Farewell My Sweet Girl

So 2008 is over. Thank goodness. While the year was filled with many good times, my first memory of it is always going to be as the year that I lost my Kelcie. I don't think I have the words to express how much I loved that dog. She was a good, good girl. Now that I have a new puppy on the horizon, I find myself thinking a lot about when she was a puppy and just exactly how good she was. Of course, she, like Belinda and I, had the benefit of being raised by the late, great Mildred, the world champion of raising living creatures, human or otherwise. Mildred just had a knack for making you good whether you wanted to be or not. Kelcie was very much Mom's dog, even after Mom died and she became mine. There was no question that Kelcie's ashes would be buried on Mom's grave, whether it was against cemetery rules or not.

I guess I kind of knew going into 2008 that this would probably be the year that I lost Kelcie. She'd gone downhill quickly when winter set in last year. I'm lucky I had her as long as I did. But no matter how prepared you think you are, when the actual final days were evident, it hit me like a freight train. I'll always remember the last time she laid that little head on my foot and slept. I didn't ever want to move from that spot. And her last day, I got down on the floor with her and pulled her close, praying it was all just a nightmare. That was a day-long prayer, even after I left the vet's office with just her collar in my hand. I still haven't gotten used to walking in the house and not having her at the door to welcome me home. I doubt I ever will.

I am mostly excited about bringing Miss Gracie home, but am nervous about it too. I haven't had to deal with a puppy for 13 years. And, as I said, Mom really was the one who did most of the training. But beyond the normal fears--will she bark too much, will she pee on the floor, will she chew my shoes or, even worse, my purses--I have a fear that I'm going into this expecting to get my Kelcie back, and I know that I won't. Am I going to be able to let go of Kelcie's memory enough to let Gracie be Gracie? Will I love her like I did Kelcie? Is it OK if I do? Am I overthinking this? I have a tendency to overthink what I'm going to have for lunch, so this is probably some serious, serious overthinking on my part.

My sweet Kelcie girl, I loved you more than you could ever know. And I miss you more than you could ever know. Gracie will never replace you in my heart. Nothing ever could. But please help her to be as good and sweet as you were. And please keep her away from my purses and shoes.

Technologically Challenged

Well, I've just joined Facebook. I've only been on there twice and I'm already confused. What else is new? I freakin' hate technology. I'm going to have to go out and buy one of those blue ray things if I want to watch movies soon, I'm sure of it. I don't want to have to deal with that. I've just figured out all the buttons on my DVD player. Freakin' technology.

I've picked a horrible time to decide that 30 pounds is where I stop gaining weight back. The office gave us pizza for lunch today and now the break room is full of chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate. Freakin' Christmas. Why can't it be the holiday of salad, huh? I absolutely cannot gain any more weight. If I go up a size after I worked so hard to get where I am (and, yes, I know it's still a gigantic size) I'll die. And if I die, well, then I'll go down quite a few sizes now, won't I? Ha!

Heeeeeeere's Gracie! Errr, well, I guess, theeeeere's Gracie. Up at the top of the page. I'd like to post her here, but can't seem to figure out how.

Freakin' technology.

Blog Slacker

I can't believe how long it's been since I blogged! I didn't even blog about the election! It's just been so crazy here lately, I haven't had much time to use this computer for anything other than work stuff. Which, you know, is really all I'm supposed to be using it for and stuff.

So, yeah, Barack won. Woo-hoo! I'm so happy. Hopefully he makes good on his promises and turns this country around. So far, so good. Gas is down to an almost tolerable price. I don't think he really had anything to do with that and it's actually the lousy economy that's caused the decrease, but I'm going to give him credit for it anyway. But he's still trying to sell me stuff. You're not getting my $5, Mr. President. Back the freak off! Go pick out a puppy or something and leave me alone.

Speaking of puppies..... HUGE announcement... Drumroll, please!

