When I left for work today, the psycho dog had 2 rubber chew toys, a kong, a tennis ball, a rawhide bone and 2 rope toys to play with.

So of course, when I came home, I found she had chewed a throw pillow, a pen, a pair of pajama pants and my flip flops.

Tomorrow I go home to my cats who never make me chase them around the neighborhood, who do not wake me at ungodly hours to go outside and then just bark instead of actually peeing, and who have never yet ruined a pair of my shoes.

I grew up with and love dogs but right now the score is:

Dogs: -12
Cats: 156

Hey, you know what's fun? Getting a sliver of glass in your foot and not being able to get it out because 1) it's really, really tiny and 2) you are not a contortionist able to bend yourself into a pretzel, even if you dutifully soak your foot for 30 minutes to loosen it up and when that doesn't work you swear at it for another 30 minutes while poking and prodding the spot until it hurts even more and you're worried you'll get an infection and they'll have to amputate your foot. Fun!

You know what's even more fun? Getting the sliver of glass in your foot at your parents' house, which you are at because even though your 2 siblings also promised your father that if he got your mother a dog for Chanukah they would help dogsit when Mom and Dad went out of town, you are the only one who has kept that promise even though you are also the only one who has her own pets at home to take care of. And while you are nursing your sore foot and thinking what life will be like without it once they have to amputate it, your parents' psycho dog decides she has to go outside, so you go to put her on the lead in the backyard but she yanks herself away from you and off she goes into the night, leaving you to swear some more and hurry to pull on some pants and grab some dog treats before you limp out into the darkness calling her name. Which she hears but quite gleefully refuses to respond to, choosing instead to cavort and gallop merrily through all the neighbors yards, while you stumble after her, setting off all the motion detector lights and calling her name in various tones of voice with the increasingly futile hope that one will work. Fun!

Also fun? Yelling the dog's name at 11:30 at night in a quiet neighborhood. Not too bad if your dog's name is, "Spot" or "Buster" or "Duke" but when your dog's name is Dreidl you just sound like a fucking idiot, which is good because you also look like a fucking idiot seeing as how it was 11:00 at night and you were in a nightshirt when the psycho dog escaped and were too worried about her dumb ass getting hit by a car to worry about accessorizing properly and so you grabbed the first thing on hand to put on which were your dress pants for work and some ratty old Target slip on shoes, which only increase your whole foot amputation fear since there's no time to put on socks and the inside of those 3 year old shoes is not exactly sterile. Fun!

And since the only thing more fun than all of that would be to have to call your parents on vacation and tell them you got your mom's Chanukah present killed, you continue to chase the damn psycho dog through bushes and over fences and down slippery, muddy hills and then up slippery, muddy hills which results in you landing on your ass more than once, all the while calling her name, "Dreidl!" And the psycho dog finds this hilariously awesome as she leaps around you like a gazelle, but never quite within your reach as you try to tackle her several times and miss, much to the psycho dog's joy. So you change tactics and pretend you don't care and just sit there and watch her dash around hoping she'll come close enough to grab but the dog is dumb but not that dumb and she doesn't get close enough. So you decide to ignore her and walk away, hoping she'll follow but she doesn't give a crap and just keeps sprinting around madly in every direction but the one you're going in. Fun!

So finally, wet, muddy, limping and frustrated beyond all endurance by all the fun, you just go home, praying the retarded, psycho dog will eventually come back, which is, in the end, what happens. And you lock the psycho dog in her crate, more for her protection from you than for her punishment and you hope the night does not get any more fun.

Oh, G-d, why am I watching "Schindler's List?"

Now I will be sad and weepy all night long.

I listen to NPR a lot and I really love most of their programming. But there's one show I can't stand to listen to. The Diane Rehm Show. I find her voice unbearable to listen to for more than a moment. She sounds like a 90 year old woman who spent the last 80 years chain smoking and swigging whiskey while being just a touch retarded to boot. And I mentioned that to someone today and they informed me that she in fact has a neurological disorder that interferes with her speech. So now, of course, I feel like a shitty person.

