because one day this dog is gonna die

my dad is a sensitive guy. he cries at weddings. he cries at commercials during the olympics. he still cries when tiger wins the open. he's a sensitive guy. when my dad was a kid he had a horse named captain. one day captain got sick and died and dad buried him. three years before i was born, my older sister died and my dad buried her. when i was in junior high, we got a poodle. my last year of college, the dog died and my dad buried her.
at the mere mention of these memories, my father gets that teary look in his eyes. he's quiet for a minute. or more. he still mourns. the wounds aren't fresh. but deep. the ache of losing someone you love is a pain that lingers. becomes part of you. i've learned that by watching him.

my kids want a dog.

you might say i've never been great at romantic relationships. i've been the instigator of many'o break up in my pre-marital days. and even though by almost all accounts i was the "blameless one" in my divorce -- that may stand as the exception that proves the rule as i go into this dating world and attempt to forge a meaningful and possibly even, significant romantic relationship.

i'm still seeing the guy. yes. the same one. i'm scared...like seventh circle of hell scared.
why. because
one day this dog is going to die.
in my past life, i liked guys that travel. plenty of space. which i need. lots of give on the relationship tether. the guy travels. quite a bit.

friday night the guy left for a 10-day business/pleasure/holiday excursion to the west coast. saturday night, i had a date. and for the first time (as in first time ever in my entire dating life)--i felt.. .. .. weird about it.. weird? guilt. is that what guilt feels like? about halfway through our fantastic dinner, i was full-on antsy. we kissed a little on the walk to the theater for a comedy show. laughed our butts off. it was great. waiting for the valet, he put his arm around my waist and suggested drinks at a sports bar. i felt myself push away (just a little). i said i was too tired. he took me back to my car and i cut out early. watched the end of the Tech game with my parents. what's up with that.

i don't want a dog.
not because i think my kids are irresponsible or because we're not home enough. but that's an issue. not because i don't like dogs and worry about him chewing up all my shoes, crapping on the floor and tearing out into the street where i'll have to chase him in my pajamas, screaming his name like my idiot neighbor. although i do worry.

i don't want a dog because i know that one day that dog's gonna die. and that will hurt me. it will hurt my kids.it will bring pain into our house. i will have to deal with the ugly matter of body disposal and caring for his memory. i'll probably even cry.
i prefer to avoid that.

saturday night showed me what i didn't want to see. i'm into the guy. let's face it: i'm never too tired for a drink. like. not. ever.
whether the guy is just not that into me or he is or whatever; i realized on my drive home from "the date" that i've already buckled the seatbelt in this relationship jeep and i've got no choice now but to hold on. and ride.

through no conscience decision of my own, i can't date "other men" anymore. even when the guy is out of town. unless i'm willing to feel guilt. not for cheating; (i'm still under a non-exclusivity clause); but i'm taken. even if only in my own mind. and it's not cool to seem available. when you're not.

the whole idea of getting into a *gulp* committed relationship gives me jumbo jitters along the lines of walking down the hall to the room where they do the lethal injections.
i'm terrified to be the girl to the guy.
he's awesome. i'm into him. i should want this. but i know.
this dog is going to die. one day.
i prefer to avoid that.
don't i?
or do i?

is it really better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? really? i mean, i might come out of this as 'A Girlfriend.' good lord. i might actually have 'A Boyfriend.' holy crap.

last christmas my step-mom wanted a dog. she picked out a breed and a size. told my dad what color she wanted. looked up breeders.talked about names. my dad put his proverbial foot down. no dog. essentially he said: "i am not bringing anything new into my life that i might have to bury. i've buried too many things that i love already."

i'm a commitment-phobe.
because i know one day this dog's gonna die.

fam friday

a is for allie.

the younger of my kidlets had her thanksgiving feast in kindergarten today. i'm no PTO mommy. but, this kind of shit really warms my fuzzies. here's a little peek into my real life.

the good and wonderful stay-at-home mommies who volunteer at my daughters school had the cafetorium decked out with tee pees and pumpkins with turkey feathers. it was cute and not overdone (too much, i mean. given our suburbian standards).
Here is allie's "feast." you'll recognize from that first thankgiving: popcorn, fish (in this case, goldfish crackers), pretzels and a pb&j shaped like a turkey. capri sun to wash it down. they also made butter out of whoop cream and spooned it out to the tiny first americans from a ziploc bag. allie dipped her pretzels in it and wanted to know if we can start making our own butter. fuzzies warmed.

i sent a white pillow case the week of halloween. the teacher dyed them brown and cut appropriate holes. then the kids painted their "vests." she made her own headdress, notice the droopy pink feather (my favorite); the headband is decorated with colored triangles marked with PT. .. .. why? because that's what the indians lived in mommy: pee tees. and by the way, we were clued in to the PC lingo when the teacher released the pilgrims first to the feast, then the indians native americans.

