Dogs on a Leash

I moved to San Diego hanging on the very word of Tony Toni Tone, who, among others, sang, "It never rains in Southern California." However, I feel like since I've been here, that's all it's been doing. Perhaps I feel this way because it's rare that I get to become one with nature anyway, considering the number of hours I spend in the studio. Nevertheless, according to the natives, the amount of rainfall in the past few months has been considerably uncommon. Notwithstanding, today was a beautiful day.

Today was also rather unordinary as I found time after my midterm to visit Target (as usual, going in for 1 item and exiting with 13,) twice (only because I temporarily misplaced my wallet and had run home to retrieve it.) I also enjoyed an extended afternoon run around the neighborhood and prepared a fabulous 3 course meal. And even now, I bask in the free moments I have to write this blog, which is mainly about my run by the way.

Now, my street has a few hills, three of which can be described as, "gently rolling," while one constantly scoffs at me in its monstrosity, at least when I ascend it. When I run around the neighborhood, I generally make the decision early on about whether I will run up the monstrous hill or simply walk it. If I plan to run a long distance before coming to it, I customarily decide it's not worth the struggle. However, on this day, I decided to push through my comfort zone. So, although I had run further than I ever had in the area, even getting lost at one point, on my way back home I chose to challenge myself by sprinting up the cruel hill.

After an embarrassing "uphill battle," I finally reached the top, feeling somewhat accomplished. But just as I began to slow my speed, out of nowhere (well actually it was out of the small opening from a nearby garage door) came a vicious, miniature doberman pincher, running after me at full speed. I flinched to start running away, but very quickly realized how fatigued I was after the hill. Instead I continued to walk away slowly, allowing the evil dog to nip and gnaw at my ankles while it screamed at me for nearly three blocks until finally I turned around and yelled back, "Stop! Leave me alone!!" If anyone had been watching me they might have found humor in the fact that I was arguing with a dog the size of my foot, but I didn't care.

There's not really a point to this blog except to say that the people on my street should keep their dogs on leashes, not their cats, as clearly stated in a previous note. Otherwise, I'm going to end up really cranky on a perfectly beautiful day in Southern California.

Car Trouble in Paradise

Living in Texas, I held a pretty clean driving record minus a few close calls. I was pulled over for speeding once, and rightfully so, but despite an unexplained gun in the glove compartment, the officer let me go with a warning. This I attribute to the irrepressible, heavy, southern accent that I brusquely developed out of nowhere. Oh, and then there was an incident involving some unfortunate scrapage to the passenger side door of my 2000 Toyota Celica, which was caused by a ginormous yellow pole that supported a poorly designed parking garage built for Micro Machines. Other than that, I was a golden adolescent driver. However, since moving to California, I’ve had less than spectacular luck as far as my car goes. As it is, I’ve lived in San Diego for a year and a half and can count a total of 6 incidents where my car has been injured.

Incident 1:

I moved to San Diego in September of 2007. By December my car was in shambles. I hadn't even escaped my work parking lot when I was rear ended by a giant German man, who more than likely learned to drive on the Autobahn, and thus thought it acceptable to take corners at 40 mph in a parking lot. And although he was helpful in scotch-taping my bumper back to the body of my new sedan, he stood firm in his belief that I was at fault and somehow I ended up paying half my required deductible to get it repaired. I do not like the giant German man, but I still like German Chocolate Cake.

Incident 2:

This one occurred when an angry male left a fist print in the hood of my car. I don’t recall when, where or why this happened, but I’m pretty sure it ensued my status as a single woman.

Incident 3:

It was a hot summers day and I was helping a friend move. My trunk was filled with mirrors, picture frames and other fragile items that hang on walls and look pretty. As I exited the freeway, I slammed on my breaks to avoid hitting the car in front of me, but the man behind me had no such luck. Instead he rammed me at 45 mph. My Nigerian assailant seemed less than apologetic, but nevertheless handed over all of his information including his phone number, address and insurance card, which I later discovered to be 6 months expired. I’m still stalking and threatening him but no longer regret refusing him a ride to a payphone to have his lifeless car towed!

(Side note):
$500 and a few weeks later my car was fixed and I was visiting the chiropractor 3 times a week. After an hour-long photo shoot featuring my backbones, the doctor posted my x-rays and proclaimed that in all his 10 years of practice and his colleague’s 25, neither had ever seen a spine like mine. I was flattered for close to 3 seconds, until he told me that wasn’t a good thing. To my dismay, my spine was not superior to that of the rest of the world. Rather it was lacking in any curve whatsoever - this would explain why people have always complemented my good posture, but apparently does not bode well for my future as a human. Being the skeptic that I am, I told him I wanted a second opinion and never went back. I’m still trying to get my back to feel normal.

Incident 4:

It was 2:30am when I heard a car alarm blaring outside. I didn’t recognize it at first since I’ve never heard the thing, but it turned out to be mine. I silenced it and peered out my kitchen window like the spy that I wasn't until I convinced myself the culprit was a curious cat. However, the next morning as I approached my car I noticed several things strewn about in the middle of the street… lotion, makeup, feminine products … all leading towards a puddle of tinted glass that came from my passenger side window. I made a police report, paid $250 to get my window fixed and went about my business. I got a call later that day letting me know that although the police lost the thief in a car chase, they did find the stolen truck, abandoned and full of untouched merchandise. I got back everything except my vulnerabilty and bag of clothes. My only guess is that he’s been dressing in drag ever since. I didn’t care about either of the bags. I would have gladly handed them over had he simply knocked on my front door and asked. It would have saved me the $250. This was the point when I decided to place post-it notes on my windows when leaving my car unattended that read, “I’m open! Come on in ☺ No need to break the windows,” and, “Wait here, my owner will be back to give you what you want out of me shortly.” So far, so good.

