Yesterday morning while I was taking Gus out for a walk, the little guy picked up something off the ground, something he does all too often. When I scolded him and it fell to the ground, I noticed it was a teeny tiny baggie filled with a white powder substance. Yeah. Now, I'm typically an "every-man-for-himself" kind of girl, so I picked it up and sort of threw it out of the way, hoping that Gus wouldn't sniff it out and find it again. Or that some child - and there are several who live in our complex, I might add - wouldn't noticed it on the ground.
Last night, as Mike was taking Gus to the bathroom again, the little guy found it - again - and picked it up in his mouth. This time, he didn't drop it when Mike scolded him, and Mike had to pry his mouth open (a common occurrence on daily bathroom walks) to get it out. When they came back inside, we decided to call the cops, who came and took the baggie filled with white powder substance. Mr. Policeman said it appeared to be meth, but that he'd have to have it checked out. If it does turn out to be meth, we'll have to file a police report.
For the record, there are several young children who live in our complex, many dogs whose owners let them roam free around the greens, and our apartment complex sits right across from a middle school. Reality people. In your back yard.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Pondering the 'M' word
So, I've been thinking a lot about the 'M' word lately. I mean, I'm a girl. Technically we're thinking about it from the first time that we meet a guy. But back to the point. I went to a wedding a couple of weeks ago and found myself wanting to get married. Normally at weddings, I'm like, "Oh, that's nice ... for when I get married." And this time I was really wanting it more.
So it got me to thinking (love that phrase, btw!) about what it means to be a spouse. I mean, if I'm serious about marrying this boy, I'm going to be serious about the meaning of marriage.
To me, marriage sort of makes that other person your other half. As in, whenever you need anything - whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually - you go to them first. A spouse is supposed to be your rock when those things fail. And so, if I'm thinking about marrying someone, I want to make sure that they are going to be able to supply all those needs (because I'm pretty sure that in a lifetime of marriage, you're going to need help with one or all of those at some point).
And so, alas, this is what my mind is fondling with now.
So it got me to thinking (love that phrase, btw!) about what it means to be a spouse. I mean, if I'm serious about marrying this boy, I'm going to be serious about the meaning of marriage.
To me, marriage sort of makes that other person your other half. As in, whenever you need anything - whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually - you go to them first. A spouse is supposed to be your rock when those things fail. And so, if I'm thinking about marrying someone, I want to make sure that they are going to be able to supply all those needs (because I'm pretty sure that in a lifetime of marriage, you're going to need help with one or all of those at some point).
And so, alas, this is what my mind is fondling with now.
Monday, July 14, 2008
One-Way Streets and Conversations
Why is it that my best blog ideas come at the most inopportune moments? Take, for instance, this morning when I made a left-hand turn onto Louisiana and noticed that the street was now a two-way instead of a one-way, meaning that I now can't speed around all the other cars like a crazed woman, barely missing the red lights, so that I can get up to work by 9:05 a.m. instead of 9:06. And I'm wondering, as I listen to the oldies, if the car in front of me is watching my head turn from side to side and realizing that I just noticed the newly-painted double lines.
Or take, for instance, the time when I'm sitting on the couch watching TV on a restful Saturday afternoon and I realize that I am now having a one-way conversation with my dog (unless you count his slight head-tilts as a show of understanding) about why he hasn't pooped all day.
Or the way that I explain situations to people in my head and make them feel what I feel by my words alone, only to forget that phrase (she looked bluntly bare with her wet skin lying on top of his) or that specific description (of the strawberries dripping sweet beads of wet chocolate down the lavender-colored wedding cake) when I sit down at my computer to write. It's like I need a typewriter on hand that will take down my blog thoughts and descriptions at times when I can't, like when I'm sitting in the back corner of a bar watching the fluidly movements of a blonde woman, penis bouquet in hand and veil on head, try to get down from the stage after grabbing a barman's crotch during a vulgar dance rendition of Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World."
I swear, it's like a phenomenon.
Or take, for instance, the time when I'm sitting on the couch watching TV on a restful Saturday afternoon and I realize that I am now having a one-way conversation with my dog (unless you count his slight head-tilts as a show of understanding) about why he hasn't pooped all day.
Or the way that I explain situations to people in my head and make them feel what I feel by my words alone, only to forget that phrase (she looked bluntly bare with her wet skin lying on top of his) or that specific description (of the strawberries dripping sweet beads of wet chocolate down the lavender-colored wedding cake) when I sit down at my computer to write. It's like I need a typewriter on hand that will take down my blog thoughts and descriptions at times when I can't, like when I'm sitting in the back corner of a bar watching the fluidly movements of a blonde woman, penis bouquet in hand and veil on head, try to get down from the stage after grabbing a barman's crotch during a vulgar dance rendition of Three Dog Night's "Joy to the World."
I swear, it's like a phenomenon.
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