The 4 Ingredients That Will Always Make Me Fall in Love with a Piece of Music

All of my favorite music has at least one of these four ingredients.

1. Lyrics that tell a story.
I think the best songs have some point to them besides being catchy. Don't give me a cheesy love song (or if you're going to, at least make me laugh). Sing me a story with characters, plots, and messages.

I look for lyrics that illuminate my own feelings. I'll award bonus points to songs that rally me, inspire me, pull me up, dust me off or convince me that I'm going to be okay.

When my (lousy) boyfriend of 11 years moved out, I felt confused and conflicted, but I played the subtly happy song "Tears Dry on Their Own" and wrote a music video in my head, starring me twirling around in my newly empty, sun-kissed apartment, finally unburdened with all the cobwebs of our misspent decade.  I appreciated how Amy Winehouse gave a name to the feeling of "inevitable withdrawal." I didn't love my ex anymore, but I still had to bear the withdrawal of our breakup as I learned how to be alone for the first time as an adult.

When Amy sings, "He walks away; the sun goes down," I don't picture darkness but rather the glorious glow of a blazing sunset.

Another example: One of the greatest stories I know is about a human being who is Given to Fly.  Here's what Eddie Vedder says about that beautiful song:

"[I imagined the song as] a 20-page cardboard children's book with a line on each page and a picture to go with it. It's a fable, that's all. The music almost gives you this feeling of flight, and I really love singing the part at the end, which is all about rising above anybody's comments about what you do and still giving your love away. You know? Not becoming bitter and reclusive, not condemning the whole world because of the actions of a few."

2. Grungy guitars that rock out.
I can't resist them. I feel them in my belly. They make me want to burst into a run. They make me want to shrug off my last board meeting and my last deadline and joyfully headbang like the mammal I am.  I can appreciate the perfectly-executed licks of a classical guitar song, but I'm not sure how long I could sit and watch someone coax them out. I want to watch a person grab their guitar and shred it like they're purging the demons within.

I know it's been overplayed, but to this day, I can't fathom how someone can hear the opening chords of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and not emphatically agree that the song is a cosmic gift from the universe. It's just perfect. Whether they were ready for it or not, something otherworldly just clicked the day Nirvana came up with that one.

Same thing, right here:

3. Beautiful vocals.
This one seems too easy but, oh well. I'll bliss out to Rob Zombie for Reason #2 but give me Eddie Vedder's soaring, honeyed baritone to soothe my troubled heart. It hits me like a Klonopin right in my soul.



4. Music that has heart.
I need to feel like music is sincere, like it was born because the artist had to write it whether anyone would like it or not. I like music that is confessed. I like songs that purge anguish as a means to finding light.

I think that's why I like Jill Sobule so much. I go see her every time she comes to town, and Jill has a way of making the entire room fall in love with her. She's cute and funny, yes, but also, Jill's heart is present in every one of her songs.

I always felt like Kurt Cobain's lyrics, as flippant and bitter as they seemed on the surface, were painfully self-aware and of brimming with heart.

.........................................

A piece of music doesn't have to have all of these ingredients, but if I love it, chances are it will have at least one.

Pearl Jam corners the market with all four, which is why seeing them live takes me to staggering heights of sheer bliss.

I'm going to close with a song that has Ingredients #1, #3 and #4. This is a song that put four whole years into perspective for me, and makes me cry every single time.

And Then My Dog Showed Up

(I wrote this one for Animal Friends.)

I adopted a dog this year.

It’s not a big deal, I know. Especially because I work at Animal Friends. You’d think I’d be tempted to adopt dogs every day.

But I wasn’t tempted, because I know that our dogs go into wonderful homes. And because I live with a cat, and we have a cute, quiet routine. For the past 14 years, my cat has been my sweet sidekick. That seemed like enough.

But then Animal Friends’ Humane Officers rescued Porter, a sad, sick little Beagle. I met him, and it hit me—I could feel it with my whole heart.

Porter was my dog.

I wasn’t expecting a dog to show up in my life, and I didn’t even think my urban apartment was ready for a Beagle. I’ve worked at Animal Friends for a decade now, and watched thousands of adorable dogs go home. I'd had plenty of favorites among them. But one thing was certain: if I let Porter leave with someone else, I’d be making a huge mistake. I would lose my dog forever.

So I adopted Porter, and now our lives will never be the same. I get to take care of him every day, and I hope I get to watch my little guy grow old and gray. 

But the best part is watching him become who he is. Porter spent his first four years in an abusive home. When I met him, he was shy, tentative and wouldn’t look me in the eye. Over time, he has learned to trust me and has gained more confidence. Now he has a personality, goofy habits, and even (I think) a sense of humor.

