Mar. 3rd, 2012

lillbet: (Thinkie.)
Cued up London Boulevard with There Be Dragons after. Redbox is my new cinematic religion. Let us watch. :p

Last night was not a ton of fun. The upshot is that my mother wants me to do something that will be my career (um, DUR. SO DO I.), my dad is just worried about me in general, and the two of them are doing a crap job at dogsitting because Duchess is definitely backsliding a bit. *lol*

After good dinner and some arguing, copious red wine, and ice cream, I crawled into an uncomfy guest bed to stay the night. This morning at an ungawdly hour, Duchess kicked up a fuss- she'd really messed her kennel. I cleaned her up, cleaned it up, and settled on the couch and let her chew on my fingers for a bit. Truth is, she's to young to be trained and the aunt and uncle aren't doing it right- her kennel is too big, and there's too much space in it for her to be grossed out by her own... output.

Dad came down and made coffee and amends. Mom can down and proffered olive branches.

Stepped on the dog- something you always think is going to happen with a dog that size. She's okay. Let her lick my face to make up for it. I call her "D" or "Leddy D" (like in Amelie).

We've reached an understanding, the three of us, so I think things will be fine. Just want to get things going because the sitting around is going to drive me mad. The good thing is that they are taking back the bed and the dresser and the chair- all furniture from my grands and great grands that I don't want to tote around with me and don't want to junk or sell.

At one point, Dad said, "I've always sort of felt like you were a California person." Which was nice. I hope I am, I really do. 

FYT- puppy pics:

lillbet: (Like Liz Lemon)
 Ugh. Suddenly feeling lousy as hell. It's the bad sleep and the stress, I think. Next two movies are going to be broad, stinking comedies. Or The Help and something else uplifting. So emotionally done right now. Luckily, going to a friend's birthday happy hour, so there's that to look forward to. And there are recipes I want to try. And stuff. A poem:

Post Hoc

by Jennifer Maier

It happened because he looked a gift horse in the mouth.
It happened because he couldn't get that monkey off his back.
It happened because she didn't chew 22 times before swallowing.
What was she thinking, letting him walk home alone from the bus stop?
What was he thinking, standing up in the boat like that?
Once she signed those papers the die was cast.
She should have waited an hour before going in; everyone knows
salami and seawater don't mix.
He should have checked his parachute a seventh time;
you can never be too careful.
Why didn't she declare her true feelings?
Why didn't she play hard to get? She could be out at some
nice restaurant right now instead of in church, praying
for the strength to let him go.
It all started with that tattoo.
It all started with her decision to order the chicken salad.
Why was he so picky?
Why wasn't she more discriminating?
He should have read the writing on the wall; listened
to the still small voice, had a lick of sense. But how could he when he
was blinded by passion? Deaf to warnings? Really dumb?
Why, why, in God's name, did he run with scissors?
If only they'd asked Jesus for help.
If only they'd asked their friends for help.
If only they'd ignored the advice of others and held fast
to their own convictions, they might all be here, now,
with us, instead of six feet under; instead of trying to adopt
that foreign baby, instead of warming that barstool
at the Road Not Taken Eatery and Lounge, wondering how it might all
have been different, if only they had done
the right thing.

"Post Hoc" by Jennifer Maier, from Dark Alphabet. © Southern Illinois University Press, 2006. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

May 2012


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