Good Kitty.

I don't write about Laney very often anymore. Not that Laney doesn't have a special place in my heart. We've been together longer for far longer than any of the other relationships I have with those in my apartment. But she's so much more low maintenance. It's easy to forget about Laney in the chaos that is my apartment every evening.

It's the classic "squeaky wheel gets the grease" syndrome. The dogs are so much more needy...and Laney, well, all that Laney needs is food in the morning and a warm body to sleep next to at night.

I'd like to note that although the boyfriend is warmer than I am, she is consistently on my side of the bed - the side away from the boyfriend. We've lived together for over a year now, but I think that deep down, Laney just can't accept this new person as permanent. She's just waiting until he leaves. (This is her attitude WITH the boyfriend feeding her every morning and giving her treats in the evening.)

It took Laney a while to get adjusted to the new living conditions, what with the two obnoxious dogs that she now lives with, but she's getting there. She's generally annoyed by Casey (who will chase her around the apartment for fun), but is learning to stand her ground with Tyson. I've found them nose to nose before with Tyson looking on with curiosity and Laney looking in in hatred. I don't think she's frightened of the dogs, per se. More just extremely annoyed.

But then, I've never said Laney was a nice kitty. She loves me, and that's all that matters. To everyone else, well...

This past weekend, as I set about doing the laundry, I noticed a pile of the boyfriend's clothing obscuring the rocker/recliner in our bedroom. It's a constant source of irritation for me, but apparently the boyfriend just doesn't understand that if the clothes aren't in the hamper, they aren't going to get washed. I've given up complaining, and will merely mention every now and again that I am doing laundry, and if his work clothes aren't washed, it's no longer my responsibility.

The clothes continued to sit on the floor and on the chair.

Laney spends most of her time in the bedroom - it's a safe haven from the dogs. I, personally, feel that she's seen this drama play out too many times and has now come to the end of her patience. She decided to take matters into her own paws, so to speak.

Monday night, I entered the bedroom to find Laney pawing the clothing in that unmistakable "I just peed here and am trying to cover it up" way that cats have. I shooed her away, picked up the soiled clothing and mentioned to the boyfriend that "we" (meaning he) *may* have a problem.

Within thirty minutes, all the clothing was picked up, put in drawers, or hung where appropriate.

That's a good kitty.

She's a great girl, but...

I caught a few moments of a re-run of the show "How I Met Your Mother" the other evening. (Side note: If you're not watching this show - even on occasion - you're missing out. Consistently one of the funniest sitcoms I've seen in a while. Neil Patrick Harris KILLS as Barney) The show centered around setting friends up on blind dates, and how every date came with a "but."

"He's a great guy, he's funny, he's smart, but..."

When one of the girls within the circle of friends asked what her "but" was, all of her friends thought of one, but said out loud that of course she didn't have one! She was a great girl!

The concept made me laugh. I am under no illusions of perfection, and I have honest friends, so I thought I would ask what my "but" was.

When I posed the question to my closest male friend, his answer was returned pretty quickly. "She's a great girl, but she has a temper."

True.

He said it was the perfect "but" to tell a new guy. I know it's true, and the guy that he's hypothetically setting me up with will not think it's a huge deal until he inevitably does something stupid and is faced with the temper himself.

At first I was relieved. I don't hide the fact that I have a temper. And my temper, though scary, has a long fuse. It usually takes a lot to make me angry, and it usually takes a lot from someone I care a lot about to make me angry. (I was going to put some blah blah in here about how friends and acquaintances might not know about the temper....but then I reconsidered. I think everyone who knows me knows about the temper...) But in my mind, there are SO many other things that are far far worse...

"She's a great girl, but she's emotionally high maintenance."
"She's a great girl, but you should see her road rage."
"She's a great girl, but she's incredibly stubborn."
"She's a great girl, but she'll obsess about her weight constantly."

But then I asked the boyfriend what my "but" was. His response? "She's a great girl, but she's crazy."

After I was done laughing, I got him to be more specific and determined that the "crazy" was the same as the aforementioned temper. Once I clarified to that point, I got things like, "You're Italian and Peruvian - it's that sort of crazy. You're a fireball. When you're angry, you're like that volcano guy on MarioKart who spews out fire and boulders."

At this point I have to concede. Apparently my temper IS my "but." It's what makes my friend's boyfriend (whom I've only met once!!) say that I'm "scary."

Is it bad that instead of worrying about this temper that is the first thing that comes to mind as my "but," I'm relieved that the temper overshadows my other neurosis?

Rainy Days and Mondays...

In college, I decided that my weeks would end on Fridays and begin on Saturdays. There were several reasons for this decision.

First, Fridays are always fabulous for me. I don't know if it's the promise of the upcoming weekend or the symbolic end of responsibilities for a while, but I am ALWAYS in a good mood on Fridays. So I thought the week should end on a good note.

Second, Saturdays are a good day to begin the week on. Even though I usually have responsibilities to attend to, it's not like working for eight hours. I generally enjoy the activities that I have chosen to plan during the weekend.

Third, I thought I could avoid the stigma that Monday brings by beginning the week on Saturday.

Doesn't work. Mondays suck.

Not only were Garfield and I born in the same year, and not only do we share a fear of spiders, we both hate Mondays. With a passion.

What's funny is that Mondays are usually a pretty relaxed day for me. I think my customers need Mondays to gear up into the week just as much as I do, so the orders and demands don't usually hit me until later in the week. Mondays are just a day to catch up on what I've forgotten over the weekend.

I still hate Mondays and everything they symbolize. It's a return to eating healthy foods after the freedom of the weekend. It's always a weary day - even with the abundance of sleep usually found during the weekend. Even though work isn't as horrible as I think it will be.

Mondays are the worst. It's even worse when it's a federal holiday and there are others off using Monday as their second Sunday, while I'm sitting at work trying to come to terms with the fact that another work week is beginning. Boo.

So I'm going to drink my latte and let myself slowly get used to the fact that another week is beginning. Maybe tomorrow won't be so bad. After all, it's another day closer to Friday.

**I wrote this on Monday morning, November 12th. It's appearing on Tuesday, November 13th. I have now learned that even if you write a blog with no purpose, such as this one hating on Mondays, you still have to hit that big orange "Publish Post" button, or the post isn't completed. I blame Monday.

Making Progress...

So, I just found out that my digital camera can take video.

I mean, it's crappy video. And it has no sound. But it does show that we are making SOME progress with getting Tyson into his crate. What this video shows is Tyson in a sit/stay. Then the boyfriend calls to him and tells him to "kennel up."

You can CLEARLY (well, as clearly as the crappy resolution allows) see Tyson enter the crate of his own free will.



I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. The next step is shutting the door and leaving him in there. Well, not for long...but you know. We'll start small. We'll eventually be at hours at a time.

I can't sit still, I'm so excited.

But if I want to be 100% honest with the internet audience (and honestly, how many people can possibly be reading this? so what is my real obligation to be honest??) um, we shut the door on him when he went into his crate voluntarily in this video, and it wasn't pretty.

So what you don't get to see is the whining, and the crying that came just after the camera stopped rolling, and we shut the door. I mean, he didn't even struggle to get out of the crate. It's like he knew it was futile. He just immediately went to howling. It was painful.

