The Monster Jam

Buster suggested weeks ago that we attend the annual event which showcases the world’s biggest, loudest, and most monstrous of monster trucks known as “Monster Jam.” While I had never before considered attending such an event, and initially had no interest, I decided in the spirit of adventure that I would be open to trying something new and agreed to go. After mentioning this intention publicly, my friend/student Penny offered to donate her tickets to us, as she had a conflicting event at the animal shelter. Buster and I were thrilled to receive free tickets, made even sweeter given that these were Club Seats.

The cosmos tried to warn us not to go. We’d been advised repeatedly to bring earplugs, as this is a LOUD event. Sure, no problem, I can handle that. We ended up eating Zaxbys for dinner at the end of JTB and Phillips in the hopes that the shuttle service, which runs from there to the football stadium during Jaguar games, might be running for the Monster Jam as well. It was not. Having not yet procured earplugs, we decided to pop into the Walmart on Philips heading toward the downtown area. We all know how I feel about Walmart.

The earplugs were difficult to find, but with some help from the Pharmacy, we located them. None of the ten express lanes were open, so I chose a line with a large woman buying groceries, and a well dressed, elderly gentleman. It took close to five minutes for the woman to complete her transaction, and afterwards, the clerk beckoned the gentleman to come forward. Apparently he was blind and his escorts, apparently a young man and woman, had abandoned him in line. After a few tense moments, they returned. The elderly gentleman bought a few items and the disheveled woman wrote a check. Buster and I marveled at the fact that people continue to write checks at all anymore and patiently continued to wait as the approval process was performed. We sighed in relief as the man received his receipt and the $20 in cash he had requested. The woman then decided she needed to purchase a pack of gum. She also wrote a check for this, from a different account. It was denied. They tried it again. Still denied, for a $.96 pack of gum, while the man held $20 cash. Twenty minutes have now passed and we thank our lucky stars that we have money to spend and aren’t in the same predicament. However, if you need to write a check for something frivolous, such as a pack of gum, do you really need to be buying it in the first place?

Finally departing Walmart, after roughly half an hour, we headed downtown. The Main Street Bridge was a nightmare of traffic cones and confused drivers, we among them. The entire downtown area appeared to have been carefully structured with cones and traffic cops to maintain some sort of order as everyone made their way to the arena. As we crept down the road leading to our destination, a parking area appeared on our right. Roughly two miles from the site of the event, and at a rate of $20, we decided it was a best bet for getting in and out quickly. We parked and began the trek to Monster Jam.

Let me pause now to say that I grew up in some rather rough neighborhoods here in Jacksonville. I am familiar with the different demographics and generally try to avoid returning to the areas I spent my childhood in. My parents were little more than teenagers themselves, and exposed me to a great many things I probably ought not to have been exposed to. I spent time in bars before I was ten, hung out during backyard bonfires with my parents’ twenty-something friends, and rode in many cars driven by drunk drivers. My dad drank; a lot. When I was old enough to become aware of the details, I realized he was drinking a fifth of Seagram Seven every night. I knew something wasn’t right from a young age, and was constantly on alert. Our family lived basically on the edge of disaster. My parents could never hold steady jobs and we lived on the generosity and pity of others. While my father adored his family and was never abusive, he was not the same person when he drank. I learned very early that someone who is drunk cannot be reasoned with. They are not the same person they are when sober, and you cannot reach them. My father terrified me more times than he could ever realize simply because he wasn’t the sweet, gentle, caring, always a bit sad and reserved person that he would be during the day. At night, and around friends his age, he became loud, careless, rough and wild. I will never forget the time I was very young and he was “playing” with me near the backyard bonfire by picking me up and pretending that he was going to toss me in. I learned to “play along” so as not to make him mad, but I was hurt that he would scare me so badly and not even remember the next day. He almost never remembered what had transpired the next day.

Given that he was a poorly educated man, raised by an abusive alcoholic himself, it is no surprise he turned to alcohol to cope with life. I am blessed that he was never physically abusive, but after many years of degrading behavior, I finally severed all ties with him in my early twenties.

I personally have never been terribly comfortable around alcohol or people who use it. I never had one sip of alcohol until I was 22, and although now I have learned to drink socially, I am always on “high alert” around others who are drinking. In my experience, people turn into animals when heavily intoxicated, and are dangerous, irrational, and quick to become aggressive. People who are enjoying a vacation in Key West may be harmless when drunk, but the hordes of poor, uneducated, aggressive youths of Jacksonville are not harmless. We encountered the latter in spades at Monster Jam.

We were forced to walk under the raised highway near Metropolitan Park, where people had obviously been tailgating for hours, if not days. It looked like a scene from a movie portraying the post-apocalypse. I have never in my entire life seen so much refuse in the form of discarded beer cans, food, cigarettes, and even furniture. There were unattended fires, canopies, and massive hordes of stumbling, loud, drunken youths. I clung to Buster as we tried to make our way through the volatile crowds with almost no police in sight. After ten terrifying minutes, we made our way into the arena. Amidst pushing, shouting, running, and absolute chaos, we made it to our seats. I was already traumatized at this point, and could not enjoy the gargantuan trucks making their leaps over dirt covered hills with engines roaring. Two small children incessantly kicked the back of my seat, which finally sent me over the edge. Poor Buster could not endure my misery any longer, and although he was really enjoying the trucks, he insisted that we leave.

Bless his decision, as leaving would have been even more dangerous with the 72,000 people in attendance departing simultaneously at the conclusion of the event. Again I clung to Buster while we kept our heads down and tried to ignore the drunken idiots who tried to talk to us about lord only knows what as we left the arena. Once more we made our way through the now virtually deserted post-apocalyptic walkway, which was now completely void of any police monitoring. A few dark subjects lurked among the trash, sending another jolt of terror through my spine as I anticipated being mugged at any moment. At one point, we came upon a young woman and her two very small children. I could only imagine how afraid she must have been and mentioned this to Buster. Given our rapid pace, we soon reached her side and she turned to ask tentatively if we were sober. She pleaded for us to walk with her until they reached their vehicle, and we happily agreed. She explained that her husband would normally have come, but had to work, and as it was her 4 year old son’s birthday, she had promised him they would attend. Her 7 year old daughter was along for the trip as well, and due to the overwhelming number of attendees who were drinking, she had made the same decision to leave early as we had. I do not regret attending, if only to have helped them make their way safely back to her car.

We parted ways with some distance left for Buster and I to cover, and again, I cringed at every person we passed. Finally arriving safely at our vehicle, we passed the stadium on our way to the bridge home, and could still hear the roar of the engines and the announcer shouting over them. I have never been so grateful to get home and snuggle with my dogs on the couch.

Perhaps I was overly sensitive, and perhaps we were not in as much danger as I perceived. However, given the number of drunk drivers who no doubt left the stadium at the end of the evening, it would be a miracle if no one was hurt that night just in that respect. Either way, the next time Monster Jam comes to town, I will be staying at home.

Deep Thoughts, by Bonnie Leigh

I’ve had a twitch in my left eye for the past three days. It’s terribly annoying, and I fear may be a symptom of an underlying psychological malfunction. The spasms increase in intensity when fighting through early morning traffic, particularly after being cut-off by small sedans covered in “save the planet” and “Jesus loves you” bumper stickers. Strangely, while at home reclining on my leather couch, I experience no symptoms.

I work for a healthcare facility, yet I cannot get an appointment with my healthcare provider, who is on site, until March 17^th. In order to see any other provider, I can make an appointment as early as tomorrow; however, they need a referral from my primary care physician who is not available until March 17^th.

My fastest recorded time playing computer solitaire is 50 seconds flat. I have had entirely too much opportunity to practice at this game.

An estimated 89.9% of people in the city of Jacksonville do not know how to park correctly. This is based entirely on my observation and not on any actual evidence or fact.

