New Job, New Vow

I'm hoping to Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis.  

The past year has been one of...well...TONS OF LOSS.  And now this is my second character recently who is dealing with...well...TONS OF LOSS.

And I'm hoping to  figure out how I can move on and through this world either carrying this loss in a wee bindle--hobo style.  Or just plain chucking it.

And hopefully Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis.  And see who I become.

And blog every day.  Even if it's bindle style.

Here's a Suggestion

Have a bottle of wine but no corkscrew?  Here's a suggestion.

Place it in the freezer and forget about it for 12 hours.  The freezing and expansion of the water molecules during the phase transition will thrust that pesky cork right from the bottle.


Or...you can be like me and forget you put the bottle of cheap-ass white in the freezer, fall asleep and wake up the next day to a winesicle.  Whichever.  The cork is out and the wine is cold.  

You're welcome.

The Little Dog

I have a little dog.  I think I've made that clear in a few previous posts.

An adorable little dog.

A stupid little dog.

Who is trying REALLY hard.

We arrived in Ithaca a day earlier than necessary for a job so I could acclimate him.  Left him alone a couple of times.   Brought his crate, his fav bed, fav food, fav treats and ALL his toys.

He seemed okay.

I came home for lunch the first day of work to find him pushing through the window screen to greet me by LEAPING into my arms, whacked out of his mind.

Whose dog is this?

I enter my apartment with the wriggling mass of dogmanity to find crumbs all over the floor.  Seems the little dog who NEVER climbs on furniture in the great city of NY found it appropriate here and discovered a brownie I'd missed in my welcome basket sitting on the kitchen table.

Quick:  google brownie.  Could be okay.  It's definitely not dark chocolate, it wasn't a FULL ON chocolate brownie.  He hadn't eaten ALL of it.

Maybe it's just a sugar high.

Walked him.  Walked him far.  Went to rehearsal and had company management check on him.  Fine and happy.  A ginormous chocolate poop later, and he was pawsome once more.

I came home for lunch the second day of work to find him sampling half the contents of the refrigerator.  Seems the seal on the refrigerator door was faulty.  Who knew?


The stupid little dog...


The cheddar cheese wasn't too disturbing other than the sheer quantity. 

In fact it was impressive.

What WAS disturbing were these...

\

The dreaded grapes.

For some dogs, not all, the only thing more deadly is antifreeze.  ANTIFREEZE.  You don't know if your dog is SOME dog until he is in acute renal failure.  Of those who go into acute renal failure, only 40% survive.  Of the 40% who survive, only 40% become their doggy selves again.  That was a 16% chance Baxie would ever be Baxie again.

Holy crapdoodles.

I run around town trying to find hydrogen peroxide to make him throw up.  That seemingly takes hours since I don't know the town, there are 1,001 one way streets, I go to the rehearsal hall to see if they have it, they don't so they give me directions to a CVS that I burst into, dog in tow, Shirley MacLaine-ing, "Don't give me any shit.  My dog is sick."

And then, lo and behold, it doesn't act as an emetic on him.  He kinda digs it. 

Holy crapdoodles.

Finally too many hours later we are at the vet, under the recommendation of brilliant company management and the company of the soul woman herself (I really try not to use proper names here.).  They take Baxie away.  They bring him back.  I think he's home free and they explain just how bad this could be. How late I am.  How long it will take.

Three days.  Three days of throw up, charcoal to clean out his system and intravenous fluids every few hours to give him a chance.

Holy crapdoodles.

The little dog and I haven't been separated for more than 16 consecutive hours.  In five months.  And that was so I could do a show and have uninterrupted adult relations.  And he was with someone he loved.  Not strangers.

Baxter took it like a champ, although I did hear his requisite WTF screaming as I put a down payment on what ended up being a two paycheck bill (so much better than it could have been). 

My WTF screaming didn't happen 'til I got home.  Implosion.  Followed by a bolshoya tokan vodka.  Followed by wandering around wondering why my fuzz face friend wasn't at my heels.

Little known fact:  I got the stupid little dog to replace my mother.  'Struth.  (But he doesn't criticize my hair, which is a good thing.)  I got the stupid little dog because we were both orphans and I thought we could raise one another. (I realized within a day someone had to captain the ship and it better be me.)

I got the stupid little dog so I wouldn't MISS so desperately.

Holy crapdoodles, that backfired, didn't it?

72 hours couldn't move fast enough.  I don't think the vodka, Peanut M&M diet helped much.

Weeks later, he's healthy and happy, if exhibiting a little more separation anxiety than when we left home.  He's friendlier with other dogs and people and kids.  He plays ball and we chase rabbits and squirrels, chipmunks and deer. We went kayaking the other day.

Every once in a while I still find charcoal in his beard.  

I have a new refrigerator door.

