Day 61: Sisterly Love

I should be packing.

I'm not.

In around 36 hours I'll be boarding a plane to New Orleans for the first time...to ring in Mardi Gras...with my less-than-cooperative left knee. And I have nothing packed.

I dragged the suitcase out of the balcony closet a good four hours ago.

And here I sit.

I've managed to watch ABC's Wednesday night comedy line-up...talk to a friend or two, surf facebook for way too long, impulsively buy a very expensive camera (still not sure if that was a good idea or not), get into a quarrel of sorts, and thus - here I sit. In a funk. On facebook. And jamming out to various power ballads (sorry neighbors...not my bed time yet).

All this - when I should be packing.

Well, now that it's clear that won't happen, I may as well make up for my sub-par thankfulness post yesterday (thanks for calling me out Porky.  I deserved it!).

I've written about everyone in my immediate family, except my sister.  And there's a reason for that...we're kind of like oil and vinegar (it's ok, she knows it's true too).  But not regular oil and vinegar...more like...the salad dressing you get at Buddy's Pizza on Northwestern Highway (come on Michiganders...help me out here).  We start divided...then every now and again we shake things up...become intertwined, and more like the "sisters" you'd expect, but gradually something happens and we drift apart...back to our separate oil and vinegar worlds.  Weird parallel? Yeah, kinda.  But I think it sums us up nicely.

It's not that we don't love each other...we most certainly do.

It's not that we don't care...again, we certainly do.

It's just that sometimes life intervenes, and history repeats itself.

It's funny, because they say that all little girls are "daddy's girls", and all sisters are supposed to get along, share clothes, do each other's hair and kiss and tell.  Well, we did get along (on occasion), I would try on her clothes (and shoes - I seemed to have a thing for her shoes) when she wasn't home (and didn't know about it), she helped shave my legs for the first time (when my brother refused to go to Middle School with me "looking like that"), so I guess that's technically "doing my hair" (hey...we never said it was location-specific), and we did kiss and tell (though she doesn't know it), because I knew where she kept her diary, and knew that it wasn't locked.  And once she knew that I knew, I knew where she kept the key (see? I was meant to be an investigative journalist).  We were four years apart.  She was a varsity athlete in every sport she tried her hand at, and I needed an inhaler to run around the track a time or two.  She had her pick of the boys (all of them...all the time), and I...uh...I didn't.  She had perfect teeth with only a retainer, and though I didn't share the head-gear misfortune that my cousin did, I did go through about 5 years of extensive orthodontics.  She liked science and math...I boycotted AP Bio when I found out you had to chop up a frog.  Ok, you catch the drift.

But today...we bridged that gap.  Today...we talked on the phone for a good hour, about everything from my jacked-up knee, to my nephew, to her work, to my work, to boys...or maybe just one in particular :)  There was even some...(wait for it) GOSSIP in there.  YOWZA!  And it wasn't painful, I wasn't eyeing up the clock, wasn't wishing I was talking to someone else...it just came (you ready for it?) naturally.   Shocking, isn't it?  And truth is? I loved it.  Every second of it.  It was refreshing and it just felt right, and that's exciting.

So, Stacy...let me just say this...and brace yourself, because lord knows when our little oil and vinegar shake-up will sift back into our own entities...

I love you.  I think you're beautiful, remarkably intelligent, artistic, a wonderful mother, and you have the biggest pair of cojones of any woman I've ever met.  You, my dear sister, have the backbone that I so often lack.  You stand up for yourself, make your opinion known, see what you want and go after it.  You never let anything stand in your way...of what you love, what you need, what you want, or what you deserve.  And that's admirable.

Just know that I love you...even when I don't say it.

And p.s. You're totally worth the extra half hour of procrastination (which is bound to turn into a little stress tomorrow when I realize "Crap! My suitcase is still empty!")

You're my sister.  A great sister...

And I'm thankful for that :)

Day 60: Drawing a Blank

I don't know what I'm thankful for today.

Sad...isn't it?

I've got more than 300 days to go...and here I sit, icing a leg I'd like to amputate, and away from the one I love, after a horrible day of work.

Some days don't have a silver lining.

Today seems like one of those days.

I'm drawing a blank, folks...

I'll try better tomorrow.

