The Obligatory New Years Post

December 26 is not my favorite day of the year.  It's always a little bit of a let-down.  I usually feel a little sad that all the festivities are over, the presents have been opened, I've eaten 98 million cookies and feel like barfing, and the decorations have to come down.

The melancholy usually only lasts a little while, though, because I really like the feeling of the new year.  It's a fresh, new start...a whole set of days, laid out before you, with no mistakes in them yet.  I feel inspired and start making resolutions for the coming months.

I'm happy to report that my resolutions for 2012 are just this:  stay the same.  I have a job that pays the bills and gives me a great sense of satisfaction.  I'm lucky in love.  I share a home and a life with the person who is truly my other half.  Before I even leave the house in the morning, I already start looking forward to going home to him.  As if that weren't enough, I have all of My People within a stone's throw of my house.  My parents, my siblings, and my non-birth siblings are a huge part of my life, comprising a huge part of my foundation.  We love each other, we respect each other, and we really like to hang out with each other.  

I could resolve to go to the gym, stop allowing my credit card information to be saved on my favorite online shopping accounts, eat better, or take the dogs for a walk more often.  I could resolve to make this year the year that we add a baby to our family.  All noble and valid goals.  Instead, though, I'm going to focus on maintaining the pretty darn good life I already have. 

Please know that you, our family and friends, are part of what we in the O'Neil family are so thankful for.  We wish you the very best in 2012!

I've Joined the Clog Cult.

It started with my sister, Nic.  And then my mom joined in.  The love of the clog.  And I'm not talking about drains, either, as you may have surmised from the photo above.  I'm referring to footwear, and I mean the most comfortable footwear in the universe.

Today, I am the proud owner of my very first pair of these dream shoes, specifically the Sanita Birgitte.  Even as we speak, my feet are singing a little holiday song because they are so warm and comfy.  Now, my new clogs are not exactly as those listed above, but very similar.  Mine are actually a dark, root beer-ish brown color in an alligator skin pattern.  I adore them.  I already have plans to buy the patent leather bright red model, soon followed by the patent leather black and then the teal ones and then the flat brown ones.  This could really get out of hand.

A Christmas Miracle: The Time I Almost Had a Forest Fire In My Office

I had an Anne Shirley moment today.  I felt compelled to share it with you all.

Today, I had steamed broccoli and cauliflower for lunch.  The smell of steamed broccoli is not a nice smell.  It sort of smells like fluffs, if we are going to be honest about it.  After I was finished eating my lunch, I realized that my office smelled very terrible.  I decided that I needed to take action right away.  My brilliant solution was to light a small candle.  So I bummed a light from my HR Pal Chanda.  My candle burned merrily, so bright and cheerful on my desk.  Until the tissue fell on it.  And caught on fire.  And I blew on it to try to put out the fire.  And little embers blew all around my office (thank Todd the door was closed!!)  And then I had to run around my office, stomping on little, teensy embers.

I will tell you what.  It is a GD Christmas Miracle that I didn't set off the fire alarms.  Turns out, I am totally the reason that candles and other flammable objects are against office policy.

Brothers

I actually don't have multiple brothers, just the one.  Today, in honor of that little rascal's birthday, I'd like to say a few words on the subject.

My brother Tedson is six years younger than I am, four years younger than my sister, Nichola.  He was, and in many ways is, my baby brother.  He was our dolly, he was our scapegoat, and for a while, he was our tag-along.  Then he started to grew up and became a nuisance, albeit it an occasionally hilarious one.  And then we all grew up and we got to be just regular pals who like to hang out together, say bad words, drink a little, and laugh at (uh, I mean WITH) our parents. 

We all had our own roles in the family.  As just about everyone knows, I was the serious one, the bossy one, the occasional Princess, the protector and the worrier.  My sister Nic was the fun one, she is a free spirit and an artist, creative and unconventional.  Teddy was the funniest and the naughtiest of us all.  He was always in trouble, but we were always laughing at his antics.  Without his humor, he would have been just a plain old bad boy who should have been sent to military school.  But his loving and funny personality was, and still is, his redeeming grace!

Some things you should know about Tedson...

• He once told the neighbor kids that he had two big sisters named Ursula and Ickola.  And they believed him.  In case you wondered, this is where my alter-ego named Ursula comes from.
• One time, Teddy put a clear rubber band around the trigger of the sink sprayer in the kitchen, pointing the sprayer directly outward.  I can't remember who was the target of this trick, but imagine their surprise when they got a face-full of water when they went to turn on the sink.
• When he was about 2 years old, we got a new kitten.  One afternoon, Kitty disappeared, along with Teddy and his best buddy Brooke.  When the missing parties were located, they were found in Teddy's room, the kitty covered (and I mean covered) in honey.  Someone thought it was a fun idea to give the kitty a honey bath. 
• Sometime around the age of 6 or 8, Ted gave Nichola and I each a little gold locket in the shape of a heart that had his picture in it.  I still have that necklace and I keep it in my jewelry box!  It makes me cry a little sometimes!

It has been said that siblings are the people that we practice on in preparation for real life.  They teach us how to be fair and kind and tolerant, they teach us how to exist with real people in the real world.  Sometimes those are lessons learned the hard way! 

The sibling relationship is a unique one, most people will never experience another relationship like it.  To the world outside, we all grow old, evolve and change according to our life experiences.  Not so with siblings, though.  To my sister and brother, we know each other as we always have been.  We understand each other and love each other unconditionally.  We know the experiences that make us tick.  We share a treasure trove of inside family jokes, skeletons in closets, and the triumphs and failures that make us the people we are today. 

I would imagine that to my siblings, I will always be cast in the same role.  I would like to think that they will always think of me as their protector, the one who looks out for them and worries about them and is always on their side.  Hopefully, they will forget that I was sometimes bossy and snotty and made them do stuff that I didn't want to do myself!

So happy birthday to my baby brother Teddy.  I'm sorry for telling you that you were born in a forest and raised by wolves until they dropped you off at our doorstep and our parents generously took you in.  Actually, on second thought, I'm not really sorry, on account of the fact that you told the neighbors that my name was Ursula and make fun of me for loving Bud Light.

Today, I saw a headline that read: 

"Butt injection with 'Fix a Flat' leads to arrest".   

It's a real shame that it turned out to be a) illegal, and b) probably toxic.  The idea had such promise!  I guess those of us with pancake asses are back to the drawing board. 

Hoorah for Surveys!

What’s the largest age difference between yourself and someone you’ve dated? 8 years, sometimes 9 depending on the time of year. And he’s just the ticket for me!

