Molly isn’t working out. I say that as if she’s some sort of mattress or blender or other item, something to be tried for the sake of convenience. I don’t feel that way at all, but…

She destroys things. She attacks innocent neighborhood children (unsuccessfully, thank god). She BIT me when I tried to prevent her from eating the cat whole. I’m sure it was an accident – she was just excitable – but I CANNOT HANDLE THIS.

Maybe I’m not meant to have a dog? She’s four and full of horrible bad habits and I can’t fix them because I don’t have enough time to dedicate to her, and truthfully I should have held out for a damn puppy and started from scratch.

The cat is miserable and afraid. She lives near the ceiling now, and nowhere else. I am paranoid and constantly stressed about her attacking people or my books or my delicates.

Yesterday in the course of one half hour she managed to a) scratch my sister’s new(er) car on BOTH SIDES, b) nearly rip the material on my sister’s very expensive sofa – thank god for the protective coating, and c) jump up after sternly being told to stay and give my sister a fat lip.

The sucky thing is, she seems to love me. And I’m very fond of her. But she’s a MENACE. And right now she is making me feel like total and complete crap by sprawling cozily by my feet, looking all innocent and sweet and chewing on her rawhide instead of whatever she managed to fish out of the trash. It’s breaking my stone cold heart.

Tomorrow I’m making a friend accompany me to the nearest animal shelter to leave her. I feel like a bad human being.

I was taking a shower today (as I often do on the days ending in Y), tra la la, when I noticed that Charlotte (the moniker I’ve given the evil, unwelcome spider in my shower – I thought about George, but let’s face it, if a many-eyeballed creature is going to be spying on my naked form I’d much rather it be a girl) was creeping around in the upper right corner. EEK!

I was struggling to keep my eyes on Charlotte and still rinse my shampoo when I noticed she was creeping closer and CLOSER. Evidently no longer afraid of being washed down the drain, she kept advancing! And me, NAKED, with no weapon.

I was pressed into the corner farthest from her, frantically washing away soap and preparing to rip the curtain back and dive to safety, when I noticed she was going away again, up toward her little cubby in the ceiling. Whew.

So I added conditioner, and was busy rinsing THAT out when I noticed something horrible: she’d moved down again, to about FOUR INCHES IN FRONT OF MY FACE. I may or may not have squealed. I grabbed the nearest object – my bottle of face polish – and used the cap to smash her. Except it DIDN’T WORK! Because evidently the cap is slightly concave, and so she skittered quickly away, out of my sight.

I decided cleanliness isn’t that vital and got out of the shower without shaving. Note: From the knees down I look like a man, or perhaps an adolescent boy. Okay, maybe I look like a man with an appreciation for sparkly pink nail polish, BUT STILL.

My sister, after unsuccessfully trying to play matchmaker more than once, has demanded to know what my ‘type’ is. At the very least, she’d like a list of identifying factors that might help her choose my future husband while she cruises through Walmart after work. After giving it some thought, I’ve come up with some basic guidelines:

Intelligence is a must – if I feel as though, given the opportunity my man will be able to effectively debate the meaning of obscure poetry/argue politics with my pompous brother (AND WIN)/diffuse a bomb…well, all the better.

Even more important is the ability to make me laugh. This is non-negotiable. If my sides are sore from laughter spasms, the relationship is going to be a success.

Tall and skinny are good traits for any potential date to have. For some reason I am irresistibly drawn to tall and skinny. Pancake butt is also preferable. Too many muscles are a bad thing. Body-builder types creep me out.

Accents, particularly of the English & Irish variety, are unbelievably sexy.

Musical talent isn’t absolutely necessary, but a man who can sing or play the guitar/piano is a plus. I have a recurring fantasy about being serenaded.

I’m old-fashioned, and a take-charge attitude is something I look for in the opposite sex. I want to feel like he can protect me, command a situation, and hold his own in an argument.

It also can’t hurt if he enjoys a good argument every now and then, since if you haven’t noticed I have a somewhat confrontational personality.

I’m not a liberated, independent woman. If he chooses to open doors and pull out chairs, I’m not about to stop him. And while I might offer to pay for the popcorn at the movies, he should be willing to cover the majority of the date.

The more adventurous, the better. I don’t want some fuddy duddy who won’t try new foods or new places because they’re outside of his comfort zone.

Wearing leather never hurts.

Since this man does not exist outside of my imagination, it’s highly likely that I’ll be single forever. Which has it’s upsides, really. Even though I can’t remember what they are at the moment.