I no longer eat grapes.

We're both trying REALLY hard.

  

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You

A post. An actual post.  I promise a REAL post.


The NaNa Mother's Day story was a whopper and took a lot out of me.  And I was also stupidly proud of it and felt it was some of the best writing I've ever done.  


So I had to let it sit.


BUT I'M COMING BACKKKKKKKKKK!

HDMD +1

Well, kittens, it wasn't too bad.  Okay, I did have a complete breakdown while onstage.  I do not recommend singing, 


"I had to learn how a heart can yearn, how tears can burn, 
With no one to turn to.
I know now that I can't forget--I can't for I don't know how.
I guess I never knew how I needed you.  But sweetheart I know now."


while celebrating Dead Mother's Day.  But they pay me, so I must.


I fully admit to speaking the last two lines...vocal malfunction due to copious snot caused by tear overflow.


The two show day was followed by a four drink night.


Today I feel special.


I thank all of you for taking care of me and going to Elephant Journal and meeting the Nana Lady.  She was a pisser and I miss her to the bone.


But today the little dog has a bad belly.  Me too.  Wait, did he have a four drink night too?


Baxter, you've got some 'splaining to do.


So, on HDMD +1 I take care of the little dog with the bad belly.  


Wet doggy kisses to all of you.

HAPPY DEAD MOTHER'S DAY

My inbox bursts with solicitations for Mother’s Day.

“Treat Mom: Wine & Norman Love Chocolates,” “FTD.com Half Off Flower & Gifts for Mom,” “Loft Celebrates Moms,”

and the kicker:

“Let Me Be Your Mommy.” (Wait…what?).

I currently call it “Dead Mother’s Day.”

I think it surprises people when I say dead or died, as opposed to passed or past. Or my least favorite…moved on.

Mary: “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

TiZ: “What was?”

Mary: “Talking about Mother’s Day.”

TiZ: “Why?  Because my mom is dead?”

Mary: “A friend of mine found it difficult after her mother moved on.”

TiZ: “Oh, well, mine didn’t move. She died.”

Read more at Elephant Journal... 

AAAAAAAAH!

I'll be back soon.

Promise

(Okay, maybe there are some fingers crossed behind my back.)

((Okay, not really.))

Silence

It makes me laugh that my last post was "Apologies come in many forms. Silence is not one of them."

And then I am silent for weeks on end...at least here in Blogsville.

Just going through some profound stuff. Hugely profound and I'm stepping on and tripping over myself every step of the way.

And stepping on and tripping over the 11 pound wonderdog that happened into my life.

My mom is dead and the family manse is being torn apart and put back together again and shined up and sold. And it can be difficult to see objects that are part of some of your favorite memories go live somewhere else...home with you, with beloved friends, with strangers, to Goodwill or (gulp) the dumpster.

My childhood piano on which I learned to play the score to "Wonderful Town" was found to have mold. As far as I'm concerned it's gone to a lovely farm in the country where it can play with other misfit instruments.

Denial. This is how I get through the day.

Denial and lots of love.

apologies

Apologies come in many forms but silence is not one of them.

--Christianne Tisdale

Fearless

I can't imbed. Please travel to

Rasta Magee....

Sums It Up

Happy St. Rusty's Day

Mohamed Adel

Valentine’s Day = no celebration for me.

That’s when all the loonies come out to play. And St. Valentine was beaten to death and then beheaded. What’s to celebrate?

Plus, I’m 48, I’m single, unemployed and I don’t have a dog.* Pretty much rock bottom.

My rock bottom is comparatively pretty shiny. I live in the best city in the world. I have a rent-stabilized apartment, a membership to New York Sports Club (where I can watch 80s pop video) and I’m not going to go hungry any time soon. But once I realized I was deep in the dirt, I decided to slow on down and pick away at the nuggets for a while,

Read more at Elephant Journal

More Lessons Learned

Do take dog to the vet when he itches.

Dogs are far more pleasant when they're far less itchy.

Sometimes underdogs can be the best behaved at the vet.

Do not pet dog while you're canoodling just to get said dog to shut up.

Do not allow dog to create a den for himself on your couch.

Do keep an eagle eye on dog when walking on your street if your street has a middle school where children just drop pretzels all over the sidewalk. A developing nation could be fed from the refuse on my block.

Do brush dog with hair every day.

Do keep dog on the skinny side.

Do keep some fiber in both your and dog's diet.

Do your best to never ever ever witness anal expression. Dog's that is...

Sleepy Metronorth Dog

Lessons Learned

Do NOT try and put Baxter's Sherlock Holmes coat on when we're both half asleep.

Do NOT accidentally brush his butt where the scab is healing.

Do NOT buy a carrier bag that he can't burrow into like a dog cave.

Do NOT deal with the scab healing on his face IN HIS DOG CAVE.

