He was a damn fine dog

Just like everyone thinks they have the cutest and smartest baby on the planet, dog lovers all think their pooch is the prettiest, the nicest, the best companion, etc.

I've had lots of dogs. Some great. Some duds. My mom at one point had 4 dogs at the same time. One was an insane little terrier. One, however, was a truly great dog - Garozzo, the Chow/Australian Sheppard mix who was named for a famous bridge player. Even with the Sheppard lineage and the famous namesake, Garozzo was not the brightest dog. He was, however, the sweetest dog I've ever met.

Of course, I said was - since Garozzo died today. Last Wednesday we noticed that he had lost some weight and that his glands were swollen. Mom took him to the vet on Saturday and they said it was cancer.

A biopsy confirmed this. They thought he might have 3 months to live, possibly 9 with chemo. These estimates are more art than science, but this time the art was way off.

On Wednesday he seemed fine. Really. His demeanor was perfectly normal - so we had no worries other than the physical clues.

By Saturday he wasn't eating. By Monday night he was incontinent. Last night mom decided that he had no quality of life left, so it was time to euthanize him.

Only we didn't get the chance. Today, I went over to my mom's house to help her take Garozzo in. I knew it would be devastating for her and I knew I had to be with her. She was on her way home from work and I let myself in. 2 dogs greeted me at the door. One dog laid by the doggie door, unmoving. I knew as soon as I walked in, but like a badly written screenplay direction I still called out to him, "Garozzo, honey, you okay?" I walked tentatively towards him, felt my eyes welling up with tears, and put my hand on his chest to feel for breathing and a heartbeat. He was gone.

I could go into painstaking detail about mom coming home, our getting him to the vet for cremation, and all of that - but that stuff sucks, and Garozzo was one of a kind. He needs to be remembered not for the good-bye but for all the good stuff.

Garozzo was a gentle soul. He loved people and other animals. He once accidentally killed a wild bird he was trying to play with and he howled about it. He nudged the poor bird and howled - he looked at me as if to say, fix the birdie. So the next week when we brought a new toy into a house, a stuffed cat that actually mewed like a real cat, Garozzo gingerly carried the cat with him everywhere. He would not let any of the other dogs play with it. The more we made it mew the more protective he became. Be careful - little animals are fragile. He looked worried as he carried it past the other dogs. Don't hurt him - he's our friend.

One of our favorite Garozzo-isms was his love of wet hair. If you came out of the shower, the rain, or even just worked out, Garozzo would try desperately to rub his head on yours. If you laid down on the bed with wet hair he would jump on the bed and roll all over your head. Something about the smell of wet hair was like ambrosia to him.

Another great Garozzo-ism was that his Australian Sheppardness made him want to herd all of us. He'd walk along side you and suddenly try to redirect you, for no good reason, and in no good direction. Sometimes he'd redirect you into a wall. Sometimes he'd over correct and he's be the one facing the wall. When he would herd us we would say, "Garozzo, I don't want to be herded right now" and he would smile and wag his tail, and then try to direct you into a wall.

He was a sweet dog. He wasn't a barker, he wasn't a jumper, he wasn't needy. He wanted to be around his family, regardless of the number of legs they had. He loved his siblings, he loved every person that came into the house - and everyone loved him.

His eyes were always bright and full of kindness. His red hair was the envy of most women. When mom started having him shaved a few summers ago, he would come home with his normal head full of red hair, but his whole body was blond. We started calling him the sweater dog - since it looked like he was wearing a sweater. Did he mind? Not at all. Even with all that beautiful hair he had no vanity. He liked being cooler in the scorching AZ summers. It made it easier for him to snuggle in the summer, because he wasn't overheated.

Mom has always described Garozzo as the least selfish dog she has ever known. Even as he worsened this past week he always had a smile and a wag for anyone that talked to him. Mom struggled with the idea of putting him down, but it seemed like the only humane thing to do. Then, just when mom thought she was steady enough to do it, Garozzo died peacefully, as if he wanted to spare mom the pain and the guilt and the self doubt.

