Bird Dog the Bird Killer.

As i was driving home from school last night, i called the boy to let him know i was on my way home. He says to me, "um, before you come in the house, can you pick up the garbage bag i flung over the fence from the back yard and put it in the trash?"

Me: "why did you fling a bag of garbage over the fence?"

Boy: "your sweet, lovable Dog killed a bird and i had to get rid of it."

Me: "what?! Oh... oh, no... not BigDog... she didn't.."

Boy: "and i had to pry it out of her mouth because she wouldn't let go. she kept taking off when i got close so i grabbed her and opened up her mouth so she would drop it."

Me: "eech that's terrible. our sweet dog, a killer. was she uh... was she chewing it or just holding it?"

Boy: "i'm pretty sure she was chewing on it"

Me: "oh, gross."

So i got home, found the bag in question and gingerly dumped it in the garbage can. I went inside and said hello while The Boy went through the story. We both had kind of disturbed looks on our faces and i was pretty grossed out by the end of it.

Boy: "she sort of had the two legs sticking straight out of her mouth, though..."

Me: "...*snicker*...*snort*....really?"

*******************************

I only have 1 week left in my Communications class and i have to say that i had been dreading that class for the past 4 years and finally waited until the 2nd to last semester i'm at that school. I STILL dread going there every day, but when i'm actually sitting in the class it's actually a lot of fun. Humiliating, stupid fun, but fun none the less. She makes us do these really childish, inane activities and games and when she's explaining what we're going to do, i get this giant knot in my stomach but by the time i'm actually immersed in it, it's a lot of fun. Last night was "show and tell". Yes, yes it was. I know. She said, "what's college without show and tell?" Sure, i thought, that's what's been missing from my college career.

Twice we've gone outside (where other people can SEE us, GAHH.) to play games, one of which was a variation of "Never, Have I Ever", everyone's favorite college-drinking game, which got interesting at times. Someone stood in the middle of the circle and tried, "never have i ever... been arrested" and there were actually a few people who admitted to being arrested, one of which was the professor.

Super, i thought.

Before the class ends next Thursday, i have to write another paper, give another speech and take the final and then i'm fucking done until September 19th.

Yay! SUMMER!

To spawn or not to spawn...

I've been MIA for awhile now, but there are good excuses for that.

I'm still reading all of Sundry's archives (am up to Dec. 2005 now) and sadly, I've become so engrossed in that blog, that I'm using all of the stolen spare time I would normally put towards updating my blog and reading the posts on others'. I have trouble multi-tasking more than I have to and am unable to stray my mind away from focusing on a few select things. It's sad, but this is my life.

*********

The most startling thing that has been occupying my mind has been The Baby Decision, the life-altering, mind-bending decision to procreate.

I have been a life-long believer in the school of thought that children are disgusting, needy, life-sucking beings that will destroy your life and turn your mind into some kind of icky goo that will eventually ooze out of your ear. Once you are 'blessed' with one, you change into one of those people whose world orbits around a small-person, wearing sun visors with ponytails and driving the newest model of mini-van. All of your time and energy, for the rest of your damn life is devoted to someone who will eventually hate you (ah, teenagers) and has the ability to make you a prisoner in your own home.

(That last bit - probably just in my own head, that one.)

It will come as a great surprise to most people who know me in real life that I am having a week where I might change my mind.

Earlier last week, it occurred to me that while I don't think I could imagine myself with actual children, I probably would like being pregnant. (Hmm. But then eventually you give birth and have to deal with the end-product. That would be awful.)

I had, of course, gotten up to the parts in Sundry's blog where she was pregnant with Riley, and then eventually gave birth. This might have something to do with all of these weird maternal thoughts, I'm sure. Oh, yeah, and my baby cousin, Christopher was up with my aunt & uncle visiting last week. Surely, being in the presence of a very sweet 15 month old would make me consider all of this.

