It Takes a Lot to Render me Speechless ...

I'm appalled. There's no other word for it.

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity knows that I take pains to keep references to my personal life rooted in philosophy, in thinking. Most are also probably aware that, despite my best efforts to work things out, I'm doing the divorce thang.

What I'm throwing up here now is an informal log of the past four nights, nights when Pythagoros was supposed to call Belle at seven and didn't. What this means, of course, is that he's drinking again. Either that or he's found some other substance ti send him off the deep end.

How do I know that? The man I love(d) would never, ever disappoint his precious Belle. Not one night, never four nights.

And yet ...

Friday, 9/4: No call, no explanation from Pythagorus beyond, "I fell asleep". Belle left a good night message at my insistence, cried afterwards as I killed myself trying to help her process, wanted to know why Daddy didn't call, was he okay, maybe I should call the police because he might have been hit by a car, and so it goes.

Saturday, 9/5: Pythagorus did not respond to various calls/e-mails so did not get the message that Belle would be at a rehearsal dinner for a wedding (she was a flower girl in my cousin's wedding). He did call at seven but was acting confused, defensive, and argumentative when I spoke with him. Did not answer when Belle called upon returning home. Belle did not want to leave a message and, as she was exhausted and quite upset, I did not force her as I usually do when this happens. We both fell asleep crying.

Sunday, 9/6: Called Pythagorus from my cousin's wedding reception at seven. No answer. I forced Belle to leave a good-night message despite her lack of enthusiasm (to say the least). I also sent some pictures of Belle in flower girl glory and encouraged Pythagorus to view others on Facebook. No reply at all. In fact, he never looked at them (as of a Monday afternoon conversation between he and I).

Monday, 9/7: No call. Forced Belle to leave a good-night message for Pythagorus. She asked why, since he never seems to get her messages or he wouldn't keep "forgetting"--kid's got a logical point. I also had to explain to Belle why we didn't go to Friendly's for lunch as "Daddy promised" a few days ago that he would be visiting Monday and taking her to Friendly's.

Am I crazy to be appalled? Am I crazy to think this whole mess is just ... crazy?

Am I crazy to wish that Pythagorus would just be a douchetard like this all the time since he'd been so solidly himself for weeks before this transgression that I (and more importantly Belle) was starting to believe in him again and since I know he'll go back to being himself in a few days.

What do you do when you love Dr. Jekyll dearly ... but truly want to kill Mr. Hyde?

And does it really matter anyway when your kids are suffering the way mine are right now?

Charlie Brown's Football

You know the scene from Peanuts where Lucy is always trying to get Charlie Brown to try to kick the football she's holding? The football she always yanks away at the last second? The football she always swears up and down to Poor Old Chuck that she is not going to yank away this time, that he just needs to believe her?

What does it say about Charlie Brown that he is able to be talked into believing that she will hold the football in place? Is he stupid? Gullible? Or just someone who thinks that kicking the football is worth the pain and humiliation? That feels strongly about giving someone else the benefit of the doubt, even when betrayed and hurt every time?

And how about Lucy? What sort of person would again and again convince someone to give them a second (and third ... and fourth ... and infinite) chance knowing the whole time they're going to just yank it away?

Button Pushing (or "Going out of your Way to Tick People Off")

Have you ever noticed that there are some people who truly seem to enjoy pushing the buttons of other people? I mean, it's fun for them to see how aggravated, irritated, or upset they can get someone else. It's ridiculous!

My current "button-pusher" (well, the main one ;)) is not a person at all. No, it's my golden retriever, Mollie, who has taken the fine art of pissing people off to new heights. She's an ambassador of annoyance.

Here's a picture for you:



Just a ball ... pretty harmless, right? Hahaha! Not where I'm sitting. No, Mollie uses this circular piece of rubber as the equivalent of a medieval torture device.

Let's say you get home from a long day at work. The idea of taking the dogs out for a run sounds pretty appealing, right? Even more fun--since they're both retrievers and have a natural love of fetching--would be a nice game of ball.

Hmm.

What usually happens is that Mollie picks up her ball, charges outside, and starts running laps (the Invisible Fence concept is a great invention, by the way). Sonja usually joins her, and it's great that they're getting their energy out plus it's pretty cute to watch. At some point, however, Mollie comes running up to you and starts saying, "Would you throw the ball, please? A nice game of fetch sounds like fun." (Anyone who says dogs can't talk has never had a dog) So you tell her to drop the ball so you can throw it--and she just gives you this look of defiance. Sonja, who's generally laying under a tree at this point, comes over because heck, fetch is a great game and she wants in.

And then Mollie won't drop the ball. She'll sit there dancing around with it in her mouth, sometimes dropping it then snatching it back up before either myself or Sonja can reach it, but she will not put it down. At some point, I usually try to take it out of her mouth just because the whole thing is so aggravating and poor Sonja clearly wants to play fetch even if Mollie wants to be a twit (and yes, we have multiple balls ... you can probably figure out what happens when we try that). Yeah ... she draws blood when you try to take her ball away. Not pretty.

But in the great scheme of Mollie as a Master of Masochism, that's nothing. No, she has far more devious devices for that freaking ball.

Although she WILL NOT drop the ball for you outside, she somehow thinks that inside the house is just the perfect location for playing fetch. She will drop her ball--slimy with dog drool and smelling unbelievably bad--into your lap and, if you don't throw it, will take it out of your lap and then drop it there again. Over and over and over again. If you do throw it, she'll fetch it perfectly and bring it to you to throw again, the very behavior you want her to do outside. Here's a visual of the great ball drop according to Moll:



I saved the best for last, though. Mollie's latest and not-so-greatest trick is that she will push her ball under a piece of furniture and then scratch at the floor, whine, cry, and otherwise drive you bonkers until you get the ball out. Doesn't sound too bad, right? I mean, how hard is it to lift the end of a couch end up or use a yard stick to swipe under a hutch? Well, one would think so, but only if that person didn't know Mollie ...