But - let's focus on the positives here. Did you watch the silent video? He went in the crate alone. No shoving, no cajoling, no wrestling. You've got to accentuate the positives, right? That is NOT deluding yourself. That is...um... seeing the glass as half full instead of half empty. :-)

WANTED: One day with no responsibilities

I have this responsibility thing.

And what I mean by that is that I can't relax if there's something I know I need to get done. And I mean that. Even if the very last thing I want to do is something productive, I absolutely can not ignore things that need to be done. No one else thinks this is a flaw. I've been praised for my responsibility. But believe me. It's a flaw. And I don't know where it came from. In college, I used to be able to veg out like a champ. What's happened to me?

Let me give you an example.

I got home from volunteering at the Animal Clinic today at noon. I volunteer from 7:30am until when the last appointment is done (usually 10:30am - 12:00pm) on Saturdays. Great start to the weekend, right? I LOVE it, but after being on my feet for that long, and usually wrestling with one or two large dogs (today it was more like five) I'm pretty tired when I get home. Today when I got home, the boyfriend was out with his monster of a dog until 3:00pm, and all I wanted was to pop some popcorn (my most favorite treat ever!!) and curl up with my dog on the couch while reveling in my much needed and far too infrequent alone time.

But there were dishes in the sink, loads of laundry to be done, a bed to be made... And in my brain, it works something like this, "I know I have to do those things, and I don't want to do them now, but I don't want them weighing on my mind while I'm trying to "relax" and will I want to do them later?"

So I threw in a load of laundry. And I did the dishes. And I swept the kitchen. And I let the dog out and took a quick walk with her. And the entire time, all I wanted to be doing was sitting on the couch with popcorn and a warm dog.

Of course, by the time I got around to that, the boyfriend was home, and my relaxing afternoon had a different dynamic. My alone time was gone.

Are all women like this? I mean, I can't speak for all men, but I definitely know that the boyfriend isn't. He can sit on the couch with filth all around him like a champ. Me? I don't need a spotless apartment, but if I know I have something to accomplish, I feel guilty sitting around doing nothing and wasting precious time.

So a couple of weekends ago, feeling tired and overwhelmed, I gave in to the boyfriend and wasted an entire weekend with him. We even moved furniture. He convinced me to clear out the living room, blow up the air mattress, and pretty much spend the entire weekend napping/sleeping/watching movies with the two dogs keeping us warm. I won't lie. It was a fabulous weekend. I didn't answer the phone, I didn't do any dishes. I didn't pick up any beer bottles from beer that may or may not have been consumed....

But then, Monday morning rolled around, I took a look at my apartment and freaked out. Which, of course, made Monday evening stressful as I tried to get everything done that I should have been doing over the weekend.

So the "lost weekend" had some consequences.

So I've determined that what I want for Christmas this year is one day (I would ask for one weekend, but I don't want to push my luck) with no responsibilities. I don't want to go to a spa, I don't want to spend a lot of money shopping, I just want to be able to waste the day doing nothing, or walking the dog, or napping, or drinking some wine. But the thing is, while I'm doing those things, I want someone else to be handling the responsibilities that I should be doing. Is that so much to ask?

For one day, and one day only, I want a proxy. A clone of me. Anything. I want to run away and do only things that I want to do and I want no repercussions.

I told my mother this. She laughed and told me that it only gets better with children.

I told her that that was reason #715,216,312 why I'm not going to have children, and she should just officially accept Casey as her first "grand-dog-ter."

The Guilty Conscience

Last weekend I went hunting for an "I look awesome" picture. You know, the holidays are coming up... people (read: me) tend to overeat...perhaps a little weight is gained (ahem 10 lbs last year.) So I was looking for a picture that I could stick on the fridge to remind me why I actually shouldn't be eating that pint of Ben & Jerry's Cinnamon Roll ice cream. (The only reason why it's not an "I look like a fat pig" picture is because I really don't want the boyfriend looking at that day after day.)

I know, I know...but desperate times call for desperate measures. I consistently fail at the holiday food binge test, so I'm pulling out all the stops.

Instead, in my perusal of old photos, I stumbled across pictures of my old friends and past girl weekends we shared. The pictures were remarkably similar because there are four of us, the pictures always showed only us, we were always wearing the same outfits (our pajamas) unless we were going out (I think we actually wore the same clothing for about 36 hours straight there at the end,) and all were taken in the same location (the house that we crashed at for the weekend.)

When the pictures were taken, we were all single (I had just met the boyfriend) we were all officially "out of school" but nowhere near knowing what we wanted to do with our lives, and we were all completely happy with spending an entire weekend doing nothing but being silly (with a slight diversion into "clubbing" Wisconsin style.)

Now, one of us is married, two are in long term relationships, two are no longer speaking, and two just turned thirty.

In a conference call with the two who turned thirty yesterday, there was a lot of squealing, a lot of laughing, and a LOT of memories. But apparently, we're all still up for a weekend of doing nothing and being silly. So I'll plan on getting that together for us...well, most of us.

See, of the two who aren't speaking, one of them is me. Seems silly, right? Not speaking to each other is soooo seventh grade. I feel like I need to call my mom and ask her to drive me to the mall. This was highlighted when I showed my boss a picture of my friends, and he asked if one of them was the girl to whom I no longer spoke. When I answered in the affirmative, he said, "You guys were best friends?" I said, "Best friends since the eighth grade." He said, "That's such a shame. You guys need to get back together."

Did I mention that my boss just got back from a boys bonding weekend during which he was unreachable for any business questions? (This is so abnormal for him that there aren't even words to explain it. Thus is the power of old friends.)

But even though I brushed it off at the time, I thought about what he said all last night. It DOES seem like a shame, right? And while there was nothing missing in the birthday conference call last night, I felt guilty. But guilty why?

See, I think my friendship with this girl ended because it had fatal flaws the entire time...they just didn't really matter until we were adults. It does seem like a shame, right? All that history just gone. But to me, it's more of that superficial, detached, "bummer" feeling than that "I have to fix this now!" feeling. See, I don't miss the friendship, and I have no urge to "get back together," but I feel guilty for how our posse of friends has been impacted.

For as long as I can remember, I've been the planner. The gatherer of people. The one who keeps in touch with everyone. If I have willing participants, I've put together soccer teams, put together weekend sand volleyball games, thrown New Year's parties, bullied others into letting me use their house for the entertainment of others... If there were girl weekends, it's because I organized the time for everyone to get together.

I've noticed that this "planning gene" (as I call it) does not exist in everyone, even though most people would like to get together with their friends more often. Well...why not? Haven't you noticed that every time people get together (even if for a funeral) they always say "we should do this more often." (at funerals, they add "under more pleasant circumstances of course.") So why don't people do that more often? I don't get it. I LOVE to spend time with my friends. If I can get a group of people together for an evening of...well....anything, then I'm all about it. Why aren't other people?

The problem is that other people just...aren't. So in my group of girlfriends, I'm the planner. And if you're not speaking to the planner, well....

So I should invite this person to whom I'm not speaking, right? I mean, the other girls shouldn't be impacted because obviously she and I haven't matured beyond the age of twelve.

But I don't wanna.