Day 59: Perception.Reality.Happiness

Life is all just an issue of perception.  Your reality isn't actually reality...but what you perceive it to be.  So if you change your perception of the situation, you change your reality...and therefore your feelings associated with said reality.  Wouldn't it be true then...that we're each the master of our own universe? and therefore our own happiness?  Ha...pretty deep for quarter to 11 on a Monday, eh? ;)

Here's my point.

I was driving downtown today...waiting at a stop light...watching people criss-cross the street.

That's when I spotted her.

A runner.

Damnit! I want to be running.  It was sunny, the sidewalks were clear (mostly) and my hair would have looked phenomenal flipping in the wind (haha!).  PLUS!  I bought a pair of Under Armour "Cold Gear" Running pants that I'm pretty much dying to whip out.  And just as I was lapsing into this beautiful day dream of my muscles rippling in the gentle sunlight...a sharp pain in my left knee brought me crashing back to reality.

Possible torn meniscus...patella tendinitis.  An MRI looms before me...along with the threat of surgery.  Somehow watching this blonde-haired bunny saunter down the street in a light jog, no longer seemed appealing.  I went into full out "sorry for myself" mode.  Ugh.  My knee hurts.  Even if I don't need surgery...the healing time will still be weeks...though the doc said I could still resume my marathon training and still be fine.  If I end up needing surgery, the doc says I'm out of the race.  So here I sit, at a stop light...in a hunky, uncomfortable brace...days before my very first trip to New Orleans, where I'm bound to wear (gasp!) shorts and dresses, and maybe even (dun, dun, dun) a bikini.  Who feels sexy in a bikini and a knee brace?  I mean...seriously.  You're killin' me knee.  Couldn't you have done this AFTER my vacation?  or just not at all?  That would be nice.

And then...the light turned green.  My eyes went from the runner on the right side of the road...to the man standing on the left side.  I didn't noticed anything different at first, but as I continued through the intersection, and got closer to him...I saw it.

He was missing a leg.

Perception.Reality.Happiness.

My perception was miserable...sorry for myself...and mopey.  And for a brief moment, that was my reality.  But this man crossing the street on crutches (which have become my nemesis in the past week), helped bring everything back into perspective.

It's kind of like my "mobility" post earlier in the week.  You don't really realize what you have until it's gone.  On the flip side...you don't really realize how lucky you are to have what you have, until you meet someone that doesn't have it.

Yes, my knee cap may have delivered some of the most excruciating pain I've ever experienced in the past few days...but at least I have a knee cap.

Yes, my hands may be bruised from the crutches, and I may have had a few close calls with death because of them, but unlike the guy on the corner, I won't have to use them forever.

And yes, I may jokingly worry about my sex appeal in NOLA with a knee brace on, but I can take that off when I'm pool side.  There's not much you can do to stop people from staring/gawking when you don't have a leg.

Perception.Reality.Happiness.

A man on a street corner had a profound impact on all three of those today.

And I'm thankful for that :)

Day 58: Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy

This'll be short, sweet and simple (kinda like me! ha!)

I'm thankful for an easy day at work.  For all my freaking out, everything came together quite nicely...and it didn't involve a commute...but it DID involve a dinner break (gasp!).

Life is good :)

And I'm thankful for that. 

Day 57: Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater

The only thing that sucks worse than crutches...are crutches in the winter time.

Seriously... It stinks.

Less than a week into this whole "Swizzy on Crutches" ordeal started...I've succeeded in tripping over the dog, tripping over rugs, chair legs, a light kit, a tripod, the ankles of a few people (sorry about that)...I've got them stuck in a door or two (didn't know that was possible), tripped going up and down the steps...and lest mother nature be outdone here, my escapades in the great outdoors have been more like a slip and slide than anything else.

Tonight included.

I was taking it easy...going slow through a giant tuft of snow...when BAM!  Left crutch goes out from under me.  And just as I was about to put my left leg out for balance, Pete grabs me by the elbow and pulls me back to my feet.

I was thankful then, but I'm more thankful now, because on the way home...I got to thinking...this isn't the first time he's picked me up when I've fallen.  He is probably one of the most loyal, steadfast and true, selfless human beings I've ever met.

