The Trials of Becoming an Adult

I realize that I have been on an exceedingly long hiatus, and for that I am sorry. Honestly, it feels like I have had no reason to not post. I really should have been. This year had not been incredibly difficult, nor has there been trials such as last year, (namely my grandfather dying, my dog dying, my car exploding, and a once good friend showing her true colors).

But I have not posted recently. In a few months, I will have had a full year away from my blog that I dearly love. There is something comforting about getting online and seeing so many views, knowing that someone stumbled across my humble work and laughed at how ridiculous I am, or how silly my friends are.

While I cannot pinpoint why I took such a long hiatus, I can attest that the above incidents in my life did effect me in a great, and very painful way. I don't know who wouldn't be effected by the death of a loved one. The realistic part of me says, "He was almost ninety years old," and that means that I should therefore be able to get over the loss of my grandfather. But the reality is that no matter how much I try to reason away feelings, I am a very emotional person and his passing has left is mark on me.

Losing my dog had also left a lasting impression, mostly because of my lack, my mother's lack, and Adam lack of ability to do anything for this furry creature we loved so unconditionally and who loved us back in the same way. It's hard to say that we could have paid to have this huge tumor removed from his stomach, but that meant the difference between making Cooper better and paying bills, buying groceries, getting gas. We loved our stinky, black dog who was afraid of new people and little dogs. We couldn't make him better, and watching him whither away to the point where he couldn't stand on his own still saddens me.

My friend, or I suppose former friend, turning on me like she did has left a lasting impression. I have questioned myself, wondering why I picked Regina as a friend that I left stick around like I did. Basically I came to the conclusion that my own personality; my inability to give up things I feel passionately about and my loyalty to my friends and family was my greatest weakness with Regina. I loved and card about her so much that I was willing to look past her anger and bitterness. I was willing to simply allow her to treat me like I was less because of how much I had come to live and care for her. And it hurt me so much to not only give up on our friendship, but to recognize that no matter how much I want to be right about someone, I am simply not always right.

Now these are most of the depressing things, but there have been many good things. Ambria and I living in our apartment has gone splendidly well, and that probably had been part of the hiatus. We are able to hang out with each other, plan things to do together, and basically have a greater companionship than even that of our highschool days. Without having my alone time that was usual in the studio, I find myself not shutting people or opportunities down. Instead of seeking my solitude, I have someone to hang with, and that makes blogging slightly harder. (Not that it's bad, I just need to make real, good time for myself and my writing pursuits.)

Besides having a wonderful friend and roommate, I also have met a wonderful guy. And yes, I do give him a lot of my time. But it's because I genuinely care about him and feel like it is necessary for him to know how much I appreciate his calm, gentle and living presence. Honestly, I can see myself being with him for years and years. And while the adults in my life have given me the life lesson to not assume someone will be your forever, I hope Ethan won't ever break my heart.

I have also gotten a new job working in a lab, which is something i think I want to do. It's a great internship, and while the past isn't amazing, I am learning so much that I simply haven't learned in any classroom. Some of the work is tedious, but every new experiment had been something new and interesting for me to learn, and it has definitely kept me busy.

Another big change recently has been an addition to move and Ambria's furry family. We adopted a new kitten, who had been keeping mine, Ambria's, and Nubs' hands full. Besides Nubs love/hate relationship with Shakira, Ambria and I have been having to make sure the two cats don't actually injure each other in a scratch fest of epic proportions.

So, in total, those are some of the things that's been keeping me busy. And while I will concede that none of those things are actually the sole responsible reason, they have all been playing a role in me ignoring my duties as a writer.

My vow is to do better. I won't be promising a post a week, but I am going to try to at least post biweekly. Maybe my New Years goal will be to post weekly, but for now, I think I won't hold myself up to such a high standard.

(Half of my trepidation has been fear of letting down my readers, so please don't hate me for the long silence. It's not that I didn't want to write, it's just that I have felt unable to provide work that could be up to par. I will be posting again, and soon. And yes, at least one post will be about the magic of manatees.)

The Mayor of Wentzville

When I was in elementary school, I went to a multitude of assemblies. I once went to an assembly where this guy dressed as Ronald McDonald acted out a twisted version of Little Red Riding Hood. I still don't know why he was dressed as Ronald McDonald, nor where the Hamburgler was, but I remember it clearly.