In other news....

My cousin's wedding was the other day. Me, my sister and my sister-in-law all unintentionally wore red dresses in the same shade of red and similar styles. It was a weird coincidence and no one would shut up about it all night long. Everyone kept coming up and asking if we had planned it. What the hell? Who plans things like that other than seven year olds who want to be twins or tragic children with crazy mothers who force them to dress in matching outfits until they get old enough and enough therapy to rebel?

The wedding itself was ok. The ceremony was a little (and by a little I mean a lot) weird. My cousin is Jewish, though non-practicing and her now husband is an...I don't know what but also non-practicing. They were married by a woman minister who started the ceremony off with a Jewish blessing and ended the blessing, "in the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit." Whaaa? Then we transitioned to some kind of Wiccan thing, "blessed be by the element of water, blessed be by the element of fire, etc." From there we went into some Native American stuff...something about nature and salmon swimming upstream, I have no idea. There was a unity candle, for a touch of Catholicism and finally, a Celtic knot tying ceremony to round things off. But the best part was before the ceremony even started, while we were waiting for it to begin, the music that was playing was the soundtrack to Lord of the Rings. Cause nothing says nuptials like Frodo, Orcs and a trip to Mordor!

The rest of the wedding was fun since my sister and I had already extracted a solemn promise from our cousin that she would not force us to endure the agonizing and humiliating ritual that is the catching of the bouquet we could enjoy the reception without that dread hanging over us. In fact, we got proactive about the matter and cornered all of our other single cousins and extracted similar vows from them, even though one aunt protested and swore that the last wedding she was at, the girl who caught the bouquet was engaged a month later. I told her that if superstitions worked I would have been married about 100 times over by now. Do you have any idea how many bubbemeisers, segulas and minhagim I faithfully kept for 10 years in the hopes of getting married? Believe me, if it were as easy as catching a bunch of flowers I'd be celebrating my eighth anniversary or something. Uh...not that I'm bitter or anything.

(Seriously though...off the top of my head: keeping a little sliver of the plate the mothers break at the vort, being a shomeret, specific keppitlach of Tehillim, saying Shir HaShirim for 40 days, sipping the wine at Sheva Brachos, eating the challah at the wedding and at Sheva Brachos, 18 cents every day before davening, wearing the brides jewelry while she's under the chuppah and those are just a few of the things I recall doing in the hopes of getting married and not having to hear the dreaded words, "Soon by you!" at every freaking event I attended. It was never soon by me. Again...not bitter or anything. Wow...this went to a really unexpected place. Moving on.)

Tomorrow starts Passover. My parents hold the seders every year and I always go over the day before to help cook and clean and get stuff ready. Today before I went over my parents called and told me they needed a few things from the kosher grocery store. Now, Jewish people will understand what kind of nightmare I was about to undergo. For all you non-Jews out there picture...Christmas Eve shopping, but there's only one store in the entire world and it's the size of a shoebox and everyone else in the world is there too. It's like that. But with more wigs and Yiddish.

I finally got a digital converter box for my tv. Now I have 13 channels instead of 4. I am practically giddy at the selection now offered me, even though one of those channels is in Spanish and another appears to show nothing but the 5 day forecast. I don't care! 13 channels! Whee!

What else? I still don't like my job, but whatever, I guess I'm supposed to be grateful to have a job. It really sucks to have to be grateful for something you hate. My company isn't even in trouble or anything remotely like that but they're still cutting benefits and raises and budgets and payroll like we might have to declare bankruptcy tomorrow or something. And I have a new boss who drinks the company kool-aid by the gallon, so that means I have to pretend to drink it, too, which is really exhausting. She actually says things like, "retail is detail!" and "teamwork makes the dream work!" And she isn't being ironic or sarcastic like I am when I say those things.