And when I look at the photos I took of him when we first met, he looks like a different dog to me. Because he wasn’t Porter yet. He was just a neglected, insecure little soul—an empty vessel, of sorts. 

But every day, he settles into his routine and his innocent, sincere personality. He discovers things that he likes and he develops preferences. He’s learning how to behave, and why. He’s learning what it’s like to be loved. And he loves me back...that I can tell.

He’s Porter now.

Lucky, lucky me!

What Weekends are For

All week, every week, I notice my pet-hair covered floors and think, "I will run the vacuum this weekend." Or I decide, "I will definitely scrub the bottom of my bath tub this weekend." It always seems like "Sunday will be a great day to clear through all those papers that have been piling up!"

But weekends are a terrible time for all of those things.

Weekends are when I take longer dog walks, invite my friends over for sleepovers, steep coffee in the French press, pull my mosaic table onto the balcony and sit at it while I write.

Weekends are a great time to look at flowers, paint your toenails and eat pancakes in the middle of the day with your best friend.

Here's Where I've Been!

I'm - just temporarily- neglecting this blog to write this one:

One Girl and One Beagle's Scheibler Treasure Hunt

My objective is to walk my Beagle to every building by architect Frederick G. Scheibler, Jr. in Pittsburgh, photograph it, and blog it here.

You can read it here:

http://scheiblertreasurehunt.blogspot.com

Daily Dog Walks and Being a Tourist in the East End

Porter, high above Frick Park

My daily dog walks have rekindled my love affair with my neighborhood.

I have a fierce love for Pittsburgh's East End, especially Regent Square, Park Place and Point Breeze. These  city neighborhoods are densely packed with old residential streets that you might not notice when you come and go by car. But if you start walking from Braddock Avenue, you'll find a thick maze of meandering streets that rarely conform to a boring grid. City blocks trail off into dead ends. A street will abruptly give way to a community of townhouses clustered around a sculpture garden. Roads widen, narrow and form triangles for no discernible reason. Some streets even lead to entrances to the sprawling and gloriously green Frick Park.

Best of all, every street is a surprise. One block will hold boarded-up or even burned-out houses. The next block will hold pristine Victorian homes with wrap-around porches and stained glass windows. There are dilapidated decks and overgrown gardens and then there are elegant turrets. There are stately mansions--some finely preserved, and some divvied into apartments. I count the mailboxes and wonder how they fit so many units inside.

A surprise turret in Point Breeze.

This house seems pleasant and plain from the front, but from the back, seems to slip down the cliff and into the jagged tangles of Frick Park. Best of all, there is a footpath that connects to Frick Park walking trails right behind it!

The front. (Move, car!)

View of the back. The house is perched over Frick Park.

Magical trail!!

If you lived here, you could bask in city life AND have this as your back yard. Heaven!

Porter still can't walk very far, so before heading home tonight, we took a quick romp through Frick Park...

Never look back!

My favorite building is the Old Heidelberg, a historic landmark in Park Place. I remember riding past it in my mom's car when I was little, and I imagined that very lucky, very interesting people must live inside--like playwrights and poets and professors.

What are you doing on Braddock Avenue?

The Old Heidelberg is 105 years old, whimsically bedecked in mushrooms and mosaics, and is delightfully symmetrical and random at the same time. While the building is balanced with an equal number of balconies, doors, and windows, every one is slightly different. Its architect, Frederick Scheibler, became my favorite architect.

So when I started reading this book about him, I learned that his work is all over my neighborhood. In fact, some of my favorite houses are actually, unbeknowst to me, his work! Making this discovery was like the distinct thrill of realizing that my secret crush had class in the room next to mine. Or something. So tonight after work, the Beagle and I set out on a treasure hunt for Scheibler buildings.

I made a beeline for Scheibler's Whitehall Apartments, which look to me like an Old Heidelberg Lite. 

I would like to see your insides.

Even though they're several blocks outside of my normal daily dog walk, the Parkstone Dwellings are a pretty fantastic piece of Scheibler's work. I once begged for and scored a tour when I went to an estate sale in the Dwellings' front yard. The inside is just something out of a dream...turrets, a wall of mosiac featuring a dinosaur (!!), little toadstool statues and ornate windows and trim. 