Of course it would. Later in the week, I thought, well maybe it wouldn't be so bad? Babies are cute, afterall - even up to (but not including) 2 years old, they're kinda neat. They're always learning new things and changing and growing. So, that's kind of cool... I might like to try that. But then they get older... what the hell would I do with an 8 year old? I've seen 8 year olds, I even live with one* on the weekends. But... sometimes they.. well they kind of bug the hell out of me. Sometimes.



Spending the short amount of time I did with baby Christopher, really showed me something.

I would probably be a damn good mom.

This, of course, is in comparison to his real mother (who married into the family. seriously, she doesn't belong to us) who is doing so much wrong that I could tell, the one who never had any kids. I'm not going to go into the specifics of what I was watching while we were out to dinner for my grandmother's birthday because everyone has their different methods and not everything works for everybody, but wow**. At one point, I turned my head towards The Boy and whispered very quietly, "oh my god, I don't know anything about this stuff, but I would do everything differently," To which he responded a quick and resounding, "YES, yes you would."

When mother and baby left the table because Christopher was acting up (and man, were people in the restaurant getting pissed) my mom and grandma started discussing her child-rearing tactics, wondering what the hell she was doing. I was glad to hear I wasn't the only one thinking she was totally fucking things up.



Am I at ALL cut out to be a .... urch... Mommy? Wow, that's really hard to say. Would I want to be a mommy? I really don't know.

I am starting to think, though, that maybe its not such a terrible idea. They do change your life. Of course they do. But right now, its not like we're living such a happening fucking time, as it is. We've pretty much turned into stationary people (much to my dismay, mind you) for the past 2 years. How much would my social life be affected. Haha - not very much. I only mention this, because one of my biggest problems with having a child is how will it effect ME. Of course, I do - and why shouldn't I? Its my body, life, etc. Don't judge me, dammit.

I just can't imagine how my life would be different. There are all kinds of aspects to consider: my job, our house, money, my f-ing mind. Can we handle this? I don't mean now, but in the future. Would we be able to?

The Boy, luckily, could go either way with this. He already has 2, and doesn't feel like he needs another, but would love to share that experience with me if I so desire. No pressure from him. And I really appreciate that.

One thing is for sure. It's not happening now. I'm not finished with school, I would like to be married first, we are not at all financially secure. All important things. By the time I have all or most of these things taken care of, I might change my mind. And that's ok.

**********

Wow - I've been wanting to get this off of my chest all week. I'm glad I finally sat down to do it, even though it took me all day.

And I didn't get any further with Sundry's blog. Addictions are rough...



*The Boy has two children of his own from a previous marriage. His children and I are not necessarily in love.
**Don't tell your child that their tantrum is cute. That's not helping anyone.

Feeling better today, luckily.

Thank you, everyone who chimed in on my bad day yesterday. I feel a lot better about moving on with my life and getting out of this awful place sometime this year. I really had thought I worked myself into a corner and it's good to know that I'm not right.


In other news, I'm in the second week of my Communications class (Part 2 of a 2 part series: Claire Goes to Summer Session) and even though I was dreading this class, it's really not so bad. Granted, I have to give my first speech on Monday and am totally freaking out, but I think I'll be prepared for it by then. I think it goes without saying that Public Speaking is a dreadful thing and many people, I have learned, really hate to do it - not just me. I even have someone in my class that just about broke down in tears last night when we were given our pop-presentations.

The professor surprised us last night with an index card, randomly selected, stating a generic question. She wanted us to stand up in front of the class with very little preparation and give a brief answer - Public Speaking... eeurrghhh...

In all reality, it wasn't that bad. I was nervous and jittery*, but my question was an easy one: " If you could have the perfect job, what would it be?" Simple. I pulled one out that I had thought of years ago and babbled incoherently about how if I could, I would love to be a columnist for a travel magazine. I totally dig the idea that people send you (gratis) to far away places where you stay in the finest hotel suites and eat perfectly prepared meals, all because these places know that you are going to be writing about them. And from reading some of these magazines, you get sent to places that you wouldn't even imagine vacationing on your own: totally secluded, obscure areas that have the most beautiful beaches, wildlife or whatever their hook is. That sounds great. Would love it.** Review bars and nightlife, meet new and interesting people, see all kinds of STUFF that I would never get to see unless I was independently wealthy. Awesome.