Ever been in a car wreck? Oh Lord, so many times that it’s not even note-worthy anymore. My most dramatic crash up, though, was not my fault. I was riding in the backseat when the driver rolled the truck. I enjoyed a long ambulance ride down the canyon, got myself checked out, and went camping!

Do you have any friends that you’ve known for 10 years or more? Heavens, it dismays me that I’m old enough to have friends to have known for ten years. I suppose I do, although time and distance has diminished the relationships to mostly just acquaintances. That’s sad.

 Are you a good tipper? Having spent many years in the food service industry, I’m either a good tipper or a bad tipper. My expectations are higher than many, and I do adjust my tip according to those expectations, but on the flip side, I’m very empathetic. I totally understand what’s it’s like to live on tips.

Have you ever peed in public? Sure, I grew up camping so it’s one of those things that you just get over.

 What song do you want played at your funeral? “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles and “Legacy” by Nicole Nordeman.

 Would you tell your parents if you were gay? Like Shawna, it’s pretty easy for me to answer this question because it’s really just a hypothetical. I’m married to the only boy I’ll ever need. However, as a product of two parents who are unfailingly loving and supportive, it would never be anything I would have to be afraid of.

What would your last meal be before getting executed? 1000 Skallops with plenty of tartar sauce. And I would eat all of them. I would prefer to die from having my stomach explode anyway.

 Beatles or Stones? Stones.

 If you had to pick one person on earth to die, who would it be? Hmm. There are plenty of people that I could do without, but even I have a hard time pinpointing someone that I would actually want to die. In light of recent events, I might say Jerry Sandusky, the child rapist from Penn State. But then again, no. I’d like for him to live a good, long time. I’d like for him to live to the ripe old age of 180, living with the guilt and the knowledge that he is as close to inhuman as they come. Death seems a little too easy for him, at least in my opinion.

 Beer, wine or hard liquor? Yes.

 Do you have any phobias? I really, strongly dislike reptiles. I’m not afraid of bugs or mice. I have a real problem with creatures that move in unpredictable, fast movements and don’t have fur.

 What are your plans for the future? Today, I plan to get some work done. Later, I plan to stop at the liquor store for some gin, as I’ve recently discovered my adoration for dirty martinis. And then later after that, Gordon and I will be spending some quality time in our basement, bonding over mud, spackle and drywall. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten.

Behind Schedule!

Today is November 9.  Nine days past the time when Christmas music is finally acceptable in public.  I realized that I haven't listened to a single Christmas song!  This is a terrible oversight, I'll have to make amends immediately.  

With the help of my favorite music streaming website, Playlist.com, I have created The Christmas Playlist of 2012.  I will listen to it almost non-stop for about the next three weeks, until I'm so sick and tired of it that I'll have to create a new one.  It looks suspiciously like The Christmas Playlist of 2011.  

• "White Christmas" by Bing Crosby
• Four different versions (yes, four) of "Baby It's Cold Outside" by Rod Stewart, Zooey Deschanel, Ray Charles and Dean Martin
• A little Frank Sinatra
• A little Elvis
• A song or two by Air Supply. 

All in all, a very well rounded collection, I'd say.  So Ho Ho Ho and Happy Holidays to you!  Get in the spirit already, the Christmas season is already 9/55ths of the way done! We're wasting time!

Thoughts From A Headline Addict...

I am a total news junkie, did you know?  I love current events.  MSNBC.com is usually my second e-stop in the morning, right after I have logged in to Mint.com.  I check the headlines throughout the day, always curious about what's going on and whether or not anything interesting is happening. 

This morning, MSNBC reports the following:

• "Lindsay Lohan sentenced to 30 days, won't serve it all"  I'll be damned if this girl is not ON MY LAST NERVE.  I'm sick to death of LL headlines.  But at least it's pretty easy for the writers and editors.  They can basically recycle the same old headlines, over and over again.  "Lindsay Lohan Is A Hot Mess";  "Lindsay Lohan Violates Parole"; "Lindsay Lohan is Going Back To The Pokey", etc. etc.
• "Trump Accuses Jon Stewart of Racist Rant!"  I'm confused about when we started giving any credence to what Donald Trump has to say.  Let's go back to the day BEFORE that day, shall we?  Being rich does not necessarily make you intelligent.
• "Rescue Dog Dies After Saving Owner" ... Wah!  I'm going to petition MSNBC to stop running stories like this.  I can't keep having cry-episodes in the middle of my work day.
• "Jury in NYC Convicts Russian Arms Dealer" The Merchant of Death?  What an interesting life he must lead.  I hope this ends up on Dateline, I'm dying to learn more!
• "Herman Cain:  There Are Factions Trying to Destroy Me" Uh, yeah.  If you count YOURSELF as a "faction".  I guess you missed the memo about how your personal life tends to get involved when you get into politics.  Maybe you should just start by avoiding situations that will later get you in trouble. 
• "Greek PM convinces cabinet to push referendum deal ahead"  Dear Greece.  Quit ruining my damn retirement. 

The Yin To My Yang

Thank the Lord that I ensnared Gordon O'Neil into marrying me.  Amongst many other saintly qualities, he is the voice of reason and logic when I am the voice of irrationality.  He is the steering rudder to our boat when I am more like the sail who gets full of wind and runs aground.

Today, he acts as the Good Cop in my Good Cop/Bad Cop Routine.  This morning, I was attempting to deal with an insurance adjustor who is being disagreeable and irritating.  He really pissed me off.  And so, in typical fashion, I cut him off mid-sentence as he was explaining to me why they weren't going to pay for the damage.  I told him that he had jerked me around for the last time and that he would be hearing from my attorney.  Then I hung up on him.  (P.S.  I don't have an attorney.  I just said that for effect.)

Then I had to call Gordon and tell him how furious I was.  He laughed and asked me to please cease and desist in following up on any other outstanding problems, at least until tomorrow.  Lovely man that he is, he also agreed to call the insurance adjustor back, explain that his wife is a little mental and see if we can find a way to work it out.   

He's one in a million, that Gordon O'Neil.

To Recline Or Not To Recline...This is The Question.

Anyone who has ever spent more than 13 minutes on an airplane has an opinion on this issue.  In a world where passengers are dealing with constantly curtailed comforts, do you have a right to recline your seat?

Since you are reading my blog, you clearly care about my opinion.  So I'm sending it your way.  Of course you have the right.  You purchased the ticket, which includes the ability to raise or lower your tray table, your arm rest, and recline your seat.  But should you?

In my opinion, polite people do not recline their chairs.  When you recline your chair, you are robbing me of a few square inches of my space.  I purchased that space.  It belongs to me.  And there is PRECIOUS LITTLE of it.  By reclining your chair into my airspace, you are making a very clear statement that your comfort is of a higher priority than mine is. 