Recently, I've been lamenting the loss of my childhood imagination. But on these walks, my imagination swells back to life, just in a different way. I imagine what it must be like to live inside these pretty homes. Or, what the last century held inside them. Could Scheibler have pictured his buildings standing 100 years later, filled with new daily dramas and woes? Who was born and died inside them? At what point in history did the aristocrats start to move out, and the college students start to move in, turning the servants' quarters into mud rooms and storage? And, most of all, when am I going to strike in rich and buy my very own Scheibler house?

My Beagle's Favorite Things

• Walks, of course.

• Other dogs. Even if they're on the opposite side of the street, he'll pounce and skip along like they're playing together. 

• People. He is baffled every time we pass someone and they don't want to say hi and pet him.

• Tennis balls. He has even mastered playing solo, and will toss and roll the ball himself and then bound after it. 

• Ice cubes. I just gave him one in the kitchen and he happily ran into the living room, head and ice cube held high, to roll around with it.

• Me! I feel so happy when I take him to my parents' house and he loves everyone there, but likes to keep me in his line of sight. 

• Going for rides in the car. He's a good little commuter. He immediately settles and watches the world go by.

• When I wipe his muddy legs and paws with a warm towel. He won't step out of the foyer until I wipe his muddy feet.

• Garbage. He gets so excited when he spots garbage. He has tried to wrap his whole mouth around garbage bags.

Half of me is ocean, half of me is sky

I'm pretty sure that my iPod has the uncanny ability to choose which song I need to hear. Not necessarily what I think I want to hear. It will always shuffle to a song with a lesson or lyric that I need to apply to my day. My iPod will choose the right--yet seemingly random--song to cheer me up, console me, or rally me. It will dust off songs I don't even remember downloading. It will tuck my hair behind my ear and say, "Sssh, it's alright. You're okay. Let me put it this way...." 

Sometimes you're happy
Sometimes you cry
Half of me is ocean
Half of me is sky

But you got a heart so big
It could crush this town
And i can't hold out forever
Even walls fall down

Here's to all the souls with the crushingly big hearts. :)

...

My big dumb heart is feeling pretty happy today, though. As we all know, I had my heart broken in December--yes, blah, blah, blah.

I fell apart--not so much over the guy, who wasn't that attractive, fun or even nice--but more over the sudden realization that I didn't get the life I wanted.  And I thought I deserved it. I'm nice, dammit. I work, so hard, for a non-profit. I'm a good daughter and a good friend. Bitchier and dumber and boring-er girls than me are married and have cute babies, so how much longer am I supposed to wait? And most of all, why?! What did I do wrong?

But today, as I walked my impossibly cute dog down my beautiful city street, I got to thinking of all the things that I do have. I love my parents, who are both still alive and love me back. I love my friends, and my gorgeous apartment (which is freshly scrubbed and sparkling so that my dog walker will be tricked into thinking I'm a good housekeeper). I love my cat and dog, my clothes, especially my new purple Kate Spade jeans, and the fact that I can buy myself Kate Spade jeans when not too long ago, I had to suffer till payday just to replace a dingy sponge.

And every bad or beautiful moment in life is just a snapshot in time. Anything could change in a moment. So I'm not going to lament this lovely little slice of my life. This is a good life. It's not exactly the one I pictured, but it's really not bad.

Speaking of good things, these are a few of my favorite things today:

Holy crap, kneesocks. This morning I was feeling pretty good, and then I put this outfit together and suddenly I felt great. I wanted to go feel great everywhere, with other people.

Also, I'm always too hot, so kneesocks have a perfect cool-air zone right across the knees. 

My new Beagle, and there are two things I want to say about that. One is that he discovered a tennis ball for the first time tonight, and he even figured out how to play with it by himself! He'd toss the ball with his mouth, merrily chase after it, pounce on it, and repeat.

Also, I love taking my dog for walks in the morning. I didn't realize how refreshing it would be to plunge from my cozy bed into the crisp morning and explore my town with him. I love looking at the houses, giving my brain some oxygen, watching the season change and seeing his regal Beagle butt wiggle down the street. All these cliche things I've been saying all these years as a PR person for pet adoption are true. Those little creatures will get you out of bed and you will like it. 

Also... trying to get Pearl Jam's attention via Instagram. A super-fun thing about social media is being just a couple shout-outs away from your idols. I keep tagging Pearl Jam under the hopeful delusion that they'll be so taken with my photography, they'll ask me to come on stage and photograph their show in Chicago this summer.

I wish I was being sarcastic. The thing about being a big-hearted girl is that we are rarely sarcastic. We say what we mean. In other words, I'm really waiting for this to happen.

It's a boy! (I adopted my Beagle!)

My heart was wrapped in clover

At last, I adopted the Beagle I always wanted.