I've put a down payment down on one! A mini Austrailian Shepherd. Not sure if I'm getting a female or male. I'm third pick of the puppies and the second pick won't pick their puppy until this coming weekend. I want a blue merle, and the litter only has one female blue merle, so if the second pick people pick a peck of pickled pepp... er, I mean, the female, then I'll have to take a male. Fine by me, I think. I've never had a male dog before, but I'm sure it will be fine. Keeping my fingers crossed for the female, though. It's been 13 years since I've had a puppy. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous about the whole thing, but there's no going back now. Check is in the mail. I just turned the corner one day and was ready... so very, very ready.

And, boy, don't I miss my Kelcie girl. I surely, surely do.

I feel guilty about spending this much money on a puppy when there are so many dogs looking for homes in shelters. But this is what I want. I'm going to start bringing little care packages up to the shelter every once in a while to alleviate some of the guilt. I should have been doing that in the first place.

New puppy no name boy or girl will come home the second or third week in January.

Soooooo, I guess that's it from here. Seems like there's other stuff to blog about, but I'll be back. I've got to figure out how to make this not look like a bottle of Pepto.

It's the Most Horrible Time of the Year

It's 4:30 and pitch black outside. I hate this time of year. All the leaves are gone, grass is turning brown. You almost want snow to add some color to the world again.

Almost.

But most of all, I hate driving home from work when it's pitch black outside. It just makes me feel so tired.. and hungry. Hungry for stuff like shepherd's pie and macaroni and cheese and casserole type stuff. Stick to your ribs, warm, comfort food. Now if I had someone at home to make the comfort food for me, I wouldn't mind so much. But since I have to comfort myself, it stinks. I hate this time of year.

But I'm on a mission. I'm determined that I am now going to use only products that are not tested on animals. So far I've discovered that everything I use is indeed tested on animals. I guess I didn't realize that this was still an issue in today's society. But Miss Lizzie Liz, my tree-hugger friend here at the agency--and I say "tree-hugger" with love--has pointed out to me that almost all health and beauty aid products are tested on animals. So being the socially conscious and responsible individual that I am (ahem) I am vowing to now use only non-animal tested products. Of course, this means I'll have to give up my Dove facial cloths and moisturizer and find some other goop to make my hair shiny. But I will! I've discovered that St. Ive's does not test on animals and neither does Nexxus. I will make this work!

Tomorrow is Election Day. Woo-hoo! I don't know why, but I love Election Day. I wonder if Barack will keep on emailing me and asking for my $5. I hope he wins. Hope, hope, hope.

Pepto Pink

A couple of things...

My blog looks like a bottle of Pepto Bismol.

It occurred to me last night that size 6, 8, 10 and 12 may now be considered plus size. Maybe Wal-Mart is not to blame after all.

My CD player in my car is jammed. I tried to get Velvet Revolver out to put AC/DC in and it jammed. So now I've got to go to the lousy car place and get it fixed. Cut my brake lines, smash my windshield, slash my tires, but do not mess with my CD player! I had to listen to the radio this morning on the way to work. The radio! I knew it was going to be a bad day.

And, finally, I hate to admit it, but I think I'm a lesbian hater. I hate, hate, hate the story line involving Callie and Hahn on Grey's. Hate it! Somebody find Callie a man right freakin' now!

I've got the weekend off from the store. Woo-hoo! I see a sweat pants day in my future!

Why, Wal-Mart, Why?

Let me start by saying I hate Wal-Mart. Hate them. Most days I would rather take a beating than have to go to Wal-Mart. I hate it because, A, I will always spend too much money, and, B, someone or something will inevitably piss me off. So I don't go very often. But I really wanted the new AC/DC CD and it seems the old boys sold their souls to the devil (and not in the cool rock 'n' roll sort of way; it's the evil retail giant has me by the short and curlies sort of way) and the only place you can buy it is Wal-Mart, so I decided to go at lunchtime and pick it up. Guess what? I spent too much money and something pissed me off.