So I think to myself, "One of the other girls should organize something and invite both of us. We can be civil. We're all adults here. If placed in the same location, I'm sure we could find a way to make it work. I just don't want to do the inviting."

Then I sound MORE like a twelve year old. But that's how I feel, and you can't change your emotions. Right?

So I think to myself, "Surely she's getting together with the other girls on her own. I mean, she's calling them and they're keeping in touch on their own. You don't have to orchestrate every aspect of everyone's lives, Em."

And I remain conflicted. And guilty. And you know us Catholics. Even when lapsed, we know our way around guilt. Is there an easy solution to this?

Trigonal Bipyramidal...

...Tetrahedral...Octahedron. That's all I can think about right now.

I had grand aspirations of writing a blog about my friends turning thirty today, and how I can't imagine that I'm almost thirty as well....this age that I feared, and thought of as "so old" for so much of my life thus far. And now? How I still feel like the 22 year old who just graduated from college. And I was going to mention how I saw a girl wearing a t-shirt from my alma mater when I went out for lunch the other day, and I thought to myself, "I wonder if I know her - we're about the same age." And how the thing is, I'm probably about a decade older than she is.

And I was going to discuss deep insights on life, and friendships, sprinkled with witticisms to make you laugh.

But I just got out of chem class. And we're discussing the shape of molecules. And now it's 11:30pm and I REFUSE to give up on nablopomo yet.... So I will tell you about how unpaired electrons affect the shape of a molecule because they take up so much more space than a bond between atoms. Or how a central atom can sometimes break the octet rule to form a molecule that is trigonal bipyramidal.

Or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just save that for another time, rest my weary brain, and promise to write a more scintillating post for you tomorrow.

You Gotta have Faith

Faith.

It's an interesting topic that's been on my mind quite a bit since I reconnected with an acquaintance from high school. He's a leader in his church whereas I am...well, I'm spiritual in a nonconventional way. (read: lapsed Catholic)

I never know exactly how to express my struggles with faith. I asked the boyfriend once, "Do you have faith?"

He answered, "In what?"

I said, "In anything. Anything at all."

His response? "That's a good question."

It is a good question, right? A question that those with a solid belief in their religion have no problem answering. After all, faith is the basis of their beliefs. For example, every time I have a discussion with my mother about the Bible, and question anything she quotes me, it goes something like this:

Me: "Why?"
My mom: "Because of this and this and this."
Me: "But how do you know that this and that are true?"
My mom: "Because they're written here."
Me: "But how do you know that's real?"
My mom: "Faith."

I never have an answer for that last one and it's SO frustrating. I mean, I have faith in some things that I don't even think about. I have faith that the sun will rise each morning. Faith that Starbucks will be open on my way to work. :-) Faith that my parents will always be there for me if I need them. But faith in religion? Notsomuch.

It blows my mind that my mom has faith in the Bible in the same easy non-thinking way that I have faith in the sun. She says she just chooses to believe. Is it really that easy?

I carpooled for my last volleyball match of the season this year. On the ride home, I was speaking to my teammate about various sports played when we were younger. I mentioned that I hadn't played any sports but soccer....and then I remembered one of the biggest achievements of my youth.

"Yeah, I played soccer all through middle school. Actually, my team won the city championship."
"Really?"
"Yes. I remember I was SO excited about that. Even in the days leading up to the game I was excited. It turned out that the game was a really close one, and it came down to the end. I don't remember exactly how we won, but I do remember asking God if he could help us win, and that if he did, I would be so thankful I would thank him every day for a year."
"Wow. That's pretty presumptuous, isn't it?"
"I know. How silly was I to think that God cared about a soccer game in Indiana? But I was about fourteen years old, and I needed his help. I thanked him every day for a year too. Faithfully. I didn't miss one day."
"So, is that a Catholic thing? Do all Catholics just assume that God is on their side and wants them to win?"
"Of course not. I had faith that he could help me, and I bargained for it."

How young was I? But look at all that faith I had. I had that easy, nonthinking faith in God that I now have in the sun. In fact, it was STRONGER than the faith I now have in the sun (that I now know will eventually quit shining :-) God was all powerful and he could do anything. He loved me, he cared about what I wanted, and he would help me out because of that.

I know now that that's not how religion works. I get that. And while I know that childlike faith was somewhat misguided, I can't help but long for how easy it was. My parents taught me that there was a God - so there was. He had a son Jesus - got it. Jonah was swallowed by a whale - uh huh.

Somewhere along the way, I learned to question these things, and unfortunately, the answers I got were never good enough to put the questions to rest in my mind. Maybe I ask too many questions.

I guess it just seems that so many things you put your faith in (relationships, friendships, the idea that everything will work out for the best) seem to fail you. To me, it seems like the only thing you can put 100% faith in is something you can 100% control - like yourself.

But how cynical is that?

I prefer the unthinking, all encompassing faith of my youth. I just wish I knew where I put it.

Why I don't use AT&T

Yesterday I was given the job of moving my boss's mom's phone service from her old address to her new address. (I know, it's a crap job, but someone has to do it. Believe me - he's currently wishing he had just done this himself.)

Apparently, if you transfer service online, there is no installation fee. Unfortunately, he does nothing online. Nothing. So I had to set up a new account, and get access to all of that, and then attempt to move the service. What you see below is my online chat with the "online assistance" that they offer. Read the entire thing. I assume it's funny if you're not the one trying to get help.

Basically, I say just pay the installation fee. Nothing is worth this headache. Or better yet, just avoid AT&T altogether. (FYI - if you call their customer service line, and they can't take your call - they don't put you on hold...oh no. That would be easy. They just tell you to call back later and hang up on you. It's a great system all around.)

Please note, I posted this AFTER I found a fabulous customer service rep on the phone who fixed everything for me....I'm no longer quite as angry as I was... so I can see the humor in this. A little.

********

AT&T product specialists are happy to assist you with your questions. Click below to begin your live text chat.

Chat representatives will not have access to your personal account. This service is provided to you under AT&Ts Terms and Conditions and Privacy Policy.

