I'm having veggie tacos for dinner, yum. I just got back from the dog park. I was on my way to the market, just driving past the dog park, when I saw my dog friend Jake, a big black great dane, standing on one of the tables. I just couldn't resist his magnetic lure, so I pulled a U on Barrington, not an easy thing to do, and drove back to the park. I like to hang out there, even when I don't have my dogs with me, because I like to play with all of the other dogs and listen to all of the stories people tell. I'm crazy for the great danes, I love to hug them. I would love to have one, but my animal situation is so far out of control, and Beau is afraid of big dogs, sigh, so it just wouldn't work out. Maybe someday.
Aside from the usual dog park folk, who I am slowly winning over, (they're tight knit, it takes time), I ran in to three separate friends, and everyone hugged me, or maybe I hugged them, but that was nice. I hung out with my favorite dogs' people and of course the dogs. I don't remember anyone's name, just the names of their dogs. There's Jake's owner, a petite brunette, who I've just learned is a pharmaceutical rep. She was telling us about how she is making little doctor gifts out of blue Mike & Ike's, and licorice, so they'll associate her company with Blue Shield. There's Kilo and Titus', (pit bulls), guy, an intense lawyer who went to SC, who I really like. He was clearly upset, and I felt sorry for him, because he had his vet remove a small growth on Kilo's stomach, and it turned out to be malignant, stage two cancer. I hate cancer, that may seem like stating the obvious, but I think it's always worth saying, I fucking hate cancer, Fuck you cancer! That said, there's Siva's (harlequin great dane,) dad, a nice, tall, brunette man, with a slight accent. Scott would know in a second where he's from. He's amazing that way, he can pretty much peg any accent. Siva also has cancer and it's inoperable. I just learned about both of these dogs today, and wanted to cry when I found out, but I'm more careful with my emotions around people I don't know that well. Then there's Honey's, (a growly rotweiller, who isn't mean but just seems so,) dad who I would have to describe as a kind of tough kid, someone who isn't exactly in touch with his inner feminine side, and probably smokes a lot of pot, and finally there's Mugsy's, (Mugsy is a cute little grey doggy who I could cuddle forever,) dad, probably my favorite person of all, a handsome, graying, middle-aged man, who just seems like someone with a lot of intelligence and integrity. He wears the same jacket as Beau does, and hates his job. I don't know what it is. Then there are a few other guys who mostly talk about sex and women, young women and blow jobs. I don't really care too much about them, but I like their dogs.
Beau has his friend Steven over. Pause, while I help him do his spelling homework. This was a long pause, argh. Every sentence, (they're doing contractions,) had to have the word play date in it. Only because Beau wanted it to. Mom wouldn't let me have a play date. I couldn't have a play date because I had homework. Mom said, "you can't have a play date," so I beat her over the head with a stick ; ) That kind of thing. We actually wrote that last sentence down, just because it was so absurdly funny, but I thought better of letting him take it to school. I can just imagine his mean teacher spotting something like that and calling the psychiatric brain guard to analyze us, either way, they'd think we were nuts. "But Miss Bienstock, (you just know she changed it from Beanstalk,) it was my Mom's idea, she thought it would funny to write that, I swear." After the homework, the kids fought over a bunch of magic cards I bought on eBay to add to Beau's growing collection. One minute Beau hates Steven, the next, he can't bear to be parted from him. Beau just walked in the room to tell me that Steven dropped
a hot wheel down the kitchen sink. Great.
I was just talking to my Mother on the phone. Talking to my Mom usually goes one of two ways, it can either be a relatively good conversation, or really, really, bad. This was really, really bad. I can usually tell when she's upset with me, there's a kind of withold of connection, a sort of cool nervousness in her voice, and I instantly feel sick. Talk about unhealthy enmeshment. I just always know when something's up. Apparently she just saw the tax attorney, if you've been reading my journal for a while, you might know that around this same time, every year, my Mom freaks out because her tax attorney hates me, and always tells her to use "tough love" and blow me off. I LOVE this guy, not. Today Mom told me that her recent stomach problems are all my fault. I reminded her that she had just had a big stomach attack on Friday, and that it didn't have anything to do with me, and she said, "It always has to do with you." Lovely.
I've been busy planning a last minute getaway for my birthday, (March 29). We're going to go to Cabo next week. Maybe I was inspired by Howie. I rarely get to go anywhere without my Mother. My going to Burning Man every year is huge move towards independence for me. This is another one. It seems strange that a woman my age should have to feel this way, but that's the way it's been, and I'm just realizing this now. I think my Mother makes it hard for me to do anything because she is so afraid something will happen to me and she'll be left alone. As a result she's been incredibly controlling and I've bought in to it.
Scott was able to get THREE days off, which is a huge thing for him, he's kind of a slave to his job, so we're going to leave Wednesday and we'll come back on Sunday. We're going to be staying at the Westin Regina. I hope everything works out. I want Beau and Scott to be happy, and I just really want to lay around and do nothing other than snorkel, swim, and look at the ocean.
I have so many phone calls to make and so much e-mail to read, blah. Back to the grind.
PS: Hi Maria XOXOXOX