Mexican food is awesome.

Marcus Aurelius was a Roman Emperor and philosopher who wrote “Meditations,” a collection of wisdom and observations for personal improvement. One such aphorism stated “All good things in moderation.” After repeated personal experimentation, I have discovered this applies to all things, even chocolate.

I think about dogs and/or agility roughly every 30-40 minutes on average.

Birds don’t fly at night. That “bird” I saw while walking Xander at 9:45pm was actually a bat.

I have seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail an estimated 73 times. I notice something different every time I watch it. I would like to have met their moose trainer.

I learned as much from watching reruns of “Saturday Night Live” on Comedy Central and looking up words in the dictionary when I was twelve as I did from my sex education class in high school.

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer” was the best show ever broadcast on basic cable television, but Barney from “How I Met Your Mother” is the best character ever created for a television series. Neil Patrick Harris has been involved in projects produced by Joss Whedon, the creator of Buffy. Neil Patrick Harris therefore is exponentially awesome.

If Supercuts has a sign on the window that says “Walk ins Welcome!” you will be guaranteed to wait 30 mins or more for service.

I am thinking about dogs and agility again right now.

Two Horses Pulling a Cart

In historic, scenic, old world-style cities such as St. Augustine and Fernandina, it is not uncommon to see horses pulling decorative carriages down the cobblestone streets among the cars and motorcycles. Their eyes seem dull and sad as they trudge through the same streets each day, pulling heavy tourists in the Florida heat. Buster hates to see this, and feels empathy for their drudgery, and the lack of any perceivable enjoyment in their lives. Perhaps they don’t know any better, or perhaps they dream of running wild and free through open fields. Who can truly know for sure, but if their souls are akin to ours, I imagine they would prefer the freedom.

After seeing one of these carriages last weekend, it reminded me of a bit of advice I once received, unsolicited, as advice often comes. Buster and I were sitting in our local VyStar Credit Union office, sacrificing precious Saturday afternoon hours in order to open a joint checking account. An older gentleman was sitting across from us as the minutes ticked away into hours. At first, he appeared to be sleeping, but he soon stirred, perhaps due to our conversation. Boldly, he asked if we were newlyweds. After exchanging amused glances, we explained that we were not. This was actually last year, well before Buster had proposed to me, and we had only discussed the topic superficially. Buster and I explained that since we were then sharing an apartment, and the resulting rent, electricity, and water bills, a joint account would make bill paying simpler. We have in fact worked out an effective system where Buster goes to work to earn money, and I keep track of where it’s supposed to go. When bills are left in his hands, they often find themselves shuffled into a drawer somewhere until several days past their due date.

The gentleman nodded understanding and prefaced his advice by stating that although he was not currently married, he’d been married several times, and for several years at a time, and had learned one thing. “Marriage can be great, as long as both horses are pulling the cart in the same direction.”

We smiled and thanked him for his input, and continued with our business. It has been nearly a year since we instituted our joint checking account system, and thus far it has worked very effectively. We each have our duties as part of the cart pulling team, and we each have our strengths and weaknesses. Buster, much like one of those majestic horses, trudges through hours of work and school to earn his pay and improve his knowledge and skill set. He is generally tolerant to large amounts of verbal and physical abuse from customers and management, and never stops moving forward. His strength of mind, body, and will is truly something to behold. Buster is also an incredible cook and often treats me to grilled delicacies and homemade delights. He also contributes to apartment cleaning by vacuuming, wiping down tables, and occasionally washing dishes (although he runs the dishwasher so infrequently that last night he mistook the sound of it running for one of my dogs vomiting). He is however, furthermore banned from doing laundry. Regrettably, his efforts to contribute in this department have left piles of wrinkled clothes, holes in new sweaters after being washed with metal objects, and work shirts covered in ink after pens were left in pockets. While I applaud the thought behind these efforts, my clothes would be safest if he were forbidden from this task. Bill paying, as mentioned previously, is also a task better suited for someone such as myself, who has more free time and organizational skills.

As for myself, I am a horrendous cook and will often cause spontaneous kitchen fires and third degree burns. In much the same manner that Buster is banned from the laundry room, I am banned from performing any duties in the kitchen except for cleaning up. I am good at this. I would also never attempt to build or repair anything, again, for fear of injury or destruction.

Fortunately, we continue to recognize and respect the contributions each of us makes in our daily lives. He never ceases to thank me for providing him with clean clothes to wear, and I never fail to laude his culinary masterpieces. This goes to show that we each do our fair share of weight pulling. As for direction, we are fortunate to have complimentary goals and dreams. We enjoy the same types of activities; share the same aspirations for careers and home ownership, and have agreed not to have children. We appreciate one another’s hobbies and passions, and although we are supportive and involved, we allow each other the space to have individual lives and stories to tell. So far, we’ve had no trouble agreeing to the direction we are pulling, although we are just beginning to discover our strength and speed. No doubt the road will be rough at times in our lives, but I have a strong feeling that with continued mutual respect, understanding, and communication, we can continue happily on the path together.

The moral of the story? Life is hard. Money has to be earned, food has to be cooked, bills have to be paid, laundry has to be done, and a myriad of other tasks are in constant need of being performed just to get through day to day life. One horse pulling a cart is burdened with all the weight of these responsibilities, and is often tired and sad. Two horses, provided they agree to the direction they are pulling, have half as much weight to pull. In fact, two horses that are happy with their teammate are apt to pull the cart so hard and fast that they get the job done in time to enjoy a romp in the field or a leisurely stroll down scenic lanes. I am equally lucky and overjoyed to have such a handsome steed to be joined with in pulling our cart through life. If we work hard enough, we might even have some fancier wheels on our cart and softer saddles on our backs one day.

Everybody's Workin' For the Weekend

This past weekend was a shining example of why I prefer to live in Florida. The weather was absolutely stunning: clear, blue skies and highs in the upper 70’s. When stepping outside feels like springtime, it is hard to remember it’s only February and some areas of the country are still expecting snow.

Weekends tend to be the time I pack as much living as I can into the two free days I am given. During the cold winter months, I am more apt to hide inside and wish the time would just pass quickly. When the sun begins to warm my skin and I can comfortably walk barefoot through the grass, I desire to stay outside as much as possible. I am also more prone to seek adventure, as is Buster, which contributes to our unique compatibility. Our summers are usually spent traveling around Florida to snorkel in the springs, ride scooters in St. Augustine, and dining on the beach in Daytona. We rarely spend our free time hanging around the house, and when we do, it involves grilling outside or engaging in some apartment improvement project. Even though Buster was occupied with school the earlier part of Saturday, we still managed to cram in a quality amount of adventure and relaxation before Monday reared its ugly head once again.

Saturday morning I awoke bright and early (actually it was still dark) in order to drop Buster’s car off for service, take him to school, and make the 1.5 hour drive to Deland, FL. Laurie Dana, a longstanding member of the central Florida agility club, Dog-On-It, arranged a fundraiser for her nephew who was recently diagnosed with cancer. A fairly large group turned out at the home of Gail Waller, who has her own little sanctuary of woods, a swimming lake, and an agility field. I could happily live nestled away in her little slice of heaven, except for the fact that she has no indoor plumbing. That would be a deal breaker.

Kaylee, Kirby, Xander and I all enjoyed several hours of play and practice, while photographer Marty Wyatt snapped some great pictures of all the participants. I rejoiced that it was finally warm enough to sport my Vibram Five Finger “shoes” once again, and the dogs enjoyed a brief swim in the cool, refreshing waters of her little lake. There was puppy playtime for the youngsters, some good contact and weaving practice, and fun was had by all. Filthy from the combination of swimming and frolicking through the woods, I decided to take them to the park for more swimming and a proper bath. We made the drive back from Deland and diverted off to Nocatee, the community between Jacksonville and Ponte Vedra Beach, where we visit Davis Park. A free, off-leash park with a large swimming area and bathing station, Davis Park has long been our choice for off leash fun. While I tend to avoid the area on Saturdays, as it gets too crowded and increases the chances of unfriendly encounters, I decided that late in the afternoon might be safe.

