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I won an award!  I Squee’d.  And then did a dance.  Yes, it might have resembled the Snoopy Dance…

Courtni gave me a Happy 101 Award.  The rules say I have to list ten things that make me happy and then pass it on to ten other bloggers…but I don’t know many other bloggers who haven’t already been given it lol.  So I’ll just say that if you list ten things that make you happy, and haven’t already got the award – consider it yours now.  :)

So… Ten Things That Make Amanda Happy:

1.       Sharpie Pens.  Is that weird?  I don’t care.  I love to write and doodle and am a compulsive list maker.  I’m also a Virgo who despises mess.  Sharpie pens are clean and crisp – they make words look definitive and important.  It’s bold font that doesn’t bleed through and looks prettier than Times New Roman… bringing me to numbah 2…

2.       My Handwriting.  Most of the time.  After 45 minutes of addressing envelopes it gets a little sketchy, but for the most part I love the way my handwriting looks (especially in sharpie pen).  I love the way I make the lower case letter ‘f’.   And I love the way my new name looks when I doodle it like a twelve year old with a crush.

3.       My new house.  The boys are not such big fans of it.  All they see is a decided lack of hot water and leaky sinks and holes in the fence.  I see space for my dogs to run and play and get out of my lap/hair.  I see places for my friends and family to gather and eat wings or pizza or pasta or enchiladas whenever I want.  I see privacy.  I see friendly neighbors and a park around the corner.  I see twenty steps in any direction without running into each other, a dog or a piece of furniture.  The rest will come.  Having a house makes me feel like we are really a family.

4.       Date Nights with Teridactyl.  Nights where the boys are banished to their respective corners and I can sit in my home and be a girl.  It means a lot to me that she drives so far out of her way to hang out with me.  And the longer I live with men, the more I appreciate the girl talk.

5.       Ke$ha.  I know, I know.  Don’t judge me.  Here’s the thing.  I know it’s ridiculous. I know she is ridiculous.  I don’t care.  The songs are upbeat and happy.  They remind me of driving home to Waco from Austin at 3 in the morning – sitting in Natalie’s car with the radio up.  When we most definitely should NOT have been driving.  When we didn’t quite understand all the lyrics, so made up our own ridiculous versions.  It’s like Ke$ha is the embodiment of those moments – only her lyrics are really that ridiculous.  I adore her.  And the feathers in her hair.

6.       Reading.  Specifically horrible, cheesy Supernatural Romance novels.  Gimme.  Gimmegimmegimmegimmie.  So much that I have a corner in the new house already slated for a papas an chair for me to curl up in to read where the dogs won’t fit and will have to bug someone else.  Shhh.  Itsa secret.  Iwon’t haven’t told the boys (yet).

7.       My family.  Robbie and my dogs being there every day when I get home is a bright shiny moment, every single day.

8.       Email.  I do a happy dance anytime I can email instead of call.  I get seriouslyfuckingpissedoff at places of business that do not have links for email or online communication and force a bitch to call.  We all know we are all making these things happen while at work nowadays.  It’s far easier to pretend to work while writing an email than sitting on the phone – and I ain’t got time to sit on hold, motherfuckers.  Getwithit.  It’s TWOTHOUSANDMOTHERFUCKINGTEN.  I should not have to pick up my phone ever.

*ahem*

9.       Butter Cookies.  And French fries.  And pie.  And cobbler.  And SourDough Bread.  And mashed potatoes.  Baked Potatoes.  Pasta… you get the point, I’m sure.  But the thought of fitting into a bikini of a specific size makes me happier – so I will be forsaking the starches.  I can do this.  For reals.

10.  And now I’ll be a big geek.  WoW makes me happy.  A lot.  I rarely group or play my level 80 character though.  I like the leveling.  The questing.  The killing of things by myself, with my headphones on.  Noone to tell me what to do or how to do it or when or why.  Just single minded killing or things that don’t matter cause they aren’t real… and I miss it when it’s gone.  When I cancel my subscription for months at a time… I always come back.  And – Truth?  Between you and me, I’m bad at it.  And I don’t care.

One of the reasons I am Childfree is that I know myself.  I would be a horrible parent.   I don’t like children for more than an hour or two at a time – and even then only if they are clean and well behaved.  I have no idea how to talk to them.  Conversations with my friends’ kids can often be painful, awkward moments for me…

I like dogs.  They trigger that mooshy/gooshy/maternal emotional response in me.  I have slightly more patience for an animal that literally cannot understand the words coming out of my mouth than a child who just doesn’t want to.  I know how to train and communicate with dogs…

At least I thought I did.

