How I Grocery Shop When I'm Sad vs. How I Grocery Shop When I'm Happy. See Also: Leaving on a High Note

How I Grocery Shop When I'm Sad:

(It might go something like this.)

Where do they hide the boxes of bread crumbs? Ugh. I just want to get out of here. People walk too slow. Why are there so many PEOPLE?! And look, every register has a line. Geez. Dummies, everywhere! I don't even want this stupid food! ARGHH!

How I Grocery Shop When I'm Happy:

(This happened today.)

Mmm, look at these beautiful lemons! They smell so good, too! I'm going to buy some. I wonder what recipes have lemons in them. I'm going to start cooking more. That sounds really nice. I want to try one of these over here! Mmmm!

…

What I mean to say is, when I'm sad, the world seems too irritating to endure. Every exhausting timesuck--lines, traffic, plaque buildup, dirty laundry, soap scum, dust, work, meetings, car repairs, other human beings. It's all such a drain.

But when I'm happy, the world is bright and exciting. There are new things to see, limitless experiences to have, and I actually like other humans. Instead of feeling like, "Why is this happening to me?" I feel like, "I get to do this!"

Right now I'm very happy, because I am in love, and also because I quit my job.

I think I quit it just in time, because I've been burning out for a while. It recently hit me that while 70% of my work is my dream job, I am no longer able to tolerate the remaining 30% and remain a happy person.

I become a dick.

I walk around my workplace hoping that no one will share their ideas with me. I hope that I will be excused from meetings. I hope events will be cancelled. I hole up in my office. I get easily frustrated. I try to go unnoticed. Mostly, I rush around, because I want to finish my work and be done with it, but everyone else gets in my way.

But since I submitted my resignation and two weeks notice, I've been reminded of some of the things that helped me love my job for over a decade. Those "things" are mostly people, which is interesting since I get to work with animals.

Today was one of my final days at my job, and I was stunned by all the kindness I received, and from unexpected sources. I got sweet emails, heartfelt hugs, cards, tokens of friendship and even baked goods.

Before long, I felt like I was walking on air. I was so happy--I could smell the sweetness in every lemon, to go back to my grocery store example.  Suddenly, faced with the realization that I had no reason to ever see these people again, I wanted to hear everything they had to say. I wanted them to tell me their stories. I wanted to remember them. I suddenly felt like I had all the time in the world to sit with the people I've been lucky enough to meet.

It's all so sweet, it makes me wish I hadn't resigned.

But if I hadn't quit, I'd be a different person this week. I'd be rushing around. I'd be impatient. I'd be a bit of a dick.

So I'm going to take all of these happy feelings and leave my job on a high note. I'm so happy that I met so many amazing people, and got to be a part of so many truly cool projects.

And I'm glad I'm leaving before I got too jaded and mean and see it that way.

I'm out! 

How 53 Chickens Made Me Feel Better

I love you, Chicken. 

I didn't feel ready for the world on Tuesday morning.

The cat and I uncurled at the sound of the alarm, but the space beyond my bed seemed too harsh, too unsympathetic -- a grinding sameness that I had not signed on for. There was nothing I could do but resort to autopilot and plod into my morning routine.

When I got to work, I approached the door gingerly, hoping to ease myself into another long day. But almost immediately, a surprise sound echoed through the building -- a piercing, perfect, cock-a-doodle-doo.

I burst out laughing.

This week, the organization that I work for was called to assist in the rescue of 61 birds. This is how I came to meet 53 chickens for the very first time.

That Tuesday morning, those of us who "had some spare time" were invited to help with the mass cleaning of chicken cages. I wanted to laugh at that suggestion. We're not an organization that allows spare time, and the weight of relentless deadlines was part of what had made the day feel so daunting when I woke up. Still, chicken-cage-cleaning sounded like an adventure I couldn't pass up.

The chickens had arrived in poor health, and you could see lice crawling all over their faces and feathers. The chickens smelled terrible -- a sweet, sweaty, garbage scent.

I followed instructions to put on scrubs and to wear a new pair of rubber gloves between each chicken. Then, I got to either wipe out soiled cages or take on the fantastic job of holding chickens.

Holding chickens -- in some cases, impressive, imposing-looking roosters -- is much easier than picking one up. I have yet to successfully do that. Their wings can break if you struggle with them, so, terrified that I'd break a chicken, I'd panic and back off as soon as they started to squirm.