Kirby commenced to his usual whining as we turned down the familiar road. While I lived and worked in Ponte Vedra back in 2008-2009, we spent nearly every day romping in this park. Xander basically grew up there. Signs warn of gator activity, but I have never seen anything more dangerous than an armadillo, and there is far too much activity on a daily basis to make this park appealing for a gator. Pulling into the parking lot, I noticed a disproportionately large number of shelties, and vehicles adorned with sheltie paraphernalia. Two of my students, Mark and Nancy, own three shelties and regularly attend monthly “Sheltie Meet-Up Groups.” I came to find that this month’s location was chosen by Mark, the club’s new coordinator, and I had indeed stumbled into their meeting! It was fun to see that many Shetland Sheepdogs in one place, and to be recognized by Buddy, Cody, and Daisy, my sheltie students.

After 45 minutes of Frisbee retrieving, swimming, and for Kaylee, enjoying the all-you-can eat buffet (in spite of my screaming and hurling the Frisbee at her), we decided it was time to get cleaned up. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that my dog shampoo had leaked out in the supply crate I keep in my car, so they had to settle for a thorough hosing instead of an actual bath. By the time we returned home, I had three profoundly exhausted dogs. Xander was like a small, over-tired child, and yipped irritably until I put him in his crate for a nap. That boy does get cranky when he’s tired.

At this point, Buster returned from his day of school, car servicing, and having his windows tinted. He now has roof racks, new tires, and tinted windows, which almost makes it seem like he’s gotten a new car! In honor of his sporty new wheels, we decided to make an adventure out of the evening. St. Augustine tends to be our go-to for a quick evening adventure, but we decided to go a different direction this time. After a scenic drive up to Amelia Island, we found ourselves at Brett’s Waterway Café in downtown Fernandina, at the suggestion of Chris and Carol who actually live there. While I had seen this restaurant on the water many times while attending the Fernandina Shrimp Festival, it had never occurred to me to actually try eating there. The ambiance was amazing, and the food was even better. There were a number of appealing places along the quaint, downtown street, which should provide us with several more memories in the future!

Sunday morning found me at my friend/student’s house where I groomed her three dogs. This helps me pay for my agility habit. The dogs enjoyed a quick romp in the sun at our school park across the street. After that, Buster introduced me to the world of Nascar, as we watched part of the race, and listened to the remainder while sitting outside at the community grill.

As we relaxed and enjoyed the gorgeous weather, we decided that instead of being married at the courthouse or something along those lines, we would like to be married in a style that exemplifies our personalities: on the beach wearing casual, resort style attire, in April, year to be determined. Now when someone asks me about the wedding, I will at least have something to say to appease them rather than glaring irritably and dodging the question.

Monday morning comes all too soon when the weekend is filled with fun, but at least I have my classes to look forward to this evening. Another week will zip by, and we will find ourselves enjoying another adventure. Next week, Monster Trucks!

Stay tuned!

What Comes Next

After my epic weekend, and the resulting post, it is challenging to think of a “follow up.” The standards have been set high, given that people were excited to hear about our engagement adventure and were overwhelmingly supportive and congratulatory. I feel like anything I write now will be a let-down. However, I have a million thoughts bouncing around in my head as I come down from my recent emotional high, so I think I will use this as a bit of a dumping ground, and then go from there!

Foremost on my mind is the inevitable talk of weddings. It has genuinely surprised me that as early as two days from becoming engaged, people were asking if we’d set a date. Seriously? Do people really make a decision like that so quickly? I am still just getting accustomed to the idea and allowing my face muscles to recover from all the endless smiling. When someone mentions the actual wedding, my joy comes crashing down in a heap of confusion and paralyzing fear. Big, threatening dollar signs dance in my subconscious as though prepared to pounce on unsuspecting prey.  I have NEVER fantasized about a fairy tale wedding. I would have no idea how to even get started. My friend and student, Jen, was awesome enough to loan me a book about wedding planning.  I got about two chapters in before I decided it was all above my head. I have only actually been to a couple in my life, and the whole ordeal seems overwhelming and somewhat exaggerated. I am ALL FOR a big party involving food, gifts, friends, and family, but all the details are more than I want to tackle. Etiquette is something I tend to find outdated and comical, and when someone tells me “it is not proper etiquette to do____” , I immediately have the urge to do ”____.” I am really not good at following tradition, and things that involve rules with no common sense behind them infuriate me.

Buster and I are in agreement that the outrageous amount of money people spend on weddings is far out of our range. While we are getting on the right track now, finally, in our thirties, our lives up until the recent years have been rocky. We both have debt to pay off, and Buster will very soon have large school loans to pay back. We both have car loans, and we really want to save for a house so that we don’t have to spend the next decade in an apartment or rental home. I am tackling my debt with the raw aggression of a starving tiger, but it’s going to take close to two years to pay off the bulk, and another year or two after that to pay off my car. I have no idea how many years Buster will be paying for school but I am thinking it may be many. Many, many. Then we actually have to save for a down payment on the house which may take another year or two, and by then, somewhere near five years has gone by. Throw in a wedding that costs Americans an average of $15,000 to $25,000 and we’re talking something’s gotta give.

Wedding vs. debt payoff/house ownership? One day of fun and excitement (and stress and neurosis) or a major investment that will include a yard to play with dogs in which will improve my daily quality of life? Sorry, but the house wins hands down.

Now, that’s not to say I don’t want to be married. I am looking forward to becoming Mrs. Bonnie Leigh Pruett. I am also looking forward to a honeymoon (or any vacation that lasts longer than two days really) It’s just that unless we win the lottery, or get hitched downtown and forgo the rest, I don’t see how it’s going to happen anytime in the next five years. This could change with unforeseen circumstances, but when someone asks about a date, I am going to say “I’ll get back to you on that….”

Back to our regularly scheduled obsession, I am looking forward to hopefully going to class tonight with the Xan-Man, if it’s not raining, and then planning to go to some fun runs in Deland, FL on Saturday morning. At our last trial, I got the consistent contact performance I was looking for, but now want it faster!(and with less handler influence). We will be going to the same facility where we participated in our first night of USDAA last September, so it should feel like a trial, but with the added benefit of being able to take more risks for speed, to stop and correct mistakes, and to reinforce fast and independent performances! I am also fighting the urge to go on a spending orgy at Clean Run and buy a bunch of books and videos I haven’t consumed yet. I have to admit, agility=also more fun than weddings. I am just a miserable failure when it comes to being “girly.” I do agility.

Note: (In response to some suggestions, I would NOT want my dogs in a wedding ceremony. It’s a cute idea in theory, but I can picture the barking, jumping, food stealing chaos that would ensue. I love my dogs, but they don’t belong in any civilized function. They do agility…)

The Proposal

Ok, ok, I couldn’t leave it at that. Seriously though, I am afraid people will grow sick of hearing my obnoxiously-bubbly-excited-happy-ranting. It sounds like I am bragging, but I really don’t mean to be. I am overwhelmed by how happy and fortunate I am and truly had no idea life could be this good, or have this much magic until I met Buster. So, while I am trying NOT to boast(much) about how lucky I am to have him, I simply cannot help but share the wonderful experience he helped orchestrate.

This weekend was like the Perfect Storm. Sunday was my birthday, Monday was Valentine’s Day, and Universal Studios was kicking off their Mardi-Gras celebration all at the same time. Buster had always been adamant that he would not propose in conjunction with a birthday or holiday, so although I was anticipating a ring in the near future, I was NOT expecting it this weekend. Furthermore, you have to know a little about me, in that I am not the typical girl who has been fantasizing about a wedding my entire life. I really never thought I would WANT to be married at all, until recently, and even then I was in no hurry about it.

