Once Forgotten

While rocking out to my Twilight mix (of course, made for each book, chapter by chapter--in some cases paragraph by paragraph--if you want a copy, let me know!) and prepping goodies for my cook-ahead, Slow Cooker Chicken Enchilada Casserole, I heard a song I haven't really heard in ages: "Have You Forgotten" by Red House Painters.

When I first heard that song was in my in-between-years as manager of the Saks Off-Fifth Women's Department at Aurora Farms in Aurora, Ohio, when I wanted to study poetry in a MFA program but more importantly I wanted to find myself. I listened to the song many times during many late nights doing stupid shit (there's no other way to put it) with my then (and still) bestees: Gattozzi, PL, & Stokes.

My most vivid memory with "Have You Forgotten" is in Grad School, though. I had wandered down to Falstaff's on my way home from teaching one Friday evening--early on in my Grad career, my first semester. This was my fav bar which happened to be the best burger joint in town: in Grad School my two favorite things comboed in one.

The owner and cook, John, knew me by name. (Yes, it was a Cheers moment every time I walked in.) I was in there one night sipping my Jack & Coke and devouring my cheeseburger and fries after a rough week when I heard "Have You Forgotten."

John was an avid indie radio supporter, and the song was most likely playing on the college radio station. I don't remember. But what I remember was in a bar the size of any good college bar with glossed oak wood counters and four pool tables, it was just me and John listening to "Have You Forgotten."

No one else was in the bar.

That was the loneliest moment of my life.

I missed my brother, my sister, my parents, my Stokey, my Gattozzi, my PL, my Alice, my life in Kent, my job with designer clothes perks, the love of my life (wherever he was), and myself.

What's weird is I never remembered that specific emotional state until tonight. I've heard that song countless times since then, but never with any emotional potency.

What made tonight so special? The smell of onions browning in a non-stick LeCruest skillet?

Food and memory are intrinsically linked...

At first I thought to include this memory in a private letter to my friend PL with a stack of CD burns I've been promising to send him since December, but for some reason that didn't seem to be enough.

This past weekend my sister-in-law Suz told me I needed to update my blog. That she missed it. That she enjoyed reading it.

I thought to myself, "For real? My blog is a joke."

I complain. I whine. I rant.

But the smell of onions reminded me:

I share.

I remember.

I appreciate.

That's good enough by me.

What else are blogs for?

A Kinda Christmas Story

The urge starts like the jingle of a tiny bell: Tink. Tink. Slowly, it builds like an orchestra. Strings. Horns. Percussion. All together. I have to go; there is no holding. None.

Usually the instance I felt a tingle in my bladder, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I was a bed-wetter. I couldn’t be trusted to hold, and I knew better than doing so. I had gotten too used to the hot liquid turning cold fast against my bum, the angry flick of light switches in my bedroom, the bathroom, then the laundry room, the stink of vinegar water on my mattress, the swoosh of sleeping bag against floor, and overwhelming guilt of being a bed-wetter. At home it’s one thing, but around family I never see, it’s completely different.

The Christmas Eve I was seven, my mom and I hitched a ride to Chicago with my grandpa and grandma in their Crown Victoria to visit my uncle and his family. Sure, the whole way there I had to pee, but I was with an old lady who had to pee all the time. For once it wasn’t my fault that we stopped at almost every rest area along snowy the Ohio turnpike. No adult questioned the validity of my bladder’s urge and hushed my requests to stop with “you can hold it until the next one.” Finally, there was an adult who had to go as much as me. It was the first time I had traveled in complete bladder comfort.

That night I slept on the pull-out couch with my cousin Katie and cousin Matt. I could barely sleep thinking of Santa. I tossed and turned, bumping Katie’s reindeer print flannel arm and leg while continually whispering to Matt that he was wimp for not staying up with me. The red, green, and blue outdoor Christmas lights that wrapped around the bushes in their yard and their neighbors cast a warm glow in the sunken den of our room.

Up the stairs of the sunken den was the kitchen, then the great room with the front door and chimney, then a hallway where the three bedrooms were. At the end, the bathroom. My aunt and uncle were the closest to it. I hadn’t seen their bedroom, but I imagined them sound asleep based on the contagious yawns I saw at our early evening arrival. My grandparents were second closest. I pictured them sleeping on Matt’s twin sized beds, each in a separate bed, an arm’s length away from each other. My mom was third closest. I thought I heard her loud eggnog induced snore from Katie’s room, trailing downstairs to me, the farthest person from the bathroom. I found the thought of each family member sleeping in a room much closer to the bathroom than me, not comforting but thoroughly upsetting.

Immediately, my bladder jingled its tiny bell.

