Matthew and I are at a Mexican stand off about a dog. He blogged about it here. Our disagreement over the possibility of adding a new dog to our family has become so overwrought and tense that we've pretty much determined not to talk about it. Except we keep talking about it. We can't see eye-to-eye at all. I want a small toy dog breed of my choice from a reputable breeder. He wants a shelter dog. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with shelter dogs--our own Blanche was a rescue and she's a baby angel--but there are a few very specific breeds I am interested in that are rare enough that they can't be found at shelters. He actually said, "See this? Foot, down. And you know I'm not changing my mind once my foot is down." I don't want to change my mind either. So, both barrels smoking, we stand staring each other in the eyes, waiting for the other to cave. I predict we end up with no dog.
I'm also distraught over my job situation. This whole "taking control of the destiny I can cantrol" thing isn't moving as fast as I'd like. It turns out that taking control of your life is a slow and arduous process on a winding road with no sign posts or blue emergency call boxes. I wait. I send out resumes. I wait. I get phone interviews. I wait. I send out more resumes. I didn't realize I was so unemployable. I'm taking classes on the type of librarianship I'd like to transition into, so I feel like that's something I'm controlling. I'm also going to launch Plan C on Monday. See how bad it is? Plans A and B are stalled out. Not terminated, just not rolling either.
I've secretly been using "The Secret" to project my positive energy into the universe and draw in the good things I need. Learning the fight songs and the mission statements of the libraries I want to work at don't seem to be doing it though. But you should see my fight song performance ;)
Should I apply "The Secret" to the dog situation? Will learning the breed history and AKC recognized color variations bring my dog closer? (One breed is black only, so I have to learn something else.) I've been imagining the dog purse I'm going to sew so I can secretly tote it into work and sneak it out for pee breaks while it's house training. Is that good enough? Should I imagine pee breaks at the library I want to work at?
I'm not actually sure how this "Secret" stuff is supposed to work. Personally, I think the author is one of those weird savants made genius and manic by a brain tumor in a fortunate location. Or she's a genius of taking in suckers and making a fortune off a bogus guru book. I don't know. I like the tumor story because in a review I read of her book, they said she basically claimed that you drew cancer to you. But wait! Let's interpret that differently. I'm astrologically a Cancer. So shouldn't everyone be drawing me to them? OK, that's my new theory. People are calling me. And dogs. Dogs are calling me.
** Phone call. Matthew has declared "No dog." I guess nobody wins in a Mexican stand off.
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3 comments:
X-tine:
put a picture of the EXACT dog that you want on your desk at work or in your wallet.
I must have said I wanted a pug about 10 friggen trillion times, and now I've got one snoring, slobbering and getting white fur all over my jacket. (and, I also put a picture of one in my wallet, and a tiny one on my desk.) I thought I'd have to go thru a breeder, and spend a lot, and it turned out, she came to us as a foster dog with potential of being adopted by us.
what kind of dog do you want?
:0) hope
I want an affenpinscher with all my adorable, precious, little monkey-face heart (affenpinscher means monkey-face dog in German, I'm told).
Matthew and I may have reached an agreement--rescued pug. I hadn't even thought of your Winnie Winston when I brought a pug option up, but he agreed this might be something we can both live with. (Although it won't fit in my purse, and I can't give it the secret name I already picked out for it.)
The universre will guide us in some direction, I'm sure.
You want a little dog? Like a little Paris Hilton mongrel? I see those young, hot, leopard skin clad, amateur porn star looking bitches all the time strutting there stuff down terminal three on their way to Vegas of course, roller board/ dog cage in tow, matching purse dangling in hand. The annoying fashion accessory aggressively yelping away! Back in the glamour days of travel only hard working service dogs, as in like a guide dog for the visually impaired were allowed in the passenger cabin. There were a few exceptions to rule, like for example big time movie star celebrity dogs. Hell yeah, Lassie gets to ride in first class! But now sadly it's the year 2008. - the year of the little pint size therapy dog. All one needs is a note from the doc documenting that they're prone to high anxiety and need travel at all times with a pint size dog in their lap, petting away as if there life depends on in. The little therapy dog. Or I guess it doesn't have to be a dog at all. A cat or in fact a bird will do. Why not a toad? Tom is crazy. He has a toad. " I cannot travel with out my toad. The calming effects of watching her piss on my hand are invaluable".
I hate little dogs. I'm siding with Matthew.
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