Monday, December 22, 2014


Two years ago I found myself FRANTICALLY racing around town to wrap up some last minute holiday errands.  I had a BRILLIANT idea to buy baby boy a hamster for x-mas; working off of my own personal childhood memories of owning a fluffy little rodent I could call my very own.  I'm a mom who CLEARLY thinks ahead; I purchased the rodent, and all related equipment, food and toys a week before the holiday.  The cage was stashed in the roommate's bedroom (hidden, with his permission), and my game-plan included playing with the hamster every single night leading up to Christmas morning to ensure he was accustomed to people.

Much to my dismay, my brilliant plan COMPLETELY BACKFIRED IN MAH FACE.  The little fucker was vicious.  It kept biting me, and on one occasion I flung the tiny beast monster across the room because the chunk of hand it had tried taking out of my hand caught me off guard.  My initial reaction was to put on heavy duty leather working gloves; because that was going to solve ALL of my problems.

All the gloves did was allow the beast monster to visibly bite at my hand without me throwing it across the room.  I was pissed and felt super duped that the pet store had sold me a carnivorous hamster; it must have had some rodent form of rabies, or had been in a line of an inbred trafficked hamster whore house, because the hamsters when I was a little girl were cute and cuddly.

It was obvious what I had to do.....return the little fucker four days before Christmas and try to exchange it for a larger, more "docile" breed.

I confidently marched into the pet store, returned the beast monster and left with an even larger beast monster, and felt like I had done my due diligence as Mom of the Year....until I got home and realized I had neglected to take the small beast-monster supplies with me when I exchanged the carnivore for one that was three times its size.

The next morning, bright and early, I snuck away to complete my holiday preparation by getting the RIGHT sized house, etc.

When I walked into the pet store, a bit annoyed but pleased that I was going to surprise baby boy with the gift of life (haha, yeah), I saw an "Adoption Day" sign.  I'm a glutton for punishment, so I HAD to check out the pet offerings and see what kind of cuteness was available.  I turn the corner holding all of my NEW beast supplies, and was greeted by the sweetest, fluffiest little puppy.  

I'm not necessarily one to believe in love at first site (at least as far as humans were concerned) but slap me sideways and call me Harry -- we fell in love the second we met each other.  His story was tragic; he was found with a litter of three on a reservation in Minnesota where they estimated he and his two sisters were approximately 10-weeks old.  He'd been transferred to his current rescue agency, and had been with a foster family for approximately three weeks.

Long story short - by the end of the day I left the pet store without the new hamster supplies, with a puppy instead, and a crystal clear conscious at the decision to abandon ship on giving baby boy a hamster (read: beast monster) for Christmas.

I tip-toed through the conundrum of how to explain to baby boy the fact that I left in the morning only to return with a puppy.  In the interest of the season, I lied.  I told him a co-worker had an emergency and asked me to watch their dog for a couple of days.  My lie ballooned when I told him the puppy hadn't been named; and that we should help my coworker out and pick out a name for the dog.  

Christmas eve, baby boy was greeted with the final present of the evening; a card that told him the truth - the dog was ours - accompanied by a large gift bag that had a dog bed puppy shampoo, a leash and a few dog toys.  
Adopting a rescue dog was foreign to me.  Not only did the adoption agency grill me for a couple of hours, I'm surprised they didn't require finger prints and blood.  I don't blame them for their paranoia; most of their animals had a tough past, and their hearts are invested in the mission of finding these little furry beings with "forever-homes."  

I grew up with dogs, but never in my life have I had a dog affect me in such a powerful way.  Sometimes I feel as though he wants to start blurting out full sentences; there's so much to be said in his hilarious "woofs," and oddball mannerisms.  He's something else....and on top of everything, has an affinity for shoe laces, underwear, and tank-top straps.  If he wasn't so damn cute he'd be back on the streets.  Fer Realz.