It's a trade-off. Things I'm giving up:

• a cleaner house
• a car interior that's not covered with muddy pawprints
• a good bit of money (spent so far on fancy dog food and treats, his bed, toys, collars and harnesses, baths, and soon, vet care and a mid-day dog walker)  
• the ability to hop from work to happy hour
• being able to not stand in the rain or snow first thing in the morning, begging my little creature to poop already

But it was pretty clear to me that all of those things equalled so much less than what he gives me. 

Porter makes my life feel wonderfully full. He makes me laugh, constantly, and that's no small thing. It's incredible, really, to wake up and just start cracking up at the wiggly little lovebug who can't wait to shower me with affection. It's amazing to watch him take on the world, making sincere but nonsensical decisions to bring me a leaf or take a nap while doing a headstand on my couch. 

He is my goofy, gangly, sweet little guy. Even though it took four years to find each other, he always was mine. And if I'm lucky, I will get to watch him pad through our life together until he grows old and gray. 

Apparently, I'm a lot to take. (Alternative title: I will be your light.)

Here, play this song while you read this entry. (Is that blog torture? Bad blog etiquette? Or is it a neat idea? You don't have to play the song, but today was the first sweet, sunny, chirpy-bird day since winter hit and I had so much fun playing this tune in my car with the windows down. Is it universally agreed upon that that is the best way to listen to music? I can't be the only person who thinks so. Playing loud music in my car with the windows open washes me in a euphoria that I feel all the way to my belly. Euphoria, incidentally, is one of the topics that we're going to be talking about today. Anyway, here's the song.)



Hi there!

Yesterday, V and I took my new Beagle to our favorite coffee place--the 61C Cafe. V is good at lots of things, but picture-taking, not so much.

Thanks. 

Beagle picture Take 2.

Then, I went to my best friend Madge's house in Mt. Oliver. I didn't take any actual photographs there, but I sealed one into my mind at the most perfect moment: when I was laying on her couch and she was playing with my hair, and if I opened my eyes, I could see, upside down, where her peachy-colored wall met the ceiling, her chandelier that looks like it's made out of Jolly Rancher candies, and her sweet face as she earnestly told me things. I felt so happy and so lucky, I almost couldn't speak.

Today I'd like to talk about being happy. When I revived this blog this winter, I thought I was going to write a lot about depression and recovery. But much to my relief, it turns out that I'm a very buoyant person. My recovery period was mercifully short.

Nonetheless, I was sick with depression in December. I call the illness "depression" because I couldn't stop sobbing, and the crying interfered with my ability to work at my desk, go to meetings, eat, sleep, get out of bed, socialize and have any quality of life. I turned my illness into my project, though, and got myself everything from therapy to a chiropractor to a dog.

The scene at my house, right this very moment.

Now I'm me again. And being me has always included bouts of random, delicious, dance-inducing euphoria.

My mom and some of my closer friends have compared me to Grover Monster, because it manifests as something like this:

I get very, very happy when I go on vacation, or see a band, or get to taste something new and amazing. Or at random times, like when the world reveals just how beautiful and exhilarating it can be. Like when the winter gives way to spring and the daylight has a golden glow and the flower buds start to push out of the mud and the air feels electric on my skin. I feel the whole burst of renewal swell up around me---the birds feel it and tweet their little lungs out, the dirt starts to smell like baby plants and every breath makes me want to grin or break into a run. I feel it in my very core.

I remember when I went to Cedar Point for my 32nd birthday. Every time I got off a roller coaster, I felt  so happy and refreshed that I felt like could run a lap around the park. It was like my brain had hit a "reset button," finally relieving me of all the burdens I had been carrying around: work deadlines, board meetings, office politics, headaches, my uptight and over-critical boyfriend, etc. I actually had to reign myself in, because 32-year-olds don't run around for no reason. Stifling my complete joy was exhausting.

For me and my (then) boyfriend.

And that's the recurring theme of my life right now. My family and friends seem to appreciate my Grover-esque ecstasy. They seem to because they want to be around me, and they want to make me happy. But not everyone can deal.

In December, a man broke up with me (VIA EMAIL. TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS) when, to my blindsided bewilderment, he could no longer "keep up the pace" of being in love with me.

Recently, another man walked out of my life, although this time, I had something to do with it. He described my personality as "happy, bubbly" and "a lot to take."

WHAT.

The first experience devastated me, and the second just pissed me off for a couple days. What is with these guys?

It took me a long time to learn to get to here. I wasn't ready to forge bravely into 2013 when it rolled in. I worked at healing and finding the light at the end of my depression. But even more so than that -- I wasn't always like this. In my teens and twenties, I was much more anxious. I was timid and self-concious and thought life's small worries were much bigger than they actually were.

