Dead Squirrels Tell No Tales

But girls who had to touch a dead squirrel yesterday do.

So I decided to walk both dogs around the neighborhood yesterday. My roommate is out of town, and they were driving me crazy in the house.

Petunia is a 40 lb Bassett Hound/English Coonhound mix.

Campbell is a probably 90 lb Black Lab mix (I stole this pic off my roommate's FB...Campbell doesn't do good at sitting still.)

So, to recap, I took 130 lbs of dog, both of whom love to pull on the leash and hate squirrels, out by myself. I'm not tiny, but I'm 5'3" and a far cry from stout. 

We get about 5 blocks in when they both stop. Nothing weird about that, since they both love smelling things. And then I hear Petunia snarl. And Campbell bark. And then a sort of squishy ripping sound. I turn around, because I've walked ahead of them...and see them ripping apart a dead squirrel. 

I thought, at first, that they had caught a squirrel. But live squirrels neither smell like that nor are quite that...stiff. I absolutely do not want them to 1) eat a dead squirrel, 2) eat a dead squirrel and then lick me, 3) eat a dead squirrel, lick each other, and then sit near me, or 4) bring the dead squirrel home with them. So, with Petunia in my left hand and Campbell in my right, on leashes, I tried to take the squirrel away. 

I tried to say, "DROP IT!" but that did nothing. 

I begged for them to "LEAVE IT!" but nothing. 

I tried to pull them away. They're big and strong and it didn't really take care of the fact that they each had tufts/body of squirrel in their mouths. 

So I did what I had to. I put Petunia's leash on my ankle and wrapped Campbell up as tight as I could get him. And then, stretched out on the sidewalk in the super rich part of my neighborhood with dogs on each side and cussin' up a storm, I grabbed the squirrel. 

I would like to say that, at this point, I was a real grownup about it. I'd like to say that I tossed the squirrel in the grass, said a tiny prayer for its tiny soul, and took the dogs home where I wiped them down and calmly washed my hands. I'd like to say that I did all of that. 

I screamed like a little girl, jumped around some, screamed some more, and ran home, with the dogs, who I immediately put in their crates while I took a shower. Then I brushed their teeth. And took a shot. And drank a beer. And took another shower. 

And then I watched tv and ate ice cream and remembered why I don't hunt/camp/do anything outdoors that requires touching dead things. 

These guys, however, were totally fine, if a little miffed that I didn't let them keep their prize. 

Dating

"I've been dating since I was 15! I'm exhausted! Where is he?" - Charlotte York

Dating is awful. It's even worse when you thought you'd never have to do it again.

Luckily, however, for all the awful, there's plenty of funny too. The title of my memoir, if it's not "Bits be Damned," will absolutely be "No One Needs Thirty Three Ferrets." (Yes, I went on a date with a guy who had 33 ferrets. No, I'm not proud.)

But sometimes, even the funny starts to wear on you. I don't mean to complain. Getting attention is nice. Dates are often nice. Having fun date stories to tell your girlfriends is great. But after awhile, is there anyone who doesn't start to think, "my god...is it me?"

In the last year, I have gone on probably 20 dates. Let's recap:

-The guy who was SO BORING I couldn't hold a conversation with him, who then suggested we go out, in Collierville (which is a billion miles away from Midtown), didn't pay for my lunch, then texted me later to say that I had "too much personality," which some people might like, but he didn't.

-Another guy who was really boring, and didn't even have any funny/ridiculous distinguishing features to mock.

-The date that never happened with dick-pic. A never-ending saga of unsolicited pictures continues to this day.

-The "good horse in the wrong race" guy.

-The "set-up" who told me we were just in "different places in our lives" and thanked me for my "tenacity." I didn't do anything tenacious, so I'm not really sure he knows what that word means. Maybe we're in different places in our vocabulary?

-The crazy conservative. This one started out so promising. Lawyer, very nice, took me to get CUPCAKES on our first date. And buffalo wings on our second. From a purely "I love food" standpoint, this guy was awesome. Until he told me that Jesus was the "universal truth" and that he always felt sad for his friends that didn't believe, because "they're absolutely going to hell." If that wasn't bad enough, he brought a gun to Buffalo Wild Wings, and told me that believing that abortions should be legal was as bad as going around murdering people.  And that Obama is not a US citizen. Yikes. 

And some other just boring or unremarkable ones. I guess the point is, when do you start to think that, yeah, all these people are crazy, but their common denominator is...me? Am I the crazy person on the bus? How many years (15 in my case) can you date and not find anyone not insane or awful before you have to accept that it's you? I'm not down about this at all, and I certainly don't need to date someone to be happy, but I'm definitely looking around and seeing the bizarre things that happen to me and just kind of going...is it...me?

Lisbon

Right after I left London, I went to Lisbon for the conference I'm involved with.

Here's what I'll say about Lisbon:

Don't go.

It's dirty, and if you don't speak Portuguese, people are very rude. If you try to speak Portuguese, because you travel a lot and try to learn a few phrases in every language, people are even worse. Also, I got panhandled, propositioned, and offered drugs/sex more times than I could in a lifetime in Memphis. The public transportation system is efficient but sketchy, and it seems like tourism is actively discouraged. Even at my 5 star hotel (which didn't have in-room wifi, and which has a "fake" website that scammers use to get you to pay a ton for transportation), the staff was very nice, but the general feeling was not great.

I do have some pretty pictures, which I'll post soon, and the conference was (as always!) amazing, but I could never go back to Lisbon and be perfectly fine with my life.

I had a good time, but it was the company, not the city.