He died at home, looking out into the garden with a smile on his face. We should all be so lucky when our time comes.

He was a damn fine dog, and he will be greatly missed.

Addiction

So my brother has quit smoking. Again. This time he did some laser treatment. Laser acupuncture. This time he seems like he has a handle on it. He's drastically reduced all the other things he does while he smokes - drinking coffee, drinking liquor, working at the bar. He's thinking it through - he's got a game plan - he's got attainable goals. I hope it works.

My parents smoked. My dad smoked when I was a kid and he quit cold turkey when John was born. My mom quits smoking every so often - stays away from cigs for a year, maybe two or three, and then one day, out of the blue, starts smoking again for no good reason (at least, not as far as I can see).

How come my dad could quit cold turkey? Why can't my mom or my brother?

I've never smoked, but I know how addictive it is. It just isn't my addiction...um...one of my addictions.

I love to gamble. I love to play cards. Mix cards and gambling and I'm there. Vegas? It's my Sin City. I turn into someone else there. I stay up all night, get a few hours of sleep, and gamble like a fiend. I spend too much money. I lose too much money. Every dollar I win may as well be a thousand for the rush I win. Every dollar I lose is immediately denied that it's just a dollar - as if that means it's just a penny.

Cards. Slots. Craps. Ding Ding Ding. Noises, smells, chaos. I love it. It is a drug for me. Play the ATM - you'll win every time. Play the ATM and then play a real game. How much did you lose? I didn't lose, I spent. I gave myself an entertainment budget and I am still within budget. I am paying for entertainment. Yeah. If Scott and I go to the movies we're out $30 for tickets and drinks and we've spent 2 or more hours. In Vegas? I can spend $100 in an hour. Not really fiscally responsible. Of course, with the crappy movies that have come out in the past year or so it feels more like I am losing money on the movies. Crash. Totally overrated. Star Wars. Don't get me started. I'd rather play cards. Hell, I'd rather have my eyeballs massaged by a porcupine than see another installment of Star Wars. I loved Episodes 4, 5, and 6. The rest are pure crap. Don't get me started! Where was I? Oh yes, the fiscal dilemma that is Vegas.

The worst part? Scott hates gambling. He loves the card games. He does well. He can last on $100 twice as long as I can. When I start to do badly I switch gears - head over to the slots. He hates slots. He'll only play the slots if there is some secondary game, like Monopoly or Wheel of Fortune. And he does really well at them. I love it - I have no luck. He hates it - he has all the luck. You'd think the irony alone would snap me out of this gambling nonsense.

As if.

He's off playing blackjack, and I burn through my allotted money for the night. So I go play the ATM game. I run into Scott later and he's surprised that I still have some of my money left. I sheepishly fess up. Now I have to split the money. I hate that. It's our money - he's entitled to half. I want it all. I want to gamble, have a drink, cavort, snark, cheer, get rowdy. And I do.

It can be years between trips, but when I go I want to go full out - I like meeting up with my friends with the worst vices. I want the people that bring out the worst in me, I want to gamble like I have money to burn, drink like alcohol is good for me, and treat the buffets like it's my last meal.

When I get home I will have the Vegas hangover. I am usually totally burnt out. I'm back to going to bed by 11, up by 6, working 8 - 5. Not drinking. Not cavorting. Still snarking. How much did we spend? On gambling? Seriously? I don't remember the second visit to the ATM that night. Or that night. Or that night. Oh that was Scott? I feel better about that one.

So John is going to Vegas this summer. So is some friend of mom's. Mom thinks we should all meet up there. Mom hates Vegas - she's another non-gambling person. John is a gambler. He makes me look like a beginner when it comes to spending in Vegas. He and I will gamble and be obnoxious morning, noon, and night. We will spend insane amounts of money. We will give each other the world's worst Vegas hangovers. This would be bad. It would be fun, but it would be very bad.

