I just hear that crazy sound and I can't look down

David Bowie -- Don't Look Down -- 1984



One very short month ago,


Trevor



and I began a new class. Remember this?

In a scant 4 weeks, we have come a long way. Really. He has come a LOT further than me. He is very clear about left vs. right. Me? Not so much. And I have been practicing that basic skill for about 39 more years than him.

Stop snickering. I'm a slow learner.


Well, we were back in class last night and the difference was astonishing. There were only 2 dogs/owners for the class, so we got lots of time to try and re-try the courses as our instructor tweaked them for difficulty.

In the first run-through, we made a few simple errors. It's that damn left/right thing. Gets me every time.

So, we tried again. Did a second run-through. We were zipping along quickly and confidently. Trevor was right by my side, listening and responding quickly. I was beginning to feel rather smug about out teamwork and my sheer magnificence as a trainer. I could almost hear the crowd whispering in reverent awe at our performance.

We came to a sign where we had previously experienced some difficulty.

This is the sign we saw.



The dog is heeling at your left. You suddenly back up and call them back to you. They have to sit facing you. After a brief pause, you give them the signal and they have to go around the right of you, behind your back and end up at your left hand side. Once completed, the dog should be sitting straight by your left side, ready to continue to the next station.

In the past, Trevor has had some difficulty with sitting straight when he returns. He usually sits crooked so that he can look up at me for the next signal. We have been practicing straight sits since then.

So, I called Trevor to me. He sat beautifully, directly in front of me. Straight and elegant. Not leaning off to either side. I was quite pleased. Then I gave him the " go around " signal.

As he was completing the exercise, I began to hear quiet snickering from the crowd behind me. I looked to my left for my dog and he was not there. Then, I heard the unmistakable sound of my instructor laughing uproariously.

There was Trevor, sitting ever-so-patiently behind me........facing the crowd! He had done a perfect sit. Except for the part where he was in the wrong spot.....and facing in the opposite direction when he did it. Apparently, he was also playing to his adoring fans by grinning and wagging his tail as I waited patiently for the asshat to re-appear at my side!

When I realized what he had done, I called him back to my left side. Never one to disappoint the crowd, instead of quietly getting up and coming to the correct position, he leapt into the air, did a 45 degree turn and slapped his ass onto the floor right next to me.


We finished the course with no further comedic additions from Trevor. As a matter of fact, we even completed the course COMPLETELY off leash and he did marvelously.

He even approached a new dog without showing any signs of anxiety or concern. A new dog that weighed about 30 POUNDS!!!!! A giant!!! A killer Sheltie.

All in all, I am extremely impressed with how much he has improved in only 4 classes. So was my instructor. He is gaining confidence in leaps and bounds, and by the last run through, he jumped straight into the air when we finished. Trevor is normally a very reserved kinda' fellow, so his display of sheer joy at having succeeded was a lot of fun to watch.


Almost as much fun as when he slapped me with his front paws on the way down from the jump.


I'm thinking we still have a bit of work to do.

Scum-bags and superstars tell me your names........

I'll make a bet, you're both the same -- Talking Heads -- Lifetime Piling Up -- 1992



OK. Enough of the mushy, sentimental bullshit. Today, I return to my roots. Angry, nettled, generally pissed off roots. Where my true heart lies.

I am about to inundate you with complaints about things or people who have recently irritated the hell out of me.


1. Skinny little metro girl at IKEA. I am keenly aware that you think you are the shit. Because you work BEHIND THE DESK (!) in the kitchen cabinet area of the store. However, one of the determining factors for your continued retail success is your ability to LISTEN TO THE CUSTOMER. I asked you what seemed to be a very simple question. A question with a definitive answer. You indicated that you would find the answer. You studied a computer screen intently.

And then? You jotted down a number and told me to call IKEA sometime next week to see if someone could help me.

Huh? Listen carefully. I think I hear failure calling.