Of course, I could always just recline my own chair, and steal someone else's space to make up for your rude and self-centered behavior.  But we all know that two wrongs don't make a right.  And what about that poor sap at the very end of the plane, already stuck with the injustice of sitting in front of the lavatories?  They don't get the option of reclining their chairs, so the buck stops with them. 

Because my parents raised me right, I refuse to recline my chair.  I can honestly tell you that I have never done it.  Not even on the flight home from Anchorage, Alaska, in the middle of the GD night.  The flight that had about fourteen layovers, a total travel time of 14 hours, and a lost bag?  The one that left me dissolved in tears at the baggage claim, where Gordon had to park the car and come scrape me off the pavement because I just couldn't bear the exhaustion any longer.  Yes, that was a memorable one.  I didn't recline my seat because I was raised to be considerate of other people. 

On a recent flight from St. Louis, this issue became a serious matter.  I'll preface this story by saying that I sometimes become so fixated on a small issue that it takes over my entire soul and I become single-minded in exacting revenge of the offender.  That happened on this occasion.  Gordon and I were flying home from St. Louis, it was a relatively short flight, an hour and a half or so.  Before the plane even took off, three young-20-ish individuals reclined their seats, invading our space.  Those of you who know my husband know that he NEEDS every square speck of space that he can get.  He's not compact.  So as the seconds ticked by, I became more and more engulfed with fury over their rude behavior.  I'm not afriad to admit that it was a little ridiculous.  And somewhat miserable.  I'm not kidding you when I say that it was a full-scale war.  Somewhere over mid-Missourri, I got a little tired of my mission, but it was too late to give in.  I dug my toes onto the crack of their chair so hard that my feet ached.  About every three to four minutes, I reached down into my carry on and banged it against the back of his chair in a very abrupt manner.  In between surprise attacks, I pushed my knees into the back of their chair so hard that my quads were positively aching.  With every offense, the offender would shift slightly, press against my knees and glare through the crack of the seat.  That's how I knew my efforts were not in vain, and what fueled my fury to keep at it!    To stop the attacks at that point would have been a weak move, a surrender.  And Bethany Heather Willard O'Neil is not one to surrender.  Duh. 

Anyway.  So what I'm saying is that I hate recliners.  And woe is the soul who invades my space (or Gordon's) on an airplane.  You will be very, very sorry.  I'm little, but I'm not afraid to poke a pencil through the crack of your seat. 

Am I unreasonable?  Well, don't answer that.  It's a foregone conclusion.  But how do you feel about seat recliners?  Is it offensive, or is it your right as an airline passenger? 

And P.S.  I'm looking for your response, Mrs. Malvini-Redden!

I have never been terribly superstitious, but recently, I've begun to notice some very suspicious coincidences.  The logical half (quarter?  eighth?) of my brain knows that it's complete nonsense, but I cant seem to help but think that my own emotions or actions are starting to impact the actual outcome. 

I first noticed it last year when the Ducks were in the BCS Championship game against Auburn.  Never having been a huge football fan, I accidentally fell into being a Ducks fan due to the influence of my sports-crazed husband, Mr. Gordon O'Neil.  As the season wore on, I got hooked on the sport, hooked on the Ducks, hooked on Chip Kelly and hooked on LaMichael James.  December found me jumping up and down like a true fan as we went undefeated.  So naturally, when it was time for the Championship game, it was a big day.  Such a big day, in fact, that I planned a special Duck-themed menu and made sure my Ducks t-shirt was clean and in good order for the big game.  And then our power went out and we missed well over half of the game.  And I couldn't bake the calzones that I had so carefully prepared for.  And when the power returned, we lost.  Let's never discuss that day again.

Fast forward to September of this year.  In my campaign for the Best Wife in the Universe, I planned a weekend for Gordon in St. Louis, MO.  We arrived on a Saturday, excited to attend two Cardinals games at Busch Stadium.  And as a coincidence, there was also a Ducks game on just when we arrived.  We raced to the hotel, checked in, and dashed out to find a sports bar where we could see our Ducks opening game.  We walked for an hour, looking for a place with a TV larger than 9 inches wide and a decent menu.  We never did find it, but we settled for a hole in the wall called Jack Patricks.  We slid into a booth, made friends with the bartender named Bill and watched the Ducks fall apart.  It was painful.  So long, undefeated season.  Stupid LSU. 

The next day, giddy with excitement to see watch our team in the home stadium, we spent the morning shopping for Cardinals gear.  I wore my cute hat, which gave me a headache, and Gordon wore his special new birthday hat.  We looked so cute.  It was a great moment when Jon Jay hit a homerun out of the park.  And then the stupid Reds with their stupid Brandon Phillips beat us.  Not such a great moment.

Never mind, we told ourselves.  Cheer up!  We were sure we would beat the Brewers the next day.  Once again, we donned our red and white finest and set off for the Stadium.  The game started badly.  We sat in front of one of those kinds of fans who calls all the players by their first names and treats them all as if they were her eight year old sons.  That damn woman had an opinion on every thing and wouldn't shut up.  The situation reached crisis proportions when we went down by a couple of runs and just couldn't take it any more.  So we left our seats, doubled up on some beers and waited until seats opened up in the bleachers section.  While we were much happier, our beloved Cards still lost. 

So basically, what I'm saying is that I have a real concern that I am having some kind of freak-ish, eerie effect on my teams.  Is this even possible?  Well of course not, at least not in the physical world.  But what if there is some sort of unseen, unspoken, spooky correlation between the extent of my excitement and the actual outcome of the game.

I'm sure you can understand my hesitance to get excited about Game 1 of the World Series, which is set for tomorrow night.  I'm hugely tempted to get crazy and buy a flag for my front porch and buy all of the Cardinals apparel I can find and get a red bird tattooed on my shoulder and talk shizz about the Texas Rangers to anyone within ear shot.  But I'm holding back because I'm terrified that I'll wreck it!  If my Redbirds lose, I'll never forgive myself.  Really.  So even though I'll try to limit my extollations of excitement, just know that in my heart, I'm on pins and needles with excitement!!

A Slump.

I am experiencing a mysterious phenomenon.  A slump.  A blue funk.  A general feeling of lethargy and sluggishness.  I don't know what is causing this problem. 

I have been blaming it on this janky foot that I have been hauling around this week.  Could general anesthesia cause this moodiness?  Following the procedure, I was definitely out of it, and slept for hours and hours.  In fact, it was apparently a delicious kind of rest because I'm told that as the nurses were trying to rouse me from my slumber, I told them all to shut up.  Others have reported that I glared and glowered at everyone in sight.  So who knows?  Maybe those chemicals have caused a disruption in my mental chemicals.  Or maybe it's the two pain pills that I took...boy was that a mistake.  The first one worked fine, I was on Cloud 9.  The second...not so much.  I was sick and nauseous and narcoleptic.  I nixed that immediately. 