My sister stopped by unexpectedly for a visit. I’m almost always glad to see her.

Except. I consider myself a good housekeeper. I’m not obsessive or anything, but I make sure the place is suitable for inhabitation. It’s usually a little untidy, the way all charming houses SHOULD be (in my opinion, and let’s face it mine is the one that matters).

Admittedly, since I’ve aquired Molly the whole place smells a tad like a kennel – no matter how many cardamom candles I burn, and also tiny mountains of dog fur accumulate no matter how much I vaccuum. Speaking of vacuuming (which I did the day before yesterday):

Sister, after we’ve exchanged information about our day: Is your vacuum broken?
Me, after a long pause: No. You know, you’re really good at making people feel like crap accidentally.
Sister: That was intentional.

OH. Okay then. Keep in mind, this is the same woman that has to force herself not to remove dog toys from the floor because she considers them clutter.

When I lived in Washington, I moved in with my ex-boyfriend and his roommate. It seemed like a great idea at the time – I needed a place to live, and they needed the extra rent money. I was still in love with him, but I was certain I could handle it. I’ve always had a knack for smothering my true feelings. I convinced myself I’d be just fine.

Except he met a girl. She was everything I wasn’t – she was skinny and quiet, and she had a car of her very own. Her lips were bigger than mine. Her eyes were brown. Her hair was straight, not wild and curly. I tortured myself when I saw them together, which was often – how could he love me, and then date her? We were so different.

At night I would be downstairs on the couch, huddled in my blankets, listening to them. I used my pillow to muffle my sobs.

I didn’t move out. I was determined to prove I could handle it, that I was over him. I wanted him to believe it, even if I didn’t. And besides, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

I got a phone call that my grandfather died. He wasn’t home, he was where he always was – out partying. His roommate tried to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. I cried and raged – I threw the plate I was holding against the wall, where it shattered.

I called to tell him what had happened – I wanted him to know, so that he didn’t come back with several friends. Secretly I was hoping that he would come back to hold me. He’d claimed to love me once, and more than anything I wanted to be with someone who loved me. Instead, he sent HER with a candy bar. I remember holding it, staring down at it, and feeling even worse. Chocolate was supposed to heal the wounds created by the death of a loved one? I wasn’t sure if he was being intentionally insensitive or he was just that wasted.

He came back with friends, and they partied well into the early hours of the morning. He made a bet that I was so fat that my jeans would look better on him, and then tried them on. I sat, numb and disconnected, out of tears and at a loss for words.

The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, I got up to get a cup of coffee. He was in the kitchen, cleaning up the plate I’d broken. I told him I’d clean it up, since it was my mess. (I was still pretending nothing he did affected me). He smiled sheepishly and told me he thought that he’d done it.

I don’t know why, exactly, but that moment – while he stood, offering me his little half-smile – that’s when I knew he didn’t love me.

As always (at least in the recent past) we congregated at my brother’s house for Easter Sunday. Except for Heidi, who spent Easter with her husband’s family – understandably, but she was missed. There was ham and mashed potatoes (my favorite!) and cherry cheesecake, and you don’t need the whole dinner menu, but let me assure you it was difficult not to gorge myself. Especially on the cheesecake, which is one of my favorite desserts.

We ate and argued politics (I’m the ‘flaming liberal’ in my family, and therefore lucky to be allowed at Easter dinner). It was great to see everyone, especially while their mouths were full and conversation was at a minimum (joking! well, mostly). I’m wishing I’d nabbed some leftover ham. Because SALAD for lunch, the day after Easter? Seriously?

Now, I hope you all had lovely holidays and such, but ON TO THE MOST EXCITING THING, which is that I WON A CONTEST! 3Carnations was having an Avon giveaway, and I WON! Yay for me! Yay for her generosity, too! I never win stuff (or very rarely, I should say) so this made my day. Thank you!

Yesterday Brandy & I went shopping in Great Falls. Together. We try to do this once or twice a year, TOPS, because we’re horrible when we’re together. Retailers rub their hands against one another in glee. Cash registers break down. And if the words free gift with purchase come up, just forget about it. There’s nothing like driving home drunk on the buzz of credit card usage, blissfully happy…and flat broke.

Our only real difference is that Brandy’s a lady. A tactful, thoughtful sort of person (how we became friends, I’ll never know). I, on the other hand, am very direct. Okay, fine, the word you’re looking for is BLUNT. I have no tact. My mouth and brain are very rarely engaged at the same time.