We're all addicted to something. Some people are addicted to lots of things. Some addictions are relatively harmless, some destroy lives. I guess we all get our buzz some how.

Moving sucks

I am moving from Arizona to Virginia. By choice.

A great opportunity came up at work - and we took it. The hubby is already out there, started a new job weeks ago. I miss him terribly. He misses me. We're miserable but dealing.

It's the moving that is killing me.

Sure, work is paying for the move. That's a huge help. And sure, they are helping coordinate activities. A huge help.

Only who is coordinating the coordinators? Me. Who is working with the local realtor, taking care of the house, the dogs, the bills, the daily grind? Me. Why? Because I sent the hubby on ahead to start working at a new job, so we could get approved for a loan so we could afford a house, yadda, yadda, yadda. We agreed. It was the right division of labor and such. It just sucks.

It's like a full-time job. Oh but wait, I have a full-time job. And it's insane right now, because, guess what, brand new role and some responsibilities and no one knows what work I should stop so really I do all my old stuff and all my new stuff. And we're in the middle of this insane project right now and everyone thinks I am the go-to-girl even when I have nothing to do with that part of the project. So I shuttle people to the right resource. And the next time? They come to me even when they know who to go to because somehow I am more helpful than the right person and if I intercede the right person will somehow magically do the work better, faster, nicer? Who knows.

But the moving. We got lucky on the sales end, because we got an offer in a week. The buying end has really sucked. Our realtor is great - but the market there sucks (2+ times as expensive as what we currently have) - so finding a house we could afford was a real chore. And then, there was the financing.

Every bank promised to make it easy. Screw you, B of A and Wells Fargo. Whatever you people think easy may be, you are totally delusional. The sellers wanted a letter as proof of financing. Wells Fargo said, "Yes, you are approved, but we don't fax letters - we mail them. And we mailed yours." Okay, but you mailed it to Tucson, and I am in Dulles, VA and I need the letter to make the offer here. Can you mail another letter here? No? Because? Because you mailed it to Tucson. Thank you. That was very easy. Now I can't make an offer.

And B of A? You don't do bridge loans. Okay. You do home equity loans...that act like a bridge loan. Okay. I just need to take my house off the market to do this. I'm sorry? Take my house off the market? When I am trying to sell it? Yes. Just until we assess the property. Sigh.

Thank goodness our realtor has a contact at Fidelity. He's great. We got the financing. We got the approval within minutes. We got the fax. We made the offer. They accepted the offer. Fantastic.

Now it's the home-inspection back-and-forth at the house we are selling and the house we are buying. Again, the selling end was easy. The buying end is still under review. The house is great. I don't think we are asking for much. By much I mean we didn't ask for everything. We asked for the things the inspector considered hazardous. Of course, these reports read like the house is going to fall down on your head the minute you walk in - so you really have to read them, look at the picts, and see what it really means. Of course, the hubby shadowed the inspector and asked lots of questions. It makes all the difference in choosing which things to ask for.

Hubby flies back on the 21st. The movers come on the 24th. We sign the local title papers on the 25th and hit the road. Me, hubby, 3 dogs, 1 camry, luggage, dog food, etc. from AZ to VA.

We close May 5th. The movers come May 8th.

I've still got to take care of the utilities on that end. Or Scott will. Who is doing what? Right - Scott handles VA, I handle AZ. I am closing out the old. He is starting up the new.

Every day someone reminds me of the negative... you need to find new doctors, dentists, vets, grocery stores, etc. ad nauseum. Yes. These things must be done. When I get there. Those are future tasks. Important tasks. I'm not doing them yet.