As I mentioned previously, our plan to celebrate my birthday involved a trip to the Lowe’s Royal Pacific, one of Universal’s onsite hotels, and a trip to both theme parks. Buster had class Saturday afternoon until nearly 1pm, so I did not see him much that day until we were in the car. He was acting a little strange: quiet, reserved, almost irritable. I decided that his recent school projects and heavy work load had taken it out of him, so I wrote it off that he was just tired. As it turns out, he told me he was rehearsing his speech the entire trip and was so nervous he had trouble choking down the Arby’s we stopped to have for lunch. He did manage to choke down most of the fries though.

We arrived in Orlando to heavy afternoon traffic, and I feared that he might actually run someone off the road in his eagerness to get to the hotel. However, we arrived shortly after check-in time at 4pm and had our car valet parked so we didn’t have to trudge 20 miles from the self parking lot to the hotel lobby. The staff of the hotel was extremely friendly and helpful, and we quickly made it up to our 7^th floor room overlooking the pool/lagoon area. Simply breathtaking. Buster insisted that we bring the camera so that we could have our pictures taken in front of the “iconic” Universal Studios globe outside the park. I chuckled and said “ok, sure.”

The water taxi which runs from the hotel to the entrance of the parks delivered us romantically to our destination. Soon after, we were standing in front of the Universal Globe that rotates in the fountain just outside of Universal Studios. Buster posed first while I snapped his picture. Looking at it afterwards, you can see how stiff and nervous he looked. I was up next, and posed as Buster snapped my photo from about 20 feet away. Afterwards, we began looking for a volunteer to take our picture together. The only people nearby was a large group of Europeans. Buster searched furtively for someone who would speak English until one of the friendly women from that group came over and gestured that she would help us. Buster turned his back to me and tried to explain what he was planning to do. She didn’t understand. I could see him pull something out of his pocket to show her, and she made such a surprised, taken-aback face that I wondered what on earth he was telling her to do. Then, as I began to realize what was happening, he walked over and gave the speech he had so carefully rehearsed. It was perfect. On went the gorgeous ring that he had picked out without knowing for sure what size I was. (I did catch him massaging my hands and fingers one morning several weeks prior. I had accused him of “sizing up” my ring finger then, but of course he denied it). It fit perfectly.

In the large crowd, my instinct was to be reserved, so I kissed him daintily on the cheek while our overseas friend snapped a picture. That was apparently not acceptable as she yelled “No! The other one, the other one!” I shrugged, and then laid one on him. That was apparently what the crowd was aiming for, as they broke out in cheers and applause. It was all background noise to me.

The rest of the evening was spent riding roller coasters, admiring my ring, celebrating Mardi Gras with great live music, incredible costumes, fantastic parades, thirty pounds of beads, and admiring my ring. Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons played and we stayed long enough to hear the opening act before returning to the hotel.

After that, we headed to the City Walk to eat and drink at Margarittaville and to dance and drink at the various clubs along the walk. We were entertained on our walk back to the hotel by a group of drunken party-goers who were stumbling through the bushes and mooning the passing boats. And I admired my ring.

The next morning, I was awake early and we were out of the room by 7am. The morning consisted of a trip to Harry Potter’s Hogsmeade Village, an overpriced and underwhelming breakfast, and a much needed cup of Starbucks coffee. There was more roller coaster riding, ring admiring, and drinking of Butterbeer. We were exhausted by 2pm and headed home.

The corgis greeted us enthusiastically after having been walked by our friends and neighbors, Mike and Ashley, and I hopped back in the car to pick up Xander who had stayed with my friend Lara and her dogs. Wiped out from wrestling with his buddies Sting and Louie all weekend, he was thankfully asleep as early as we were that night, which was about 8:30pm.

My students last night were amazing as always, and no one minded that it was Valentine’s Day and we were out having class. Buster encouraged me to go teach, as obviously we had celebrated enough over the weekend to cover the holiday. When the group asked me if we’d set a date, I said “Whoa! One thing at a time!” I guess I have some work to do.

So here I am, engaged to my best friend. Who knew the little boy I first met 23 years ago would grow into the only man I would ever want to marry? AND he can keep a secret! As it turns out, he's had the ring for a little while and somehow managed to hide his excitement and anticipation from me. I thought he was just tired and stressed out, but really he was just going nuts trying to be patient!

Well, you'll have to excuse me, I have more ring admiring to do. Cheers!

Sometimes...

.....experiences are too amazing to put into words.

Surprise!

This weekend I am celebrating the 10^th anniversary of my 21^st birthday. So that means I should be drinking, right? Well, actually I didn't have my first drink until I was about 22, but maybe I can make up for it this time around. Or maybe I won't. Either way, what better place to party than Universal Orlando while it is in the midst of Mardi Gras! Buster’s gift to me is an overnight stay onsite at the Lowe’s Royal Pacific, an uber-nice and fancy hotel within a boat ride’s distance from Universal Studios, Islands of Adventure, and the City Walk. For those of you not fortunate enough to live within 3 hours drive of Orlando, FL, I would consider this the Mecca of Central Florida fun. Unless you are under the age of 12, in which case Disney World is slightly further south. As I eagerly await a weekend of roller coasters, butterbeer in the world of Harry Potter, and dancing down the City Walk, I am reminded of last year’s birthday celebration.

The great thing about being in your thirties is that you are old enough to have interesting stories to tell, experienced enough to have some wisdom to guide you, and still young enough to have fun. At the age of 29, I had experienced only a couple of official birthday parties. My sixth birthday was spent with my friends at McDonalds, playing in the pool of plastic balls, sliding down the tiny, indoor slides, and wearing my special paper birthday hat. I recall the disappointment of receiving a Barbie Doll from a well-intentioned playmate, who was not aware I preferred playing in the dirt to wasting time with such a lame girly toy. However, it was a fun and memorable experience overall. My next party was held in our home to mark my twelfth birthday and involved a Chip N’ Dale Rescue Rangers birthday cake (with collectible decorative toys), a pin the tail on the donkey game, and a brief but exciting visit from Buster and his mom. I had all of my school friends and most of the neighborhood over to enjoy games and cake and it was the only other birthday that involved a large gathering of people besides my McDonald’s experience. I was mostly aware of the planning of these parties, and had never experienced the thrill of a “surprise” party. Nor have I had a piñata. I still lament the lack of piñatas through the years…..

Buster, bless his heart, is great at a LOT of things. Keeping secrets is not one of them. This is a good thing though, and proves how honest, loyal and trustworthy he is. He did manage to surprise me with some gifts this Christmas, and I was impressed, but I at least had been asked for feedback on most of the gifts I received. This is fine, because it just means he is concerned that I get what I really want. I can’t blame him after the mental breakdown I had over a Dooney and Burke purse he gave me last year. I thought he wanted me to be someone I was not, and really he just thought I’d like a nice purse. He’s vowed never to make that mistake again in spite of the fact that I grew to enjoy carrying a nice bag. My loss.

In addition to the purse, I received another “surprise” last year. The timing of my birthday coincided with our new apartment being ready, so I actually spent my birthday weekend packing, moving, and cleaning. This lead me to believe that in spite of the slip up Buster had made weeks before, nothing was really going to happen for my birthday. A slip up, you ask? Well, it happened something like this:

Scene: My bedroom. It is approximately midnight, and I am mostly asleep. Buster had the opportunity to go out with his friends, and after all his hard work, I encouraged him to take it. I declined to join in, opting for a good night’s sleep instead.

