the disaster.

So, yesterday was a bit of a traumatic day for me. I'm still kicking myself for it. Yesterday, Nora got groomed. I wanted to get her groomed now so that when we move we won't have to find a groomer immediately and she will be decently grown out so that she'll stay warm. I don't know a groomer that I trust where I live right now. My mother trims her own dogs. When I trim my dog it ends in disaster. She looks like she was thrown into a tornado with random bits of hair left behind. Let's just say that it's no where near even and I get frustrated with the whole process. I guess I should get used to grooming her myself so that I don't have to spend that money while I'm in law school.

Anywho, this groomer is someone that I met at the shelter. She's young and compassionate. Kind enough to donate her time to the shelter to groom the shelter dogs. She told me that she had her own little grooming business on the side. Now, I think that just means that she grooms dogs and pockets the money. I doubt that she actually has a business that she puts the money to and then pays herself. That's one way to avoid taxes. I ask her if she would be interested in doing our 3 poodles (my Nora and my mom's two). She tells me a time and is going to come out to our place to do the grooming. Sweet.

She gets here and does pretty good on the top part of Nora's body. I told her that I wanted poms on Nora's legs. I should have known I was asking too much. The first time she starts trimming one of the legs, buuuzzzz right through down to the foot. So much for a pom. Now Nora wasn't going to have poms at all. Oh well. Then Nora won't be still when she continues to trim her legs so I walk away thinking maybe Nora will calm down if I'm not there. I continue watching it off and on through the kitchen window (they did the grooming outside). Then I see a classic mistake, one that truly pisses me off, she goes to trim Nora's ears. Any other groomer would ASK the owner before doing such a thing. And since she's incapable, she trimmed off about an inch or more! Nora's ears USED to be super cute and long and such a part of her personality. She moves her ears when you talk to her or when she perks up about something. I was fuming about this but once she started cutting, I couldn't tell her to stop cause now they'd be uneven. Ugh. I tell myself, she'll grow back and calm myself down.

Soon afterwards, she calls me to help hold Nora because Nora has just given up on being still at all. She thrashes towards me as I reach to pick her up like she's trying to get away from the boogy monster himself. I lift her up and notice that there's blood on her stomach. At this point, I point it out to the imbecile groomer. She gets out this blood clotting stuff and tries to put it on Nora. Now, this wasn't just any accidental nick. This was a frickin' CUT. It was a bit of a triangular shape and there was a flap of skin hanging. I barked at the broad when she tried to put the blood clotter on. I told her no, not to touch Nora and just finish the trimming the legs. That was the only time that I may have come across mean. I tried to collect myself as she finished trimming the legs. After all, I was just trying to help out the young groomer and give her some business. From now on, I'm sticking to old ladies--ones that have been in the business for years. No more young bimbos learning the ropes on my dog. She finishes the legs and asks me if she should do the face. She hadn't done any trimming on the face. In my head I think, "do the face? why so you can take one of her eyes out too?" But I say, "No thanks. And I'll give Nora a bath. Here's your money. Thanks." I don't think I was overly short but I was definitely dissatisfied. She felt bad though, I have to give her that.

She called later and asked about doing the other dogs the next day. Well, she actually said "Would you feel more comfortable if someone else did the other dogs?" I would feel more comfortable if you'd ask if you could trim my dog's ears and if you would have not fucking cut her. Of course, I say none of that. I told her I'd call back to tell her what my mother decided. As soon as my mother sees Nora's gash on her belly, she says that there's no way that the groomer is going to do her dogs. I call the girl back this morning and kindly leave a message, "My mother is trying to save money this month and will not be needing you to come trim her dogs." *Click*

I did cry about her cutting Nora. I'm now more annoyed by the fact that she trimmed Nora's ears than I probably would have been. I worry about Nora getting an infection and not being able to tell me that it hurts or itches or is seeping puss or whatever. It irks me that she hurt my little girl. Unfortunately, I will have to see her again when she comes to the shelter. I think I might give her one piece of advice--always ask before trimming a poodle's ears. Always. She's young and it's not her fault but it was the worst cut that I've ever seen from a groomer. I'm highly disappointed that I chose her. I couldn't have known though.

Now, Nora can't have any visitors for at least 2 weeks so she can heal and her hair can grow out a bit. Maybe I'll have to learn to groom her after all.

feeling the music.

I don't know really what exactly it is about music but I love it. I love the beats and the rhythms. I love the instruments and digitally enhanced sounds--ok, I don't love those. As much as I like to dance and enjoy the music, I think I personalize a lot of songs. Maybe it's my writing but I think that overall, lyrics are a very important part of music for me. That is excluding jazz and blues pieces without any lyrics. I still love those.

There's a few songs on this blog now. Most of them have some meaning or remind me of fond memories. Others remind me of not so great memories. Still, it's the combination of the emotion and the music that moves me. I quite literally cry when I hear some songs. Not every word of lyrics is applicable to me or experiences in my life. It's the basic sentiment of the song and the feelings it evokes. Maybe it's crazy that I let songs affect me like this. But that's just how it is.

