woke up Sunday night and blogged something about it.  

I'm feeling better for the most part, but there is still some sort of alternate world going on in my belly.  

Girlfriend came home and I watched her put some of the soup together.  I spotted onions and half a head of cabbage.  

Hoo boy.

Once she had everything in the pot, she called me over and gave me a hug and then half cried/half laughed something about not realizing until two minutes earlier that she was about to feed me cabbage soup on top of a stomach virus.  

She's distracted by her own TMJ pain, so I couldn't give her too much grief about it.  

I ate the soup.  My appetite was returning.  And I threw down some pieces of French bread for good measure.  

Pray for me.  

Or more importantly, pray for my coworkers.  I'm going back to work tomorrow.  

*Thanks to a little FB eavesdropping, I discovered an app today to practice my French.  My French I haven't practiced in 30 years.  A common nickname of affection in French?  "Mon petite chou chou," which translates to, "my little cabbage."  You're welcome.  :)

Pachinko

I'm not sure what they were thinking.  Friends of theirs had one and I used to play with it whenever we visited or when I was sent there for babysitting -- babysatting, since I was being sat and not sitting.

I remember it was $50 and that was a lot of money for my parents in the late 70s.  I'm not even sure how they tracked it down.  But one Christmas, I received a pachinko, a Japanese pinball machine.  

A very loud, clangy, bell-ringing, metal ball spewing pinball machine.  

Again, I'm not sure what they were thinking.  I can't imagine how annoying it was to hear me playing with that thing.

Here's a tame video of one.  The more the balls fall into the three large flowers near the bottom, the more balls one wins from the back top of the machine.  I can remember them just coming out as a constant loud stream.  And then once they were all out, they'd have to be added to the dispenser cup in the top back.  Again, a very noisy prospect.

Pachinko machine in action

Alas, the pachinko machine made it through a few moves, but when my mother sold our house, I didn't take it with me to Virginia.  I see one every so often -- there's one in a window display across the street from Stove in Portsmouth -- and just searched for mine online about two weeks ago.  I'm not sure I'd recognize my specific machine if I saw it.  Mom just sent me an email earlier today asking me if I knew there was a pachinko app.  I can't bring myself to spend the $0.99 to see if it still makes the same obnoxious noises.  Let's just assume it does.

The thought of it makes me smile, though.  It represents what my parents would do/put up with to make me happy.  And for that I'm quietly thankful.

Virus 1, Me 0

Who did it?  I hardly saw anyone this week and yet, someone sent a nasty little virus on its way to me.  I have a suspect in mind and she's done this to her family before, so there's past behavior to consider.  

I realize this is a fairly stupid post, but I decided I might try to keep the blog going for the 4 of you who read it.  Not sure if you noticed, but NaBloPoMo has come and gone.  Yay, me.  ;)

I hope you all had a lovely holiday weekend.  Back to the aches and pains and sweeping temperature changes for me.

Send Gatorade.

New Year's Resolutions

I've decided I need a head start on my resolutions.  And since they haven't varied much since I first became aware of New Year's Resolutions, this should be a fairly simple exercise, with one or two new entries.

1) Don't let friend or acquaintance drive new Porsche.  I'm looking at you, Paul Walker; may you rest in peace.

2) Buy a Porsche.

3) Exercise more.

4) Eat less.

5) Complain less.

6) Be nice.

Huh, that just about sums it up.  Don't let Paul Walker's friend drive, be nice, exercise more, eat less.  I just may be able to handle this. And yet, I haven't been able to for umpteen years prior.  Maybe THIS is the year.  ;)

The Most Important Question of Our Time

Who the hell are they talking to on Modern Family??!!  You know, when one or two of the characters has a confessional moment with us and with whoever is interviewing them.  Otherwise, these people are just answering unasked questions to the fourth wall of their set.

Is it Chuck from Happy Days?  Did he climb out his bedroom window and go off to film school?  Makes sense.  His younger brother, Ron Howard, became a famous director...

Or maybe it's an as yet unnamed and unseen additional family member.  Maybe Claire and Mitchell have a sibling who is documenting the family's dysfunction.  Maybe a career student.  The economy's been in the sh*tter or at least on the toilet seat for quite some time and jobs are scarce, so maybe Esther Pritchett decided to pursue a Ph.D. and this is all part of her thesis.

Who is it??

