there is no better person to be, than yourself

skinny jeans and tennis shoes.
that is what my 17-year-old Bieber-loving cousins wore for their *hiking tour of the University of California Santa Cruz campus.

I decided to not tell them about me - loudly - ripping my tightly flared jeans while trekking to class back in 2001. there is a valuable lesson to be learned when your ass-cheek hangs out of your pants, and I did not want to take that opportunity away from them.

the campus is a forest... the air is freshly amazing, the views are spectacular, and gumball machines plant trees.

my One Direction-enthusiasts learned that one cannot locate something with the eye and say LET'S GO THERE. rather one must simply begin walking to discover the destination. plants and bridges are your landmarks.

so, we got lost a lot.

and saw a penis.

and saw a library. which - from their reactions - is more rare than seeing a penis.

I was far too excited and envious to find the library had - since my departure - built study 'rooms' in the corners, that were outside. they had 2 walls of strong screens... keeping bugs out but letting tree-breezes in.

we trekked our way back to the car, our adventure perfectly timed with everyone's hanger levels. instruments played along the downtown Santa Cruz strip as I pointed out my favorite shoe shops. the lunch-time burgers at Betty's did NOT disappoint and our pleasantly full tummies drove down to the Marine Aquatic Center along the cliffs by the ocean.

upon realizing we could touch stuff at this Aquatic Center, I excitedly shouted "OH COME TOUCH THE STARFISH!". I received a prompt...

so I used my physical strength and superiority to coerce them in to touching the starfish and hermit crabs and those big eggshell things that sharks push out of their vaginas. *cringe

once the old lady went in to detail about the orgy that the jellyfish were having in front of us, I knew this trip had officially become 'epic'.

in other news...
...I somehow keep discovering and then forgetting that the only person one can rely on, is oneself. I cannot continually HOPE that someone else will treat me how I want them to, nor should I expect that. therefore, I vow to date myself; to do what I want, even if it means I do it alone; to not settle for someone else's ideals when I want something different; to not let someone else, let me down.

"Without giving up hope... we will never relax with where we are or who we are."

- Pema Chodron

how to buy yourself flowers

you stepped in poop while walking your dog before work.
then your dog stepped in poop. (what an asshole)
a coworker ditched you at lunch today and did not apologize.
someone visited your cube to ask you what's wrong, because KATHLEEN, YOU LOOK SO TIRED. ARE YOU OK??
you cannot seem to find any POOPING PRIVACY today in the work bathroom.
and work announced more layoffs.

this calls for, PURCHASING FLOWERS FOR YOURSELF!

when I see someone walking with a bouquet, I like to imagine it was purchased not for a special occasion; not for a birthday; not for an anniversary; not for an expectation. rather, for a surprise; for a hard day; for I Thought of You; for I Love You.

and sometimes, you have to be your own lover.

so I stood there in the middle of all these Safeway flowers after work, trying to decide what this non-occasion deserved.
Calla Lilies? no - smells like medicine.
Mixed? no - too "get well soon"ish and lacks direction.
Gerberas? no - I need to be able to pronounce it confidently.
Roses? no - I do not deserve those.

wait wait, what? did I really just think that?? what a jerk!

ROSES IT IS!

surprise yourself today and help yourself be happy.

in other news...
...Rome has a rash in his paw. probably from all that POOP he keeps stepping in!!
...my boyfriend seems to think 2 nights spent in Lake Tahoe for a 100 mile bike ride, is a vacation.
...I love a dog who has an appreciation for the arts.

I WANT TO MARRY YOU!

he shouted to me.
in the parking lot of an Aqui's Cal-Mex restaurant.
as his parents dragged him away.

HE, is a 4 year old whose mom and dad just bought me a birthday meal.
not the ideal proposal but it warmed my already-melted heart.

spending time with my friends and the people I love made turning 33 pretty rad. it was an excuse to eat ice cream; achieve my worst bowling score; be driven by someone else; go home at midnight because you know what? I am tired! (oh, and to be proposed to in a parking lot)

besides the sore knees after 50 mile bike rides, getting old is not that bad.

in other news...
...my 7th grade teacher told me, "Happy birthday. You have the best posts and live life to the fullest, so I am sure you will have a great day." and you know what? after reading that, my day was even better.
...Romeo experimented life as an off-leash wolf-pack member last weekend, while I was a nail-biting nervous wreck of a 'mom' expecting him to run off with another woman, or break a leg, or get a dog pregnant (impossible), or pierce his belly button, get a tattoo and move to Mexico.

thank you Romeo for always coming back home to me!

Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain

yesterday, I felt very small. tiny. itsy bitsy. non-poisonous spider. unimportant.

while digesting this emotional surprise, my eyes began leaking and my face turned in to a giant hive. at 4pm. in the office.
(if I could punch my hormones in the face - if the face were not my own - I would)

I ran to the office-gym-treadmill to fix myself, brushing off my gym-rat buddies along the way.
"good! how are yo-"
"oh I have to blow my nose"
"no, 7 minutes abs isn't possib-" I turn the corner.

concentrating on physical pain will stop one from crying, right?

miles later, my run was done. I rushed back to the gym-rat buddies to apologize for my brashness but halfway through the sorry, my friend tells me a story.