Maybe it's because my beloved Cardinals are playing with my emotions.  For weeks now, they have been up and down, winning and losing.  Miraculously in the play-offs, then losing the game, just when we had the chance to seize the moment.  I'm really not certain if I'm going to make it through the Postseason, at this rate.

Maybe it's because I'm stressed about my house.  We are getting ready to put it up on the market, a prospect which doesn't excite me.  One the one hand, it's the best solution.  On the other hand, it means a lot of hard work.  We have to figure out a way to hide the fact that we share our house with three dogs, five cats and an unknown number of mice?  NOTE:  The mice are finally on their way out, even though it hurts me deeply to catch them in traps.  However, it's a sanitary matter, it must be done.  Anyway, I'll be glad when this whole process is completed and all involved are free of this burden.

On the positive side, there are lots of things that are NOT making me in a funk...

For one, my job.  I don't know why, not much has changed, but I'm happy being here. 

Another, Charlie O'Neil.  I love him.  He doesn't have a wide range of emotions, but recently we've started to see a lot more excitement and happiness in his precious little face.  He really does love us, I can tell that he's happy to have us.

Also, let's not forget the fact that it's October.  How I love October.  The colors are turning and it's getting cooler and wearing a sweater isn't completely absurd. 

And of course, most importantly, my Gordon.  Even in the worst part of the day, when I've just gotten to work and I'm assessing all the things that need to be done and wondering where to find the enthusiasm to get it finished, my phone will ding.  A text message from Mr. O'Neil, saying that he loves me and hopes that I have a good day.  It just doesn't get any better than that, does it?

The Day My Life Flashed Before My Eyes.

That's today.  It really did, my life that is, flashing before my eyes.  And I'm not even being excessively dramatic.

Thirty minutes ago, I was exiting the freeway, using the offramp at 114th South in Draper.  You might know it.  The offramp is long-ish, and has a bit of a curve to it before it ends with a stoplight.  I was driving along, singing a song and admiring what a good hair day I'm having.  Behind me, I saw a dump truck that looked something like this:

So I came to the stop light, in the left lane, and had been stopped there for at least 10 or so seconds.  I casually glanced in my left side mirror.  To my terror, I saw the dumptruck right behind me, veering off to the left, onto the shoulder just beneath the offramp.  He came to a stop about almost directly beside me, having jumped over a curve and gone into the shoulder. 

I don't know if he wasn't paying attention to the red light at the bottom of the ramp, or if his brakes weren't reacting very well, but he felt the need to go off the side of the road in order to avoid rear ending me and sending me straight into the path of on-coming traffic.

It took me about 10 minutes to get my heartbeat back to a normal range, I couldn't believe how close I came to getting squished like a little baby dirt clod. 

I drew this little illustration myself.  Rudimentary, I know, but I love visuals.  I'm the green spot and the dumptruck is the blue smear.  And the black lines are the road.  FYI.

Attitude Adjustment Time.

Dear Bethany O'Neil.

It's time for an adjustment to your attitude.  You have been a Negative Nelly for too long, it's time to revamp.  It's clear that work is not great.  Work does actually suck recently, that's a fact.
But it's time to build a bridge and get over it.

So starting today, whenever you feel like grumbling or complaining, remember the hundreds of thousands of people who would fall all over themselves to take your place.  Remind yourself that payday comes every two weeks like clockwork, and the money is always there.  Remember that this wretched job pays the bills, feeds your dog and even affords you a visit to Starbucks on occasion.

Good talk.  I know you can do it.

With love,

The Logical Side of Yourself.

September 1 Deserves a Blog Post, Don't You Think?

I love Fall.  I love cool weather, crisp air, warm sweaters and hot drinks.  Which is why September 1 is always an excellent day, my very favorite on the calendar.  September 1 is the start of something wonderful.  

This year, September 1 has a few added perks.  

1.  September 1 is only two days from September 3, which is a super exciting day this year because Gordon and I are traveling to St. Louis to see two Cardinals games.  This was Gordon's super-dee-duper birthday present this year from the Best Wife In The Entire Universe (me).  He has always wanted to go to St. Louis, and I am so excited!  

2.  A surprise bonus is that my boss is out of the office for the rest of the week.  I can take a break from treading on pins and needles, egg shells and broken glass (all at once) and breathe easy in the workplace for the first time in about three weeks.  Yeah.  It's that bad.  But let's not waste time on that.  Moving on...

3.   Finally, Mother Nature has given us a reprieve from the heat today, most likely in honor of September 1.  The forecast calls for a high temp. of only 84 degrees today.  That's about a 15 degree break from the normal 98 million degrees that Utah summers usually average.  Glorious!

So anyway.  Loves to you all, and happy Fall wishes.  Here's hoping that today ends as well as it has begun!

Rest in Peace, Fair Hero

Once upon a time, there was a dog named Fair Hero. Hero had many wonderful qualities. She was sweet and loving and loyal. Hero also had a few naughty qualities, as well. Actually, in the spirit of full disclosure, Hero had MANY naughty qualities.

One of the more notable ones was that she had an absolute obsession with human food. It was a problem since her puppy-hood. On her very first night as a Willard, she seemed a little droopy. We fed her some mandarin oranges and WHAMMY! She went into high puppy gear and went crazy. Ever after, human food was Hero’s Achilles heel. She would stop at nothing to get her fix, which usually meant jumping up on the kitchen counter and stealing whatever was in reach of her teeth.


A brief list of her favorite items:


1. Butter. She would steal entire boxes of butter at a time, and eat it all….wrappers and all.


2. Bread. Hero may very well have been a carb addict.  A loaf of bread rarely lasted a full day in the house. 


3. Chocolate, particularly Ferrero Rocher candies.


4. Nuts. Once, she ate about six loaves of banana bread that contained Macadamia nuts. The nuts had a terrible effect on her, she was literally paralyzed for an entire day after that episode. Note to dog owners: Macadamia nuts are poisonous to dogs. Unless you are Hero, in which case it just causes temporary paralysis.

5. Thyroid pills. Hero was well known amongst visitors to the Willard house for stealing things out of peoples’ purses or suitcases. Including 60 days worth of thyroid medicine.

6. Ricotta cheese. When she was just a tiny baby dog, Mom was making lasagna and left the room for a minute. Hero jumped on the counter, knocked the bowl off and proceded to eat all of the cheese.

