A Plethora of Updates
I still haven’t learned to budget for the perks of being an unmarried twenty-something-er. Weddings, travel, entertaining, traveling to be entertained, travel attire, wedding gifts, shower gifts, baby gifts, birthday gifts, "just because" gifts…but it’s worth it.
Baltimore was beautiful, but busy. Very bachelorette-y. We had six girls in the bride's townhouse and, halfway through the weekend, a disposable razor was flushed down the only toilet in the house - it was out of commission until one hour before the wedding. That made for funny discomfort. The matron of honor and I drove up from Richmond on Thursday and
previewed the wedding night CD we made for the bride ("tap that badonkadonk") while we were stuck in D.C. traffic. I put together the beach bag of goodies for the bride. I had made a quick trip to Spenser's to buy a few things for the wedding night. It's hard to keep one's perspective in Spenser's. Everything showcases male genitalia. Even the most tame merchandise is embarrassing when it appears outside of the store. I asked the clerk to double-bag it and I wrapped it in several layers of teal and white tissue paper.
Thursday night was the quiet before the storm. Friday morning, the groomsmen arrived from Connecticut several hours early (7am) and crashed on the couches while we wrapped Reese's pieces in tulle secured with raffia for the wedding favors. The bridesmaid who knew the area left with a list and came back every few hours to drop off her goods and pick up a new list. By noon, some of us were slap-happy. The bachelorette party started at 5:30 and ended around 1am. We 
made a certificate for the bride's "release from bachelorette-dom" and gave a piece to each bachelorette participant. The bride had to earn her certificate through a series of dares, but she retained veto power. The best part - we got to dance. I didn't ever really dance until I was in college, and these were some of the first girls I ever danced with. Boys came and went and tried to impress us by sweeping us (literally) off of our feet. (Even with the most confident boy dancer, I always manage to screw up the spin. Maybe I'm too independent and awkward to be any good?)
The bridesmaid's luncheon, rehearsal, and rehearsal dinner were beautiful. I got a pedicure from a loquacious little pedicurist at the Greek-inspired salon two doors 
down from where we stayed and I bonded with a bridesmaid I knew mostly through stories. (My stories might be better if I could remember what all happened, but we were so busy even the day of the wedding and everything was so emotional, I can't keep it all straight.)
The morning of the wedding, I learned that my talent for tulle leaves much to be desired; the bride was so beautiful, I'm sure no one even noticed. The whole wedding was distinctive and elegant. The couple was married on top of Federal Hill overlooking the Baltimore Harbor, and their reception was in a room of the American Visionary Arts Museum at the bottom of the hill. She surprised the groom by serenading him with "At Last". Everything was beautiful. (Have I said that yet??)
Mike was incredibly helpful the day of the wedding, and I'm glad
he got to come despite all of the chaos leading up to the wedding. I wanted my friends to finally meet him and it was fun to have so many of the people I love in the same room. We left after the wedding and I crashed in the car while he valiantly drove the whole way to Richmond. I felt bad - I had sworn that I'd stay up with him while he drove. The next day, I made the long trip from Richmond to Tallahassee in ten hours + a 45-minute layover at South of the Border. Am I the only person alive who thinks the tackiness of that place is appealing??
A few more updates are in order:
THIS DOG'S LIFE
Bruiser/Buddy/“Cooj” (short for “Cujo”) has formed a loving, trusting, and affectionate relationship with my roommate; I still get the cautionary stare from across the couch. It’s so pathetic, it’s funny – my dog just isn't that into me. I’m his despised sugarmama. I’d be hurt, except I abandoned him for two weeks when we first got him. He’s getting better as long as I pretend he doesn’t exist. He let me pet him four times today. If I try to show him that I want our relationship to work, he becomes distant and hostile. He’s such a dude.
TRUE LOVE WAITS
The biggest news is that I've decided to defer starting my Ph.D. program for a year. I've been contemplating this since before I made my initial decision and, for several reasons, starting this fall would be a really bad idea. One small reason is that if I can get a few things (my car) paid off this year, I won't need to work while I'm in my Ph.D. program. Not having a part-time job while I'm in school would significantly increase my quality of life. There are other reasons, but that'll do for now.
FUNKY COLD MEDINA
The good news is that this new resolve has also inspired me to get out of my funk. I'm exercising more, eating better, taking more time for friends, and starting to read for fun again. Watch out, world. I'm going to take my time and enjoy every bit of this. Independent Tara is not dying.
Midweek Zen
This is going to be a cheesy and a bad post - I can already tell that. I haven't had enough time to process and I know that more will happen that will push these experiences out of the story rotation before I can write about them. You've been warned.