They say when you're staring at a blank page and having a difficult time writing that you should just start writing.  

This is the result of that.  

Day 29, bitches.

;)

I Think You Might Like It

On this our yearly government-sanctioned day of Thanksgiving, I'd like to say how thankful I am for my girlfriend, our new home, our dogs, and our life together.  I'm also thankful for my friends, what's left of my family, and my adopted family.  I'm thankful for my health and my job.  I'm thankful for any number of things every single day.

But the one thing -- the one thing -- I'm most thankful for is this visual and aural abomination and the chance to share it with you:

I Think You Might Like It

Happy Thanksgiving!  Next stop, Christmas!

Scooter

1993 was 20 years ago.  This isn't what I was going to write about, but I just saw a commercial for The Bodyguard with Whitney Houston singing, "I Have Nothing," and I thought, "She looks so young!  Oh, and alive.  She's dead now.  Wow, that was 20 years ago.  Damn, that went fast.  In 20 years I'll be 64.  Oh, shit."

Welcome to my high-speed train of thought that has regularly scheduled trips daily.  Now that I am truly, maddeningly mid-life, it's become a new source of anxiety for me.  But, I continue to play ping pong with my thoughts and try to stay in the moment and more importantly, ENJOY the moment.  It's the one time knocking things out of bounds is good.  

Speaking of time flying, my sweet little "poodle" is now, somehow, 14.5 years old.  Technically, 14.583 years old.  And man, it's gone by fast!  In a sweet collective consciousness conspiracy, I snapped this photo of a photo at work the other day and then stumbled into her Origin Story earlier tonight.  

I was watching an episode of Will & Grace and Eileen Brennan was on, wonderfully, as Jack's acting teacher and I thought to myself, "I should look for Clue on Hulu or Netflix."  Only, I didn't feel like getting up to get the Apple TV remote, so I decided to search regular cable, assuming it wouldn't be on.  Damned if it wasn't set to air -- on a channel I actually get -- in 30 minutes.  

That just seemed like a little too much coincidence for me.  And so, how Bodhi the tall beagle mix came to be:

I was living in Richmond, VA and at some point thought a small dog would be a good idea.  I'd only had one before, as a child, and my father won him in the divorce.  My mother got me.  I think it was no contest both ways.  

I digress.

While I thought getting a small dog might be a good idea, my landlord most definitely did not.  But I was looking for a new place with two friends and thought I might be able to squeeze a dog into the equation.  One of the friends and I were hanging out one night and decided to rent Clue.  I strolled the few blocks to the Video Fan, my local rental place, to see if they had it and when I approached the counter, there was the smallest of dog crates on top.  I thought it was empty.  But tucked away in the back, next to and about the size of a plastic croissant, was the smallest of Jack Russell (or so I thought at the time) puppies.  

Oh my.  I was a goner.

Louise, the clerk, sensed my melting and took the puppy out of the crate for me to hold.  She was a pro.  She said the puppy had been abandoned; tossed over a fence at Powhatan Animal Control.  Friends of hers who lived on a farm took the puppy in, but already had a bunch of rescues and couldn't keep another one.  Louise offered to bring the puppy with her to Richmond with the hope that someone would adopt her.  

And so, I found my dog at the video store.  

I still wasn't allowed to have one in my apartment.  The first weekend with her, I tried taking her in and out of the apartment in a duffel bag when she had to go to the bathroom so no one would see her.  The landlord and his mother (who by then was renting the apartment above me) happened to be around A LOT that weekend and quickly busted me.  But once they saw her, they quickly fell in love and changed their minds about the pet policy.  The mother changed her mind back once Bodhi started digging in all of her outdoor potted plants, but that's another story.  

When it came to naming the puppy, I was stumped.  Clue seemed like a cute idea, especially since I was studying forensic science at the time, but it didn't seem right.  I was also watching a lot of Wallace & Gromit and she would pad pad pad pad through the apartment like Gromit, but her coloring was different.  Somehow, finally, after a couple weeks, I settled on "Scooter."  

The next time I brought her into the video store (seems all local non-chain video stores allow dogs) and had to tell people her name was Scooter, I felt a little silly.  It didn't seem like an adult-given name.  Sure enough, one customer asked if my kids had named her and another told me his dog was also named Scooter and that his 4-year-old son named the puppy.

Back to the drawing board.  

