When I was a kid my Grandfather- who- once he adopted a dog, could make it so that for that dog nothing in the world existed except for the two of them. I mean, it’s not like his dogs weren’t friendly- you could just sort of tell that they looked through people but they always looked at my Grandfather.

So my Grandfather would tell these great stories about his Dogs and there is one I’ve been thinking about a lot recently because you can’t turn on the TV or pick up a paper and see that the economy has tanked.

My Grandfather told me that his family once owned a German Sheppard, it was smart- spooky smart. It could get into the house through open windows, it would show up at my Grandfather’s school or my Great Grandfather’s workplace and just be sitting there at the door.

Waiting.

He told me the dog could crawl along the floor and that it did a lot of other moves that I guess you’d see in trained attack dogs or police dogs but this dog wasn’t aggressive at all.

I asked him where they got this dog and he would say ‘ Oh around’ or he would just tell me he didn’t want to talk about it.

But once my Grandfather and his Sister were doing some serious downing  of their  Christmas booze so I knew if if I was ever going to learn about this dog now was the time.

 I asked about the dog- who they named Tippy for some weird reason- I’ve seen pictures of this dog. Cujo would have been more fitting.

Where did they get it?

My Grandfather said:

” It belonged to this family, you know it was during the depression and the man, well, times were bad. Just bad. He was in a bad, bad way. They were losing everything. So he killed his wife and his kids and then he shot himself. The dog was their dog.”

And then I remember my Grandfather’s sister told me, ” it wasn’t unheard of, for things like that to happen back then.”

So now days I’m thinking now more about the  Dead Kid’s Dog, that story from a long time ago- and I hope that story stays back there in the past and that I don’t turn on the news or pick up a paper and read…

 

 

A few years ago I had a thyroid condition called Graves Disease.

There were a couple of really rough patches for me when I was being treated for Graves.

The Doctor I went to was checking my thyroid during one of my exams and right after he did that I noticed I had trouble swallowing the Italian Soda I treated myself to after seeing him because I truly hated the man-

the soda was a bribe to get myself into that office.

In addition to having to see a Doctor I hated ( actually I dumped him first chance I got)-  my hair broke apart if I did as much as look at it and then half of it fell out.

Which may have been traumatic had I not had so much to begin with I had to get it thinned when I had it cut.

So this thyroid thing was a pain in the neck ( ha, ha, ) and when it was all over with I never did grow back all of my hair but it was healthy and shiny which is something it hadn’t been for a very long time.

And then it started to turn gray- in fact, more then half of it is gray now like I care.I think it’s fine- I mean, my hair is shiny and bouncy and I have this cool Veronica Lake style going on so what’s the problem?

Everyone keeps telling me to dye it.

I liked my real hair color- it was dark brown with red highlights.

That’s pretty much all gone now.

And no dye job is going to bring it back.

I figure people want me to dye it because gray hair means I’m getting old- and if I’m getting old- that means that they are too.

Self centered Toad Munchers.

Look.

This is how I feel about getting older and having gray hair.

One of my best friends died before we turned 21.

He will never have gray hair.

He will never see me with gray hair.

I would have given anything for that to not be a sad fact of my life.

So to those who are concerned about my getting older I say:

People.

get your freaking priorities in order!

 

 

A few of my friends who write for Political Blogs asked me if I’d like to do some stories  for their sites- personally I think that what  they’re actually  asking is for me to get my husband to do the stories but you know, whatever…

Once- out of curiosity – I asked if they had actually ever read what I’ve written because I can’t imagine why a person who does political analysis would ask someone ( like me for example ) who does David Tennant stories (every darn chance I get -oh wait, mostly I do them for the pictures…never mind  those don’t count as stories- not even to me ) and stories about Space Boogers and cops getting into high speed chases with stolen donut trucks… to write for them.

So I sent links to some of my favorite stories ( and I use that word loosely ) over and I get this call that in part goes like this:

‘Do you ever do any serious stories?’

and I said

” Sure. When I want to see my stats treading water in a toilet bowl I do serious stories. In fact sometimes I flush them straight down The Porcelain God on purpose. That way  I  have an excuse for running David Tennant posts and Dancing Fruit clips for days on end. I  But look, I can’t play with my readers. A few times I’ve done a series of serious posts and I had to resort to writing about singing waffles and exploding pigeons to get them to come back. And let me tell you, that just about did me in. Do you know how hard it is to find sources about singing waffles? 

Just as an FYI- if you never, ever want to be invited to participate in any kind of  forum  to take part in a serious Political  discussion with sober people- make sure you mention David Tennant, toilets,exploding pigeons and singing waffles in the conversation.

It  worked for me.

Every once and awhile I get some hater leaving a comment on my blog about how my blog sucks or how the pictures suck or how I should just drop dead and and rot  because I suck at writing.

You know.

 One has to wonder-

if it’s attention the ‘ you suck ‘ people want they should probably go and get it from a blog where the comments aren’t moderated.

Because that’s what I do.

I moderate them right off the face of the Earth, leaving the ” Suck-ee ” tribe to wander the face of the Unloved and most important of all

Unread.

But not un-laughed at…

I can always spare some room around the Bones for that..

 

When I was about seven or eight I remember this conversation that my Grandfather was having with a neighbor.

We were in Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle when my Grandfather points up to some windows and tells his friend that there’s this really stupid City Ordinance that’s still on the books and it involves Flower Pots.

” What’s that? “

“You can’t have them in this area, it’s illegal.” my Grandpa says.

” No kidding, why is that? “

” Well, you know back in the Gold Rush days the Prost-” and my Grandpa looks down at me and I could see see how bad he wanted to tell this story,  but I thought he forgot the important part because his face got red.

” Uh. “

” What about the Flower Pots? ” me and his friend asked at the same time.

” Well the- you know- the ladies- dancing ladies,  used to wait for their- well, Gentlemen Friends to leave the building and after they did the dancing ladies would drop the flower pots on their heads from the windows above the street.  After they  were sure they’d knocked them out cold  they’d rob them.”

” No kidding. ” his friend says.

” Dancing Ladies used to throw flower pots on people’s heads ? ” I asked while hoping against hope that the answer would be yes.

I could see it clear as day- women in fancy dresses leaning out of their windows and dropping clay flower pots right on top of someone’s head.

 It sounded like a great way to spend the afternoon to me.

My Grandfather takes a deep breath and  says, ” Yes.”

It sounded to good to be true.

The funny thing is:

It was true.

Really.

 

 

 

I have a question about Mondays.

Who the Hell invented it and who the Hell decided to invite it into the Week?

Seriously. Answer me this:  what good are Mondays?

Is anyone ever really glad to see it come around and once it does

does anyone ever say,

” oh wow look everyone it’s MONDAY! Where the heck have you been? “

No.

We just open the door to the week and say, ” Oh f$%^! It’s you!”

So.

In this age of ” Yes We Can “

 I say we ditch Monday and just start with Tuesdays.

For Now.