After a few days with old friends, I'm overwhelmed with goodness. I went to Gardner-Webb for roughly 36 hours to visit a few people that live in the area. Boiling Springs is a small town for so many memories. First, there was the four years of school, living in the apartments on the edge of campus, slipping on the mud as I ran to class, the old Williams building that still smells the same. Then, there are the memories from the year after graduation when I moved there for a job and other things - the heartache and growing pains that hard year. One friend used to run the perimeter of campus with me and we'd talk the whole time. We ran this again on Monday. The big things are the same, but the small details have changed enough that it no longer feels like home. (Then there was the time we played in the sprinklers and mud of the new football practice field.) I read stories and looked at pictures with one friend. Discussed life and literature and motherhood with another. I was sad to leave. That night, I went to Greensboro and sat up until 2:30 talking with friends and enjoyed some comfortable silence. With other old friends, there was some awkward silence. That happens and I'm okay with that.
Now, I'm finally with Mike in Chapel Hill. Yesterday, we split our meals between his friends; I'm inspired by their lives and their work. I want to be as full of life ten or twenty years from now. He's golfing with another old friend right now, and I'm about to go for a run. I have ridiculous faith in my last-minute efforts before a big event.
Big decisions about next year still nag me, but I'm putting them off for at least another week. I've decided to go on a thesis-bender when I get home - lock myself in my office at school for at least 48 hours or until I have forty more pages. No outside communication - just me, Ellis Island, Typhoid Mary, and Foucault.
The hard part is that Mims said that Bruiser is now completely cuddly and starved for attention, and all I want to do is to get home and play with him. I tell my friends stories about him and see their eyes glaze over, but I can't stop myself. I can't believe I've become
that girl about a dog.
And now, a little more quiet before the whirlwind-of-a-weekend.
Nuptialpalooza 2006
I'm on the first of two weeks of "Nuptialpalooza 2006." I'm starting out in Charleston for the first marriage out of my group of high school friends. (Another one is slated for early fall, and all of the other ones are in serious relationships. They're dropping like flies.) I'm with two of the other girls on program duty. This means that I'll have comrades with much better memories to help me when I am awkward and vague in my questioning as I sort through the messy mental files of pictures and names that have somehow blended from high school and college. My lack of a poker face is no help here.
Yesterday, we were invited to the lovely bridal luncheon at High Cotton on East Bay street downtown. The bridesmaids have glamorous jobs in New York City and San Francisco and, as they were telling me about them, I was alerted that my dress was being suctioned to the air conditioning uptake grate. Smoove. I practiced my best posture and not sawing with my fork.
For the rest of my stay here, the weather has been perfect. Last night, my brother and I took the top off of his Jeep and drove all over Charleston. We talked about our futures, our careers, our relationships...I'm hoping the rest of this week is just as enjoyable. This morning, I stayed in bed and read 100 pages of a book, had Oreos and milk for breakfast, and now I need to run all over town to find perfect wedding gifts and any supplies I might need to be the maid of honor extraordinaire next weekend. One of my best friends from college is getting married in Baltimore - the ceremony is on Federal Hill, and the reception is in the American Visionary Arts Museum. Tomorrow, I'm driving up to North Carolina to visit some of my friends in Boiling Springs, Shelby, and Greensboro. On Tuesday, I'm meeting Mike in Chapel Hill so I can meet some of his friends and Wednesday, we're driving up to his brother's house in Richmond. Thursday, I'm riding with the matron of honor to Baltimore where we'll try to make this the best wedding ever. I'm sure to get made fun of for how cheesy and excited I am - I'm bracing myself for that. By the time we get to me, everyone will be seasoned wedding experts. Right now, it's still a bit of us throwing our hands up in the air. (I love that phrase - picture a flock of disembodied hands being thrown into the air.) If we wait long enough, maybe the excitement will come back in style the way bellbottoms became flare leg jeans. (Yes? No?)
Before I go, an update on Cujo. When I got home from work Wednesday night, I realized that he was very perky, and that the pain medicine I had been giving him was making him drowsy and cranky. ($40 to make my dog in a bad mood - what an investment!) He perked up, started exploring the apartment a little more (with his poop) and actually spent the night between the couch and the end table. When I got home from work on Thursday, he was almost excited to see me. Usually, when we try to talk to him, he turns to the wall and blinks very quickly and tries to deny that we exist. He wanted to see everything I did and for me to pay attention to him without
actually paying attention to him. I was sad to leave just as he was warming up to us.
As I drove onto Johns Island late Thursday night, I got a call from my roommate. "GUESS who just curled up on the couch next to me and let me pet him??" Yes, our little Cujo Tinman does have a heart. After a minute, he remembered that he hates us and went back into hiding. Baby's first cuddle! I'm missing so much with my life on the road...