2. The wizard of handling the drive-thru at Wendy's. Rule number 1 of handling orders.......allow the customer to finish a phrase. When I begin to say "one Taco Salad with........",
PLEASE DO NOT CUT ME OFF. It pisses me off, it forces me to begin again since I don't know if you heard what I said, which then forces you to think that I want 2 Taco Salads, which makes me look like a pig and I don't like that. Then, rule number 2. When I pull up to your window to pay for my botched order......SAY SOMETHING!!! ANYTHING. Tell me my total, say hello, fuck you......SOMETHING. When I give you my money, you hand me my change and I say "thank you"....... RESPOND. Because I will continue to say " thank you" louder and louder until you are utterly confused.

Which, in all probability will not take long.

3. Day manager at Wendy's. When I explain that maybe Dennis at the drive up window could use a customer service refresher......please do not respond by saying " um, oh, well he's brand new"
Maybe it's my skewed thinking, but if he just started the job, shouldn't he be a bit more well versed on how to treat a customer? Beginning with SPEAKING. That would be a good jumping off point to his undoubtedly illustrious career in the offing.

Dumbass.

4. Asshole neighbor. Power washing your skanky deck at 8:30 on a Sunday night. Let us both consider the relative stupidity of this act. Maybe you could point some of your very limited energy in the direction of cleaning up the 77 metric TONS of dogshit in your yard first. Then, quite possibly, there would be no need to hyper-blast the 3 years of cumulative dogshit footprints from the deck.

Just a helpful thought.

5. My Mother. I love you dearly. But, if you continue to ask me multiple variations of the same question after I have answered you already, I might bonk you on the head. Hard. You DO NOT have to like the answer you get. Deal with it and stop badgering me. Remember......I alone get to pick your nursing home because I am an only child.

Be nice to me.

6. My dogs. Again, love you all. But if you continue to bark at neighborhood dogs, leaves falling in Rhode Island, a demented elderly man farting in Wisconsin, and mysterious lunar signals..........I will de-bark each and every one of you. With the jigsaw.

Seriously.

7. My Boss. I have been doing my own full-time job and two-thirds of my co-worker"s since she left in early February. I am trying hard to be a team player. I am trying to do what's.best.for.the.office.

I am tired of trying. Show a little appreciation for all I have done. Stop complaining about how stressed YOU are. Your salary------um, it's three times what I make. For ONE job.

Move the hiring process along. NOW. No more excuses or I might de-bark you too.

8. My Mother. Again. Please, do NOT assume that because I am in the shower, I cannot hear your conversation with the Princess. Therefore, when you make secret little arrangements to have a Memorial Day picnic with her and Lumpkin..........I CAN HEAR YOU!!! So please don't act surprised when I raise the subject a few hours later to ask why you never informed me. I live there too. It's not as if I would have refused, but it really would have been nice to be asked. Especially since I will be the one who spends my day off trying not to strangle a moron on my back porch.

9. Assholes in the parking garage. We all have to park here because we all work in this building. So have the tiniest grain of respect for your co-workers and PARK IN BETWEEN THE MARKED LINES. That's why they are marked. To give you a visual reference. If you park half in and half out, then I will be forced to park crooked and so-on down the line until it looks like a gathering of Helen Keller devotees.

I am really rankled by people who park right on the edge of the line. On the passenger side of their car. So that they have plenty of room to heave their fat asses out of the driver's seat. Since you have so little concern about the potential danger to the passenger side of your beloved Hummer, I may have to pay it some extra attention as I get out of my own car.

Oooops! So sorry.

and

10. My brain. STOP. For one minute. JUST STOP.

But I, I would search everywhere just to hear your call........

And walk upon stranger roads than this one in a world I used to know before. I miss you more
............Genesis -- Afterglow -- 1976




This post by Blog Antagonist stirred some memories in me that I have not unearthed for a very long time. Memories that are so hard to share.

When I was 16, I went to a keg party. It was a outdoor summertime party at a family member's home. There was drinking and dancing and many couples disappearing into the darkened shadows of the surrounding landscape. As wild a child as I was, I was never a drinker. At this party, I was in the obvious minority as people imbibed to the point of unconsciousness.