One assembly that held almost no meaning for me, but I still remember was one I attended in second grade.

There are a few reasons I remember this assembly. The first was that my teacher, Mrs. Smith had just went on maternity leave. We went from having this little plump, brown haired woman to this tall blond woman with a strong jaw and short, spiky hair. I remember I once asked her if she played football because of her wide shoulders.

The second reason I remember this assembly is because our class was almost in the front row, right in front of the stage. The stage was sort of this sacred place in my head. Only the girls in gymnastics were ever allowed up there, and in second grade I was way too short to climb up on the stage myself. So you either had to be cool enough, (and have parents rich enough) to be in gymnastics, or be tall enough, (which was another sign of the ultimate coolness) to climb up on the stage.

(As a side note, in fourth grade I actually got to be on the stage for the Christmas Pageant when my music class got to sing. I thought it was very cool. It was only a few months after that that the music teacher was arrested as being a child molester.)

Anyways, I was sitting with my class at the foot of the stage, looking up, waiting for the grand entrance of who knew. The kids in the bleachers were stomp-stomp-clapping their impatience, when finally the curtains were pulled aside and this short white woman with short red and brown hair in a purple pant suit trimmed in gold came out on stage. Her shoes were high heeled and pointy and her teeth were incredibly white. She waved that "I'm famous, please cheer" wave as she walked from the left to the right of the stage and then back to the center where microphone, the American flag and the Missouri flag were positioned.

She was (apparently) the Mayor of Wentzville.

Now she may have told us kids many great lessons that day, but I only remember one. Here was her story:

"I went to a department store one, you know?" She said that a lot, 'you know?' I don't know why we would have. We were ages five to eleven. "Well at the department store, I was trying on things, hats and shirts and scarves, you know? Well I couldn't find anything I liked. You know how that is. So, I left, but I left without knowing that I had..." And she paused for dramatic effect, bending forward slightly and looking all across the gymnasium turned auditorium, "A sticker on the back of my head!" And then she laughed, all high pitched like. She tossed back her head and shook the spikes like she actually had long hair.

"So I walked around the other stores on the strip," when she said this, several kids giggled, "with this sticker on the back of my head, you know?" She proceeded to shake her head from side to side like she was truly embarrassed by this whole ordeal. I didn't see where the story was going, so I started playing with my shoe laces.

"I am walking around, looking in stores, and people are looking at me like I am so crazy, you know? I have this sticker on my head, stuck in my hair, and they see it, you know? And no one stops to tell me. What does that make those people? Mean!" She pointed her first finger at the roof and the stage curtains, placing her hand and microphone on her hip. Some kids nodded, of course those people were mean for not telling her.

"And I probably would have gone the whole day with with sticker on my head until this nice old man came up. And you know what he said?" Nobody said anything. This was obviously the punch line. It was going to uproariously funny, we all just knew it. The Mayor was obviously a funny lady with her hair and her purple suit and her pointy shoes.

"Well he said, 'Ma'am, you've got a sticker in your hair.'" And she nodded. And she looked around at all of us kids, he face reading something like, You know?

"So you see kids, that is why you should always tell someone if something is wrong with them." She smiled and nodded again, and we all clapped. She was obviously some kind of manners prophet, I was just missing it.

"Don't forget to tell your parents to vote for me in the next election!" She waved some more, and smiled with her large white teeth, and exited stage right.

I went home that night, and when my mom and dad asked me what happened at school, I told them with a great amount gusto, "This lady came to our school. She had sticker stuck in her hair, and this old man told her that it was stuck in her hair. That's how you become a good person."

Eric Wants to Eat a Placenta

So, when I met Boyfriend at Beerfest, Ambria also met a boy. His name was Eric. He was a nice enough kid, and other than the buttchin, he was alright to look at, too. After Beerfest, (I am just skipping over that whole drunken night for the moment) I started dating Boyfriend, and Ambria started dating Eric.

(On a completely separate note, Ambria and I have never actually dated people at the same time. We excitedly planned to have a few double dates. I obviously liked Boyfriend, and she seemed smitten with Eric.)

We went to one of Ambria and mine's favorite places first, Mission: Taco. It was fun, and the boys seemed alright hanging out with each other. A few weeks later, we decided to go to another local favorite, Anthonino's.