Welcome to AT&T. My name is Monica. How may I help you today?
Monica: I am happy to answer your questions on AT&T services. I specialize in setting up new phone accounts and High Speed Internet service.
you: Hi Monica, I'm trying to transfer my phone service to my new address. Can you help me do that?
Monica: I sure can. What page are you currently on?
you: It tells me this: We're sorry, the product or service you selected requires additional information to process, please call us at 1-800-288-2020 Monday through Friday, 7:30 am to 9 pm and Saturday, 8 am to 5 pm ET.
Monica: What page di dit heppen on?
you: The last page when I had to confirm that I did want to move my service. It had already confirmed my service at my old address.
Monica: Click cancel order then say continue shopping.
you: I just did. But I don't see an option to transfer my service? I'm on a page that says "My Cart"
Monica: It should be further into your order process.
you: I don't understand?
Monica: Your new address should be decided later on in the order.
you: Okay. But what do I click on to begin the process again?
Monica: Click begin checkout.
you: It will not let me begin checkout. There is nothing in my cart.
Monica: What phone service do you want to purchase?
you: I don't want to purchase any service - I just wanted to transfer my current service to my new address.
you: It said that if I do that online, the installation fee is waived.
Monica: Correct. The order process online will allow you transfer but you will need to clarify your services.
you: how do I do that from where I am? Last time I thought I was going through the process, it threw that error and wouldn't let me continue.
Monica: I can help you through if you would like.
you: yes please.
Monica: Do you call locally or long distance as well?
you: locally.
Monica: How often do you think you will be using your home phone for local calling?
you: I'm not sure...the plan that I have in place seems to suit my needs.
Monica: Do you know what plan that is?
you: Not off the top of my head. Do you need that information to help me switch my service?
Monica: No, but I was just wondering if you wanted the same.
you: Yes, I want everything to remain the same as it is currently set up. I just need to change the address.
Monica: You can log into your account manager to see what you currently have.
you: What link do I need to click on to transfer my service?
Monica: Would you like ot see what you currently have?
you: No thank you. I just need to transfer service to my new address.
Monica: We have a phone plan for unlimited local calling plus up to 10 calling features for about $32 or less a month.
you: No thank you. I just need to transfer the existing service to my new address.
Monica: Would you like the numebr to call customer service?
you: I have called twice, but they can't take the call. They say that the call volume is too high. Can you help me do this?
Monica: I can help you transfer your service if you would like.
you: Yes please.
Monica: Do you want a basic phone plan with no calling features?
you: I want exactly what I currently have, I just need to move it to my new address.
Monica: When you order online you will be able to transfer your service but if you would like to transfer what you currently have, you will need to call. Online ordering will allow the transfer but you will need to clarify your current phone plan.
you: Clarify it how? Can't I just transfer what I already have?
Monica: Do you have an account manager?
you: I don't understand?
Monica: You can but you will need to choose each individual option that you currently have.
Monica: Would you like to start with the basic phone plan?
Monica: We have not heard from you in a while. Do you wish to continue this chat?
you: no thank you.

She's not....quite right in the head.

Look, I am well aware that I can't save every animal on the planet. I am also well aware that I am about one animal away from being "that lady" in my apartment complex. Heck, if I didn't live with the boyfriend, I would already BE "that lady." But, God help me, I want to take this guy home:



That's the problem with being involved in any type of animal rescue, I suppose. I see good dogs like this guy all the time, and I want to take all of them home. I can only dream of how much better my life would be with this good boy than with the jerk that I live with. Unfortunately, when I call the boyfriend and offer him the opportunity to get rid of his monster (who likes to torment me by hanging out near his crate, but making the task of getting him in his crate a holy nightmare) and pick up a new, better version, the answer is an emphatic "no." I guess I understand. I mean, heaven help the person who tries to take Casey away from me. But still...

So if I can't get rid of Tyson, can we at least adopt this little guy and expand our family? I mean, look at how CUTE he is!! At this point I am gently reminded that the animals in our apartment already outnumber the humans. Pretty soon we will be able to legitimately advertise as a zoo.

So I pout, I am sad, and we compromise by fostering the little guy until he finds a new home. (at which point I will cry and know deep down that it's for the best.) I can't save them all. The numbers are too overwhelming. I should be happy that I'm doing my best to make a difference, to show people that big dogs (pit bulls in particular) are not the devil incarnate. There's a GREAT article in a local magazine this month that is definitely worth reading on the subject. (Check it out here) But the article also highlights that it's a neverending battle to save all these great dogs. And this only focuses on the pit bulls.

So I'll remember this when I'm in school and classes seem overwhelming. I'm doing this to make a difference, right? So that eventually there are less cute little guys with no homes, and that even though I can't take them all in (I've seen Animal Planet. I know what happens to those people who think they can save every single animal they come across...) I'll do my best to make a difference.

(and maybe get to keep this cute little guy as well. I mean, we already HAVE an extra crate that's not being used....and once he's in the apartment, well...it will be harder to send him away, right?)

Colts - 20, Patriots 24

Tonight - I got nothing. I just watched my team lose a comfortable lead in the fourth quarter to a hated rival. Boo. I don't have any creativity left. So instead I'll post a silly picture of my dogs in Colts gear.



This is why I don't have children. Because I would take embarrassing pictures of them all the time and they would grow up scarred for life.

Success! (well...sorta.)

Contrary to what the last three days may lead you to believe, this blog is not always about Tyson. However, crate training is dominating my evenings lately, and it's much more interesting to read about than the Chemistry test I just took, right? By the way...

We did actually get him in the crate tonight.But what you can't see here is that the boyfriend is feeding him snacks at a rate of approximately 15 per minute. I'm not exaggerating. I didn't even want to close the door on him yet. I'm still working on getting him to accept that the crate is a happy place - not a bad place. But I think the boyfriend needed encouragement that his dog WAS actually learning and NOT the devil incarnate. So we closed the door. And Tyson was in the kennel. And he didn't make a sound between the 500 treats he was given.

Oh, and when the door was opened, he ran out so fast that the boyfriend barely had time to back away and avoid getting run over. Does that seem like a dog on the verge of being crate trained to you? Me neither.

And he still doesn't go in voluntarily. When I tell him to kennel up, he still looks at me like I'm an idiot. When I say it again, he looks doubtfully at the kennel and then back at me.

(this is obviously to let me know that he KNOWS what I want...he just doesn't want to do it. I think the bonus effect is that it makes me really really angry. I personally think the dog gets some sick pleasure from not listening to me.)

(Okay, so know that's not true. That's not how dogs think. But that's how I FEEL.)

In the meantime, as I keep saying "kennel up" to Tyson, Casey is patiently waiting to be recognized as a "good doggy." Please note the open door. She's in there voluntarily. She's such a good girl.

(Nope. No bias here. No favoritism. None at all.)

Unfortunately (for Tyson) his extreme love of food outweighs his extreme hatred of the kennel. So he'll eventually go in. But still in on his terms. So I get this.



or this



That's okay. For now, it's enough. I think we're now at Tyson 1, Emily 1/2

Is that a velociraptor in your living room?

So, Tyson's a stubborn ass, and I need a crate that can hold him. Luckily, the more I get involved with pit bull rescue, the more networking I happen to fall into.

This past weekend, at a march to raise awareness about bully breeds and breed specific legislation, I met a lady who trains dogs for police work. She also used to breed American Bulldogs for show. I had heard that she had a crate that was guaranteed to hold any dog, and I had heard that she would sell it for cheap.

The answer to my prayers, right? Um, kinda. Here's the crate



Is it just me, or does it bear a striking resemblance to one of the opening scenes of Jurassic Park? Every time I walk by it, I want to yell, "Shoot her! Shoooooot her!!"

But I guess beggars can't be choosers.

So the night after we brought the eyesore into the apartment, the boyfriend and I began training Tyson to actually get in the thing. Surprisingly, this proved sorta easy. You see, the one thing I have going for me in all of this is that Tyson is very food driven. I think he could eat 24 hours a day and still be hungry for more.

So I sliced up some summer sausage, and put my fingers through one of the air holes in the back of the kennel while saying, "kennel up Tyson."

Casey immediately ran into her kennel and sat - almost quivering with excitement. I could almost hear her thoughts. "Oh oh! I know! I know what this means! Look at me, mom!! Look at me!!" It broke my heart that I couldn't give her a piece. But she has a notoriously weak stomach, and besides, I had bigger fish to fry.

