the end of an era

My friend Hadassah had just come back from Europe. She now considered herself a world-class traveler, but considering she spent a week in Amsterdam, world-class pothead, probably wasn’t too far behind. She had experienced new things, saw new places, met new people. But inside, she was the same girl. The same girl, who had left to Europe to decide who her heart belonged to: Guy or Bry. It would’ve been easier if she met someone in Europe and started fresh, but things are never that simple. After all, this is real life. And like real life, Hadassah couldn’t put off her decision any longer. So, she chose Guy, after realizing he was the one she thought about the most and the one she wanted to come home to.

Hadassah had arranged to let Bry down easy in a public place, that way there’d be less of a scene and no chance of one last seduction. It happened at a sushi restaurant. Everything was going according to plan. The cucumber salads were fresh, the wine was impeccable, and Bry was just as perfect. But as the dinner progressed, so did Hadassah’s feelings. It didn’t make any sense. She was over Bry. At least that’s what she thought. But seeing him there, in his crisp white shirt and the light blue tie she had gotten him for Christmas, caused Hadassah’s heart to flutter and her speech to stutter. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to break this innocent man’s heart. So, she excuse herself to the bathroom, pulled out her BlackBerry and called me asking me for help on how to say goodbye.

HADASSAH: David! I cant do it! I cant! I didn’t think it would be so hard!
ME: Just do it. It’s not that hard to say "good" and "bye".
HADASSAH: I know, but it’s like…the end of an era!

Hadassah was right. It was the end of an era. All those times when we all went out for happy hour after work and all those times Bry and Hadassah shared a look in the lobby of the Frontier building when they thought nobody else was looking...it was all over. I guess I could kinda see why it would be hard for Hadassah to say "goodbye" to those memories, but I really didn’t know what to say. I mean, I’ve never really had to tell anyone goodbye before. The people who mean the world to me have never left me and the ones who don’t, well, let’s just say, saying goodbye was never so easy. It wasn’t until Colette, that girl we all know and love, asked me to help her move.

Colette had been accepted to asthetic’s college and needed help moving into a new apartment, once city, two hours and a hundred and twenty miles away. My blog friend Nikki suggested I go and help, because if anything, it would bring closure to one, very weird, unexplainable thing we had between us. And if I didn’t get closure, Nikki assured me that she would come over and slap one of us upside the head, hoping that some common sense would fall right in. Who knew violence could be used as a great motivator?

The following morning, I headed over to Colette’s house. She told me more than half her stuff was packed, which I took to meant that it had already been placed in the U-Haul and I would just be going along for the ride to help unpack later on. No. I was there to help put the stuff into the U-Haul, including one very large wooden dresser, that I swear, must have been built inside the room, because it was so huge and the drawers didn’t pull all the way out. Did this girl not know the advantages of shopping at Ikea? It was extremely heavy and if it hadn’t been for Joey, I don’t think I would have been able to do it.

Joey was a guy just like me. A guy infatuated with Colette, yet could never really understand her. It was a modern day love triangle. It was almost like that movie, There’s Something About Mary, with Colette being Mary, Me being Ted and Joey being Tucker. Pat Healy and Woogie were somewhere and it was a shame they never showed, because it would have made for one interesting afternoon. Not that me and Joey didn’t have our own fascinating thing going on. There we were, two guys trying to outdo each other by lifting and carrying furniture down a flight of stairs and into a moving van, each one trying to outdo the other. What is it about girls that brings out the Neanderthal in guys? Thinking back on it, it was so not worth the sore forearms and the strained back. Especially since it was about a hundred and four degrees out that day. But at least I know now I’m not made for manual labor. It’s better to know now at an early age, that I will need to hire help. That way I can start saving up! Smart.

My arms were stiff. I couldn’t move. I wanted to cry and have someone rub Icy Hot all over my body. But I couldn’t because I was driving up to Phoenix with Colette. Joey was driving the U-Haul, and from the few glances I made through the rearview mirror, I could tell he was in no worse shape than I was. But at least he got to be by himself and could cry without anyone hearing him. After we got to Phoenix we performed our masochist act all over again, this time, carrying the furniture up a flight of stairs. Never again will I ever help a person move. I am willing to pay for movers because the way I see it, it’s a whole lot less than the Swedish masuse I will need to employ very soon.

After one last dinner and one last conversation, it was time to say goodbye. First, Colette said goodbye to her mom and sister. Then, she moved to Joey. Then me. It was like that last scene in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy hugs all her friends goodbye, but saves her final goodbye for the Scarecrow, telling him, “I think I’ll miss you most of all.” I didn’t think I would miss Colette this much, given our history and the fact we were only a city away, but seeing her drive away and start her new life in a new city was really bittersweet. Then someone, somewhere had turned the radio on in their car and Paula Deanda came on.