Instead of just heading straight for the electronics/entertainment department and picking up the CD like I should have, I got distracted and decided to stop in the clothing department and look for pants. I need new pants for work. Now shopping as a, ummmm, voloptuous (read: damn fat) woman is hard, and it's especially hard at this age. I'm not that old yet. I'm not ready for flower-covered house dresses or sweaters with quilted patchwork designs of geese wearing hats emboridered on them. And when I lost weight and actually became a size, instead of having to just buy the biggest thing I could find on the rack, I promised myself that I would never go back to wearing elastic waist pants with no zipper or button that I could pull all the way up to my chin. These, unfortunately, are what you're going to find the most of in any plus-size department you go to. Apparently the fashion world is convinced that fat chicks can only be housebound old ladies obsessed with hat-wearing web-footed creatures and pastel colored-flowers. No way could a fat chick actually be a still fairly young professoinal who would like to dress the part.

But I digress. Our Wal-Mart has recently been renovated and everything has been moved around. So I finally find the "Women's" department and bypass the flowers, geese and stretch pants, and head for a rack that contains some really cute office attire. As I'm hading to the rack, I start to think about how many months it's been since I actually paid my phone bill and wonder if I have another month before I get the pink notice, because obviously this little venture to Wal-Mart is going to cost me more than the originally estimated $11.99 for the AC/DC CD. I head straight for the blue pinstripe pants, because I really need something in blue, and pick them off the rack, only to discover that they are a size 8.

What? Size 8? I haven't been a size 8 since... well, I don't think I've ever been a size 8, not even when I was eight. So I look at the other pants and see a size 6, a size 10, 12, more 8's, a few more 12's, and it slowly dawns on me that this entire rack of clothing is not the plus-size motherload that I'd thought I'd found, but is just an evil reminder of the cute clothes all normal size women can wear while I am forever banished to the flowery geese with elastic waists section. Upon closer inspection, I see that there are also other racks of clothes in sizes in the single digits mixed among the fat chick stuff. So I take a deep cleansing breath--this is Wal-Mart after all--and search the racks that have clothes that will fit me and finally settle on a pair of pants that I can almost stand and a couple of tops.

I decide that while I'm there, I could use some new underwear. I may hate Wal-Mart, but they are the only place I can find that has hold in your tummy briefs that don't actually cut off your circulation or just push all the fat upward and make your belly hang over your waistband. So I head for the fat chick underwear section and what do I discover? You guessed it. The tummy holding in underwear is mixed among the skinny girl thongs and hoochy mama panties. Great. Just great. Wal-Mart, you never fail me. Now I have one more thing to add to my cotinually growing list of reasons to hate you.

Thank God the AC/DC CD only came in one size. Though you do have to pick from either a yellow, red or silver CD jacket. I got red.

There's No Crying In Baseball

Right?

Well, somebody needs to explain that to all the Sox fans I work with. Good Lord, you'd think that George W. Bush got elected for a third term or something with all the belly-aching that's going on around here this morning. I'm not a true baseball fan--or any kind of sports fan, for that matter--but I do have to admit to watching bits and pieces of the last few games just because of all the hoopla that's surrounded them. I live in part of the Red Sox nation and it's all I've heard about from anyone the past few weeks, so, yeah, I watched a little. Didn't have a clue in the world what was going on, but I watched. (Like, why is it an out when the outfielder catches the ball after it's been hit, but not when someone in the in-field catches it? Why do the in-fielders have to throw it to base and the outfielder doesn't? Am I understanding that correctly? Seemed to be the case from what I watched. Why? Why don't they all have to throw it to base? These are things I'd like to know.) I wanted the Sox to win for loyalty's sake, but holy moly, those Tampa Bay boys were hot! And the Red Sox look so unkempt. Why are their uniforms 10 sizes too big and don't any of them own razors or combs? You'd think with all the money they make, someone could invest in an iron and a Schick.

Whatever.

I wish Barak O'Bama would stop emailing me. It's getting a little annoying. I seriously doubt that he needs my $5. Yes, I would like to have a magnet for my car, but I'd rather get those cute shoes I saw at Payless. So give it up, Bama. You will not win the battle of politics or shoes with me.

It was 24 degrees here this morning and we're supposed to get three inches of snow tomorrow night in to Wednesday. God help me, it's started. I'm sorry I ever uttered a word about how hot it was in Myrtle Beach a month ago. I'd give anything to be there again right friggin' now.