Time to shake the birdseed from my dancing shoes.
Mommy's Reality-Check
Neither my roommate nor I could sleep last night for our excitement to bring home our little bundle of joy today. I tested out several different "homes" for him and picked the one that looked less like a prison and more like a camp-y yurt. I also made sure we had an adequate supply of toys and treats. Time moved too slowly at work. At exactly 4:30, I left to pick up Mims and speed over to the hospital two miles from our house. It took us twenty minutes just to get there. Traffic was awful and we had a Florida storm, but we were giddy.
We filled out paperwork, met with the vet (from Elizabethtown, Kentucky), filled out more paperwork, paid, and then waited while they got "Hostetler shelter dog." I wanted everyone to know
why I wanted to call him Bruiser. I don't think anyone else really cared.
Finally, the doors opened and out came a dog much cuter than what I remembered. Mims wrapped him up in the green chenille blanket we brought for the occasion. He looked terrified and exhausted. We decided we needed a "Baby on Board" sign to warn the maniac Tallahassee drivers. Mims rubbed the back of his neck and he almost fell asleep. Finally, we got home. The rescuing and healing could now begin. (Note: He's pretty drugged in this picture.)
We took him outside, gave him some food - I got him to eat out of my hand, and that was the last time we were allowed within a foot of him. I coaxed him into his little home with food and he refused to leave. We tried to build trust by gradually moving closer. While I was out for a run, Miriam said that he went into the kitchen and used the bathroom on the rug that was next to the puppy pad. At least he was close. We even took his yurt outside, but when Mims reached in to help him out, he snarled and snapped at her. Now, for some backstory - when I was in elementary school, the neighbor girls across the street had a little black spitz; I could never understand how they'd love something so evil. I remember standing on a dining room chair and refusing to move until he was locked up. I'd sit on the highest bar stools so my feet would be out of the range of his teeth. He bit my face the first time I met him. Today, Bruiser brought all of that back.
Knowing we were getting a dog that had been abused was almost romantic. I could love it to wellness. I wasn't realistic enough about what that meant. Joyce Meyer says that "hurting people hurt people" - and Bruiser still responds from the insecurity and lack of trust he used to survive his abusers. In the past month, he has gone from a bad home to a loud and scary animal shelter, to a trip to the hospital where strangers cut off his hoo-has, and now to our apartment. Dude has been through a lot. I keep reminding myself of that. I cannot respond to his attitude and withdraw - I have to move forward with patience and gentleness and love. Then again, he is a dog. While I thought I had read enough articles to understand the psychology of a dog, I'm realizing that I know nothing. I have to throw all of that away and to watch and learn. The good will come eventually. I'll get to cuddle. (As I'm sure you've figured out by now, this is about more than just a dog.)
I think this is revenge for my years of calling mean dogs "Cujo." Now, I'm Cujo's mommy.
(One final small victory: as I was typing, I could hear Bruiser drinking his water. At least he won't be dehydrated when he pees all over my kitchen. More to come...)
I'm a Spicy New Mommy
If "spontaneity is the spice of life", then I have just become very spicy. For a very long time now, I have wanted a dog. I've been researching breeds and rescue organizations. I was even willing to drive ten hou
rs to get this little yorkiepoo:
Unfortunately, they were sold out by the time I decided I might want to go for it. I had decided that I was being foolish and a dog was a bad idea now anyway.
Someone in our department sent an email about how the animal shelters are overwhelmed with pets that college students have left behind like the sofas and end tables that now fill the Tallahassee dumpsters. The shelter was on my way home this afternoon, so I called my roommate and we took a little trip.
It was heartbreaking. If I had the space, I would've gotten one of the older dogs that are less likely to be adopted because everyone always wants the younger, sexier puppies. We knew we needed a small dog. We picked the one that gave the greatest quiet cry for help - an adult chihuahua mix. He started shaking when I picked him up. I took him to the play room and he nuzzled his head into my lap. He would explore the room and then run back to my lap to kiss my face. He also looked like a kitten when he played with the ball on the floor. I whispered sweet nothings into his ear and, while my roommate bonded with him, I went for the application.
I was glowing when I asked for the dog from kennel 37. She looked at me apologetically. "He's already been adopted. He gets picked up Tuesday."
I almost cried. I told her that they really should put up signs so people don't get their hopes up and fall in love with someone else's dog.
"Well, there is
another one..." Her hesitancy made me nervous. "He hates men.
Seriously hates them. He freaks out when any of our guys gets near him. When he came here, his skin was rubbed raw from his collar. But he's really sweet - as long as you're not a guy."