We sat down for our meal, beers in hand, and started chatting about mundane things. After seriously looking at the menu, Eric said something about the lasagna. He wasn't ordering it, but he said he, "had a funny story."

We ordered our food from the waitress, and then began the beginning of the end for Eric with the Buttchin.

"So have you guys ever thought about eating a placenta?" He begins.

"What?" Ambria and I ask. Ethan sort of just squinted.

"Well I read about this thing where you can eat a placenta. And the recipe I found was for a lasagna. I just always wanted to try it, you know?"

"No..." I deadpanned.

"Well when Dana was having Greyson, I asked, you know? But she said no."

"Did she really?" Ambria asked with more than a touch of sarcasm that seemed lost on Eric.

"Yeah, I guess she didn't think it would be cool, since Greyson isn't mine and all. Sabastian probably could have gotten it, but oh well."

We continued looking at him, not even in mock horror. Just the plain, abject variety.

Later, after dinner was done, (and a hasty topic change), I asked Boyfriend if he wanted to eat a placenta lasagna.

"Oh, god, no."

"Oh, good. I thought I was going to have to break up with you."

Moving Up

Ambria and I got a new apartment.

It looks like this:

 This is a pantry. In the kitchen.

This is the kitchen, where the pantry can be found, to the left.

This is a bedroom. Mine, I think, but of course it is hard to tell.

This is the same bedroom, looking all dandy and fine.

This is the closet in the bathroom. It holds stuff like shampoo and seventeen boxes of tampons. You never want to run out of tampons.

This is the bathroom. Again the closet is to the left.

This is a closet in one of the bedrooms.

This is the other closet in the other bedroom.

This is Ambria's bedroom. You can tell by that forty five degree angled wall. It's such an awkward wall.

Hey look! It's yet another closet.

This is the view from that weird awkward wall.

And this is the view if you walk out of the closet. There is no reason to stand in the closet, but that is what I did for this spectacular picture.

What you didn't get to see is that we have a living room! We have a coffee table that my dad made. It's really sturdy.

That is my beautiful, 64lbs doggy. On my really sturdy table.

We also have a dining room. I don't have a good picture of that though. So instead here is a picture of this weird thing I found on my way to my car from work.

I have no idea what it is.

This is the face Dash (right) made when I told him I was moving.

This is the face Cat/Nubs made when we got to the new place.

This was Nubs when I told her we were moving.

This is me when I was attempting to pack. Obviously I was failing miserably.

More pictures of me attempting to pack.

This was full of clothes. I packed four of these bins and still had clothes.

These were some of my shoes. I packed them in a suitcase because I thought it would be easier to transport.

This is me with a spider on my head. It was after I packed but hadn't quite moved. I was a little slap happy.

After all of the looking and searching for an apartment, and then the actual finding of said apartment and signing the lease and whatever, we actually had to move. Which as two little skinny girls, we weren't all that well equipped to move. Thankfully I had Boyfriend. And Boyfriend had two eighteen year old twin brothers.

They helped me move all my stuff, plus the new rug and couch my dad and Sharon bought me. Basically they were super awesome.

And then the next weekend Ambria's step-dad and uncle helped her move. And then we were moved in.

Now that we are here, we've started making it our own. We got a painting of a tiger. We named him Joseph. And we got a painting of this creepy ginger boy with a broom. Ambria got a new comforter, and we got new orange and pink towels to match our bathroom. All in all, it's been a little adventure.

The toilet has clogged twice already for no apparent reason. And the hot water is really fucking hot. Like hotter than hell on fire in a boiling pot and shot with lasers.

But the fixer people are usually prompt, and we don't usually see anyone that lives under us ever except for the Basement Troll. And Nubsy seems to be enjoying herself with the increased space and all of the windows to look out of. And I am definitely liking being back in the city.

Bruce Willis is My Kryptonite

Boyfriend got me sick about a week ago. Now, it wasn't a horrible kind of sick, I wasn't puking my guts out, but I did have that gross joint pain that I associate with all sickness and agony.

Naturally I went to the local grocery store down the street and got myself Nyquil. I knew from many past experiences that joint pain coupled with a stuffy nose that would not stop running would lead to me not being able to sleep. And I like my sleep.