Buster enters the room is is not particularly quiet about it. I am now awake. He proceeds to regale me with his night’s adventures as I grow more annoyed at being awake instead of asleep. He attempts to improve his standing by mentioning their conversations, and his references to how awesome I am. This does improve my mood slightly. “I told them how great you are and how we’re  planning your awesome birthday party.” Ooops. Now I am annoyed again. “Oh man, I didn’t just say that out loud, did I?” Yep.

The next morning I express my disappointment at having my “surprise” party spoiled. “What party?” he asks. I cock an eyebrow. He smiles his charming, lopsided, Han Solo grin and continues to vehemently deny anything of the sort. This continues for a couple of weeks. Each time I speculate about my “surprise” party, he steadfastly denies it.

I must admit that he did such a good job keeping a poker face after that initial slip, I thought it really had all been a ruse. Especially when my birthday came and he reminded me that we were too busy moving to bother with a party. I agreed.

The following weekend I had toyed with the idea of traveling to a Frisbee competition on Sunday morning with my friend Lara and her dogs. This would mean going to bed quite early Saturday evening and getting up equally early Sunday morning. I spent Saturday afternoon cleaning and finishing up from the move the previous weekend, and was tired by the time Buster came home from work. He’d told me throughout the day “don’t work too hard” and was weird each time I mentioned the Frisbee competition. I was a little grouchy when he asked me to come with him to take some tools back to his friend Mike, and initially wanted to stay home. The more he persisted that I join him, the more suspicious I became.

“Should I wear something cute to go return that tool to Mike?” I asked with a quizzical smile. He shrugged in a non-committal fashion and left the room.

At this point, I am fairly sure something is up, but I don’t know the specifics. We drive to the area of town where Mike and Ashley lived and suddenly Buster gets a call from Mike.

“Oh, you’re not ready for us to come by yet? Ok. We’ll go get coffee then.” So we drive down the street to the Starbucks. Before we make it into the parking lot, Buster gets a text and decides he doesn’t really want coffee after all. I am now chuckling as we change directions and head down a familiar street.

Now I had often mentioned previously how much I liked bowling and that I would love to get everyone together for this. I had also mentioned my favorite bowling alley resided on the street down which we are now headed. Coincidence?

Sure enough, we pull up and head inside. Buster is saying nothing. As we get past the concession area, there are all my family and friends in the lounge/party area with party favors, cupcakes, and presents! We had a blast playing a few games of bowling and enjoying the birthday treats. My friend Rob made sure everyone utilized the fun twisty straws by declaring that “If you don’t use the twisty straws, you don’t love Bonnie!” Luckily, everyone used the straws (even though they were very difficult to actually suck liquid through). My friends Chris and Carol even made the drive from Amelia Island to attend. I do believe it was the first time they had ever seen me wearing real clothes and not covered in dirt from doing agility. I am amazed they even recognized me.

My wonderful cousin Jane, who had been Buster’s partner in the planning of this occasion, had constructed an awesome Ms. Pacman themed party sign (I do currently hold the high score of 140,000 on my uncle’s personal game console) and some gluten free cupcakes. I had the sign displayed in my bedroom until last month when we rearranged and finally took it down and put it in the closet, and although the cupcakes still did not agree with my digestive system, they were very delicious and special. When Jane asked how surprised I was, I hinted that I’d known enough to wear something presentable even though we were just running an errand. The look she shot at her co-conspirator was priceless.

Needless to say, I did not attend the competition the following day, as Lara had been in on the planning and knew not to encourage me to go. So although it wasn’t “truly” a surprise, it was certainly one of the most memorable and thoughtfully conceived experiences of my life.

My uncle also got me a 42in, High Def, flat-screen TV, so that was pretty awesome too. Viva la 30’s!!

My Dog Is Smarter Than Your Honor Student

We’ve all seen the bumper stickers claiming that “My (fill in the blank with your breed of choice) is smarter than your honor student.” Surely we all think our precious companions are the brainiest on the block, but just how smart ARE our four-legged friends?

I watched an absolutely fascinating show on PBS last night. (Yes I watch PBS. We only have basic cable and I loathe American Idol and everything like it). Nova produced a program called “How Smart Are Animals?” featuring a border collie named Chaser who possesses a vocabulary of over 1000 words which gives her roughly the same cognitive skill as a three year old child. Dogs have long been ignored by science; however, recent discoveries have shed light on some truly remarkable characteristics our canines exhibit. These discoveries are leading to entirely new studies aimed at exploring the nature of Fido’s intelligence. This is in fact the second program I have watched on PBS which details these behavioral experiments. Happily, dogs seem to be getting more respect in the scientific community after many years of dismissal.

Fellow primates such as apes, orangutans, and chimpanzees share a much closer genetic makeup to us humans than any other species. Surprisingly, this does not mean they are most like us in terms of behavior and social skills. In research done comparing chimp behavior to human behavior, our fellow primates have no concept of “helping” or “sharing.” When researchers hid food under one of two cups, and then pointed at the cup under which the food was hidden, the chimp was equally likely to choose the incorrect cup as they were to choose the correct cup. These animals seem to have no social need to be cooperative; they exist primarily through independence and dominance. Dogs on the other hand, as anyone who has played such a game with their own friend would know, are able to pick up on these “helping” gestures. When you show Spot which cup the food is hiding under, Spot will most likely make the correct choice and find the food. Dogs excel in social intelligence, whereas primates do not.

All pet dogs in existence today are descendents of wolves. We know this from our understanding of genetics. However, what is it that makes our companion dogs so different from their wild ancestors? Nova’s program explained that during the process of domestication, dogs have become “emotionally tolerant” of human beings. Wherein wolves will quickly become violently aggressive if they feel they are in dispute with you for some reason, our pet dogs are capable of patience and passivity. They have evolved to become sensitive to our moods, and over hundreds of years of living closely with humans, they have developed the most effective strategies for successfully cohabiting and benefitting from this partnership. Therefore, unlike any other animal which shares an equal degree of genetic similarity or mental aptitude, dogs have a critical understanding of society and cooperation. Not only are they capable of adapting to our moods and behaviors, they have developed an eagerness to work with us. The program made a clever analogy for them, calling them the “soldiers of science.” Dogs not only just show up for work, they come with an attitude of eagerness and a motto of “what can I do for you?!”

Despite the fact that our dogs do not share the same degree of genetic similarity as primates, they are perhaps not as different as we once thought. Chaser, the border collie I mentioned with the extensive vocabulary, exhibits a gene that is also present in humans and attributed to cognitive development. While many dogs exhibit this trait, it would seem that in selectively breeding intelligent and biddable border collies, the breed has also been selectively breed for this “smart gene.” That may explain how Chaser is able to know the names of over 1000 unique toys and be eerily accurate in retrieving them on command with no visible assistance or clues from her human counterpart. “Sure, my dog could do that,” you might say, and perhaps so. The demonstration I found most astounding came when Chaser was presented with a new task. The host of the show brought in a completely new toy that Chaser had never seen before named “Darwin”, and placed it in the pile of known toys. First, Chaser was warmed up by being asked to retrieve “Inky” and “Crawfish,” toys she knew well. Then, being left with a pile of still familiar toys and the unfamiliar toy, she was asked to find “Darwin.” Her thoughtfulness was obvious on her expression, as you watched her try to figure out this new command. Would Chaser be able to infer that the unfamiliar name belonged to the unfamiliar toy? It took her much longer than before, however, after some thought Chaser returned with the correct toy. Astonishing to some, but probably not so much to those of us who’ve witnessed first-hand the stunning intelligence of this breed. This isn’t to say any other breed would not be capable of such mental and linguistic prowess, it has just been more carefully selected for the dog designed to work so closely with shepherds in tending to flocks of sheep.