My favorite story of all, though, is the time Hero got drunk. My mom had a rotten pineapple that had gotten way beyond ripe. It fizzled on your tongue if you licked it. She threw it out on the compost pile, amongst all the rest of the green waste. Naturally, Hero found and ate the entire thing, and she was the happiest drunk you ever met in your life. She raced around the house, raced around the yard, played with the other dogs and just couldn’t hold herself still.


The next day, she was clearly feeling “under the weather”. She slept for most of the day, and glared at anyone who made too much noise or mentioned the word “pina colada”.

So this is for my big sister dog Hero. I’m pouring out a pina colada for my Homie.

BE WARE. PROFANITY ABOUNDS.

A Memo To Kings Of Leon:

Dear Kings of Leon.

Once upon a time, I loved you.  I loved you way before your songs started playing on the radio.  I loved you before you became big and famous and even lame-asses knew your songs.  I loved your old music, back during the days when you played music because you loved it, not when you played music that sold records. 

Guess what.  That time is expired.  Done.  As of approximately eight minutes ago, I hate you intensely.  I think you are pathetic.  I think you have forgotten where you came from and who got you there.  Your fans.  Yes, you know the ones...the ones who paid for your recent lavish wedding, for your big fancy houses, for your vintage clothes and your whiskey.  That was us.  You owe us a little something. 

You and I nearly came to blows last summer when you played THE LAMEST SHOW that Salt Lake has ever seen.  But it's cool.  I got over it.  In fact, I got so far over it that I bought tickets to your Red Rocks show for my husband.  It was going to be THE GREATEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER.  Don't worry that I don't even live in Denver, thus having to purchase airline tickets along with my concert tickets.  Yeah.  Hundreds of dollars down the drain.  All because you are...how did they put it?....oh yeah.  Exhausted.  Well me too. 

Eff you, anyway.  I hope everyone who ever Googles your stupid-ass name finds this post and holds off on buying your tickets because it will INEVITABLY be a waste of time. 

Did I mention...eff you.  Seriously though.  You totally ruined my week. 

With Zero Respect and Massive Amounts of Fury-

Reasons To Love Today

1.  It's kind of rainy/drizzly today, which is somewhat rare for Utah, right in the middle of the blazing ass summer. 

2.  Boot Camp continues to kick my ass, but in a motivating, refreshing kind of way.  I will say, though, that last week was MURDER.  I mean, I'm in reasonably good shape, I have a gym membership, after all.  But last week, my quads (read: thighs) were so sore that I was dangerously close to becoming a paraplegic for the week.  I have never in my life been that sore.  It was Sunday morning (five days post workout) before I was able to get my ass out of bed, climb the stairs, or get out of my car without needing to pause for eight to ten deep breaths.  Anyway, it does feel good.  I feel strong, I feel motivated, I feel healthy.  And by George, I will develop a butt.  Maybe not a Brazilian butt, as that infomercial claims, but a nice, normal, English/Scottish ancestral butt. 

3.  Today is August 1.  This means only 31 more days until September 1, which is my favorite day of the whole year.  This is a general rule, but this year, September 1 will also be my favorite day of the year because it will be Surprise Day!....

4.  August 1 also means that I have only 20-21 more days of silence regarding The Great Surprise of 2011.  Nope, I still haven't told!  It's getting increasingly difficult.  So I just keep enjoying the anticipation all by myself, and also congratulating myself for already having found an awesome birthday/anniversary gift that he will love. 

5.  And finally, I love today because I woke up this morning, next to my mister who makes me laugh, makes me work harder at boot camp, who usually does the laundry and puts up with me when I'm cranky and exhausted and probably using the "I'm too sore to move!" card.  Good hell, how I snared him into marrying me is a mystery, and definitely one of my best feats.  Ever. 

I Kicked My Own Ass Today.

This morning at 7 a.m., Gordon and I did something foolish called "Boot Camp".  Should I have been tipped off by the fact that this exercise class is called "Boot Camp"?  Yes.  That should have been a clue.  But we signed up for the class, we paid for it, and by golly, we are going to finish the entire 4 week class if it kills us.

Well, today was our first morning and it came pretty damn close to killing us.  Well, me.  Gordon outlapped my at every turn, that little show-off.  We started off with running laps around the gym.  I was already tired after lap one.  Then, we spent the next 40 minutes subjecting ourselves to all kinds of human torture....push-ups for one minute, then a lap around the gym.  Lunges for one minute and then a lap around the gym.  Calf raises for one minute and then a lap around the gym.  Please note that I did not mention any rest periods there.  That's because there weren't any.  Well, except a couple of times where we were permitted to rest for one minute, or maybe two.  This insanity carried on for an entire hour.  One exercise after another.  

When it was finally over, my muscular system was in a state of malfunction, I just couldn't hold myself up.  I was unpleasantly sweaty and probably flushed (not my best look), and all I really wanted to do was lie down on the gym floor.  

I resisted, though, and powered through my morning.  It is now 11:14 a.m. and my muscles are beginning to function normally.  My head still feels heavy, and there isn't enough coffee in the universe to keep me awake and alert, but I feel a little bit great.  Not a lot, but a little. 

I'll keep you posted-

T-Minus 27 Days.

I got Gordon the BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT EVER this year.

I picked it out last Friday, and already I have come this close to blabbing my secret at least four times.  But I mustn't.  I MUSTN'T.  I will consider this a lesson in self-control, a quality that I an notoriously deficient in.  I have 27 days left.  I think I can, I think I can...

So Gordon O'Neil, if you are even considering prying my secret out of me, I warn you...I will totally tell you if you press me.  SO PLEASE DON'T or I'll be mad.

Loves from your wife, the Best Wife In All Of The Universe. 

I get annoyed when people don't take me seriously. 

Take this morning, for instance.  I was forced to have yet another encounter with the jackasses at the Volvo Dealership Service Department.  It's a simple thing, really. A couple of months ago, an urgent light came on in my car, indicating that my passenger side airbag was not functioning and that urgent service was required.  Naturally, this was about ten minutes after my warranty expired.

I'm going to refrain from going into this story in too much detail, partly to save you the boredom and partly to prevent myself from getting into a state of aggravation.  In short, they were super huge jerks to me and I was forced to call in The Big Guns (aka My Big Husband Gordon).  After much debate, the service manager finally accepted the fact that the malfunction was covered under the warranty, but made us pay a $65 "diagnostic fee" in order to find out what the real problem was.  At the end of the day, I picked up the car, the light was off and we drove off into the sunset.

And then, the stupid light came back on. 

Anyway.  This brings us to today.  Yet another appointment. I drove into their little garage, told them my name and what the problem was.  Gordon was a few minutes behind me, so I explained the whole situation. 

