Helpless (not for the weak)

I've never felt so helpless in my life.

This past weekend, Rain got sick. Not only did he throw up all his dinner and breakfast on Saturday afternoon, he started a horrible bout of diarrhea. I made him some boiled beef and rice and he ate that all up Saturday night and I felt all was good.

About 3am Sunday morning I woke up startled to Rain puking. I opened his crate, he ran out, and I began to pull out his bedding in a daze. In the darkness of my bedroom, the bottom blanket got stuck on the sides within the metal. I started to cry. My mom, who had been visiting and had a flight home in a few hours, wanted to know if she could help.

I finally got the blanket out and found a puddle of blood just outside my bedroom, with a few dribbles around it. In the living room was two very large puke stains on the rug. My body and mind can't function in the morning on a good day, this was too much. Blood. "Is that from one of the cats?" asked my mother. No. There was blood stuck to the fur on Rain's bottom.

I brought him with me when I dropped my mother off at the airport, and we went back to bed as soon as we got home. He slept for another few hours.

When we got up, he wouldn't eat. If he drank some water, it came right back up.

When we went outside to use the bathroom (which we did about every two hours), he would squeeze and push and his little legs would shake as a small amount of liquid and blood would come out of his rear end. He would struggle like this three times each time.

I did some research, only finding the worst case scenario with treatment I couldn't afford. After an internal struggle, I chose the home remedy. Grocery store to get Pedialyte and Pepto.

I used baby syringes to try and force feed him both of these things - he's a struggler. He would move around and hide his face (sometimes he would hide his face into me). Soon after her would throw it all up anyway. I found that putting a bit of Pepto on my finger and sticking it on his teeth (with struggle) was all I could do. And I could only give him a very small amount of Pedialyte at a time. But I kept giving him small amounts.

By the end of the day, he was starting to seem a little more like the wiggle nugget he typically is and was actually holding down water. By evening he was even eating some of his kibble (I was afraid to give him too much). And he seemed to like the organic baby food sweet potato I bought him. His number two was still no good.

He did sleep through the night. But wouldn't eat in the morning before I left for work, and his number two still was no good. I thought about him all day, sure I was going to come home to blood and puke everywhere. Knowing there was nothing I could do until then; and trying to decide what I would do then.

Wow, did my apartment smell when I got home. I found a semi-solid small poo on my living room floor. And he did a small amount of poo I could actually pick up when I first took him out too. Gross, but progress. And then I found a nice puke stain running down my couch (that's older than I am) down onto the floor. Open all windows and patio door. Light all candles. Hope for the best! He had eaten all his breakfast! And, hey, little wiggle butt was back in full force! His personality is back and he ate all his supper (so far it's still with him). Unfortunately, the last time I took him out he struggled and struggled but couldn't poo.

It's so hard to care for a being when that being can't tell you how he's feeling. I couldn't tell him it would be okay - I didn't even know if it was going to be okay. I just watched him and felt so helpless. Heartbreaking for sure. Or maybe I was just overreacting (not something rare for me). If I had a tummy ache and diarrhea, I wouldn't think anything of it (past the complaining I would have shared with everyone who'd listen).

I don't even know what happened. Something he ate? A bug from another dog? Stress from being kenneled?

Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

And what now?

I started writing this blog when I was 22 (and I've only written a handful of posts - maybe I suffer from a lack of motivation). I had this, what I believed to be, profound notion that if I started writing about the things I wanted to learn, maybe it would help me "figure things out." I'm almost 27 and I still feel that pressure of being lost.


I'm currently in bed with two cats, while my dog heavily sighs in his crate. I think I'm still working on figuring out who I am, never mind where I'm supposed to be. My animal farm is simply a distraction (or so I've determined it to be). And honestly, part of me thinks that this animal farm is becoming an excuse to keep me grounded right here (in a job I'm not sure of and in a space I'm not sure of).


