I can't sleep, so I have been shoving music into my Ipod.
I came across this song, and fell in love with it all over again.

LEXINGTON SLOW DOWN

Won't break my heart, won't hope to die
Before Lexington could slow down
They say a chariot's waitin
Will it get cut loose
The place starts swingin'
When it's me on the noose

Mother do you think the children cry
Cause they want to shake your chain
Mark miles today, one for every year of my life
In the stinking fucking rain

Just to slow down
So I could slow down
So I could slow down
Yeah

Look for me luck
Just one last time
Spare me a chance, I've wasted mine
Shine on me light, don't you know I would
Reach for you there
If only I could

If I could slow down
If I could slow down
If I could slow down
Just slow down now

Don't mind being stoned, they say Jesus was
And I like being alone, and I could take livin' low
Forgive my being cruel if ever I was
Say a word for me too
When I'm under the gun
It wouldn't break my heart
If I could slow down

Let the place start swingin'
There's a chariot waitin'
It wouldn't break my heart
If I could slow down

Let the place start swingin'
There's a chariot waitin'
It wouldn't break my heart.......

Ok, enough with my whiny ass last blog, thanks to those who humored me.

I am realizing that I have come to a point where I feel like I have to make some serious life changes in order for me to be truly happy. I have always hated the girls that "let themselves go" when they get a boyfriend, and I am creeping dangerously toward that category. Not to say my man picks on me, quite the opposite. He tells me I am beautiful all the time and I know he means that from the heart.

But, I need to do some shit to make myself better.

Quitting smoking is number one. I know my near death cough I have developed is just so sexy, ew. I have never tried before, and I am not so confident in myself with this issue. I feel like my heart is going to explode all the time, and that can't be good.

Convince myself that I don't have to have a shit ton of beer in my system to sleep every night.

Get my lazy ass up and run or do something healthy every day. I know I can, I have done it quite well in the past.

I just want to feel better, and not get up every day exhausted from shitty sleep. I wonder what it feels like to wake up feeling rested and clear headed, must be nice.

I put a bunch of Roky Erickson on my never used ipod, and will lean on that for inspiration tomorrow when I either go run (walk briskly) around the lake, or go to my gym here if it is raining. Wish me luck, I need help and inspiration.

I just need to get my shit together, and make me healthy and happy with me


I am not a particularly vain person, but I know my bad habits have taken a toll on me already, and I need to be stronger than them. It's gonna be hard. I just want to be pretty again.

I don't think I should be here any more.
I just don't have the heart and the time for it.
I feel like I try to keep up with some people to no avail.
So, fuck it.
I poured my heart and soul out in my last blog, and the reception I got from it made me realize that if I am not talking about sex, some rad new band, or getting new tattoos, I am just not "cool".
I am fine with that.
My new tatoos itch
I love my dog and my man
I am putting "Lunatic Fringe" on my Ipod, that may be one of my favorite songs.
I am tired of giving a shit about moot points.

This is a tough day for me. Six years ago today my apartment burned down, killing my former dog Dashiell, my kitty Asta and my big fat cat Crosby. LIterally everything I owned was gone, except for the clothes on my back and what I had in my purse. That was a hard pill to swallow.

Dashiell was the first dog I had ever raised from puppyhood, he was the sweetest creature I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Dumb as a stump, but loyal and goofy as hell.

Asta was a petite Siamese kitter that a friend of mine found at a Jack in the Box drive thru and promptly took to my apartment, knowing I would keep her. Little bitch was tough, she fucked up many a blue jay in her time.

Crosby was my 20 pound cat that was about 13 years old at the time of the fire. He had gotten out the day before, so I kept going back over there looking for him. I will never forget the smell of the burned building, it stays around for weeks. I never found him. I hope some nice person found him and loved him for me.

When something like this happens to a person, I believe the people around them really show their true colors. I had old friends pop up out of the woodwork to lend me a hand and do whatever they could to help me. My friend Chad found me the apartment I live in now, and being the queen he is, helped me decorate of course. The word got out at my work, and a ton of regular customers and most of my co-workers took up a collection for me, and many donated clothes, kitchen items, and lots of other stuff. The Red Cross hunted me down and gave me vouchers for furniture, a bed, and other household items. They were really great. It was overwhelming.

In my opinion, my mother handled things horribly. I was staying at my aunt's, and my mom had come down to "comfort" me. We were looking through a big pile of clothes people had given me, and my mom kept trying to take things for herself, saying "Oh Shan, you would never wear that"!
Well, at that point I was not too picky, since I had NOTHING AT ALL. I have never confronted her about this, and probably never will, but I thought it was extremely tacky and selfish.

I was pretty much in a fog for about a month, just getting shit done, rebuilding my little life and all. I had to sleep with the lights on for about a year for some reason. Slowly but surely I started feeling more at home in my new place, getting pictures on the walls, rugs, throw pillows, those kind of creature comforts. Then I went through a phase of looking for certain items for hours on end, and then realizing that they were lost in the fire. Drove me nuts.