Over time, I learned a couple things. I learned that everything and everyone is temporary, so we need to relish every good moment before it's gone. I learned that I am, in the best possible way, invisible -- no one is watching me being a goofball because everyone is the star of their own life. They're too worried about themselves to worry about me, so I can scream my lungs out on a roller coaster and dance in the grocery store if I want to. And I learned that there are a hundred ways to die. Letting this world pass you by without loving it, loving others, and finding joy is waiting to die.

It's work. For me, it's work because I didn't get everything I want. I wanted to be married by now. I really thought I would be. I wanted to have a baby. I want to be able to take my family to my parents' house on holidays instead of showing up, every time, by myself. I wish my job situation was a little different. These things can be soul-crushingly disappointing if I let them be.

Or I can realize that I live in a beautiful, exciting city with a whole cast of clever and sparkling characters who will gladly go on adventures with me. I can teach my dog a new trick, or get dressed up and taste champagne with my friend Line, or I can stay home writing all day. I can pick Madge's brain over brunch, or I can ride on the back of V's motorcycle, or I can go see Soundgarden with Kraig, or I can pick through treasures at a flea market with James, or I can brainstorm new projects with Jessica. I can make out with a handsome man or I can stay home and watch Netflix with my cat or I can eat a delicious meal that my mom made. Such wonderful things!

I didn't get everything I want, but I don't have to wait to die.

So, fuck you if you think I'm "a lot to take."

I'm going to work on being like her. This lady can barely walk, but the broad can dance. 

How to Introduce Your New Dog to Your Cranky Cat

(I wrote this article for Animal Friends' blog, but I'll put it here, too!)

............

How to Introduce a New Dog to Your Cranky Cat
By Me. 

I never thought my cat would let me have a dog.

My cat, Firefly, is 14 years old, suffers from irritable bowel, and hates everyone

but me.

Firefly: trying to flip you the bird.

And I love that cat so flippin’ much. She showed up as a stray kitten when I was in college. Firefly stayed by my side (or in my lap) in my first threadbare apartment, through some major life traumas, and she outlasted (shut up) several boyfriends. And in a way, the fact that she hates everyone but me makes our bond all the more sweet. She is my ever-loyal, doting little darling.

Firefly: "Let's get this over with."

Even though I dreamed of bringing home a dog, I never wanted to upset Firefly’s delicate routine. Some of my friends at Animal Friends assured me that Firefly would “get over it” if I adopted a dog, but I adored my cat too much to subject her to the bother.

Then I met Porter.

That was Porter the day I discovered him in his kennel. He had lived with another dog who, a week earlier, was senselessly beaten to death with a metal rod. You can see how frightened and sick Porter was when this picture was taken, but you can't see that his tail, which he was sitting on, was attempting a forlorn wag.

It turns out that Porter tested positive for heartworm, a serious and potentially fatal disease. He had several weeks of intense treatment ahead of him and he needed a safe place to recover.

My heart broke for him. I offered to foster Porter in my home.

Initially, I agreed to take in Porter for one month. I did not expect Firefly to adjust well to having a dog. In fact, I thought she might present a dealbreaker, and I'd have to sheepishly end my foster period at the adamant behest of my cat.

But to my surprise, having a foster dog made my feisty cat friendlier! In fact, after one month with a foster Beagle, Firefly became more confident and is friendlier with strangers. Now, I’m basking in the joys of having a multi-species household. I couldn’t be happier. And Porter is now a “foster failure”—a permanent member of our little family.

Here are some of the steps that can help a cranky cat adapt to a new dog.

Pick the Right Dog

Not every dog will be able to safely live with cats. So, go to a shelter like Animal Friends that will cat-test a dog before you take him home. They might even be able to introduce you to a dog who has experience living with cats!

Choose a dog who’s calm, doesn’t have a strong reaction to cats, and who responds well to correction.

When I met Porter, I introduced him to both a shelter cat and a rabbit while he was securely leashed and under my control. Both times, he acknowledged them, backed off slightly, and calmly resumed minding his own business. What a good boy! While that didn’t mean I should let him loose in my house, I felt comfortable that I could introduce him to Firefly without putting her in danger.

Always introduce a dog and cat slowly, while your dog is firmly under your control, and where your cat has access to an escape route if needed. 

Establish Separate Spaces

Your cat is going to feel very vulnerable at first, so make sure she has a dog-free zone. Firefly spends most of her time in my bedroom, so from Day 1, I taught Porter that my bedroom is off-limits to him. Firefly can always go there to get away from him.

