Forever Home

Forever Home

I’m kind of casually in the process of looking for a dog (again). I had to find another home for my last dog because last year suuuuuuccccckkkkkeeeeedddd. I sat in tears and posted an ad and nervously combed through emails and until I found a family that I thought would make a good home for her and would email me occasionally to let me know how she was doing. I packed my dog up and took her to meet her new family and drove away hoping that I had done the right thing. I probably cried again. She was my super energetic, stumpy pup and she would get on my last nerve but she was mine and I loved her. I hope wherever she is she’s fine because the first and last time I heard from that family was the night after I gave her to them. They never contacted me again. I tried and tried to email them and they were never answered. I have to hope she’s fine because thinking of anything else will probably send me into tears.

Now you are probably wondering why I’m saying all this. Here’s why. During my search I came across a message board and started reading and found that someone had pulled a link to my ad. The members were trading tirades back and forth about what a horrible dog owner I was for even getting a dog “I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to take care of” and “why would someone get a dog when they knew they were going to move”. I almost made an account to reply to all of the negative comments but I realized that I didn’t owe internet strangers an explanation of my life. I know that I did what was best. I spent a year bouncing from sofa to sofa it wouldn’t be fair to drag a dog along. It was incredibly hurtful to read those people say the stuff that I said between sobs to my mom the first night without my dog.

Going through websites for rescues to adopt a dog is incredibly stress inducing. Every single one explains that pet ownership is forever and blah blah blah. I get it. What I need for everyone to understand is that LIFE.FUCKING.HAPPENS. I know that it’s not to be taken lightly. I know that dogs are expensive and love and food and medicine and houses and toys and blah. But life happens. Had my magical crystal ball been working when I first got the dog I would have known that shit was about to go down and I would have held off a bit. I’m saying maybe calm down a bit when a dog owner comes to the stark realization that they can’t keep their pet. They’ve put themselves through enough without having strangerbitches on the internet saying they suck as a person.

I’m going to find another doggy, fur person one day and I’m going to love him or her to death. I don’t see any sudden moves in my future but you know my crystal ball is faulty. If I’m faced with the exact same issue again I’d make the same decision because it’s best decision to make. I plan to give the next doggy fur person that crosses my threshold a home filled with love and as close to foreverness I can provide.

So lay the fuck off, breh. Next time I’ll just come for your edges, StrangerBitch.

P.S. I don’t mean to be ranty in all of these but y’all…



My thirty day social media break is over. I just thought to myself that now that I have my beloved Instagram and Twitter back I’d probably forget I have a blog again.  You know…life or whatever. AND because it’s my birthday I think I’m supposed to get all deep and introspective about the new year of life and blah blah blah.

Spoiler…I don’t have that for you.

Instead I’m just going to try make a better effort to be social media break me. I’m only putting Instagram back on my phone because pictures (y’all cute, hey bews).  I’m going to keep blogging at least once a week. You have my permission to call me on it if I don’t. I’m just going keep writing. That’s like Matthew McConaughey’s just keep living, only writery.

Alright, alright alright.

You Are Appreciated.

You Are Appreciated.

My dad probably never thought that the universe would toss him three daughters. A house full of girls. Pink, dresses, skirts, Barbie and nobody ever asked for a racetrack for Christmas. I’m sure putting together Barbie’s Townhouse and carefully arranging those New Kids on the Block dolls under the tree earns him a place in Heaven. Nintendo and Sega had to be the only thing that kept him even a little sane. We chose girl scouts, choir, and the most girly instrument in band kingdom, the flute.  None of us had much interest in sports growing up so he had literally no one to pass his love of basketball.  That poor guy is in an estrogen storm it’s really no surprise that he only answers his phone 35% of the time. Also not surprising that one of his favorite pastimes when we were kids was tying the sleeves and feet of our pajamas and then having a beer while we were incapacitated and screamed for our mom to rescue us.

Having a dad who, depending upon who you ask, lost the son/daughter lottery three times it’s hard to find moments when you know he’s really proud. However, I think I’ve figured out what might actually be a proud moment for my dad. Not the day the grandkids were born (although there are finally some boys). Not the day any of us graduated from anything. Not the time we stopped calling him asking dumb questions about a sound our cars were making. Nope none of those. Those moments are far too pedestrian. Everyone has those moments. I’m convinced the proudest day of my dad’s life (with the exception of the day of my birth) was October 6, 2014.