Bauer can sit and shake and stay and lay down and come(sometimes) and drop it, plays fetch and is learning to walk on a proper leash.  He knows what I mean when I tell him to get in his crate, or off the bed or couch.  He is learning to get Up in the car on his own, and didn’t foam at the mouth on Tuesday when we went for a ride without Ginger to comfort him…

But Bauer is not okay.  He is terrified and overly-submissive and agitated.  He cowers even when we try to feed him and hides in his crate if I raise my voice or have any semblance of an angry tone – regardless of who I am speaking to.  It’s worse with Robbie.  He gets too afraid to pee, and then either lets it all go subconsciously in acts of submission to Robbie – or in the middle of playing fetch because he just can’t hold it anymore…  and then he hides and shakes.  Or he’ll follow me step for step and sit right behind my feet when I tell him to go potty.

He’s always been timid.  We’re 90% sure the people before us were beating him.  But it was getting better…

And then we moved.

And suddenly it was much, much worse.  And I have no idea why.  Or how to fix it.  He wasn’t this spooked when we brought him home with us to the apartment – so I don’t think it’s the move itself that has him so worked up…

I feel like a horrible dog-mom.  My baby puppy is scared and hurting and sad and I have no idea how to fix it.  I am not even sure if maybe we haven’t caused it in some way – which makes me want to cry.  Both boys are Over It.  They didn’t sign up for puppy-drama and are frustrated at his lack of understanding that he is Physically Okay and Safe.  At having to clean up his messes when I am not home and… so I feel guilty for bothering the boys.  For bringing this poor, pathetic, high-maintenance dog into their home.

*I* am terrified he’s going to pee on something and irritate/frustrate the boys.  Which has me even more on edge.  And makes it even more stressful – which I know he picks up on.  He is eight months old and 42 pounds.  He is going to be a big dog.  Too big to be so afraid of everything.  I am terrified I won’t be able to fix it and something will happen and he’ll bite someone and have to be put down.  I have nightmares of it… or that I can’t fix it and Robbie decides he can’t deal and leaves us.  Or he asks me to get rid of Bauer/says we have to get rid of him.

I’ve scoured the internet.  I am trying everything listed to fix this.  I am not petting his head or standing over him or hugging him tight like I used to.  I am letting him win at Tug games and making a concentrated effort to not yell or use angry tones.  I am lying down on the floor if he starts to shake or get scared.  I am trying to distract him with a toy if the lying down doesn’t work.  I am making a point to exercise him when I get home: with a walk, or games of fetch/chase in the backyard.  I am making him sit and stay and shake to give him something to do that he is good at and try to build confidence.  I am letting him rest his head on the top of mine and praising him every chance I get.  I am using soft tones when asking if he wants to potty and then walking outside to stand in the middle of the yard in the rain so he doesn’t feel abandoned or punished for peeing.  I crawled with him into the living room to eat – taking a handful out of the bowl and placing it in front of him.  I let him hide in his crate as long as he wants to when he wants to…

But how long before it starts to work?

…and what if it doesn’t?

W is for Wicked.

On our Wedding Website I said:

Courtni is Amanda’s Soul Sister.  Her words, her inspiration, her attitude and her unconditional love and support were crucial to Amanda becoming the woman that Robbie fell in love with.  The wedding would not be complete without her.

That is not an exaggeration.  When I first ‘met’ WickedGame – I was intimidated beyond belief.  I had never cared for or about blog-ratings or the myspace ‘elite’ as I thought of them – and she, at least in my eyes, was one of the Elite…but I desperately wanted to know this Woman Whose Words echoed my soul.  More than just Wanting to know her, I Wanted…Needed…her to know ME.  I stalked her blog for months before leaving my first comment.  I almost cried the first time she commented on mine – I felt like I’d won an award.

Wicked is a Writer.  The undiscovered/unacknowledged 10^th World Wonder.  Untempered honesty Winds its Way through every Word she speaks, pens, or types.  More than anyone else I know – Courtni owns Who and What she is.  Completely and Without an ounce of shame.  I have never seen her pull a punch.  And so, when she accepted me – I knew it was real.  When she complimented my Writing – I knew it was real.  She played a big part in my acceptance of my Self.  She exudes strength and Wisdom, and I soaked it up.

