all is bright, all is kinda calm

All is bright because Christmas and holiday lights! All is calm, well, kind of…sort of…as long as I sit here. The lights! The lights are bright. The lights distract and warm and chases away, at least right now, the darkness. Yeah, that is totally a metaphor.

I might be sitting here a lot right now. It’s good.

Not so good for this fur ball though.

Here she will play the I-miss-Betty-with-the-good-hair card; because, okay maybe she doesn’t really miss her but she is pretty freaked out that the dog has been gone for a few days. So she gets a pass as I let her cuddle up on my lap as we both stare at the pretty, pretty lights.

Betty remains in our friendly neighborhood animal hospital being treated for diabetes with ketone bodies.

love for the other woman

We’re not best friends, she and I. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate her. Actually I love her. I love her a lot; even if she is the one who competes with me for my darling husband’s attention. She might be the one with the good hair, but I still have opposable thumbs…and where he sleeps is where I sleep.

Sorry Betty.

No, we’re not the best of friends. But we do love the same man. Right now she is very sick (about 4 figures above pet insurance coverage sick) and my darling husband is very upset about this…which means that I am pretty upset too.

My darling husband copes right now looking at pictures of his beautiful brown-eyed girl and creating a gofundme page for her. And because I do love Betty with the good hair too, even if I am the other woman in her eyes, I am sharing it.

Dear friends and lovers of the furry beasts out there, thank you.

 

we are here

Amazing how far we have traveled!

From building walls to being too ugly to be President.

How the menstrual cycle of a debate moderator most likely affects her fairness in such role.

Debating the size of a candidate’s hands versus the size of other body parts.

Accepting the mocking of a reporter’s physical disability.

Questioning the physical attractiveness of a candidate’s wife.

Borrow the speech of a First Lady word for word.

Post middle of the night Twitter rants against opponents, parents of soldiers killed in action, former beauty queens.

Candy and breath mints brands are compelled to formally distance themselves from a candidate.

Smile more!

Don’t smile!

Shout it out loud.

Stop shouting!

Don’t laugh.

Don’t stand by your man except when you are standing by your man.

And now grabbing pussies!

Yes, we are talking about grabbing pussies in a Presidential campaign one month before Election Day. We could agree that this is guy talk which is supposed to make such talk okay or that hopefully most men have evolved beyond the adolescent PE locker room banter. We might womensplain the trigger warning such talk brings about of that weird Uncle fondling hello at a family reunion or the middle aged stranger groping your crotch right before he exits the BART train or listening to a sound technician on your headset backstage discuss the size of the tits of a 16 years old GIRL on stage representing your kid’s dance team and honestly, why any of this behavior is acceptable at all….EVER!

We could. We are. We are because here we are one month before Election Day.

Meanwhile, pussies like Zelda just want to be left out of this.

 

hopelessly devoted

As I am writing this, I am watching our dog, Betty…AKA Betty with the Good Hair, following my darling husband all around The Big Top.

All.

Around.

The.

Big.

Top.

Tonight she has a good excuse because in spite of the fact that she is wearing her Thundershirt and has taken some doggy Xanax , she is stressed. Thank you every single Fourth of July Yahoo out there pre-gaming as they set off their illegal fireworks. ‘Merica! You do you, you quasi-patriotic yahoos.

If she wasn’t so stressed out she would still be by his side right now. Curled up at his feet. Likely sleeping; but with one eye open at the ready to jump up and do whatever my darling husband wants…go for a walk…get a doggy treat…go for a walk…perform her one trick…go for a walk…the possibilities are practically endless and she must be ready.

She’s devoted.

Hopelessly devoted.

I call her Betty with the Good Hair waiting for my darling husband to get the Lemonade reference because how could anyone NOT. Betty loves my darling husband. She adores him. She will use her amazing herding skills to herd me out of the way because she loves him THAT much. It is then that I flash my wedding ring and hiss he has been mine for more than 33 years years and he still is, Betty with the Good Hair! And don’t forget, I have opposable thumbs!

My darling husband chuckles.

But when it comes to absolute, complete, total devotion, perhaps Betty with the Good Hair has me beat.

I love my darling husband and I do look forward to his coming home at the end of the day; but you won’t find me where she is…waiting…pretty much all day…waiting for Bill to come home at the end of the day. She judges me if I am not as stressed as she can be if he is even just 20 minutes late because of traffic. She will pace and pause looking at the door and pace some more and whine a little and look at me with judging eyes that almost shriek, Don’t you care that he is late??? Why are you not even a little bit worried???

Sometimes I’ll answer back reminding her of the fact that I have opposable thumbs…that can text our man.

 

moving sucks

Did I say that just five years ago? Perhaps I was still too grief stricken over the fact that we were moving and how much the recession sucked. But yes, moving sucked five years ago…and it sucked thirteen years ago (even with the excitement of home ownership for the very first time)…and it sucked five years before that and before that and every damn time I have moved in my lifetime.

True story: I moved, or actually was moved nine times during my years in elementary school, junior high and high school which is absolutely the very best thing to do to a lonely, very shy, child in the caregiver/golden retriever role in a alcoholic, mentally ill, abusive, dysfunctional family because character building and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all the rest of the bullshit. At least I know how to pack up and clean up a home with almost obsessive efficiency.

So here we are in 2016 and, yes, moving still sucks. But, at the same time, moving to a new home is the promise of a new adventure with more memories. But first we must get through the process of downsizing and packing and cleaning and motivating some clowns whom I adore who are quite literally one stack of shit away from an episode of Hoarders…REALLY!!!…and dealing with everyone’s stress and anxiety…and mine…and…

Especially the furry beasts because from their point of view, things everywhere are being boxed up and are disappearing and literally what else is going to happen and why is the food bowl half empty and how long can they survive when they are abandoned…which is exactly how the furry creatures under The Big Top are acting right now.

I swear if I clean up anymore cat or dog yack…

Moving sucks y’all…but hang in there my circus, furry and otherwise. This is part of the adventure.