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Mourning Max

I really feel like a major Debbie Downer blogger lately, but I figured since my memories of my big brother are permanently out here on the interwebs, I should also create a semi-permanent 1378071_10153348981200551_615562441_nmemorial to my 2nd hairiest best friend whom I also lost recently: My little pup, Max. Even typing his name here now and remembering him is causing tears to start to leak out of my face. I’m gonna need a box of Kleenex. Hang on.

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(Insert Jeopardy! theme here)

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Ok, I’m back. Who knew it’d be so hard to find Kleenex in this house? Apparently I’m not very snotty.

Anyway… You know, I always thought those people who took days off work to mourn the loss of a pet were insane. Until my Max. I’ve had dogs my entire life, but I don’t think I’ve ever loved any like I loved my Max. I fell in love with his little tiny furry Ewok face the first time I laid eyes on him as a pup, sitting alone in his cage, the last left of his litter. Actually, I should say WE fell in love with him, and by ‘we’, I mean, of course, my roommate, who is Max’s daddy. I suppose he loved him as much as I did. It was sorta hard not to. He was our baby. Our alarm clock. Our snuggle buddy. The dog who once tried to bite my face off. Our spoiled little lovable brat. Max could make me laugh on my worst day; The way he spun around in excited circles whenever we’d say the word ‘outside’, or ‘bone’; The way he’d wake us up by standing on top of us and staring directly into our faces; The way he growled every time we tried to kiss him, almost like he was saying “C’mon, I’m not a little kid any more!”. I loved him more than I even know how to express. So when he was diagnosed with cancer, we vowed we’d spend any amount of money and do whatever it took to keep him with us as long as possible. When he stopped eating, we syringe fed him baby food, heavy cream, Pedialite- Anything to try to bring back our healthy, energetic little pup. But as it turns out, Max was more tired than we thought. Odd timing, the fact that he started to go severely downhill the night my big brother passed, almost as if he knew that Jon needed a companion.

His last day on Earth was spent at his favorite park, and snuggling on the couch with us- His two favorite pastimes. I remember he kept looking at us with his big brown eyes, like he was trying to comfort us and tell us it was going to be ok. I think I told him I loved him approximately 8,428 times that day. I take comfort in the fact that I’m pretty sure he knew how lucky he was and how much he was loved. I mean, what other dog gets steak and eggs for breakfast while his mom eats Special K? He had a great life. A great life that was cut way too short.

So now, we grieve. Every day. I miss how happy I felt when Jon and Max were both here, even though I’m slowly but surely recovering. I cry for my brother, for my dog, and I hope and pray that they’re up there together, just waiting for me to get there. Hopefully Jon knows how to cook a steak. Because Max loves that shit.

Love you forever, little Max. Momma and Daddy miss you.

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Posted by on July 25, 2014 in Cancer, Humor, Life

 

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The Unromantic Girl’s Guide To Valentine’s Day

Now that February has arrived, who can’t help but notice the grocery store aisles once again filled with teddy bears and heart-shaped boxes? I mean, it’s a little ridiculous. All right, I’m just going to come right out and say this: I am completely unromantic. Candlelight dinners? Love letters? Soft music? Flower petals in the bedroom? Blech. It all makes me want to puke a little. Now, before you go judging me and taking away my woman card, allow me to state that I was raised in a home with three older brothers, so most of my energy growing up was spent climbing trees to avoid getting wedgies and swirlies rather than dating and flowers and romance. Not to mention that I was completely aware that any boy I had any sort of romantic feelings for would, most likely, end up getting grilled and subsequently tortured by my older brothers, so I avoided the situation altogether. And, one more confession: Although I try my best to be one of those ‘cool’ girls who claims to not care at all if I get anything at all on Valentine’s Day, part of me always feels a tiny tinge of disappointment when the day passes without so much as an ass pat and a Hershey’s Kiss. I’m not proud. But, like I stated up there, I’m not big on the huge showy bouquet of flowers, because let’s face it, that’s just not very practical. Who wants to spend perfectly good burrito money on overpriced flowers that are just going to end up dried up and in my trash can? Not to mention the fact that it could potentially be a fire hazard, it’s just not smart. Think of the burritos, guys. Ok, now that I’ve talked some sense into you, following please find a compilation of gifts that girls who were raised barefoot and running through creek beds may enjoy:

Massage

Before you get too excited, I don’t mean a massage by you. Unless you’re really good and promise not to focus too much on the boob region, because then I just feel dirty and used, not relaxed and delightfully kneaded like yeasty bread dough. Maybe ‘yeasty’ was a bad word to use here. Anyway… I’ve only had one massage in my life, and although I was wary of being naked with a stranger at first, approximately three minutes in, I was ready to let that strong-handed lady do whatever she wanted to me. Trust me, this gift would get you thoroughly rewarded.