Have a dedicated place to put your dog. Porter has his very own bedroom in my house. If you don’t have an extra room, consider crate training. Porter gets shut in his room with something to keep him occupied (a Kong or compressed rawhide) when Firefly eats or wants to cuddle with me.

See: Adorable, comfortable Beagle and compressed rawhide

Always crate or confine your dog when you’re not home, so the dog and cat are never together unsupervised. This way, they can’t get into any scuffles.

Establish a Pecking Order That Favors the Weaker Pet

Lots of pet owners report that their cat is the boss of their dog. This is okay, because a pushy dog could seriously hurt a cat.

Firefly established herself as the queen of the household, and I reinforced that hierarchy. I never scolded her for hissing at the dog. Instead, I taught Porter to leave Firefly alone when she hissed at him. It’s okay for your dog to be intimated by your cat; otherwise he could accidentally hurt her. 

Share Your Affection

Spread the love! When Porter moved in, I was tempted to dote on him endlessly. I wanted to spend all my time adoring him. I mean, look how irresistible he is!

But Firefly definitely appreciates it when I carve out alone time for us girls. As I type this, Porter is freshly fed and walked and sleeping happily in his bedroom. Firefly is curled up in my lap, purring. For a Pet Person like me, this is Heaven.

Be Cautious, but Project Calm Confidence

Dogs and cats respond to our signals. So, even though I was constantly policing their behavior, my household mantra was “You’re okay.”

Don’t act like you need to rescue your cat from your dog, or she’ll perceive that she’s in danger. In fact, don’t act like anything out of the ordinary is going on. Tell the dog and cat “You’re okay!” and let them see that they’re overreacting for nothing.

Celebrate Small Successes

Don’t expect your dog and cat to become best friends—and don’t push it! They may start to cuddle and play together, or they may remain stoic roommates for life. This is fine.

Call it a success when your cat greets you and your dog at the door, instead of bolting at the sight of your dog. Celebrate the day that your cat climbs onto the couch with you while your dog naps at your feet.

Firefly: "Tell me I'm still your favorite. Say it!!"

Your cranky cat may even do what mine did. Firefly surprised the heck out of me when she started coming out and greeting guests in my home! She used to cower and hide when my friends came over, but now, it seems like Firefly will actually compete with Porter for attention. For the first time in all her 14 years, she’s joining parties and mingling! I’m so happy for her.

As millions of pet owners know, a multi-species household can bring so much love and laughter into your life. And just imagine how many animals could be spared senseless euthanasia if more families would just adopt another pet.

It may take time, but AnimalFriends can help you add another animal to your home. Just go slowly, and good luck!

I feel like I got hit by a Scion.

If I ever live with someone again, it's going to be that person's job to put me to bed, because I am dumb about that. I am dead tired. I am so tired I can barely focus my eyes. But the thought of getting up to take out my contacts and wash my face seems even more exhausting than sitting here, so I'm still sitting here.

I feel like I got hit by a truck. But, I actually got hit by a Scion.

My poor Carly.  :(

Porter in the tow truck.

This morning, I woke up to take a shelter dog on KDKA-TV with my friend Jim Krenn. It went pretty well, see? Then I ran home to pick up my foster Beagle, Porter, because I wanted to take him to work with me. 

So, I put Porter in my Subaru and decided to go a different way to work. Everyone knows that the Squirrel Hill tunnels are hell on Earth, so I never, ever drive through them. I always drive through Squirrel Hill. But today, since it was President's Day and the roads seemed clear, I decided to get onto the highway. I was driving in stop-and-go traffic on 376-East when I got plowed into from behind.  Porter went flying and at first I didn't even think about anything else, just Porter. Then I realized I had been hit.

Porter was ok. So was I and the other driver. She actually couldn't have been nicer. She was young and pretty, wore lovely gold eyeshadow, and she felt so badly that she cried the whole time we exchanged info. I was in shock, just staring at my car, so she sort of took charge. At one point I pulled a piece of her headlight out of my trunk and handed it to her.

My insurance company sent a tow truck. I emptied my car and loaded several bags, my lunch box, and my Beagle into the tow truck. Porter just cuddled into me as we rode off, with my battered car on the flatbed behind us.

We went to the collision center and Porter waited sweetly by my chair. 

If you have to have a bad day, have it with a Beagle.

The car rental company came and gave me the biggest minivan in the world, I think--a Town and Country. I could drive a whole soccer team in this thing. It was so big that Porter could get his front half in, but then his back legs just scrambled and I had to hoist him.