Tyson's first plan was to ram his head against my hand in the hopes that he would knock my fingers out from the air hole, and the piece of summer sausage onto the floor. His plan succeeded twice. Apparently he's not as dumb as he looks.

I started cutting bigger pieces, and bracing myself against his weight. As his plan became less successful, he looked doubtfully at the door of the crate.

"That's a good boy," I crooned. "Kennel up."

At this point, he ran into the kennel, snatched the sausage from my fingers, and backed out amidst much praise from the two humans who were watching the whole thing. The next piece of sausage went much the same way. And the next. And the next. Until Tyson would enter the crate on the "kennel up" command. I thought we had won. And then I saw this:



Jerk.

Apparently his definition of "in the crate" is different than my definition of "in the crate." We'll work on that next.

Adventures in Crate Training

Let me just begin by saying that I hate that dog.

The more that I live with Tyson, the more I come to understand his personality.

Casey is like the ADD validectorian of your high school. She really really really wants to please the teacher and get an A in her class. She's always paying attention, and she's learning as much as she can. When you want her to perform, she's going to do her best - as long as there is nothing bright and shiny, or loud, or unexpected....or...well, as long as there isn't ANYTHING to distract her.

Tyson is more like a student who really likes his teachers, and wants them to like him, but when it comes right down to it, he can beat the living shit out of them. So if he doesn't want to listen, he knows he doesn't really have to. And since he's more stubborn than 99% of the population, he's practically guaranteed to get his way.

Unfortunately he lives with me, and I'm part of the 1% who can trump him in the stubborn department. I may not be able to find my way out of the forest with a map, and I may not be able to say no to chips and queso, but I'm a stubborn ass when I want to be.

All this basically means that Tyson and I are squaring off for an epic battle.

To review - Casey is crate trained. She has been crated since she was the six week old puppy who came to live with me. This is her crate:



Crate training her wasn't easy, but even though I know she would never harm my cat, I'm of the opinion that dogs do not need free reign over a household. A) I don't have an unlimited furniture budget, B) even the best dogs get into trouble sometimes, and C) they're dogs. I hate people who tell me that it's less cruel to let the dog roam free in a house all day. It's not. They're still confined. It's just a bigger crate. They spend most of the time sleeping anyway. (And to those who say, "Well I wouldn't want to be in a crate all day." I say "I don't really want to sniff pee and roll in it either. That's what makes us different than dogs.")

Casey is used to her crate now. So much so that exceptions can be made and she can sleep out with me sometimes, or spend days at a time with me and never go into her crate. But when I say "kennel up" she's in her crate immediately.

Tyson is NOT crate trained. Before we knew that he was insane, the boyfriend purchased a crate for him that was identical to Casey's, put him in it, and proceeded to get ready for work. He had just gotten to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush when he saw Tyson sitting by the bathroom door. We estimate that it took him 30 seconds to break the welds on the door and shove his way out of the crate.

The next step was an airline kennel. It looks like this:



This one took him a little longer. It took him about 5 minutes to break the door off of its hinges to get out. After that, we did what any rational couple would do. We put bungee cords around the crate to hold the door in place, and then took the added step of facing the door of the kennel towards the wall (once Tyson was in it of course) and put the sofa behind the kennel to keep it from moving when he started trying to fight his way out.

That held him. It wasn't pretty, but it held him. We had just gotten to the point where Tyson was throwing shit fits (literally) when the boyfriend threw in the towl. I don't really blame him. I mean, he lived alone, crating Tyson was a huge pain in the ass and required furniture movement on a regular basis, which was unrealistic. So while he lived alone, the boyfriend basically gave in and Tyson had run of the apartment. He "loaned" his sister his crate to use for her dog.

Then the boyfriend and I moved in together. And you all know what happened then. But you've never actually SEEN the damage inflicted by the devil dog. Here it is, my friends, in all of its gruesome glory.





The carpet was destroyed within hours of moving Tyson into the apartment. Now, to keep our carpet from facing more destruction, we have placed an ugly piece of plastic over the torn carpet. Here's what it looks like now:



Note the cracks. The damn dog is digging through the plastic. But I guess I should be grateful that the door actually holds him in, right?

Since the day we moved in together, I've been telling the boyfriend that Tyson would be crate trained. I had visions of my beautiful apartment with an actual functioning guest room. Of my perfectly trained dogs who would go to bed on command. It was all too feasible...all I needed was a crate that Tyson couldn't break out of. Then he would learn once and for all that the humans in the apartment are actually the alpha dogs and are to be obeyed at all times.

I should be careful what I wish for, right? This time, I got it, but it's got a few unexpected strings attached.

More to come, but for now, I think the score stands at Tyson 1, Emily 0.

Make New Friends, but...

I think that's a Girl Scout thing. Isn't there a song they sing with this phrase? "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, the other gold?" I wouldn't know. I was never a girl scout... (no surprise there, right?)

But I think it's a valid point they sing about there.

Until just recently, I never thought of "doesn't have a friend they've known longer than 5 years" as a negative trait in someone. I mean, friendship is a tricky thing. Maybe some people aren't blessed with good friends. Maybe they're surrounded by idiots their whole life and can't connect to one single person. Maybe circumstances beyond their control led them to go through life with no close friends.

Then I realized that they have a word for those people, my friends. And that word is "sociopath."

I kid.

But seriously... the more I think about it, the creepier I think it is. If you don't have any friends that you've known for an extended amount of time, that says something about your past, about your character, about your ability to maintain friendships.... Am I wrong in believing this? Maybe it's not a really bad thing on the level of "jailed for rape," but it's not a good thing, is it?

I remember meeting a great girl (who brought cupcakes to the sorority house) in college. She was fun, she was nice, she was energetic... I immediately liked her. Early in our conversations, for some reason or another, the factoid came up that she didn't have any close girl friends. None from high school or before. None from any extra curricular activities. She said, "For some reason, I just don't get along well with girls." I was shocked. Shocked I tell you! The young, naive version of me swooped in and said, "We'll be friends. I can tell we click already."

Two years later, had I had a chance to re-live that conversation, my response would have been something along the lines of, "Well, if you actually respected your friendships with women and didn't always put men above them, not to mention that whole 'stealing boyfriends' thing, you might have a TAD more success at this whole 'female friendship' thing." This was the beginning of my belief that if you don't have long term friendships, there's usually a reason.

After a dinner last night with girls I went to college with, I'm left wondering exactly what it is about old friendships that is so great. I mean, it's not like you don't have new friends who are closer. It's not like old friends have to be a huge part of your life. It's not like sometimes you can't outgrow an old friendship... But one of the girls last night mentioned, "I have friends at home, but no one can replace you girls....I mean I have good friends....but..."

I understood what she meant, even though none of us could exactly express it.

Old friends sort of keep you grounded. They remember things that even you might have forgotten - but instead of holding it against you, they just know it. It adds to their overall image of you in their heads. Sometimes those are bad things, and sometimes those are good things....but they're very rarely false things. These are the friends who can call "bullshit" when you fill out one of those stupid MySpace bulletins like, "My bar tab is only $250" and it should really be more along the lines of $345 or $450. Maybe that's not a part of yourself that you want to remember, but it IS a part of you, and I think it's dangerous to try and pretend that it never happened.

