Apolitical Intercourse

Okey dokey...

I rarely talk about politics.  I rarely write of politics.  I stay away from most political intercourse.  If I indulge with most Democrat friends then it's preaching to the choir...and Republican bashing. See...look...you're like me...we both hate them.  La La La. (Of course there are exceptions, and those are cherished.)

If I indulge with most Republican friends, I'm well aware I cannot sway them.  Most of my friends are intelligent creatures, well-educated, and have made informed decisions that work for them.  I'll ask them questions about how they arrived at those conclusions.  I rarely agree but I will listen.

For those with whom I indulge who are not intelligent, well-informed creatures, I'm well aware I cannot sway them.  It's not cool to be persuaded.  It's not cool to change your stance.  Especially in public.  Weak, weak, weak in the majority of this nation's eyes.

Oy.

Hate me.  I know this will not be a popular sentiment among most of my friends.  I think Mitt Romney actually did a good job last night.  A successful infomercial.  His warmongering finale was bizarre, but it followed a quiet, gentle plea to swing voters that I fear was quite effective.  Not to me. But he wasn't talking to me.  I'm an Obama Mama. I'm a "pro-choice, marriage for all, universal healthcare, caring for the health of the universe, a teensy bit of socialism never hurt anyone" vixen. (That's just a little too long to be an effective moniker, right?  I'll work on it.)

He wasn't talking to me.  It would have been bizarre and not at all cost-effective for him to talk to me.  

We're all strange bedfellows.  Get used to it.  If you're a Republican, what the hell, go ask your Democrat friends how they got that way. If you're a Democrat, hey hey hey, go on and ask your Republican friends how they got that way.  If you're a swinger who watched the RNC, whoah, don't stop there.  Watch the DNC next week.  Maybe we'll give you something as sadly strange as Clint Eastwood.*

And if you're a Democrat, don't get too comfortable. Especially if you're in a swing state.  You're not going to change anyone on FaceBook.  Get your ass and your mouth to a phone bank and work it.

Okey dokey.  That's my quiet, gentle plea. 







*Oh, that was too easy.  I promised I wouldn't do it.  There...I done did it.

THIS

has become my new favorite quote.  I don't know for how long.  I do know how come...

Creativity can be described as letting go of certainties. - Gail Sheehy

Letting go of certainties.  Surrendering to the unknown.

I'm uncertain, but it just may remain my favorite quote for a while.

make pretend

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

I always said, "make pretend" whilst growing up.  My mother always corrected me, "Make believe or pretend...not whatever it is you're saying."

I said it anyway.

The make pretend I'm doing now is eluding me.  So much loss.  Such a sense of disenfranchisement.  Such kow-towing.  It actually hurts. 

And it's Neil freakin' Simon.

I have to find the win.  

the artist and the arts

The artist is not a special kind of person; rather each person is a special kind of artist.

- Ananda Coomaraswamy

If you ax funding for the arts, Mr. Romney, you ax the people themselves...a veritable Lizzie Borden. - Me

To the Kind Gentleman

who asked if Baxter used to be bigger...

Yes.

One shouldn't put dogs in the dryer.  Even on delicate.  You can imagine what I found in the lint trap.  I could have made another dog out of what I found there.

Who knew?

They should come with instructions, right?

Hang-dry only. 

Delicate Cycle

I have a dooooooooooog.

OH MY GOSH

I amaze me. No blog yesterday. Even after the vow.

You know why?

WOEEEEEEFULLY unprepared at work.  WOEEEEEEEFULLY. 

And long walks with the stupid little dog. And registering at the gym.  And working out at the gym.  And rehearsing.  And food shopping. 

And watching porn on the internet...aka, looking for apartments.

Me try harder.  This shouldn't be this difficult.  But sometimes I have little more in my head than...

"I have a doooooog."

Meanwhile, "Oh my Gosh?"  Really?  It's taken all of two minutes in the midwest for that to develop?

Crikey.

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...