I was reading a lot of books concerning Buddhism at the time and had learned that the Bodhisattva are awakened or enlightened beings and help others become awakened/enlightened.  At the same time, we were using a company named Bode (pronounced the same way) at work.  One of my friends mentioned that his supervisor was obsessed with, "Bode Bode Bode!" and the pieces started to fall together.  She was "awakening" me several times a night, after all.  And so, she became Bodhi Sattva.  

And now that she's 14.583, she's back to awakening me several times a night.  Is this the Dharma Circle?  :)

Don't Quit Your Day Job

My illustrator / comic strip writer / greeting card designer career is just never going to take off.

Color My World

So...we're painting again.

Where we = my girlfriend.  

I'm not sure where you and I left off, dear readers.  We painted the kitchen, dining area, living room, and hallway Lime Light and liked it for about 4 minutes after the job was completed.  Somehow, what was a subtle shade of gray in the living room turned into a tropical Jimmy Buffet turquoise in the hall.  

So that had to go.  

Enter..........

Pensive Sky.  

Here's the progression, for anyone who's been paying attention:

We started with the sage-esque Clothesline Fresh on the left, moved to the inexplicably turquoise (??) Lime Light in the middle, and have now embraced fan-favorite, Pensive Sky.

As you can imagine, the walls are starting to close in on us.  I'm sorry I didn't think to add insulation to the paint because by now we'd have one toasty home for these 20-degree nights.  I never thought when we were choosing a color and I said (repeatedly as it turns out), "It's just paint -- if we don't like it, we'll paint it again!" that we'd be doing so multiple times within just a few weeks.  

I'm pretty much amused at this point.  I had my house for 8 years and the only thing I painted was the living room, in an ill-chosen Smurfish blue, and not well.  

I tried to convince Girlfriend to let me paint over the upcoming 4-day weekend, but she wanted to get it done now.  She is truly the yin to my lazy ass, procrastinating yang.  So do what you need to do, honey.  It's just paint -- if we don't like it, we'll paint it again!  

Scott Simon's "Thank you, Mom"

NPR's Scott Simon began tweeting from his mother's death bed last summer.  I heard about it very close to the beginning and began following him.  As someone who normally has a fairly bent sense of humor and who has lost a parent, I recognized a lot of the humor and heartbreak.  Then again, I'd think anyone would, regardless of their sensibility or parental status.  But, you be the judge.  Someone's put Mr. Simon's tweets in motion, with his narration.

Grab a hankie or three:

Thank you, Mom

Peace on Earth

The wall color winner is......Lime Light.  Resembling neither lime nor light, this subtle shade of grey-green is both soothing and refreshing.  It all depends on the lighting.

As we spent most of the day painting, we entertained ourselves by arguing mildly about Pandora stations.  After listening to the Willie Nelson, Simon & Garfunkel, Billy Joel, & Lumineers stations and a short trip to NPR, we settled on Christmas carols.  

I know, I know.  It's not even Thanksgivukkah yet and we're listening to Christmas carols.  I'm making a concerted effort to not fight it this year.  Every year I lament the encroachment of Christmas into the months preceding December.  But these last few years, by the time I felt the Christmas Spirit, Christmas was over!  So this year, I'm just going with the flow.  I think carols before turkey is a problem, but they were enjoyable.  I'll just let Santa know I started a little early when he marks the official start of Christmas shopping season at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on Thursday.  

We didn't hear one of my favorites today, but I heard it the other day at work.  One of my friend/coworkers is an elf in scientist's clothing and he's had the all-Christmas music radio station on since it began on November 1st.  No comment.  

The song is 1977's The Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth by Bing Crosby and David Bowie.  I have this vision of Bing taking a drag on his pipe, eyeing Bowie, and saying, "I have no idea who that dame is, and she's rough on the eyes, but she sings beautifully."  If only Bowie had been in his full Ziggy Stardust getup for this Christmas special.  Bing died shortly before the special aired and probably had no idea how beloved the song would become years later.  It might be one of the most awkward duets of all time, but it's a beautiful song, written just hours before the special was filmed.  

The Little Drummer Boy / Peace on Earth

Color Wheel's Got to Go Round

We had finally settled on Clothesline Fresh.  It was a fairly large leap into a colored world for my girlfiend, Lover of Greige.  The bedroom was already set to be gray, so we were going to introduce something bold and crazy like a faint shade of sage into the open-plan living room, dining area, and kitchen.