At the table last night, I was thinking about all the different paths our lives had taken. We had two girls who were married, two girls who had broken engagements, three girls in long term relationships but not yet engaged, two girls with children, one girl who lived out of state, one girl in radio, one stay at home mom....you get the picture. And yet, there wasn't one awkward silence. There were a lot of embarrassing memories, but no silence.

I don't know exactly how to express what was so clear last night. The closest I can come is to say that we all have that friend we can tell everything to. We all have that friend we can call if we want to have a good time. We all have that friend we can call to tell us the real truth about the outfit we're wearing. But friends from the past have their own separate category. It might not be a huge one, but it's just as important.

After all, who else is going to remind you about the time you wore those denim short shorts and danced to 'Wild Thing?' (and have the pictures to prove it?)

Ode to Dean Koontz (alternatively titled: A Fond Farewell)

Ever since I stumbled upon "It" when I was a senior in high school, I have loved Stephen King. I began to read his books voraciously in college. I loved the way his books all seem to tie together in mysterious ways. I loved that characters from one book popped up in others. I loved how he alluded to other books in his short stories (sometimes alluding to a book that hadn't yet been written.) When people asked who my favorite author is, I instantly responded with his name.

But once I got through his books, the wait for new ones got long...and lonely.

So I turned to Dean Koontz to ease my pain.

Koontz is an entirely different writer than King. He dabbles more in fantasy (which I'm not particularly fond of) and his stories are fast paced right from page one. King's books start off notoriously slow and take true dedication to get to the fabulously bone chilling meat of the book.

But this isn't a critique of one writer's strengths over the other.

I never listed Koontz among my favorite authors. He was always a filler. He was just what I read when I didn't have any new books from my "favorite" authors. He was always there, and his books always satisfied. It wasn't until I moved into my own apartment, and FINALLY put all of my books on a bookshelf (alphabetically organized by author: yes I am that person) that I realized that the number of Koontz books that I owned actually outnumbered the number of King books that I owned. And I owned practically every single Stephen King book.

"Wow," I thought, "I must really like Dean Koontz."

The thought was somewhat of a surprise. Then I thought back to how much I liked Koontz's "Odd" books, and set out right then to the bookstore to buy the next one. It was the first time I set out with the goal to buy a Koontz book instead of just turning to him as a default.

Now, I'll buy the new Koontz book as regularly as I'll buy the new King book. It's tough on the pocketbook, let me tell you. When people ask me to list my favorite authors, I'll mention both King and Koontz.

When I found out that a friend of mine whom I have known for over ten years was moving away, the first emotion I felt was nothing but excitement for her. We were close friends, but never that "talk-on-the-phone-see-each-other-daily-consult-each-other-for-everything" type of friend. I started thinking about her new adventure, all the things she would be experiencing, and how jealous I was of the turn her life was taking. It added to my motivation to change things in my life and put them more in the direction I kept thinking they should be in.

Then, when I went to her going away party, it began to sink in that she was really leaving Indiana. Not that our friendship would end, but she wouldn't be HERE with me. My first reaction to that thought was a hearty "BOO!" but with rueful acceptance. We would be fine.

THEN I looked back over the years of our friendship. There were times when we didn't talk but once every six months. There were times when she would call me out of the blue with an idea for a new adventure. I always said yes. There were times she would invite me out, and I would know no one but her (and the person who came with me.) It would occur to me how different our lives were. How were we still friends?? I remember once being in the car with her when she critiqued the new color of a cross walk sign.

"I don't like those," she said. "The color is obnoxious."
"Wow. You really do have an opinion about everything, don't you?" I responded.

Pot, meet Kettle.

About three and a half years ago, my life began to undergo a series of dramatic changes. I had quit my (horrible) job, was in the process of losing my best friend, started dating a guy I thought I was going to marry, gotten over the LAST guy I thought I was going to marry....I felt like I was finally growing into me.

Around this time, my friend was also going through changes. In a job she didn't like, post breakup with a guy who was no good for her, had gotten over being "in like" with a guy who was unavailable and went on to dating a guy who was just as unavailable (though she didn't know it at the time....) She reached out to me with the following suggestion:

"We don't see each other enough. What if we schedule monthly dinners together?"

Like all other adventures, I said, "Sure!"

The dinners evolved from dinners out (my side of town, her side of town, my side of town...etc.) to dinners in (my place, her place, my place....) She cooked these fabulous meals with seemingly little stress. Meanwhile, I was leaving early from work, making a mess of my kitchen, and lucky if I had the table set by the time she arrived. They were the one event each month that I wouldn't miss unless I was DYING.

We had other adventures too. I need someone to go with me to Italian Fest. No problem. Butler basketball games? Done. Let's try kickboxing! Why not?? Latin dance classes? Awesome!

We had our last monthly dinner on August 29th.

I look back over the years of our friendship and realize that although I might not have appreciated it at the time, her friendship was as reliable as Koontz books were. Like Koontz, she was always there, and always made me just as happy as any others in my life. Sometimes I even had MORE fun in her presence than with those I considered closer friends. It's too bad that I only started to put her friendship front and center so late. I have a feeling I'll miss her in moments I can't even imagine right now, and those moments will hit me out of the blue - like when I should be kickboxing or want to go to the next "Puppy Bowl" at Animal Control.

I can only hope that the future is kind, and the distance doesn't matter.

With close friends it usually doesn't.

Things are definitely better now.

"You guys aren't helping my case any."

That was my friend's boyfriend. Apparently they boyfriend and I were not supporting him properly in his quest to move in with his girlfriend.

In our defense, he asked us how long we had been dating when we moved in together. the boyfriend said,

"Uh oh. She's going to get mad. I'm not sure....How long were we dating before we moved in together?"
"Hell if I know. Let's see...we started dating in March of 2004 and moved in together in June of 2006. So about two and a half years."

This is when we were informed that we weren't helping his case any. They have been dating eight months. He went on to tell us that they were practically living together anyway....he was basically paying rent at a place he was never at. She responded to this by saying, "But it's MY place. He has HIS place." Made sense to me!

"Well, the boyfriend wanted to move in together for months before we actually did. I was holding out....I wasn't sure it was the right decision. Plus, I loved my apartment."

This is when the boyfriend shot me a dirty look while my friend grinned. Then my friend asked,

"How was moving in together?"

"Oh it was hell."
"Oh, c'mon MAN!" (That was my friend's boyfriend.)
"Yeah. It was pretty bad. But things are beter now, aren't they?" (Boyfriend)
"Oh yes. Things are definitely better now."
"You wouldn't be able to tell me if things are still bad. Not with Nate sitting right there, would you?" my friend asked.
"Yes she would. She's pretty direct. She would tell you if things were still bad." This was the boyfriend.

"So things are better now? They couldn't have been that bad, right?"

"Oh, trust me. They were bad. They're better now, but they were bad. BAD." This is when my friend Dave chimed in for the first time. He had previously been identified as my best guy friend. Specifically, 'the person I call when the boyfriend doesn't answer the phone.'