We were in Sears, and there was a distraught looking woman of about sixty-five in the dresses with us. She came up to us and held up a plunging-neck maxidress and asked my opinion: would it be acceptable to wear to her granddaughters wedding? She didn’t want to look old, she informed us. Brandy jumped right in, and was doing a lovely job of looking straight-faced while she suggested dresses more age appropriate – and not obv. designed for 20 somethings. But the woman was still clutching the dress, looking torn, and I decided maybe it was time for my kind of help. I told her that the neckline was probably too low for her, and that if I were her granddaughter…well, you get the drift. She reconsidered several other dresses that made Brandy’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline and start making her OWN suggestions, and then we had to go (tight schedule and such). I don’t know whether to feel sorrier for grandma or the bride. Goodluck to both of them, I guess.

I’m also not modest at all. I’ve been known to strip in the middle of my sister’s living room (as long as her husband is absent, I’m not a TOTAL ass) for a change of clothes without giving a damn if the curtains are drawn or not. I love Victoria’s Secret, and feel no shame or embarrassment digging through the bargain bins, regardless of whether there are men standing around in the store. Yesterday I made a great find, a deep purple and black lace confection, and held it up to my chest without so much as a pause to ask Brandy what she thought of it. She just shook her head at me. I’m so lucky to have friends that don’t care what a spaz I am.

I went a little crazy buying baby clothes for Lara: a bathing suit, a summer dress, and a couple of short/tee outfits. I love little people outfits, and also any excuse to spend money. I actually feel better after buying something if I’m sad, which is probably not healthy, but if I’m buying for someone else I can claim gifting and it’s at least partially selfless.

On the way home, though, when Brandy & I were singing along (BADLY) with the radio – that was my favorite part.

Heidi invited me to her place for a barbeque, which sounds great because the weather has been great. (Except today the wind is blowing because we decided to B.B.Q.) Afterward, we’re going bowling. I love bowling. I love everything about it – the cheap-o prices, the frequently malfunctioning lanes, the shoe rental. I have recurring fantasies where I am Fred Twinkle-Toes Flinstone as I slide down the lane and heave my ball at the pins – because honestly, I am a terrible bowler and heaving is the best I can do. The pins resist, always.

The thing is, Fortune Cookie will be there. We agreed to be friends after he said he didn’t trust me enough to date me, and I meant it. I can be friends with him. And there are plenty of other people going, too, so it isn’t as though it’ll be really awkward.

And who am I kidding, even if it does turn out to be massively awkward and uncomfortable, there’s no way I’m passing up barbequed burgers. The fat girl inside of me (actually, today she’s living on the outside) would shriek madly in protest. As long as there are no sesame seed buns.

Additional things Molly has deemed worthy of destruction:
1 tube of ‘burnt umber’ oil color paint, which she got on my rented living room carpet
6 (SIX!) of my books – two were favorites and one belonged to Heidi, who had utterly no sympathy. This is when I started considering getting Molly a shock collar. I’m not sure I’m entirely okay with it, but I’m definitely sure I’m NOT okay with my books getting shredded.

Things Molly has destroyed:
- 1 roll shiny blue wrapping paper
- 1 jump rope
- 1 phone cable
- 2 bags unpopped popcorn
- 1 pair shoelaces
- 1 phone book

Things Molly has TRIED to destroy:
- 1 favored green flip flop
- 1 table leg
- 1 ruler
- 1 running shoe
- 1 freshly made Hawaiian pizza
- 1 irate cat

Things Molly has dragged into the yard while wagging her tail enthusiastically, as if expecting a reward:
- 2 dead fish carcasses (YUCK)

I’ll say this much for her – she keeps things interesting.

I’m a good friend. I believe in friendship, and most especially in protecting my friends from anyone who would hurt them, whether by saying cruel things or doing them. I also have pretty good judgment, so most of the time I don’t have to defend my friends. Their actions speak for themselves. My friends are usually good people.

Except I was told today by someone I know I can trust that two of my ‘friends’ did something rude and unnecessarily cruel. After I left the bar last weekend (early, because I didn’t intend to drive home intoxicated), they high-hived each other and exclaimed, “Thank god she’s finally gone!”

I don’t feel like I deserved that. I do feel like I’ve made a bad error in judgment. I’ve decided to cut them out of my life. I don’t need friends who are also handy enemies. I never give my affections without meaning it and so it hurts me to withdraw, but I know it would hurt more to continue a friendship that’s obviously a lie.

People can be so disappointing.