Something Stormy This Way Spins...

How Ballerenic, yes?

Ballerenic... Yes, I suppose it's not a word. Although it does seem as if the clouds themselves pirrouette upon the sky, positioning thus to form the eye as the clouds and waters spin into a great wall of wind and rain, lightning dancing, thunder keeping time, trees bowing at the great performance of nature as it edges closer to the land which will ultimately end it's performance!

As Isaac approaches the state of Florida, I'm excited in the same way I used to get excited for snowstorms--perhaps more so as it doesn't involve cold temperatures or snow. Wind, rain, probably some hail, a multitude of lightning and thunder, but snow shovels need not apply!

This shit's already melted when it falls! Oh happy day!

Of course, I'm on a learning curve here, and I'm tickled pink that I'll be getting my feet wet on a category 1 huricaine. (Pun, indeed, intended...) I've been told by the natives running around the it's not even worth getting excited about, let alone worried, for anything less than a category 3 storm, but I'm a newbie, and I plan on taking some pictures of the beach beofre hunkering down in my concrete bunker of an apartment as the waves crash upon the beach with the wrath and anger only swirling winds and evil-eyed storms can do!

Still, I did what I used to do when I heard a big ol' snow storm was a'comin'! Ran to the store for bread, bottled water, canned vegetables, a few bottles of wine, and--of course--ring bologna, cheese, and Ritz crackers... Nothing says comfortable-storm food like ring bologna, cheese, and crackers! With some white wine in the appropriate wine glass, that is.

Of course, the natives also tell me that I'm probably going a bit overboard. But I'm a firm believer in "better safe than sorry" while also being a firm believer in "enjoy everything," "find the bright side," and, last but not least, "fuck weather!"

Knowing my luck, this storm will simply vanish, or at the very least, go severely off-course by all the hot air being blown around by the sudden influx of windbag Republicans that are strolling into the state for their convention--but it seems to me, that if they truly were "God's party," what with their "pro-family," "pro-life," "pro-God," "pro-country" propaganda shit talk, God wouldn't've sent a tropical storm toward the very place they were having their convention, now would he?

Unless, of course, we consider that maybe--just maybe--God might like the Democras better? Jesus was, after all, a socialist...

Chew on that while watching the clouds roll in, boys... I have some ring bologna to slice up...

And Then There Were Pictures...

Mom wants pictures. Who can blame her? I'd tell her to join facebook to see this crap, but we tried that before. She logged on when she first got facebook... Then she hopped on one more time, six months later, and then only to delete her facebook account...

Such is the life of a woman old enough to get a senior citizens discount, I suppose. :)

So let's start with the newest addition to our little family, Brunhilda:

Brunhilda's, from what the vet tells us, part labrador, part pointer, and ab one year old. She's the one that went Cujo on the visiting doggie earlier in the week, and thanks to Google and a few facebook friends, we're learning ways to rehabilitate her so that she can be a productive member of the canine family AND be able to join us on visits to the dog beach... Sheme to us with severely lacerated legs and scars and at first it was thought she would have to lose the leg:

This picture doesn't even show the half of it, but no one needs to see how awfully she was treated by her former masters. Suffice it to say most ofthe scars are now fully healed and even growing some fur back. The worst gash still has a one-inch by two-inch gash that gets wrapped twice daily and is slowly but surely healing and beginning to look healthy.

Here's the rest of the canine bambino's:

From closest to furthest away: Kylie (tea cup chihuahua, mother of the next two); Gizmo (three-quarters teacup chihuahua, one-quarter pomeranian); his sister Chloe; Hawthorne; and on the other end of the futon is Mysti, whom Hawthorne is fatally attracted to in the same way he used to be about my brother's dog, Mary...

As soon as all six dogs decide they can all fit on the futon together, I'll snap that shot.

Then there's the two cats, Beaux and Mika:

And yes, that's pretty much all they do. Well, Beaux likes to add "Gecko Killer" in addition to sleeping, but some folks don't like the fact that he's an apex predator around here (if you ignore the fact that alligator's live in this here state), but as alligator's have yet to be found within the confines of my apartment, we should be a-okay...

That's it for now.

Hope all is well in your worlds. Mine, for the moment, is quite hunky-dory...

Reconnecting...

I'm blogging from home... Yes, I know, I know, it's been a long time coming, but all things--okay, okay, most things are worth waiting for, and this was one of them.