did i mention i live in Stepford ? sugarland moms sometimes creep me out with their incessant conformity to uniformity like some kind of grown up sorority (ok.i'll stop now.) but they do a lot at school to make it fun for my kid. and theirs i guess. they also make it kind of fun for me. to people-watch.

besides, a standing prescription for xanex comes with the zipcode. so i got that going for me. and did i mention turkeys..made from pumpkins?

here she is in her

pilgrim attire.leave it to allie to do a wardrobe change in her kindergarten thanksgiving feast. seriously. the other kids picked one and stuck with it. she's a hoot. i'm dead in the water with this one. mark.my.words.

after school i took her to get a haircut at one of those little-girl salons. they have a "full service" salon, but mostly they do birthday parties. it's the kind of place kiddie beauty pageant moms dig on. my 5-yr old come teenager sat in a girl-crush stare as the birthday girl (who we didn't know. thanks lord for small miracles) and her party-girls pranced down a runway in their blonde wigs, glitterly eyeshadow and high heels. what's next? silicone insets on the dresses. sorry folks. this kind of stuff totally creeps me out. god help me. my kid loves this place.

they have half-price haircuts on friday and she loves the frilly-chick treatment.

and that was my fab fam friday.

romantic? ... that's what SHE said

i'm not a girly-girl. high maintenance:yes. frilly:no.
* i've never read a cosmo magazine.
* i've never gone with a gal pal for a mani-pedi.
* i've never bought a pint of ben&jerry's to get over a breakup.
however
* i do wear sweats when i get my period.
* i cry at the end of steel magnolias.
* i love to get flowers
think of this as back story. on with the blog.

my friend is in love. she's in that kind of teenager-y love where absolutely everything her boyfriend does is adorable and she can't drop his name often enough in conversation.
-he sent her flowers for their six month 'anniversary' of their first date (sweet)
-he starts to text her every fifteen minutes if she's out to lunch w/out him longer than 90 minutes (kind of weird)
and check out this little gem.
-every night while she brushes her teeth and does her womanly pre-bed routine, he lays on her side of the bed. then, before she crawls in, he scoots over: so her side is already warmed up for her.
swear i felt my breakfast bubble up on this one. you say romantic. i say revolting.

but then again. when i fall in love, i go kicking and screaming. maybe that's why i find gooshy, head-over-heals love so ... um .. repellent. or maybe i'm just completely uncomfortable with sweet, soft and loving, outward displays of compassion. probably a little of both.

anyhoo.
after she told me, i suggested (through my bwahahaha-ing) that maybe this was something she wants to keep between him and her. like when he wears her dresses.
i had to say it. mostly because i felt so uncomfortable hearing about this weird and private ritual, but also because i think it's a little disturbing. the thought behind it is sweet, (i guess, if you're into that kind of thing) but when taken in the context of this guy's tendency to be.. shall we say, overbearing... i think the whole laying-on-your-side-to-warm-it-up thing to be kinda creepy. frankly.
and this opinion (which i now realize, i should have censored) offended her.
shocker.

guess i'm on probation now...

i went to the thing yesterday. the thing with the tailgating party that started at 10:30. the tailgating party with the open bar.with absolute citron. anyway, i had a great time at the thing. but we didn't win the thing, in fact, it was embarrassing how pathetic we lost the thing, so dad and i decided to go have a few drinks at the country club afterward. to talk about how crappy the thing was. but how much the tailgating rocked.

by then, i was absolutely absoluted. and that's when my judgement got clouded.

i've learned the dangers of DWI. many is the morning, i've dragged my groggy, throbbing head across my pillow to look over to my nightstand and know i had committed a crime the night before: dialing while intoxicated. i've matured. done my time with the drunk dialing. it's a quick offense with a long punishment phase, in some cases.

but i was absolutely absoluted; i was tempted to DWI. the guy was out of town. i hate calling the guy on a trip. lord knows its a miracle if he calls me (that's a whole different blog) . trip calls should be important, meaningful; involve flight plans or detailed stories of checking into a hotel. DWI compiled with the pressure of a trip call could have drastic implications. i mean, it's not exactly a concrete relationship as it is.

i had impaired judgement, but not so impaired that i was willing roll the dice on this one. he was in vegas. the last thing i needed was for him to be thinking "jeez. she's drunk a thousand miles away and still finds a way to bug me." not what i want floating through his mind while he flies home. DWI was out.

but i couldn't keep my drunken little fingers off my phone and so it texted him: about 75 times. okay 72, but only the sent box is counting. texting while intoxicated is the lethal mix of thought and speed. i think it. i type it. i send it. then i think something else. send. another thought. send. send. send. send.

luckily, the guy is not the 'easily-irritated-by-drunken-silliness' kind of person. obviously, considering he's put up me for more than 2 consecutive weeks. and he didn't even mention the myriad (and meaningless) texts that i filled up his phone with while he tried to play video poker.

i'd love to bestow upon you the rare and wonderful gems of wisdom that flowed out of my absolute-soaked mind that night. but as is my ususal post-TWI habit, i rolled over the next morning, grabbed my phone and erased my sentbox. problem solved.