Where Love Resides Pt. 2

Guess what? The pity party is over. I don't need to pinpoint when I was in love in the past, or why it didn't work out, or live with angst over lost opportunities. I don't need to prove to anyone, including myself, that I've had great loves in order to give my life some sort of cinema-inspired purpose. I have love in my life right here and now. True blue unwavering love. This is where love resides. In the face of this sweet, adoring puppy. A puppy I found, or found me, just a few months ago. Who makes me laugh every single day. Who snuggles with me while we watch TV. Who counts on me to take care of him and protect him. And most importantly, and miraculously, who trusts me completely.

I didn't know Riley for the first seven months of his life so I don't know exactly what his childhood story is. I know that the Humane Society brought him up from a shelter in North Carolina just a few days before we met, but they knew nothing about his background. He adamantly refuses to tell me anything about his previous life - which I find very frustrating. There are signs, though, that his life was difficult. When we first met, he was so thin his ribs were showing. He has small scars on his nose that won't seem to heal. He has a large chip in one of his front teeth. He was terrified of certain rooms in my house - especially the ones with tile on the floor (he has since overcome this fear). If he felt he did something wrong, he would literally bow down submissively at my feet and wimper (he has since overcome this as well). But his absolute sweetness, his loving nature, and his silly antics completely won me over.

My biggest concern was the limp I noticed a few days after he came home. At times he would be running perfectly fine, and then suddenly he would pull up his one leg and hobble along. The vet said it was probably just an old injury and gave him some medicine. The limping seemed to get better, but I couldn't help but notice that his hip wasn't quite right. So back we went to the vet for x-rays. When the vet came back with them, she told me that there was one thing she expected to see, and another she didn't.

What she expected to see on the x-ray was that Riley's hip has dysplasia. The vet believes that he was not born with it, but that he was either beaten, hit by a car, or even possibly thrown from a car. I was horrified by this news. I could not, and still can not, believe that someone injured him so badly that his hip actually grew incorrectly. It is beyond my comprehension. His hip will need surgery to repair the damage.

What she did not expect to see was the big white spot on the other leg. What the hell is that, I asked. Please tell me it's not a tumor.

It's not a tumor, she said.

It's a bullet.

Someone shot him when he was just a little puppy.

Someone. Shot. Him.

This dog who runs to everyone he meets with tail wagging - was shot. This dog who sits at my feet waiting for hugs - was abused. This dog who lies on his back on the bed with his head on my shoulder - was mistreated. This dog who allows small children to pull his tail and stick fingers in his nose - was treated cruelly.

He holds no grudges. He feels no self-pity. He loves unconditionally.

He is my inspiration.

And he is where my love resides.

My House

Opinions are like assholes, everyone's got one. - Some unknown asshole

Once upon a time, young girls wrote down their personal thoughts in private books and hid them away under their mattresses so nobody could know what they were thinking. These surreptitious journals were known as diaries, and woah to the parent who happened upon the delicate reflections of the adolescent female.

Today, the diary has morphed from a juvenile source of confidential expression to an online world - 50 million strong - of HTML, images, and trackbacks - otherwise known as the blog. Young and old alike not only share their secrets with the world, but invite others in to comment about their daily shenanigans, private thoughts, and personal beliefs.

When I first started blogging, I was shocked that people would comment on my posts. They liked me! They really liked me! This is so cool! Now I should really head over to their blogs and see what they wrote and comment to them too! I hadn't realized that this sort of interaction was part of the blogging process. But hey, this was fun stuff!

I soon discovered that it wasn't always fun. Why? Because not everyone is nice. I know, this comes as quite a shock, but it's true. In fact, some people actually spend a good portion of their time attacking others. Others find themselves becoming too familiar too fast, making comments that are inappropriate and uncomfortable for the recipient. And thus began my love-hate relationship with the comment portion of our blogs.

The argument goes, that if you put something out there, you have to be expected to take the good with the bad. Is that true? Just because a person writes something on the internet, does that give people the right to vehemently attack that person for no real reason? Is it expressing yourself when your whole agenda is to hurt others when you comment? Just because you have the right to do it, does it make it right to do it?

I look at my blog as an extension of myself. Actually, no - I look at my blog as an extension of my home. Our websites are our internet real estate. In an increasingly crowded world, this is the one place where there is always room. We move in to our spaces. We decorate. We make it homey and comfortable. And we hope people will enjoy themselves when we choose to entertain. The thing is, in the real world, our front doors are locked and secure. People can walk by, but legally, they can't come in without an invitation. Not so on the internet, where our web doors are always open. Anyone can come in - anytime, and from anywhere. And because the rules are different, people seem to think that they can behave accordingly.

Would you walk into someone's home with a mask on, verbally abuse the occupants, and then trash the house? No? Then guess what - don't do it on the internet either. Going to someone's blog under an anonymous moniker and battering the blogger with insults and relentless tirades is no different. It's rude. It's inappropriate. And it's extremely bad karma. Don't believe in karma? Then good luck to you.

I find it sad that the rules of common courtesy don't apply on the internet. We are supposed to be a civilized society. I do my best to treat people with respect because that is how I want to be treated - both in person and on the internet. I thank my parents for having this sensitivity, for being able to distinguish between right and wrong. Unfortunately, not everyone was raised with a moral compass.

