The other day as I drove down the freeway, a car suddenly left the fast lane and cut across 2 other lanes to reach the upcoming exit. A bold and reckless move. I caught myself saying out loud, “Whoa, that was crazy. I would NEVER do that.” (Although I admit I’ve come close.) And thus an idea was born for my blog. So here’s what I’ll never do…
As you learned from my Boogeyman posting, I’m a fan of murder documentaries. So I know what can happen when someone, especially a lone woman, sticks out her thumb while standing alongside a road, asking a complete stranger to take her somewhere. Seriously? Have these people never heard of the Texas Killing Fields? You might as well be saying, “Hey psychopathic ax-murdering rapist-kidnapper, where ya goin’? Can I come along?”
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying all those who pick up hitchhikers are any of the above. But am I willing to take that chance? I think not. Let it be known I’m not a lucky gambler, the sole reason I avoid casinos. It’s one thing to lose a bundle of cash. But by hitchhiking, I’d inevitably be playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded chamber.
Speaking of death wishes, I’ve tried a lot of things that could be considered adventurous, maybe even dangerous. Or stupid. I’ve jumped from a plane; went gliding; rafted down a class IV river; biked around Lake Tahoe before I was a biker; kayaked alongside Orca whales off British Columbia; camped on a safari in Africa where a hyena slept against our tent; sat mere feet from a towering bull elephant; took up snowboarding at age 58 (not my brightest move); enjoyed hot air ballooning; tried parasailing, and more. But bungee jump? Nuh-uh. Never wanted to. Never will. That’s just crazy.
So after 8 months of sitting on my ever-widening rear end, I finally had my epidural a couple weeks ago.
I don’t normally consider myself a particularly patient person but I have to admit I’ve been uncharacteristically tolerant these past months, living like someone who abhors being active. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not like my friend Pam, who at 62 (a mere 2 years younger than me), runs 2 half marathons a week in addition to running another hard 9 miles in the hills one day a week. She lifts weights 3 days a week and takes yoga classes as well. Whew!
No, I’m not a masochist like Pam, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m simply someone who enjoys playing tennis, hiking now and then, biking with Pam (oh yeah, she also bikes), working out to yoga and Pilates tapes, taking an occasional jog and even snowboarding once in a while.
I received the most unusual and unexpected gift last week from someone I’ve never met. She knows me from the work I do with feral cats and is a friend of a friend. So why did she give me a gift? Be patient, I’m getting there…
Hold your horses
In this line of work, meaning TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return), I meet some interesting folks. Let’s just say not all of them particularly like cats. Some downright hate ’em. But then not everyone is perfect, right? Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying if you don’t like cats you’re a sociopath. But my guess is you’re probably close.
Anyway, my friend was telling this gift-giving person about my encounters with these as yet undiagnosed sociopaths. They’re the characters who not only make this work interesting, unpredictable, and a little bit scary, but have taught me I should learn self defense. Like yesterday already. I’ve intended to take classes for about 10 years now but have I done it? Intended is the operative word there.
I just found out my friend Pam is very likely a psychopath. What a total shocker. You’d think I would have recognized this sooner, wouldn’t you? We’ve been friends since high school for God’s sake. I played softball with her all through my 20s. We were in each other’s weddings and today she’s still one of my best friends. So why didn’t I notice something was amiss?
And she looks so normal…
I’m also a bit surprised Pam’s psychosis slipped by me because in college I minored in Abnormal Psychology. I know it’s been 40 years, but still…I’m sorta drawn to the crazy. Excuse me; I believe the politically correct term is unstable. My bad.
You may be wondering how I discovered this personality disorder in my good friend. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying she maimed anyone and subsequently displayed no outward signs of telltale guilt because of a lack of empathy or ability to relate to others. Continue reading →
So it’s been nearly 4 months since I adopted Taffy, a 2 1/2 year old female Chihuahua mix. If you remember, I’ve already blogged about her twice. And although she simply can’t be much cuter, she’s not exactly what I expected from our initial meeting. In other words, don’t let cute fool you.
Now don’t get me wrong. I adore that little pain in the ass who’s only slightly bigger than a gnat. But when all is said and done, Taffy misrepresented herself when we first met. Yes, she’s a sly one, that gal. She caught my eye with her adorableness, but I wasn’t alone. On walks at the shelter, nobody passed by who didn’t comment on that sweet face. Her cuteness is like a magnet pulling you in. And trust me, she uses it to full advantage.
While I fostered Taffy after she had puppies, she was on her best behavior. I mean, she’s no dummy. She saw a sucker coming and thought, here’s my chance to escape the shelter and go home with this lady who I bet has a bunch of animals I can play with. And she was right.