I pay him in baked goods and hugs, so he'll stay late with me (long after his shift...and long after he can punch his time card for) so that he'll walk me to my car in a scary, dark parking lot.  But something tells me, he'd do it without the incentive.  He's kind, caring and a phenomenal catch...he's also my biggest cheerleader.  There's nothing I can't accomplish at this station without a pep talk from that man.

He's held me when I've cried, wiped away my tears, and is quick with a hug whenever he thinks you need one.  We sample each other's cooking...laugh until our sides hurt...and I can safely say, the weekend shift wouldn't be nearly as fun without him.

So Pete? I'm thankful for you...and your weird t-shirts...and the fact that you wear a kilt to work with pride.  I'm thankful that you're always the first one to join in in my impromptu dance parties in the newsroom (the machine is still my favorite).  I'm thankful for your hugs, and your smile, and your ever-ready ear.

So for today, and all the other times you've picked me back up...

Pete - I'm thankful for you :)

Day 56: My Very Own Snapple Lady

I don't remember when I first met Christine.  What I do remember, is that I met her through Jason (gay husband #1)...and I met Jason at my vet's office...and I picked that vet because my dog was pooping blood on a Saturday and no one else was open.  Ha.  Fate is funny that way sometimes.

What has developed since that first meeting (which I have a feeling was at Green Mill for Bar Bingo) is one awesome friendship...and since we had a girl's night on Friday, I decided it's about time to write a post for her :P

Her friends call her Chrissy...I call her Christine...and at times, I call her the Snapple Lady...because (to me) she looks (and acts) just like the Snapple Lady. 

All jokes aside, Christine has a heart of gold. There isn't anything she wouldn't do for someone she loves, and she will have your back no matter what...and I would know, because she's done exactly that for me so many times.  She's the first one to hand you a tissue when you need it, the first one to answer that midnight phone call when you need someone to talk to, and the first one to laugh at all your jokes (or at least mine, and let's be honest, I'm not all that funny).  Whether we talk once a week, or once a month, she's always there when you need her, and she's one of those rare friends where you can pick up right where you left off without batting an eyelash.

She helped me through all the days of the Chad saga...she's listened to all my boy drama...and most recently, she hooked me up with a remarkable boy...and (unlike someone else I know) was happy when we hit it off.

She has a smile that's contagious, she loves fried pickles, and she lets me double dip in her ranch dressing.  Need I say more?  I mean honestly... ;) haha.

Simply put - you won't find a better friend than Christine.

And I'm thankful for that...


Now if only I could get some free snapple out of the deal...? haha... 

Day 55: That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles

I ate a cookie today...a huge cookie, a cookie the size of my head.  I eyed one up at Target when I was picking up my broken-knee cocktail from the pharmacy...and since then...I haven't been able to get cookies out of my mind.

So I stopped at Great Harvest with the soul purpose of finding a cookie that was the size of my head.

I succeeded.

I put my own life in my hands, hobbled across an ice-filled parking lot, dodged some kids, scanned my environment...and BAM!  Cookies! 11:00.  My eyes zeroed in...the drool started forming...and all that separated me from minutes of buttery, fatty cookie bliss was one small pane of glass (which is a good thing too, or else my drool would have pretty much ruined the cookies for all those other cookie connoisseurs out there).

I've decided God invented cookies for the soul purpose of making me happy.  It was delicious.  Much worth the dollar and some change I spent on it...much worth the Twister-esque mambo dance I do to get out of the car and onto my crutches...and much worth the battle with two doors (yes, TWO!) just to get inside.

And did I mention it was the size of my head?? SERIOUSLY. YUM-O!

I told myself I'd ration it off.  This whole bum knee thing has pretty much destroyed my diet.  I guess being forced to eat at the kitchen counter while balancing like a flamingo will cause you to devour anything within arm's reach.  This massive, jumbo, larger-than-life cookie certainly wasn't going to set me back on the right track...but I couldn't resist.  I broke off a chunk, wrapped up the rest, and told myself I'd save it for later.

Later was about 30 seconds.

Another chunk...then another...before you knew it, I was licking crumbs out of the flimsy paper envelope it came in.

Ahhhhh...what a moment of pride.