London

Henry James said this about London: 

"It is difficult to speak adequately or justly of London. It is not a pleasant place; it is not agreeable, or cheerful, or easy, or exempt from reproach. It is only magnificent. You can draw up a tremendous list of reasons why it should be insupportable. The fogs, the smoke, the dirt, the darkness, the wet, the distances, the ugliness, the brutal size of the place, the horrible numerosity of society, the manner in which this senseless bigness is fatal to amenity, to convenience, to conversation, to good manners...all this and much more you may expatiate upon... But these are occasional moods, and for one who takes it as I take it, London is on the whole the most possible form of life. I take it as an artist and as a bachelor; as one who has the passion of observation and whose business is the study of human life. It is the biggest aggregation of human life - the most complete compendium of the world. The human race is better represented here than anywhere else, and if you learn to know your London you learn a great many things."

Absolutely true. 

Today on Buzzfeed, there was an article titled "36 Reasons to Love London." Also all true. 

London isn't pleasant (except the parks...and maybe Southbank, but only at night). It isn't agreeable. It's not cheerful, it's certainly not an easy place to be, and there's a lot to criticize (the silliness of street signs, the inability of people to walk a consistent speed, the exchange rate...), but it's magnificent. I was really homesick when I was there, and the "brutal size of the place" and the "horrible numerosity of society" didn't help, since it was very easy to feel like one in a crowd of millions (which was true) when all I wanted was some company.

That said, I did have an amazing time. I ate way too much food (best pizza I've ever had in my life is in Notting Hill, btw - Otto Pizzeria on Chepstow), went to all the museums, walked a ton, and just lived the city. Taking a boat ride up the Thames was amazing, and, as if all that wasn't enough, I got a huge amount of research for my dissertation done and met some very nice people on my adventures. 

My best observation about London is that it's a place I want to live. I don't want to just visit, because it's overwhelming. I want to be in the city, know the city, and really experience it every day. I love Paris, and Paris is a place I want to visit as often as I can, but I absolutely don't want to live there. I think the difference is simple - London is alive, and constantly changing, while still holding onto the past and to tradition. It's manageable because of its modernity. Paris, on the other hand, is overwhelming to the senses because of its beauty and its timelessness. It doesn't feel real.

Here's a couple of photos, although, honestly, the experience was so much bigger than I can accurately put into pictures - I LIVED London, and that experience is still not quite settled in me yet.










This is just kind of a small sampling - I've got tons more, but I'll save those for a rainy day. :)

Long time no blog. Oops.

Quick update, then tonight I will write the (long-awaited by my adoring fans?) post about Europe.

Some things:

1. I have a new roommate. He's very cool. And clean. And has an adorable dog who is now Petunia's BFF.

2. I got cable. I'm still a dirty Midtown hippy, but with HD.

3. I've been hanging outwith a lot of babies lately. And pregnant people. Verdict: Babies do not like it when my dog licks them, and I uttered the phrase "I'll take the baby, just let me set down my beer." So there's that.

4. I made homemade Indian food. I may have burned off my taste buds.

5. It's summer. Which means I get to work and write and not teach and drink way too many Sonic drinks.

That's pretty much it. I'm working on my third set of comps, and this one is about witches and heretics, so at least that's kind of interesting. :)

At the end of things

There are so many cliches about endings.

"When you finally let go of the past something better comes along."
"You can't start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading the last one."
"You have to let go of the past to get to the futre."

And so on.

The problem with all of these sayings is they make it seem like things just end. Like, one second something is there, and then next it's gone. Of course, sometimes that's how it works. Take the last bite of food, and that sandwich is gone. When people die, they're physically gone. Watch a movie, and when it's over, you can watch it again, but that particular viewing is over.

But not everything is like that.

Some things end. And then...they don't really end. They drag out for years, leaving a wake of destruction in their path even after their expiration date.

For example, broken engagements.

My fiance left me, the day after I bought my wedding dress, over a year and a half ago. October 3rd, 2011 was the day something officially ended.

But then we had to work out finances. And moving his stuff out. And we still work together. And I had to deal with the dress, and the decorations, and the ring, and, the constant reminder, the magazines.

The work thing is almost over, and the dress is probably lost for all time. The decorations have found a new home. Now it's just the ring (which is an expensive diamond reminder, but my love of shiny things sort of outweighs the hurt), and, until today, the magazines.

3 years of bridal magazines. From January to October 2011, their monthly arrival was a bright spot. A reminder that I was getting what I wanted, that I was marrying someone I loved, and that someone loved me enough to want to marry me.

And then the November 2011 issue came. And I didn't read it.
And I didn't read any of them after that.

Every month they would come, with annoying regularity, a reminder that I had been happy, then that I was happy but was happier outside of that toxic relationship, then, as time went on, as a reminder that I was now a 28 year old single woman with almost 50 bridal magazines taking up bookshelves.

So today I donated them to the local library.

And then sat in my car and cried for 20 minutes.

Because, besides the ring, they're it. The only evidence that at one point in my life, I was living that life. The life I don't have now. And even if I'm happier now (I am) it's still a definite end to something. A tangible end. But not, in any way, an emotional one.

Back from Europe

Well, I'm back. Poorer, skinnier (despite all of the pastries), and worn out, but happy. I had a great time, and a really productive, fun trip.

I'll give a London is amazing recap in a few days and talk a bit more about my intense dislike for Lisbon, but I'm too tired. School is killing me, my pets are insane, I'm getting a roommate who isn't, as far as I can tell, crazy, and boys are making me the craziest of them all. But I'm alive, and relatively well.