Boyfriend, feeling horrible for transmitting what I assumed was the Black Plague, came over to try and comfort me in my dying hours. I took a double dose of Nyquil, and calmly asked for him to find a Bruce Willis movie on Netflix.

"What?"

"You know, he is normally bald and plays in like action trash movies, but because he is the star, they are kind of classy?"

"I know who Bruce Willis is. Don't you want to watch a nice movie? Like, I don't know, The Sound of Music?"

I looked at him like he had grown a penis out of his forehead, (which, ladies, while that might be gross, it could also be...useful) and just crossed my arms.

"Bruce Willis puts me to sleep." I didn't feel that there needed to be much more of an explanation than that, but he felt very differently.

I have never seen the entire Live Free or Die Hard movie. I actually had no idea until about a year ago when I caught the tail end of the movie that anything exciting ever happened in the movie. I, of course, had some assumptions, but it wasn't until I came home one day, when FX was on and it was the end of the movie that I got to see the fireball of doom that became the highway in LFoDH, and all of the extra nonsense that comes with a Bruce Willis movie.

I have no idea what happened in Surrogates. I even bought a ticket to see the movie in theatres, and fell asleep about a third of the way in.

My dad and Sharon rented Looper. I have no idea what happened. Partially because I fell asleep, but also because time travel is a bitch.

I fell asleep almost the minute that Bruce Willis came on in Pulp Fiction. I woke up around the time that he got away with stealing all that money after some fight. (This is all information I gleaned from my step brother Nathaniel who loves Pulp Fiction.)

I literally have no idea what happened in The Fifth Element. I usually fall asleep right after he starts flying that car around with the weird ginger girl.

Moonrise Kingdom put me right to sleep. I think the movie was supposedly good, (Nathaniel and Sharon said so) but I woke up around the time of the storm and was forever lost.

And this is why I always want a Bruce Willis movie on when I am sick. While Mother believes that it has to do with movie violence soothing my inner beast, I know that there is just something about Bruce Willis that is incredibly calming, even if he is blowing shit up, shooting someone in the face, or trying to romance a lady. I will admit that I am secretly afraid that if I do ever meet Bruce Willis, I will simply fall into a coma.

Horribly Neglectful, I Know

So, I haven't posted in a while, (no, I don't know how long because I want to live in denial and pretend it has only been a few weeks, when in reality I think it has actually been three months or something).

I am deeply sorry. I am a useless human being, but I have several good, (and possibly astounding) reasons!

The first would be that I didn't have internet for a long time. "How long?" you ask? Well, I have somewhere near fifty shows in my Hulu queue that need to be watched and are dangerously close to expiring. And I love my television shows.

The second reason: I got myself a boyfriend. Yes, you read that right. A real deal boyfriend. Now I realize that Boyfriend should not take away from my duties as a kind hearted blogger with a potty mouth, but he sort of did. He is very pretty though, so hopefully you all can understand? Here is a picture of Boyfriend.

Ignore me, looking drunk as fuck. Because I was. This was at my Uncle's Beerfest. And my great pick up line to Ethan? "Hey, so do you wanna, like, make-out?"

A third reason I have been incredibly absent? I moved! To a new apartment! With my kitty in tow. And I have a roommate. Only my bestest friend ever, Miss Ambria. Here is a picture proving why we needed to move in together:

See, yet another match made in heaven.

So, yes, there have been a few good reasons for not posting recently. But to make amends, tonight I am going to ignore Boyfriend, Ambria, and Nubs, (that would be the cat formerly known as Cat) and write and schedule some posts that I think everyone will be highly amused by. Just so you all know what is coming, upcoming topics with cover Bruce Willis, my first kiss, talking to the HP tech support, an actual detailed account of moving, more interesting things about Boyfriend, meeting the Mayor of Wentzville, and a very serious discussion about a placenta lasagna.

So stay tuned!

The First Failed Attempt to Euthanize Cooper

I have been avoiding writing this post since last Thursday. Mostly because it makes me sad, partially because I know when my mother reads this, (as she undoubtedly will) she will be very sad, and partially because I wanted to make sure I had enough time to really be able to get the point across of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation at hand.