4 weeks ago, he was driving on the freeway when a car on the OPPOSITE side crashed in to the cement divider. luckily the driver was ok. however, the impact of his car in to the divider sent a 2-foot long piece of that divider INTO my friend's windshield, while traveling the opposite direction.
it exploded glass in to his face and barely missed his body while landing in his back seat.
he showed me photos.
he almost died.

things have been properly placed back in to perspective now.

tears redacted.

in other news...
...while attempting to smack an incessant flying BUG, I swatted my own tit. *ouch.
...my boyfriend and my dog had their first alone time together while I was at a party this weekend. fortunately, NO ONE DIED. (but someone DID poop)

toss, turn, worry, and repeat.

PROBLEMS!

the old hard-of-hearing guy shouted. I jumped at the unexpected volume.

the instructor of this Sleep Better class nodded in agreement.
YES, PROBLEMS ARE SOME THINGS WE THINK ABOUT WHEN WE TRY TO SLEEP.
she pleasantly laughed her open-mouth big-teeth Julia Louis-Drefus laugh.

25 supposed insomniacs - me included - sat in a circle staring across the room in to each other's sunken eyes, fidgeting at any discomfort, shaking our stress out in feet and finger tapping. the meditation practice helps my butt realize just how crappy this chair is, and instead of concentrating on my "ocean breath" I am staring at the velvet kitty-printed turtleneck the woman across from me is modeling.

I don't belong here. but I do.

the 70-year-old Bilbo Baggins in the room interrupts our "Negative Sleep Thoughts" brainstorming to ask WHAT CAN I DO TO FALL ASLEEP AFTER A VERY EXCITING NIGHT WITH MY WIFE?

sigh.
at least the class is free.

in other news...
...dog beaches that are also nudist beaches result in naked people having lengthy (and close) conversations with me about how cute my dog is. thanks. and also, no thanks.
...my 7 aunts recently discussed the definition of 'teabagging'. loudly. while they were drunk. at a busy winery. (I will not be returning)
...#1 reason for Rome to learn how to use the toilet?

blood splatter analyst I am not.

while snoozing my alarm, I notice blood drops on my white comforter. Rome is asleep next to me and immediately I scour him for an injury. he appears fine... and newly irritated that I have woken him with such a stir.
scanning myself, I find no place for blood to escape.
I look at the ceiling and think, I can't believe I am looking at the ceiling.

there is just no way this makes sense.

I demote myself from Dexter status and get ready for work.

while painting my face, Rome meanders in to my restroom to observe. he dog-shakes his head... sending splatters of blood across the walls. the end of his airplane-ear cracked and is dripping. I hang a towel over him and tell him STAY.

the vets were oddly excited to fix him, informing me he would be returned to my arms wearing a babushka - they giggled their way to the back with him. after gluing the cut on his ear, folding and wrapping it on top of his head, he entered the waiting room Girl-with-the-Pearl-Earring style.

the enormous amount of sadness in his face skyrocketed my worry.
he would wear this for 3 days; it is very tight around his neck; do not let him exert a lot of energy; give him 1/4th of this pill, twice a day; $230.
ok ok ok.

after cutting every kibble-bit in half so that he could swallow easier, I told myself I needed to relax. I was convinced his wrap was far too tight and he would suffocate to death during the 5 seconds of every minute that I was not staring at him.

a few friends offered reassurance that he will be ok; others offered Photoshopped versions of Rome in famous paintings; I offered myself a cocktail.
thanks to all of those efforts, I felt much more at ease and left him alone.

Rome got through 2 nights of this before the vet removed it (whew) and I took over with a pathetic Aunt Jemima version.

mm, pancakes.

in other news...
...good thing I do not own a horse.
...today Rome is wrap-free and living it up as an apartment-dog in Campbell, California.
...Van Gogh's Ear is my favorite.

acHOO!

from this place I sit, I hear laughing crows and hummingbird wings.

I scream-sneeze, and Romeo rushes to the door to ensure I am still alive.

it is not a horrible day.

last week, we visited the beach together. it humbles me to see Romeo excited to simply get in my car, regardless of the destination. in a lot of ways, I feel that same lost joy.
it does not matter where I go, because in being there, I will be happy.

sometimes I suggest an adventure to someone other than my dog, and in return I hear...
Is it supposed to be fun?
Will it be good?
Have you been there before?
Does it have decent reviews?

DOES IT REALLY MATTER? "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" are both nothing without times. just go, and decide for yourself.

in other news...
...in a recent gym competition, I ranked 3rd (out of 12) for my 3 minutes and 10 seconds plank. I felt proud.. until the trainer told me the winner recorded a time of 5:30. NO ONE TOLD ME WE COULD TAKE STEROIDS.
...QUOTE OF THE DAY goes to my father, who exclaimed over the phone: I KNOW I HAVE TOO MANY HOBBIES AND AM DISCOMBOBULATED. BUT THAT'S SUPERFLUOUS BULLSHIT.