Incident 5:

I was backing out of a narrow driveway. My passenger side mirror hit a pole and fell off.

Incident 6:

On a voyage home from the gym and looking forward to a wig-party later that night, I attempted to merge into a turn lane and was blasted by the truck beside me. I climbed out the passenger side door after realizing the driver's side was lodged shut and met an angry driver who asked me what I was doing. When I said merging, she answered, “We don’t do that here!” Confused I responded, “You don’t merge here? Well, I’m from Texas and when we Texans need to switch lanes we just turn on our blinkers and the next good Texan lets us over. I guess I’m just accustomed to a little Southern hospitality, whereas you may never have heard the term. Maybe I can explain it to you a little slower…” I called the police so they could assess the situation and decide fault, since this chick was clearly not taking any. I dialed 911 and it rang 15 times before I finally hung up. I flagged down a CHiP (California Highway Patrol) who had pulled someone over in an adjacent parking lot, but he told me there was nothing he could do. We exchanged information; I climbed back in my passenger side door and drove home. In the end the girl lied about what happened at the scene, which left me responsible for 80% of my deductible. My car was in the shop for nearly a month and I was forced to drive something very similar to what you might see in Toon Town. I am currently on the hunt for this girl as well. She has some “splainin” to do.

My name is Susan and I’m a recovering accident victim. It’s been 3 and a half months since I was in my last accident. For now things are calm, but I fear it is the calm before the storm. Either California drivers are really gnarly, or my car is cursed. To prove my theory that its not my car and that California drivers really are abominable, I’ve decided to sell my beautiful sedan. Any takers?

Dear Gatorade...

Dear Gatorade,

Why do you make it so difficult for me to open your tasty beverages? Is it your ploy to make me strain and sweat for a long period of time because you think I'll appreciate your refreshing liquid all the more after great anticipation and exertion? Or would you have me keep an outfit of oversized, burly men to do my dirty work in the event that I desire a Gatorade Glacier Freeze Thirst Quencher Frost? If so, this relationship isn't going to work out. I don't know that many burly men, and rather than anticipation, I've been experiencing injury and frustration. Worst of all, I often envision myself with a Sour Melon Powerade in hand rather than the above mentioned - your Gatorade. I want to avoid a hostile uprising and a complete boycott of your product, and I am almost certain you do too. What would you have me do? Switch products or remain with you?

I'm so sincere.
Susan Dowdy

Cats on a Leash

Cats:

I feel strongly that they should not be walked on a leash as if they were dogs incapable of responsibility or self-reliance.  However, several of my neighbors disagree and choose to engage in this curious act on a daily basis.  I have good reason to believe that walking a cat on a leash is extremely unnecessary.  Growing up, my mom had Siamese cats that could open the front door in addition to making good use of the toilet, flushing it and all, like us humans do. 

My personal view on a cat's capability was formed in my callow years around the age of 10 (4th grade).  That year I began walking to and from school unescorted by my older brother who had moved on to bigger and better things, i.e., Junior High.  At some point early in the year it seems as though my cat, Billy, caught on to the fact that I was walking a mile to and from school all alone.  Now, Billy had always protected me... from spiders, snakes and birds in the back yard that were clearly out to harm me, but making sure I got to school safely was never a priority to him.  Or, if it was, I just never new about it until that year when everything changed.  

It started out slow.  Billy awoke early and waited outside in the wee small hours of the morning to see me off.  Within a week he was following me a few hundred yards from the house until I yelled at him to go home.  A month later he was trailing behind me by exactly 15 feet at all times and continuing the entire way to my school, stopping only when I turned around and acting invisible as if I had no idea he was following me in the first place.  (If he were a human he would have placed his hands in his pockets and started whistling while gazing in a far off direction and rocking back on his heels.)  In the beginning I was terrified that he would get lost and never find his way home, and so I made failing attempts to keep him in the house.  Yet to my surprise, ever day after school Billy met me a few blocks on my homeward trek, and we walked back together.  

I don't know the sort of risks Billy encountered during the course of a day while he waited for the school bell to ring.  But I do know that cats have at least nine lives and that they are quite adept to surviving on their own.  If a cat can walk a person to school and back, let's not deprive the cat of that which defines his very nature; that is, his independence, his mischievousness, his curiosity, etc.  Cats will go on a walk whenever and wherever, as soon as they're good and ready.  No leash required.  

Jock Itch

So here is an actual email I received from my little brother today. Keep in mind the fact that he is 8 years old.

Subject: Rainy Monday

Dear Sue,

I am at Dad's and I am bored. It has been raining off and on all day. I also have "jock itch" and I am about to sit on sandpaper. That or Dad will have to throw away one of the forks! Anyway, I'll be glad to see you soon.

Love,
Itching to do something