Now listen.  I am not dumb.  I have a very robust understanding of car stuff.  For instance, I know that white smoke pouring from your car usually means a problem with the head gasket (or something like that).  I know about spark plugs, also, I can tell you that if your spark plugs aren't functioning correctly, you may lose 2-3 miles per gallon in gas consumption.  I also know where the dipstick is on my car in case I ever want to check the oil.

So when the first thing the service manager suggested was that my battery was low, causing my airbag light to come on, I had an urge to scratch his face.  I realize that I'm small, and female, and my fingernails are very clean, but EVEN I know that the problem is not the battery.  His next suggestion was that the car had been in a collision.  Yup.  I'm fairly certain I would be aware of this if such a collision had occurred.  He treated me as if I had no idea of what was going on, when in fact I am the one who did all of the research into this issue and know exactly what is happening.  I got annoyed.  I said "Please look through the service history of this car.  It will save you a lot of time and trouble.  Just fix the damn thing and call me when it's done.  On second thought, call my husband."

Anyway.  That's really all I had to say.  Have a nice day.

Yet Another Moral Dilemma

Some of you may know of my love affair with Day Planners.  My current Planner is my favorite yet.  It's the most beautiful, soft leather in a lovely teal color.  I've never loved a Planner as much as I do this one.  Tragically, it's last page is coming upon us at an alarming speed.  I have a mere three weeks left before it becomes obsolete. 



SIDE NOTE:  My real planner is much more beautiful than this one, but choices are limited when you Google "teal day timer", so use your imagination. 



I was discussing this sad fact of life with Gordon recently, and bemoaning the fact that I'll never be able to find a Planner as good as this one.  Ever the practical man, he asked why I don't use the Calendar on my phone.  "Does your Planner send you a reminder for every occasion?  Does your Planner nag you until you make that credit card payment?"  asked Mr. O'Neil.  I stuttered.  I stammered.  "Well, no.  But please don't blame that late credit card payment on my Precious Planner.  It did its best.  It held that note that I wrote months ago very valiantly.  It's not it's fault that I elected to ignore it.  And my phone does not permit me to write little notes in different colors and fonts.  Let's not lose sight of that perk."

But my words rang hollow, even in my own ears.  I'm fully aware that it's far more practical to step into the New Age of Technology and use the Calendar on my phone.  I mean, my purse really only has so much space in it, and Planner does use a lot of space.  It causes me not to be able to zip my purse properly, which could be a security risk.  Then again, what if my phone crashes?  My Planner never crashes.  It's loyalty and reliability are unparalleled.  Unless of course I lose my Planner, in which case there is no hope of replacing the information. 

Oh gosh.  I could go back and forth for an hour.  I suspect that this may be yet another situation where my hesitance to embrace technology is holding me back.  Need I remind us all of the Great Nook Breakthrough of 2010?  I was firmly and stubbornly against the Nook Movement, I really adore the feel, the smell, the companionship of an actual book in my hand.  But I bravely jumped on the Nook bandwagon and I've never looked back.  Barnes and Noble should actually hire me as a spokesperson for their Nook products because I practically shout my adoration of my Nook from the mountaintops. 

I think we all know the answer here.  Change is painful, but where would we be without it?  Stuck in the dark ages, that's where.  With plain old paperbooks and paper Planners and paper Newspapers and candles for light and probably no coffee because how can you make it without electricity? 

It's time to go forth bravely into the future.  But I'll comfort myself with the fact that I can always step right back into the age of paper and colored pens and handwritten notes if technology let's me down. 

Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Your Anger. Unless You Are So Crazy That You Must.

I'm veering dangerously close into personal territory here.   Gordon doesn't love it when I make reference to or divulge specifics about our relationship.  But I'm really talking more about myself, more than our relationship so much.

So anyway.  With that caveat in mind, I wish to discuss the concept of anger and sunsets.  Should one actually let the sun go down upon one's anger?  Or is it best to hash it all out and go to bed only when you have come to some type of conclusion?  

Recently, I read a little story about the traits of the strongest marriages.  One of them said that their marriage had survived almost 30 years due in part to the fact that they never went to bed angry with each other. I can't figure out how I feel about this.  It seems like a nice concept, but I have a hard time believing that those couples have never had a big enough issue that it lasts for a period of more than 12-14 hours. 

I can say this.  I am a highly emotional individual.  My initial reaction to almost anything is usually a frenzy of feelings, an emotional tidal wave, if you will.  It sometimes frightens me, the force of my reactions.  I sometimes feel the need to throw myself to the ground, wail and scream and yell and cry.  This is a problem.  It's a problem because this kind of reaction often solicits a not-so-productive reaction from the person on the other side of the wave.  Happily, the feelings ebb and I do return to a state of relative logic and reason.  But it can sometimes take a little while.  However, for the person who likes to deal with an issue immediately and move on, by the time I've come around to sanity, they have moved on, but without a solution.  

I acknowledge that this is not a healthy response.  There is a very strong possibility that I make things worse by flying off the handle in an awe-inspiring fashion.  How much of this is just innate, and how much can I change?  Is this an aspect of myself that I can change, or is it just part and parcel of who I am, a downside of my personality type?  Predictably, probably a little bit of both. 

Anyway.  What I'm looking for is your opinion.  What works for you? 

An Ode to Jeffrey Carl Willard

Father’s Day is just around the corner. And while my family celebrated the occasion last weekend, I believe this is an excellent occasion to revive my blogging habit. So I decided to put together a brief outline of some of the more momentous things I’ve gained from being Jeff Willard’s daughter. In no particular order…

 

1. A love of bleu cheese dressing

 

2. Dance moves rivaling those of the late, great Michael Jackson

 

3. The belief that Crown Royal is as much of a camping staple as the tent and the cookstove.

 

4. The Universal Truth that anyone who defeats you at any game or leisure sport is obviously cheating.

 

• a.   And in a subcategory, cheating is an offense that must be documented. On the actual game board. Take for instance, the family Parcheesi board. It honestly contains an inscription that says “Don’t play this game with them. They cheat.”
• b. And in yet another subcategory, when you do win, shout it from the mountaintops.

 

5. The fact that there is a Jimmy Buffett song for every single holiday, special occasion or day that ends in “day”.

 

6. Boxed wine is classy.

 

7. There is a logical answer for everything.

 

8. Mom should not be allowed to represent herself in any sort of legal proceeding. (True that.)

 

9. Love and loyalty to the people you love is all that matters.

 

10. The notion that muskrat hats are still poised for a comeback.

 

11. Yogurt and doughnuts are a totally viable dinner menu.

 

12. You get what you pay for. So buy the most expensive tools/largest televisions/biggest boats/high tech metal detectors, etc. It will definitely be worth it.