Big-Ass Bottle Of Jack

Doesn’t sound very Valentine’s Day-like, but where I come from, you can’t go wrong with whiskey. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. Well.. Not really. I mean, the bottle runs out pretty quickly. Whatever. Let’s not get technical here.

Heart-Shaped Lou Malnati’s Pizza

Actually, screw the heart-shaped shit, just gimme the pizza. No sausage. Your sausage does not belong on my Valentine’s pizza, asshole. I apologize if I sounded combative there. I have strong feelings about this.

Puppy

Because… Duh. IT’S A PUPPY!!! Sorry… I get excited about stuff.

Original Dirty Limerick

They make me laugh. Especially if you can rhyme something with ‘vagina’, because that’d be pretty impressive.

Fabulous Boots And/Or Diamonds

Because I am small part real girl, and we like shoes and sparkly shit.

Holding The Door Open And Telling Me I’m Pretty, Then Buying Me Lots Of Martinis

That one is self-explanatory.

I hope you’ve all taken notes here. If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me at any point prior to the Hallmark holiday. I’m always here to help. Especially if you have the Jack.

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Posted by on February 3, 2014 in Humor

 

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Single In The Country

You may have gathered by now that I’m a single girl. Shocking, I know. I mean, all this wit, this charm, this beauty, these unshaven winter legs? Anyway, since I rarely visit hot spots to scope out man meat, I’ve resorted to online dating. I suppose in this day and age, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. I mean, it’s much easier getting to know people online rather than attempting to hold a whiskey-soaked conversation in a loud bar, let’s face it. I’ve met some very nice men, some not-so-nice men, and… Let’s say I’ve gotten some fairly amusing messages that make me question… Well… They make me question pretty much everything about the male psyche. I have to admit, though, I am mildly entertained by some of these dudes, and I figured I’d share some of my faves with you. All names have been omitted to protect the innocent, and the clueless.

“Hi ! Would you date a guy who wore speedos”

Seriously? I mean, I give you points for originality, dude, but… Seriously? And the answer is no. It’s just not a good look for anyone.

“yes, i was checking out your profile.. I’m not asking you to marry me nor my asking to decide on the type of cake we are to buy at our wedding. Believe it or not I have put the wedding planner on hold for now. Lol so tell me what I need to do to win a morsel of your attention? i look forward to your reply. :-)”

Good thing he didn’t ask me to marry him, because I’d have rushed right out and gotten a dress, And… A ‘morsel of my attention’? That part makes me want chocolate chip cookies, not gonna lie.

“Hi. I want to know you! You’re nerdy, have above butt, and bake. A good start. :-“

I’m still trying to figure out what an ‘above butt’ is.

“Hello. Would like to talk and get to know you, I am a down to earth guy. Can be funny at times ok most of the time. You never know what I will say after I get to know you. As I have said to friends I don’t have a filter on my mouth any more. Lol but I do know when and where to be good and watch what I say around people that don’t know me that well. Chocolate. I am looking for my best friend in life someone to go for bike rides on weekends and just get away and find that little bar that has the best cupcakes I meant meant burger. I am bad. I would have no problem going to the store and getting what ever you need. Hell I even had to take a stool sample in for my ex one time because she was to sick to go out of the house. It is part of being in a relationship you help each other out when one is down. I hope I did better than just one word that you have been getting. Pie so I do hope to maybe talk and get to know you better. All that I ask is for honesty if you are honest with me I will be the same with you. You can ask me anything you want and I will tell you the truth.”

It’s like a train wreck… I want to stop reading, but I just can’t.

“Hey im 18 5’5 135Ibs white 🙂 Want to chat and see what happens? Maybe meetup sometime? Gotta be discreet tho:)”

Yeah, have your mom drop you off at my place. Make sure she packs you a lunch.

“I love you”

A little too soon, pal. Just a tad.

“Hii 🙂 **high five** I know I know im 26 buuutt I would love to get know you”

If you’re virtually high-fiving me, should I expect our date to involve the nearest Taco Bell and some video games?