Here's where the boyfriend and I tried to explain,
"There was just a period of adjustment..."
"Her cat was peeing on my clothing..."
"His dog is nutso. If it weren't for his dog, things might have gone a bit easier..."
(a slight pause while we both nodded.)
"The dog and the cat are better now. Tyson just chases her when we're not looking. He doesn't try to put her in his mouth anymore. And the boyfriend is warming up to the idea of drugging him...."
"Anyway, you guys don't have dogs...so that's a good thing."
My friend noted, "Yes, but I have a cat. I have him feeding the cat so the cat will like him."
"That is KEY. Feeding the cat is definitely a good idea." (this from the boyfriend. The guy who used to have his clothes peed on by the cat.)
"Yes, things are definitely much better now....except for that whole 'dirty-clothes-go-in-the-hamper' thing. He still hasn't learned that lesson."

(The boyfriend slowly turned in my direction and shot me a look of death.)

"He doesn't know how to fold," my friend added, pointing to her boyfriend.
"And I don't want to." he added.

"We divided the chores," I advised. "I do dishes and laundry. HE vacuumes and cleans bathrooms. That helps."
"AND I take out the trash."
"WHATEVER! That's a five minute chore, so it doesn't really count."
"Not when the ONLY dumpster is a quarter mile away from our apartment."
"Okay, do you REALLY want to add up all the time I spend on dishes and laundry and nagging you to vacuum and compare it to the time you actually spend on your chores? Really?? You want to have this discussion?"

Yep. Things are definitely much better now.

No basis for comparison

The following story isn't bad. It's not weird. I just have nothing (and I mean absolutely nothing) in my life that remotely compares to this, so it had an affect on me. My reaction is not meant to offend....I just, you know, want to share.

The Indiana State Fair was in town from August 8 - 19th. On August 11th, the boyfriend and I decided to spend some time at the fair as per our annual tradition. It was beastly hot, and I volunteer on Saturday mornings, so we waited until about 5:00pm to make our trek down to the fairgrounds. Since we live quite a bit north of the fairgrounds, and parking (and traffic) usually suck, the boyfriend suggested that we take the fair train. The depot is about 1 mile from our apartment, and the train drops you off just outside the fairgrounds.

Thus, Emily took her first train ride. Not only that, but we upgraded to first class on the way to the fair, so we got to ride in the first class car. Woo Hoo, big spenders, huh? It was awesome.

While it was my first train ride, this was not my first visit to the State Fair. I love the State Fair. Where else can you indulge in all manner of things fried, pet a cow, and ride a ferris wheel all in one night? (side note: there is a similar occasion in my hometown called the "Fall Festival" which I have loyally attended for years. However, the State Fair has slowly taken over the #1 position for my favorite place with fried foods. Why? Because the State Fair has animals. Fall Festival has none. I love the sheep. Bah.) This year, the new fried food was fried Pepsi. I kid you not. It was basically fried dough made with Pepsi with some Pepsi flavored syrup on top. Nate and I shared some because - you know - it's the State Fair. You sort of have to.

After the fried Pepsi, I had some fried pickles. Then, feeling thouroughly ill, I abstained from all other food for the night. The boyfriend played some of the (rigged) games to try and win me a huge stuffed animal that would then make its way to Goodwill, we visited the sheep, the cows, the horses, and the pigs...I rode a life-sized rocking horse (probably the oldest person to try THAT particular stunt) we took a turn on the ferris wheel....and then we made our way home. All in all, an enjoyable evening.

My mother had mentioned that my brother and his wife would be at the state fair, and why didn't we go with them? My brother's in laws were all in town because one of his brothers in law was playing the piano in the talent competition, and the other had a pig to show.

I was confused. A pig to show? "Yes," my mother explained. "A pig that he raised to show at the fair."

Oh. Okay. I had heard of such things.

I didn't think of it again until I spoke to my mother last night. Apparently my brother's mother in law had stopped by with wedding pictures for my mom. They met to see what each one had purchased and have some coffee. My mother also mentioned that she had received a surprise present.

"She brought me some pork chops. The pig got fourth place."

"So they KILLED it?" I was horrified.

After more amused discussion (on my mother's side), it became apparent that they hadn't killed the pig just because he got fourth place....it was just that, you know, he had been shown, he got fourth place....his purpose in life was fulfilled. He is now pork chops.

There are SO many questions running through my mind that I don't dare ask. Did they make the boy who raised the pig kill it too? Is it a rite of passage sort of thing? Did he smear blood on his cheeks like warpaint? Is he now a man? Who actually butchered the pig and cut those pork chops? Would I be able to eat the chops from a pig that I knew - even if only by reputation? Did I miss out on some experience of growth because I didn't care and raise an animal only to eventually eat it?

I understand that some animals are killed for food. I know this. I'm an avid steak eater, and I am not under the impression that there's a "steak tree" somewhere from which my succulent filet mignons come. I know that one person's "Bessie" is another person's overpriced dinner. I get that. But...I'm not eating MY Bessie. I'm not even eating a Bessie that I saw the other day (at least, I don't think....)

You might think that because of this reaction, I would never be able to handle the death of any animal... that's incorrect. When I'm a veterinarian (God willing) I will most definitely be one of those vets who cries along with you when your loving family pet has to be put down....but I will have no problem administering the euthenasia. Because, you know, IT'S NOT MY ANIMAL! I didn't raise it from babyhood, lovingly feed it, groom it, prepare it for show....

Again, I have no basis of comparison for this. I wasn't raised on a farm or anything like that. I do NOT think that killing an animal for food is wrong. I just don't understand how it's done. Maybe the relationship you form with an animal that you're eventually going to eat is different than, say....the relationship I have with my dog? (Whom I'm never going to eat, by the way.)

I don't know though, man....I saw those baby piglets. They sure are cute.

Back to School

I didn't realize I would have an "adjustment period" when I finally decided to just bite the bullet and go back to school. I mean, I've been in school before, and I've been working 40 hours. Doing them both together (especially when the schooling is in MUCH smaller quantities than my previous experience) should be easy, right?

Tell that to my boss after I've arrived at work an average of 15 minutes late every day for the last week.

Even though I've been thinking about going back to school for over a year (apparently I have decided that I want to be a veterinarian...better late than never, right?) the actual decision to take classes this semester happened rather quickly. Like, in three days.

Step 1) Finally call IUPUI.
Step 2) Apply/Register for Class/Meet with Advisor the next day.
Step 3) Send my transcript to Purdue to see which credits from Butler transfer to cover my pre-vet requirements
Step 4) Buy my books.

To be fair, I had done a lot of the ground work for these three days in the last year. I had previously spoken to my advisor. I had already contacted Butler and gotten a copy of my transcript. I had researched which classes I needed to take. So that's probably why my application/enrollment process was able to happen so quickly...but still. My life is still reeling.

For example, I now have class on Tuesday and Thursday nights. At first, I thought that merely cancelling all activities that happened weekly on those nights would be enough. Then I just decided to clear out all weekly events. Then I remembered that my book club only meets monthly. On Thursdays. Boo. I wasn't ready to give up EVERYHING. Then I discovered that while volleyball is only on Wednesdays, if I get homework on a Tuesday, and my next class is Thursday....well....

