Am…musings

Ok, I’m writing a book review of a 4-year-old book, but I so wish someone would have forced me to read it two years ago. It would have saved me tons of time. It also would have rescued my friends from countless conversations as I tried to figure (various) him(s) out. Sorry to those of you reading!

So … I’m highly recommending “He’s Just Not That Into You” by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo as a public service for single women (and the friends they lament to).

The book addresses the “dating limbo” of unsatisfying relationships that women can’t seem to let go of. It outlines various scenarios and excuses women make. Not surprisingly, each scenario comes to the same conclusion … “he’s just not that into you.”

In terms of my love life, I’ve dated Mr. “Too Busy” and Mr. “Only Wants to Have Sex,” but I recognized those guys for what they were without the wisdom of the book. However, Mr. “Mixed Signals,” Mr. “Unable to Commit” and Mr. “Otherwise Committed” (yes, he had a live-in girlfriend and no, I’m not at all proud of that one) tripped me up. I’m the girl who always wonders, “what if” (as in, “what if I don’t give this a chance and he’s the one”), but really this book is right … while “he’s not that into you” sounds harsh, it’s more about women deserving someone who worships us, not someone we have to wonder “what if” about.

Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule. My neighbor lent me this book (I can’t remember why. We may have been talking about the movie coming out soon, but I secretly think she was trying to help me clear my head of the cobwebs left by Mr. “Otherwise Committed.”). Her friends gave it to her back in 2004, when R. wouldn’t commit and she was having trouble moving on. They broke up, but apparently he really just was into her because now, they’re happily married.

My regular puppy groomer has fallen off the face of the earth. She missed a pre-holiday appointment and isn’t returning calls. She had left Chewy’s hair a little long (the way I prefer it) the last time and with missing the appointment, he was very shaggy. He’s got a strange coat … curly like a poodle, but with a thick Bichon undercoat, which gets matted. I also think he may be allergic to kitties (Tiger Lily and the three he was staying with while I was on vacation) and his eyes and face were a little messy.

He’s never been the prettiest pooch, but he had a fluffy charm. And all the cute curly-Qs hid his gangly body and skinny bowlegs … not to mention his silly under bite. It also just fit his goofy personality (and his name … he’s Chewy short for Chewbacca).

But yesterday, I finally broke down and took him to another groomer. The results are not pretty (brace yourself):

I’m not going to name the new groomer because I think she had to do this to him because of all the tangles … although I wonder if the froofy-groomer in her kicked in because she just kept saying that he had an awesome coat that could … in effect … be tricked out like a show coat (yeah, maybe if he were prettier!). I just keep telling myself it’ll grow. And I’m trying not to make too much fun of him so he doesn’t get a complex.

Tiger Lily, the Stray Rescue foster, cried and glared at me from her little crate as I drove her for a home visit with my aunt and uncle. I don’t expect she’ll be back. They love her already. She just has to win over their other kitty and they’ll make the adoption official.

Do I miss her? Sure. I was even thinking about keeping her because she and Chew got along so well. But since I’ve returned from my trip, she keeps sinking her claws into my new leather furniture (I’m so thankful she didn’t shred it while I was gone!). There was also fish-gate. The dead fish was sad and gross, but I’m mostly not so happy about her being on my counters (and dining room table). I also have lots of pretty baubles/decorations and she is cluuum-sy.

I could cure her of those things with a squirt bottle, and with time I’d likely get used to them again too (she’s the first cat I’ve had in a long time). But the aunt and uncle really want her and with them, I’ll still get to see her fairly regularly.

The Christmas decorations are packed. Now, I just need the husband to help me take them downstairs. Oh wait … I don’t have one of those.

For some reason this holiday season was a little tougher than in the past and I’m not quite out of the funk. Maybe it’s because I spent Christmas week with two great kids (a 4-month-old and a toddler), and the time is coming when I’m going to have to make the choice to do it alone if I’m going to do it at all. It isn’t a choice I want to have to make. Or maybe it’s because I’m still a little tainted by the failed fall romance.

Also, being single wasn’t as hard when most of my friends were single, but those numbers are dwindling. Heck, most everyone in my office is married … even the early 20-somethings. Honestly, I’m personally happy I didn’t get married in my 20s or early 30s. For one, I had too much fun and tons of great experiences. I also believe you are still growing and becoming who you are in your 20s, and it’s the lucky few couples that actually grow together instead of apart. But I’m ready now … and it’s not happening.

I also believe in the power of positive thought and I almost deleted this post because focusing on what you don’t have is counterproductive. But deleting the words wouldn’t have destroyed the thoughts in my head. Instead, I’m putting them out there in an effort to acknowledge them and move on to a better (and hopefully a more romantically successful) 2009.

I began the New Year with one less animal … waking to an empty fishbowl where Jackson, the pretty blue betta fish, should have been merrily swimming.

Because you’re smart, you’ve probably deduced from the title the foster kitty, Miss Tiger Lily, was the culprit. Jackson’s person (yeah, that’s me) also must take a fair amount of the blame for her stupidity and underestimation of said kitty. I’d even been warned by my neighbor, who cared for Tiger Lily while I was on vacation, that she’d been trying to get the fish.

He was on a high-ish shelf in the bathroom so she wasn’t having much luck (I’d read betta’s like warmer temps and figured that was the warmest room in the house). However, his bowl was funky when I returned so I moved him to the kitchen for cleaning. While the fresh water reached room temperature, I set him far back on the counter, thinking he’d be out of sight. Most pathetic of all … I had lamely placed an envelope over the bowl opening. Seriously? What the heck did I think that was going to do?!

Honestly, I’ve never seen her jump on the counter (must be a new trick learned while I was out of town). She’s also the clumsiest kitty ever and I figured I’d hear her knocking over glasses and other items I’d hastily left on the counter in prep for New Year’s Eve at the neighbors.

Is a dead fish worthy of eulogy? Maybe not, but Jackson was kind of cool (for a fish that is) and very pretty. Also, there’s the guilt and my need to come clean about playing a part in his death . RIP Jackson.