She loves her job, which is awesome for her, don't get me wrong, if you like the taste of kool-aid, cheers baby and drink up. The problem is she thinks that anyone who isn't passionate about being there should get the hell out. In her words, "If you're not passionate about being here, if you don't love it, then go be successful somewhere else." Which...nice theory but seriously. In my experience not a lot of people are lucky enough to have a job they feel really passionate about. Especially in this economy. People need to eat and pay rent. They need a paycheck and I don't think you can or should punish people for not being in love with their jobs as long as they actually do the job. Believe me, I would like nothing more than to walk into work on Friday and declare that I'm leaving in order to go make my living writing snarky things on the internet, or giving people my opinions on whatever or napping, but until those things pay as much as my current job and come with benefits, I'm kind of stuck where I am. With the kool-aid drinker.

The funeral for my grandmother was harder than I thought it would be. The night I found out and the following day, I was really pretty much ok. There were a few rough moments, like when we went to the rabbi to talk about the service and he asked a bunch of questions about my grandmother so he could give the eulogy. That was emotional. But on the whole, I was really clinging to the, "this is really a blessing, she's out of pain" side of things.

While we were talking to the rabbi, he mentioned the custom (I honestly don't know if it's a halacha or not but I do know it's at least a very strong minhag) of filling the grave completely and not letting strangers do it. It's the last thing you can really do for the person and it's called a "chesed emes," a true kindness, because there is no chance of the person thanking you, or rewarding you for doing it. Anyway, he mentioned that we did not actually have to fill the grave completely if we did not want to. But while I am not religious anymore, in many ways I do still have that mindset and I felt pretty strongly that we should do it. It was done for both of my grandfathers and I thought my grandmother deserved no less.

But at the actual funeral, it became clear that we weren't going to be able to do it. I don't know if we didn't have as much help as we did at my grandfathers' funerals, or if people weren't as interested in seeing it done as I was but my dad came over and gently explained that it just wasn't going to happen.

And I lost it. I could not stop sobbing.

And of course, no one knew why I was really crying and the rabbi came up to me and kept telling me to, "let it go, let the tears come," which I just found annoying, to be honest, but which really isn't fair since he didn't know me at all and really, what do you say to a stranger who won't stop crying?

I shoveled until people started leaving but there was still so much to do that even if I had stayed and tried to finish it on my own, it wouldn't have happened. And really, even sitting here thinking and typing about it now devastates me. And it's not because I think my grandmother expected it of us, because she wouldn't have. I don't believe she really would have cared. She wasn't religious and she probably would have been more concerned about us getting our clothes messed up. And it's not because I think G-d is angry or disappointed, because I'm sure G-d understands and doesn't hold it against anyone. It probably does have something to do with the guilt I feel for not having been a better grand-daughter and it being the last tangible thing I could ever do for her. But I understand that a funeral is not about me and it's not a place to work out my issues, so I don't think it's completely about that.

In the end, I think that it comes down to this: there was a right thing to do and we/I did not do it. It's not something I can change, so the only thing to do is find a way to live with it but right now, that feels really hard and I'm not sure how to do it.

Today was long and sad and exhausting. I have a lot I want to say, but I am tired and have to go to work in the morning so, another time.

But before I go to bed, I want to thank everyone who IMed or emailed or called me to express their sympathies. I really appreciate it and I feel very fortunate to have friends like you.

In the midst of tragedy, I still found time to mock my dad mercilessly when I found out he bought a box of Shamwows.

My grandmother died tonight. It is sad, but not as sad as it could be. She had severe dementia for the past several years along with various physical ailments. The truth is she never really recovered from my grandfather's death. She hadn't been the grandmother I knew for a very long time. I'm having trouble really feeling anything right now, to be honest. I'm relieved for my mother, who was an only child and who took care of my grandmother above and beyond anything you could expect or want from a daughter. I'm relieved for my grandmother, who is now out of pain. I feel guilty, because I did not visit more often, even though I knew time was short. This is terrible, but I can't even pin down the last time I saw my grandmother. Anyway, here is what I do remember about my grandmother.