So, a couple of things:

1. We can never give Brunhilda to another owner. Not because we've fallen that much in love wirh her... Which we have. But she is definately an unpredictable dog, especially when it comes to other dogs and cats. Luckily she seems to have accepted the current dogs as her pack; however, when a friend came over with her dog? Luckily Brunhilda was crated. She channeled Cujo. I am not exagerrating, although I wish I were. I could not in good conscious give her to another home, a home that probably wouldn't understand her history, and then hear that she killed another animal, bit a person, what have you. (Although I will say, she only ever seems thrilled to meet new people...) However, any time we're meeting new people? She's gonna be in her crate or muzzled. I'm just so glad we have a backyard for her to run in, that she gets along fine with the current pack, and that she obeys are commands (as much as any one-year-old puppy does, that is...) And while part of my heart breaks in that we'll never be able to take her to the dog park or the dog beach with Hawthorne and Mysti, she does have a yard, she does love her pack, and she's gonna be one hell of a guard dog, as shown by the actions she has shown to strangers across the street...
2. Skype will be coming in a bit, but not quite yet. Apparently the combination of older computers with older used camera's that are not of the plug-and-play generation of electronics, means I need to purchase something newer if I expect to videocall the family back home. You live and learn, ya know? Be that as it may, at least it's no longer "one day I'l have internet at home again," but "I do now have internet at home, and things are happening..."

So I'm off to see what further deals I can find, enjoy the company of B.E.D. when he gets home from his afternoon shift, and perhaps--just perhaps--think of all those things I wanted to blog about these last few months and get started...

Six Dogs, Two Cats, and a Partridge in a Palm Tree…

It’s cramped but lovely living, I tell you. Okay, “lovely” might be overstating it a bit—I cannot wait until my VA Loan preapproval comes forth. Not that “love” isn’t in the equation… Of that there is no doubt. However, it is a bit cramped living in a one-bedroom with all the wildlife and whatnot.

A word to the wise—do not, I repeat, do NOT—ever get an all-white apartment. If you do happen to find yourself staring at an all-white apartment, note the way the stove is also painted white—and not in appliance paint. And the toilet. The walls go without saying—they are, indeed, also painted. White. As are the tiles. Well, in truth, the tiles should be white. What they are in reality is an off-white due to the amount of sand and dirt the Florida environment decides the bottom of your feet, sandals, flip-flops and shoes should be dragging around to all points indoors. Not to mention the hair shed by two cats and six dogs…

SIX dogs! you’re thinking. Are you NUTS!? Well, yes. But not bad-nuts, unlike some stupid, idiotic, assholed, dick-faced couple who was using their dog for either dog-fighting or baiting (i.e., using her as bait to train other dogs for fighting). She found an escape and found herself in B.E.D.’s carport, where he found her bleeding, legs gashed open, blood pouring from her wounds, abandoned and lonely and crying…

Being normal human beings (unlike her previous owners), he brought her home and she has begun the healing process, both in terms of physical health, but emotionally learning to trust humans and other dogs again… She has also been dubbed Brunhilde, Visigoth Princess of legend, and who’s name also means “battle armor” or “warrior princess,” depending on which baby-names website you prefer… (It should be noted, I had no idea her name would mean such a thing—I simply thought it sounded like a nice, strong, German name, for her strength and grace in the face of such adversity!) Be that as it may, my mother now has one more grand dog to add to the growing list of the Noah’s Ark-like-life of pets her children own…

Speaking of children…

The B.E.D. and I have also started the long and winding process of foster-parenthood. Or to become adoptive dad’s, depending on how you look at it. Florida having some of the ass-backward laws that it does, we both can’t be the adoptive father’s, so we’ll just have to take turns once the classes have ended and the child-care advocates have started knocking on our door—a door, it should be noted, that will not lead into the interior of a one-bedroom, all-white apartment just outside of Wilton Manors…

Just one more month until the pre-approval comes in for the mortgage…

The classes themselves are a hoot! Between the role-playing, the other couples on the road to foster-parenthood, the teachers and social workers we’re getting to know… It’s definitely worth giving up at least five Saturdays in a row, if only for the making of new friends with common goals and wants in life. (It should be noted here, not that my old and other new friends are lacking in any way, shape or form, FYI…) Of course, there will be further classes to take, hopefully not within the confines of a stuffy, Baptist-church basement, but we’ll cross that bridge when we cross that bridge. Due to the types of children B.E.D. and I are wishing to help and adopt, there will be several other courses after this one, but I’m sure it’ll all be worth it in the end!

I’m finally facing fatherhood…

And I’m terribly excited. Partially because, unlike pets, they’ll one day go off to college and (hopefully!) become productive members of society, whom I can pass on my values and life lessons, teach and guide and be there for in ways that partners and pets don’t require. Of course, also not like pets, they’ll talk back. Unlike pets, however, they’ll (hopefully!) use the toilets! Also dissimilar to pets, they’ll come with their own sets of values and morals—but that is not something to cringe at. It’ll be another life experience, a chance to expand my own horizons and challenge my own thoughts, to continue to embrace the diversity of human thinking and behavior…

Is it bad that I am hoping, however, that none of them want to grow up to be pastors or priests or rabbis? As long as they’re happy, of course, I’ll be happy… But their ultimate choice of profession…?

Ach, who the fuck cares, right? Parents and caretakers have been shaking their head’s at their children’s choices of profession for years… Why should I waste a thought on that?

I just want to raise children who will learn to be content, be productive, and use the toilet…

I don’t think that’s asking too much… Do you?

It’ll be cramped but lovely living…