I had to get up; there was little time for such a far run. Rolling over Katie, thumping on the floor, that’s exactly the moment I heard it.

Scratch. Scratch. Neigh.

I froze, crouched on the green shag carpet.

Scratch. Neigh. Scratch.

Santa was here.

My first thought was: if he sees me, I’ll scare him away before he sees the picture of Poochie I colored for him, before he eats the special sprinkle cookies, before he sets the shiny presents under the tree. Piss my pants or risk no presents. I’d be damned after how good I had been that year to not get presents. And I certainly did not want my distant relatives glaring back and forth between the present-less, brown pine needle-ridden tree skirt and me. I squeezed my thighs together, squinted my eyes shut, pressed my hands over my ears, and prayed Santa would be quick about his business.

Each second the urge to pee grew. The bell was joined by the strings, the strings joined by the horns, seconds later the percussion section took over until all I could hear under my sweaty palms was the drumming of pain in my bladder, throbbing in every nerve of my body. I tightened my vaginal muscles like the doctor told me. I counted. I breathed. Just like the doctor said. 10. Inhale. Exhale. 11. Inhale. Exhale. The burning sensation began. 12. Inhale. Exhale. I felt a little trickle escape. It was only seconds before my urine made a prison break. I looked to the stairs, consciously clutching my vaginal muscles, preparing my body for movement. I had to chance no gifts. I had to make the break.

I popped up like the little flower I was in the past spring’s play, and when I was up, I ran like never before. I jumped the stairs, my bare feet making sticky noises against the kitchen linoleum. I passed through the great room’s threshold, and zoomed passed the reflection of myself in the front door’s glass. Rounding the 8 foot glimmering Christmas tree, I tripped on the hem on my long flannel nightgown. The hardwood cold underneath me, I crouched for a moment on my palms and knees, gathering myself. So far no leakage. My thighs were still tight. I could make it. I took a deep breath and rose to a slight chuckle.

Looking up, I saw a round belly jiggling slightly, shiny black buttons, a white beard twitching. I literally had stumbled upon Santa, who was looking at our pictures and chewing on a cookie. When we made contact, he winked at me. I know it sounds cliché like something from a holiday movie scene, but I swear he was before me in all his magical flesh. This Santa was not some dude at the mall or my grandpa dressed up. He was the real deal. I could tell by his wink. My grandpa couldn’t wink without closing both eyes. I gave Santa a smile and a curtsey. He motioned his head towards the bathroom. The pain returned swiftly, and again I was racing down the hallway. I flung open the door, slammed it shut. I danced my panties off. I sat on the rim without putting the seat down. I didn’t care. The rush of liquid was exhilarating. It wasn’t until my first orgasm that I realized pissing after holding for a long time feels almost exactly the same.

Of course, Santa was gone when I reentered the great room. Crumbs from his cookies rested on the plate and on the chair. I had triumphantly seen Santa. A tale to tell to make all kids jealous. I was proud tiptoeing my way back to bed, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep after glimpsing the stacks of shimmering paper and perfectly puffed fabric bows. Christmas would happen after all. I wouldn’t be blamed for scaring off Santa, but soon I realized I would never be believed for seeing him.

(Thanks to Ray Ray for helping this essay come to fruition.)

Just So You Know, I'm Totally Kidding

Another obsession: telling cute kids under the age of 3 and my dog that I want to "eat them" and pretending their limbs are corn on the cob.

Bon Appetite: mon Bleu de chien! (Who, apparently would be quite tasty!)

Why on earth would one want to eat their children and/or dog?

For now, I (among others) speculate it may have something to do with the only way to truly consume something is to eat it, ingest it, let it become part of our own bodies. Or maybe those scary European bedtime stories are to blame; you know the ones where two kids are plumped up with candy and then shoved into an oven for a witch's dindin? Or maybe it's because we watch too much FoodTV, which tells that food equals love?

I'm determined to get to the bottom of this sometime soon.

I need to for my own mental and legal safety and the safety of my dog as well as all the cute children in the world with chubby, edible cheeks, legs, and arms.

Happy Day #1

As motivation to blog more often and appreciate the happy moments of each day, I'm beginning a "Happy Day" series. (Viva La Fonz!) I'm not going to commit to a year of these posts or anything, but I really believe posting a few would help my morale & blogging frequency.

To kick off the series I have two happy moments to share:

1.) To calm my not-so-bad-but-normal nerves today before my interview for the job I already have (just go with it!), I remembered my lovely dinner date at Revolver with my totally awesome hubby. The food & the love made me feel giddy, which I believe came across fully in my interview.

2.) This morning Babine & I went for an hour long walk. Talking and laughing made my cardio workout fun and made me love Babine even more.