One time, I came close to pulling a rooster out of the top of a two-story pen. But, he spun wildly and struggled against my face. I quickly placed him back down -- but after that, I smelled like chicken for the rest of the day. An oily, smelly sheen was  smeared across my cheek and clothes.

However, none of this is meant to be read as a complaint. Once one of my co-workers would hand me a chicken, I'd hold him and feel mesmerized. Each time, the chickens would struggle and fuss and then, properly pinned against my chest and supported underneath, they'd surrender. From there, I could feel the warmth of their bodies in my arms. I could feel their hearts beating against mine.

I learned how to soothe a flustered chicken by gently stroking  its head or chin. Sometimes, my co-workers and I would find ourselves unconsciously swaying as we held our chickens, as though we were rocking babies. My friend Christy held a chicken that nestled into her bosom. He lay his head across Christy's chest and slowly closed his eyes.

After a while, Christy and I walked her sleepy chicken and my restless chicken over to a window.  Both chickens craned their necks in focused curiosity, eager to see what was going on outside. Christy and I looked at each other in shared delight. She said, "They're looking out the window." The chickens were scared, confused, and not feeling well. It meant something to us that we were giving them a small but meaningful moment.

The chickens are all headed to local farm sanctuaries, where they'll spend their lives clucking and crowing and eating and digging in hay.

I'm really glad I got to meet them. I'd love to work with chickens again. Now that I've mastered chicken-holding, I'd like to practice chicken-picking-up.

Once again, I find that the best way to recover from sadness is to help someone who's worse off than yourself.

See what it looked (and sounded) like to clean the chicken cages:

Take two Beagles and call me in the morning

This...is Porter.   (meant to be read with awe and wonderment.)

omg

When you work around animals, everyone always asks, "How do you not want to adopt them all?" And I explain that you go through this phase, in the beginning, when you think Fate personally picked out each and every animal just for you, and you weep every time one of them finds a home without you.

But then, as the years go by, you make peace with the fact that you play a temporary role in the animals' lives. Or, maybe it's a form of self-preservation when all of the animals actually start to blend together, a little.

But then, suddenly, one animal will come along out of the blue and break your whole heart.

case in point.

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. This means he has several weeks of intense treatment ahead of him and he needs a safe place to help him remain as sedate as possible. This is perfect timing for me, because I am treating myself for heartache, and I need a safe presence to help me remain as sedate as possible.

So now, officially, Porter is my Office Foster Dog! He lives and eats and naps with me while I work.

It is amazing.

here. hold this.

There are so many good things about having a Beagle sleep behind you while you work. First of all, it makes me close my office door, which keeps me from wandering down the hall to to complain about the phone call I don't want to return or to compliment my co-workers' cute shoes. In other words, it's quiet and I focus. Also, Porter makes these little sleepy moaning noises that soften my cold, black heart, and make me want to be kind to everyone. And he certainly puts deadlines and other drudgery into perspective: animals, like Porter's own brother, are sometimes beaten to death. We have a lot of work to do.

snore, snuk, zzzzz

I like to think that the Office Foster arrangement has been good for Porter, too. I made this little collage to show his progress from:

- Terrified
to
- Still hating me, but tolerating me a little
- Starting to think I am a-ok
to, finally
- Cheerfully asking me if I need his help with anything

He's blossoming! Just look at his sweet, trusting face!

In time, I might be able to start fostering Porter at home, too (!!) but right now he needs to stay close to the shelter for treatment and care. I might even be able to adopt him...

I feel unbelievably lucky that Porter came into my life when I needed a dose of love, motivation and perspective. I think I need to take care of somebody else right now.

The only puzzle I have no idea how to sort out is this one:

she sparkles (even if only to me)

My adorable, beloved, crankypants CAT! She hates dogs! What am I going to do? I can't make her live with one, can I? After 13 devoted years together, my cat is definitely entitled to have some input in this household.

I'm not sure what will happen, but it will take about two months to treat the heartworm and release Porter for adoption, so for now, Porter and I can mend our hearts together.

mwah!

Happy New Year; I'm Subtle

Today my dear friend Suaz gave me a Pee-wee Herman clutch and also a pin that says "Ask Me About My Favorite Band," because she knows me very, very well. (And also because she knows I'll wear them without a trace of irony.)

