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and they call it puppy love

Last night I was in a bit of a funk. Sitting on the couch, I announced to Jon, “I’m feeling a little bummed out.”  A few seconds later, he called out, “Ollllllive!” I thought he heard her barking in the back yard or something.  She came running eagerly out of the bedroom, and I said, “She was asleep! Why did you call her?” He replied, “To cheer you up! That’s her job!”  And she did. She licked and snuggled me into a better mood.  I guess it is her job.  Bessie is the most loyal dog around, but she sort of wants me to stop trying to cuddle her already, can’t you see she’s trying to nap here?  Olive, on the other hand, is a lovah.  She’s the snuggle pup I always wanted, and she’s the perfect cure to feeling bummed out.  My furry Valentine.

Updated to include a poem I had forgotten about, but was reminded of while chatting with my friend Stacy.

Falling in love is like owning a dog
by Taylor Mali

First of all, it’s a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you’re walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain’t no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.

Love doesn’t like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don’t you ever do that again!

Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you’re all wound up and can’t move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.

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on hating valentine’s day

You could print this out and give it to someone special!

One of the best things I ever wrote was a column in my high school paper about hating Valentine’s Day.  Fueled by all the angst of being 17 and never having had a boyfriend, I was downright inspired.  If I may say so myself, the imagery was excellent.  I may have mentioned that every January, pink and red displays pop up like pimples in stores, and stuffed animals “hang like convicts” over cash registers, begging shoppers to “Be Mine.”  I painted a scene of a smoky room in which a conspiracy was born, hashed out between the DeBeers diamond people, the greeting card industry, Victoria’s Secret, Godiva, and an international flower-growers cartel, Valentine’s Day was born.  I railed against a manufactured holiday, I exclaimed that love should be celebrated every day of the year, I complained that people without partners feel left out.  That piece won me an award from the Arkansas Scholastic Press Association.  It was all true.

And yet, a year later I met my true love, and a year after that, I had my first ever Valentine who wasn’t my dad.  And now? Now I kinda like Valentine’s day.  I like homemade cards with heartfelt inscriptions.  One year Jon gave me a glittered drawing of a train that said “I Choo Choo Choose You,” just like the card Lisa received on The Simpsons.  For our first Valentine’s in Charleston, he drew me a picture of Rainbow Row and thanked me for coming here with him.  I like thoughtful gifts, the smaller and sillier the better.  One year, Jon gave me a packet of zinnia seeds, knowing they were my favorite flowers, but unable to find any live ones in stores.  That packet of seeds made me happier than any bouquet could have, and I planted them, and grew many, many bouquets.  I also like excuses to go out to a rare fancy dinner (one of our favorite places here in Charleston is FIG, you should try it).  And really, beyond that, I try to avoid the manufactured-ness of corporate Valentine’s Day.  I want a homemade card, a thoughtful gift, if at all, and maybe a nice dinner, if at all.  I want to wear red and act schmoopy and call my husband my Valentine.  I don’t need any kisses that begin with Kay, thank you very much.

So what about my angsty self who used to rail against Hallmark Holidays? I wish I could tell 17 year old me to stop flipping out.  Valentine’s Day wasn’t really for me, then.  And that’s fine.  But it’s not like my bitterness about the holiday ever helped me land a Valentine of my own.  And it’s not like I was really that unhappy– I’m pretty sure I went and saw a chick flick with my best gal pals, and we laughed our heads off. There’s more than one kind of love worth celebrating on V-Day. This Wednesday I’ll be repeating the chick flick with the chicks tradition and seeing Valentine’s Day with my girlfriends at Cinebarre.

In fact, there are lots of fun things to do if you’ve got no Valentine to call your own.  Here in Charleston, you could see the Vagina Monologues at the College of Charleston, check out the Mellow Mushroom’s F-Cupid party, or go to the Valentine Sock Hop, get dolled up like a pinup and dance to some rockabilly with the Lowcountry High Rollers roller derby team (I secretly wish I could go to this event, but I’m pretty sure it’s not up my Valentine’s alley, and there will be burlesque dancers performing, so, not for us).  As for me and my Valentine, I made him a card and a little surprise, and we’ll probably be staying in.  Downtown restaurants will probably be insane since the big Southeastern Wildlife Exposition is in town, and I’m not in the mood to fight the camo-clad masses for a table.