And, for the first time in my life, I found myself truly interested in watching a pregnancy progress.  Even being squicked out if I thought about it in terms of ME or MY LIFE… I found myself fascinated by her letters to her unborn daughter.  Teary eyed and full of Warm fuzzies.  It was the first glimpse I had into the soft, gooey WickedHeart beating beneath the hard {candy} shell she portrayed.  And yet, it was no less strong than that exterior.

I almost pee’d my pants when I learned she was going to be in Tennessee for Gigifest.  I was SOOO excited to be able to meet this amazing Woman…and then got tongue-tied when I finally did…and right about the time I started to realize she was human, and neither deserved, nor wanted the pedestal I’d placed her on – and relax – I got the flu.

In the months following got to know Courtni all over again.  Without the idolization, as an equal – a sister.  I stopped feeling like the lost little loser tagging along with the cool kids and realized the cool kids thought I was cool.  I stopped trying and started BEING.  It was a flipped switch, not a process.  An epiphany fueled by the knowledge that Women such as Courtni liked me. Me.  Singing badly at the top of my lungs at two in the morning in the kitchen, wearing pajama pants and a lime green bra that had seen better days – they liked me. Stressed up by superstition and in desperate need of a sports bar – they liked me. Sick as all hell, whiney, mopey and bitter at missing out on the festivities – they liked me.

And when the Frog turned out to be just a Frog, and not a Prince – they were there.  And as I came into my own, there were Wicked little text messages spurring me on.  Forcing me to think a little harder, dig a little deeper into the void known as my Self and KNOW.  And when I needed a new outlet, she got me a visa to thepqnation.

And when I met a man really Worth my time and effort…and when I fell in love with him…and when I got engaged to him– no one was happier for me than Courtni.  LittleMissWicked was happier to hear I found a love like this than I think my own mother was.  It made total sense to me to ask her to stand with me.  And the perfect way to express what (at the time) I had no Words for:  How much she meant to me.

(*ahem*  notgonnacrynotgonnacrynotgonnacrynotgonnacry *ahem*)

So yes.  W is for Wicked.

Carry on.

Ah. Life.  That awesome, beautiful, FUN thing that always seems to get in the way of my blogging now.

It happens.

Today is, first, for T.

And T is for Teridactyl.

I stole the nickname from DeAnne.

Teri is my rock.  My family away from my family.  She adopted me.  And let her mom adopt me too.  Until I met Robbie and we made our own little family – Teri’s family WAS my family.  I went to her Aunt&Uncle’s house for holidays.  I was around so often her entire extended family were convinced we were dating – and well enough liked that her Grandmother told them all to shut it – and that it didn’t matter if she was.

My own family wouldn’t accept me if I were gay, but Teri’s did.

Teri is Tacky with me.  We are hateful, evil, malicious little bitches when we are Together – and it makes me happy.  She is my cohort for all things horrible-horror-movie related.  She is my Mistress of Bubbles, even though it means she has to wear a dress and have her picture taken.  She will be the first person I go to to help decide if I can pull off this bikini thing I have planned or not when the time to actually order an outfit comes around.

She tells me when I need to calm down and lower my voice, and is one of only three people I will listen to when they say it.

She bought me butter cookies.

…and an animatronic Triceratops.  <3

She stays in North West Austin once a week, driving all the way home to South Central Austin – even though she has her own cable now and doesn’t NEED me to watch So You Think You Can Dance.

She loves my dogs and doesn’t mind that one smells bad and the other drools.

She has drug my drunk ass out to her car, and driven my incoherent, rambling self wherever I needed to be to crash, and let me borrow a shirt to sleep in more times than I remember.  And brought me aspirin at least twice before I passed out.  AND I think she actually, physically, changed my clothes for me once.  I don’t have words for how much it means to me that she stuck around despite all that.

Teridactyl’s are the bestest best friend that ever best-friended…  and she somehow maintains TWO of us.  (Side note:  Sarah gets an honorary mention for sharing her Teridactyl with me.)  And her hectic family life/responsibilities as well.

And she lets me lick her when there are cameras around.  Is there really anything else to say after that?

A few days back, when this whole thing started – Robbie Randomly mentioned my blog.  The theme, the challenge, I had given myself.  Before I knew it he was listing off topics for the various letters.   R, obviously, was to be for Robbie.

And because it’s obvious, there is a part of me that wants to Rebel.  It’s too easy.  Expected.  Like those quizzes we make up to find out “how well” our friends know us, and then make the questions as obtuse and misleading as possible so that they “have to really, REALLY know {us}” to get them Right.