Why? This happened.



Yes, that is my dad and his three daughters at a football game. Yes I know he doesn’t look thrilled. He doesn’t look thrilled in any pictures that I own. We took this picture with just the three of us and he got all ‘how you gonna take a picture without me so this happened.

Like I said we had no interest in sports but we all had interest in boys who had interest in sports.  By the transitive property or whatever we all learned and grew to love football. My dad has been a Seattle sports fan (are we here for the Sounders or nah) for as long as I can remember so we jumped on his bandwagon. I should mention at this point this was during the Hasselbeck, Whitehurst, That guy whose name is also a brand of applesauce I cannot remember, years. If you follow the Seahawks you know that this is when losing was a habit and other Seahawk fans outside Seattle was like seeing a leprechaun riding a unicorn. I assume we eventually proved ourselves to be real 12s because he bought us jerseys and I guess we leveled up when he got us tickets for the Seahawks at Washington game. It was amazing having the opportunity to share our first professional game with our dad. It had to make all the tea parties and My Little Ponies worth it for that moment where one of us weren’t ready to fling ourselves into traffic.

Do most guys with three daughters luck up and get this opportunity?

Probably not. Other dads may get one or two but all three? Nah. That’s special. He’s special and loved more than he’ll ever know. Thanks for weathering the estrogen storm.

Love you, Daddy.

P.S. Which game are we going to this season? May I suggest Maryland?

P.P.S. GO HAWKS! You had to know that was coming.


Take Care

Take Care

I’m tired.

I’m sitting here again trying to come up with the right words that will effectively express how I feel about all of the current events. So far I’ve just been able to ramble some stuff about pain and numbness, almost cry and summarize it all by simply saying that I’m tired. I think the only saving grace is that I’m missing out on the delights that social media stir up when these types of things happen.

Instead of dwelling in that space I just want to tell anyone reading to take care of themselves. I know it’s easy to get bogged down in every detail. I’m guilty of it myself. Take a moment or several and step away from all the news. Eat some feelings, exercise, do something with friends, anything just get away. There’s a such thing as having way too much information. Unless it’s your job to know everything, you don’t need to know everything. I’m a news junkie I had to pull myself away from all the news websites today. Instead I spent most of the day catching up with The Fosters on Netflix. Seriously the best decision ever. Take care of yourselves. Trust me the news will still be there when you get back.

I’m People, Too

I’m People, Too

Being away from social media gives you a bit of insight about yourself. The most important thing I’ve realized is that I rant a lot on social media.  I’ve ranted and unfriended folks over topics and given no explanation.  Most rants don’t need explanations. I could save myself a lot of time and just stop ranting. Maybe I could just tell people they’re being judgmental, obtuse, elitist dickbags. Someone told me that I’m a writer, though. I’m trying to find better use of words.

Welfare, food stamps and other types of help are the issues that I’m talking about here. You may have read a facebook status and wondered to yourself why I care so much. Well here I am without my social  media and that little voice in my head saying to write about it. You are about to get a reason. It’s about to get real. You think you know but you have no idea (you have some idea I just always wanted to say that). I haven’t worked for three years because of medical problems. I was just denied disability for the third time.  While I was waiting for disability I applied for and have used food stamps. I am the type of person in the exact situation that food stamps were created. I’m not some stereotype. Just a thirty-two year old with some medical problems.

That’s why I rant. That’s why I’m sensitive when you complain about the crowded grocery store on the first of the month. That’s why I have a rage stroke every time drug testing recipients becomes a topic. When you cry about working full time and not being able to afford a steak I hear your cries. Then I collect your tears in a mason jar filled with organic limes and Perrier and sip slow. I did not eat from generic boxes of microwavable bullshit before and I’m not now. I’m not less than a person because I’ve used food stamps. That’s what I need for people to know. No one is. Most are people who have fallen on hard times and need some help.

There are people, real people like me, who read those insensitive posts. Not everyone is going to come forward and they shouldn’t have to. We all just need to be a lot more considerate about what we post. If you aren’t I’m not going to post rants anymore. It’s not my best use of words. I’m just going to say stop being a judgmental, obtuse, elitist sack of phalluses. That’s a much better use of words.