Does this mean that dogs will continue to become smarter and more capable of understanding language and other nuances of human society? If they have developed this far, who is to say that they could one day not be more intelligent than we might imagine? If we could teach our dogs to read the numbers on an agility course, it would certainly make the handler’s job much easier!

If you are interested in this program, visit http://www.shoppbs.org/product/index.jsp?productId=11095033&cp=&sr=1&kw=how+smart+are+animals&origkw=how+smart+are+animals&parentPage=search

And no, I am not being paid for this endorsement. Support local public broadcasts with viewers like you!

It's Your Thing, Do What You Wanna Do

We all have our own “style” that we are comfortable with. Our own way of walking, talking, dressing, and doing things. Invariably, certain styles will be popular and trendy, while others will be viewed as “dorky” or not accepted by the popular majority. I have always defied trends and just do things my own way. My way is not always right, but I prefer to learn things through my own experience, and sometimes my way works even if it is not the widely accepted way of doing things. While I am certainly open to constructive criticism if there is a better way of doing things, I tend not to respond well if I am simply told “you can’t do that.” Why? I need reasons and justifiable proof.

My border collie Xander and I are a new team. Since he is my first long-legged, “big dog”, we are still learning the best ways to communicate and run together. I fully embrace this process and want to learn how to be the best handler for him. In a previous post, I mentioned not bending way over if it pushed him away from an obstacle. However, in my experience, there are some cases in which bending over pulls him closer while standing up pushes him further away. I am an intuitive person. I do what feels right to me. When I run my dogs, I want to be so in tune with them that I almost wish I could be at eye level, running right alongside them. This is how I feel “connected” in a run. Standing straight up is a move that works to keep my dogs away, as if my upper body is “pushing” them out away and showing them where to go, while bending over and getting in their space keeps them close and connected during an intricate maneuver or a turn I am trying to indicate. I was criticized this weekend for “bending over” as I run, and that I am only in the habit of doing this because I am accustomed to running little dogs (i.e. the corgis). But I tend to use the same methods for running them: standing up to send, bending over to work close. Sure, this looks dorky. Also, I am very tall, and when looked down on from the stands of a stadium, my bending over looks even more dramatic. However, I have been successful in my runs and haven’t fallen forward or tripped myself doing this. My center of gravity is unique to me, as is true of all people, and this is how I am comfortable. I have been teased for it for years, called Quasimodo and the like, yet it still works for me, and I still do it.

When I was told “you can’t do that”, I reacted with my natural stubborn tendency to say “why the hell not?”  When I wasn’t given a convincing answer, I was determined to defend myself. Being the logical person I am who tends to win arguments with proof, I went out to collect the proof I knew from hours of previous research was out there. Thus I present to you the video footage of three renowned handlers and their world champion dogs.

Video 1: Marcus Topps and Juice, AKA my agility gods. They have won more awards and championships than you can shake a Frisbee at. Watch how Marcus, a tall man, stays connected to his dog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FN9MZTqc17g

Video 2: Silvia Trkman and Bu, AKA my hero and idol. I literally worship the ground Silvia walks on. She is amazing and a brilliant dog trainer. Note, Silvia is not tall, so her bending over is not as dramatic, but still noticeable.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpBcLTDxlzs

Video 3: Ashley Deacon and Luka: TALL man and LITTLE dog. Majorly fast, bent over running. They have won everything together. Does he look a little goofy? Maybe. But are they having a blast together? I am guessing yes.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HH7NpWtLwUU

So there you have it. There may be certain flashy, cool looking ways to do things, but they are not the only way. I see people doing all sorts of silly things while running their dogs, and they still have successes and enjoy the experience.

I have a LONG way to go to be world champion, but I am happy with where we are headed. Xander earned four 1^st places out of his five runs this weekend, and while we are only in Open, his startlines, jumping style, weaving, and focus have all been delightful. We certainly have room for improvement, but that’s where the fun is. If we were perfect right off the bat, there would be nothing to work for or look forward to!

Also, I finally have learned to use youtube! So you like, you can check out my channel and I will be uploading more videos as I have time. Thanks for watching!

http://www.youtube.com/user/doggiedojo

Creatures of Habit

Bill Cosby did a comedy special called “Himself” that was a collection of stories and experiences from raising his children and life in general. I have the DVD now, but as a kid, my mom had the cassette tape with the whole routine recorded on it. For you young folks out there, cassette tapes are to CD’s as VHS tapes are to DVD’s. Wait; you probably don’t know what a VHS tape is either. Look it up on Wikipedia.

At any rate, the tape was so funny that we played it over and over and over again until one day it mysteriously disappeared. My father claimed ignorance, but I am fairly sure he buried it in the back yard. One of the routines was called “The Same Thing Happens Every Night” in which Cosby chronicles the humorous events of the nightly routine with his three young children. Dinner time involved fooling around until Mom got sick of it and sent them to get ready for bed. Shower time involved children running through the house naked, wet, and screaming about being blinded for life due to shampoo in their eyes.  Kids fight, Mom gets mad, Dad sits back and stays quiet. The entire routine is hysterical, but this part always particularly touched my funny bone. If you’ve never seen the DVD, I would highly recommend it.

What got me started thinking about this is that dogs are very much creatures of habit, and I tend toward this behavior as well. Weekdays often blend together as the same rituals and routines are performed with mindless regularity. I suppose this makes life simpler and less stressful, and is a tribute to the ease of the routine which has become so habitual. What strikes me as funny is the tenacity to which the dogs insist upon following our routines, almost down to the minute.

The same thing happens every day.

Sometime prior to daylight: Buster’s alarm goes off and he silences it. At some point it goes off again. I shift about, half awake and half asleep as he struggles with the reality of actually having to get out of the bed. It is a difficult concept, but he arrives there eventually and rises. Generally he is thoughtful enough to perform a swap reminiscent of Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom, and I wake up later snuggling a pillow instead of him. The bedroom door creaks LOUDLY, the corgis are let out of the bathroom with a cacophony of jingling collars and exciting bouncing, and the baby gate letting out into our living room swings open and slams closed.

Buster leaves for work in the dark, and somehow I remain in a state of semi consciousness until my alarm goes off at 6:15.

I let Xander out of his crate and he escorts me to the bathroom. I am never allowed to be in there alone. With a great amount of bouncing and talking, the corgis greet me as I enter the living room. I slip on Buster’s shoes because although they are way too big, I am too lazy to untie my own. The corgis generally make the most noise and so get to go out first, but as I stumble out into the dark, the sound of Xander’s impatient barking follows me down the sidewalk. I am so sorry Mr. Upstairs Neighbor.

After Xander goes out, I head back to the bathroom to wash up and get dressed. At precisely 7:05 Kirby reminds me it is time to turn on the coffee maker and feed them. He trots into the bathroom, nub wagging, and “talks” to me in his little yodeling, part bark, part growl. He guides me into the kitchen and follows me to the door. We keep the dog food in our porch’s storage room, so he supervises as I open the blinds, turn on the light, and open the door. He is also present underfoot as I scoop the food in order to catch any morsels I happen to drop. Kaylee is always somewhere nearby, monitoring the entire process by spinning in circles and dancing on her back feet. Meanwhile, Xander is standing in the hallway behind the gate, in his “corgi safe eating zone,” barking in short, methodically timed intervals to notify me that he is prepared to eat.

After scooping the food, the corgis twirl underfoot on our way to the kitchen, and it is my difficult task to remain upright. Could I train an easier way to deal with the morning feeding? Sure, but I am a creature of habit and have never bothered. Besides, watching them inhale their food in 0.8 seconds is endlessly amusing. Xander takes slightly longer, hence the necessity for the gate dividing him from the ravenous hyenas.

