Rain, horses and selling me

Today is such a shit day in the Stu.  It just won’t calm the fuck down with the rain.  It’s like cats and dogs and meatballs and whatever else anyone has ever compared big rain to and I hate it.  Last week we ended the week with two perfect days and now a week of shit.  Insert pouting.  Thank god for my sweats and my tea, my candles and my heat in the Land of Heather, aka my office, which makes rainy days perfectly acceptable. 
 
Now.  Speaking of dogs.  Not that we were.  I just mentioned dogs above and it reminded me to announce that my family has found a new way to make me want to jump out of my skin from across the pond.  Here is a conversation I had with my mother last night.  And David, I’m sorry, but we will be discussing this soon.
 
Me: Why is my brother holding a picture of dog on his wife’s fb page?  Please tell me that’s not his dog. (which I already know IS HIS DOG BECAUSE I AM A GENIUS)
 
My mother, playing the part of the neutral, innocent bystander:  “Oh, hmmm.  (INSERT AN INSANELY LONG PAUSE WHERE SHE PRETENDS TO CHASE HER DOG UP A CREEK)  Yes, why yes, that’s their new dog.”  She is actively working on some daytime televesion award, like an Oscar or something.
 
This is the part where she knows I’ve only called to freak out and she starts sighing and preparing herself to mentally shut off half during my tirade so that she doesn’t hate me enough to cancel her international flight here next week.
 
Me, playing the part of the angry, irrational but very rational and responsible older sister: “What the fuck is he getting a dog for?  He lives upstairs in your house and you have three dogs I hate that eat walls and what are you going to do with another dog?  That dog will be yours in no time and I thought we discussed that DOGS ARE LIKE PEOPLE.  You all just got yourself a new person, for probably 13 years and I hope you are all happy.”  (I am the only one unhappy about this whole arrangement it seems)

Me, continuing my I am so responsible, everyone should listen to me, tirade: “This is stupid, really.  What the hell kind of dog is it?”  In asking, I know full well that it will be no reasonable breed.  It’ll either be foreign and require something insane like to be fed parakeets every morning, or it’ll be dangerous and eat people or it’ll be generic as shit, meaning a lab.  (they are)

My mother, playing the new role as oblivious dog owner:  “Oh, it’s a Great Dane.”  She said it like you’d say, Oh, that? That’s just a horse.  Just a horse sitting in the kitchen.  Just a horse tearing up the backyard.  We just bought ourselves a horse.  Don’t you have a horse?

All I heard was horse.  Horse that will eat the rest of the house and ruin it and we will never be able to return to the house again because it has become not just a pound but a horse farm and holy god, my brother who is living in a bedroom UPSTAIRS at my mother’s house bought himself a two day old horse. 

“Oh well of course it’s a Great Dane.  That’s reasonable and JESUS WHAT IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?  You’ve all lost your minds.  Am I the only one that thinks clearly?  Who approved this and what did my sister have to say about this?”  Not one ounce of this will ever effect me but I am VERY unhappy.

And so my mother, in about two months, will be raising a horse in her house.  A horse that will befriend those assclown other dogs she has there.  The ones that eat walls.  Perfect. 

Back to things that don’t make me want to sedate myself. 

In relaxing upstairs in the office tonight, I’m trying to hang a bulletin board (requires a hammer, should be fun), trying to fill said bulletin board, finish a story, do this blog, and I’m still working on the new website, www.unapologeticmoxie.com.  I think I’ve finished the first go round with my “All things Heather” page, but shit, it’s pretty tough to package me up for the world in a few adjectives and one liners.  I asked three of my girlfriends for a few of their thoughts, but let’s just say I went with my own.  While their themes were similar, it wasn’t quite what I was looking for and god, am I REALLY THAT LOUD (and crazy)? Since the new site surely won’t be up for another few weeks, here’s the preview of the “All Things Heather” page–subject to change, of course.  Not that you don’t all know this stuff about me….
 
heather renee smith. 

Expert storyteller. New England gal.  Grilled cheese connoisseur.  International charmer.  Freelance drinker of gin for hire. 
 
Objective, you ask?  Conquer Europe, then the world.  All of it, one beer at a time. 
 
Lives simply for: Moxie’s kisses.  The sting of the Atlantic.  Championship titles in Boston.  Soft skin that smells of coconut.  Panty dropping accents.  The tickle of freshly cut grass.  Passport stamps.  The perk of hazelnut iced coffee.  Leaves that change.  The Dixon Ticonderoga.  Ritz sheets.  The color GREEN.  That neck thing.  Chicken pot pie.  Honeysuckle in pots.  Infectious laughter.  Lots of it. 
 
Will forever refuse to:  Do the dishes.  Tone down the aggression.  Tame my hair.  Make my bed.  Take it back.  Be agreeable.  Follow a moral compass.  Give up my sweats.  Calm down.  Be taken for granted.  Use my inside voice.  Answer to anyone.  Live like I have a second chance.
 
There are a few missing lines, yadda yadda, but I think you get the picture.
 
And so there’s that.  Now I’m on to picking pictures that are representative of me and my life.  Not that fun, actually.  Kinda tough, but a project I’m happy to work on…especially since I HAVE MY NEW PHOTO PRINTER AND SCANNER.  Yay!  That means all old pictures are now game on again. I think I’ll drag them all out tonight and have a look.
 
I’m also working on a writing project for one of those stories of sexy relations I was talking about awhile ago.  I want to finish it in June sometime, which shouldn’t be too hard, considering it’s half done.  This one still doesn’t have much dialogue, but the actual scenes are coming along in a way that makes me want to do myself.  I’m using my very vivid imagination. 🙂 Lack of talking?  I cannot do cheesy sex lines and who needs talking? Anyway, I’ll post a sample soon, knowing full well my mothers and grandmother read my blog.  Oh well, all is fair game in the memoir world.

Happy rain day.

 

**So about the dog picture.  Apparently this picture has been on a cake somewhere in the DC area after my friend’s husband finished a NIH study, which lead to a science article, which then led to two dogs on a cake–these dogs, and now she’s telling me this after I didn’t tag the photo like the asshole I am not because I can’t but because I don’t know how.  Is that a good disclaimer?  Eric Karlins, NIH study, Nature magazine, dogs.  Tag, you’re it.