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Crofton, MD, 21114

A long-running personal blog shared by two authors with completely different approaches to life. And a lot of large, beautiful photographs of dogs and nature and places we've traveled to. Rich in commentary and irreverant in style. 


We started blogging a long time ago. Our work hours never aligned with recommended psychotherapists and we needed to get our thoughts out. We are great friends, total opposites and long-time housemates. This was a way to communicate. With each other. With strangers. With consumer marketers. With sub-par meteorologists. With distant friends who wanted to see pictures of stuff we were up to.

This is the place. Our bucket of thoughts to share. You are welcome. 
(We realize that most of you are here for the dog pictures.)

Dad, Friends and Dock Dogs


So sometimes people question my line of thinking. I mean I’m sure everyone thinks that of themselves on a regular basis. But I noticed it today when I was in the kitchen with Yenny getting coffee and I elaborated on my recent line of thinking on Auschwitz. She can explain it to you. She’d be happy to, I’m sure – just ask her. But I noticed that at the end of the conversation that she was giving me the long detached thinking look.

For the record – she has dumb thoughts too. She just keeps them inside.

But after that special coffee moment I went back to the office where my best friends - the computers – live, and I saw an IM from my dad.

I think there may be a clear connection between my thought process and his. Of the two children he and his wife have spawned…that I am the apple closer to his genetic tree.

So later I was relaying this concept to my boyfriend on his way out to work and he agreed. He mentioned that in order to be more like my mother I would have had to instinctively recognize that there was an IM – but not read it. My mother is a wonderful inspiringly beautiful woman. But she doesn’t listen to a damn thing I say. Ever. Bryant mentioned that it was also interesting that – outside of Yenny – most ALL of my closest friends gleefully ignore every word I say. And then complain that I don’t share with them. Some have even gone far enough to suggest that I am secretive. (Note that I am writing about that in my PUBLIC BLOG.)

To be fair – most of my daily baggage cannot compare with their daytime dramas. So I have decided not to compete with them. I have chosen to store up all their deepest stories and tragedies and later write an award winning satirical novel chronicling their relationship issues, fad diets, pet therapy concepts, drunk reveling, near death experiences, eye doctor appointments that ended in smelling salts and trash bins full of vomit, fashion opinions, irrational fears, skin conditions, inebriated revenge plots and vacation mishaps.

I would do this, not as revenge, but more as a thoughtful gesture. Because my friends are nuts. And I know everyone probably thinks that of their friends too. And maybe it’s an overused statement.

But not in my case.

My closest friends are truly exceptional. And some of these stories are so unique and unexpected – that they are Smithsonian worthy. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

But for the most part – they would kill me if I told the really good stories without their consent. And thinking about it now – they probably don’t even recognize that some of them were stories. It would take an outside party repeating it back to them for them to recognize the absurdity of the process of events, as one complete story.

And that’s part of the beauty.

My oldest friend Kelli was chatting with me the other day and mentioned that something that had happened to her was potentially ‘blog worthy’. And I kind of chuckled to myself. The amount of bizarre shit that Kelli has been party to or the cause of  - well it would take 3 days to just begin to crack the surface. I would have to introduce her as a complete character profile so that the reader would have some CONCEPT of how the shit that happens to her even begins to occur.

She is a version of an entire ongoing TV sitcom that exists within the beltway. A camera should just follow her most of the time. I’m not sure my writing abilities are even up to the task of describing her adequately. And that fact will most likely save our friendship.

Alyssa don’t think for a second that I don’t have CHAPTERS dedicated to your stories. You have not escaped my attention.

Maybe the reason I don’t talk about my own situations as completely is that I don’t want any competition for my novel on them.

So tomorrow morning – at the crack of dawn I am taking my father on a field trip. He is just giddy with excitement. <cough> Every now and then I drag people off to events that I feel will be culturally enriching. Tomorrow we are driving out to god-knows-where Maryland to witness a Dock Dogs competition. You may have seen something like this on ESPN at 3:45 am some night. Its where they coax Labradors and other gullible breeds to launch off a perfectly good dock into the water after a thrown item that looks like paralyzed water-foul. And then they measure to see who jumped the furthest.

I am going to take pictures. I have it in my head that since this isn’t “Nationals” that some of these animals will not be good at this. And that is what I want to see. I want to see humans frustrated that their animals are not dumb enough to see the point of this. And that they will then be disgraced at having a smart animal. I see a lot of action happening at the end of the dock. Aborted missions.

And since my dad went to Punkin Chunkin with me last year…well that this will be a natural.

I’m sure I will have a lot to report on my next dispatch.

punkin chunkin world championship