Answer me this...
When is it strength and perseverance and when are you just beating a dead horse and causing damage to the entire party?
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Woof
Dog lovers, UNITE!
I am a huge dog lover. I have a lot of friends who say they are also dog lovers. But I ask you this...how can you be a true dog lover if you discriminate?!?
A dear friend of mine, let's call him Samson, had some discriminatory comments about the dog that appeared on my blog. "Get rid of that 'explicit' awful teeny tiny dog. Didn't you meet any nice Labs or Retrievers or Corgis on your walk? You know - real dogs?"
Now, I love Samson, but how can he call himself a dog lover if he can't love ALL dogs? Why doesn't a Yorkie or a Dachshund get the same street credit as a Bernese Mountain or a German Shepherd? Is a Bulldog better than a Pug? Where do you draw the line? Is it height? Is it weight? How about the color of fur?
My brother-in-law, let's call him Carl, has the same idea. If a dog needs to wear a sweater in the winter, then it's not, 'you know - a real dog'!
Another friend states that he loves dogs...unless you can punt them.
I believe that all dogs have hearts as big as the world...not matter how big or small they are. They will always love you and always be waiting with baited breath to hear your keys in the door no matter how much they weigh or how big their paws are.
So, God bless the mother who could love this face...
I am a huge dog lover. I have a lot of friends who say they are also dog lovers. But I ask you this...how can you be a true dog lover if you discriminate?!?
A dear friend of mine, let's call him Samson, had some discriminatory comments about the dog that appeared on my blog. "Get rid of that 'explicit' awful teeny tiny dog. Didn't you meet any nice Labs or Retrievers or Corgis on your walk? You know - real dogs?"
Now, I love Samson, but how can he call himself a dog lover if he can't love ALL dogs? Why doesn't a Yorkie or a Dachshund get the same street credit as a Bernese Mountain or a German Shepherd? Is a Bulldog better than a Pug? Where do you draw the line? Is it height? Is it weight? How about the color of fur?
My brother-in-law, let's call him Carl, has the same idea. If a dog needs to wear a sweater in the winter, then it's not, 'you know - a real dog'!
Another friend states that he loves dogs...unless you can punt them.
I believe that all dogs have hearts as big as the world...not matter how big or small they are. They will always love you and always be waiting with baited breath to hear your keys in the door no matter how much they weigh or how big their paws are.
So, God bless the mother who could love this face...
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Toast and Jam
About a year and a half ago my husband and I decided to get creative while painting a room in our apartment. I saw the room as a retreat from the rat race of the city. A place to close the door and find some peace and serenity. I wanted warm corals...the sense of calming warmth. We carefully chose "Mexican Chile" for the ceiling, "Guava Jam" for the walls and white trim. It was perfect...in theory.
Reality was that it was nuclear. It burned our retinas. It caused headaches. The ceiling turned out to be a red-ish terracotta...the walls looked like an diseased salmon died, became bloated and then exploded. I cried for days. All that freakin' hard work WASTED. The room just pissed me off.
I shunned it for a year and a half.
After some time the scabs of defeat healed and the scars finally disappeared and we were finally ready to try again. (actually, it was out of sheer laziness of not doing it sooner) We decided to leave the ceiling as is. (again, out of sheer laziness) We chose to paint the walls in a warm brown, "Toasted Wheat". After 2 coats of primer and 2 coats of "toasted wheat" the room is as I always saw it. The nuclear glow seeping out the door is gone. Peace has re-entered into the apartment and I can escape. Maybe, just maybe, I will sit on my meditation pillows and check the outside rat race at the door...
...and tend to the rat race in my head.
Reality was that it was nuclear. It burned our retinas. It caused headaches. The ceiling turned out to be a red-ish terracotta...the walls looked like an diseased salmon died, became bloated and then exploded. I cried for days. All that freakin' hard work WASTED. The room just pissed me off.
I shunned it for a year and a half.
After some time the scabs of defeat healed and the scars finally disappeared and we were finally ready to try again. (actually, it was out of sheer laziness of not doing it sooner) We decided to leave the ceiling as is. (again, out of sheer laziness) We chose to paint the walls in a warm brown, "Toasted Wheat". After 2 coats of primer and 2 coats of "toasted wheat" the room is as I always saw it. The nuclear glow seeping out the door is gone. Peace has re-entered into the apartment and I can escape. Maybe, just maybe, I will sit on my meditation pillows and check the outside rat race at the door...
...and tend to the rat race in my head.
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