She was a really strong, independent woman. She beat multiple sclerosis through sheer force of will when she was younger. She beat it, but it left her unable to have children, so she and my grandfather adopted. The call came that there was a little girl available for adoption just before they were going to set off on an extended trip through Europe. That got canceled and they went and picked up my mother instead. My grandmother always joked and called my mother her, "trip to Europe."

She sold World Book Encyclopedias door to door and did it quite well. As I embarked upon my career in retail and complained about how I hate to sell things, she would chastise me and give me selling advice and tips. She also taught at Headstart programs for many years.

She loved dogs and often repeated the story about how when they were first married, my grandfather first realized that the dog slept in her bed with her and demanded that she make a choice, him or the dog.

When I was little and we would go visit her, I loved to play with all these little perfume bottles she had. My favorite was the Chanel 5 bottle, and that is still my preferred scent today. Also, my grandparents didn't have a lot of kid books at their place but they did have one, and so every time we went to visit, I would read an Amelia Bedelia book.

My grandparents on my father's side had many, many grandchildren, but me, my brother and my sister were the only grandchildren on my mother's side. My paternal grandparents sent checks for birthdays and Chanukah, which was awesome and we always appreciated. But my maternal grandmother always tried to make it individually special and would ask us well in advance of the occasion what we wanted and then would take us out for the whole day, shopping and lunch. She started me a doll collection, which never got bigger than 3 or 4 dolls, but I remember very clearly going into different antique shops with her to choose which one I wanted.

She did not tolerate rudeness. Probably all my table manners can be attributed to sitting at my grandmother's table where her eagle eye was always on alert for someone playing with their food or an errant elbow resting on the table. If she caught you chewing with your mouth open she would catch your eye and make this motion with her fingers, pinching her thumb and forefinger closed and you shaped up immediately.

She was opinionated and was never shy about telling you exactly what she thought, even if it hurt your feelings. She did not even realize she was hurting your feelings. She loved you and wanted what was best for you and how would you know if she didn't tell you? And while this led to awkward conversations about cutting my hair so I can find a husband (also, learning shorthand so I could get a job as a secretary so I could get a husband), or my sister's clothing choices, eventually we did figure out that she said these things out of love which made those uncomfortable conversations easier to smile and nod through.

She loved M&M's and chocolate ice cream. In her later years we kept a large jar of M&M's by her easy chair. She would eat them and then not remember eating them and tell my mother that her health aide was stealing her M&M's. Meanwhile, her health aide was beside herself because my grandmother was gorging herself on M&M's and would beg my mother not to buy them anymore, which my mother refused to do because there was only so much time left and why shouldn't my grandmother enjoy what she could?

She was not a religious woman at all. But my mother told me tonight that since she went into the hospital 2 weeks ago, she has been reciting the Shema, over and over, like a mantra, even in her sleep. I can't really express the relief I felt when I heard that. I was there for my grandfather when he said it. I would like to think that even though I wasn't there for my grandmother, my grandfather was making sure she was taken care of.

Made it back from the inauguration.

It was awesome.

Pictures and detailed update as soon as I have thawed out and slept 100 more hours.

I also had a digital tape recorder with me and got some fun stuff there, too. If I can figure out how to upload it onto my computer, you can have that too.

Bottom line, it was cold out. I stood for approximately 11 hours straight. I went without sleep for 48 hours. I endured crowds (which I hate) and public transportation. My legs are sore. My back is killing me. And it was totally, completely, 100% worth it to be on the Mall for President Obama's inauguration.

Now, I must go sleep some more.

Oh, but before I do, I have to give a huge shout out to my mother, who is the best mother on earth, who made going to the inauguration even possible. When all my other plans fell through and it looked like I would not be able to go, my mother called me up and said, "I will drive you to the metro at 3:30 in the morning. This is once in a lifetime and I want to be a part of this somehow. If taking you to the subway in the middle of the night is what it takes to be a part, then I will take you." And she did.

Thank you, Mom. You are the best.

Wish me luck, for in a few hours I brave the cold and the crowds.

I'm inauguration bound!!

Yesterday felt like magic.

