my ex-husband asked his girlfriend to move in with him, and i figure that now is the time for us to renegotiate my visitation rights for our dog, jake. as it is now, i see him maybe two or three times a month. i go to what used to be our house, and grab jake's leash from the wall, and take him for a walk to the park or just around the neighborhood. this is alright, i'd like to see him more, but there is plenty of weirdness involved for me to show up at the house at all, the memories are pretty huge, and jake himself can cause me to completely break down when i leave him looking out the front window standing on the couch. my boyfriend has suggested, with my best interest in mind, that maybe it's time to just let jake go on with his life without me, and i do agree intellectually, but emotionally i am having a rough time. anyfuckingway, all that crap leads me to where i was yesterday, which was the grotto, that catholic outdoor rock formation thingy with piped in chanting, and i know it's corny, but i love to just go there and be outside in the quiet. it's just a big park that isn't noisy and loud and whatnot because the signs everywhere scare the crap out of people and beat them into blessed silence: THIS IS A SACRED PLACE. HELP US KEEP A PRAYERFUL ATMOSPHERE. so i got my 99 cent candle from the mexican food section of safeway and strode on in through the drizzle and went up to the alter and lit my candle and asked the universe for some help in achieving peace with the probable permanent separation of a dog and his estranged woman. when i was sure that the candle was going to stay lit, i retreated to the pews and sort of curled up with my feet on the kneeler, and god, if my grandmother was alive and with me she would've totally flipped out about that. so i'm sitting there and watching my candle kind of stop flickering and it's blending in with all the other candles lit for loved ones or problems or whatever and i'm starting to feel a little better and this old lady in a purple jacket walks up and stands in front of the candles and starts picking them up one by one. i put my feet on the ground and immediately tense up.. what the hell does she think she's doing? i'm thinking that maybe she's just voyeuristic and is looking for the written prayer under them or maybe hoping to take some cheap rosary that may have been left behind, i mean, people collect weirder things for less reason. but then it starts to make me mad because she's actually looking under each and every one and it's taking a long time and i had just wanted to sit here and feel the serenity and space out watching the little flames lick their cheap glass containers, and this old lady is totally blocking my view of my own perceived avenue of calm acceptance and then i feel like an ass, because who thinks stuff like that? so then it hits me: what she's doing. she takes a candle that has gone out because of the weather or whatever, but still has some wick left to it, and she holds it up to the wick of my brand new, high in the glass candle and relights it. she's relighting the flames of other people's wishes. with my candle. she's using the flame i lit to help myself to feel better about not being able to see a dog to keep in the "eyes of god" the thoughts and prayers of other people, probably with way more serious problems than myself. and now i just feel like the biggest shithead in the world and somehow that feeling like a jerk makes me realize that things are going to be okay for real and that maybe feeling crappy about feeling crappy is the best thing that's happened to me in a long while, spiritually speaking. and i get up from my little birdshit spattered bench and get in my car and turn up a billy joel album really loud and sing along with it all the way home.

email me at ohthedrama2003@yahoo.com! tell me about your weird pets! commiserate about the crippling effects of OCD! recipes! i need good recipes with exotic spices!

i was taking my vitamins at the drinking fountain at work, and i didn't quite have enough water to swallow all three and the vitamin c got stuck in my throat, right where it branches off into my lungs. i could feel it rattling around in there when i inhaled. it hurt. alot. i was terrified that i was going to aspirate it, and end up having to go to the hospital to, well, i don't know what they do when you've inhaled a vitamin c, but they could at least pat my head and tell me it'll be okay. so anyway, the pain was actually quite explosive, and i tried to drink more water to try to wash it down, but that just gave me one of those headaches associated with eating ice cream too fast, "brain freeze" i think is the popular nomenclature...and so i tried rubbing my throat like i've done with cats and dogs taking heart worm medication, but that just hurt worse, and i'll never do that to another animal, i can tell you that with all confidence. then i started to panic. it wasn't moving. i started sweating. then my gag reflex kicked in. i barely made it to the bathroom, swinging into the first stall and dropping to my knees like a penitent sinner before god, dry heaving into the bowl. nothing happened. my stomach contracted and i made awful noises, but the vitamin held its ground. i couldn't believe it. i was still retching, producing copious amounts of drool, i was drooling continuously into the toilet. i didn't realize i was capable of conjuring up that much mucus, it was scary unto itself. finally, sweaty and getting dizzy from my gut clenching over and over, i felt the tablet move, not much, but a little. and then it moved again, so i swallowed, hard. it went down my throat painfully, but it wasn't threatening to get sucked into my lung anymore, and so it was good. after a minute, it disappeared into my digestion, and i got up and went back out to shelve books, and i tossed the bottle of vitamin c in the trash. only flintstones for kids for me from now on...

the latest on the whole doctor experience:
after my appointment to find out what was wrong with my stomach, a grueling ordeal with tubes and cameras inserted unceremoniously into my butt, which also left me feeling like i had eaten a can of olestra for the rest of the day, i mentioned that i had a mole on my back that i would like removed, and could i make an appointment for it. my doctor said he himself could just freeze it off right then and there, and told me to wait just a second and he'd get the liquid nitrogen. i was thinking "jesus christ! liquid nitrogen? i'm outta here!" but there was the little problem of me not having any pants on and there wasn't anything sitting around that i could use to wipe myself down with before getting dressed, and my doctor could walk back in at any time and so i just sat there, pantsless and feeling quite gross. then he came back with what looked like a blow torch and i gasped, for real, like in a movie or something, and he reassured me that it wasn't at all scary, and proceeded to blow some liquid nitrogen on his hand to prove it. so i lifted up my shirt and let him blast me with the chemical and it felt like a little needle was being dug into my ribs, but he was right, it wasn't engulfing me in flames or anything. then he told me that in a week it should scab and fall off, like any other frostbitten area of skin. cause you know, i've lost lots of chunks of me to the frigid effects of frostbite. i thanked him and he left me with a box of tissue that i was incredibly happy to have, and i spent the next several minutes trying to will myself to not look at the table with the instruments that had recently been in my butt.

okay:
i've been a very bad girl and have not been keeping you informed about the drama that swirls in my life like a mist in the night. whaa ha ha! but i'll try to make it up to you by telling you shocking tales and weird stories that i have not made up!! they are all true!

i found out that the farm i grew up on was bought for a song by my grandfather because the people who lived there previously died horrible grisly deaths and no one else wanted the land. the wife developed a mysterious illness and died slowly and painfully. after she died, her husband hung himself(possibly in the house, i'm not clear on that detail). but my grandfather neglected to tell any of his family these gruesome details until after they bought the property and had moved it. yeek!

my divorce is final. my name has changed back to it's maiden self, although i don't feel like a maiden, that's for sure. my 'divorce ring' is in the process of being made. does anyone have a suggestion for the inscription? i've got a few ideas, but all of them seem corny and self-righteous and that's not really how i feel about it at all. it's not like "i've reclaimed myself." it's more like i've looked at myself under a microscope and am now better able to categorize all that is me. also, the tupperware my mom gave me in college that had our last name emblazoned on it to ensure it wouldn't ever end up in the wrong hands has now come back to being properly labeled. so that's a plus.