Mashed Potatoes

My kids are away for the week, which typically lessens the amount of fires to put out on any given day. But yesterday was the WORST EVER.

Both my dogs were to go in to be fixed, which, as you know, is routine and it happens every day and it’s nothing to worry about. There are two elements here that go into why this couldn’t just be an easy trip down the road to the vet’s office. 

Firstly, Shucks like to run away, and he’s very fast. As we’ve discussed in previous posts devoted to this dog and his love for chickens, he cares very little about what I have to say on the matter. Aside from this fact, he is the best dog I have ever had, and he loves me muches, which is important later in the story.

Éowyn is a Great Dane, which is a Very Large Dog. At just a few months old, she stands at my waist and weighs over 60 pounds. At least 55 pounds of that weight is her mouth, which she uses as a defense against anything from wearing a collar to Shucks’ poor, drool-covered ears, by merely holding it open while producing massive quantities of slobber. 

So, I leash the dogs and walk to the gate. Éowyn likes to play leapfrog on the leash, jumping sideways over Shucks and tangling everything up until we all fall over. Shucks and I, not being interested in this game today, were targeted with the Open Mouth of Doom resulting in Shucks’ leash being pulled out of my hand. He looked at me as if to say, “I know. I know. But SEE YA!” And off he went.

I decided to drive around and look for him, but Éowyn, wanting to see what mischief Shucks could get into, refused to get in the truck. After about twenty minutes of coaxing on my part and balking on her part, I picked her up, shoved her in, and started the truck. I was lucky that Shucks knew he was to go on a Super Fun Car Ride, so he came bounding back home when he heard it start.

So I finally get both dogs to the clinic, wait in a room for awhile, and it’s time for them to go to the back and for me to leave. The both walked to me and looked into my eyes. Shucks, who loves me so much, said, “I love you so much.” (With his eyes; he can’t really talk, yo.) Éowyn said, “Why are you paying attention to him? Let me put my mouth on something.” And I start crying like a baby and run out of the office.

Fast forward a bit, I had a dental appointment in the afternoon. I more nervous about the dogs’ surgeries than was at all appropriate and I hate the dentist. I sat in a waiting room for 30 minutes, and the hygienist came in – brushing her teeth ­– strolling around the waiting room chatting with the other patient about how she may as well buy her jeans from Target, but she always buys $400 jeans and just can’t bring herself to shop at Target. That annoyed me on two levels: One, because I have a thing about brushing teeth. I don’t like to watch people brush their teeth and I hate when people watch me. GROSS. Two, I can’t even afford Target jeans, so whatever.

During the three hours I was being tortured by various employees at this office, I came to realize that people in the dental profession must be on the highest level of narcissism. (If that describes you, please don’t be offended. I can’t really tell you why you shouldn’t be offended, but it works if I just tell you not to be, correct? U mad, bro? We’re cool, right?) Back in the old days, this type of person would pick a nation to rule or something that put them in a position to force people to hang on their every word and put those same people through unspeakable pains in a dungeon somewhere. Because torture and stuff is mostly outlawed these days (I know), these people turned to dentistry.  

My dentist is fairly good at talking while inflicting pain, but the hygienist (we’ve established I already didn’t like her, right?) was another story. 

Her: Open! I’m going to shove some stuff in your mouth and give you three shots. Slowly.

Me: :::complies:::

Her: So…Director of Social Media? What does THAT mean?

Me: Arhghghkkkkfhghghgh

And so on. For a couple hours.

When I was allowed up from the chair, half my face was swollen and numb, and the other half was in dire pain. They chose that time to charge me $370 more than they had promised me this would cost. Unable to argue, I paid and left.

I cried all the way to the vet because I don’t even know…everything hurt.

I waited an hour at the vet to pick up my dogs, because the lady said that the doctor needed to speak with me about the blood tests they had done.

When a doctor needs to speak with you about blood tests, the correct response is to FREAK OUT. So I sat next to a sobbing woman and her sick dog, and freaked out for both of us.

They put me in a room and dropped my dogs off with me. Shucks looked at me and said, “I still love you SO MUCH, even though whatever happened to me back there was NOT COOL. Let’s both agree to never speak of this again.” Éowyn slobbered all over my jeans. I had reached the limit of what I could endure. I mean uncontrollable, ugly, my-life-is-over sobbing, just as the doctor walked in.