Updated to Add: Check out this post on Redesigning Valentine’s Day. I agree with this part, to an extent:

Goal No. 1: Clarify expectations

Sorry single people, this day is not for you. Father’s Day isn’t for mothers and Mother’s Day isn’t for fathers… you have Spring Break, what else do you want?

Applies only to romantic love between two people, so if you want to celebrate friendship you will need to find another day.

Responsibility for displays of affection falls on both parties. Men screw up enough throughout the year to put the weight of a holiday on their shoulders.

On January 1st discuss with your partner whether you will celebrate Valentine’s Day. Sign a piece of paper if needed.

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memaw!

A woman gambles in Hot Springs, AR. My hometown. Image via the Google Life Photo Archive, under a Creative Commons license.

I just happened to remember this little anecdote, and it made me smile, so I thought I’d share.

I’m from Hot Springs, Arkansas.  Once the Prohibition-era hangout for mobsters and gamblers and jazz musicians and even the Milwaukee Brewers, who held their spring training there (I’ve heard about all of this from my Grandfather, who grew up there), it still remains something of a sin city.  Heralding itself as America’s first resort town, it draws tourists to its beautiful lakes, and, more commonly, to the horse racing track, which was, until recently, one of only two places where gambling was legal in the state of Arkansas.  There are other “sinful” aspects too– I remember making a video about my home town with classmates in Jr. High, as we were going on a trip to Washington D.C. with students from other states and would be expected to share about our home with the others.  The kids from a Native American Reservation in Wisconsin taught us a traditional dance. We talked about Bill Clinton and showed a video.  We were less cool than the Menominee kids.  Anyway, part of our video was shot from the top of the Hot Springs Mountain Tower, and when asked what that “Playmates” place was, we got red faced and stammered, “Uh, a daycare! Yeah, a daycare!”

All of this is just preface to say, one time, we were driving home in the car with my Memaw, who, though she isn’t from Hot Springs, spent time there in her college years as she coached women’s basketball in a nearby town.  As we drove past a strip club, Memaw said, “I used to dance there!”

WHAT?!

“Memaw, that’s a strip joint!”

And in her Southern drawl, the one that comes out of my mouth, too, when I’ve spent too much time around her, or when I’m particularly tired or angry, she said, “Way-uhl, it wasn’t back then! It was a club where I useta jitterbug!”

Whew. Sigh of relief. My grandmother does NOT have a stripper past.

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Jon Stewart and I are both uncomfortable

You may have been seeing more of Jenny Sanford, Governor Mark “Appalachian Trail” Sanford’s soon-to-be-ex wife, because she’s doing a lot of publicity in promotion of her new memoir, Staying True.  As I’ve written before, I like Jenny Sanford.  I respect the way she has handled herself, for the most part, with grace and dignity.  However, with the release of this book and a seeming rush to capitalize on her family’s breakup, she’s beginning to lose me as a fan.  She was on The Daily Show last night, and it wasn’t just Jon Stewart who was uncomfortable (If anyone can tell me how to embed video from TDS on my WordPress blog, let me know. Copying and pasting the embed code doesn’t work).  Stewart is a divorced kid, like me, and his joke about how after his parents’ divorce, his mom “only said bad things about my dad on the radio, not national TV” rang true for me. Continue reading “Jon Stewart and I are both uncomfortable”

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halftime show isn’t the only thing stuck in the past

Watching last night’s Super Bowl, with the exception of the actual football being played, was like getting a blast from the past.  And I’m not just talking about the geezers who played at halftime, though seriously, seeing Pete Townshend’s midriff multiple times was at least as traumatic as Janet Jackson’s nip slip ever was.  I’m also talking about the fairly disturbing ad content. Continue reading “halftime show isn’t the only thing stuck in the past”

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judgy judgerson

So, I’ve been neglecting the heck out of my blog lately, and for that I apologize, not that anyone wants to read my apologies or anything but just, yeah, I know I haven’t been posting as much lately.  If you’re on Twitter, I’ve been doing a lot more tweeting, so you can always find me there.  Now onto the reason I’m finally compelled/inspired to post again.

I spend a lot of time reading blogs, particularly feministy ones, and particularly Jezebel.com.  Often, Jezebel will cover a high profile nutcase, be they Heidi Montag or Octomom, and then the comments roll in, usually in two distinct categories.  One set of comments is people snarking on or criticizing said nutcase, and the other is the “How dare you JUDGE this nutcase!” as if freedom from judgment is somehow enshrined in the Bill of Rights somewhere.

