Dulywed: What's Beneath All Those Vows (A Series)

My Dear Partner in Life,

I promise to love, honor and cherish you even though you wake up with random and inconsistent songs in your head and decide to share them with me despite how dreadful they are. I agree to let you sing, even though the morning hating monster in me wants you to shut the f up, because I know that your sunshiny way of greeting the day is better than my frowny way. I commit to tolerate your sleepy dance moves as you walk in the buff from the bedroom to the bathroom, where we both get ready at the same time because we live in The Most Expensive Place in the World. And I vow, that on mornings when you walk in singing Squeezebox and start hitting me in the butt with your morning wood as part of your dance routine, I will blog about it. Because it is special and hilarious and, although publicly inappropriate, a really fun way to start the day.

Love,
The Keeper of Your Secrets

Something I Haven't Blogged Because of the Shame

Earlier this year, I had to send Venus to a retirement home.

The poor dog has become tragically neglected since we moved out here. She went from having a bedmate in David, to having a roommate in Shannon and then Nikki, to having her Mom start working from home, to having no one around for a minimum of 9 hours everyday.
She'd been doing better since we moved to our new place, but better still wasn't good. Her quality of life is completely tied to having people around her, and ever since I had to start working and Mack went back to school, she's been getting by but not being anywhere near as happy as she used to be. After we got back from Jamaica and Mack started going to school all day 6 days a week and I kept my regular work schedule, she took a turn toward decay. I had to make the terrible decision to save myself from the guilt of giving her up or to save her from the impending crazy and broken that I saw creeping into her eyes.

No one I know has a farm or the space to take on a dog, which not only made me appreciate Phil and Dave and Leigh for being so nice to babysit her so many times but also made it a heart-wrenching challenge. Let's face it. She's old and crippled and she bites. She's not good with kids or dogs or elderly people, and she's especially unkind to blondes and black people. I knew if she went to the pound she'd be put down in a matter of days. I just couldn't live with myself knowing that would be her fate.

Mack helped me track down a dog rescue in Los Angeles called Save a Life. It's a no-kill animal sanctuary, and we called to see if they ever accept dogs whose owners couldn't keep them anymore. They said they did, on the condition that the owners give a sizable donation. I looked at Venus, losing weight by the day and looking more and more defeated, and I made one of the hardest decisions I've had to make so far. I decided to give her up.

In a lot of ways, giving her up was giving up on the part of myself that thinks I can handle everything. It was me being honest instead of blindly optimistic, and it was me admitting defeat in the face of present circumstances. There's just not enough time to be all things to all people and places and pets, and doing everything halfway wasn't good for anyone. Save a Life probably saved a couple of lives by taking Venus in.

The lady who runs the place called us a couple days after we dropped of the V to ask us to send over her vet records. She'd given her some vaccinations, put her on antibiotics for her skin/itching problem, and was feeding her "more premium food," which means "stuff better than the Pedigree crap you were feeding her." (In my defense, it's hilarious to watch Venus eat Pedigree with rice in it because somehow she manages to eat all the brown pieces and spit out all the rice pieces, and that's why I was a Pedigree loyalist.) I asked how she was adjusting and what the lady said was music to my ears. A puppy they'd just brought in had decided Venus was her friend and the two of them were sharing a bed and laying in the sunshine.

It's still not easy not to think about her without getting sad. But the truth is the dog she was changed into the dog she was becoming because of our new situation. I loved her for being the rotten puppy who ate cigarettes, for pushing Ruble off the couch, for all the pizza crusts I found under my pillow, for laying at my feet when I'd write and letting me rub my toes in her fluffy hair. I loved the life we had together in Kentucky, and that's a life every dog should have. She deserves better, and I hope that her final few years in the California sunshine with little puppies keeping her annoyed but secretly delighted will let her forgive me for giving her up.

Part of the Reason I Chose to Move

Just in case your minds had frozen and you started to believe winters have to be like that. Thinking of you suckers warmly as I dine on sunshine and fresh ocean air.