When I was younger I didn't want to go to college. I wanted to join the Peace Corps or something like it. Then, I decided that I needed to go to college because I would be able to better serve another country with a degree (and they preferred applicants with a degree). Well, the truth is I went to college because that's what I thought I was supposed to do. Nearing the end of my college career, I filled out half the Peace Corps application and had two of the three recommendations before I chickened out. I feel very strongly that I am meant to help people and I feel this weight of needing to leave my mark on the world. I'm not saying that I don't have a good job, because I do, and my job also does have an element of helping people - I'm just saying that I know this isn't where I need to be. But where am I supposed to be?


Along with suffering from a motivational problem, I also suffer from a lack of confidence in anything I do. Once upon a time I thought I was really good at writing. Now, I'm not so sure. I've found myself being that person who comes home after work, takes off my shoes (and pants) and just sits down to watch TV for the rest of the evening. Finally, once I feel sufficiently tired (or I acknowledge the fact that I do, actually, need sleep to function the next day) I go to bed. I go for months without even picking up a book. When I was younger, I read like my brain depended on it to live (which, in many respects, it does). I don't even really want to admit that the amount of time I spend writing is embarrassing for someone who once called herself a "writer."


Unfortunately, I do not have the answers. And I get worried that I will never have any of the answers. And I am petrified (quite metaphorically "(of organic matter) changed into a stony substance") that I will fall into this deep pit in which I cannot get out from. A deep pit of self-pity because I failed to recognize my full potential with only myself to blame. Becoming one of those people who constantly bitches about her job, but does nothing to change it... I'm already there.








Petrified: http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/petrified

Let it Rain

I've adopted a dog into my life.


I can't say it was the "best" decision - nor can I really say I am 100% sure I've made the "right" decision - but here we are. Me and Rain. A bright, 1.5-year-old, Aussie from unknown origins. (Beautiful little - yet quite solid - boy.)

The first night was great. I put him in his little crate and we went off to sleep as if everything was right in the world. The next day (Monday) was also great. A new adventure.


I spent the next two days in tears.


How could I do this... again?! (Did I mention I'd previously fostered another dog for a month before my mind broke into a million pieces and, with tears in my eyes, I dropped him off at a Petsmart 30 minutes away to find his "furrever home?") The responsibility clouded my mind and built up my anxiety to a level I'd quite sufficiently forgotten existed.


(Did I also mention I've got two cats? Neither of which are totally pleased.) My poor kitties thought I was over this "dog thing." Little did they know, I'd been searching dogs on Petfinder non-stop. I told my mom, "No, I'm just looking." The trick is to just plain not look if you're not sure - once you start looking you are going to end up with whatever brand of animal you're looking at.


I'd set up my cats a few days prior to the arrival of Rain with a nice high feeding space away from any prying dog (so, obviously, I was prepared). This is where my cat Sadie spent the first week and a half. Callie, on the other hand, spent the first week and a half taunting Rain (when she wasn't also hiding). She'd come out of hiding and roll around on the floor within his eye-sight. Then, when he'd get close, she'd start hissing and hitting at the floor. Rain, not knowing what to do with this demon-creature, would nip at her. If Callie wasn't in eye-sight, she'd make noise by clawing at something (anything) so that Rain would come find her. Then she'd hiss at him, and hit at the floor until he came just close enough for her to decide it was best to go back into hiding. I only saw a chase once (and quickly put an end to that). I caught her clawing at my luggage in my room multiple times, each just staring at the other, and Rain wondering what she would do next (she just NEEDS attention).


I put a call into the behavior counselors at the shelter. This lady told me to start back and square one - the hissing (and Sadie hiding) was a sign of stress and I needed to reintroduce them all. This didn't help, I'd kind of gotten used to the idea of a dog, and now I had to start all over!