I went to the polls at 7 a.m., right when they opened, because I was working a long day and I wouldn't get another chance to vote. I thought I was prepared for what was there. I was not. I had to park in a nearby neighborhood and walk to my polling place, through residential streets that were lined on each side by cars who had gotten there before me. Some of the residents of the neighborhood were standing on their porches and driveways, watching people pass by, calling out good morning.

At the school were I vote, I thought I would have to fight my way through several last ditch campaign efforts before reaching the safety of the no electioneering zone. But no one was there. Just one little table that was unaffiliated and asking if anyone needed a sample ballot or had any questions.

Inside the building I tried to find the end of the line as I walked through hallway after hallway, turning the corner to see that no, this isn't the end, you have to go further. The line, at just a little past 7 a.m. snaked through almost four hallways, and people kept pouring in to make it longer. But no one was angry about it. Everyone was smiling, joking, talking to the strangers behind and in front of them, marveling about how amazing and awesome it was, wishing every election was like this. The girl in front of me was 18. She had come to vote for the first time in her life. She kept glancing at the sample ballot she had filled out, as if she had to keep convincing herself it was real. The couple behind me brought their 8 year old daughter. So many people brought their children, of all ages. Babies, toddlers, teenagers. One woman with an infant in a sling asked the man behind her to take a picture of her and her child. I wished I had my camera.

We waited and waited. Though the line moved at a steady pace, it was two and a half hours before I got to the polling booth. I was going to be an hour late for work, possibly not open the store on time. It didn't matter. Nothing was going to stop me from casting my vote. Which I did, with a huge smile on my face.

I'm writing this because someday I hope to have children and someday I hope they'll ask me about this election and what I did on November 4, 2008. I hope all the hooplah will seem a little funny to them, since they will have grown up with black men, women, hispanics, gays and others in power without it being strange or new. At least, that's what I hope the world they grow up in will look like. I hope I will be able to convey the magnitude of what yesterday was. How a country so frustrated and sad and angry and broken finally stood up, person by person, line by line, state by state and took their country back.

I hope I will remember to respect the part John McCain played. That even though so much of his campaign was badly run and he was such a different person than the true independent spirit he was back in 2000, he made the end gracious and honorable.

And though it feels wonderful to win, I hope we remember what it felt like to lose and treat those who are disappointed in how this election turned out with compassion and respect and truly follow our new president's lead in not always agreeing with them, but always listening to them. I am reminded of what I wrote after the 2004 election and while some names need to be switched around, I think the sentiment is as true now as it was then.

Yesterday felt like magic. But it wasn't. It was dedication and hard, hard work and I hope people remember that and do not become complacent. I hope four years from now will feel like magic, again.

Yes we can.

Yes we did.

Yes we will....continue on the road this man's election has started us on. A road of hope, change and the promise of a better world for everyone, no matter their race, religion, party affiliation, gender, sexual orientation or tax bracket.

"...always remember that, no matter what obstacles stand in our way, nothing can stand in the way of the power of millions of voices calling for change."
~ President Barack Obama

So, I have a birthday coming up in a few days. For those of you yearning to get me something but unsure of what, I have come up with this handy dandy list for you:

1. Barack Obama to be the next President of the United States.
2. 60 or more Democrats in the Senate.
3. Season 2 of Big Love on DVD.
4. The show Heroes to stop sucking so badly.
5. The motivation to stop dicking around and actually try to write professionally.
6. A job I don't hate.
7. An iPod Touch.
8. A ban on all holiday commercials until at least after Thanksgiving. (K-Mart and Hallmark, I'm looking at you.)
9. Books, books, books.
10. A fourth season of Veronica Mars.

Get out and vote tomorrow, people. Rain, sleet, snow, an army of undead...whatever. Let nothing stop you from casting your ballot and making this a very, very happy birthday to me. You know, and the rest of the country.

I want an Obama shirt. But I'm having some trouble choosing the design I like best. That's where you come in. Here are the choices:

Choice number 1.
Choice number 2.
Choice number 3.
Choice number 4 (says "yes we can" in Hebrew).
Choice number 5 (says Obama in Hebrew).
Choice number 6.