After I finished inhaling this cookie...I got to thinking...what (besides PMS) prompted this cookie-gasm?  It didn't take me long to flip through my memory rolodex...and pinpoint the exact start of my cookie devotion.

Instantly memories of me as a teetering, unbalanced, piggy-tailed toddler came rushing back.  Lazy Susans.  Old Tins.  Hugs and kisses and pockets full of cookies.

95% of my cookie happiness comes from my Dido (or grandpa for you non-Ukrainian people out there).  He used to make cookies, tons of cookies, all kinds, all shapes, all tastes, all flavors.  Cookies with jam in the middle, cookies with hershey kisses in the middle....cookies with mounds of chocolate...and crunchy nuts.  It was cookie heaven.  You don't normally think of a grandpa as being the baker in the family.  I can't even imagine my dad's dad greasing a cookie sheet...let alone completing any other cookie cooking task...but my Dido?  He loved it.  My Baba (come on non-Ukies, you can figure this one out) used to be the chef...but my Dido? He was the baker (and the meat-carver. Ha. We all have our jobs).

Anyway, there were always cookies in his house.  Always made from scratch...always with the best ingredients.  He'd line one of my Baba's 10,000 tins with some wax paper, stack the cookies inside, and tuck it inside his lazy susan (lazy susan being the corner kitchen cabinet with the rotating shelves...not the table-top accessory).

Whenever you walk into my grandparents' house, the first question my Baba will ask is -- "Can I get you anything to eat?"  You'll hardly have your shoes off, before she makes her way into and out of the kitchen with some heaping tray of food, insisting that you eat up (guess that's what surviving a war will do to you).  When I was a kid, it was easy.  "Something to eat" very easily equated with "Want lots and lots of heaping mounds of cookies?"  And of course, I'd fill my little chipmunk cheeks with as many cookies as she'd let me take.

But I totally knew how to work the system.  I knew if you asked Dido when Baba wasn't around, he'd always let you have another (as his little secret), and once you milked both those options...I knew that it took approximately one minute and thirty seconds to sneak into the kitchen in stealth mode, flip the lazy susan til you saw the glimmer of tin, pop it open, and fill every single pocket in your outfit with the good stuff.  I'm sure they were on to my plan...but if they were, they never let me know.

I was a cunning cookie fox :P

My Dido doesn't make cookies anymore.  Old age has taken away that joy.  The tins are all in the basement.  The lazy susan is empty.  Every now and again, my Baba will whip up a batch for the holidays...but nothing beats my Dido's chocolate chip cookies.  Nothing beats those golden brown, made with love, melt in your mouth, terribly fattening, lumpy, bumpy cookies.   I miss them terribly.  Miss standing next to him, adding the ingredients, sampling the batter, and getting flour all over my face and hair.  I miss it all.

But for a brief moment today...all that came rushing back to me...

And it was all thanks to one jumbo cookie (the size of my head), that made my heart smile as much as my stomach.

And I'm thankful for that :)

Day 54: In KNEE'd of Some Crutches

Wow. Three posts in a half hour...I'm really outdoing myself here.  Ha. Or frantically trying to make up for my wonderful ability to procrastinate.

I'm a gimp. My knee doesn't work.  The same knee that gave out on me a week ago on the treadmill, has reared its ugly head and is determined to get its revenge.

Ok knee cap.  You've made your point.  Now back off ;)

I'm on crutches.  Me? Crutches?  Pretty ridiculous.  What's even more ridiculous is that I'm hobbling around at work and at home...trying to keep a tough face on, when I'm pretty sure it would be far less painful to just saw off my entire limb with a dull fork.  No joke.

The palms of my hands are bruised, I've already tripped on the dog half a dozen times, and don't even get me started on the flight of steps I have to do for Janie's four daily potty breaks.  My only stable leg is getting ready to call Egypt and ask for some protesting advice, my arm pits hurt...and I've become quite adept at trying to carry things in my mouth (watch it, pervs).

The only solace that I really have...is that by the end of this ordeal, I may develop arms like Michelle Obama.  That's what I'm holding out for anyway ;)

But what this has given me (in the instant satisfaction category), is a new-found appreciation for the far-more-mobile version of Sarah that I knew all-too-well 48 hours ago.  You don't realize how important something is, until it is taken away.