Her suggestion: separate the two species (... I live in an apartment) and once they all start acting normal, introduce each with the other's smell. Once that seems to go well, create a barrier between the two so they can see each other, but not touch. Then, finally, once everyone is again acting normal, have a controlled meeting (Rain on a leash).


I'm on step one. It's been 4 days. Callie is acting just the same as before (with a little less hiding as there is no need), and I barely see Sadie. I did let Rain enter into my bedroom doorway today - Callie looked, meowed about three times, then hissed (Sadie continued to be MIA). Oh, also of note, Rain is still kenneled in my room (the cat space) at night (he suffers from separation anxiety - which means he whines a bit if I put him outside my room without me and I can't handle it).


He's currently sleeping on the couch next to me.  He thinks he's cute. Meanwhile, my (company) car is covered in muddy dog footprints.

This is truth.

“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.”

― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

Hopeless

I've always been so hopeless with love.

When I was in 8th grade I wrote my first love letter to a boy named Kevin. I did not give it to him; I never really had any intention to give it to him. My grandmother actually found it (and read it). I don't even think I was that embarrassed about it, and she didn't really press the issue - she even admitted to have read it purely out of curiosity while knowing maybe she shouldn't. It surely made it's way to the nearest trash can soon after the fact because I have never come across it again. I had written it in a Lisa Frank kitten notebook and I believe it spelled out the reasons why I thought he was the greatest boy in the world - my mom was never quite sure I was his type. To be honest, I still think he was pretty cool; whether or not he liked girls.

In high school when I thought a guy was cute, I'd make him a card. And I mean make - I would form their names into my best bubble letters, pick out the perfect combination of colors with which to outline and color them in, and sometimes there might have been glitter involved. I made this boy Lucas a really big card my Junior year. At least this one was for his birthday (from what I remember). Now that I think of it - I'm pretty sure he likely had a girlfriend at the time. (I promise I was being very innocent.) Fast forward to college and I actually went out on a few dates with him. Turns out maybe we weren't meant to live happily ever after - but boy did I ever think he was dreamy in high school.

I didn't just work with cards, I made a boy a friendship bracelet once (what was I thinking!?). In no way could I ever explain where these ideas came from or why I thought they were good. The best part is, the guys I set my sights on in high school were always very good natured about it.

I wrote my second love letter Freshman year of high school. This time, I did give it to him. Chris. I don't know for sure if he ever read it; but one day after school I had to ask if he read it - he said no. So I then had to awkwardly tell him what it said. He smiled at me and clapped. Let me repeat: Clapped. The poor teenage boy had no idea how to react to this awkward girl he barely knew confessing her "crush." Sometimes I wish I had records of these dumb notes, but mostly I'm glad I will never truly remember everything I wrote in that letter, or any other things I may have written.

My last high school crush was my first boyfriend, Bryan. We worked together and I took every chance I could to flirt with him. My flirting consisted of stuttering, of course. I wrote him a few notes (for which his friends made fun of him, I was later told). Finally he agreed to go out with me, and not too soon after I was his girlfriend. I used to do silly things while we were dating, like only eat half my meal at restaurants so I could give him the rest later. Or make dinner and bring it to him at work so he could have a homemade meal at break time. We would talk on the phone at night, and for a while we would take turns leaving each other voicemails for the morning. Young love? If this is what I had to compare the rest of my life in love to, was I ruined?

In college, I can be honest and say that my relationships with guys took a more physical form. I can't remember ever putting glitter on a homemade name card for any guys I liked, or thought I might like. I just tended to put trust in places where trust didn't belong. A part of me was missing, and I failed to clearly realize this fact. I tried to fill that missing part with other people - specifically shallow relationships. Sometimes these shallow relationships put something that could have been more real in the shadows. I always believed I could see the best in people, when what I should have seen was the best in me - enough to see that I deserved better.