I'm saying goodbye to friends and family. I am spending every minute with someone I love, saying goodbye, making a last memory because, honestly, how many times will I make it back to a place I've lived in for 10 years? I didn't grow up here. My mom is here. Seeing her will bring me back. But how often? For how long? Will anyone even have time for me when I have time for them? And how many of them will come to visit? I know of 1 (besides mom) - because her daughter is moving about 30 min from me the same week we are driving out. I will see Sally and Jerry. That is important to me. Will the rest visit? Nah. They have younger kids, obligations, lack of finances, etc. They have their lives. I have mine. Our lives intersected for a number of years. It was a lovely intersection. It will dwindle to emails and chat.

I will make new friends. Important to do. I'm not doing that yet. I'm not there yet. I'm in limbo between wrapping things up and starting anew. What will I do there? Will I take up new hobbies to get to know the area and meet people? Will I just stay home with Scott and the dogs? Will I engage my worst workaholic traits? Will I get in shape? Will I eat right? Will I floss? Sure, anything is possible in a new place.

I'm just not there yet.

Let the bitterness begin!

I am evil.
I am mean.
I am judgmental.
I am a bitch.

Okay, maybe I am just cranky or short tempered, or maybe I am just normal, but I have to say it:

I don't like people.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, my mom, my dad, my bro, etc. I have friends (really, I do!) and I love them all. I hate strangers. Those people that are in front of you in the grocery check-out line, the single mom with a toddler in tow who uses the 15-items-or-less aisle when she clearly has 40-odd items ("but they are all baby-food, so really it's one item, even though they are individual jars"). I should have sympathy for this woman - she's young, she's struggling, she's carrying a child and juggling a really hard life. And she's in the 15-ITEMS-OR-LESS aisle. So I loathe her.

Then her adorable child smiles at me, spits up a little on his mom and I think, "good job kid, you are karma's tool" and I smile back at him. Sincerely. Because - mom is cutting corners because she has to - and I get that. I just don't want her in line in front of me.

Or that witch at the airport. It was not even 5 AM and the line is forever. My plane leaves at 6. I was there at 4:30. This woman has held the counter person hostage for 30 min. Why? I have no idea. I can't make out the words, but I can hear the tone in her voice - that "I'm privileged" tone - that, "I'm special" tone. And I want to slap her. Woman we all have places to go and you need to get the hell out of my way.

And then she's on my flight, and my connecting flight. On my connecting flight she is sitting behind me complaining that the plane is very small and this isn't really "first class" and I'm thinking, "Yes, it is a small plane. Does it fly? Because when I get on an airplane my motto is 'safety first'. And you know what else? I was stranded, this was the only flight I could get and I am happy to get it. Shut up and let me sleep!"

"But there isn't any breakfast!"

I saw your butt. You've got a bit to spare. So do I - so that's not my point. If you don't eat for 3 hours it won't kill you. If it will, you should have planned ahead. I did. I have an insulin problem, so I pack protein snacks just in case. I plan ahead. I don't expect anyone to take care of me. I am responsible for myself.

I'm not a saint, I'm just not that bitch. I'm a totally different brand of bitch.

I'm the bitch who is glaring daggers at you plotting evil things to befall you for my own amusement. Why? I don't know you and you are in my way. And, if I am looking at you, it means you did some totally ass thing to get my attention.

Because if you are pretty or nice or do some good deed in front of me? I notice. I think well of you for it. I just don't see it that often. And believe me, I am looking.

I admit I hate people most when I am in line. I get that you are trying to live your life too - I just don't want to share it.

My friend Dave said, "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet" which I mocked him for greatly.

I have an odd assortment of friends. I love them all for different reasons, they all drive me nuts in different ways, and if you saw us together you might wonder why I am friends with them and vice versa. I saw something amazing in them that got them past that, "I hate strangers" thing. They did the same with me.

I'm friends with a single mother. Just not the one in the 15-items-or-less aisle. She probably pulled the same bullshit more times than not, but never when I was with her, 'cause she knows I won't stand idly by for that shit.

Count your items before you get in the restricted aisle. If you don't, look over your shoulder and ask yourself who is hoping you break your neck in the parking lot - and then be happy that she doesn't actually have any telekinetic abilities.