Happy Day Yay!

Farwell, my dear friend, Time.*

I like to think I have a sunny disposition. That I'm happy, warm, lovable.

That I spread my joy to all who know me.

Until this week. (Don't worry, next week I'll be fine.)

This week, though, is my last week of summer. And today is the only day that is going to be totally mine. Therefore, I must make it count. I will cross off these six things on my to-do list today: swim, finish reading Rachel Zucker's The Bad Wife Handbook, finish the first draft of a new chapbook, dry the Blue Basil leaves I have no idea what to do with, wrap FD's bday presents while snacking on cheddar cheese and NutThins or raw baby carrots (I'm not much of snacker but I LOVE cheese, to put it mildly), oh, yeah, and complete this blog tag** from Stokes.

Easy enough.

10 years ago I was entering my 4th year of undergrad, just taking filler classes like yoga and ice skating because I finished all my major classes in 3 years and I was going to the gay bars to dance my off ass because I didn't want to be worried with being assaulted by drunken frat boys and I was discovering the world of poetry. It's funny to think today I'm the teacher, preparing for the first-year writing students, who dances around my house while dusting, a Swiffer as my imaginary microphone, and who knows full-well that the world of poetry isn't all that magical.

It's this last week of summer, though, that makes me wish I was a billionaire. That I could teach a few classes here and there when I felt like it. And set up a pretty fat retirement plan for me and FD as well as for both of our families too. And build my prefab dream house with a guest house and two detached offices (one for me and one for FD) all with the arty, expensive appliances and furniture I see in Dwell each month. And give money to worthwhile foundations like Alicia's Voice. And travel to cool places like Japan and India. And do yoga whenever and whereever I want. And hire a cleaning staff, a chef, and, because if I was rich why not have kids and hire a few nannies. Finally, of course, I would be a shareholder of The Grey Colt and wear extra fabulous clothes all the time.

Yeah, that'd be the life. But then if I was billionaire, would I really appreciate the days when I cleaned residential construction sites, sweeping wood and dust into piles and shop vacuuming it all up? Or when I cleaned model homes, how I adored making perfect vacuum lines in the never-used carpets? Or when I worked for a cleaning service and scrubbed the settled cigarette smoke off cheap vinyl floors in some office that could totally be in a 70s sit-com, even though clearly we were in the 90s? (God, no wonder I'm a clean freak!) Or when I managed Hons' clothing resale shop & every Thursday Stokes & I would go to Applebees for dinner & drinks b/c she got a discount there. Or how about when I was the women's clothing department manager at Off Fifth & I went into debt buying hoity toity designer clothes. (No wonder I'm a label whore!) Or my days struggling as a TA, trying to figure out what kind of poet/teacher/woman/person I wanted to be until I finally figured out & became the poet/teacher/woman/person I always wanted to be.

Really would all that be lost if I became a billionaire? How would my values change? Or how would I teach my children values, that is if I decided to have kids?

Maybe it's simpler knowing I start teaching again next Monday and life will regain it's schedule, a schedule that I know & have come to love.

That doesn't mean I won't dream of living on Captiva Island, FL; or in Portland, OR; or Martha's Vineyard; Napa Valley; Boulder, CO; Ireland; Scotland; or even just plain ol' Clevelend, OH.

I guess as much as I don't want to, I need to look on the sunny side of this summer, the good times had, the time that I wasted doing God-knows-what.

Last week of summer, please treat me well. Be kind to me. Help me accomplish my to-do list in the best of moods. And help me smile when I wake up in the morning of the 25th, ready for school to begin again.

*Said in a unbearably tight hug that turns into a sloppy sob fest 08.
**I tag SEM, Chop, & C.L. Jones.

I Just Might Be A Dog: A Tribute to Bleu

As Bleu and I rounded the corner onto our block this morning during our walk, I remembered being called a "dog" by my middle school bullies.

Based on how much I love BooBoo, I'd now take being called a dog a compliment.

~

Last night I bawled my brains out when Sam the Dog in I Am Legend died. As GLM pointed out too, I'd much rather see humans die than dogs. What has happened to me?

To comfort me, FDR paused the movie and said, "It's ok. You now just get 'it.' You're now a dog person."

I'm a big black lab person who also loves a mouth-less white kitty.

Oh, the pangs of being a Gemini...

~

The only other living creature I know who is as food-obsessed as me is my dog.