The next love letter I wrote wasn't until Junior year in college. I wouldn't really so much call it a love letter, as a love lost letter. I detailed, in writing, to a boy named David all the reasons why I thought he was a great guy (including some things I'm sure I'd be embarrassed to remember fully) and to make sure he knew I'd always be there if he ever changed his mind. There's obviously a lot more to the story than just that letter, but that is not what this post is about.

The fact is, I've just never really known how much of myself to give to someone. I also don't think I've ever been fantastic at expressing myself verbally to another person; a card, or some other trinket, was the best I could do. I'm still trying to learn a balance. I'm trying to learn who and when to trust, and how much of myself to invest in any circumstance. Getting to know myself has certainly helped. Growing up and into my skin has helped relieve some of the awkwardness, but I do still struggle. I still do small, silly things to show a guy that I like him. I still say silly and awkward things; I smile too big and giggle.

Trusting another human being and treating them with the respect I'd like in return comes easily to me. In my recent post-college adult life I once drove a young man named Jeff around the great state of Connecticut because he had lost his car keys the night before. I wasn't expecting a fantastic love affair - I was hoping we were friends and that me doing him this pretty big favor was a result of this friendship. I was wrong. The thing is - I'm too often wrong. I can't change. I don't think I want to change. I think it's more important to try these friendships and say yes to someone in need; I couldn't sleep peacefully at night any other way.

So, the reason I wrote this post was because of the term "hopeless romantic." I think this is me. I started wondering why the term is hopeless romantic, when what this term generally means is a person with too much hope in love? Not a lack of hope.

Here's the Merriam-Webster definition of 'hopeless:'

1  a: having no expectation of good or success : despairing

    b: not susceptible to remedy or cure 

    c: incapable of redemption or improvement

2  a: giving no ground for hope : desperate 

    b: incapable of solution, management,
        or accomplishment : impossible

 

It seems the best definition of hopeless that fits with this term is "not susceptible to remedy or cure." Someone who is a hopeless romantic believes in the power of love and there's nothing that can change them. There's nothing that can shake their belief of fairy tales and a happily ever after; no "remedy or cure" for their notions on love. If you knew me, you'd know that I could easily be someone who doesn't believe in a true, full, overpowering and lasting love - but, oh, I really do.

 

I believe in a look; I believe in a feeling; I believe in forever and a day. Could there be any other way?

 

 

 

*The names have not been changed because I do not believe love to be innocent. It's sometimes dirty, but always worth it.*

All Those Lovely Love Songs - Depressing

When I get into one of my 'depressed' moods, I draw parallels to my life from all the sad love songs I hear.


"All I Ever Wanted"
Train





You were my ticket outta here
And I was your dream come true
You gave me everything I ever wanted
Except for you

I convinced myself that over don't mean over
And I convinced myself that I could fix it all
Two dreams collided maybe we got too excited for our own good

No more - hold on we can make it
No more holding each other while the words all break it
Move on you know we'll be stronger in the end

Now I convinced myself that nothing could ever tear me away
And I convinced myself that we'd look back and laugh at this one day
Two lives collidin' baby
We got too excited for our own good

No more - hold on we can make it
No more holding our breath while the truth all breaks it
Move on ya know we'll be stronger in the end

Hey wait hey don't you know that this is where the whole thing went wrong
Hey wait hey don't you wanna hear what I have to say
Hey wait hey don't you know that this is where the strong go on

And all I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was you

No more - hold on we can make it
No more holding each other while the world tries to break us
Move on ya know we'll be stronger in the end

Hey wait hey don't you know that this is where the whole thing went wrong
Hey wait hey don't you wanna hear what I have to say
Hey wait hey don't you know this is where the strong will go on

And all I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was you

RIP Tigger

When I was five, my parents brought home a tiny little tiger kitten; I named him Tigger (yes, Tigger the Tiger). He was so small, he could fit into a wool hat. And he didn't meow right away, he made a small "eap" type noise. Tig would walk around the apartment "eaping" his little heart out.