He gave me a deer in the headlights look, glanced back at the door he just walked through like he was planning an escape, and asked, “Are you okay? Are the dogs all right?”

I’m in total toddler-style meltdown at this point, so I sob, “Aren’t youuuuu supposed to tell meeeeee that?”

He said they were fine, blood tests were normal, and I could leave.

Thanks, man. 

Me and the dogs came home and chose our respective places on the couch where we took turns crying and comforting each other until my brother-in-law brought me mashed potatoes which turned things around for me. I gave the dogs the mac and cheese I couldn’t eat, and they felt all better, too. 

Southern, bad for you, comfort food can fix anything, is my point.

A Case Against Rules

I have always been a rebel. Now that I'm a 33 year old mother of six children with a Grown Up Job and two dogs and a bird and I buy things like washing machines and car parts instead of pot and spray paint*, I should have grown out of it. But no.

Now, I think there is a reason.

There should not be all these rules.

I am dead serious, so for those of you who know how sarcastic I can be, please understand that I mean this.

Look at the rules we have here in the US, as a nation. For instance, the way we buy a house and the land upon which it sits, yet we pay money to the government for it every year. You know what? No.

Or what about how long it takes to get your taxes done? What is that about? No more taxes. No. I mean it. No more federal government, period.

Let's look at state rules. The state is in charge of education. Why? What qualifications do these people have? So guess what, state? No.

How about cities? One city near me has a rule that residents cannot grow a vegetable plant over six feet tall. A woman had her entire garden (and source of food) destroyed by  police because her tomato plant was almost at the limit. And what's the point, anyway? Shut up, city.

I lived in a city that would fine you if your lawn grew over three inches. Three inches, you guys. You know what? It's my grass, I own it. If I want three and a half inch blades of grass it is my own business. Let me ask you: Who has the time? Who has all this time and energy to be all, "Man I hate those four inch blades of grass. I am going to make them illegal!" And then what neighbor has time to call the police and tattle about it? Really, America? Really.

There's a guy in his seventies being fined thousands of dollars for, get this, feeding birds. In his yard. Birdfeeders, y'all. 

And while I'm at it - garage sale permits? Also no.

Or how bout those homeowner's associations? I refuse to live anywhere with an HOA, because I don't need some over-evolved PTA mom telling me what kind of car I can own, where I can park it, and how loud I can play music on property that - wait for it - is already mine. I realize that some people like this kind of life, because God forbid that you live next door to someone with an RV that isn't parked correctly. Lives ruined, folks. Lives ruined.

And at home...so many rules in the home! I think it's the only place they belong, actually, but my goal is to have my kids off rules long before they are adults. If they can't make good decisions at home, how are they possibly going to make them in college?

I hate rules. All of them. If I want to be good, I'll be good because I want to. Never will I ever, one time, be good because someone told me to.

It's not like I think that people should run around serially murdering each other or anything. But if a guy has come to the point that serial murder is his one passion in life, then he's not the kind of guy who is real big on rule-following, anyway. But the upside to the no rules thing? Let somebody catch him. I call it "Insta-justice" and it's free.

"But MannyRee, people will be speeding!" Guess what? They already are!
"But people will be cutting in line!" Okay, get rid of lines. (Another thing I hate and do not believe in.)
"But people might be able to sell their own stuff in their own front yard without paying someone who has nothing to do with it!" One can only hope.

God gave us free will. He could have forced us to be good, and pay for parking, or whatever, but He didn't. Because it only counts if you want to be good - not if you are forced to.

GEEZ, 'Merica. Let's all agree to Wild West it from now on.

*Okay, I wasn't great at being a rebel. I never bought pot, and the only spray paint I have ever purchased was driven by something Pinterest-y.

Do You Have an Introvert? Let's Do Another of these Articles...

I’m sure this has been written. You’ve all seen the articles. Have you shied away from them, worried your introverted friends would know about your curiosity and serially murder you in your sleep, or have you read them anyway? Did you see yourself in them, or did you secretly believe that this is just another example of trying to normalize crazy?

Please allow me to explain to you, the extrovert, how to handle me, the introvert.