No, Mollie has figured out which furniture cannot be lifted--and that's where she focuses her energies. I have had to empty out my bureau twice since I couldn't lift it any other way and, when the yardstick doesn't work with the hutch (it's all about angles--definitely not my forte), that's an adventure too. Furthermore, she has started a new habit of hiding her ball under Belle's bed and then scratching all around it, jumping all over it, and just being in general a loud, obnoxious nuisance when Belle is asleep.

The thing is, that dog is smart. Like, ridiculously smart. She gets ample attention, has people around happy to play with her, and went through extensive dog school training. She knows right from wrong--she's just a button-pusher, and I've never met one of the canine variety before. If it wasn't so darn annoying, it would be really funny. And there's not a lot to be done--I mean, we tried moving every single ball outside, and ... well, you can probably imagine what the door looked like after that.

But smart as she is, conniving as she is, Mollie is a dog. I also have to say, to be fair, that I love her dearly and that she's wonderfully gentle with Belle and Addie (especially Belle--Addie is not a fan of dogs in general and Mollie in particular). Belle is the only person Belle will play fetch appropriately with outside. And, of course, there's this:



So how do you deal with human versions of Mollie?

Vanity Plates

When I was driving home today, I saw a license plate in front of me that read:"KEEPBZS". I spent a ridiculously long time trying to figure out what it meant.

"Keep busy"? Perhaps, but why the 's' at the end?

"Keep bees"? A bit more promising, although I might have just been excited about being behind a beekeeper.

I kept running things through my head. Key peeps? Keepsies? It was randomly a lot of fun, which I've found vanity plates to be...even if you never know the intended meaning.

I used to have vanity plates. They read: "UONCRK", and I had them until I received notice from the DMV that someone found my plates offensive, so they were being revoked. Although she swears up and down she didn't, I remain convinced that my mother wrote that letter ;)

A New Cycle

Today was orientation for incoming students, and tomorrow will start the school year in earnest.

I'm too busy to say too much (and I just way overused the word "to(o)") between the chaos of starting a new year at school and the way-beyond-chaos of my personal life, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking a lot about new beginnings.

A lot.

And it's really interesting how a new school year, students coming in with a positive attitude (at least for the first day) and smiles and fresh notebooks and pencils and brand new clothes and backpacks ... it's just unspeakably beautiful to me.

It makes me think about where these same kiddos will be in June, when the school year comes to a close and the cycle ends for another year.

Offensive in the Name of Religion

I'm not an easily offended person. Well, at least not easily offended by things that I happen to lay eyes on. However, I've seen a couple of t-shirts the last couple of days that cannot be described in a way other than offensive. Perhaps I'm being overly sensitive here. I'm curious for your input.

The first one (and less offensive of the two, in my humble opinion):



Now, I've said before in this blog that I have a close relationship with my view of God. I've read The Bible extensively and was raised with a great deal of formal religious training. I am 100% for people coming to terms with their spirituality, finding peace and comfort from a higher power, and having a solid belief system ... and if wearing something like a crucifix necklace or Kabbalah bracelet is important to them, more power to you.

That being said, however, my spiritual self takes major issue with the likeness of Jesus Christ replacing the Starbucks siren. As one who tries to live life in a way that mirrors Christ's teaching as set forth in The Bible, I think this sort of cheap commercialism is just ... tawdry.

That one bugged me, but what really drove me over the edge was:



To be completely honest with you, I really liked this shirt when I first saw it. In fact, I kind of wanted to get one of my own. Why? Because my life was saved by a blood transfusion after I experienced serious internal bleeding following surgery. It took me a few minutes to realize that, like the Starbucks rip-off, this shirt was commercializing religion. In my eyes, it was twisting something visually identifiable as one thing (donating blood through the American Red Cross, Starbucks, et cetera) into a religious farce. Because of my personal experience with blood transfusion, it hit me especially hard.

Perhaps I'd feel a bit mollified if I knew that the proceeds from these utterly tasteless mass-produced t-shirts were going to a cause that would be sanctioned by Jesus Christ Himself rather than going into the already deep pockets of enterprising and opportunistic companies.

Am I being overly critical here? Should I just get over it? Why am I so deeply offended here when I'm really pretty easygoing about most things? What does it mean that this is making me examine my own religious feelings?

Is Alcoholism "Recoverable"?

There are many wise people out there on the internet. In fact, there are many wise people who read this blog. Therefore, I want to throw this out there and get your input.

In your opinion, is alcoholism "recoverable"?

I know many functioning alcoholics. They are able to get up and go to work. They are able to love and support their families. Their alcoholism is a sickness, yes, and certainly has adverse impacts on many facets of their lives, but when push comes to shove it's between these people and their livers, not to sound cavalier or anything.

No, I'm talking about the don't go to work, don't pay the bills, get arrested for DWI twice in less than two weeks, be taken to the emergency room twice (TWICE!) with a blood alcohol level over .35, emotionally abusive, borderline physically abusive, lying, sneaky, irresponsible, not bathing regularly, continuing to drive when plastered, going to AA and claiming a week's sobriety when buying wine, having a session with a substance abuse counselor when under the influence, break the hearts of people who care about you alcoholics.

What do you think?