Poll #1276533
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All

Which Obama is the right Obama for me?

You all know how I hate to get political in my LJ but I'm going to say this:

If I hear one more person make the retarded comment of, "Well, no matter what happens in the election, it will be historic." Or the equally retarded, "Well, it would be nice to have a woman in the White House," I am going go fucking insane. It should go without saying that just because something is historic doesn't mean it's desirable. The Holocaust was historic. As were the Vietnam War and the Crusades and September 11. And to the second point, no, it would not be nice to have a woman in the White House. It would be nice to have a competent leader in the White House. If that person happens to be a women, awesome. But if you think Sarah Palin is a competent leader, then I wish you would go throw yourself off that bridge to nowhere she supported until it was unpopular and then didn't support and is now all proud of herself for supposedly not supporting it, because you are an idiot.

Today at work I was helping a gentleman (and I use the word gentleman in the very loosest way. Possibly to the point where I may just have to go ahead and redefine the word to mean "gross, pervy old man with missing teeth and hair who is clearly at least twice my age and has no sense of boundaries") purchase a pair of glasses. I am entering all the relevant information into the computer and we are chatting pleasantly. He asks my age, I tell him. He asks if I am married, I say that I am not. And the rest of the conversation went like this:

Him: So, when you get off work do you want to go get a bite to eat and then have sex?

Me: ......Um....I....no thank you.

Him: Well, you know, you better get a move on if you want to have kids. All your eggs are gonna dry up soon.

Me: This is a highly inappropriate conversation.

Him: Why? I'll be gentle. You're not a virgin, are you?

And that's about when I had to get up and walk away.

I had a dream last night that I wrote a very long, detailed, funny LJ update. Alas. I woke up and found I had not actually written it in my sleep. I find this extremely disappointing.

Well, my three day conference a couple weeks ago was a major wake up call to me. I was pulled out of the workshop on the third morning and admonished for not being enthusiastic enough. I was accused of bringing people down. This was completely ridiculous and I said so. First of all, I know for a fact that there were many other people there who thought the whole conference was as pointless and stupid as I did. I know because during breaks and lunch we discussed it. They just didn't say so out loud to the facilitators. Secondly, I seriously doubt that of the few people there who were into it, any of them were going home at night, shaking their fists at the heavens and crying, "If only that girl Bea weren't here, I would be gaining so much more from this! Why can't she be more excited about this? WHY GOD? WHY?"

Thusly, the resume has been updated and posted on various sites and the hunt begins again for a new job. I hate job hunting. I hate interviews. I hate change in general. The only thing I hate more is the idea of staying in my current job. My goal this time around is to get out of retail and get into something that doesn't make me want to eat glass instead of go to work in the morning. Now that I'm seriously, really, actively looking for a new job, it just can't happen soon enough. In my head, I'm already gone and every day it's all I can do not to hand in my 2 weeks notice and be free.

So, I guess my point is, if anyone wants to hire me and pay me a lot of money, I would appreciate it. Thanks muchly.

Recently I was visiting my sister's apartment. We were hanging out, watching tv, playing Scrabble and what have you when her roommate came home. He sat down with us with some knitting needles, which I didn't think much of. It was about 10 minutes before I realized that he wasn't using yarn to knit with. He was cutting strips of plastic bags. Like the kind you get at the grocery store. And he was knitting with them. "Wow," I said, "Um...what are you making there?" He looked up and said, "I don't know yet. Maybe a jacket!" I said," Wow. Cool." And my sister gave me a dirty look. When he left the room a little later she said, "Why did you have to encourage him? Now he's gonna want to hang it on the wall or something." I apologized and told her, "I'm sorry. I really didn't know what other polite reaction to have to someone knitting things out of plastic bags." Yesterday I went to my sister's to drop some things off and sure enough, there on the wall was hanging a knitted piece of plastic. It isn't a jacket though. It's maybe half of a scarf. Or a potholder. Although if you tried to use it as a potholder you'd probably wind up with third degree burns.