The first day you bring your introvert home, please do not expect a ton of affection. Introverts do not take to new people right away, and often not at all. Rest assured that when you do see signs that your introvert likes you, this means he likes you very, very much. 

Before introducing your introvert to the public, consider the following scenario: You have just arrived at the most happening party of the year. You have been looking forward to it for months, carefully chosen what you will wear, and have your chosen social target in your sites. Then, without warning, somebody makes you go home. And sit in mud. 

This, you see, is what the same feeling your introvert has when he is dragged around to various events. He looks forward to his time alone. He cherishes it. He plans it. He knows exactly what he will do with each precious moment of it. Then he is rudely ripped away from it into a swirl of chatter and chaos. It is a sad day for your introvert.

”But you’re wrong,” you protest. “My introvert loves people.” Let me tell you something, we all love people. We just don’t like them all at once. Or all the time. Or as a surprise. Or on a boat or on a train. Well, maybe on a train. But only if we knew ahead of time we would be on the train, and also that people would be on it, and also that we would have to talk to them. 

Seriously, folks. We like you. That’s not a lie. We care about you to the point that it is exhausting. And here’s where I explain the science, so put on your learning hat, yo. Extroverts feed off of the energy of others. They are energized by a room full of people, by conversation and stories, and by closeness. Introverts are everything that is the complete opposite of that.

Introverts are drained by that kind of energy. We absorb everything around us. So if someone is sitting in a corner feeling sad, and someone is happily chatting to us about something, and someone else is immensely enjoying the punch, we are feeling all of that. All at the same time. Added to that is the processing of every sight and sound and smell. And added to all of that is that we care about it. Deeply. Perhaps too deeply.

So your introvert is going to be very worn out after dealing with “public.” 

Your introvert does not want to be alone because he is depressed. He needs to be alone to recharge. In this way, he will be ready to come back later and care some more. He likes you, and he likes your friends. He is happy for the happy person and sad for the sad person. But he has had a busy evening of feeding his energy to the extroverts and he needs a chance to replenish it.

I used to have a person in my life who was quite extroverted. This person believed that the only cure for anything that ailed me (or my children) was for us to all leave our house and Go Somewhere. Also, Do Something. And it usually involved crowds and chatter and all sorts of over-stimulation. This person also hated my house, and did not understand that I would actually marry my house if it meant I could spend more time there.

On the other hand, I do enjoy spending time with my family – and we are a large group of people. I still need time to recharge later, but I like that. It’s worth it. I enjoy it immensely. So rather than use up my carefully stored calm on a restaurant full of all kinds of feels, I chose to use most of it on my family.

I host a Christmas party every year, and cram about 20 of my favorite people around my kitchen table until all hours of the night. I love it. Every second of it. And then I stay awake for two hours after they have gone, putting all the information I have cared about and absorbed into its proper place in my brain. So basically, too much public could result in serious – even fatal - sleep-deprivation. If you care about your introvert, you will respect his need for space. But in moderation, public is awesome.

Please pardon this puppy's awful spelling. Him's too cute to have to spellz.

A word on depression – depression is characterized by a lack of interest in activities one previously enjoyed. So yes, if you know someone who previously was all “ZOMG! All the PEOPLE! Bring them all to me and let me NOM THEM UP!" And then that person gets all “I kinda want to stay home. Forever.” Then you maybe should worry. 

If, however, your person has been known to like quiet corners and people-watching and smoking angrily on cigarettes while plotting who-knows-what, and then still likes those things, your person is not depressed. That person is very very happy – unless you make them go to the people. (The people who, again, they like very much. I mean it.)

When I have strangers working on my house, I do not eat lest I accidentally see them.

If your introvert happens to escape, do not worry. He will come home. If your introvert is lost in a crowd, such as at a fair or a concert or something, it is not the time to freak out. Your introvert is already freaking out enough for both of you. But he would still enjoy a cotton candy or something, and would even like to talk about the event at some future (and quieter) point. 

I have a son who tends to be this way. He likes staying home or, if forced out, he will find one person to engage at a time. What most tells me he is likely an introvert, though, is how touched he is by anything that goes on with other people. He stays up nights worrying if someone is sick, and he is the first of my children to cry if something sad happens, and he cannot bear to watch the news, and his entire face lights up with joy for good news. So you see, I am not lying. We like you an awful bunch of lots.