~

In the past 7 months we've spent enough on Bleu to qualify his furry ass as a smooth-bottomed baby:

environmentally-friendly premium dog bed for the living room (check), dog bed for our bedroom (check), specialty collar (check), back-up designer collar (check), Gentle Leader (check) all-natural, allergy-free food (check), 20 vet visits to get rid of parasites picked up from his birth kennel and to figure out his food allergy (check), throwing out the food that he had allergic reactions to (check), new vet (check), flea, tick, heartworm, & other monthly meds (check), pet shampoo & wipes (check), obedience lessons and puppy playdates (check), dog art & bed time books (check), an XL kennel for when he grew out of his L kennel (check), eco-friendly poop bags (and Mama's favorite dog store!!!) (check), deshedding brush (check), pet vac (check), hunting gear (check), countless supposedly "indestructible" toys that we have thrown away (check), Nylabones: the only indestructible toys (check), self-help dog books and dog owner memoirs (check), brake-fast® dog bowl (check), countless-other things-I-can't-remember-b/c-there's-just-too-many-of-them (check). A good $1000 or more.

Bleu resting his little-big head on my feet while I write this blog post; Bleu licking my tears away during I Am Legend; Bleu wagging his butt when he prances out of his kennel when we come home from errands; Bleu swimming like a little gator; Bleu performing any command perfectly for an ice cube; Bleu play-bowing at the words "walk," "eat," and "hunting"; Bleu carefully watching bunnies hop across the yard; Bleu barking to guard his mama from the mailman; Bleu rolling over so I can scratch his belly even more; Bleu trying to sleep in my lap like when he was a puppy; Bleu flopping down and sighing before taking a nap in the shower; Bleu snoring. Priceless.

~

At nine months I couldn't be more proud of my canine best friend. He's still a crazy pup-pup, but he's starting to mature into a handsome dogus.

Happy 9th month birthday, my little moose!

♪♪ Because The World Is Round ♪♪

With my morning cranberry juice I enjoy catching up my friends' blogs. It's kinda like my private time in the morning. The quiet before doctor appointments, puppy playdates, errands, cleaning, get-togethers, blah, blah, blah, etc.

After an usually up-and-down-day yesterday I'm been feeling frustrated, unsatisfied, bored, & generally pissed off to the point I restrained myself from physically bitch-slapping quite a few people.

I considered writing a rant-post about my yesterday. But after reading this post I realized I needed to focus on the things I love. Thanks, Lemon.

So I selected The Beatles' Abbey Road, pressed the round play button on my iTunes, and began this lovely blog-rant.

1.) My husband is by far the only person who "gets" me on every level. His love leaves me speechless in the best ways possible. I would have lost my mind long ago if not for his level-headedness that always pulls me back to the core of our lives & myself.

2.) As crazy as that moose-puppy Bleu can be, in the mornings when he snuggles under the bed covers and curls up in the crook of my stacked legs, I feel such tenderness for him, even to the point that I love him even when he's butt-tucking through the house after his bath shaking water all over the walls and furniture.

3.) I love the joy the freshly cut flowers I got at our Farmers Market brings me. In fact I love the Farmers Market period. I'm learning to be more creative with food, and it makes me feel happy and healthy to know I'm part of a food community.

4.) One great thing yesterday was that I got to talk to a couple of women who've I respected and adored from a distance for quite some time. Talking with them helped me realize afterward that I need to focus more creating a local community of friends, and that there are like-minded people nearer than I thought.

5.) Each day is a blessing, and thankfully each day starts new. And today I'm not going to obsess about yesterday. I'm going to move forward today. I'm going to create something new, worthwhile, and use all this new day's freshness to my best ability. No point in wasting it on non-love. Today is full of love.

The Dog Days of Summer

I've been wondering about the expression "The Dog Days of Summer" for quite some time.

After continually asking FD where the expression came from he told me in btw-fashion the other night that it comes from the constellation Sirius the Dog rising and setting with the sun during July through September.

I easily could have looked this up on Wikipedia but I would much rather hear from FD. It trust his sources more.

We're finding ourselves in the Dog Days of Summer with many visits to friends' and families' places and visits from family and friends. It's wonderful catching up with our loved ones and enjoy the last few weeks before the semester begins. However, it doesn't leave much time for blogging.

Quickly, though, a list of good things to check out from our adventures:

My bro turned 30! Celebrating with him was awesome!

Bell's Brewery: Great microbrews & healthy bar food for a change.

Food Dance: I could live there and eat there all three meals a day every day. And 2 out of 3 ain't bad, right, Gary? Thanks for taking us there, man.

Perrysburg Farmers Market: Buying almost all of our food sans dairy at the market has been food heaven. I'm dreading winter.

Luginbill Farms: The BEST lamb chops we've ever had. Find them at the Perrysburg Farmers Market on Thursdays 3-8 p.m.

Bass Pro: Awesome if it's your thing. An hour there is good by me. FD needs 10 hours.

