on living together.

Six months into cohabitation, and you'd think I'd have it together. I dust, he cleans the bathroom; I cook, he does laundry; I take up the whole bed, he gets the remote.

But every once in a while I trip on my own feet, unexpectedly, and I skin my knees. It stings. It's the time when we're on the couch, watching TV, and I start awkwardly fumbling with his PJ bottoms. I peer into the hole because those boxer briefs are booby trapped and he says, "What are you doing, it's weird." So I'm embarrassed and shyly suggest that maybe he wants to have sexy time. I actually call it sexy time because I'm socially (and apparently sexually) inept. And he cracks up, but only because I'm making that weird face where I stick out my tongue, but to me - he's not attracted.

So I keep it going and go to the bedroom, try to put on my best sexy duck-face, and promptly dissolve into a sobbing mess. Maybe I'm trying to switch it up and what the fuck, does he not love me any more? Am I not sexy? And what, is that stick of butter I cook with twice a week showing up as a dimple or ten on my pasty ass? I bury my head into his chest hair and cry and he's at half-mast because he thought he was getting it in.

It's those moments when he has it together for both of us. He knows I need to cry and knows to wipe my tears and say he's sorry, that he didn't mean to hurt my feelings. That he's very attracted to me, I'm his best friend, and he loves me.

Six months into cohabitation, and we're getting it together.


slowly climbing.

Where have I been?

I don't want to be one of those bloggers who meets someone and gets too caught up in their relationship to write.

I don't want to say I don't want to be one of those bloggers either.

There has been such an absence around these parts that I've started four different posts and deleted them. I guess because I want to make that "comeback post" one that you star in your Reader and email to all your friends because it makes you feel good on a bad day. Full of inspiration and wit and squees.

It's just not.

Life hasn't been bad, or boring, or even uneventful. More like the mood and motivation to write has been lacking. Maybe it's the heat of summer or trying to keep an apartment clean with a boyfriend who doesn't care so much about vacuuming and dirty dishes. It's probably coming home each night to the same conversation the rest of America has: what do you want for dinner; I don't know, what do you want; I don't know...let's get really hungry and see who is the first one to kick the dirt.

It's definitely about getting caught up in Pretty Little Liars and watching all episodes ever made in a week and a half. Or wanting to shake The Bachelorette for being so damn pathetic.

I'm also wondering what in the world Google+ is and why it is so *secretive.* I want an invite so I can either become lazy about it or obsessed.

Right now, I'm that girl sitting on the edge of the social media homecoming dance...reading blogs and tweets and taking notes on what everyone is wearing, but not asking anyone to shake a leg to Last Friday Night.

Whatever it is, I want my mojo back.


crazy life.

There is a new little friend in our family...that has four legs. After Mr. Bean passed I spent 1.5 days in bed; sleeping, crying, force-cuddling Jackson (Boyfriend's pup), and squeezing him until his eyes bugged out. Sometime during day two I decided to get out of bed, put on my finest sweat pants, and head up the road to the humane society to torture some other animals (Jackson was kind of over me at this point). I walked in and saw two little black schnoodle puppies. One boy and one girl, the boy having slightly more wavy hair - a la Mr. Bean. They were three months old, 12 pounds, and had just arrived a few days prior from another shelter that didn't have room for them anymore.

Despite the little girl having more coarse and wiry hair, I was instantly drawn to her. I picked her up, and she melted in my arms. Her cheek was pressed up against my cheek, and her whole body relaxed. Since she was so young, they wouldn't allow her to be on the floor so we couldn't play. I walked around the whole small-dog room, holding her and giggling. 

I put her back and picked up her brother, and he just didn't feel the same. He wasn't as much of a lover, and didn't seem to really connect with me...he was more aloof about the whole thing. So I put him back and moved on, picking up a few other puppies and snuggling them, wondering where they came from.

Before I left I decided to pick up the little girl again. She pressed her cheek up against mine again, and gave me little kisses on my nose. We were sitting on the bench together when a couple came in, looking around the shelter. Their eyes met mine, the woman pointed and said, "There she is...are you adopting her?" 

I froze, and within a few seconds I was able to stammer back, "Yes. Yes, I am." I didn't plan on taking her home, but I knew I couldn't let anyone else have her. Feeling a little guilty, I quietly walked up to the volunteer and told him I wanted to take her, which the couple saw me do. They were clearly there to get her, and I took her. But I wasn't letting her go. 

I made a quick call to Boyfriend, letting him know that though I hadn't planned it, I was coming home with a new little girl. After the adoption process, I carried her out and stopped at PetSmart on the way home to buy a new food bowl, chew toys, puppy food, and a pink leash. Shopping for a girl pup felt so different, but she was my sweet baby girl and she was going to have everything PINK. 

We got home and Boyfriend was home in a few hours. She was all about the belly rubs, so Boyfriend was giving her one on the couch. 

"Ummm, babe?"
"I don't think this is a girl."
"What are you talking about? She had a pink collar on and all the paperwork says Female."
"Ummm...(points to underbelly) that's a penis."

What do you know...my little girl is a little boy.

Introducing Finn
(and we kept the pink leash)


the love of my life.

I've struggled with coming here to write for some time. Sitting down and forcing myself to really face things and admit to myself that he's never coming back terrifies me. I don't want to feel, I don't want to cry. I don't want to know he'll never crawl up and lay on my chest before bed ever again. I watch TV and as soon as an animal comes on the screen I wait for his bark so I can tell him to stop barking.

I would let him bark forever if he could come back.

Each day I wonder if there was something I could've done...if I should've recognized a bladder infection or taken him to the vet sooner. By the time I realized something was wrong, words like "septic" were being thrown around and there were IVs and one day later I was on the phone with the vet when he took his last breath.

I wasn't even there. I couldn't tell him it was okay or how he would always be the love of my life. The absolute love of my life.

He has the most beautiful urn, sitting on a table all his own, next to my favorite picture of him. And I can't bring myself to pick him up. That makes it too final. To fill an urn with the body of such an amazing spirit, of a creature who *knew* life was about nothing but love and being loved, feels wrong. It feels like cheapening all he had to offer the world and the people around him. My small fry, blueberry eyes.

One piece of my heart knows he's okay because of my mom. All I can do is know my mom was there with him when I wasn't. And I know it was his and her way of letting me know everything was alright, because he passed on March 29th. My mom passed on September 29th, 2008.

And now they are together, fluffing around the clouds of heaven.

Mr. Bean, I will never forget you. Take good care of Mom for me, and I'll see you both on a sunshiney day.



This new-apartment thing is awesome. We got some free (FREE!) couches from Boyfriend's family on Sunday, so things are finally starting to feel normal. While we aren't at photo-posting status yet, I wanted to share some of my favorite finds:

{via} to hang over this bed

{via} while drinking tea from 

{via} and showering behind


Much more to share later...still digging our toes in.