Sadly, it never occurred to me that I could DO such a job. Sure, it sounds like fun, but who actually gets to DO stuff like that? While I was walking back to my seat, Professor asked if that's what my major is in. "Ur, no... um," She, "Any reason? Come talk to me about it in my office. We'll see what we can do for you. There's no reason why you can't do that." And of course, I say, "but I don't think my writing would be up to par for that. Journalism classes sound just awful to me," etc. She hushed me and just told me to see her later.

But why couldn't I? I would just have to work on it. I can take writing, grammar, journalism classes and just work at my writing, dammit. I still have to pick a school for my 4-year degree and actually settle on a major. This here, is the time I can do this floundering until I make up my mind. I don't have much time, but while I'm just a Liberal Arts major, this is the time to figure it out.

So I'm going to talk to her. I'll see what she has to say, and maybe I'll just go for it. Before I started writing in this blog, I never would have thought that I could do something like that. I mean I hate writing. Or at least I thought I did. Obviously, I can't hate it very much if I'm doing this at least twice a week (mostly, shut up). Maybe I can do that.

In the meantime, I'll find a different job that won't make me want to kill myself (or at least won't make me have days like yesterday) and plod along until I finish school.

I'll probably have to learn Spanish, too... would like to spend time in the Caribbean, I think...



*In case you can't tell (ha!), I'm a shy, insecure girl, with a poor self-image and a good case of stumbling over words, rambling and mumbling. When presented with a group of strangers to speak in front of, throw in some dry-mouth.

**I do know that The Boy nor I would not be too happy if my job was to not be with him 300+ days out of the year. This is a problem. Unless I make so much money, he can come with me whenever we want. Kevin Federline-like. Boy has started working on his rap lyrics.

If you don't want to hear me bitch, you should probably move along.

***would like to point out that there is little-to-no proof reading done here. Am shooting my mouth off and am just posting it before i chicken out***

oh my god, it is so freaking hot in here. there is no AC at work today and it is just about 95% humidity outside and there is no AIR to BREATH in here. i think it's effecting my attitude.

i called in sick yesterday. yes, i did. And i didn't care what anyone thought about it. I wasn't even sick... no... i... wasn't. In fact, i didn't even pretend i was when i called in and left my sick message. All you could hear on my voice was a little bit of sleepiness because that was why i called in. I was "TIRED". I was tired from the night before when i slept not at all. So i called in, dammit.

I am sitting here at my desk and not checking the voicemails from yesterday (cause i can really give a shit) and just catching up on everyone's blogs.

I have had it here.

And there's nothing i can do.

See, i would start that interview process up again: update resume, post it online, pick through want-ads and whatever. But i don't think i can, just yet. I may be limiting myself, but i'm a little afraid to do it just yet. Cause i thought too far ahead... And booked a damn 2-week vacation at the end of November. 2 WEEKS!

How can i start a new job and be like, "oh, by the way, i'm not going to be here this week and this week because i'll be in the caribbean. sorry!" If i were a recruiter, i would probably think, 'like hell you are' or 'ok! but don't expect to be here when you get back!'. Because i think it's really dick to start a new job and then not be there. I think it shows poor planning skills, irresponsibility and just a general sense of screwed up priorities. All of which i have, naturally.

I am un-willing to give up my vacation.
Luckily, i'm backed up by the fact that it is non-refundable and i am shelling out a lot of money for this bitch and i'm not willing to lose it.

But i don't want any potential employers to know that. It's not very climb-the-corporate-ladder of me. Having to stay here for 6 more months will surely kill me; i just don't know if i can skate by any longer on the fact that i have more seniority than most at my level - which i have learned is because most people learn that there is no good reasons for staying here any longer than they have to and GET THE FUCK OUT.

Not me, though, no. I've been here 6 1/2 years - since i was 19 years old. I didn't know any better 6 years ago and thought that this was a pretty sweet deal. I mean, there's air conditioning and you sit at a desk all day. It's not like working in the hot and sweaty mall or standing at an assembly line going mind-numbingly brain-dead. No! There's internet access and i get my own phone number! I am Awesome! I am corporate-casual!

