How Much is That Doggy in the Window?

This past weekend Matt and I made a trip out to Pennsylvania to visit a Shiba Inu dog breeder.  In Brooklyn there are tons of Shiba Inu’s walking around, and each time I see one, I squeal with delight at their cuteness.  They look like little foxes with their fluffy, flouncy hair.  Maybe my affinity for the breed dates back to one of my favorite middle grade books, Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl, or maybe it’s simply because these pups are just so darn adorable!  Either way, all I know is that when I walked into the breeder’s home and four or five Shiba’s greeted me, I fell head over heels in love!

See what I mean?

See what I mean?  Cuuuuuuuuuuuute!

Now don’t get too excited, Matt and I aren’t the proud owners of one of these pups yet.  The breeders are very serious about their dogs and they won’t sell them to just anybody.  There is an interview process before you can take one of these guys home.  We’re keeping our fingers and toes crossed that we are chosen, and in the meantime, we’ll be mulling over puppy names.

How about you?  Do you have a dog?  If so, what’s the breed and what’s his/her name?

~The End

 

About these ads

How To Find Out If You Still ‘Got It’…

The title of this post might be slightly misleading.  Don’t let it fool you.  This isn’t much of a how-to guide at all, but rather my own personal story.  I hope you find it funny…

It all started one random Tuesday morning.  I showered, ate breakfast, and dressed for work.  I put on my black skinny jeans, black high-top Converse sneakers, a crew neck cream-colored sweater, and rhinestone button earrings.  Once I was ready, I grabbed my Kindle, and rushed out the door to get to the subway.

After a few stops, I settled into a seat on the train and began to read.  Not long after, a group of high schooler’s, all of them clad in plaid uniforms, hopped on the train, and began to converse loudly.  I tried my best to read, but the kids’ voices were boisterous and distracting.  Soon the lady sitting next to me got up and moved, and in her place, a gangly, freckled-faced boy with wavy brown hair sat down.  He was no more than fifteen or sixteen tops.  I continued to read (The Perks of Being a Wallflower) and I felt as though he was reading over my shoulder (I really hate when people do that, by the way.)  I ignored it, but after some time he quietly uttered, “Hey,” under his breath.

At first I assumed he wasn’t talking to me, so I continued to read (I was at the part where Sam stands up in the car while listening to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.)

“Hey,” he said again, this time louder.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.  “Hi,” I said.

“What are you reading?”

“The Perks of being a Wallflower.”  And with that, I went back to reading.  (By this time Charlie was talking about Aunt Helen.)

“What school do you go to?”

I took note of his penny loafers, navy blue stock, uniform pants, and tried not to laugh.  This kid thinks I’m in high school?  I asked myself.  Wait.  This kid thinks I’m in high school.  Awesome.  I thought.

“What school do you go to?” he asked again.  “Saint Ann’s?”

I considered letting it go on, but he was so sincere that I felt a little bad.  “No, I go to college actually…and I’m 29…almost 30…and married.”

“You are not.”

“Yes,” I insisted.  “I’m afraid I am.”

“No, you’re not.  C’mon what school do you go to?  I’m not gonna stalk you or anything.”

“I’m serious.”  I showed him my ring to prove it.  “See,” I said.  “I can show you my driver’s license, too, if you want.”

“No, that’s ok,” he said, convinced now.  He stood up, and flung his backpack over one shoulder.  “Nice meeting you…,” he mumbled.

A few minutes later it was time for me to get off the train.  As I walked to work, I couldn’t help but laugh.  I looked down at my Converse shoes, and realized that maybe I was dressed kind of young.  I mean, I am young, but not sixteen.  Still, it made me smile, and inspired me to promptly put a status update on Facebook.

In other news, my dad has edited my name in his phone-book to “Mrs. Robinson.”

And that my friends is the story of how I found out- I still got it.

~The End.

To Run Or Not To Run, That Is The Question?!

When I don’t have any new music to work-out to, I inevitably become unmotivated.  It happens to me all the time.  When there isn’t anything new pumping me up, I end up just watching the little timer on whatever machine I’m on, tick-tock-tick-tocking away, until IT’S FINALLY OVER!  There is no greater moment, than when I’m done.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy exercise, I really do, but I’m one of those people who needs to be distracted while doing so, or else I become resentful of the whole idea to begin with.  However, when I have new and exciting music to inspire me, I can work out for hours without even thinking about.

Lately I’ve tried EVERYTHING in seek of new things to preoccupy myself with while exercising, but I’ve come up totally empty.  I’ve solicited music recommendations on Facebook, and I’ve even tried listening to audio books on my iPod, which began a whirlwind love affair for a minute, until one day I was so over audio books that I never want to hear one ever again.

Today, I decided to do something different with my work-out regime, and attempted to go for a run outside, instead of my usual elliptical routine mixed with weight training.  I’ve been feeling cooped up inside lately, and I thought that maybe it might be nice to not listen to any music and to just enjoy the beautiful sites of Grenada.  I don’t run very much at all anymore, with the exception of the 5K I did on September 11th, but it’s something I used to do all the time.  As I was lacing up my sneakers, I couldn’t remember why I hadn’t been running in so long?

I went outside and began what was supposed to be a lovely little nature run, and I got about twenty minutes in, and I remembered why I had taken a hiatus from running.

Because (pardon my french) running sucks.

At least in my opinion, it does.