 

13. Anything in the bread family is not an acceptable breakfast food. This rules out pancakes, French toast, biscuits, etc.

 

14. The day that Jack was born should be a national holiday. Or at least a family holiday. P.S. Jack is a wire-haired fox terrier.

 

15. No matter what, your outfit is always cute, your haircut always looks beautiful, and your shoes are always exactly right for that dress. Especially when it comes to your daughters.

 

 

 

So here’s to you, The Best Dad In The Whole Universe. Some may know you as Jeff, Jeffy, Jeff-a-Lynn, Little Black Sambo (the best porn star name EVER), but we all know you are the best Dad any three rotten kids could ask for. Thanks for trying to make us behave!

 

Never Say Never. Except Sometimes.

Never confuse movement with action.

Never dare to to judge till you have heard the other side.
 
Never dull your shine for somebody else.

Never continue in a job you don't enjoy.

Never feel self-pity, the most destructive emotion there is.

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world.

Never let the odds keep you from pursuing what you know in your heart you were meant to do.

Never lose a chance of saying a kind word.

Never depend on immersion in another person for your personal growth.

Never rise to speak till you have something to say; and when you have said it, cease.

Never stop giving thanks for what you are now, and never stop fighting for what you want to be tomorrow.

Let's pretend that I came up with these "Neverisms" myself, why don't we?  That would be just for pretend, however, because I stole most of them from the Huffington Post this morning.  Anyway.  Let's not quibble with details. 

By Golly, I Will Say Something Positive.

Today it is raining.  Well, at least that is positive.  In my world it is, anyway.

Aside from the rain, it's a stretch to make myself come up with something positive today.  As you know, yesterday was Mothers Day.  Mothers Day is about moms.  I had high hopes (way too high, I realize once again) for a special Mothers Day this year.  After four long years, I was nearly convinced that I was finally going to be able to join the ranks of Mother-kind.  I'll admit.  I allowed myself to get carried away with the idea, which is always, always, always a bad idea. 

And then not.  

And then I was crushed. 

And then I have to figure out a way to pick the pieces back up and keep on going. 

But hey, it's raining, right? 

A Complicated Mix of Emotions

I have a weird mix of emotions about today.  I'm happy, and I'm afraid, and I'm a little sad, and very proud.  

I think that the world is a better place today than it was yesterday, when Bin Laden was alive and well.  Hate is poison, and poison spreads.  So that's the happy part of me.  But do I think for one minute that the fact that we finally got him is really going to change very much?  Nope, not really.  Had we caught him sooner, perhaps it would have been more impactful.  But at this point in the game, so many splinter groups have already grown and flourished, they have become major threats in and of themselves.  Bin Laden kind of went out of style, from what I can tell.  The world has moved on from a single leader running all of the radical terrorist sects.  And that's the part of me that is afraid.  What are we in for?  It scares me to think about what we may have ignited, justified and necessary as it was?

That being said, though, I think it's good for the rest of the world, and especially good for the American people to bring closure to September 11 and to finally see justice served. I feel happy and proud for those who lost their loved ones in the attacks on 9/11.  I can't even wrap my mind around how they must have felt, day in and day out, knowing that the mastermind of the attack was still walking around as a free man, living, breathing and apparently plotting other attacks? 

I am innately uncomfortable with celebrating death, anyone's death.  On a human level, I don't think it's right.  The Daily News this morning ran a full front page story proclaiming "Rot in Hell".  Don't get me wrong.  I understand the feelings out there, and I don't disagree.  But I do think that embracing hatred like that brings you just a little bit closer to those same terrorists who act out of hate.  Hate is hate, whether you are an American, a Saudi, a Muslim or a Christian. 


Anyway, just some thoughts as I start to process.  I think it's safe to say that this is a pretty important day in the history of our country, of the world, of peace and unity. 

OBVIOUSLY. Someone has GOT to blog about those hats.



It's almost a sure thing that I am directly related to the Queen of England.  My dear, lovely Grandma was a native Brit and as such, surely has some Windsor blood in her somewhere.  As a third cousin, twice removed of William and Harry (roughly), I felt a certain obligation to get carried away with the Royal Wedding.  And I did.  I never fast-forwarded or skipped over the "news" about the Big Day (I use the term "news" loosely because I still have reservations over whether or not the men's morning suits actually constitute a news item).  As I watched this morning, I was obsessed with the head gear.  Since I look unfailingly stupid in a hat, I could really never aspire to don such a thing, but I was certainly envious of those society ladies. 

For instance....

The Dress, the Hat...every bit of this woman is lovely.  My number one pick.

This chippie gets points for originality, but I don't know that the Queen would entirely approve.

There is absolutely no excuse for walking out of the house (or palace) looking like this.  None at all.  There is nothing acceptable in this whole frame.  Not a single thing. 

 

I hope you won't think less of me, but I am totally taken by this small, saucy little hat, worn by Victoria Beckham (who my husband calls Trashy Spice...props to him for being a little catty...)



So anyway.  Just my thoughts.  I absolutely had to get something up on this blog because even I am tired of thinking about the paltry and pathetic raise that was the subject of my previous posting.

Also.  I need to throw out a few apologies.  One, to my most favorite pen-pal, Miccolene Sorensen Mother Of The Most Adorable Baby Girl Named Isabelle Bethany Sorensen (right?).  I have yet to respond to her most recent message, but I think about it every day and I swear I will respond.

Also.  To my cousin Heather.  Hope you had a good Easter too!  I also suck at returning texts, but it made me feel good to see your name on my phone.  Loves to you!

Notes To Self...

I really must get to work, but before I forget...must blog on why my blog has currently only earned $0.04.  It makes me feel rather cheap.  How to solve this problem, aside from forcing all of you to click on the obnoxious ads that are conspicuously placed around my page?

And also, let's start a discussion about the word "erstwhile."  I love it.  I just adore it.

Coming To You From A New Location...

I write to you, dear readers, from my sparkly, brand-spanking-new, VERY LONG AWAITED new office.  It smells absolutely heavenly.  It smells like new carpet and fresh paint and Starbucks (the fact that my office is located mere yards from Bestie Starbucks deserves its own paragraph...see below). 