When my mother first married Ron, we lived in his "bachelor pad." A second floor, two bedroom apartment with a deck. One day, Tigger and I went out on the deck and found a rather large ant. After a few investigative sniffs, the small kitten ate the ant. I don't think he liked it much, but like a champ he kept it down - protein, you know. At that young age, it appeared he was destined to be a great adventurer.

When we moved to Clifton Street, we used to go on walks through the woods in the backyard, and out to the Manchester Reservoir. Tigger would trot along behind us to the water. More often, Ron would go out to the water with his dog, Shelby, and Tigger would trot out behind them. Tigger was an outdoor cat, so I'm sure he found adventures out on his own as well.

He was also my partner-in-crime. One night, before I was old enough to drive, I got angry at my mom. I left the house and walked out to the woods. Right at the edge, there was a small tree that's trunk branched out perfectly for me to sit on. I grabbed Tigger and we sat up in that tree as the sky continued to grow darker. My mom took Gretel, her Shih Tzu, for a 'walk' around the yard; Tigger and I sat in the tree and watched her. Next, Ron came outside with Gretel and walked around the backyard. Tigger and I still sat in the tree and watched. After a while, Tig and I grew tired of sitting in the tree and went in the house.

Well, everyone experiences the ultimate end to their childhood at some point, for me, it was last night when my mother confirmed that Tigger had been put down on Wednesday. At 20-years-old, he was an old man. A very old man, and he had the rickety bones of age. When cats get old, sometimes they start to even get crusty; Tig had been growing crusty for a while now, and after a long, happy, and very much loved life, it had been closing in on his time to go. I expected it, not that it makes it any less sad.

Tigger was an important part of my childhood. A pet that brought me from a young age, through into adulthood. I now live away from home, my old bedroom in my parents' house no longer feels like escape, and nothing of mine remains there (except one box of kid books my mom hopes I forget are there). I know I've been gone for a while, but Tigger still felt like my childhood, my little man. He trusted me more than he trusted anyone else - there had to be a reason for that. And it was this feeling of comfort knowing he was still there.

When the subject was first broached, I yelled into the phone at my mother, "What are you telling me? Is he dead?" moments after she had just told me he was fine. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I could barely control my sudden burst of fearful rage. For an intense moment, I was convinced I was being lied to. This was maybe a few weeks ago. She had simply wanted to know if I wished to be told when the day was to come so I could come home to say good-bye to him. At first I told her I'd rather just cry after. Then I realized that I wanted to be able to say good-bye before he went. I wanted to make sure he knew that I loved him, one final time.

On that last visit, Tigger and I sat outside in the sun and hung out. In the grass, I petted his soft head and he pushed his weakening body into mine for comfort. I do miss him; he was a fantastic cat. He was strong, handsome, and playful 'til the very end.

I love you, Tig. RIP.

Running for Charity

Finished a race for charity: Red Dress Run.

Check out my running blog for details: Dodging Cars



Updated 101 in 1001: My List!

Weight

I weighed myself a few weeks ago and what I saw appear by my toes in the little window mortified me. My weight has been up and down a lot in the past year and a half, but that day it was up. I'm done with that and I obviously need some change. I joined Weight Watchers again.

I've weighed in twice so far, not counting my first weigh in, and in those two weeks I've lost 4.4lbs. Not bad. :) I'll be excited when I cross the threshold down below the 10s I'm currently in.

KANSAS

Oh Dear! I nearly forgot to update, but I went to Kasas to see Amie in January. Our friend Catherine came as well.

This was also my very first solo flight - I did very well, of course, and did not get lost for even a moment.

I got on the plane at 11AM Friday (the 15th I believe) and was in Kansas around 5:30PM. Very long day - but very worth it. Amie and her mother came to pick up Catherine and me from the airport. The mother part I was a little surprised at, but come to find out she'd been there for the few weeks prior as well. That night, Amie's boyfriend, now fiance, made us all dinner; it was delishious.