I posted this photo on Facebook, and as a result one of my friends inadvertently ended up asking me about my favorite band. 

This prompted me, of course, to describe the way Eddie Vedder tosses the guitar solo to Mike McCready when it's time to shred the song "Even Flow" at a Pearl Jam concert. Mike will go crazy while Eddie steps to the side of the stage, drinks wine, dances, and offers demure waves to his fans. Then, Mike and his guitar will --tantalizingly, I assure you-- creep back into the chorus, slowly luring Eddie back into the song. Eddie will then do one of two things: he will either slink back across the stage and take the mic, or, he will linger, and then make a mad dash at the last possible second before the chorus takes off. If Eddie's late to the mic, or even if he's not, the fans know that the next verse is theirs, and the crowd explodes: EVEN FLO-O. THOUGHTS ARRIVE LIKE BUTTER-FLIES. 

It is a reliable ritual and we Pearl Jam fan club members eat it right up. 

(See also: "I love Eddie Vedder With All My Freaking Heart.")

But in actual news:

Today was a huge day at work. We held a rescue and pulled 27 dogs and 7 cats from death row at local animal control facilities. My favorite moment was when this dog, Rollo, stepped into our vestibule. It's normal for rescued pets to be thoroughly spooked when they get to the shelter, but Rollo was like, "How you doin'?" He just totally owned it. 

"Pleased to be here, what's up?"

And now for my shameful New Years Eve ritual. I work in PR and thanks to this annual rescue, I spend my New Years Eves exhausted, wine glass in hand and glued to the news, waiting to see myself.

There we go.

Yes, I did take pictures of my TV.

Awesome things that happened to me this weekend:

I went to Kennywood, my beloved amusement park, to ride roller coasters with my friend Krista, her boyfriend Denny, and my amazing boyfriend. My boyfriend is still new enough that I am totally not over him and the cool shit he can do. Like how he can win carnival prizes like a champ. 

He WON me these! Be still, my heart. 

So, yes, the very best moment of my weekend was when Krista and Denny pulled over and sat down with a corn dog and fries and I was all, "We're going to go play games and come back with a giant stuffed animal." And then A MINUTE LATER, my amazing new boyfriend wailed a beanbag at some bottles and they just exploded, and I got the big-headed giraffe I had been earnestly coveting all summer. 

Apparently, this is not the sort of thing that drives all 32-year-olds wild. But, it sure works on me. 

Also, I gave in and ordered an iPhone 5. This is huge news because I've been loyally toting around this brick for a couple years now:

It's not even a Blackberry. It has a slide-out keyboard. Why yes, it was free with the plan.

That retro-looking gadget is called the LG Cosmos and it has some good qualities, like: I once washed it with a pair of pants and it didn't even blink. Also: I drop it, constantly, and just piece it back together like three legos.  So, we had a good run, that Cosmos and me. 

Then today I went to work, which was kind of a drag on account of it being Sunday and all, but there are way worse ways to pay the bills. Today I got to help my staff host a kitten shower, which is like a baby shower except it's to find homes for orphaned kittens.

The staff's genuine enthusiasm for our kitten party was completely contagious. And. to make it even more fun, I got to take pictures of the kittens being kittens and post them on our Facebook to entice people to come in. AND we sent 17 cats home, including one that was FIV+, so it was a good day.

Also, I got to go see my mom and dad and their big dog Winnie.

And finally, the cat and I are being 100% awesome right now, parked in front of 30 Rock.

"Everything's better when we're home alone together. Break up with your boyfriend and be with me always."
                   - all cats, everywhere

So, it was a really great weekend, and my heart swells with love. The end! 

Always Carry a Spare Cat and Other Important Lessons in Public Relations

I have one of the best jobs in town. As the Communications Director for an animal shelter, I have the fun --and sometimes hilarious-- task of taking shelter animals on radio and TV appearances.

As result, I have learned several very important lessons over the years.

Like this one:

1. No food after midnight.

My first radio appearance was a half-hour segment on the Lynn Cullen radio show. All I had to do was bring an adoptable dog to the studio, introduce her to the listeners, and spend the next 20 minutes chatting with Lynn about pets. I jump at the chance to do that sort of thing now, but at that time, I was a ball of nerves.