I feel like I'm forgetting a whole lot of good things and related stories. Oh well...

More adventures to come as well as some reflections on finding old friends online, writing, random thoughts on the direction of my blog, etc.

"Heaven isn't too far away; Wish we could go to Revolver Restaurant every day!" (My Tribute Song to Revolver)

To celebrate our 3rd Anniversary we went to our FAVORITE restaurant in Findlay: Revolver Restaurant.

On the revolver last night was Jimi Hendrix and not exactly the poppy Hendrix you'd hear on an oldies station. It was all-out experimentive guitar solos. RAD!

We decided we'd be pigs and eat 3 courses instead of the regular 2 AND have dessert.

Oh my, we were pigs. The portions have gotten MUCH bigger. But we kept eating. And after dinner during the car ride home we actually talked about turning the car around and doing it again. Seriously, we love it that much. We barely slept the night before. All day long we verbally were counting down the minutes until we could leave. And to boot we left the house early because we couldn't stand it anymore. Going to Revolver, for us, is like Christmas Eve combo'ed with the eve of going to Cedar Point.

Chef Micheal Bulkowski yet again delivered the food we dream about:

Rabbit with baby carrots (the humor of this dish nearly killed us--us eating rabbit who ate carrots ! Love it!)

"Lake Erie Perch with fondant potatoes, spring peas, & parmesan-lemon-thyme broth"--writing this makes my mouth water. I was in heaven while eating it. In case you don't know I'm a huge fan of Lake Erie!

The apps were out-of-control great and again HUGE portions: FD got pork belly (Oh-so good!) and I got "house cured bresaola" with goat cheese and crackers. And I haven't even begun talking about the cucumber gazpacho and my organic greens salad.

Better yet what about dessert? I forgot to take a picture before it was too late...

The only disappointment: that Debi Bulkowski wasn't there. She's such a fabulous hostess-with-the-mostest!

Another Fab dinner.

And we got all this for $100 with a glass of wine and beer. C'mon! That's stealing, especially in NY where a burger alone can cost $20.

The other thing I MUST mention, too, is that Revolver is seriously "homemade," in my humble opinion: we can see the chefs in the kitchen, they use organic goods, and, for toppers, on the menu they list the LOCAL FARMS they buy the food from!

Again, heaven.

Or at least the white light I hope to see when I go there...Well, obviously I would be in hell if there wasn't Revolver.

Best part of the whole dinner: sharing the experience with my husband and best friend.

I totally can't wait to go there again in August with our good friends from Detroit!!

For more pictures of our experience, visit my Flickr page.

Here's to 3 Years and a Lifetime More

♫ While My Puppy Gently Sleeps...♫

Right now a puppy is sleeping on the couch in my office, and I'm quite content.

We attended our first puppy play-date, and BooBoo is wiped out. Perfect. Now I can get some much needed blogging in.

While I didn't win the 6word Twitter contest, I did win a different Twitter Zappos contest, which yielded a higher reward: a $150 gift card to Zappos.com! Yippeeee! The Twitter contest from @zappos_alfred was "Best advice I've gotten is from my Mom. What's best advice your mom gave u? I'll pick 2 replies for free shoes." Here's the winning advice I got from Hons: " Winners are: @HelloKittyAMR-mom told her marry your best friend and @katgil-mom told her to always think positive. I will direct msg you."

(Being a part of Twitter pays off, dear friends!)

Because I did marry my best friend, I gave him the gift card for a new pair of shoes. Ahhhh! Cute--I know.

I must admit, though, I bought myself a new pair of shoes too...I'm addicted...And I blame my no new clothes and shoes resolution for it. I will NEVER make that resolution evereverever again.

Still feeling run-down lately and pretty emotional. After Lemon Cadet's comment that I should take a pregnancy test, I must let all of you know I'm not preggars. I'm just crazy, which apparently is one pink line. Speaking of Lemon Cadet, Baby Lemon is here, and she's precious! Congrats Lemon Family!

I've been feeling a lot better over the past few days. Finishing my book review for Literary Review Magazine helped and being home again helped a lot too. I'm finding the older I get the less I like traveling. Perhaps I'm becoming a crotchety hermit. Or perhaps I'm just tired of traveling almost every weekend. It's exhausting and expensive. And as much as I love our families sometimes I just want to be home doing nothing but reading, blogging, and walking the dog. It's hard to be so close to our families and so far away in terms of distance, but it's life so I must try to handle traveling better. Somehow.

The highlights of seeing our families this past weekend was that my sister visited us for two nights and one day, which was really nice, and we had really nice Mother's Day celebrations with all of our moms, and I got to see the Cortes' fam pics with them and Flat Stan visiting the free stamp and Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame as well as Flat Stan sitting on a kid potty. Good times! (Suz, send me those pics ASAP!)