I found myself missing things that seemed so trivial when I had them.
Notes from friends from elementary school.
Pictures.
Old textbooks.
The ugly ass afghan my grandma knitted me. I had never touched it but found myself longing for it.
Letters.
The ring my mom had made for me from old family stones.
My many notebooks filled with my shitty poetry.
The weird frog statue my friend Jenny gave me.
The little zen garden a friend made for me.
My dad's old sweaters.
My huge bougainvillea plant that snaked it's way around my patio railing.
The horrid burgundy carpet in my apartment that I grew to love somehow.

A few months later I decided I was going crazy and went to a therapist. I was terrified to leave my house. He immediately diagnosed me with post traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and depressiion, and in the same breath told me he didn't understand me at all. Not even for $80 an hour. So much for that.

So I went back to work. Got my new dog, got my two new cats. Tried to make my new life as much like the old one as I could. Got tired of talking about it, got tired of the looks of pity from people. Spent nights looking up at the sky and talking to my animals that I lost, consumed with guilt because of how they suffered. Knowing full well none of this was my fault. Finally accepting this.

That time in my life was bad, real bad. But, I learned a lot about myself as well. I am strong, and can be stoic and practical in bad times and do what needs to be done. Not to say that I didn't fall apart and bawl like a baby in private, because I did. It was not pretty at times. I had horrible dreams and as a result never slept. I swear I saw a fire truck every day, and that would just send me into a major panic for sure.

I know, I know, it has been 6 years, I should just get over it, right? Well, I have for the most part. I feel safe in my home, and if I can take my dog wherever I go, it helps a lot. I still have many irrational fears about the oddest things, but that is just me I guess. I am not the same person I was at the time of the fire, I have changed in some good ways and some bad. But every year this day gets a little easier.

I just need to let it go

Just so you know, if you come to my restaurant and run up a $242.00 tab, which includes me running my ass off and opening wine for you, and then leave me a $24.00 tip, I am not the happy little waitress.

Or, if you run up a $139.00 bill, and I get you special hot sauce for your food, do NOT think I will be happy with a $16.00 tip.

It is getting harder and harder for me to mask my general hatred for the service industry, not to mention the general public.

I am now going to cuddle up with this sexy girl and go to bed.

I know you are all sick of hearing about my dog, so here is my kitty Doc in one of his resting spots. He is a complete douchebag of a cat, but you just have to love him. He insists

Not much to say, I have been fighting some kind of cold/sinus bullshit which has rendered me about half deaf and my balance is all wonky, even if I haven't been into the beer. I have been living on ibuprofen and Airborne, neither of which seem to be doing the trick.

Some big ass rodeo is in town for like a month, and the musical entertainment this year will be provided by George Jones and Styx. I would be willing to go just for the people watching, which I am sure will be outstanding. A funnel cake would be nice too

Just one little doggie tidbit, and then I will shut up. He got his stitches out Monday and the vet actually called in a prescription of people Xanax to make things go smoothly. By the time we got to the vet, my dog did not give a FUCK about anything, and was charmingly loopy for a few hours. He got prescribed 5 pills, but only needed one for the suture removal, what ever shall I do with the rest of them

The pup is healing well I think. At least compared to the pics on my last blog.
He is demanding constant belly rubs, and getting them.
Look, in the second pic he is practically begging for one!
For those of you that cared to comment on him, thank you.
HIs spirit reminds me on a daily basis why I favor animals over people.
He goes to get his stitches out on Monday, which should prove to be another bloody ordeal.

I am off Sunday because we are remodeling the kitchen at my restaurant, so the man and I are going to gorge on some brunch and then nap all day.

This is really all I need
The dog, the man, and perhaps some beer

This is my poor pupper the day he got the bandage off his ear.
I almost shat myself when I saw all the blood on him.
When we got home he shook a good blood spray on my neighbor's white car, thankfully it rained later.
I think his ear looks like a pissed off new potato.
He has been such a good boy.
Jeez I fucking love this creature.
When he hears me pop the top on his pain pill bottle he comes running.

He is slowly getting the spring back in his step and wagging his tail for me again.
That means the world to me

Happy Valentines Day from me and my post-surgery pup

I am off to work where I will be most honored to wait on every hillybilly couple in the tri-county area that has never been to a "nice" restaurant. I can't wait to run my ass off all night refilling sodas and serving the cheapest items on the menu, only to be rewarded with 10% tips. This is seriously the worst day of the year to wait tables, and God help me if I have to assist some moron that is proposing by putting a ring in some chick's cheap wine, happens every year. How creative

Later I shall see my man, and all will be well

Late night edit: My man and I agreed to not indulge this holiday by exchanging gifts. Just in case, I picked up some good beer for him and got him a cheesy card. He shows up with daisies, two bottles of good wine, a huge teddy bear (I have a thing for teddy bears), and a liitle stuffed border collie.

My doggie has to have surgery tomorrow.
I know in my heart that it is necessary.
He will be happier in the long run.
But I am still worried.
I have to leave him at the vet most of the day.
He is going to be so scared waking up in pain and me not being there for him.
I just want my baby to be okay.
Send happy puppy thoughts please.

Edit: Puppers is home now, with his little ear all bandaged up. The vet I went to was amazing, and they said he was on his best behavior. The bandage is open at the end, I guess to let air in, and I have him heavily dosed on pain pills, because if he shakes his head there will be some gnarly blood spray. I am just so glad to have my boy home