My new roommate

Thanks to Who Am Us Anyway for the vote of confidence regarding the dog. I'm going to pick her up tomorrow night (Tuesday). I'm getting very excited. I went to PetSmart and bought a bed and food and a gate to keep her in the kitchen when I'm not home. I spent much intellectual energy trying to decide on her name (btw, it's Pixie, in honor of the greatest punk band of all time), and even managed to convince my mother and stepfather that they should come to my apartment for Thanksgiving so that she wouldn't have to travel too much after coming to live with me. I'm planning on keeping treats in my pocket when I go meet her to make sure that she'll like me.

Ahh, if only men were so easy.

Jumpin' Gee-Hovah's Witnesses

Today I came back from a meeting to my desk to a small paper pamphlet with a post it note on it. The Note said:

Tracy, Please accept this tract from me blah blah blah hope in the Hebrew Scriptures blah blah blah.

It didn't really have the blahs. It was really weird. It wasn't a joke. The woman who left it for me has left me gifts of tea before. We bonded when we were both suffering from insomnia. She recommended this tea her daughter turned her onto. It tastes terrible, I'm not sure if it works. I never expected that the casual work friendship would invite proselytizing.

I brought the pamphlet into my boss' office, handed it to her and whispered "what do I do?" We decided we wouldn't bring it to the other woman's boss, and instead I simply returned the pamphlet, thanked her kindly, and told her I "didn't want to go there."

That's a funny dog!

I'm getting a dog. Her name is Greta. At least that's her name right now. She's a beagle mix. Mixed with what, I don't know. She's goofy looking.

I think I might name her Kugel. Or maybe Molly. Or possible Clementine (I'd call her Clem). I'll have to see what she's like first. I don't know too much about her, but she looks so funny, I can't help but like her. That's just the kind of girl I am.

Ghost of a Dog

Alas! My Murray, my Peter Venkman, my dog was given to another family! It's not every day I'm rejected by a dog.

In other news, Ryan and I mutually agreed to downgrade our relationship from smitten to "just friends." It was easy to be smitten when we never saw each other. It was like there were four people in that relationship: me, him, the version of him I'd created in my head, and vice versa. It would've been impossible to live up to the man-god I'd created (of course, I am the goddess of every man's dreams, but Baltimore's a lot to embrace).

So if any of you want to fix me up with an eligible bachelor, men with dogs are given preference. Moxie, my imaginary dachshund could use some company.

Ghostbusters Dog

I'm in the market for a dog. I've been approved to adopt a pooch. I'd like to name him after one of the Ghostbusters, my four favorite fictional characters of all time. I'm thinking of naming him Peter Venkman, aka Petey. The other option is Murray (e.g. Bill Murray). Petey is nice for a dog. Of course, everyone's got an uncle named Murray, so a tiny dog named Murray is pretty funny.

What do you think? I'll take suggestions from you...

Shalom?

On Friday night I attended a Shabbat dinner at the home of a Lubavitcher family. They're lovely people who were kind enough to invite relative strangers into their home to celebrate the day of rest. After a wonderful dinner, I got into a conversation with the father of the family about the Reform Movement in Judaism . I was defending the Movement and its history. Mr. G. was, obviously, less than fully sympathetic to my cause. It was an interesting conversation, one that didn't degenerate into personal attack, even though we completely disagreed with one another. It was no different than any of many conversations I've had with classmates, colleagues, professors and friends. At a one point in the conversation, Mr. G said "I don't know how you could say that." He said it three times. The third time, I felt the tears rising up out of my gut and into my throat. I bit my cheek, and in my brain I was thinking "Don't Tracie! Just don't!"

But I did. I lost it. I lost it and I couldn't get it back. I locked myself in the bathroom. I was so profoundly embarrassed because I was crying in these people's homes, it made me cry even harder. When Mr. G pulled me aside to ask what he'd done wrong, I cried harder for making him feel badly in his own house.

I've been clenching my teeth for so many weeks I wake up with a sore jaw most days. Mr. G's third "I don't know how you could say that" was the straw that broke my composure's back. I'm not very good at crying in public. I don't do it often, and I don't like it.

So anyway, how're you?

Tee hee!

I don't know how to grab youTube videos, (yes I am woefully inadequate) but you have got to watch this.

Shut up and smell your pillow

Hey there, Chutzpah kids!
What's that you say?
Where have I been?

Oh, I've been here. I've been there. I've been to Denver. Mainly I've been here, sitting around, smelling my pillow.

No, that isn't a euphemism for huffing. I really have been smelling my pillow. I have a special pillow. Its smell calms me. I've had a special pillow since I was a little girl. It's not the same special pillow that I had when I was a little girl, but I have had this particular pillow for several years. Only squishy pillows, that is to say down pillows, can be special pillows. I don't know why it is that the smell of down overlain with cotton overlain with many nights of my drool overlain with detergent (Tide) overlain with hair product (Aveda's Control Paste) should be a comforting smell to me, but it is.

Some people with special pillows have names for the objects of their affection. Not me. It's not "Pilly" or "Pinky" or "Pooky" or even "Hank." It's just "the special pillow," and when I'm having a rough time of it, I bury my nose in its squishy embrace and I take a deep breath. I've been taking a lot of whiffs of that down-cotton-drool-Tide-ControlPaste perfume, lately. I know this makes me weird, quirky, and probably a little off. I'm okay with that. If lovin' the special pillow is wrong, I don't want to be right.