Speaking of Flat Stan, I'm willing host him if anyone out there needs a Flat Stan host...I adore him.

Just a two more things real quick before my sleepy head wakes up:

There's a dog park right here in Bowling Green! Does anyone take their dog there? It looks a little deserted...More on the dog park situation soon when it's not raining and I can investigate more.

And this weekend come on out for the Poetry and Yoga Alicia's Voice Event. We'd love to see you!

The Partial Summer To Do List

Schedule Dentist Appointments -- Check.

Clean Lawn Furniture -- Check.

Yoga every morning -- Check.

Twitter & convince everyone to join Twitter -- 1/2 Check.

Why and Later Poetry Reading/ Alicia’s Voice Benefit Yoga Classes Promo -- 1/2 Check.

Two Review review -- 1/2 Check.

Puppy Playdates.

Puppy Classes & Training.

CheeBurger CheeBurger date w/ FD.

Shop for Mother’s Day, Father's Day, and birthday cards.

Why and Later Poetry Reading/ Alicia’s Voice Benefit Yoga Classes.

Revolver din-din with Car, FD, me, and a special guest.

Rilo Kiely w/ Stokey!

CTLT Clicker Training Sessions.

Cedar Point for my bday! Yay!

June 18 Alicia’s Voice Golf Outing – JOIN US!

Harbor Grand meet-up with KA. Yay!

Visit families and friends!

ENG 110 syllabus and lesson plans.

READ (about 150 books / 1 down) & post book reviews.

WRITE (as many essays or poems as possible.)

WATCH TV.

WATCH MOVIES.

Catch Up on Gossip Blogs & FAFA.

Nap.

Do “things” not on any to-do list (i.e. be adventurous and spontaneous!)

The Story of the Great Bleu-dini and The Search for a Tasty Milkshake

Yesterday I craved a vanilla milkshake.

But NOT just any milkshake. A CheeBurger CheeBurger milkshake.

This is not a "normal" craving. It's a every-other-year thing or a when-in-Florida thing, so I don't mind indulging in the CRAZY amount of calories and fat content.

I figured FD and I would go to lunch at Kermit's (our fav diner in BG) for burgers, fries, and shakes--a 50's kind of lunch. Yum.

When we got to Kermit's we found out they "don't serve shakes on weekends."

When asked why, our server retorted, a bit snottily, "We're too busy."

WTF?! Milkshakes are moneymakers. Someone really needs to tell Kermit that.

In sadness and a bit of anger, we ate our burgers and fries sans milkshake--a 90's kind of lunch. Ugh.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day obsessively considering my milkshake options: McDonald's (can't break no fast food resolution), DQ (didn't want soft serve), Marble Slab (way too expensive unworthily), The Sundae Station (possibly?) or the Ice Cream Machine (maybe?).

All I wanted was a true milkshake with hand dipped ice cream and little crunches of ice, not some watered-down, preservative-ridden, chemically engineered shake. It shouldn't be so hard.

Truth be told, I considered flying to Sanibel, FL (even checked flight costs!) so I could go to CheeBurger CheeBurger. Sans multi-million dollar budget and private jet, I was forced to pick something local.

Well past lunch and still weighing my options, FD and I left the house to grade student essays without worrying about a little black dog named Bleu. We crated BooBoo as always and headed off to the library. FD consumed by his grading ("That essay wasn't so bad...") and me trying to grade but continually talking through my milkshake options ("I could eat a salad for dinner and get a milkshake from DQ...Why can't Myles Baker Street serve gourmet milkshakes?...Why doesn't BG have an old school soda fountain?...Vermilion used have one in their downtown pharmacy; it was so cool...")

FD: "Could you please stop? Just for an hour? I'm really trying to grade."

Somehow I managed to finish five papers during our library visit, which freed up time during the two-minute car ride home to further vacillate my milkshake choices: "DQ and MickeyD's are out...I'm thinking Marble Slab..."

FD: "You want to blow $10 on a milkshake!? Are you nuts? It's not payday!"

Upon opening the door, we saw a black tail wagging beyond the baby gate.

A BLACK TAIL WAGGING BEYOND THE BABY GATE!

A BLACK TAIL THAT SHOULD BE IN ITS KENNEL!

WTF?!

!?!?!?




Somehow Bleu-dini escaped his kennel.

I imagine it looked something like this:
Between Bleu and Kermit's not selling milkshakes on the weekends, I lost my mind.

