The Dog Made Me Do It

     It wasn't until I became a pet owner that I realized how most of the time I speak, it's to myself.  Adopting a dog has only helped to mask the madness.
     My Lucy is a ratty, underweight, brown and white terrier mix with bald spots on her legs, and the boniness of an underweight  roasting chicken.  I originally saw photos of her online and passed on to the next dog- like me, she doesn't photograph well.  But when we walked into the Bideawee shelter in Manhattan, it was love.  She was sweet, shy, playful, and didn't bite.  Perfect.
     I find myself doing things I never thought I would do as a dog owner... or a sane person.  While I don't have her strapped to a baby carrier and tote her all over Brooklyn, here are just a few of the things I can't believe I do because I love Lucy.

1)  I am out of my house at 6:40 walking my dog.  (just a few short months ago, I complained daily on Facebook how I always missed the school bus.)
2)  I am picking up canine waste in public and carrying it around in a lavender scented bag until we reach home.
3)  I am telling my dog (in public) that barking in excess is not polite.
4)  I am on my knees on random blocks ripping bones that she finds on the street from her jaw as she clamps down tighter.  "Seriously Lucy, if chicken bones were diamonds, I'd be a millionaire!" 
5)  I do a happy dance over outdoor excrement and urine.  As Joe shakes his head in embarrassment I explain that I'd much rather Tango over pee outside than clean up the poop deck inside.

6)  With an extra name in the house I find myself calling my daughter Joycee, Lucy mistakenly.
7)  I am gushing to a pup.  I am talking in a very high pitched 'mommy talking to baby' language.  As she stares at me with her brown saucer eyes,  I know that she too feels the same.
8)  I admire other dogs on the street, I ask about the breed, the name, and the vet they chose.  I make small talk with strangers walking their pets.
9 )  I proudly show friends photos of our newest addition.
10)  I realize that the impatience I have with my kids is my problem alone.   If I can teach a dog in a calm voice not to pee in my house, not to scratch my furniture, and not to chew on my shoes, it would only be fair if while doing homework I extend my kids the same courtesy.
     Yes, rescuing a dog has changed the dynamics of our home, and so far...it's been for the better.

  

The Cheese Stands Alone

    

  It is not a happy morning, it's alternate side parking and I'm walking into a funeral.  Parking was a bitch because each of the row houses in this neighborhood has a homemade curb cut and yellow lines, leaving the whole side street looking like a peed on candy cane.  Because I won't spring for the knit hats with the mink pom-pom, I walk a little slumped over in my single rat pom.   I think I am a social person....until I have to interact with others.
     For instance, I'll make my way in, I am a few minutes late and the speeches have already begun, I try to find an open seat and sit.  Someone walks in behind me, makes her way strait to the front row, kisses and hugs each of the mourners, and is grasped tightly by each person in full appreciation for her words of comfort.  WHY COULDN'T I DO THAT?
    Later on, I go in for a consoling hug, I feel a pullback.  I think it's because she want to greet the next person in line, so I immediately back away-as she closes in to give me a kiss on the cheek.  Every intimate, emotional moment is like a first date with the botched good night kiss at the front door.  I walk away beet-faced, as if I just walked out of a sauna.
     Joe tries to facilitate at weddings, pushing me through the crowd, because he is a natural at working a room.  What he doesn't feel is my pounding heart.  The impact of his hand pushing up against my back, and parting through those who are more comfortably cordial than I.   I am the virgin being thrust toward the center of a smoldering volcanic crater.  Why am I being sacrificed?
     I am not a hi-howya-doing whirl wind.  I will never win a competition at a meet and greet for most outgoing.  But I'm no wallflower either.  I don't know when to do the cut in the break away the smile for the camera or the disappear into the background.  However, I can execute the funny anecdote, or on a more serious note flawlessly.  

"Congratulations to a beautiful couple."

        My absolute worst faux pas' include:
a)  Mouth full of food when the photographer makes his way around.
b)  Pulling up the strapless bra while dancing in the middle with the bride and groom.
c)  The videographer's light blinding me as I try to sound witty, grateful, and sincere while holding a microphone that makes me feel like Bob Barker.
  I'm horrible at double dutch.  I can not for the life of me do the jump-in when two people are engaged in a conversation.  What if it's a sensitive issue or top secret business information?  Every time I enter an affair, while Joe insists on fetching me a drink (and returns an hour later), I'm reliving recess in 5th grade waiting to jump into a spinning jump rope.  My hands are cupped and over my head, trying to get the timing strait so that I don't mess with the rhythm.  The craft I've so proudly mastered in grade school now puts me to shame.  I can not invade, so I evade, I swim around like a shark, do a few laps to see if the chat has died down...and then go in for the kill.
      Time has taught me that I can jump at my own pace.  I've always been more of a people watcher than an entertainer.  I don't have to be pushed up against the wall (or center stage) to speak.  I just need to be myself. Once  I welcome the fact that I am not the Ringmaster at a party, then maybe  I can relax and enjoy the circus.

Fall of the Queen

    Madonna dislikes being called 'Madge.'  In 2009, she admits that the nickname – often used by her British ex-husband, Guy Ritchie – made her feel "boring and middle-aged".
   Initially I hear the name Madge, and I think of a bored middle aged housewife who in between seeing her kids off to school in the morning and afternoon Karate carpool, has a part time job as a phone sex operator.  Her smoky whisper of a voice talking perversity the way a nursery teacher sings a lullaby. 
   Where her talent definitely is respective of the name 'Madge' for 'her Majesty,' (she IS the Queen of Pop) and anything that Gaga, Rhianna, Brittany, Katy Perry, or (dare I say) Miley Cyrus could concoct as a stunt-Madonna has already done in her sleep.  So why is her ass in plain sight? 
      Material Girl is wearing less and less each time I see her sing.   Instead of following the ab-rocking, horn-masked, shirtless men carrying her from stage left to right; I sadly watch her Majesty, and wonder how insecure she must be at the threat of losing the royal throne. Is she trying to keep up with the promising young talents of Nickelodeon/Disney?  To me Madonna isn't keeping up with anyone as much as she's showing her age-and a very passe' way of thinking. 

  Shock and controversy were always a large part of your appeal-but we're living in a time and place where almost nothing is new or impressive.  The audience is brutal and even the most naive have seen it all by the age of fourteen.  So now more than ever, it's your raw singing talent that needs to be exposed....

Behind the times?

not your derriere.