Do NOT believe your apartment is clean. Baxter, at least, is a walking lint brush.

Do NOT play with Baxter within ten minutes of leaving the apartment. Baxter will cry his little heart out and upset Billy the Dog two floors down.

DO let him meet men on his own time.

DO keep his harness on him when a man first walks in the apartment so you can walk him easily into another room.

If you DO work a matt slowly with your fingers, you can get it out.

DO say good boy more than ever possibly imagined.

Dogs are kind people magnets. At least on my block

Bill Berloni is right about everything all the time.

Sister Bertrille

The Flying Nun

Baxter Day

He is home...and had an eventful day. He said goodbye to his friends at The Humane Society, Bonnie and Lowell...which actually made me weep.

He was friendly with a stranger...not a part of his M.O.

He had a rough time walking away from his home at the HSC...but we went a block, had a pee and a poo and jumped in a taxi. We got out across the street from my apartment and established our "Hurry up" walking route. Seems rescues especially need this...a recreated, consistent walk for a while so they can stop being in alert mode all the time.

The look on his face as he climbed the 4 flights to my apartment was priceless. Kinda like when I heard my dressing room was on the 7th floor.

I kept him on his lead as I introduced him to his new home...the mountain aerie rabbit warren. Even after all my cleaning, he found something on the floor to eat...our first confrontation and apology.

The one smart thing I did was put his bed under my dresser. It makes a nice little cave for him, and he feels safe. (Aka, his crate hasn't arrived yet.)

He jumped into his carrier twice. I'm thinking he's not going to love it. But I'm going to give him the opportunity to witness his friend George loving his. If he doesn't follow suit, back it goes.

He actually let me brush him.

I did two outings without him. The first for five minutes, the second for an hour. I slipped out. I tried to slip back in unnoticed, but he was waiting at the door. No barking. No chewing (other than himself most likely). No peeing. PAWSOME. I have no interest in creating a separation anxiety dog.

That being said, when we weren't playing fetch or going for walks, he either slept in his bed or on the sofa cradled by me. Bill told me he would be exhausted. Probably for a couple of days.

I have such mixed emotions...I'm sick that he showed up at THS after living with his family for almost 4 years. I'm sick he has a skin infection.

But without those, he wouldn't be mine.

And I wouldn't get to see him chase a toy with his ears flying out looking like Sister Bertrille.

BC4

One more visit...where Baxter tried to take a bullet for me...the bullet being a strange woman who entered the room as Baxter sat in my lap. Little did I know she was completely new to Baxter until he started barking his fool head off. Lesson learned. Baxter meets NO ONE while sitting in my lap. We had to leave the room. They were surprised when I brought him back saying, "Okay, let's see if you can tolerate the nice lady now." He did. He sniffed her and looked at me like, "Okay...done. Can we move on? "

He got a new toy, a cashmere sweater that smelled embarrassingly like me and an hour and three quarters of play time. (These were not rewards. These were pre. His reward for behaving well was lots of "good boys.")

Yesterday his bed, collar and assloads of dog food were purchased. Today even more things come up off the floor and I decide whether he'll be eating and drinking out of my stuff or gets his own Baxter bowls. I'll try and sleep with his bed tonight so it gets some eau de Tizzy.

I'm also trying to get one extra visit in today but The Humane Society is overloaded. It is fantastic that they are so revered and trusted, yet it's heartbreaking that more and more animals are being given up or abandoned.

And I'm realizing this is not a well-written blog post. It's more a blah post. But my show is closing today, I gave myself food poisoning the other day, I have shin splints and there's oodles to do.

So...blah.

BD-2. So excited I could piddle.

CT

has to write this like a FB status update because first person singular and owning it would be too much to bear.

You know the world has become quite intimate when one of CT's local homeless people is tucked away in his blanket in the subway station, wishes her goodnight like a sleepy child and she looks him in the eye and responds, "Good night, sweetheart."

Everyone was someone's sweetheart in some way, shape or form at some time.

A good thing to remember.

And CT remembers a dear old beau who yelled at the guy pissing on their steps, and then took him in, let him shower and washed his clothes.

Everyone deserves clean clothes.

And sometimes this is all too much to bear. And CT has shin splints. Which is nothing compared to sleeping in a blanket in the subway station.

BC3

I obviously can't do math, because yesterday was BD-6.

BD-5 is where I learn not to throw crap on the floor. Honestly, I live my life throwing everything on the floor. It runs the gamut from dirty underwear to mail to purses to change to curling irons.

Baxter is beautifully trained (despite the poor pee aim) and respectful, but...you know...

A dog's a dog.

And I've waited sooooooooo long for one, I'm cleaning as if my mother-in-law were coming for a visit.

If I had a mother-in-law.

And had to wear the cone of shame.