It didn't return until much later. After I watched the Dog Whisper, after I had my milkshake from The Ice Cream Machine (it was good, but not CheeBurger good), after Bleu pushed open the front screen door and escaped again, after my friend AS came over to play with Bleu and he tried to eat her hair, after an episode of L&O SVU, after I fell asleep and dreamed of Bleu escaping from his kennel again and hopping into bed with us...

~

PS!!!

OMG: There's 2 CheeBurgers in MI! We're so going this summer. Like the first day of summer.

That might mean I have to make milkshakes a twice-a-year thing.

Looks like Bleu-ser and I will be walking an additional mile every day...

Snippets of My Sunday Morning Convo with EJ, My 5yr Old Niece, While Playing Barbies

EJ: "I didn't know you were a teacher."

Me: "Yah, I teach writing to college students."

EJ: "Should college students know how to write by now?"

~

Me: "What other American Girl doll accessories do you need?"

EJ: "The bed for Emma (her AG doll.) The Bathtub for Coconut. Some new clothes...Being a mother is really expensive."

~

Me: "How old are you going to be this year?" (I knew the answer.)

EJ: "6."

Me: "Do you know how old I'm going to be?"

EJ: Shakes her head.

Me: "Old."

EJ: "Well, I told you my age. Now you have to tell me your age."

Me: "31. Is that old?"

EJ: "No, but you don't look or act 31. You act a lot younger."

In Honor of All the Brain Cells I've Killed Doing Stupid "Things" in My Youth

FD and I are walking Bleu who is picking up sticks & prancing around.

Me: "Do girl dogs have penises?"

FD: [silence]

FD: "Is that your idea of an April Fool's joke?"

Me: "I totally forgot this week was April Fool's..."

The Frustrated With & The Thankful For

I really like to appear happy-to-lucky on my blog. Which is why I haven't posted anything lately.

Then I realized it's stupid to only post "good things," as Martha says. And posting my frustrations helped me see what I am thankful for and to rethink my priorities. That's always a "good thing."

So here's me at one of my more honest internet moments. And believe me the internet could use more of those moments. (That's a whole other blog post about the internet as PR, etc. etc. More soon on that.)

Frustrated with:

1.) Students who obviously don't give a shit about their education. Why waste the money? Drop out of school if it's so f***ing easy or f***ing hard.

2.) Online Teaching. I love it. Don't get me wrong. But what I don't love is all this bullshit about how upcoming online classes (like the ones I created) "overuse" technology. Resistant students, teachers, dept. heads, deans and all those other people scared of new technologies because they don't understand any of them and aren't willing to use any themselves need to stop campaigning against them and get on board by taking an online class or teaching an online class. The future is next year and technology is part of it--online or f2f. Ask any 18 year old. Now go ask a 10 year old. Then a 5 year old. BOOYA!

3.) Kristy Lee Cook. Seriously, how long can her untalented ass hang by a thread? Ramielle is going home tonight. Ugh.

4.) Never having enough time.

5.) Myself. Seriously, I know I need to let go of these frustrations and control what I can by making more time, voting more for David A, David C, & Carlye so Kristy Lee goes home, holding development sessions in my program to show how new technologies work and what they are good for, and accepting the fact that some students don't care and never will so they earn the NP and become someone else's problem.

Thankful for:

1.) My husband

2.) My puppy

3.) My awesome students ( you know who you are!)

4.) My morning free to blog, go to the rec, and read something other than essays.

5.) The two HKs in my life: Hello Kitty and Hell's Kitchen. We know by now about my love for Hello Kitty. The other HK, namely Gordon Ramsey, always makes me feel better. Or least justified in being frustrated.

Props to Fox for the pic.

Then and Now

Thoughts during Breakfast for Dinner

I made eggs, bacon, and potatoes for dinner.

Bleu had his nose in the air, sniffing while wagging his tail.

It was the first dinner I had made that made him WANT people food.

Normally, I eat the table while he lays on his bed and watches me closely. (Our dining room table looks directly on his bed and vice versa.)

But tonight he begged. He paced. He rubbed my legs, dangling from the chair. He wanted bacon.

I didn't give him any. Instead I kept smiling at him and looking away, hoping it translated in dog language to "I love you, but I love my food more."

But one moment his eyes were so sweet and so sad, I was tempted to feed him bacon. I thought twice and realized that wouldn't be good.

I also thought and said to him, "If I love you more, I'd have to kill you."

It was weird. He looked so cute, so helpless, so loving. Excuse the cliche, but my heart melted. And I thought to myself, "So this is what it's like."

It's taken me 30 years of love to figure out what it's like to love a puppy. On my wedding day and each day I feel love for my husband, but love for dogs and kids. I didn't get it.

Then, suddenly, seeing Bleu beg for food, I got it. I understand why people love their pets.