I'm loving the song "teachme" by Musiq. It reminds me of wanting a relationship to work but there just seems to be something missing. Something that may be irreparable. But I love the song because he wants it to work and he wants to try his best to make the necessary changes. He wants to know how to love her. It's a question that more couples should ask each other so that neither party is disappointed because their significant other doesn't know what they want.

The song "White Flag" by Dido reminds me of an ex in college. It also makes me think about my own stubbornness. Going down with the ship, no matter what. "I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder." Damn stubborn. No white flag.

"Water Runs Dry" by Boyz II Men just serves as a reminder. "Why do we hurt each other? Why do we push love away?" Reminds me that the petty things are not important when it comes to a relationship. "Some people will work things out and some just don't know how to change." You care about someone for who they are and shouldn't let the petty things taint the relationship.

"This joint right here makes me want to.... whooo!" MJ is awesome. Her song "Just Fine" is my uplifting song reminded me that my life is pretty good already. Yeah, there's some things I'd love to have but overall, "I wouldn't change my life, my life's just fine."

The song "So Simple" was a favorite song of mine some time the year before last. I'm sure that it was referencing a relationship that I was going through at the time. I don't really remember right now. But I do know, it's not so simple.

Ms. Alicia Keys is one of my favorite artists. Her song "Wreckless Love" was one of those that brought me to tears. It just reminds me of the beginning of some relationships I've had. When it's fabulous and fun. When you do spontaneous things and "just could not get enough of it." Then things change or the flame is lost for some reason or another. And we reminisce on what used to be and want it back. Sometimes, I miss the wreckless love.

"The Way that I love you" by Ashanti is just a song that talks about cheating. I got cheated on in college. "I found out we were living a lie." It also reminds me of high school when my high school sweetheart married someone else. "I know now that you don't love me the same, the way that I love you." The wedding was a shock. I got the invite 5 months after we broke up. Tough times.

"hey there delilah" is just the perfect love song--if there is such a thing. He just compliments her throughout the song. Making a long distance relationship work. Looking to the future. Beautiful.

"Come Close" is one of my favorite songs. I used to wear green contacts in college. I had a friend that used to ask me if my eyes were still green. Another love song.

I was once told that "One wish" should be our song by the person I was dating at the time. It was after some drama in the relationship and we were searching for ways to fix it. He mentioned this song. I'm not sure how he randomly chose this song. "If I had one wish, we'd be best friends." Sweet and hopeful.

"Let Me Love You" brings back flashes of almost being thrown down some stairs by my ex until his roommate grabbed him and started fighting him. Somehow, I still cared for him. And stayed too long after that display of violence. You can't change them. You just can't. For a long time, I couldn't listen to that song without tearing up and my heart just aching and feeling like I wanted to vomit, all at the same time.

"I promise myself I will love me first genuinely." I had to get to this point to pick up the pieces. "I remember" is somehow an encouraging song. The love is over but it's for the best. No reason to lose oneself for the sake of another.

I could go on and on about songs and what they've meant in relation to my life. I'll spare you though. All of the aforementioned songs are in my playlist below.

"These words are my own. From my heart flow." ~ Natasha Bedingfield

the table. a short story.

My father is a dry alcoholic. Well, "dry" is not far as he no longer gets obliterated. He drinks maybe a drink or two a day. That's all. He has better control of the quantity of alcohol that he drinks. Mostly because he knows that he's a bastard when he's drunk. His drink of choice is vodka. I personally hate vodka. It makes me want to vomit maybe because the thought of him makes me want to vomit.

I remember the worst night ever. I'd done something minimal but like usual it was unsavory enough to him that he decided to take it into his own hands, literally. He slapped me in the face as hard as he could. My left cheek stung. I scuffled under the table to get away from him. My entire family--my siblings and my mother--just stood there as he went after me. He was yelling.

"Come here. Get the fuck from under the table."

He jerked the chairs away from the table, stripping my buffer with each chair grabbed. He finally pulled me from under the table and hit me again and again with his open fist. He hit my face and my body. He didn't care where he hit me--just as long as I shrieked and coiled away from him. He loved the power and thrill of the moment. I was deathly afraid of him. I loved him purely out of fear. Fear of what he would do if he ever suspected that I didn't love him. But truly, I didn't. And I hated my mother for letting it all happen.

I grew up with bruises. My thighs and legs were consistently concealed throughout childhood for fear that the school would discover my bruises and ask questions. I couldn't deal with the questions. I might have cried. I might have revealed too much about my father. After all, he was my father. I felt bad. He hurt me and my mother but that's how it was. I had to be stronger than that. I had to.

He beat me nearly unconscious. I didn't know what all had happened by the end of it. My mother told me years later that she let it happen because she wanted me to know the man that he was. She wanted me to know the "real" father that I had. She wanted me not to idealized him so much. She wanted me to know just how much of a bastard he was, so she let him beat me. In front of my siblings, maybe they'd realize it too. He wasn't such a good man. And still, to this day, I fear him. What kind of a mother purposely instills such fear in her children?

