Sending out an S.O.S

One of the first things I did when I got let go was cancel my gym membership. $75 a month saved! But its funny, the savings didn't translate to the booze budget. (BTW-that would make a great government assistance idea-an "unemployment" alcohol allowance.) I've been drinking quite a bit of empty calories at night, so that coupled with the not working out, has made me more of a woman. And not in a good way. With the warmer weather, I am now getting a chance to do some walking.

Tonight I decided to take Rosie our German Shepard with me. She also has weight issues. And come to think of it, she doesn't have a job either and likes to sneak food out of the kitchen, so we have a lot in common. We're cruising along and pass a house with a snotty little yippy dog. Rosie doesn't get along with other dogs and I think they can smell it. They always get extra excited when Rosie passes and not in a good "oh here comes my good friend Rosie" way. More like a "I can't believe that bitch Rosie. Who does she think she is anyway?" (By the way, for my young nephew and any other sensitive souls who read this, I use the term "bitch" to mean "female dog." It's a dictionary term and they use it on those dog shows on t.v., so I'm hoping its okay for me to use in this blog.)

So Rosie takes it upon herself to poop right there in front of this yippy dog. Good thing I remembered the grocery baggie! What? It fell out of my pocket while working up the good sweat, I've been working up? And then I looked around. Darn. Too many witnesses on this 72 degree evening to just leave the poop. So I looked around and checked my resources. The last time she pulled this stunt on a busy street, someone had discarded a McDonald's cup and I just scooped up her firm droppings and deposited them in the corner trash can and that was that. This time all I could find was the employee newsletter from Bryan LGH-the same hospital my husband works for. (Irony? Deeper meaning?)

So I tried picking up the poop with the newsletter. I'm not sure what she's been eating, but let's just say Rosie has gotten a little "soft" on the insides. Her poop became unpickupable. I tried scraping it "dustpan" style, but the quality of paper that Bryan uses to print its newsletter doesn't hold a lot of weight. Also, Rosie left a trail of her droppings that went about 3 feet. So I'm trying to scrape up 3 feet of soft stinky dog poop in front of an audience and a yippy little dog. Thank goodness for my new mp3 player and The Police.

I was already formulating this blog as I was pushing/scraping the poop and I was carrying it back the 5 blocks we were from home. Breathing in the not-so-fresh air, I was formulating the story, crafting it for your enjoyment. And then I wondered, why the heck do I feel the need to share this stuff with you? What is wrong with me? Other people can go on walks and pick up their dogs' poop and have no need to share the story with anyone. Why do I have the desire, the need to craft my daily happenings into stories for anyone (everyone) to read? Why do I post on Facebook every 10 minutes? Why can't I just keep these things, these thoughts to myself?

And then I listened to Sting. (As we all should more often). The song Message in a Bottle. "Seems I'm not alone at being alone. A hundred million castaways, looking for a home." I think that the reason I write these little stories is because a lot of times, I feel terribly alone. Even though I am surrounded by people, my family, my neighbors, my Mary Kay friends, the pool board, I feel alone. I need to share my ideas and thoughts to stop me from feeling lonely. I can post my idea, send it out there and hope that someone else can "get it." If we can share that connection, then the world isn't so lonely. Maybe they are a castaway too, looking for someone to listen to their crazy story.

So there you go. That is why I am doing this. That is why I feel the need to tell you stories about my every day adventures, as sometimes self-serving as they seem. I am just sending out my S.O.S to the world. My Message in a Bottle. On a Bryan LGH employee newsletter.