My Average Joe ~ Happy Father's Day

Today is such a bittersweet day for me. Father's Day. I see messages sent out by my friends into cyberspace - wishes of a happy day for their own dads, and they make me smile and they make me so very sad that I no longer have my own dad to send my wishes to. Rather than allow myself to sit and feel sorry for myself, I am determined to focus on the positive.

I don't think that means what you think that means

I know people that work really hard at being relevant on the internet. They retweet the latest gossip, the latest news, the latest trend; they have thousands of followers and admirers and fans. They are the elite. They blip and twitpic and status update; rehash every single minutia that everyone else has already presented to the unwashed masses in hopes of gaining fame, however small.

There's something you need to know about me.

The term "social media" makes my skin crawl in *most* cases. I grew up "social by circumstance, not by choice," which is a lot longer phrase than that which you may be familiar with. So long, in fact, that it never really caught on with the rest of the world. I'm sure you'd probably NOT be surprised with the number of people like me out there on the internet virtually patting your back. It's not that people like myself are so few in number, but I believe we've just adapted. We are the Darwin Fish of the ethernet, swimming through the bits that gain us legs and voices and .. perhaps, guts. Who knows?

It's not that I am anti-social.. well, in most cases. I thought for a long time that I really just didn't like people, and that was that. But it turns out that I DO like people... the ones that have the courage to be genuine, to reach out, to speak their minds fearlessly, to wear their heart on their sleeve; the ones that aren't trying to sell me their product, whether it be their idea or their body. It's not real if you have nothing to lose by exposing it, yes? And yes. If you have nothing to lose by my gaining it, it's not worth having, and I give you the same.

 

And that's it, really. I'm not a special little temperamental snowflake, not if you know me. Because if you know me, then you know a lot more like me, too ~ my fellow speakers of the heart. We aren't casting our nets into the murky depths of "maybe"; we have a definitive opinion, like it or not, and we aren't odd for voicing it. Liked or disliked, accepted or not, we are the "oddballs" that are courageously speaking our minds with little to lose. We are "scary" and "hypersensitive" and "mental" and "intsense". Only insofar as you are "scared" and "numb" and "unthinking" and "superficial."

That you could be so free in being yourself, and speaking your own mind; how I wish that for us all.

Time wasted is lessons learned

I don't know about you, but I'm one of those that puts my whole heart into a thing when I've decided to. Whether it's getting my hair done up exactly the way I intend to, or marketing my latest photography endeavor, I am "me", hear me roar. Or don't. And lots of times people don't; they choose not to. I expect it... most of the time. I've always found, for example, that most of my favorite photos that I want to promote don't get the recognition that I wish they would ~ perhaps I have quirky taste; I've come to accept that. My least favorites get all of the praise without any effort on my part, and my most valued treasures are dismissed.

I'm finding it's the same with ... other things. I'm finding that going to bat for people that I believe in is equally futile, and, as equally baffling, it's being dismissed by the very people I'm going to bat FOR. What? Of course this has completely revamped my thought process once again; why go to bat at all? Short answer is, I won't. Being the most ... vocal of the bunch, I will now become one of the most quiet, because I see that the very people I go to bat for aren't capable of taking is as seriously as I do. And that's okay. It makes me feel like a giant idiot and wonder why on earth they waste their time while hailing my name in the process, but outside of that, I have... my name to lose.

ah yeah, that.

"we want community, but not much that community," and "we want your feedback, but we're tired of hearing about that, even though we have no solution," and "we're here to show you our pretty faces, but uh, yeah... just make us look good. That's all we really appear to want." I suddenly feel like I've slipped down the rabbit hole for 10 months and am coming to with a room full of Auntie Em and the Wicked Witch of the West peering in through my window. I have never been a fan of The Wizard of Oz, and The WWW is one nasty little beast.

Internet, I have lost faith in you. From designers that paint prettier pictures than they know how to conjugate the bond they try to form with me, to people whom I respected that let me down again and again; what's a girl to make of it? Eat me? Fuck you? Which pill to choose.

Goodness, this entry is much too full of literary and cinematic garbage.... just like the rest of the world.

I guess it comes down to this: I am through with you. Maybe for now, maybe for ever. I've eaten your garbage and swallowed your swill, and won't make that mistake again. I may love you, but watching you use me to scramble to your imagined "top" is not a view I ever care to repeat.  Good luck with it.

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.