That table was my only barrier. My only hope of getting away. It didn't stop him. He still grabbed me and beat me. He still did whatever he pleased. He still fucked whatever broad that he fancied. He still assaulted me. He still lives in my nightmares.

The addiction was alcohol. The addiction was power. The addiction controlled his life. The addiction destroyed other lives. Yet, he never acknowledged it. He never acknowledged the pain that he inflicted. Never.

blah.

I can't stand when I go through these negative times. I've not have completely positive thoughts this week. I get nervous about going to law school. I wonder if maybe I'm just supposed to grow up to be a dog trainer. I love working with animals. But then I think, I love working with people too. Law school will open up doors for me to do some of the work I've wanted to do. Finally, I will have the education to do so.

I also wonder if I should just go to the first law school I've gotten into. I'm super psyched about getting into this school but then I wonder if maybe I should just go to the cheapest school so I can get out of debt the fastest possible. I look forward to being somewhere were I have more friends. I miss the daily interactions of seeing friends or even the weekly interactions. I miss having good friends close by. Luckily, I've gotten to hang out with some friends here. It just seems so different because my friends here are getting married or are married and I haven't even found someone who will date me longer than a year. The one time that I've been proposed to, the man was one some serious drugs and had a brain injury. I'm not even sure I can count it as a proposal. It should probably be more of a spontaneous comment by a non-well man.

I want to do what I'm supposed to do. I want to do what will make me happy but I'm not sure that I even know what that is at times. There are so many variables that I do not have control over. All I can do know is move forward. Pursue what I think might be right and see what happens. If nothing else, I can quit law school and become a dog trainer. An interesting life story, at least.

Skunk, possum and snake.

So... days in my family are never dull! Today I get a phone call from my mom. She starts explaining to me that she heard the dogs barking outside ferociously and not stopping. She walks out the back door and sees a skunk between the two dogs (a Brittney spaniel and a good sized mutt) and a mule and a horse. The mule was pawing at the skunk trying to kill it. The dogs were barking and jumping at the skunk. I tell my mom that the skunk has to be rabid. Skunks are nocturnal and do not come out during the day. If a skunk is out during the day, there is something wrong. The other hint was that the skunk was trying to fight all of the 4 animals surrounding him. Skunks aren't natural fighters. Mom tells me that she shot the skunk twice already but it wasn't dead. Rabid animals are harder to kill, more resilient. She wanted me to find out what she needed to do with the skunk once she killed it.

I made some phone calls and found out that the rabid skunk needed to be buried or burned. I call back to tell her that. By then, my brother had gotten home from school. They were both outside trying to find the skunk. Now, they believed that there was a skunk and babies. The skunk had run into the hay barn after my mother shot it. I got home a few minutes later. They called me over to help chase the skunk and its babies out. My brother managed to move a piece of wood in the pile they were hiding under and saw that there was a skunk AND a possum. The skunk had the possum by the tail. It was biting the possum's tail. Now, possums are disgusting creatures. There's a picture of a possum to the right. Still, I feel less bad about killing a possum. My brother hands me a gun and he holds one as my mother prepares to shake the wood pile and frighten the two nasty creatures out. They run out and run away from me. My brother shoots at hits the possum. My mother takes the shotgun from me and shoots into the hay barn once the skunk and the possum came into sight. She hit both of them because the shell has little tiny balls that spread. The skunk dies but the possum keeps running. My brother runs around the barn as we try to catch the damn thing. The last thing we need is some rabid animal running free. Eventually, it would die somewhere and whatever animal eats the carcass will also be infected with rabies. My brother finds it and shoots it. The thing finally dies. I'm looking at it and I say, "there's a snake inside the possum or it's still breathing." I could see something moving but I wasn't sure if the animal was still breathing or if something was under it. My brother puts the gun a couple feet from the possum's head and pulls the trigger.

Now, we have to figure out a way to dispose of the bodies. My mom goes back to the house to get some paper to burn on the bottom of the barrel that we are going to burn them in. I go to shovel the nasty, nasty possum up and can't get it to stay on the damn shovel. Finally, my brother gets it on the shovel and hands it to me. I take the shovel. That's when I see it. The possum's belly is still moving because there are baby possums (disgusting rat looking things and I HATE rats) in its pouch. I try to hurry and carry the shovel over to the pit but at this point I'm super upset and disgusted. I hand the shovel to my little brother and bend over. I feel like I'm about to puke. I didn't though. We loaded the burning barrel full of paper and then put the possum body in. I went back to the barn with the shovel and picked up the skunk. I took the skunk over to the barrel and we light the thing on fire. Immediately, we all go inside and shower and wash all of our clothes. Luckily, we never got sprayed directly. Still, we smelled like skunk.

I think I'm going to have nightmares about the ugly little rat-like possum babies. They also make this horrible shrieking noise. Once we found them under the wood pile they all made this horrible noise. It's almost like scratching your nails across a chalkboard. That kind of awful noise. I despise those little disgusting creatures. Still, life is never dull on the ranch.