Miss Tiny Dog

http://twitter.com/EcoChicagoIL - on @EcoChat tonight you said you wanted to see some pictures of my tiny little girl, so here you go! She's Jack Russel and Chihuahua mix, and about 3 pounds. The clothes she wears are XXS! ;) I present, Miss Isabella. <3 She'll be a year old at the end of next month!

Finding "the one." A guest post from Jeff Howard of Adoptapet.com

Earlier this week I was contacted by Jeff Howard, the author of the blog at adoptapet.com. He'd read my post about Craig's List; more specifically the pet part struck a nerve, and he asked me if I would be interested in hosting a guest post from him on the subject that he is passionate about. Pet adoption is important to me, as well. I have been an avid animal lover my entire life, bringing strays home from a young age with the proverbial, "can I keep it," spilling from my mouth. My first ever career aspiration was to be a veterinarian, which obviously didn't pan out, though my love of animals has continued and grown.

The truth of the matter is that there are a lot of pets in need of a good home, living in a small cage in some animal shelter that often doesn't have the resources to give these wonderful pets a chance to find a home; often they have 3 days. Let's look at some statistics for a second. In 2001 in Carroll County, GA,  there were 7,710 animals impounded. 345 of those were reclaimed by their owners. Another 1,006 were adopted out to new families. 6,332 were euthanized. That's 82%. These are animals that may have been ill or injured, but more often than not, were happy, healthy little furfaces just needing to find someone to love them the way they deserved. Of the 53 million dogs in the U.S., about two-thirds come from backyard breeders. They are the single greatest cause of the pet overpopulation crisis in this country. They either intentionally breed their animals to sell off or "accidentally" end up with litter after litter of puppies due to their failure to spay and neuter their pets. The most responsible thing that you can do as an animal lover is to spay or neuter your pet. Buying a pet from a backyard breeder only encourages the breeder to continue on with their deplorable practice of  the equivalent of animal abuse.

So, let's talk about pet adoption. For this, I will let Jeff Howard take over!

My Heart Belongs To Muscle Cars

Hi.

Let me introduce you to my very first car; the 1979 Pontiac Trans Am. Sundance Yellow.

10 Things I've learned on Craigslist:

1]. People buy some really ugly furniture. And when they have finally tired of seeing the monstrosity in their home, they want you come take it off their hands, usually with the hopes of having you pay full retail price that they paid 20 years ago. If it's a couch, it will be dubbed "vintage", and will come with the added bonus of the stench of cat pee. Because even the cat was offended by the hideousness of that ugly thing.

The Walking Wounded

Hello, Blog; it's been a long time. [You're just as lovely as you used to be! *ugh, get out of my head, Conway Twitty! out out out!*]

I guess I've had the winter funk. And other things. I met a friend, I got a dream job, I mourned the loss of something I've never had [hell, I'm still mourning], and I also lost my dream job. Pretty much all in the same little month time frame; it's been a lot to deal with, all in all. I learned that there is still some wounded little girl living inside my head that has the ability to distinguish playground rules from bullshit, and willingly shrieks out 'THAT'S NOT FAIR!' when something stupid happens. I'm trying to find a way to get to that little me and tell her to run along, as seldom is life fair, and grown-up me is growing weary of intensely feeling every injustice through the eyes of mini-me. The truth is, the world isn't made for wounded souls.

What's In A Name?

I have been thinking a lot in the past couple of months about this strange dynamic I seem to have in my life between my name and "making a name for myself," in all of the literal senses of that phrase. I have not ever really felt connected to my birth names, and still find myself going by something different with each different or new aspect of my life. It's sort of like some wierd schitzophrenic process, which actually makes me nervous because my maternal grandmother is clinically schitzophrenic. I don't think I'm schitzophrenic, though! Maybe I am a bit too compartmentalized....

The ghosts of my life, past.

I don't know if you've ever found yourself to be in the position of *that kid* that finds themselves uncerimoniously uprooted from their lives one day, through whatever circumstance. Through whatever crisis that excised itself through your days, you constantly look back at the *before*. Before x, y, z happened, I was ______. I was miserable, or happy, or knew where I belonged, or knew I would get through, or at least had an anchor that held me to the mooring of the tiny vessel that is wholly me. And then there is the x, y, z that bisects the you that you know. Maybe it's a death, or a birth, or a moving away, or a ... no, that's all there really is, isn't there? The death of one thing, or the birth of another, or a moving away in another direction entirely. Whatever the reason, you *do* look back.