I was feeling sort of discombobulated so I drove to my parents' house and let myself in. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time. By that time my neck and lower back were starting to hurt pretty badly, so I called my dad's chiropractor and made an appointment. 

I'm not sure how long it will take to fix my car and back, but I'm glad I had my little Beagle with me today.

I'm really, really tired.

Beagles are so sincere.

I love having a foster Beagle.

Porter the paleontologist.

I asked my mom if she liked Porter, and she replied, "What's not to like?" It's as simple as that. He has such a sunny disposition. The little guy looks up at me with an expression that's so innocent, so hopeful, and so sweet. Every moment seems to give him such unabashed delight. It's a pleasure to watch him pad around.

He's also a quick learner. It's fun watching a creature who doesn't know anything about our world start to process and comprehend things. When I met him, he was afraid of me, toys, swinging doors and every household noise. Now he's gained confidence, knows his name, and obligingly obeys when I say "Come," "Wait," and "Sit."

He also knows a couple unique phrases...like when I'm cold and I want to go back inside, I say, "Time to go in," and he knows that he has to hurry up and decide which bush to pee on before he gets hauled back into the house. I can read the expression on his face as it changes to "Oh darnit, fine, I'll just pee here!"

Firefly the cat is making progress, too.

Look! She is ALMOST in the same room as the Beagle.

Firefly, my 13-and-a-half-year-old Butterscotch Calico, is not a friendly cat. She's sweet and lovable with me but get visibly pissed off when I have visitors. I did not expect her to adjust well to Porter. In fact, I thought she might present a dealbreaker, and I'd have to sheepishly end my foster period at the adamant behest of my cat.

My co-workers suggested that Firefly would "get used" to having a foster dog, but I couldn't make them understand that I didn't want her to have to suffer, even temporarily. I didn't even want to upset her for five minutes! She's a cranky cat, but she's been by my side through thick and thin and I love her with all my heart.

Anyway, she's definitely pissed... Every day when the Beagle and I get home from work, Firefly runs to greet us at the door, discovers that Porter is still with me, and bristles as though she's saying, "Are you kidding me? Again?!" Then she storms off.

But I've developed a good routine, which Porter knows and obeys. Porter gets shut in his bedroom when Firefly eats, wants to cuddle with me, and goes to bed at night.

And to my huge surprise, having a foster dog has made my feisty cat friendlier! It's like she's competing for the attention that she used to take for granted. She'll now come out to socialize with guests, and when Porter is in his bedroom, Firefly climbs all over me, desperate for affection. I'm always very happy to give it to  her.

My muppet.

I've been thinking about the quote "Happiness [is] only real when shared." It might be a bit of a stretch to apply the sentiment to pet ownership, but my life feels significantly richer these days. I feel lots of love, and I feel like I want to give it to others. I feel more patient. I feel less concerned with trivial worries. I feel more like myself.

Thanks, foster Beagle!

Recipe for mending a broken heart in 50 days

If someone comes along and devastates you--ruins you for what will feel like the rest of your life--you will feel very lucky if you can do the following:

Find good friends. 

Cry to your mom, if she'll hear it. Schedule dinners and brunches with people who love you, even if your limbs feel too heavy to pull out of bed, even if you know you're going to cry in front of them and come home feeling soggy, drained and bruised. Let a very good friend tuck you into their bed and hold you while you weep. 

Find a professional.

He or she will probably say the same things that your friends are telling you, like, "It's better to know about this now than later" but somehow it will sink in differently. 

Find someone who's worse off than you are, and help them.

Maybe a sick, abused dog who no longer trusts anyone either. You can learn to trust each other.

Find good things.

Be relentless about this. Feed yourself good food. See doctors. Exercise. Get enough sleep. Get a haircut. Buy a new couch if you can. Make crafts. Try Zumba even if it makes you feel feel like a flailing muppet in a sea of mermaids. 

Find the holes in your story.

Why is your heart so broken? Maybe the story you were telling yourself was never true. Maybe you weren't as happy as you wanted to believe you were. Maybe now you can finally stop walking on eggshells all the time. 

Find out what you've been overlooking.

Maybe, just maybe, the sweet, deadpan guy you never seriously considered is flirting with you. And maybe he's secretly funny. Maybe you should let him take you to an arcade. Be nice to him, even if you're still trying to quell the banshee inside. He might be just what you need. 

I wanna be your dog

It's official. Porter has moved in for one month as my Foster Dog.

Porter, if you're new here, was rescued by Humane Officers when another dog in his home was beaten the death with a metal bar. Porter has heartworm and an upper respiratory infection, and needs a quiet place to recover.