When I was hired for this job, over a year ago, I was told that our location would be Draper, Utah.  Excellent, I said to myself.  Nice and close to home.  However, it turned out that this location was a bit of a pipe dream.  The company had planned to be located in Draper, but several unforeseeable problems arose.  Such as not actually even having a building or the vaguest idea of where in Draper said location should be.  I've spent the year commuting 50 miles a day, over the point of the mountain which is full of obstacles, construction and bad weather.  I took it in stride, and tried not to think about the miles that were rapidly ticking away on my odometer (the thing that reads miles.)  Erstwhile, I received a lot of windshield cracks, paint dings, two tickets and a teensy, weensy fender-bender.  Totally not my fault, as always.  Asshat was supposed to be moving forward.  I can't see how it's my fault that he stopped for an unforeseen construction worker.  Anyway.  I digress.

My point is that we finally moved in to our new office today.  It's been completely gutted and built from the inside up.  My office is large-ish (when compared to my former dwelling in what was surely a broom closet), and has the loveliest dark wood furniture.  I have almost endless filing space, a little wardrobe for storing my personal belongings, and an actual sitting area.  And best of all...I have a huge window that overlooks the mountains (if you can get past the train tracks that come before the mountains)!!!

Last night, on my way home, I clocked my commute at 9 minutes, accounting for traffic, and a measly 6 miles.  Glorious Day!

But let us not overlook the aspect of this office that eclipses all of these other fine qualities....STARBUCKS COFFEE COMPANY is located less than 1/8th of a mile from my very desk chair.  AND IT HAS A DRIVE-THRU.  As I considered the pay increase that I am entitled to (see previous post regarding Annual Review Day), I naturally calculated in a Starbucks Allowance. 

Oh bollocks.  This post was going to be greatly improved by featuring photos of my new habitation...alas, I can't figure out how to extract photos from my phone to put them in the interweb.  Sorry, my loyal followers.  This will surely turn out to be a pretty mediocre blog.

With love,

Bethany O'Neil

I love winter.  I love precipitation.  I love grey clouds and coziness.  I love warm clothes and scarves.  I super love slippers. 

Except today.  Today, I'm so dang sick of this winter that I could scream from the rooftops.  I woke up this morning, expecting a snowy, cloudy day...pretty typical for March in Utah.  I was pleasantly surprised to see the sun and a bright blue sky.  It made me feel cheerful.  It made me remember that summer is coming and the air will get warm and it will be time to wear sandals and sundresses and drink Coronas on my back porch and go to concerts and spend every weekend out on the lake.  AND BEST OF ALL, it made me remember that it will only be about 2 more months before they bring back the Sno-Cone store to the corner of 9th East and Fort Union and I will have a cherry sno-cone every single time we go to the grocery store.   

And then it got all cloudy and snowy.  FINE.  But in my heart, I am wearing flip-flops.

Things My Phone Made Me Say

I have a new phone.  I like it.  It plays music and gets me to Facebook and allows me to check my checking account balance while I'm at the store.  Nifty.  I have only one problem with it.  It is a touch screen, no little buttons to push.  It also has a (not at all) helpful feature called predictive text.  It thinks that it's so smart that it can guess what I'm trying to say.  It drives me up the GD wall. 

Recently, I have sent the following text messages:

• "I missed your call.  Calkins me when you can." 
• "Going to lynch.  Call when you can."
• "You're a dirty bitch."  Oh.  That was actually on purpose.  But it was a joke because Gordon set his phone to read his text messages aloud when he receives them and it gives me eternal laughter to hear that lady's voice say dirty stuff.
• "I sidbt really bring church clothes so I am happy to school it."  What I meant to say was that I DIDN'T really bring church clothes so I was happy to SKIP it. 

This annoys me to no end because we all know how anal I am about spelling and punctuation.  So please.  If you receive a text message from me that includes mis-spellings, poor punctuation and general nonsense, please know that it's my phone's fault. 

Catching Up.

It's been a hectic few weeks and I've been neglectful of my duties in reporting the random bits happening in the O'Neil-o-sphere. 

Work.  Well, we'll not dwell on this subject for too long.  Basically, work and all of the people associated with work are ON MY LAST NERVE.  It's a frustrating and irritating place to be these days.  It seems to be one of those times when there is a lot of stress and tension in the air, and a whole lot of BS as well.  But have no fear.  These things always pass.  It's certainly not the first time I've felt this way, and I'm prepared to go out on a limb to say that it likely will not be the last.  And I am reminded of my "Ah Ha!" moment several months back, where I realized that even the best jobs are only likeable about 68% of the time.  The rest of the time is all about survival. 

The Pet Situation.  Very little improvement to report on this front.  There are still three dog and five cat residents in our home.  No one really seems too interested in venturing out on their own.  Well, except Charles, who tries to run away every time the front door opens.  Sadly, he's really not eligible for parole yet because he's too dumb to survive in the world on his own.  Adorable, of course, but dumb.  Poor big fella.  I will say this for him, though:  since the whole robbery of his manhood, his behavior has improved dramatically.  No more whizzing all over the house, fewer episodes of trying to run away, and even better manners.  He has calmed down to a great extent, which is an enormous relief.  If I wasn't tired of living in a pet shop, I would entertain the notion of letting him stay.  Notice I haven't mentioned Sampson.  He continues his wretched behavior, peeing all over the house, biting Charlie at every possible opportunity, and living in a state of constant hyperventilation, working full time to keep Charlie from living a comfortable life.  It's really getting on my last nerve.  It's a good thing he is so cute and has such a lovey personality, otherwise I would really be ready to ship him off to somewhere far far away.

Offspring.  We are in a state of To Be Determined on this front.  We underwent our first "procedure" a little over a week ago.  We are guarded, but hopeful, about our chances.  The odds with this particular procedure are about 8-10%, as opposed to about 2% in trying without any "assistance".  That's all I will say on this subject because I'm working hard not to think about it, which is my coping mechanism for avoiding a total mental breakdown.

We are making a quick, unplanned trip to California this weekend.  My mom's brother, Greg, died unexpected on February 25th.  Our family has lost a lot recently, but this loss is particularly hard for my mother.  It's one thing to lose your parents, I think it's another to lose a sibling.  So more than anything, I am making an effort to be there for my mom.  I want her to have the unwavering support that we've always had from her.  It's a strange and sad feeling to attend a funeral for a family member, but to be at a total loss for any memories or really any knowledge of them.  I knew more about my grandparents, of course, but had no real relationship with either of them.  And I knew my Uncle Greg even less.  So it's a strange combination of sadness, pity, and a lot of confusion about just how to feel.  It's complex.  The plus side, though, is that every time we go through this, it brings our family just a little bit closer.  We have starting building happy memories together, weaving together a real family history.  And for that, I am so grateful. 

So anyway.  It's about time to get to work.  Isn't it weird how I always set out to write a quick blog and end up writing 10 pages of nothing?  I know.  Thanks for making it through to the end.

xoxox!