People Suck, and Other Things

So, there I was, in the drive-thru line at Starbuck's and what do I see? I see a middle aged woman driving a cornflower blue PT Cruiser throw a LIT cigarette out of her window at the window before she drove away. Said lit cigarette then wafted the lovely smell of cigarette smoke up in through the drive through window, and into my window when I drove up. What is the matter with people?! I don't judge smokers. I was a smoker once, I understand that it is a hard habit to kick. That being said, if you are going to make the decision to smoke, then do it responsibly and use your goddamned ashtray for fuck's sake!! Is that so hard? Anyways, I got out of my van and put the cigarette out, and then had a nice cathartic conversation with the Starbucks barrista about how much people suck. Working in customer service, she, of course, has many "people suck" stories. You know, the kind that make you want to run down your street spitting fire. J

Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. It was also Beardog's birthday. So, I packed the fam up, and out we went to visit Beardog's grave. I lit some candles and incense, and left a doggie biscuit on his cairn. It's a place I go to simultaneously mourn and feel close to both Beardog and Chuck. It is going to be difficult for me when Chuck's place is eventually sold and that connection is lost for me. Dan and I were going to dig Beardog up and have him cremated so that his ashes could be put together with Chuck's, but his family requested that we not do that. Apparently they don't think Chuck would have wanted it. However, they cremated Chuck, so that whole thing confuses me. However, it is important to me to respect the wishes of his family. I guess it's just that a part of me is selfish. Yes, Beardog was Chuck's dog, but I felt like he was my dog, too, and I think that Chuck would want to do this for me, given that he's not here anymore either. But I guess it's moot, really. The fact of the matter is that I thought losing Beardog was going to be the most difficult thing I had to deal for awhile. I never, in a million years, thought I would be mourning both Chuck and Beardog at the same time.

Part of me doesn't know what to do with my grief, and so I'm going to stuff it full of a floppy, drooly, lovely little English Mastiff puppy. He should be born sometime next week, and we'll bring him home at the end of May.

My mother came over for a visit last night. Luckily, she came alone. Otherwise, Chuncho may very well have turned her away at the door if she'd had her rehab-failing beau with her. And I say rehab-failing because last night my mother informed me that after spending 3 months in a rehabilitation facility, this dude proceeded to spend the following two weeks at my mother's apartment DRINKING. Yep, that's right. And she did not stop him because "he's an adult and he can do as he pleases", she says out of one side of her mouth, while the other is saying, "What kind of friend would I be if I just abandoned him when he needs me?" I'm sorry, but are these two statements not completely opposing? Also, they are "just friends". He spends the week nights at the mens' shelter, and the weekends staying with mom. But his is not sleeping on the futon in the living room. In the ever so wise words of Chuncho, "friends with benefits". I guess. Pretty fucked up can of worms, if you ask me. I did my daughterly duty and told my mom that I was concerned for he, and she told me that there was no need to worry. I then told her that I was concerned that he was using her (given that the guy doesn't have a vehicle or a driver's license, it's pretty handy that my mom has both of these things and uses them to shuttle him hither and to, sometimes as far as 4 hours away to court hearings he has in other cities). He response, "Well, I'm not concerned about that", in a very this is the end of this conversation sort of tone. She also told me that rehab failer would very much like to meet us all. First of all, I can tell you with 100% certaintly, that the only part of Chuncho with any interest in meeting him is the end of his fist. I felt that I was very diplomatic in my response, stating that I thought it would be better to wait, that I was not comfortable with meeting him at the present time, and that he needs to be sober for awhile longer, have his life together, and not be living in a mens shelter before I'd consider meeting him. I think that left it fairly open-ended should I choose to never change my mind on the matter.

And on an opposing coin-side, something to be very very excited for: a visit from the Lovely Miss Italia!!! I pick her up from the airport this evening. The cat dander removal mission is 98% complete, and all I've yet to do is a quick swiffer antibacterial of the upstairs floors, which I'll do this afternoon while Chuncho and Sweetman swim. I am so looking forward to this visit. It is long overdue, and much needed. She still has not met the Bundlekin, either. Speaking of Bundlekin, we've come up with another cute nickname for him: Brumby. So awesome. I think this one may completely supercede Bundlekin. It's a Kiwi term for wild horse, though, so not sure what we may be getting ourselves into with that connection, but we shall see. In any case, it is time to take Sweetman to dance class, so I'm off and running. Au revoir.