And then the light changed.  

Seems our Clothesline Fresh can be green, gray, or blue depending on the time of day.  To the point that I received a somewhat frantic text from home with a photo of two adjacent walls, one seemingly blue and the other seemingly green.  

This would never do.

Fortunately, we'd been at a party a few weeks earlier, complimented the hostesses on their wall color, and were sent home with a gallon of Pensive Sky to try on our walls.

I've been calling it Pensieve Sky and have been very much looking forward to storing my memories in the paint on our walls.  (That joke would've killed at Hogwarts.)

Between getting my house ready to rent, building our farmhouse table, and painting the kitchen cabinets and walls at this house, we've been visiting Lowe's several times a week for the last month or so.  And by visiting I mean spending money as if we had any.

The loaner gallon of Pensive Sky is Behr and Girlfriend felt it went on thicker than Valspar and wouldn't require primer beforehand.  

And so we cheated on Lowe's and headed off to Home Depot for our weekly hardware store date night.  We were originally just going to purchase our own gallon or two of Pensive Sky (which has recieved the "You People on Pinterest are Complete Strangers to Me, But I Feel Better if You Really Like a Given Paint" Seal of Approval) and then something went horribly wrong.

Girlfriend started to second-guess herself.  Thus began a very serious study of 50 shades of gray and green, our own form of sadomasochism.  Girlfriend spoke with the Paint Person who recommended we get a tester of Pensive Sky in case our loaner gallon hadn't been professionally mixed in a while.  We also picked up a tester of Lime Light.

And then this small, quiet woman approached the paint counter with a brick of paint chips and asked for a gallon of something.  Girlfriend's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning and the next thing I knew, our Home Depot Paint Mistress was sending us home with this:

Pray for us.  I don't know how we can possibly choose a color now!  I'm beginning to think we should really just run with our tester-speckled walls and start our own trend.  I'll let you know when we post it on Pinterest and then everyone can pin it and it will become hugely popular and we'll have fooled everyone!!  Mwahahahahaha.  

Sigh.........

It's Time for a Haiku Break

Twenty posts thus far

Drafts need more love than I've got

Maybe tomorrow...

Kidachrome

As my brain swirls with the prospect of making and raising a child and the financing of said making and raising, one question keeps nagging at me.  Forget the reproduction costs, forget the pregnancy and delivery costs, forget the clothing and feeding and educating and entertaining and healing and mending costs and riddle me this:

How on earth will I afford all the professional photo shoots??!!

Have you noticed this?  Every time I turn around, one of my friends is having professional photos taken and then posting them on Facebook.

There are the pregnancy announcement photos.  

The pregnancy photos.

The shortly-after-birth photos (not to be confused with afterbirth photos; that's something else entirely. Ick.  Yet, a woman in Nebraska just thought, "Hmm...a professional photo shoot of my afterbirth would look GREAT in a scrapbook...")

The shortly-after-birth with older siblings (where applicable) photos.

The seasonal attire full family photo.

The multiple generations photo.

You get the idea.

Now, I'm not mocking these at all.  And I love looking at them when they're posted, truly.  But I have two serious concerns.  The aforementioned, "How the hell will I pay for all of these photo shoots?" and the potentially more serious, 

"Holy crap my girlfriend and I are both unphotogenic and will surely produce an unphotogenic child and now I'm expected to pay someone to document this professionally??"

When did this happen exactly?  

Everyone and my mother has a camera on his or her cell phone and there is certainly no dearth of photos on the internet.  Is it because the professional photos are more suitable for printing?  Maybe we've all realized that for all the Instagram photos we're taking, we're just not looking our best.  Or maybe it's simply an arm issue -- our arms aren't long enough to get everyone in the selfie.

Regardless, I will once again be soliciting donations.  Please see my Kidstarter account for payment options.  :)

Bound 2 Cause Douche Chills

Please tell me this is a parody.  This can't be for real.  It's as bad as the Michael Jackson/Lisa Marie Presley video -- the only difference being this one features a black man.  ;)

And if that bumpbumpbumpbump of the motorcycle is supposed to mimic Kanye's sexual prowess, he might want to slow down a little lest he gives himself a hernia.  F*ck like bunnies, indeed.

Don't let me influence you; see for yourself:

Bound 2