The next day us girls got our nails done and then we all, meaning Amie, myself, Catherine, Amie's mother, Garret (Amie's fiance) and Garret's two girls, went out to dinner. After dinner, we hung out for a while and met Amie's brother out at a bar. Amie's mom watched the girls. The bar was fun, very much like any other bar I've been to. It took a while for the place to fill up and then a little longer for people to actually start dancing. I definately hit a wall - hard - before everyone else and just wanted to go to bed. Such a downer! Haha.

We spent Sunday night in a hotel. Amie got us a room with one King size bed so "no one would have to sleep alone." While Catherine and I appreciate Amie's concern for making someone sleep alone - we both do that on a regular basis and are completely okay with that situation. We made Amie sleep in the middle.

Monday, we trekked back to the airport. Catherine had an earlier flight then I did so we dropped her off and Amie showed me around the city a little bit.

Well, now I got to see where my best friend has been living for almost two years. It was a lot of fun and hopefully I can save up to do it again.

Dirty Jerz

I've been to yet another state!

This past weekend I went with a few friends down New Jersey for an evening of adventure (to say the least). Another friend, Jamie, lives down there and works at the Northern New Jersey office branch of my company.

We left Connecticut about 2:00PM on Saturday and headed on our way. We did hit a little traffic, but we made good time. My friend's apartment is amazing! Super put together and classy. My apartment always looks like I'm a hermit... things in random places.

Basically, we walked in the door, hung out for a few minutes, and went to the packie for booze. We walked back in the door and commenced drinking. After a while of drinking, we went out to dinner. Went back to the apartment, and then went to a bar. Casual.

The bar we went to after dinner was pretty cool-Jersey Boys. The bartender was this big dude who was pretty nice and gave us all a few free drinks. I guess I can blow up his spot a little and announce that he was fired from his last job for shitting in a glass and essentially giving it to his boss after she pissed him off. I think it's funny how open people are with me.

The ride back took twice as long as the ride there. To be honest, I don't think I could do the drive on my own. So many turns and so much traffic. It was fun to people watch in the traffic though. One car had somehow managed to run over it's own bumper. This driver decided to hang out in the passing lane while the bumper lay securely under his car. My feelings were that maybe he should have gotten out and attempted to remove it-although it's possible he had tried and failed some time ago. Doubtful.

We didn't spend much time in Jersey, or maybe we didn't spend much time experiencing the Jerz soberly in the sunlight. The best part of being in New Jersey was definitely getting to see my friend.

Mmm.. FOOD

I've been to another restaurant! Nordelli's in Middletown.

I was told by a co-worker that this place was "amazing" so I knew I had to experience it. Walking into the place, I instantly saw what was so different about it. Normally in a sandwich shop there may be a deli case, and in this deli case is usually just salad and dessert choices. This place differed in that within this deli case, with the desserts and salads, all the sandwich fillings were placed in troths. For example, if you wanted a buffalo chicken sandwich, the cook behind the counter would go into the deli case and take out the buffalo chicken (from the 20 other pre-buffalo'ed chicken pieces) and heat it up. While this seems strange, well, it kind of is. I got the buffalo chicken sandwich with tomato, onions, and blue cheese. The chicken, although it was alright in the taste department, was soggy. I tend to like my fried chicken with a little crunch. My friend got a pulled BBQ pork sandwich and she stated she had enjoyed it.

To be honest, if I ever go back it will only be to try a HUGE cannoli.

Good Eats

NEW RESTAURANT!

My best friend moved to Kansas to live with her boyfriend just under a year ago. Sad. Yeah. Life. Happens.

So, she came to visit her family this month and this weekend we got to hang out!

She brought her boyfriend with her. I do like him... but I obviously would have liked to hang out with just her... Can't really girl talk with the boyfriend sitting right there. What can ya do?