Swallowing my sarcasm for a minute; he's the best thing that has happened to me and to baby boy.  He's a puppy brother, snuggling, amazing little fluff ball.  I love him.  He loves us.  I'm forever converted to rescuing animals; it's a spontaneous choice that has forever changed my life.

sidebar:  For as much as I will stand behind rescuing dogs/cats, there is a special place in hell for carnivorous hamsters; #truth.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Woe is NOT me.

My intentions were never to write a "woe is me" tale; so I was caught a bit off guard when I had shared this link with a friend, and he forwardly said "ya know, I'm not going to read your blog because, with the way you described it, it sounds like a sob story."


Setting my damaged ego aside, I feel compelled to clarify my purpose for sharing my odd life with a random and small corner of the interwebs.

I'm biased, yes, but I think my story is quite hilarious.  Sure, some parts are sad, and some posts were written when I was self consumed with insane amounts of hormones that surge through my body one time a month and I become an uncontrollable monster of rage, I digress.  Some stories I look back on, and I truly laugh.  It's funny.  I mean, with all of the different men I've actually crossed paths with, one could almost have enough evidence to slap me across the face if I complain about being single!

I'd safely label the majority of this smallish corner of the web a tale of a person stumbling through life, learning as she goes...but damn, I'd HARDLY consider that a sob story.  The words I choose can be fairly straight forward, sometimes snarky, sometimes funny, sad, or a mixture of all of the above...but I found myself getting offended when someone referred to it as a sob story.

Listen, life isn't always fun, with unicorns shitting rainbows and butterflies.  Life is real.  My life is real.

I've used pseudonyms because I want to be able to freely write without offending someone if they happen to cross this little corner and figure out who I am; although, more than half of the people I've shared this link with, I've done so because I'm not always the greatest at finding my words during conversations, so I clue them in that I've authored this place, and it's a piece of me.

Perhaps I'm more narcissistic than I've ever wanted to admit?  Or perhaps I'm just a girl trying to figure life out with my stumbling moments leading my way?  Meh, fuck it...I'm too damn fried to figure it out right now...and that's just fine by me.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Missing Mark

The call I'd never imagined receiving.  The person on the phone calling, one I would never expect to hear from, which curled the pit of my stomach; what had happened?

The call was to inform me he had killed himself.  My first love.  My only love.  The man I walked away from when my son was about a year and a half because he couldn't get his mental health issues in check; and I would be dammed to expose my son to someone more unstable than me.

We had kept in touch thanks to the power of the internet though not as often as I now wish.  A few occasional emails checking in with each other (however looking back at the emails I never truly said all I had wanted to).  

There was that one phone call I received from him around this time of year three years back; he was panicked, and unstable.  I begged him to go get help, and even though he promised me he would, I know he didn't.  What he wanted was for someone to answer, and I did.  

I had forgotten to tell him my number had changed a year back.  I know it's trivial and pointless to think giving him my new number could have changed his mind...I get that, really, I do.... but god dammit I wish I had remembered to tell him.

Instead I was too wrapped up in me to think of him, and the fucking irony of it all makes my heart weep.  My anger rages through tears that burn my eyes when I think of him.  It's been a little over two months since his life ended, and I still see threads of him in my life constantly.  I've come a long way in those months; with writing as my sole outlet, I couldn't bring myself to sit down and make this entire situation "real" by putting it into words...but it's time.

Maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of his death than I should; he always told me he didn't want to live to be old.  His life outlook was so negative, it was mostly the polar opposite of mine.  I think that's why we were soul mates who happened to become poison when together.  Another irony (which, yes I'm probably using the term "irony" wrong, but he's not here to tell me otherwise).

His death allowed me to see he was actually able to live the years since we physically parted; his friends had kept a close watch on him.  I know he wanted more, but didn't feel he deserved it.  Dammit, I miss him.  I'm beginning to wonder if he's stuck here on earth.  I'm hardly a religious (or even spiritual) person.  Since his death my life was consumed with snakes (he knows I HATE snakes), mice (another thing he knows I hate), and two men I was interested in tell me they were gay.  I guess the joke is on me.