As I was talking to someone, I noticed a young, very, VERY handsome but completely unfamiliar guy come into the yard. I asked a cousin who he was. I was taken by him immediately. My cousin introduced us. To my delight, J was from England. He was 2 years older than me and was in this country for 3 months as his father taught at our local Ivy league university. He and my cousin were friends as he was living nearby in a seasonal rental. The rest of his family did not accompany the father/son duo on this trip.

I spent the rest of that night talking to J. He spent a good portion of that time drinking. By the time the evening was over, we exchanged numbers and promised to talk again soon. He called me the next morning.

Over the next few months, J and I literally became inseparable, mainly through phone conversations. Since he did not have a license or car here and I had no vehicle of my own at my disposal, we had to rely on seeing each other at weekend events. But we talked everyday. I was not long before I realized that I loved him. Deeply.

I also understood, in the deepest part of myself, that he was damaged. And he drank and used drugs to quench that damage. To stuff it down so far that he wouldn't have to deal with it.

At the end of that summer, he left with his father to return home. We remained close. He called me several times a week, but always on the sly as my mother DID NOT approve of him. She had been on the answering end of a few drunken, late-night phone calls and had basically forbidden me to associate with him.

Our distance forced us to forge the most intimate of relationships minus any physical intimacy. By the time he returned the following summer with his father, we knew almost everything about each other.....except for that dark part of him that he held so closely.

I also believed that he loved me, but was, at such a tender age for an intense relationship, completely confused as to why he never acted upon his feelings. I had already been involved in one relationship prior, and was dating someone else during this time. So J and I acted as if we were best friends. I never confided to him about how much I loved him. He, however, finally confided his secret to me.

When he was 7 years old, his baby brother had died while supposedly under his and his older brother's care. His brother was 3, J was 7 and the oldest was 10. They had all gone to a pond on their grandmother's property to search for frogs. Their mother told the oldest to keep an eye on the younger boys. Once they got to the pond, J's older brother admonished him to " watch the baby" as he climbed over some rocks to catch some frogs. Apparently, J also spotted the coveted frogs and turned away to scoop them up. When he turned back, his baby brother was gone. He and his older brother searched the nearby area for the littlest one, thinking he had wandered back toward the house. It was only when they yelled for adult help that the baby was found, face down in the far end of the pond. He had drowned.

J vividly remembered his brother screaming at him that he was responsible. His parents, consumed by anguish.......and likely from guilt.....never discussed the incident with J.
Ever.
They simply allowed him to live a life consumed by his own guilt. At the age of 7, his world had spun out of control. He had spent the intervening years trying to gather the pieces. I was the first person he had ever discussed this with.

After he returned home from the second summer spent here, we remained in contact, but that winter, I met the person who was to become my daughter's father. When I discovered that I was pregnant at 17, J was one of only 3 people I told. I thought he might be angry, but he instead delighted in the idea.

That summer I was pregnant, J came to the US to live. I was thrilled to have him here. My daughter's father was not of the same opinion. He was very jealous of J, and I now know, probably sensed the deep feelings I had about J. However, J was emotionally supportive of me in a way that the Princess' father was incapable of being. When my daughter was born, J was ecstatic. He would bring her little gifts. He would come to see her on a regular basis. He set up a little bank account for her and regularly added money from his paychecks to it. He was crazy about her.

Her own father was disinterested at best. Until we finally parted when the Princess was 3.5, her father was sporadically involved, but always under duress. J was completely different. He relished the opportunity to spend time with her. He truly loved her. His relationship with her seemed to bring out a tender side of him that I had not yet seen.

However, he was still drinking heavily and was now using drugs to dull his emotional pain. Never in my presence. Never around the Princess. He mainly struggled at night, when he was alone and his memories tortured him.

When the Princess was 4.5, I fell in love with someone else. I detailed a bit about it here.
This person was also jealous of my relationship with J. To complicate matters, this new love was also a Police Officer and was very concerned about J's drug and alcohol problem. He basically gave me an ultimatum. He asked me to choose between J and him. J and I had been best friends, confidants, partners in crime for years.

I chose the new love.