Then i realized that it take 2 years to get your first promotion, even though you're doing the work of that higher position plus 2 co-workers worth. But that doesn't matter, right? Because now they've seen what a team-player you are, right? And they're rewarding you for being such a good worker. Go you! Take yourself out for a celebratory dinner. Even though you can't actually afford it, even with the 'raise' you were given.

And then it takes another 4 fucking years to get that next promotion because you are doing such crazy shit, that they don't even have a title for what you do here. No! It takes them 4 fucking years to get budget approval for the bull-shit job that you have taken on little by little, as people have left this god-forsaken company and new people have taken their place and formed different positions. Oh! Even TAKING the title of YOUR position because you were going to be promoted. But you never were! So you both have the same title, even though YOU DON'T GET TO DO THAT JOB ANYMORE. The boss is "waiting until you show him that you deserve" your promotion, and "that you really want it". And you actually wait around to see what happens while you have a bullshit position that means nothing because someone else has already replaced you.

You plod along, like an idiot. You watch others come and leave. You watch others like yourself plod along JUST LIKE YOU, without being rewarded for their dedication and keep making themselves believe that they will be compensated. But they're not. And neither are you.

You finally get your promotion and it is meaningless. You have been doing the work for this job for 4+ years and nothing is different. Your title is completely made up and will mean nothing in any other company. The skills you have acquired here are so specialized that you have worked yourself into a tiny niche and will not be qualified for most of what is out there. You get an extra $2 an hour and tell your boss that it is an insult - he can't fix it. And you stay. Like an idiot...

This is totally my fault and i need to wait another 1/2 year until i can fix it.

I am smashing my head against a brick wall and it is my own fault for not fixing it sooner.

But I got up to Chapter 45 of the book I'm reading!

Three A.M. can be the loneliest time of the day when you're the only one in the house who is awake.

That is, unless it is Four A.M. and you're the only one in the house who is awake... I found that 4am definitely wins the 'I'm awake and this sucks' contest of the night.

Though, I have to remark that even though I only had about an hour and a half of sleep last night, I am surprisingly lively this morning. Maybe it's because I was anticipating having to wake up shortly after I fell asleep and never allowed myself to fall into a deep-sleep; I don't know. I'm not sure how the sleep cycle effects how crap you are the next day, but today - actually awake. Speaking in full sentences, even*. I stopped at the 7-11 before work to get the same poison that made me unable to blink last night. I should know that I'm too old to not be affected by coffee at night any more. It seems that 24 oz. of the stuff is too much at 9:00 at night. But right now, it's like curing a hang-over with a bloody mary.


Other than the mind-numbing hell of not being able to sleep last night, yesterday was a fairly nice day. The Boy and I went to the beach yesterday afternoon after dropping his kids back at their mother's. They live out in Long Beach (NY - dur, not CA) which gives us such a PERFECT opportunity to kick them out of the car to their mother** and run to the beach all willy-nilly. Because the beach out there? Beautiful. Since it was a spur of the moment thing, we were not equipped with the beachy accoutrement necessary for playing in the sand so we spent about an hour or so walking on the lovely Long Beach boardwalk: people watching, catching a little sun and *shock* getting some free exercise. Was lovely. Recommend it to everyone.


On the way home from the beach, we had an interesting conversation in the car. The Boy had to call his Ex to let her know we were dropping the kids off and wound up calling every phone number available to him, including her fiance's cell phone. Fiance's outgoing vmail message apparently caught him as strange, something like: "Hey! This is (Fiance's Last Name). Leave a message....."etc.

Boy: "He addresses himself by his last name on his voicemail."
Me: "That's kind of...eech. Frat-boy."
Boy: "Yeah. But I guess if it's him calling himself that, it's ok"
Me: "What?"
Boy: "Calling someone by their last name is rude."

I'm not sure I subscribe to this same school of thought, but I guess I can see what he's talking about.