Ugh.  I hadn’t been running, because I freaking hate running!  How did I fail not to remember that?

Here’s the kicker about running…

Ummm...So I kind of hate the term "FML" but this deserves a big ol' FML.

Just like this picture says, by the time you realize you’re not in shape for it, you’re past the point of no return.  That’s exactly what happened to me.  I was jogging along, until I realized I was totally and utterly over it.  Now if I’m honest, I probably realized I was over it about .5 seconds into it, but I was in denial.  I tried to use reverse psychology on myself, and when my mind started gearing toward the negative thought of, “This kinda blows,” I tried to tell myself it was so wonderful to running outside with all these lovely sites to see, and I even tried to think happier thoughts like,”Hooray, what a marvelous run this is!”  However, it was not working.  Not one bit.  I was over it, and I knew it.

Now I’m not sure if it was the uneven ground that I almost broke my back on, or if it was the strange man across the street carrying a machete (Btdubs, don’t be alarmed at this at all.  I swear it’s totally normal for people to carry around machetes here) but something made this experience hit a sour note.  Maybe it was just simply the fact that I was sweating profusely and tired as hell?  Yeah, that was probably it.  Either way, all in one moment, I was done.

So, now what?

I almost hailed a reggae bus (which is basically equivalent to a cab around here), but I realized I had no money, hence the work-out clothes.  Ugh.

I had no other choice but to walk the whole way back (which now in retrospect wasn’t all that far), but at the time, I was not in the mood.  The whole way home I cursed running, and vowed to never ever embark upon such a wretched journey ever again.

So there.

Oh yeah, and me and running?  Well, today we broke up.  Forever.

~The End

Photo by someecards.com

On Taking Criticism….

So, apparently I have a lot to learn.  For starters, taking criticism.  I have to admit, I have never been good at accepting a sharp critique.  Anyone with me on that?  I could be wrong, but I think you have to be a really strong person to be able to allow someone to give you an honest opinion about something you really care about, and to be able to sincerely accept it with an open mind.  Sure it’s easy to receive judgement on something you could care less about, but when you have truly put your heart and soul into something, and someone doesn’t like it?  Well, it hurts.  It kind of feels like someone is bursting your bubble, or like someone decided to bring around a cloud to rain on your parade.  Now I know how Barbra felt.

Almost like she's saying, "Please, for the love, don't rain on my parade!!!"

Today, I got some critiques back from my classmates in a Writing For Young Adults class at the college I attend online.  I was anticipating the feedback all last weekend, because I knew that early this week I was going to get the verdict from my classmates.  The class is set up to be a workshop environment where each week a new student submits a few chapters from the novel they’re writing, and your fellow classmates honestly critique it.  Now, I probably set myself up for disaster because as some of the feedback started rolling in early Monday, I felt like nothing could bring me down.  I had some positive feedback, where one classmate even compared my writing to Judy Blume (which totally made my life, because I basically love her, and read all of her books growing up.)  I was feeling really confident, and even started fantasizing about the Pulitzer Prize that I might win one day.  Okay, so that’s really awkward, but if I’m honest, I think I did actually wonder at one point what the requirement for a Pulitzer Prize was.  Hello, delusional!

Later this afternoon I cheerfully signed on to the forum for the class to check if anymore feedback had come through on my novel, and BINGO, one new message.  Hooray!  I was extremely excited to receive the rest of my feedback, that would confirm my Pulitzer Prize writing future.  However, much to my chagrin, it was not positive at all, it was downright, devastating.  It was from a classmate, and she criticized everything about my piece.  This b*tch went cray cray on my baby (my novel) and destroyed everything in its path, from my use of parenthesis, to the main character whom she called “dry.”  P.S.  That character was basically modeled after moi, so I was a little offended.

I spent the next hour on the phone with my mother going off about her. I used an array of tactics to cut her down the same way in which she had done to me, (e.g. saying things to the effect of, “Hasn’t she ever heard of a prologue before?!  It’s like she’s never read a freaking book before!  She must read effing Harry Potter!” <–Btdubs, no offense to anyone who like the Potter-inator…I was just angry when I said that, and JK Rowling is amaze.)  So anyway, I basically just went off about it, until even I got sick of hearing myself talk.

After my rant was over, I thought about what I was really upset about.  I was let down.  I had a moment earlier in the week when I had received such positive responses that I felt like nothing could touch me.  My ego was hurt because someone didn’t like my work, and because I had put my full effort into it, she told me her honest opinion, and maybe some of what she said had some truth to it.  I retaliated by cutting her down to make myself feel better, but it didn’t make me feel better, it just made me feel worse.

It made me think of a quote that I once heard that says, “Whatever you do, don’t
congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your
choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.”  The part about congratulating yourself too much, is apparently the part that I need to take note of in the future, and obviously something I need to work on.

Also, something to remember for the next time…

I don’t know if accepting criticism will ever get easier for me, but I do know, I am going to work on it.  Apparently I haven’t exactly taken my own advice.  To those of you who have read, “Stuff I’ve Realized Recently,” well, you all know what I’m talking about.  Perhaps in some ways I really have stopped caring less about what people think since I’ve gotten older…However…

Maybe there are some things, no matter how old you are, what you proclaim to the world in a blog as gospel, or how much you say you don’t care what people think, are always going to sting and trigger something in that little place inside you, until you learn the right way to just Let. It. Go….

The End~