I broke the news to J that we would have to limit our friendship as he was destroying himself. I told him of my and my boyfriend's concerns. I told him that we could be friends again if he straightened out his life and got some help. He listened carefully, as he always did.....and agreed with me. He promised to get help. I truly believed he would.

And then he asked if he could still see the Princess. He promised that he would never put her in danger. That he would always be sober when he spent time with her.

I refused. And mainly, I refused because it was what the new love expected me to do. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that J would never do anything to hurt me or the Princess. I knew that his addiction was about his own demons, and I knew that the Princess and I were the only support he had.

I also knew just how much I loved him. Much more than I could admit.

And I walked away. I told him not to contact us until he straightened himself out.

He did. He admitted himself into a detox program and got himself clean. He was seeing a therapist about his emotional issues. He was doing well. I would secretly check on him through mutual friends to follow his progress. Since the new love was still extremely jealous, I never discussed J around him.

And then J called. He called when the new love was sitting there listening. J told me about how hard he had worked, about how much progress he had made, about how much he missed me and the Princess.

He told me, sober and clean, how much he loved me. He told me that he wanted to have a true relationship with me. He wanted to be a father to the Princess. He wanted to spend his life with me.

I stood there. Phone glued to my ear. My eyes on the new love. I heard everything J said to me.

And once again...... I chose the new love. Over J.

For several weeks, I didn't hear from him. Then, one afternoon, I received a call from London. It was J's older brother. He had found my telephone number in a letter from J.

A suicide note.

J had killed himself. Alone and tortured. He had been dead for days before anyone discovered his body. He had been dead for weeks before I found out.

Within a few weeks, the new love had left me.


I have spent many, many years pondering my choices. Knowing that I had forsaken the true love of my life for someone who casually walked away from me when I needed him. Questioning myself.

Living with guilt for failing someone I loved so much. Wondering if you only get once chance to find the person you were meant to be with.




And understanding how.....in a split second, a simple decision can ruin so many lives.

Tell me, tell me, how to be a millionaire

How To Be A Millionaire -- ABC -- 1985



Does anyone have a memory of this?

The Princess and her obsession with the Antiques Roadshow. Well, the tickets were doled out this past week. On a very limited basis. The Princess had not checked the AR website in a few weeks, so she was not aware that the date for distribution was looming.

I woke up Saturday morning and checked my e-mail. There it was:

"Unfortunately, you were not selected to receive tickets to the 2008 ANTIQUES ROADSHOW event in Hartford.


We wish we could accommodate everyone who applies for tickets, but space at our events is limited. There will be no additional tickets available now or at the event, and we do not have a ticket waiting list."

With a twitchy finger, I called the Princess to break the bad news......and to convince her that she needed to check her own e-mail. We had applied separately as you were allowed one entry per address.

The audible sigh said all I needed to know. She was not chosen either. Nor were our other friends who applied for us. The Princess was heartbroken. She had so looked forward to collecting her annual stipend after selling off her beloved cookie jar and ugly painting for 70 kajillion dollars.

I tried to cheer her up, but there was no amount of humor that would blast her out of her funk. After several minutes, I hung up the phone.

It rang back moments later, a breathless Princess on the other end.

Lumpkin got the tickets! Of all people. The moron was granted the passes to fame and fortune. She was simply ecstatic.

The Princess has already started a new exercise routine. She refuses to be out of shape when she becomes famous. I have been given the task of digging through old photos to find ones of her and her Great-Grandmother, the artist. The Princess is certain that the Roadshow will want to broadcast them as an interesting backstory. She is considering what she will wear. She wants to look her best in front of the devoted legions of Roadshow viewers who will cheer her newfound wealth.

The actual tickets are mailed out about 2 weeks prior to the show, and depending on their admission time, she and Lumpkin might stay overnight in the hotel attached to the location. She does NOT want to be late. Ticket holders are virtually guaranteed that their items will be appraised, although there is no guarantee that they will make it onto the show itself.

The Princess is certain she will. She thinks her story is simply irresistible. The Great-Grandchild of the artist.......who owns two of the artist's works from different decades. One specifically made for her. Pictures, stories, curly hair...oh my!

