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How do you handle disappointment?

27 Feb

How do you handle disappointment?

Recently I found out I’d lost out on a pretty sweet gig, and the worst part is, I can’t really hate on the person who got that gig because as I understand it – they’re pretty awesome.  But still, it stings.  It stings bad!

But this emotional ouchie is really getting to me, and I’m trying to pull through by focusing on the things around me that make me feel better.  Here’s what I did:

1.  I left work about 20 minutes early yesterday so I wouldn’t have to fight traffic. Seriously, traffic is so bad it would normally bring me to tears, so that little bit of extra time really helped.

2.  I ate my sorrows away.  Seriously, I killed a half a bag of salt and pepper potato chips.  These chips are DA BOMB, and they were delicious!  Don’t judge me.

3.  I drank.  I did, I had a few brews.  By myself.  In my pajamas.  I did, I drank a few Peronis, in my pajamas on the couch with my doggie and just relaxed.  Don’t judge me.  😉

4.  I cuddled with my pup.  Does anything make you feel better than a face full of puppy kisses?  I know.  NOTHING DOES!

5.  I watched my favorite TV shows.  There are a few shows that ALWAYS make  me laugh, even on reruns.  These are the shows I watched last night that made me giggle:  How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory and Cougar Town.  Giggles abounded.  My tears subsided.

6.  Cry and whine to your significant other about how horrible you feel and let them tell you how awesome you are.  (But don’t push your luck, you only get a 48 hour window of this self-pity/wallowing before they are allowed to tell you to get over it already.)

So this morning I woke up still disappointed, but mostly having moved past my blues so that I can start my day fresh as a daisy.  Okay, I’m still friggin bitter, but if you are stuck home alone with bad news, I recommend these few tips.

 

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Nona the One-Eyed Wonder Cat

23 Oct

Nona’s good side

When I first married my husband, we inherited his mother’s three cats.  Bandita was the big, fluffy mama cat and her two daughters – Nona and Culichi.  Nona was named such because she was gray and Culichi had no tail, having lost it in a fight with a Rottweiler.  Nona this point only had one eye because the other had been damaged and resulted in a cataract.

Culichi and Bandita treated me with cautious disregard.  Culichi even peed in my new Coach bag, and Bandita liked to take swipes at me when I would go in my closet.  I strongly suspect they were angry with me for 1) getting rid of their mother (hubby’s mom used to live with us) and 2) bringing a dog into the house (the very hyper Doberman never understood why the old ladies did not want to play).

I gave up trying to get any attention from those two cats, but Nona was a different story.  I couldn’t sit down without a full on cuddle attack from that girl.  And she was ALWAYS purring.  You could hear her purring from the other room, wondering if someone had left a fan on or something.   It was amazing how she’d rev up immediately upon seeing you.  A low slow purr would develop into full throttled throat rumble with just a scratch behind the ear.

When I had my numerous eye surgeries, Nona became my sympathizer.  It was she and I against the world.  No one else understood my disability, but I am pretty sure Nona did.  When I was facedown for a week while my retina tried to reattach itself, she’d purr and rub her face against mine as I sobbed into the pillow begging for relief.   We were simpatico. 

I even made up a little song for her that I would sing every night when she’d climb up on my chest in bed for a good ear scratch.  “I only got one eye, but I love you with of my heart.” 

She was fifteen though, and she’d been looking worse for the wear for the past year or so.  I stopped letting her outside as much and kept her indoors as much as possible.   She had some dental issues, so I only gave her wet food and would crush up the dry food into a fine powder for her to eat.  I knew it was getting bad when she stopped jumping up on the bed for an ear scratch.  She still purred, but I had to kneel down at her new spot in order to give her an ear scratch.

She started dropping weight rapidly and for the past month she got very thin.  I hadn’t realized how bad it was really until about a week ago.  My husband and his mother said she needed to be put down, but I didn’t want to hear it.  I thought she had some time left, but I ended up being wrong.