So that morning, I put Ginger, a big white Shepherd, into my car and we drove to the studio. I thought potty breaks sounded like a good idea, so after she took hers, I tried to get the big, beautiful Shepherd to follow me into the tiny stall in the ladies' room. After a few forlorn tries, we gave up, so Ginger followed me onto the elevator and up three stories to the station.

Soon, we were inside the broadcast booth with our host, Lynn. I took a seat on a stool, placed a pair of oversized headphones onto my head, and leaned into the microphone. I was nervous but ready. I remember the very moment we went live on the airwaves, and I thought, "This is it!"

Then I looked at Ginger. And I blurted out across the radio waves: "This doesn't look good."

Ginger's expression was unmistakable. That beautiful dog opened her mouth and got sick all over the floor.

Back at the shelter and glued to the radio, my friends tell me that they heard my mortified gasp and the sound of a door slamming. I yanked the headphones off my head, gathered the dog, summoned the elevator, waited for it, rode three stories back down, and burst outside with Ginger, who, by then, felt perfectly refreshed.

After a few minutes, Ginger and I rode the elevator back up to Lynn, who was calmly describing the dog to her listeners to the best of her recollection. The rest of the interview went fine, and I took care of the clean-up.

That's the day I learned that otherwise healthy pets can get quite carsick. Now, every night before their media appearances, my animals go on a "No food after midnight" diet. They eat breakfast after they get back.

Lesson #2. Always bring a spare cat.

Our animals are fortunate to go on KDKA's Pittsburgh Today Live every few weeks. I get to introduce adoptable animals to the live TV audience and talk about our latest news.

One day, I was invited to bring an adoptable cat onto the show to talk about how to give a cat a massage. I let Beth, our resident expert, select the cat with care. We needed just the right easy-going cat who would not only stay calm on live TV, but allow himself to be massaged in a rather chaotic environment. Beth picked Nathan, the sweetest cat, and he really was.

He just didn't travel well.

Once again, I strapped my furry co-star into my Subaru and chatted to him the whole way to the station. I didn't notice that anything was awry until we were riding the elevator in the parking garage. I thought I smelled something, but I didn't want to believe it. Instead, I proceeded confidently to the station.

I checked in with the producer and opened the cat carrier. And that's when I saw it. The poor cat had had diarrhea. Nathan was covered, from head to toe, in diarrhea.

I made a quick call to the shelter. I knew it was the height of rush hour, but I begged for someone to bring me a clean cat. In the mean time, I got to work. The ladies' room was occupied, so I charged into the nearest men's room and eased my dirty cat into the sink. He had somehow even gotten it in his ears! While the producer poked her head into the men's room and asked me for updates, I rolled up my sleeves and swiftly but gently bathed the sad cat. I was still holding out hope that I might be able to demonstrate a cat massage on Nathan.

Thankfully, while I was wiping down the cat with paper towels and stalling for time from the producer, my co-worker Jack made it downtown in record time. I packed up Nathan (who, rest assured, suffered only from nerves), ran outside and scurried to the shelter van, which was pulled over on Fort Duquesne Boulevard. Jack passed a carrier with a clean cat through the van window while I traded over the smelly cat. I then dashed and skidded onto the TV set, presented the clean cat, and introduced the viewers to the benefits of cat massage.

That was the last time I ever left work without an understudy. Now I always, always carry a spare cat. Whether the cats got sick or just a case of cold feet, this trick has saved me many times.

Lesson #3: Keep calm and carry on.

Sometimes, it just all goes to heck.

Like the time Erica and I took two cats and a dog on WTAE's live afternoon news. Sally Wiggin and I were telling viewers why we needed them to tune into our Telethon, when Raindrop, the (shaved) shelter cat in Sally Wiggin's arms, decided that she didn't want to be on TV anymore. Thankfully, Sally never dropped that cat. Sally twisted and twirled around in a frantic balancing act, and Raindrop took a walk across Sally's back, firmly clinging to Sally's leather blazer by her claws.

The inelegant scramble concluded with me lamenting "Oh Raindrop," and, for good measure, a near-fight breaking out between our other cat and the dog.

As always, everything worked out and all of the animals were fine, and adopted shortly after. (And that little Telethon spot was the #1 most viewed segment on WTAE's website for quite a few days.)

Every day on the job is an adventure, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm ready to take this show on the road again!