Boy: "Just like wearing a hat indoors. It's rude."
Me: "I think that is kind of an outdated tradition, don't you?"
Boy: "It's still rude."
Me: "You're one to talk about manners - you refuse to put the cloth napkin in your lap in restaurants"
Boy: "Well, that's just stupid."
Me: "Unlike the hat thing?"
Boy: "If you plan on getting more food in your lap, you shouldn't be eating out in public."


Sorry, folks! He's taken!



*Ha! You don't have to point out to me that this isn't actually a full sentence. I knew that. Irony - see? HA!!! Hoo! I got you!
**His children are lovely, I mean nothing cruel by this - wonderful, wonderful children.***
*** snicker...

Still alive...

Hi y'all.

I just wanted to check in and mention that i'm still around. I have been neglecting my blog for the past two weeks, it seems, and i'm starting to feel kind of badly about it.
I also want to mention that i haven't been posting because it seems that most of my spare (and even not-so-spare) time has been spent reading all of Sundry's archives. And she started back in 2002, so i'm sure you can see why it is taking all of my time. Also, because it is one of the best blogs/journals i've ever come across and she is totally engaging in a stalker-friendly way (that's me! Stalker!). If you have not checked her out (and i'm sure that everyone in the world has at this point- duh she started in 2002) you really and truly must.

-------------

In other news, our 4th of July was not as exciting or entertaining as it truly should have been. I mean, its an entire holiday focused on the premise of blowing things up. How could that NOT be entertaining? As it turns out, very easily, in fact.

This is a BigDog sleeping. This is a happy kind of sleep.

However, on Tuesday, we had more of a drugged, awkward, scary kind of sleep.

Fireworks and BigDog are not on speaking terms. BigDog is really quite ashamed to admit that they scare the ever-loving shit out of her. The worst part is that this is our fault from last year, and i am REALLY sorry for that because we single-handedly ruined our 4th of July's for the next 10 years or so.
Last year was BigDog's first 4th and she was dealing pretty well with all of the booms and bangs going on outside, while we were inside, basically putzing around. We thought it would be nice to stay home and hang out in the neighborhood and watch the fireworks that people on our street seem to get every single f-ing year. Later at night, after the noise died down, we thought it would be safe to take the pups out for their walk.

We opened the front door and stepped outside...
and the whole sky exploded.

BigDog freaked right the fuck out and ran back to the front door, pretty much ramming her head into it to try and get BACK IN THE HOUSE. (i was on the other end of the leash and it was not fun, no sir. She is strong, heavy and fast. Like a freight train.) Once we were able to get back in, ie: once she stopped ramming herself against the screen door so we could open it, she ran to the furthest corner of the house and tried to hide under any furniture she could squeeze her big self under. But, basically she cried and shook and ran around in circles trying to get away from the explosions... poor puppy.

But This Year! Drugs! People do it all the time! We'll buy tranquilizers from the vet! Drug the dog! Yay! I called the vet and picked up a script for 10 little white pills and happily went home to drug the dog. Yay! Drugs are good!

The vet tech told us that we should give her the first dose early in the day, in case we have a loud neighborhood, and then right before it gets dark, give her a second dose and all will be right with the world.
So of course...we DID. At 11:00am, she got a magical spoonfull of peanut butter and about 7 minutes later, she hobbled over to me leaning on the wall for balance, stumbled toward me to catch her as she literally PASSED OUT. Like, unconscious - fell down. Lost bladder control, unconscious.

Like any good mommy, i screamed a little and with one arm underneath my 120lb dog and the other hand reaching for the phone, I called the vet like a crazy person. Ha! CLOSED for the HOLIDAY!

In the end, she was ok. She woke up after that and kind of readjusted herself on the floor, even though all of her sad limbs were all in weird positions and kind of under her in uncomfortable looking, backwards ways.

She was stoned for the entire day and unable to move. It was really weird and very sad, and i don't know if i want to do that again anytime soon. I think 2 pills was too many, but if we DO decide to do it next year, one pill will be just fine, thank you.

Also, we didn't give her that second dose like the vet tech said to do. As a result, she was quite alert when it got dark.

Yay! Happy 4th!