It turns out that it's really easy to foster this sick little Beagle. So easy, in fact, that I keep thinking I'm doing it wrong. This is what he does most of the time:

This is how he commutes back and forth to work with me:

And this is how adorable he is when I tuck him in at night:

He has his own bedroom and futon.

It's been a long time since I've lived in a multi-species household, and even though it's a little complicated, I quickly remembered how much I love it. A home feels really good with both a dog and a cat in it. Last night when I got home from the gym, Firefly gave me her sweet, sincere hello and Porter did did the full-out doggie routine of "Oh my god I thought I'd never see you again!" It was great.

The kids. 

But the best part has been watching Porter learn how to be a dog. He's four years old, so normally, this wouldn't be remarkable. But, Porter spent his first four years living outside under the care of an animal abuser. So, I've been able to witness as he discovered, for the very first time:

- Dog toys. He's terrified of them. So, we've had to find and invent games he likes, like running through a blanket, bullfighter-style. Then he wiggles around under the blanket, wagging his crazy little tail.

Porter and me.

- Windows. He's fascinated by them.

- Cuddling. He's still timid about this, but he'll put his head and elbows in my lap while his back legs and butt stand up and wiggle.

It's wonderful to see his sweet, pleasant little mind work, too. He doesn't seem to know what any words mean, and it only seemed to click this week that the shelter gave him a name: Porter. But, he aims to please. Whenever he does something wrong, he'll only do it until I correct him and then he promptly obliges. Porter wants very much to be a good dog.

Today we're going to go to a dog wash and give him a bath. Then we're going to the pet food store because even though Porter will eat brussels sprouts, he won't eat Kibbles n Bits! In between that, I'm hoping to score Pearl Jam tickets. Wish me luck!

awesome.

Last night I got stuck inside a dream

Last night, for the first time, I was fully aware of being trapped inside a dream.

I kept waking up all through the night, and getting frustrated about it because I wanted to be able to wake up to meet my friend Line early in the morning. But then, suddenly, it was Monday and I was in my office. 

i was here

It was a stressful work day because people kept coming in and interrupting my train of thought, and my phone kept ringing with work calls, and I kept trying to keep up with my emails. Then, all of a sudden, I thought, "Wait, what happened to Sunday?"

And I thought back, and I realized that the last thing I remembered was trying to fall back to sleep in my bed. I realized then that I was dreaming, but I didn't know how to stop. I thought, "Usually the dream ends when you realize you're dreaming." But I kept looking around my office, and the dream wouldn't dissolve. 

Then I thought, "This is weird, because there's nothing bizarre about this dream." I looked at my paperwork, and it was all my real, actual paperwork. I spun around in my chair and saw all my binders and books lined up. Nothing was out of place or dreamlike. And it just kept going on like that, every dreadfully realistic detail about being at work on a Monday.

I really wanted to stop dreaming, though, so I kept doing things, like jumping up and down, and trying to scream. But I was still stuck there. Meanwhile, I was worried that it might not be a dream and I was just going crazy. I was worried that if it wasn't a dream, someone would see me doing those crazy things. 

Then I lay down on my floor and told myself, "I'm really in my bed. My dresser is on my right. My bedroom window is on my left. There are pillows and blankets." But instead I could just feel the floor and carpet in my office. I was starting to panic. 

Then my office phone rang. I picked it up and it was my best friend, Madge. Madge told me not to worry because she was sending help. Then I looked up and I saw that there was someone standing in the hall outside my office wearing a white gown. I went out and there was an angel, with wings, with her eyes closed, and she took me in her arms and we started to float. 

And then, I found myself back in my bed.

Yeah for real.


............

In other news, these are a few of my favorite things today:

Scrabble, NOT Words with Friends, although I'm stuck slumming it in Words with Friends because that's what everyone else plays. Why?

Apples to Apples, which I played for the first time last night. The game starts with a green card -- a descriptor. Then you have to play a card in your hand that matches, however bizarrely, that descriptor. Each player takes turns judging the answers and picking the winner of the round. I played poorly at first because I was playing with some people I had just met. Then, I started to figure out how everyone ticks, and I knew that Caitlin would think that wine tastings are "cosmopolitan" and Matt would think that Stonehenge is "fancy."  

Matt and I get along, incidentally, because we both thought "pigeons" were best described as "intense," even more intense than "tornadoes." 

Sea foam green nail polish that matches my iPhone. Okay really my iPhone; I succumb!!!

This.

Holy crap Porter the Beagle is totally grinning at me. You can't even say he's not.