I used to make fun of my friends who went back for their Masters degrees and lost all semblance of a social life. "C'mon," I would cajole, "You can come out with us this ONE night, can't you?"

Now I completely understand the "No."

The first day of class was surreal. On the one hand, my brain was SO excited to be learning again. (Woo Hoo!! You haven't used me for YEARS, Emily! I was beginning to despair!) On the other hand, it's been, oh, about eleven years since my last Chemistry class (cut me some slack! I was a marketing major. We didn't have to take sciences) and while I thouroughly enjoyed my AP Chem class, I was only 18 years old when I took it, and since then...well...apparently those synapses haven't fired. Not once.

It was a humbling experience to be paired up with an 18-year-old and watch while he flew through his workbook problems, and I was still struggling to convert the speed of light from feet per second to meters per second. And how many feet are in a mile again? I wanted to tell my partner that I really wasn't as stupid as my struggling would lead him to believe. Just let me get warmed up and I would prove to be a proficient partner. It just takes longer to get going at this age, someday he would understand. But I didn't have the words.

In the downtime, I did enjoy talking to the 18-year-old. He was so bright eyed and bushy tailed. So happy to be in college. He told me all about his girlfriend back home who was still in high school. He was just so....eighteen. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I expected to hear the breakup story by December. Hell, let life crush him. For now, I'll just enjoy being around someone so young. It's got to rub off somehow, right?

Off I went to my Chemistry lab. I was paired up with two other girls and we had a good time getting to know each other. One girl was working 40 hours a week like me, and only taking night classes. I never got her age, but she couldn't have been much older than 21. The other girl was a full time student - a junior. I was relieved. Okay, so they're not quite as young as my previous experience. The girl who worked full time (Mandy) and I discussed the issues with parking, missing dinner two nights a week, and how long it had been since our last Chemistry lab.

Mandy: "It's been so long since my last Chemistry lab...I'm not sure I remember what all this equipment is called."
Emily: "Don't worry. I'm sure it's been longer since I've had a Chemistry lab. It will all come back to you."
Mandy (pensively): "It's been...hmmm...about a year and a half since my last lab. Can you believe that?" She then looked at me expectantly.

It occurred to me here that she probably thought I was around her age. Sweet! Misguided though she may be, I wasn't quite ready to end that illusion....so I just responded, "Wow. It has been a while for you."

I'm not proud. I'll take my warm and fuzzy moments where I can get 'em.

What's in a name?

I'm sure there's nothing my boyfriend loves more than long car rides with me. He's a self described "listener," while I'm a self described "barely takes a breath between sentences" person. During car rides to visit either of our parents, he's trapped sitting next to me for hours while I bring up various discussions in which he is expected to participate. Sometimes we agree on these topics (how dumb Bart Peterson is for his attempts to ban pit bulls from Indy) and sometimes we disagree (immigration laws.) This past weekend, I innocently discovered something else we did not agree on.

"If we get married, how would you feel if I didn't take your last name?"

(SIDENOTE: Now, before you girls start squealing about how the boyfriend and I are going to get married and how you knew it, and I'm too cynical blah blah blah, this topic comes up every so often with he and I. We've been dating for over three years. It would be weird if it didn't. However, there is no set "We are definitely getting married at this time," or "We will be married by..." It just comes up every so often. I usually say "If we get married" and he usually says "When." I have commitment issues. We all knew this. There is no talk of imminent proposals or impending nuptials. I'll let you know if there ever are.)

Returning to the subject at hand, my question was brought about innocently enough, and in fact, had been broached in the past - though with different results. My only friend who is married and did NOT take her husband's last name got married in 2004 - the year that the boyfriend and I started dating. He went with me to her wedding, and they are now one of our favorite couples to spend time with. I've known Vanessa since high school. She is one of the most independent, intelligent, and progressively minded women I have ever met. Of course she didn't take Gregg's last name. I was suprised she even got married. Their wedding ceremony was awesome. They took tradition and altered it to fit their relationship perfectly. (Gregg is the perfect guy for her, by the way. He obviously loves her more than anything, and he's confident enough to respect her intelligence and her drive and let her be her own person. To me, they are the perfect married couple - but it's because I have this unique perspective. I've known Vanessa since she was 10 years old (give or take). I've seen her grow up. I see how Gregg ADDS to who she is and makes her a better person by not changing her at all. I don't get to see that with all of my married friends. I'd like to think that all marriages are like that...right?) However, my (new) boyfriend (at the time) had never met her, and didn't quite know WHAT to expect. When he found out that she hadn't taken her husband's last name, he asked me, "If we got married, would you take my last name?" You could hear the hesitancy in his voice...as though he was thinking, "What kind of friends does this girl have?"

I said, "Sure. I've never really thought about it." And that was that.

Fast forward to this year when my little brother sent out invitations to his wedding. The one for me was addressed to "Emily and Guest." Whoops. I give my mom credit for really trying to understand and support my decision to live with the boyfriend pre-marriage (something that was obviously much more taboo during her generation) but sometimes she makes little mistakes like that. When I asked my brother what happened, he told me that all married couples had their invitations addressed as "Mr. and Mrs. X" and single people were addressed as "and Guest."

I thought about that for a long time. My first thought was, "What would they have done if they had to invite Vanessa and Gregg?" Then I thought about how the invitation to Vanessa and Gregg would obviously have had to have both names, and how cool it was that Vanessa would actually get to be her own person on the invitation instead of just a "Mrs."

Now, I'm not silly enough to think that my personality will change if I get married, or that people will think of me as "Boyfriend's wife" instead of "Emily." I think I've got enough personality to be known as my own person, and I'm pretty sure most everyone would agree with that. I'm not afraid of losing my identity should I get married. I'm just thinking, "I've been Emily S. for 29 years now. I've got my signature all down pat, my funky last name is part of who I am. It indicates part of my heritage, I get to make fun of people who can't pronounce it, and get annoyed the 75th time I have to spell it for my doctor over the phone. Why should I change? To show my love and devotion to my husband? Aren't I doing that by saying "I do?"

Which led me to my question to the boyfriend. I honestly don't know what I would prefer if I got married - since I don't have a strong preference, I would probably do what he preferred.

However, once this question was asked, I saw my normally laid back relaxed boyfriend, who lets me be my own person and do my own thing with a sigh of resignation and ready assistance if I get in over my head, dig in his heels and become a stubborn ass for the first time ever. Apparently not taking his last name is not an option.

But why?

I'm not trying to buck tradition or anything. I'll admit - once upon a time when I thought marriage was imminent, I was all set to take his last name and live in wedded bliss for the rest of my life. But I like to think that I've done some growing up between 23 and 29. I like to think that I don't blindly follow rules without questioning them and seeing how they fit in my life, even though they might fit in someone else's life completely differently.

He didn't really have a good reason for me regarding his strong reaction. Which is the point of this blog. Why is the mere thought of a woman not taking her husband's last name so offensive to men?* Are you worried about what other guys think? Ladies, did you think about not taking his last name, or did the thought never cross your mind?

Just curious. Again, since he has such strong feelings, I'll probably just go with what he prefers...I just want to know where these strong feelings come from.

*"It's tradition" or "Because it confuses people" is not an acceptable response, by the way Rob Padgett.