On Sunday we went to a restaurant on Main Street. First and Last Tavern. We looked at quite a few menus and settled on this place because the bread looked good. Haha. What a way to chose a restaurant?! But, hey, neither Amie nor I can make a sound decision to save our lives... Garret took the final say.

To be honest, the menu doesn't impress me greatly. And the entrees are on the pricey side. Well, closer to the side-possibly kicking rocks off the edge.

Amie ended up getting a pizza and only ate two slices. It was sad to waste so much, but she wouldn't take the rest home with her and it didn't look very good to me. ALTHOUGH! (and my mom will be curious about this...) I TRIED A PIECE OF EGGPLANT. One of the things in my life I WILL not eat... I couldn't even be forced to eat it. It was fried. And they were small little pieces. So, it was actually kind of good.

Garret got a steak and cheese grinder. He really enjoyed it. I got a turkey grinder which was really good. It was huge too. I could only eat half of it.

The main event? The bread. I think it was mostly great because of the dipping oil. Whole roasted garlic cloves. Amazing!


My Updated List!

Pretty Blue

There's this moment in anyone's life when they come to some sort of realization of their parents.

I needed to return a Redbox movie (two days late of course) so I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and walk down the street to the PriceRite. As I walked, a few cars whilst wizzing by beeped their horn at me (and by cars, what I really mean is the person within who happen to be driving). It made me think back to my childhood, sitting a car with my father as a pretty girl walked by on the street. He was the creeper with his fool head half out the window staring at her behind.

What a class act.

Pizza

Well, here it is.... a complete life. I found the best pizza I have ever eaten, and it is right down the street. Walking distance. Illianos. I got a piece of buffalo chicken pizza and it was simply amazing. I could have eaten an entire pizza, I'm sure. But, come to think of it-that slice was damn expensive. I think I paid about $4 for it.

Anyway. It was fantastic. I'd say worth the money.

Veggies

I've done it! I went without meat for a month.

It really wasn't that difficult for me as I don't eat a lot of meat anyway. The hard part was that I couldn't just stop and get a quick bite to eat, because most "quick" places are not veggie friendly. It was also hard going to out to eat for that very same reason. I feel as thought restaurants are getting a lot better and moving to having healthier options on their menus. Healthier options don't always mean no meat, but they often mean more veggies-so at least a vegetarian can opt out of the meat and still get something of substance.

The thing is now... I don't know if I want to eat meat anymore. I don't want to be a vegetarian, because I love chicken and I love BACON! At the grocery store this Sunday I couldn't bring myself to buy that nasty looking raw chicken. So, maybe if someone else makes it for me I'll eat it.


My Updated List!

Veggie Tales

So, I spent three days in South Carolina to see my baby cousin, Elizabeth, graduate from Marine Boot camp. I've decided that SC doesn't count as a new state because I am almost 100% positive I spent a night there on the way to Florida with my best friend, Amie, and her parents after 8th grade. As a matter of fact, I saw my first cross dresser in a gas station parking lot in SC-s/he was fabulous.

South Carolina was fun, though, even if it was rainy and kind of cold. It was just very cool to see my cousin accomplish something so amazing. She did something that most people could never do-at least certainly not complete. She says you're so scared that you just do whatever they tell you-but I can't believe it's only fear. I think at the root of it is determination and a level of courage the majority of the world's population doesn't even know exists.

The real purpose of this post is my attempt at vegetarianism. It's been almost a week and a half. In all honesty, I don't eat a lot of meat anyway-but it's still a challenge for me. I'm not use to having to think about what I'm eating. There are things I don't eat, but I don't eat them because I don't like them. How easy is it to walk into subway and order a turkey sandwich? Well, very easy since I happen to love turkey. But see, imagine having a restricted lifestyle? A lifestyle that most people question, don't understand, and will not accommodate for. A lifestyle that keeps you on your toes because at any moment someone could thwart your attempts at purity, whether purposefully or ignorantly. I mean, who would think there was meat in broccoli cheese soup (chicken broth)? The waiter assumes since there are no chunks of meat, it hasn't been made with meat and doesn't bother to ask-next thing you know, your insides are out. Not fun. I am nowhere near to that place of veggieland and, of course, I am being just a tad dramatic anyway-but draw your own parallels to some more intense aspects of human life... My mom has been dodging cows for years, fyi. Those big brown baby eyes just melt her heart.