The most recent example was a post yesterday about the Duggar family, specifically their decision to pose with their most recent child, a premie still fighting for her life in the NICU, in People magazine, and their revelation that they are still open to having more children, even though this most recent pregnancy was life-threatening to both Michelle and Josie. Continue reading “judgy judgerson”

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on budgeting

Image via Flickr user get directly down, under a Creative Commons license.

Last night, Jon and I went to the liquor store to restock on wine.  As we were leaving with 5 bottles, we had the following exchange.

Jon: Now we have no money to eat.

Me: At least we have our priorities straight!

(Tip: I’m obsessed with Mendoza Station Argentinian Malbec lately. It’s $6 a bottle at my liquor store, but it tastes way more expensive than that. Check it out!)

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yoga and struggle

I am not a graceful person, and that’s putting it mildly.  While sometimes I pretend it’s a depth perception problem that keeps me knocking my hips on countertops, grazing door frames with half my body, and dropping and spilling things on the regular, I really just have poor control over my body and zero coordination. Some days become such an endless series of dropped, stubbed, banged, knocked, tripped, bumped, klutziness that my husband tells me, “Sarah, make a conscious effort, would ya?”  It’s somewhat charming that he seems to think just trying harder is going to solve a lifetime of gracelessness.

On the other hand, I am a very competitive person.  This may sound silly, but people are amazed at how fast I can type.  People come into my office and are awed by the speed of my fingers on a keyboard.  Want to know how I achieved such mad skills?  Pure competitiveness.  When I was an 8th grader taking keyboarding, I sat next to a friend of mine who was a very fast typist.  And every single day, I had to prove that I could type faster.  I’d will myself to type faster and faster until my wrists started to cramp.  Because in my mind, it was the keyboarding Olympics.  I was winning the gold. I was blowing everyone else out of the water.  That’s just one small taste of my competitiveness.

Taken together, these two traits make for an unlikely yoga student.  Add in the fact that I’m so out of shape that when I stepped on my little sister’s Wii Fit for analysis, my Mii slumped over like a weak little noodle and I was informed that I’m out of balance and underweight, and you’ve got a VERY unlikely yoga student. Continue reading “yoga and struggle”

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trust women

Today is the 37th anniversary of the Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade.  While anti-choice activists are marching on Washington (or in the comfort of their own homes, weirdly enough), those of us who believe in a woman’s right alone to make all choices about her body and her pregnancy are participating in Blog for Choice Day.  The theme of this year’s event are the words of assassinated OB/Gyn Dr. George Tiller: Trust Women.  Specifically, what does “trust women” mean?

To me it means that trusting women– to make the right choices for themselves and their bodies, trusting that they do not make choices lightly, trusting that they alone know their circumstances, lives, and hearts– trusting women is the only way to go.

And because I am slammed at work, I will link to these interesting facts about abortion in the US from the Guttmacher (there I go again wanting to type Gut-muncher) Institute.  One that particularly struck me was that 60% of abortions are performed on women who already have at least one child, confirming my suspicion that often, women choose abortion because they know they cannot support, either emotionally or financially, another child, not because, as some anti-choicers would have us believe, because they hate babies and do not understand what it means to be a mother.

I’ll also share a previously posted piece I wrote about “common ground on abortion,” a hot topic in the age of Obama, and what I really think we should all be coming together to work on, be we for or against a woman’s right to choose (as you’ll see, I think being anti-choice is as sensical as being for Prohibition of alcohol): Continue reading “trust women”

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overheard at my office

I’m lucky to work for an awesome studio art department, and as a result, have lots of cool events I could go to on a regular basis.  This weekend, a student/faculty show is opening at a local gallery/studio space AND the on-campus gallery is opening a show of photographs from war zones in Rwanda and Uganda.  I’m hoping to find someone to go to these openings with me, since Jon’s working nights (SUCK).  I just had this conversation with a coworker.

Him: You coming to the student/faculty opening tomorrow night?

Me: If I can find a friend to go with me! My husband’s working.

Him: Come with us, we’re friends, right?

Me: Sure! Are you going to the Halsey opening too?

Him: Well, it looks kind of depressing. You might need a hug after, and I’m not sure we’re THAT good of friends.