I can't control other people's opinions, but I can control what goes on in my blog. I know many people who don't delete ugly comments on their blogs because they feel that other people's opinions are valid and should be left for all to see. I disagree. This is my blog, it's my home, and I make the rules. If someone comes in and makes a mess, I have no problem cleaning it up. If that means eliminating obnoxious behavior to get that bad smell out of the air, then that's what I am going to do. I do not allow garbage to stink up my house. You don't like it? No problem. There are 50 million other houses out there. Go to one of them.

Fractured Fairy Tale

"You have four older brothers? And you're the only girl?! You must have been so spoiled growing up! Were you their little princess?"

I get this a lot. Clearly from people who did not grow up with four older brothers. I dont know where they get the idea that I had a fairy tale childhood just because there were four boys in my house. I mean seriously, think about that image. A house full of stinky socks, stinky boys, and stinky athletic equipment. I now know where I get my super sensitive sense of smell.

I called them "the boys". To this day I still do. And I'm not saying the boys didn't spoil me in some ways. I was theirs, in a sense, and they made sure I was included in almost everything. They celebrated every first - first new teeth, first day of school, first dance recital. They created my own corner in the basement and made all of my birthday parties the event of the season. They let me hang out with their friends, and taught me all about sports. In many ways, the boys raised me.

But boys will be boys - so my fairy tale is definitely a fractured one. They tormented my friends - especially those that were unfortunate enough to develop crushes on them. They tickled me until I cried, or wet myself, whichever came first. They insisted that I needed a bra for my knees since they stuck out more than any future breasts ever possibly could. I was their personal slave - it was my job to change the channel (no remote control back then, but then again, only about four channels to choose from), to keep them fed and watered, to never ever tattle, and to run all over the house to find whatever it was they couldn't find at a given time. It should also be mentioned that I have had long nails since I was a toddler because my brothers told me the only reason I had been brought into the house was to scratch their backs.

I say brought into the house, and not born, for a reason. I don't remember exactly when it happened, but there came a time when I was very young that my brothers felt the need to reveal the truth to me. I was not, in fact, their real sister. I had been adopted. When I was just a baby, a policeman found me abandoned in a basket and brought me to the house. He felt our family would be perfect since there were only boys, and these boys clearly needed a little sister to scratch their backs and do their bidding. It was important for me to be good, or the police officer would have to come back and find me a family to live with up in Atlantic City.

The policeman's name was Officer Krupke.

For years I would pout whenever the dreaded Officer Krupke was brought up. It can't be true! I had heard the stories about when I was born from my mom. How she could hear the Miss America parade going on from her hospital room when she was waiting for me to arrive. How the whole town made a fuss because finally a girl was born. How the prim and proper lady across the street came running over in her nightgown when she heard the big news. My brothers, the big poopyheads, had to be lying.

I remember in vivid detail when my brothers told me that a very special movie was going to be on television that night and that we would all be watching together. My parents said I could stay up late to see the whole thing, and I was very excited. I brushed my teeth and put on my pajamas and went downstairs to the living room. My brothers seemed to be more excited than I was, and they took great pains to make sure that they were all sitting around me when the opening credits of West Side Story came on.

I loved it. The singing, the dancing, the fighting! It was enthralling! How cool of my brothers to make sure I didn't miss this! I don't recall how far into the movie it was when I heard the Jets break into the famous Gee Officer Krupke song. I just remember that when the boys - who had been waiting for this moment for most of my life - saw the recognition in my face, and heard me scream "HEY!!!!!! That's Officer Krupke!!!!!" - they finally knew what it was like when they tickled me.

Krup you boys.

Karma

It's late, and I'm tired - and uninspired - and I promise to stop rhyming now. But I would like to go all geeky here and send out a thank you to all of those in the blog community who have made me feel so warm and fuzzy during my first week here. You have been encouraging, accepting, and thought-provoking. You have also been peculiar, twisted, and sick - which must be why I fit in so nicely. But most of all, you have given me more than a few laughs.

It's been especially flattering to be mentioned in others' blogs, so I want to send a special thank you to those that did this: Josh, Lemorse, and Kid Sis. Air kisses and golf claps all around.

So now it's my turn to send out a little good karma. For a must-read, check out MoDigli's blog, particularly the Nutritious AND Delicious post. Mo - I will be using that expression for the rest of my life. Thank you!

And since we are talking about karma here, I have to share this little story that I think of every time the word "karma" comes up. This is a snippet of a conversation I heard between two co-eds on campus last year. This is not something I read on the internet, or heard from someone else. I was actually lucky enough to hear this first-hand.

Co-ed #1: "He is like such a dick! You are so, like, better off without him."
Co-ed #2: "Oh I totally know. I am like so over him. He doesn't deserve me, he'll get what he deserves, like that whole comes around thing theory, ya know."
Co-ed #1: "Oh I totally believe in that! That comes around goes around thing.....uhhhhh .... Karma Sutra!"
Co-ed #2: "Right! That's it!"


To this day I wonder what they were majoring in. God, I hope it wasn't education.