Now, I'm not doing this because I feel bad for the animals, because I don't-if I don't eat that yummy chicken breast, someone else will. So, where's the win? I'm only doing this because I have a really hard time committing to things, projects, people... This is just a small challenge for myself. A challenge in commitment. A challenge to follow through with something. In all honesty, I just need a small victory to boost my moral.

No Title

So, I've done a few things on my list.

The one for which I am most proud is: I've eaten an apple a day for a whole month. And, okay, this is almost lie. The second to last day I did not eat an apple. I was busy hanging out with my mom and completing another item on my list-visiting a new restaurant... which I will explain later. But, it was actually very difficult, main reason why I shall count this as a win. Some days I would be on my way to bed, remember I had forgotten my daily apple, get pissed, and grab an apple. As I said- I'm proud of myself! Can only get through one day at a time.

Other news-I have been to a new restaurant. It's called "Esca," calls itself a wine bar, and is located on the corner of Main and Washington in Middletown. My mom and I sat at the bar, ordered a drink and attempted to order bruchetta. The bartender looked at us, waited for a moment and then stated, "Is that going to be enough? It's only two small pieces." My mom and I looked again at the "happy hour" specials, each listed at $4.00, and decided to get two. This equalled four small pieces of toast topped with tomatoes, EVOO, basil, mozzarella and garlic-for those of you unaware of this amazing idea of a food dish. Unfortunately, what this really meant, was that we had now spent $8.00 on "happy hour" specials and still only got a taste. Tricky bastards. But hey, those little toasts were very delicious.

So, the smaller items on my list-I've written a letter to my Baby Marine cousin. She should be graduating from boot camp this coming Friday. I've run (slowly) a few miles. I've also tried a few new recipes-one of which is still in my freezer because I feel bad throwing it out, but I also don't really want to eat it.

I have a new addition to my household as well-Sadie. A little black and white cat. She was found in a snow bank. And she's got a few things 'going on.' AKA-issues. Part of her left ear broke off-the very tip. I suppose maybe it had something to do with the snow bank. Her tail is dead too. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to get it cut off. Poor cat. But she does seem happy. Especially when she's meowing at 4:30 in the morning. I think she needs a playmate.


My Updated List!

Lessons

I had a teacher in high school who use to tell us that we should never complain about something we won't try to change.

New Restaurant

My mom came to visit me this past weekend. On Saturday we walked up one side of Main St (this one street with shops and many many restaurants) and down the other side. For lunch, we stopped at The New England Emporium Eatery.

What you do, is go up to the counter, order, then go pick a place to sit. Before you leave the counter, the cashier hands you a little number on a stick. Cautiously, my mother and I adventured into the eating area. We chose a two seater all the way to the street side of the place. The area reminded me of a stage, it was like we were sitting on a stage backed by a huge window. I do enjoy a little people watching while I enjoy a meal and good company. As we waited for our food, I became increasingly aware of the fact the, no doubt, completely capable workers may never see our stick number perched in the middle of our table due to a perfectly placed pole in the possible line of sigh. I moved the number stick toward my mother.... then I moved it to the other side of my mother and toward the cashiers counter... at that point I was satisfied.

My mom ordered falafel. I ordered a turkey sandwich with cranberry relish and stuffing. The cranberry relish was a little too sweet, so I had to scoop some of it out of my sandwich. Following the relish extraction, my sandwich was pretty darn good. My mom seemed to enjoy her lunch too. I'd say it was a success.


My Updated List!