After breakfast is served, I put on my shoes, pour my coffee into my travel mug along with enough sugar to sink a battleship, and head to the cookie jar. This is Kirby’s cue to dash into his spot in the bathroom and the other two to park themselves behind the baby gate. I feel bad having to keep them in small quarters during the day, however, there always manages to be some sort of collateral damage to my walls, carpets, or couch cushions if they are left wandering freely. They each receive a cookie for complying with this policy of confinement, and I leave them for a tedious nine hours.

I can only imagine what they do for nine hours each day, but I am choosing to believe it is sleeping and contemplating the nature of existence, and not nuisance barking or fussing with each other. Denial is a powerful thing.

When I return home in the evening, I am greeted with earsplitting barking. Dogs are wonderful because they are always happy to see you. They are not wonderful when they launch themselves at you like furry missiles. I worked persistently to teach Xander as a puppy never to jump up on me. Buster disagreed with that philosophy, so now I must shield myself from the 40lbs of crazed border collie which greets me every evening. He is flanked by two, 20lb corgi projectiles which barely register compared to him. It’s so nice to be loved.

Repeat the morning walking, barking, and feeding procedures, all done without fail immediately upon arriving home. No other activities are acceptable until this is accomplished. Afterwards, I am free to choose any method of entertaining them I deem fit. This may include driving across the street to the high school and illegally playing Frisbee in their football field, driving down the street to an Elementary School and illegally playing Frisbee on their playground, or going to the park down the street and illegally playing Frisbee in their baseball field. Sometimes we play in the “pet park” at my apartment, but since I am only supposed to have two dogs, I have to choose one of the corgis to stay behind. Also, the park has no drainage and is generally underwater from the poor placement of the sprinkler systems. And then there are the two days a week I make the 40 minute trek to the agility field for class or for practice. Those are their favorite days.

And with minor variations, including the occasions we get to hang out with Buster, that is our life. Wash, rinse, repeat. The dogs always remind me to focus on the important things in life. Eating regular meals, getting frequent exercise, and always being happy to see the people you love.

The same thing happens every day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Does Your Job Define You?

How many people in this world get up to go to a job that they honestly enjoy and find deeply rewarding? I would wager that given the vast number of fast food establishments, Tax Collector offices, and Port-O-Potty cleaning companies, there are a disproportionate number of people who don’t jump out of bed with enthusiasm to greet the day. However, Americans tend to label the value of a person based on what they do for a paycheck every day. Almost immediately upon meeting someone new, after the small talk of introductions, the conversation will invariably turn to “what do you do for a living?” Does our human need to categorize people and make quick judgments leave us missing out on opportunities to make connections or see the value in someone?

It is indeed human nature to label, categorize, and even stereotype in order to take quick impressions and use these to guide our interactions with others. Obviously early humans, in the evolution of society, needed ways to make fast and accurate judgments about who would be a potentially trusted and valued member of the group, and who would not. In spite of centuries of history, our homogenous tendencies emerge in youth and are seen throughout early childhood. Boys tend to hang out and play with other boys of similar types, and girls do the same. Socioeconomic differences, cultural differences, racial differences; all of these aspects have an impact on the formation of play groups and niches.

In adulthood, our selection of a mate is based largely on initial attraction, but the predictors of longevity include common religious beliefs, education, and socioeconomic status. This refers not only to how we were raised and what type of jobs our parents held, but what type of job we perform and the amount of money we bring in. This standard of judgment is particularly true for men, more so in the last fifty years than is trending currently, however men are still evaluated largely by their career and buying power. Does this mean that the blue collar worker operating a forklift on the highway is intrinsically less intelligent or less valuable than the CEO of a Fortune 500 company?

While I would never be so STUPID as to complain about my job in a public forum, let us say, hypothetically, that a reasonably intelligent, college educated, critically thinking person such as myself were employed in an assistant type role; a role that involves making copies, running errands, and generally being subservient to others. While this does not describe my current role, because obviously I rank higher than a trained monkey, if I did in fact perform these tasks, should I be labeled as nothing more capable than an assistant? How would a person such as myself come to that place in life? Is a person’s job an accurate predictor of their skills and capabilities, or is it simply the outcome of a series of situations, decisions, and opportunities (or lack thereof)? As a case study, let us trace back my employment history.

Age 15: The first job I ever held was at my agility instructor Patti Hatfield’s business: Creature Comforts Pet Resort; a boarding kennel for dogs and cats. It may be sad to say that this ranks among my favorite jobs, but I spent the day hanging out with lots of dogs in the outdoors. Sure, it was a lot of hot, sweaty work cleaning out runs and cages in the summer heat, or cold, wet, freezing work hosing things down in the winter, but it was a great first job. There is a simple satisfaction that comes from performing manual labor all day and returning home exhausted. Studies actually show that manual workers, particularly those with something to show for their efforts, such as having built a house for example, report a higher level of life satisfaction than those who are forced to sit behind a desk all day. Humans, it seems, were not designed to stare at a computer for eight hours a day.

Age 17: My next position was at the then newly built PetsMart on the Southside of town. I was hired initially as a bather/brusher in the grooming department, but due to the lack of groomers in the area, was quickly giving the opportunity to train and become a commissioned groomer. This was a lucky turn, as the free education I received there led me to my first specialized, and profitable, skill.

Age 18: My first year of college was spent in Sarasota, FL. My intention was to become an animator for Disney, so I attended the Ringling School of Art and Design. My parents could not afford to help with my living expenses, so I spent my weekdays at school, and the weekends working at the local PetsMart grooming department. I put in a grueling 12-14 hrs every Saturday, and 9-11 hours every Sunday. I didn’t eat, I didn’t use the bathroom, I groomed dogs. All day. Both days. It damn near killed me, but I made enough money to support myself right out of high school, and only working two days a week. Unfortunately, given the absurdly high private university tuition, my scholarship only paid the equivalent of a public university. I decided after one year of exhaustion that art school was not worth the massive debt I would graduate with, and so I returned to Jacksonville.

Age 19: Back at home for a short time, and enrolled in the local community college to finish my AA degree, I got a job at the local vet clinic I’d taken my dogs to for years. The vet who hired me, whom I admired and respected, left to take a job as the state veterinarian, and was replaced by someone incompetent. I left that job in a blaze of glory, with a resignation letter so scathing that it made the resident vet, and my former boss, lock herself in her office to cry. Hey, I saw her do some awful crap, and I called her on it. That’s how I roll.

Age 20: In need of a job, I went back to PetsMart. At this point, I had only held animal related jobs and was going to school at the University of North Florida in pursuit of a Bachelor’s Degree. This time, I was offered the chance to complete a Pet Training Instructor accreditation course that would enable me to offer obedience classes in the store. I was extremely fortunate to have an amazing teacher who led us through a two week program involving behavior modification, clicker training, and a week spent working with local shelter dogs. At this time, I was taking college courses in psychology that introduced me to the works of B.F. Skinner, Pavlov, and others in the field of behavior modification. Although the job was commission based and involved a lot of selling, which I detest, I learned a lot about working with groups of students and gained a large degree of self confidence in my ability to present information to a wide variety of people of all ages and personality types.

Age23: After working two years as a Pet Training Instructor, I had to leave that position in order to take the last couple of evening classes I needed for my BA in Psychology. After graduating, I got a short term job at another animal hospital. I again held the illustrious honor of scooping poop and cleaning up vomit. On the other hand, I made some great friends and spent the day around dogs.

Later that year, a friend of a friend was able to get me my first “real job” at an insurance agency downtown. I had no idea how to be a secretary/admin/officer worker. Although I was obviously intelligent and capable, they bounced me around to different departments over the year and a half I was there I believe in an effort to find the right "spot” for me. We never found it. The eighty year old owner of the agency decided to do some cut backs and laid off the three youngest employees in the company. I literally danced out of the office with my severance check in hand and sung my way home.