"It's okay - I'm in a long distance relationship anyway," I said.
When they brought Buddy into the room, he was also shaking. I could see where the fur was coming back on his belly and under his legs. He wasn't as affectionate, he wasn't as playful, but I fell for his buggy little eyes. Someone told my roommate that they are more likely to euthanize the dogs with issues. That was all I needed to hear. I filled out the application. On Monday, they will clip his little manliness and then send him home with us. We made a trip to Petsmart to pick up supplies. I was a little covetous of the Westies and Boston Terriers - I have never really liked chihuahuas, and I detest making dogs cutesy. The more I think about his quiet sweetness and the help he needs, the more impatient I am about Monday. And, I've decided that he needs a better name. He needs a name that makes him feel tough and big.
I think I'll call him "Bruiser."
Mondays in May
I don’t remember Mondays lasting this long. Last night, I got in from another (my official, originally planned turn) trip to
Memphis. I couldn’t leave Tallahassee until that Saturday morning because I had to take my Spanish language proficiency exam. Most people brought in an old Spanish/English dictionary. I brought in a grammar book, two dictionaries, and various writing utensils (just in case). I was THAT girl.
Despite my meager Spanish college classes where my amigos composed ballads for our cute, single teacher (such as “dar me some secretos puntos”), I think I did well. But I was pretty groggy because, the night before, I decided to celebrate the last day of classes with some friends at the Bradfordville Blues Club. I felt like a cool cat. The directions were to drive out to the northernmost point of Tallahassee and take a right. When you’ve gone down the road so far you think you’re lost, you’ll see two tiki torches on the side of the road. Take a right and head up the road that the DOT has only heard of in stories. When you see the cinder block building with a bonfire and you can smell the fish frying, you’re there. We were far enough from the lights of the town to have a really nice night sky. I hate that I’m discovering this gem as I’m leaving the city. I hereby vow to go every weekend that I’m actually here.
I was still groggy and humming from the blues when I started my trip to Memphis. I broke up the trip by taking pictures of the 16-foot tall scrap metal rooster, the sign for Tri-State Casket Sales, and Mollywood with its life-size Elvis. When I finally got to Memphis, we walked over to the pizza café to meet his friend for dinner – the first of many body-sabotaging meals. We were more productive than usual. We had three days where he worked on stories and I worked on my thesis. We went running several times, watched movies, played with his friends, and ate. I went pillow-shopping and for pedicures with my P.F. (potential friend). We also had a two-man whiffle ball tournament, several Scrabble standoffs, and we got caught up on episodes of Lost.
Overall, we had a fantastic time. I forgot how easy it is when we’re together. I guess I took that for granted when he lived here. One of his friends had a cookout at her vintage house. Both she and her husband are artists, and nothing in this house is ordinary. We sat around a bonfire and told our stories. We visited his buddy at his new job at the coffee shop just so we could give him tips. We napped. It was ten kinds of nice. That’s probably why today felt so long. Grades are due tomorrow so I’m double-checking everything. And I’m putting on the brakes and hoping that the summer lasts a little longer. OR that I develop mad Herculean academic skeeellz. This time, I promise not to be picky.
previewed the wedding night CD we made for the bride ("tap that badonkadonk") while we were stuck in D.C. traffic. I put together the beach bag of goodies for the bride. I had made a quick trip to Spenser's to buy a few things for the wedding night. It's hard to keep one's perspective in Spenser's. Everything showcases male genitalia. Even the most tame merchandise is embarrassing when it appears outside of the store. I asked the clerk to double-bag it and I wrapped it in several layers of teal and white tissue paper.
made a certificate for the bride's "release from bachelorette-dom" and gave a piece to each bachelorette participant. The bride had to earn her certificate through a series of dares, but she retained veto power. The best part - we got to dance. I didn't ever really dance until I was in college, and these were some of the first girls I ever danced with. Boys came and went and tried to impress us by sweeping us (literally) off of our feet. (Even with the most confident boy dancer, I always manage to screw up the spin. Maybe I'm too independent and awkward to be any good?)
down from where we stayed and I bonded with a bridesmaid I knew mostly through stories. (My stories might be better if I could remember what all happened, but we were so busy even the day of the wedding and everything was so emotional, I can't keep it all straight.)
he got to come despite all of the chaos leading up to the wedding. I wanted my friends to finally meet him and it was fun to have so many of the people I love in the same room. We left after the wedding and I crashed in the car while he valiantly drove the whole way to Richmond. I felt bad - I had sworn that I'd stay up with him while he drove. The next day, I made the long trip from Richmond to Tallahassee in ten hours + a 45-minute layover at South of the Border. Am I the only person alive who thinks the tackiness of that place is appealing??