But all this hoop-la about loving pets as kids means: I'm scared to have kids. If I loved them this much (as much as I love Bleu), I might beat them to death.

(No, I'm not an abuser, but just think of the PT Anderson movie Punch Drunk Love and you'll see what I mean. And think of the people who say, "You're so cute I could eat you.")

In short, so now I realize why my parents love me and want to see me all the time.

What would it be like with Grandkids???

Love. It's an f-ed up thing.

RIP Prince

I just found out my parents had to put down our family cat Prince unexpectedly tonight at 5:30 p.m.

I feel helpless for Pops and Hons. But I feel even worse for my sister Angie.

I know I'm shook up; I can't imagine how Ang is taking it.

I want to write more but I just can't right now...

RIP Prince 2004-2008.

Props to my bro Ross for this great picture of Prince; I know he's hurting too.

Snippets (Actually A Bit More Than Snippets)

Yesterday in my computer lab Composition class I tripped over some computer cords and bit the dust in front of my students. I caught myself on the wall and popped up like a puppet, laughing. They got a kick out of it too.

Apart from thinking about tripping I've been thinking about something we began talking about--digital identity. I'm sure most of you are all familiar with digital identity and digital narrative theories, but it was cool to explain it for the first time to this class of students. We've been talking a lot about Pop Culture and Technology, and yesterday was the perfect day to share with them the formal term. I pulled up my Facebook account for the whole class and explained to them that I'm only choose apps and giving details of the things I want them to know about me. I'm only presenting "the me I want people to see" on Facebook; I'm not sharing the things I might not like about myself or the things I deem private. I watched their faces as I defined this term that they were all kinda dancing around in the conversation, and I noticed several "AHA!!!!" faces. I love those teaching moments. And I really enjoy that class. The students in there are bright and motivated. They make me want to be a better teacher, scholar, and student myself.

Our class discussion, though, has me thinking a lot about Facebook. I'm totally addicted to that crazy thing. It makes it so easy to catch up with distant friends, loved ones, former students, and colleagues. I've been toying with creating student groups for my classes or developing the "Courses" app that gives classes space for a discussion board, a place to post assignment sheets, and an area to post announcements. My students seem kind of reluctant to use Facebook as an education tool. I don't blame them--at times. I think Facebook will be the new Blackbaord, but ,seriously, it's the best toy (and stalking tool) in the internet.

And while thinking about Facebook and digital identity, I've become obsessed with my Profile Picture. I can't find one that cute enough, smart enough, skinny enough: "me" enough. Either I'm having self esteem issues or I need a haircut (that always makes me feel better) or my New Year's Resolution to not buy "new" clothes has left me feeling a little under the weather.

Weather: We had several severe thunderstorms last night. It's February. We should be having blizzards. And to think there are still skeptics of global warming. Oi!

Thankfully, Bleu slept through all the lightning and thunder until one really loud rumble shook the house. Then I heard his little tags clink together as he probably raised his head (he sleeps in a kennel on the far side of master bedroom so I couldn't see him). This same rumble woke up me and FD at the same time as at the same time we said "WTF?" I imagined Bleu said it with us, and then all three of us fell back to sleep. Bleu's little tags clinking as he laid his head back down.

~

During yoga class last night I couldn't balance. Not at all. I got so pissed with myself. Seriously, how hard is it to stand on one leg with the other leg stretched out in front of you? Maybe it was my spill in class yesterday, but I just couldn't do it. And I know I can because I've done it many times before. It's been awhile since I've been frustrated like that during yoga. But I'm happy I got frustrated. It reminded me to let go and accept where I was for the day, even if that meant I was where I didn't want to be. I need constant reminders.

What I've really been enjoying this session with Megan is my mind is becoming less clogged when I practice and I'm able to draw connections between how Megan explains a pose and how I teach my students to craft an essay. Back in the day when I practiced yoga it cleared my mind to help me be receptive to words/lines/etc. for poems. I don't have that so much any more. Sometimes that scares me because I wonder if I'll ever write a poem again. But then I remind myself that I have my lyric essays which are at times hybrid enough to be poems, so why should I obsess over not writing somethings that are left-margin justified. Pigeonholing myself and writing to a certain genre in a certain style isn't cool...

Which reminds me of digital identity...like the blogs of the writers who only talk about writer-ly things. Though I respect many of these kinds of blogs, I'm skeptical of others. I'm wondering if all this digital identity isn't just perpetuating stereotypes and locking writers (and teachers) into these oversimplified personifications of their traditional roles. Aren't we all more dynamic than that?

Bleu beckons from this kennel.

Perhaps next time I'll discuss another idea I've had: "Pimp My Kennel."