Do you know what it's like to use crutches on ice? or packed snow?  Do you know what it's like to use crutches on stairs and wrestle with a 12-year-old frisky cocker?  Have you ever tried getting dressed or getting into the shower, while only using one leg?  Have you tried to open non-handicap doors on a slippery floor? Or carry your lunch? or a purse? or...sneak through small spaces?  It's brutal.  Even my own home is a virtual land-mine for someone with mobillity issues, and I never even realized it until someone took my mobility away.

It gives me a new appreciation for the people I volunteer with (in both places).  Yes, I see their walkers.  Yes, I see their wheelchairs, but I never realized how big of a challenge they really have ahead of them.  How big of a battle every day becomes when you have legs that don't work.  It sucks.  I'll never know what it's truly like to be them.  I'll never know what it's like to have legs that don't work, or are paralyzed or deformed.  I'll never know what it's like to have permanent mobility issues...and I'm thankful for that.

These crutches have given me such a profound sense of appreciation for all of those who battle those struggles every day.  For those who don't get to hang up their walker after a few days, for those who are confined to a wheelchair.  Their strength is admirable.  Their determination to make it through is astounding...and it's something that I won't soon forget.

I'm in KNEE'd of some crutches.

And I'm thankful for (what) that ('s given me).

Day 53: Good Night my Someone

"Good night, my someone,
Good night, my love.
Sleep tight, my someone,
Sleep tight...my love.

Our star is shining,
Its brightest light,
So good night, my love, for goodnight."

If I was a betting woman, I would put money down on the fact that Megan Matthews is probably the only person who will properly identify those song lyrics...and possibly hum along.

It's a song from the Music Man, and a song I sing often when I'm alone in my house.  Actually, I have my own set list of mushy, romantic, sucks-to-be single songs that I sing in the safety of my own home.

This song, is one of them.

Because the character who sings it, is singing out to the stars, because she doesn't have any one else to sing it to.


"But I must depend,
On a wish and a star.
As long as my heart,
Doesn't know who you are."


Depressing, isn't it?  Even more depressing when you consider the fact that I sing this song alone in my house, well, technically, I sing this song to a borderline deaf dog...but in my defense, I'm not sitting in a picture window (like Marian) and singing to the stars.  Though I find it incredibly romantic that she sings it to the stars.  When I'm away from someone I love, I tell them to look at the moon, and (for some reason) I find solace in the fact that (no matter how far apart we are), we're gazing at the exact same thing.  Makes you seem closer in a hopelessly romantic world.

 Ok...so why all this mush you ask?

Because I met someone that I could see myself singing this song to.  I'm writing Day 53 on Day 54...because I had a date on Day 52 and Day 53 ;)  And two dates last week.  That's four dates in seven days...and a mighty impressive record if you don't mind me saying so myself ;)

He's fantastic.  When people ask what's wrong with my foot...I joke that he swept me off my feet too fast ;)  Romantic, right? He's perfect, and like no one I've ever dated before...and certainly no Minnesotan, because up until he came along, I was convinced that all men in this God-forsaken state were destined to be alone, and wouldn't know a good thing if she walked right up to 'em and kissed 'em on the lips (because, trust me, I've kissed a few :P ha).  But this particular man (and Minnesotan) that I met, did just that.  He swooped me into his arms and hasn't let go (yet).  Tells me every day that he's crazy about me.  He calls, he texts...he doesn't play stupid games.  Doesn't run away and hide, or panic when things get serious.  He wants to see me as much as he can, and can't get enough of me.  He opens doors, picks up tabs, and has a hankerin' for protecting me and keeping me safe.  He's perfectly adorable, says all the right things at the right time, and makes me feel like I'm a girl that's worth showing off, and a girl that's worthy of love.  And that's huge.

Oh, and he's hot.  Incredibly hot with big bulging muscles.  And that helps ;)

Ha.  He's probably reading this now, which instantly makes this more embarassing.

But if I know him like I think I do, he won't care.  He's probably smiling to himself now, saying "Oh Honey," in this adorable southern accent he picked up somewhere between Albert Lea and Eagan, and scratching his head to come up with some self-deprecating comment to deflect my compliment.

Which is fine by me...because pretty soon, I may have someone to sing this to.