Everyday the 14th

Last year Mack was in charge of Valentine's Day, and when I came home from work he had a margarita on the rocks (with salt) waiting for me. I hopped in the tub to sip the Mexican nectar while he executed his "surprise." When I got out, coconut fried shrimp and macaroni and cheese (with spiral tube noodles) was waiting for me. Not exactly what I would have picked to go with a tart margarita, but a very sweet gesture nonetheless. Especially considering I didn't do anything beyond speak the words, "Happy Valentine's Day."

This year, I am in charge of the celebration. He has no idea what we're doing, but I have crafted a President's Day Lover's Saturday Night Special complete with an Evite and an adapted Gettysburg Address. Because I am an awesome Valentine.

Because Mack is also an awesome Valentine, he gave me a gift first thing this morning. In addition to displaying his full body in all its natural glory while he puttered from the bed to the shower, he also made me eggs, which reminded me of last year and started this year's V-Day off with a smile.

Virtually Best Friends

Melissa mentioned on the ski trip that she *loved* the blogs that I have introduced her too (okay, she loves ONE of them), but I found another one back in May that I haven't bragged on enough yet.

Here's how it happened. We had a contest for Mother's Day where women dished on that one naughty thing they did and kept secret from their mom their whole lives. (I broke some crystal wedding candlesticks that used to sit on the mantle that I used as a microphone when giving live performances on the fireplace, but we always just glued them together so no one knew.) This lady Erin revealed that she peed in her mom's shoes and blamed it on the dog. She won free maid service for a year. I called to tell her and she said she kept a blog to deal with the insanity of being a mom to three (they write on the walls with Sharpies a lot). I read her blog. I laughed my butt off.

Now Erin blogs for Capessa. And still for herself. Check her out at Finding Yourself.

She is also trying to finish a baby nursery (she had a little boy a year ago and is preggers again) and is a finalist in a contest for Lifetime. It's neck and neck between her and some lady named Nancy, so I figured I'd use the almighty power of MY BLOG (hey mom! you there?!!) to throw some votes her way because I want her to win.

Please go there and vote for Erin from Oveido, FL as many times as you can. She deserves it.

Super Dee Duper Tuesday

I am so excited about the political prospects right now I can barely contain myself. Since moving to a non-apathetic state, I've taken to elections in the same way I used to take to UK Basketball. I go vote, then I go to a little sports bar near my precinct and drink a beer and watch the Democrats take control. It's thrilling.

Today, after filling out my non-partisan ballot on behalf of the Democrats, a lady with a British accent asked me if I could help her walk across the slick floor of the Cellular Factory (yes, we voted in a cell phone store). She was the type of old that is frail and wonderfully sweet, and I took her arm and helped steady her out the door and down the steps. She told me she just lived down the alley and she'd forced herself to get out of the house to cast her vote even though she can't walk too well since breaking her hip three years ago. The half a block required so much energy that she'd thrown a coat over her pajamas to conserve her strength before setting out to do her duty as a citizen of her adopted country. Her name was Veronica, and that she was working so hard to be a part of the process, to contribute her voice to our country, made me appreciate even more what it means to vote.

Mack took her arm to escort her the whole way home, and even in her state of ancient she still had enough spunk to tell me he was so handsome, that she didn't need me anymore and that he'd be home in about four hours. Saucy little thing. We walked her to her apartment, and as she thanked us for helping her out, she blinked back her tears and made me make some of my own. Then she looked into my eyes (there is some debate as to whether she described them as "true" or "shrewd" or "shrew") and made me want to be her granddaughter. At least I get to be her fellow American.

[A COMPLETE ASIDE: Happy Mardi Gras! Our little sports bar was having a Mardi Gras party tonight and I got to have crawfish for the first time in probably 15 years. It was delicious and made me miss Liz and Amy and Harris's and gumbo parties and swamps and Louisiana and the two step. Another nice reminder of where I come from.]