Age 25-26: I tried to start an online business making sculptures and doing pet portraits. I worked two days at the local animal care and control and was emotionally scarred. I competed in agility a lot and got a MACH with Kaylee. I accumulated a LOT of credit card debt. Lots of wise choices were made in these years.

Age26: I finally succumbed to the necessity for another real job, as much as the last one had broken my spirit, and ended up at Brandon Pest Control. At least there was a dog there occasionally. When not being visited by the adorable beagleness that was Brandon, I learned a lot about customer service, using the computer, coordinating employees, and doing payroll. I got bored and frustrated by the lack of anywhere to go once I’d learned everything I could, and left after a year and a half.

Age 28: After spending a few months in North Carolina trying to create a life outside of Jacksonville, FL, I ended up coming back to Jacksonvile, FL. Got a job with another little insurance agency through Craigslist. It was a young couple my age that were just starting out and sharing an office with the owner of a local dance fitness company. Jay, the dance fitness/health guru was totally awesome. The other two, were not so much. Still, I learned a lot more about the world of business and made some good connections. After a year and a half of this, there followed a few months of grooming for a fledgling groom shop which resulted in a lot of nothing, working weekends as the lifeguard for the dog park (essentially yelling at people for not following the rules), and a couple months at the Humane Society (which although paid nothing, was difficult to leave). I also continued to do some side work for Jay, and basically held four part time jobs all at once. That was an interesting and strangely rewarding experience.

Age 29: Finally I scored another “real” job with the University of Florida as an Admin Assistant. While the work was boring and completely lacking in challenges, I gained so much by watching my incredible, high energy, multi-tasking boss take care of her equally high energy, multi-tasking, inspirational boss. She was extremely supportive and helpful and I looked forward to seeing her each day. This job ultimately led me to moving up into my current position, which is along the same lines as my old supervisor’s position.

Age 30: So here I am. With a degree from Stanton (one of the nation’s top ranking high schools), a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology, and a background in art, animal care, grooming, training, payroll, customer service, and administration, where do I go next? I failed to mention my side job of teaching agility classes, but that is so much fun it is hard to declare it work. Knowing my background, would you judge me differently now that I am no longer just an “administrative assistant” but a person with a wide variety of educational and working experiences? Would you like to hire me and pay me lots of money? J

 So I ask again: is a job just something you use to pay the bills, or does it help shape who you are on a more fundamental level? The knowledge I gained in school, as well as the time management and social skills I gained from age 5 to age 18 have been as influential on the way I behave as my jobs have. I now look at my working life as a series of continuing educational opportunities. Each position has exposed me to new information, experiences, and people. They have shown me where my strengths and preferences lie, as well as exposed my weaknesses and taught me which jobs I do not enjoy performing.  I am not just an assistant; I am in training for the person I will be in five years, ten years, and fifty years from now. I will not let my job define me, limit me, or prevent me from walking down whatever path I choose.  I know I have things to offer to the world, and I know the things I really enjoy doing. Now I just have to figure out how to turn this knowledge into a career I enjoy.

Or I could win the lottery.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Everyone is familiar with the standard complaints against Walmart: the friendly, neighborhood conglomerate that threatens to run every small, privately owned business within miles around out of town. Their ridiculously low prices, achieved through sheer volume, are nearly impossible for a “mom and pop” organization to compete with. Many say that America was built on the backs of entrepreneurs, who struggled to carve a niche out of the economic structure of their community. Giant retailers such as Walmart threaten to eradicate the small business, and this could prove a very real problem to American society as we have known it. However, there is a more insidious disease at work, one which may threaten our very existence.

Let me tell you the story of our Christmas tree.

Buster and I recently celebrated our first Christmas in our new apartment. While we love our little space, it is a LITTLE space. I have an eight-foot artificial tree, and although it might have fit in our living room, it would most likely have resembled the Griswold family Christmas tree. Therefore, in the interest of maintaining some open living space, we decided to obtain a small, live tree for a change. This required a tree stand, which I did not have, as artificial trees do not generally need water. Therefore, we ventured out to purchase one.

I will admit that I prefer to do my shopping at Target. Their stores are overall clean and bright, their employees reasonably friendly, and their products of a quality nature. I will also confess that when looking to save money on something mundane, I will go to Walmart. As a general rule, I will avoid Walmart altogether on the weekends, as their stores are overcrowded and minimally staffed. The benefit of saving $2 on shampoo is negated by the forty minute wait in a line that’s composed of a mullet-sporting redneck, a screaming infant, and an elderly lady wanting a price check on a package of gum. I have also suffered post-traumatic stress disorder from visiting a Walmart on the wrong side of town. This particular store more closely resembled a refugee camp that was inhabited by an assorted group of underdressed, mumbling, confused patrons who employed a half-hearted shuffle through the aisles of paper products and household accessories. I hastily retreated in fear that I had stumbled onto the zombie apocalypse.

On the Saturday in question, I was feeling light and festive, imbibed with the Christmas spirit and in search of the perfect tree to decorate. Target had only one type of tree stand, and it was too large and overpriced for our needs. Walmart loomed directly across the street and beckoned us with its insidiously low prices. Fortunately, it was a quick trip, not even requiring that we venture into the store, as the tree stands were in the garden center outside. Our intention was only to pick up a stand and then search for our tree at one of the many roadside purveyors around town. However, upon entering the garden center, we were greeted with an assortment of freshly delivered, fragrant pine trees. Out of curiosity, we stopped to have a look and were immediately taken with a perfectly sized, perfectly shaped, forty dollar tree. Seriously. A nearly 7ft fresh tree that was only $40. How could we pass it up? With absolutely no assistance from the employees of the store, because surely they do not work there in order to help customers, we got our tree into my Element and brought it home. Buster was forced to break out the hacksaw, as providing a fresh cut was another service Walmart did not provide. But hey, it was 40 bucks, what can you say?

The tree brightened our living room for the full month of the holiday season. I attributed this to my supreme dedication in watering it daily. This is not normal for me, as I am well known for killing every plant in my vicinity due to the fact that the plants don’t actively remind me to care for them. The dogs at least never cease to request their meals.  Surprisingly though, it continued to remain fresh and vibrant even after I began to neglect it and it had stopped drinking water altogether. When the time finally came to take down our seasonal décor, we debated the proper disposal method for our beloved tree. Our apartment complex is filled with negligent morons, as I have mentioned previously, and therefore the compact area was stacked with enough trash to fill a New Jersey barge, while the inside of the actual compactor, where we are supposed to place our trash, stood empty. We debated waiting for instructions from the apartment office; however, that office is staffed with a group of fifteen year old girls who could not manage their way out of a shopping mall. Therefore, we did the only logical thing; we dumped our tree over the fence.

To be fair to us, our complex backs up to a “wooded preserve,” so tossing it over the fence into the woods didn’t seem like a big deal. Granted, we did this under the cover of darkness while wearing black clothing and swept up the tell-tale track of pine needles which led from our door down the sidewalk. But we didn’t feel like we were doing anything wrong.

Occasionally, I walk the dogs along the path near the woods. With the cold and the early dark, I hadn’t been out there recently, so when I walked that route last Saturday, I was surprised at what I found. There was my Christmas tree, sitting just as we’d left it. It looks just as green and fresh and vibrant as it did while it sat in our living room. It is not brown. It has not been made a home for bugs or squirrels or spiders. Possibly it is radioactive. I am thinking that Walmart genetically engineers some sort of hybrid mutant tree thing which never dies. I will continue to monitor its progress, but I fear I may have done serious harm to the ecosystem by allowing it to make contact with the soil.

At any rate, if mutant Christmas trees don’t scare you, go right now to http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/ Right now. Stop what you’re doing and click through some of the “Feature Creatures.” You will be mesmerized by the documentation of the devolution of the human race. It is happening right now in Walmarts across the country: in your cities, in your towns, in your neighborhoods.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. I know I am.