And, my personal favorite…

“Can I massage your feet”

Couldn’t make this shit up if I tried, folks. Actually, I could use a good foot massage. Maybe I should rethink that one.

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11 Comments

Posted by on January 19, 2014 in Humor, Life

 

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Go Home, Cancer. You’re Drunk.

October 16, 2013. That’s the day my living nightmare began.

I don’t mean to be overly dramatic here, but until you experience being on the other end of the phone when your mother tells you that your brother has pancreatic cancer, well, you don’t know that that’s really the best way to describe it. A living nightmare. Things like this don’t happen to my family in real life. Things like this happen to OTHER people’s families. Not my brother. Not my 40 year old, good-hearted brother, who’s never done anyone any harm, who’s always been a little socially awkward, but one of the best people I’ve ever known, who’s smarter than he knows, and who’s never really gone out and done much living… This is not allowed to happen to him.

It’s crazy how little everything else becomes when something like this happens. The customer who calls into work complaining about a late delivery, friends complaining about their car problems and work stress… You want to shake them and scream in their face “MY BROTHER HAS CANCER, ASSHAT!!”. But that would be socially unacceptable, I suppose. It’d be cool if I could at least get away with a forehead thunk or something, though.

In the past week, I’ve cried more than I ever have, I’ve slept less than I ever have, I’ve talked to God and told him that he CANNOT, under any circumstances, take my brother yet, I’ve bargained with him and told him I will never ask for anything for myself ever again if he just makes my brother healthy, I’ve asked him to let me take my brother’s place, and I’ve also learned more about pancreatic cancer than I’ve ever cared to know. Crazy holistic remedies I would’ve laughed at 2 weeks ago suddenly become a viable option for helping to cure my brother. I’ve become a pancreatic cancer crusader, all in the hopes that I can somehow make a difference in saving my brother’s life. I’ve even made disgusting cancer-fighting soup that would probably make anyone lose their will to live. But by God, if there’s any chance that cancer can be cured with superfood soup, damn it, I’m gonna try. My brother is not allowed to go yet. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Luckily, my brother looks really, really good bald. Here’s to keeping positive, people. I have a feeling we’re going to beat this thing, because really, that’s all I can do. I know I’m a stranger, but just for a second, ask the big guy upstairs, or ask the universe, or ask whoever you believe in, to please let me keep my brother for many, many years to come. We need all the help we can get.Image

 
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Posted by on October 23, 2013 in Cancer, Humor, Life

 

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My Father’s Daughter

Ever since my dad passed away a few years back, I have kind of a hard time with Father’s Day. It’s weird, because growing up, my father and I never really got along. Looking back now, I think it’s because we’re very much alike. He was always cold and seemingly emotionless with those closest to him, but when we were in the company of strangers, he was the funny and charming and nice dad that I wanted. I see this behavior in myself a lot, although I do my best to try to break that cycle.

Beyond that, I never knew him at all, really. The memories I have of my dad are very few. I remember being small and waking up early with my mom to see him off to his job as a carpenter. I remember watching Friday night TV curled up with him on the floor. I remember being angry with him for going on hunting trips where I knew he was going to kill Bambi. I remember him bringing me a giant stuffed owl from Wyoming that I named Snowy, which made me almost immediately forget that I was angry with him for the whole Bambi thing. I remember Christmas mornings where we had to wait for his coffee to brew before we opened presents, and the pot of coffee that always seemed to brew slower than on any other morning. And I remember being horrible to him as a teenager, which I still don’t understand. I remember hating him for no reason, and now, as an adult, I wish I could take that all back, and get to know who he was. Because I bet he was a pretty interesting dude. But anyway, all of these tiny moments I remember; But never once do I remember telling him I loved him or hugging him, and I will forever regret that. Even at the end, when he was dying in hospice care, I refused to show emotion or go sit with him and hold his hand. I hate that I did that, and I’d like to kick my own ass for it. But hopefully he knew that I loved him. And although I never really knew the person he was before I came along, or really who he was while I was growing up, I miss him every single day, and I hope he’s out there somewhere and he’s aware of that. And someday, I hope I can sit down with my dad, up there in matching recliners on a cloud, both looking fabulous and youthful, sharing some big-ass beers.

 

Oh yeah, and Happy Dad’s Day a little early to all the awesome dads out there. Including mine.

Miss you, Daddy.

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Posted by on June 13, 2013 in Humor, Uncategorized

 

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