On Friday, I made the veterinary appointment for Saturday morning.  That night I opened up a can of tuna and set it out for her to eat.  She could barely get through it.  She ate small pieces, looked at me, sighed then went to her spot in the doorway.

The next day I took her to the veterinarian.  On the way there, I held her on my lap so she could look out the window and watch all the cars pass.  She loved it.  She was so happy and purred the whole way, the rhythm of her purr matching the hum of the engine. 
We have the best veterinarian in the business.  We’ve been taking our animals to him for over thirty years.  He gently gave me the bad news and told me that she had kidney failure and gave me a few options, but the end result was the same:  she wasn’t going to make it and was most likely suffering.    He asked me if I wanted to be with her when we put her down, and I said of course.  I figured if she comforted me in my times of suffering, I’d see her off in hers.

I held Nona as she purred her soft, comforting purr until the medicine hit her veins and she closed her in eyes in peaceful slumber. 

I miss Nona.  I miss her bedtime visits and our nighttime lullaby.  I even miss tripping over her in the middle of the night.  She is a big reason that I love cats.  I had been a very strict dog person for the majority of my life, and I am grateful to Nona for teaching me otherwise:  that cats are pretty awesome.  So thanks Nona, my simpatico kitty cat. 

An Open Letter to Glitzy the Pig (from Here Comes Honey Boo Boo)

5 Sep

I have escaped! If you want to book me for appearances, please call 1-800-BACON and ask for Margarita my publicist. I’M FAMOUS BITCHES!
As a recently freed political prisoner, I am currently working on my Memoir, Pig in A Blanket: Escape from the Griddle. In my free time I like to roll around on my back, poop wherever I please, and eat until I pass out. I also enjoy reading graphic novels, Manga and my favorite show is Downton Abby. (Although all my littermates call it “Downtown” Abby, I’ve stopped correcting them).

Dear Glitzy,

As you are probably now all snuggled up in a nice warm bed of mud and your belly is full from a heaping helping of pig slop, I think we can talk. Piggy to crazy blog lady, you feel me?

Now, when I saw your cute squealing piggy face on Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, I thought of two things. 1) NO FAIR! Where’s MY cute little teacup pig?! and 2) This CANNOT end well.

I know it must have been humiliating to have your piggy toenails painted. If you want to, you can trade horror stories with my Doberman. Her favorite color is pink, by the way. (Because I told her so! Now smile pretty for Mama, Cookie). And doubly humiliating that apparently they never thought to Google the appropriate way to hold a pig, so apparently they kept pinching your little pig nuggets every time they picked you up. Squeeeeeeal!

But I think the biggest issue for me, is that every time you were onscreen, it was like you were on a razor’s edge. Let’s be frank here for a minute, these are people that eat roadkill. Granted, venison is good meat, I am a fan, but these are people who DO NOT WASTE ANYTHING! (See June’s toilet paper cache). Meaning, it would have only been a matter of time before you were on that barbecue.

Listen, I’ve been married to an Argentine for five years now, and I know what that look means. I saw the look on June and Sugar Bear’s face, and they were calculating how many meals they’d get out of you. Maybe that was why you squealed so much?

I even asked my husband if we could rescue you, but he said no. “Do you know what the problem with having a pet pig is?” he asked. “No,” I replied.

“They’re delicious.” And then he smacked his lips and started preparing some chimichurri. You would have been no better off with me. Razor’s edge, my friend.

So I just wanted to say, congratulations on being a free pig. I hope the next home you land in gives you tons of love and affection and doesn’t squeeze your piggy nuggets. And they don’t eat you.

Farewell Glitzy, you sweet gay little piggy.

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Cookie Monster

31 Aug

Cookie Monster

Behold, the cuteness that is my giant baby dogter, Cookie. Or Cookie Monster, as we call her when she misbehaves. She’s destroyed couch cushions, eviscerated stuffed animals, and stolen our hearts. She’s my dogter!