I cherish the days we spent together.  I'm not one to paint rainbows and butterflies on my past with him; because I'll be the first to tell you we were the couple that argued A. LOT.  Reflecting on this relationship made me realize our love was more than the two of us could handle; and not in a sappy, romantic way...but more in a "it was way too heavy, and mature for our immature brains to be able to digest, comprehend and appreciate" kind of way.

He was my Caring Panda, and I was his Sugar Marmot; cheesy pet names, yes, but that's who we were when we were together (and things were good) - cheesy.  We were both goof balls and I know at our core we cherished the authentic goofy sides of each other.

Walking away from him when I did, the only way I coped was for my life to evolve into a chaotic bajillion miles per hour.  Working 40 hours a week (that truthfully totaled 50 hours per week when taking into account lunch hours and commutes), raising a little boy as best as a single girl could, going back to school, the house, the dog, gardening....all of these things had distracted me from how much I actually missed him and us.  I know there have been moments during the years since we parted where I thought about him, and yearned to reconnect; but knowing he hadn't addressed his mental health issues was all I needed to know to stop myself.

Every day I walk to work I pass the building where we met.  I pass the dorm where we spent many nights together, and the hotel he spontaneously rented a room from to surprise me with flowers and a burnt cd filled with slow songs so we could hold each other dancing close.

Have you ever had a person in your life with whom you've decided (both you and the person, collectively) you'll be each other's back-up plan?  You know, when, if you both aren't married by a certain age, you'll marry each other...?  We were each other's back-up plans; and aside from living, and seeking professional help, that was the only other thing he never followed through with.

He was my love, and dammit, I miss him.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Harmony and Hope

Another holiday season is upon me, and I still find myself, Single plus 1.5 (the .5 being the dog)....and I'm ok with that; mostly..

I'm ok I don't have to consult another adult for the majority of my choices.
I'm ok I'm the only adult I truly have to answer to when I make any decision.
I'm ok, really, I am.

Am I happy?  Not necessarily; but I'm not unhappy either.

Much like a blogger friend who had written seven years ago, I'm still filled with hopes and dreams that I'll find a man who will be able to deal with my crazy-self.  A man who will want to be a father figure to my son.  A man who will want to go to sleep next to me, and not be afraid when I have crazy, irrational, over-analytic mood swings.

Statistically, he has to be out there, right?

I'm thinking tonight I need to scroll my own sharpie prophecy.  Aside from a love partner, I want harmony around me.  I've seen sides of humanity that are exclusionary and snobby; but also sides of humanity that are brilliant, graceful, and a way I would strive to live.  These sides of humanity I've seen rear themselves within the course of a week.

I've had to protect my son from the ugly sides of humanity; through purposefully removing myself from a "family" gathering (the term family used lightly because, although we might be blood-related, I don't define family as people who are arrogant and off putting towards me, I digress).  I don't believe I'm the only person who feels as though they have absolutely nothing in common with the majority of their family; it never ceases to perplex me, but as much as I want to know "why" I would rather spend my time and energy with my friends (the people who I believe are my true family).

I've also exposed my son to sides of humanity that are so inspiring I can't really find the right words to describe how inspiring and uplifting it is.  People who have lived life regardless of impending tragedy, with an insane amount of grace, poise and humor.

Sitting in our living room on a Saturday night, my son is recording goofy videos on his Kindle, my dog is running around the living room trying to talk someone into playing with him.  My son's giggles would make anyone smile.  His soul is pure, and I'm terrified every single day that I'm going to taint him; mess him up and fail to be the best that I can be for him.

All while this heart-warming chaos unfolds, here I sit.  Pouring my heart into my computer because it's my outlet; one that I don't use quite as often as I should.

The glow of the holiday lights surround me, trying to convince me that the holidays can be peaceful and joyful when my extended family life is an absolute mess.  For the shortest moments the twinkle that surrounds me tempts me to forget about the addicts

As I crawl under the cold sheets tonight, I've still not lost hope.  Hope I will find my partner to fill the large void in my life, and hope that harmony is close to becoming my reality.