I smile and nod along, not quite as certain that the staff of the AR will be as enthralled.

Secretly, though, I selfishly hope she does make it onto the show.

Why?

I hope all of her father's family are fans. I hope they watch AR religiously. Gathering around the TV in a dysfunctional clan. Completely unprepared to see the Princess with the family artwork. As an adult.



To me, that would be worth more than 70 kajillion dollars.

Doctor, doctor, can't you see I'm burning, burning

Thompson Twins -- Doctor, Doctor -- 1984


Sooooooo. I pissed and moaned a tad about my sad excuse for last week's vacation. I took that particular week off for 2 specific reasons, the first being that it was a lighter week at work, the second being that the weather has steadily improved here. Spring had sprung and it would be ideal to complete several outdoor projects.

Needless to say, it was rainy and raw almost all week. The temperature soared all the way into the low 50's. It had been in the mid 70's just one week prior. I tried to get whatever I could done, but there was little time between rainstorms.

Then, on the final days of vacation, I started to feel crappy. Hot/cold, weak.

Sick.

But when Monday came, I dragged by sick, sorry ass into work because I felt that I should. I needed to prepare for a number of high-profile events, and I wanted to catch up on what I had missed for a week.

I felt like someone dug me out of a pine box and sat me in an office chair. I was coughing so hard that my chest hurt. I was tanked up on Tylenol SEVERE COLD and cough drops. I barely made it through the day and dragged myself back home. Not that anyone particularly cared at the office. In this job, it's all about getting the work done with as few complaints as possible. No matter the personal toll.

When I woke up to the sweet sound of my alarm this morning, I came to the realization that I could barely breath with even the slightest exertion. I called in sick to work. And then I called my doctor.

For me, that's saying everything about just how awful I felt.

They gave me an appointment for the afternoon. I spent all day in a merry-go-round of either sleeping, coughing, or blowing my nose. By the time I took a shower, got dressed and made it to my doctor, I was cold and clammy.

His diagnosis: Bronchitis with a side order of Sinus Infection. For dessert: a case of Pneumonia if the antibiotic pack doesn't work in the next 48 hours.

I left there with three prescriptions. The mega-antibiotics, an inhaler to open my cemented airways and allow this sludge to exit, and a cough medication with Codeine for some hacking relief.

Oh, and a note that states I am not allowed to return to work until Friday. I had to beg to go back that soon. He was insisting that I stay out until next Monday. I had to plead for mercy and explain that my boss might show up at my house. He was serious.

So was I.

He relented and said that I could go to work on Friday ONLY after I spoke to him on Thursday about how I was doing. If I was not appreciably better, all bets were off. We have known each other for many, many years. He knows I have to be pretty damned desperate to come to him for help, and even worse to accept a note for work.


I find all of this disconcerting. For most of my life, I've been a fairly healthy person. Once I began working in the Emergency Room when I was 22, it seemed that I developed a typical sort of super-immunity that protects the staff. Because our immune systems are under chronic assault from all sorts of bacteria and viruses, emergency room employees, even more so than general hospital staff, will quickly find that they don't often suffer from the general crap that the rest of the population carries around. Since I have little patience for being sick, I loved the idea that the piddly illnesses appeared to bypass me.

Now, it seems that I get walloped by the tiniest little bacteria. I hate it. I hate feeling weak. I hate being slowed down by physical frailties. I am going to be one miserable old person.

In the meantime, I am luxuriating in the semi-fog of a Codeine enhanced evening. Cough free and ready to roll. If someone could just find me my fuzzy robe, I'll be all set to go.


You'll know it's mine by the snotty tissues in the pocket.

I've been gone much too long

Tin Machine -- Stateside -- 1991


Weep no more, my beloveds. I have returned. I was on another epic vacation. Better than the last one.

Let me quench your insatiable interest in my life by summing up my vacation in a few short words.


Time off for outdoor projects.


= entire week of torrential rainfall followed by chest wracking cold and cough

= misery for 7 days and NOT ONE SINGLE PROJECT COMPLETED.



Asshole life.

The end.