My dog Cooper was found as a pup by a rescue agency on the side of the road. After three months or so, he still hadn't been adopted. One last ditch effort found Cooper at a Petsmart in Chesterfield Valley, where my recently divorced mother, my little brother and I happened to be passing through on our way to our Aunt Tracy's. We went into the Petsmart on a whim, not really expecting to find a dog, but there he was: all long legs and scared eyes and his tail tucked under. He came over and put his head between Mom's legs and we were sold... or he was sold, to us.

Nine years later, we still had our long legged, scared eyed, tail tucked under Cooper. He had gone from being a skinny little boy to a fat happy boy that loved squeaky toys, pineapple-pepperoni pizza, and bananas. We adored Cooper, and he was in puppy love with all of us.

It was only in the past few months that he seemed different. His usual routine, (because he was a very regimented dog) was to eat a mountain of food in the morning, and then again at supper time. Then he stopped eating as much, and then altogether.

We tried changing his food, finding softer foods, only giving him things he liked, but after three months he had lost almost forty pounds. He looked emaciated, with his ribs poking out and his spine visible all the way down his back. Even the fat on his skull had begun to diminish leaving his brow ridge protruding like a cave-dog's.

We finally agreed that it was time to put him to sleep when he stopped drinking water for two days. He couldn't get upstairs, he wasn't eating, his breathing was even labored.

Mom and I waited for Adam to get home, then we dragged him out from under the table, (since he couldn't even get up from that) and loaded him in the car, taking him to the vet's office. They put us in a special room, (forever seared in my mind as the Killing Room) and took Cooper away to put in a catheter. This was apparently going to help making the euthanasia get delivered faster. This was an incorrect assumption.

They brought Cooper back with a red armband on and asked us if we wanted some time with him. Part of me wanted to snap, "No, we've had nine years, Jesus Christ, we are here, this is really horrible, we don't need more time, we need to get this over with or I am going to fall into a million little tiny glass pieces, which for that stupid question, I hope you step on and get tetanus."

Instead I just shook my head and said, "You can send the vet in." For whatever reason I was making the decisions for the whole group. Mom was crying too much to talk, and Adam I think didn't want to be the bad guy saying, "Put this animal DOWN!"

Anywhose, the vet came in and then proceeded to explain how 'this' was all going to work. Apparently it wasn't going to be that peaceful. He was going to first get really confused, look around, then 'fall asleep.'

Here is instead what happened.

The vet took Cooper's skinny little arm and pushed the needle in. She started to depress the nozzle thing at the end, then said, "Oh, hum?" She then pressed harder.

And the pink shit exploded EVERYWHERE.

"Oh, my," she said, pulling the needle out. "I think this catheter is all clogged up. We are going to need to put in a new one."

"What, why?" I said.

Cooper was so incredibly dehydrated that his blood had actually clogged the catheter to the point of no return. I was almost like, "Fuck this we are taking him home." I mean, the euthanasia failed! That was a sign, right? It meant he was going to get better, he was going to start eating and feeling healthy and playing with his toys again, right?

Well, no, that it not what any of that meant. It really meant that he was just dying in his own way, and we humans were going to speed up the process by a few days, maybe a week.

So she took Cooper away and brought him back a few minutes later with a yellow and green armband on, assuring us that, "This one was flowing good."

Attempt number two was the one that did the trick. (Third time is not the charm).

She injected the stuff, and before she had gotten in even a third of it, he swung his head around once and then toppled over dead. His eyes didn't even close.

I wanted to get out of the room immediately. He was dead, therefore he wasn't Cooper anymore. It was just his body, his worn out, half starved body. And his eyes were still opened. I was done.

But the vet wanted to talk, and she tried to say nice things like, "If you guys need some time with him."

Oh, my God, it's not him anymore, please leave so that we can leave.

Finally she left, and I scooped up Cooper's collar and leash and left the hospital.

I was sad, heart-broken. And all I could see was his dead body in my mind. It was horrible, and mom was upset and I was upset.

Mom needed hugs, and I was willing to give her them, but my own grief has been and probably will always be to not be held while I cry. Instead I like to chew on a knuckle while I wait for my quiet sobbing to pass while I look out the window.

So I hugged mom while she cried, walked over to the car and did just that.

Adam drove us home, and I put on clean clothes and went to work with swollen eyes and a sore throat.

And that was the end of our little Cooper dog, who was a little bit like a live action Courage the Cowardly Dog.

Cooper: Horribly Unphotogenic, but Dearly Loved.