"Sweet dreams be yours dear,
If dreams there be.
Sweet dreams to carry you close to me.

I wish they may,
And I wish they might.
Now good night, my someone.
Good night."

xoxo

Day 52: 4 Seasons

If you like snow...you may as well move to Minnesota.  No, seriously.  The winter in this state is ridiculous.  I've pretty much had it up to my eyeballs with snow (or in snow, as the case may be sometimes...).  I think we've had three major blizzards...and by blizzard, I mean over a foot of snow over the course of the day (that should seriously be outlawed).  It's just plain goofy.

I don't know if my hatred for blizzards stems from the fact that I have to be the goon standing outside on a street corner in -20* temps telling people it's cold outside...or if a foot of snow is just really too much for any one person to handle...but when it really comes down to it...I like all that snow (in smaller doses).

Ok, it's not so much the snow...but the four seasons.

I can't imagine living in a place like California.  For starters, my boobs aren't nearly big enough, I could start a fire in a library with my thighs, and bleach blonde hair probably wouldn't look so good on my olive skin...but even if I could fit in there, I'm not sure I'd want to.  I like snow, I like trees with colorful leaves (something Montana lacked), I like the smell of sunshine, when the snow starts to melt away and birds start chirping in the trees.  I love the resurgence of flowers in the Spring, and the crunch of fallen leaves beneath my feet in the fall.  I love making snow angels, and sledding and snow shoeing (though, let me tell you, it's harder than it looks).  I love the cool crisp air of fall, and heaping cups of hot apple cider.  I love tromping through a pumpkin patch, sleigh rides, sun-kissed shoulders, and brown paper packages tied up with string (ha...I couldn't help myself).

What would life be like with only sunshine?  Dull.  Uninteresting. Boring.  Not for me.

In order to appreciate the ups, you have to have the downs...and trust me, that sundress seems like the Holy Grail in the middle of a Minnesota winter.    The concept of not having to look like a marshmallow every where you go, sounds amazing.  Ahhhhhh yes, I can appreciate the flip flops, after being forced to wear boots for 8 months of the year.  And you can rest assured that the thought of being in a bikini in a week and a half sounds absolutely phenomenal, after looking like an eskimo for so long.

I hate the blizzards - but I love what they mean.  I live in a 4-season state...and if I just hunker down for a little while, Spring will be here before I know it ;)

I live in a state that has all four seasons...

And I'm thankful for that ;)

Day 51: Friends and Favors

There was a lot of pressure today to make today's show flawless.

a LOT of pressure.

Actually, I think I was more nervous for *this* show than I was for my very first show at the anchor desk.  I know...I'm a bundle of nerves...a little high strung...a little tightly-wound.  I can't help it.  I worry when I tell others not to...panic for no good reason, and overanalyze til I'm blue in the face.  I'm a third-generation worry wart (thank you Mom and Baba...you pretty much could have left this one out of the gene pool :P)  And no matter how hard I try...it can be a little hard to rein in.

I started freaking out this morning when I woke up, parted the shades and saw nothing but white.  ::damnit::

I started worrying about the day long before I ever had to.  Lame.

But what I will say is this...I have fantastic friends (and family).  As Pete said, the show was a "flawless victory" (thank you, Mortal Kombat), and I couldn't have done it without him.  Pete is my right-hand man on the weekends.  You were on board with all my wacky-ness from the beginning, you've always had my back, and I'm pretty certain you would saw off a limb or two if it would make me happy.  Today wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you.  You rocked the house.  Seriously.  Thank you for putting up with my 9,000 phone calls.  Thank you for rolling with the punches...and thank you for believing in me.

To David, who came in on his day off to run cameras, to Chad, who came in on his day off to help David, and help make sure all the video got to where it needed to be, to Daren, who also came in on his day off to make sure the I's were dotted, and the T's were crossed in Austin - THANK YOU.  Thank you for answering the call when I called in a favor ;)  And yes, I owe you all dinner -- we'll just have to space it out, so I can afford rent.  Ok? Thanks ;)

To my personal cheerleading squad: My parents, Jill, Ross and Jonny - Thank you.  Next time I'll have to send over some pom poms ;)  Your encouragement meant so much, and helped keep me calm (even when that seemed outside of the realm of possibility).   You reached for my hand and touched my heart.  THANK YOU!