Oh shuddup.  I know I’m not the only one who does it.

And there are so many things that start with R that I am grateful for.

Raggedy Anne’s.  Rock and Roll music.  Reggae.  Rockabilly.  R&B.  Rap.  Running water.  Rainy Nights.  Rapture.  Red Bull.  Rocks.  Rings.  Romance…  Red Wine…

Remembering spending all night decorating the Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch Dining Hall for Christmas…

All those things, and more…

But, if we are honest… If I am honest – and if I can’t be honest here gods help us all – Robbie is more.  (Sorry, Courtni.  I tried really hard to stay un-mushy… but that’s where this is heading now.)

On June 29, 2008 I wrote the following:

…I accepted a long time ago that I either do or do not like people.  That it’s decided quickly.  That I get attached quickly because I don’t waste time on trying to make myself like people I don’t.  It’s not a judgement, just a difference of opinion – and I accept it.

But I’m trying to slow that down where the men are concerned.  Trying to stick to the 500 questions or six weeks rule.  But I know I *could* love him.  And really have known since the first night.  I also know it’s only been two weeks since I met him.  Four days of which I had no phone and didn’t talk to him at all… so ten days.  During which we have slept in the same bed four times.  *Slept* being the key word.  Bizzare to me.  Foreign.  Did I mention HE wants to take it slow?  Yeah.  Apparently he has a six weeks rule or something similar too.  I’m aiming for a compromise…

I’d already let him sleep on my bed.  (ON, not IN, as I very clearly specified in that blog lol.)  I knew.  He knew.  We would both argue that we knew the moment we met – regardless of anything you might have to say regarding love at first sight.

Robbie is my Refuge.  My Right when everything else is ohsoverywrong and crumbling around me.  My Remedy.  Every bad day, every cramp, twinge, headache and snotty nose is made better with just his presence.  Knowing he is near makes me feel better.   I can’t even stay mad at the jerkface for more than twenty minutes before I start crying because we can’t be mad at each other and stay in the same room.  Yeah, it’s really that pathetic lol.   He is the Rock I tell my secrets to.  And he lets people know when they’ve hurt my feelings – because I am too proud to do it myself.

More than anything else all year, more than anything else EVER: I am grateful for Robbie.  Not just that he is in my life, not just that he chose me – but that, somehow, *I* am what makes him happiest.

…is for Kisses. Get your mind out of the gutter. I said Kisses not foreplay or making-out. Just simple, Kind Kisses. I LOVE Kisses. They are not implicitly sexual to me. In Squishtopia, Kisses are chaste. Kisses are platonic. They CAN be sexual, but typically – aren’t for me. Kisses are demonstrative affection. Loving Out Loud. The simple act of placing one’s lips to another person’s forehead. Or cheek. Or lips. Kisses from a friend. From Robbie. From my puppy. Puppy kisses may get their own blog I love them so much. If you aren’t aware, Bauer was being beaten by the previous owners, and was afraid to do anything – ESPECIALLY lick a person. His Kisses mean the world to me. They mean he trusts me. They mean he is starting to feel safe in our home. In addition to being happy to see me and/or concerned for my emotional state. And despite giving up Kissing my girlfriends this last year, I have had no lack of Kisses. I would almost say that in the last year I have had more Kisses than any other single year, or possibly even two, ever in my life. I am blessed with Kisses.

And I almost forgot Karaoke. I don’t get to go very often anymore. And, to be honest, it’s not the same fun that it once was… but it’s still there. Still exactly the same as it was five years ago when I started going. Oh, the TVs are bigger and the Karaoke itself is all digitized now…but the atmosphere is the same. It’s a tiny little place packed to the brim with “WeDon’tGiveAFuck.” So many things, so many people in my life have changed in the last few years. They’ve started having to care about being at the “Right” bar with the “Right” people in the “Right” atmosphere and wearing the “Right” clothes… and maybe it’s because I am still a peon…maybe it’s because, at heart, I really am just a little on the trashy side… but I haven’t made that transition. I cannot play the Kissass game. I’m bad at it. It makes my head hurt. To be blunt, it disgusts me. And I hate myself every second that I am attempting to play it. Karaoke is my refuge. My sanity. It is raw and gritty and ugly and offkey and unashamed of any of it. I can go in a party dress or a Tshirt and jeans and be equally accepted the moment I walk in the door. And I will always appreciate and be grateful for that.