I'm a goof ball.  An absolute worrying nut...but on Day 51, that overbearing nut had a phenomenal day...

And it's all because of friends...and favors :)

And I'm thankful for that. 

Day 50: Stairway to Mama

I love my dog.

Like seriously...love my dog.

She's my fur baby (which is further proof that she's mine...because we're both hairy! ha!)  There isn't anything I wouldn't do for her...and sometimes I go a little over the top.  But in my defense...I don't have children, I don't have a significant other, so she just so happens to be the object of my affection.  And she deserves it.  She survived 7 years of abuse before our paths ever crossed, and helps me conquer PTSD on a daily basis.

She's awesome....my little 12-year-old DOGter, Janie...J-Bombs...ganoosh.

If you know her, chances are you love her too.

There are so many things I'm thankful for when it comes to "J"...but I've narrowed it down to one for the purpose of this post :P

It was recently brought to my attention (by a visitor that will remain un-named), that it's weird to have dog stairs to your bed.  Ha! Can you believe it?  Ok...maybe it is a little weird...but it's not that weird. Afterall, there's a company that makes doggy stairs (and different models of said stairs no less), so I can't be the only person in the U-S-of-A that has a set.  I'm not really all that wild about the steps, but what they give me.

A snuggle buddy.

My dog is 12.  To my knowledge, she hasn't medaled in the high jump or long jump in the doggy Olympics, and I doubt she would either, because, let's be honest, as a cocker spaniel, her legs are about as long as her mama's (proportionally speaking of course), so it's not like she'd be able to get onto the bed any other way.  Is this weird that I'm defending my dog's status as a permanent bed mate?  Ha.

Well, I don't care...because I love it.  Because right now, my sweet little fur baby has her head on my knee, and she's looking up at me with those big brown eyes.  She'll stay in bed with me til she thinks I'm asleep (it's actually kind of cute), then she'll sew her wild oats throughout the house, and come back into bed when I wake up.  She'll always be curled up into my knee-pit, and I think it's the cutest thing ever.  Who doesn't love a readily accesible cuddle buddy?

My days with her are numbered.  I know that. She knows that. Her vets know that.  She's in the beginning stages of heart failure, she has chronic ear, eye and skin issues, and she's going deaf (I've only now just admitted that to the world, so go easy on me).  My little baby is slipping through my fingers, and I cherish all the seconds I have left in this world with her.

So, yes...I have a set of doggy stairs at the foot of my bed.

And a doggy that loves them.

And a mama that loves them more.

Day 49: I have a date! (stop laughing, it's true!)

I am so far behind...so, so, so far behind.  It's Day 52...and I'm still stuck on Day 49.  Well...not stuck per se...just wonderfully pre-occupied these past couple of days.  I could probably spend the next two months telling you that I'm thankful for that preoccupation...but that wouldn't be all that exciting...would it?

So here goes.

I'm going on a date on Monday.  ::Ahem:: No need to laugh...I'll wait til you're done.  Good? Ok...continuing on.

I'm going on a date on Monday with an incredibly attractive, sweet, caring, kind, wonderful human being...who (get this) actually wants to be seen with me in public.  (Hard to believe, I know).

For all intents and purposes, my post could end here, but what fun would that be?

What's even better about going on a date...is that my previously-referenced "psycho ex" (though admittedly, that title seems a bit harsh), not only knows about said date...but gave me his blessing.  Whether or not that blessing was heartfelt, doesn't really matter.  He knows, and I don't have to tiptoe around.  Don't have to worry that my phone will ring, or I'll be inundated with text messages.  I don't have to feel guilty, or bad.  Don't have to have my heart in one place when my mind is in another.

If you knew our past, you'd understand why it was such a HUGE deal for me and my (at times) non-existent backbone to look him right in the eye...say I'm going on a date...say I like the guy a ton...and seal the deal with a "I'm sorry, I know this hurts you...but I'm really not sorry, because he makes me the happiest I've been in a long time."

It's like 1,000 pounds of pressure, guilt and frustration evaporated off my shoulders.  It's a new lease on life, a new beginning...it's exciting!

I have a date on Monday.

And I'm thankful for that :)