I cant explain this feeling
I think about it everyday
and even though we've moved on
it gets so hard to walk away...

That was weird. But not as weird as the next song…4 in the Morning. Just hearing Gwen Stefani sing made me remember the concert Colette and I went to and all those memories we shared together since that first day in middle school, when we sat across from each other in the cafeteria. It’s almost like it was yesterday that I fell for the girl with butterfly barrettes in her hair and silver braces on her teeth. And even though they say that all things must come to an end, I really don’t know if this is the end for us. Only time can tell. But what I do know? It’s the end of an era.

dog show down

Some people are born to be dog lovers. Some are born to be dog haters. It’s just a rule of life. But it’s funny how the ones that are dog haters think they are capable of escaping a dog's sneaky charm. Their sneaky, vindictive, manipulating charm.

Take my mom for example. She’s a born dog hater. Everything about a dog, from the way they sniff your toes to the way they jump on you, annoys her. It was actually an honest-to-God miracle that she let Lucy, the little Pomeranian Chihuahua puppy I found at work, stay in our home. The first few weeks, I think, were a grace period, since Lucy was still weak from her hospital visit. After the third week, I heard her telling neighborhood walkers and family members alike that she was just putting the word out, that she was looking for a nice family who could care for a little puppy. I was appalled! Here I was, trying to nurse my puppy back to health and my mother was scheming behind my back to give her away! She claimed she had too much heart to just throw the defenseless creature out into the street, which is why she was trying to find a nice decent home for it, but as far as I was concerned, the matter was settled. No one was separating me and Lucy.

Lucy and I went everywhere. In fact, she was starting to become my favorite shopping partner. Dog lovers would stop us to pet and admire Lucy, while dog haters would just stop us and tell us we weren’t allowed inside their store. It didn’t take much to change their mind. Just a simple head tilt and a hind leg jump from Lucy was all it took to let us through with a warning that this was a “special once-in-a-lifetime chance”. Yeah. Sure. Whatever. But it made me realize, if Lucy was capable of changing the minds of these so-called dog hater’s, maybe she could do the same for my mom.

She started off by refusing to eat her dog kibble. Just like that. We tried three different brands including a doctor prescribed one, but she walked away from each one. It worried me, since the reason she had gone into the hospital the first time was due to malnourishment and low blood sugar. So, I called the doctor who suggested table scraps. Of course, coming from a Mexican family, we barely know the word “leftovers,” so we just had to add an extra helping when it came to feeding time. Eggs and oatmeal for breakfast, sliced ham and cheese for lunch, non-fat yogurt and rice pudding for a snack, and roast chicken or beef tenderloins for dinner (of course, the menu changed daily, as everyone knows you cant eat the same thing twice without getting tired of it, but for the most part, that’s Lucy’s diet).

Then Lucy started “telling” us her favorite TV shows. She loves old reruns of The Nanny and Sabrina the Teenage Witch (I think it has something to do with the talking cat and those special guest appearences by Chester the pomeranian), and will sit on the couch, not moving at all, until commercial time. Usually, she’ll watch whatever I watch, but the moment Yes, Dear or 7th Heaven comes on, she’ll start barking at the television as any self-respecting human and animal would do. She had a preference for goose feather pillows than the fiber ones. She preferred going to the bathroom in the backyard, rather than the front, since it was more discreet. She is a lady afterall. I’ve even caught her stopping in front of the mirror once in a while, just to look at herself from all angles, to make sure she looked good. Only five months and so brilliant! In fact, it was because of her lady-like personality that my mom realized, this dog wasn’t just any old dog. She was special. Which, I know, all people say about their dogs, but I think that’s only because they’re embarrassed that their dog doesn’t realize their tail is part of their body.

And being that Lucy was special, I couldn’t understand why her being of mixed breed mattered. After all, in this day in age, aren’t mixed people to the human race what Dolce & Gabbana is to fashion? So why aren’t dogs? It happened one day at the local PetSmart where a girl and her poodle met a boy and his mutt.

AMY: Hi, my name is Amy. Cute dog! What is it?
ME: She’s a Pomeranian with a little Chihuahua.
AMY: Oh. She’s mixed? Like a mutt?

There was something about the way she said, “mixed” and “mutt” that unnerved me. She didn’t say it in a mean way, but the way her left eyebrow lifted slightly when she said it, made me put up my guard.

ME: No. She’s not a mutt. She just wanted a little bit of both in her DNA.
AMY: Oh. Well, she‘s still kinda cute.

Kinda cute? I didn’t understand what the deal was with Amy or why she kept making such cruel comments. In my head, I came up with about five comebacks that would’ve totally put her in her place, but instead, I just smiled as she introduced Lucy and me to "Darlene, a full-bred, miniature poodle." Darlene just sat there, her head cocked to the side, gazing into the distance. In truth, she looked like maybe had been dropped several times over and over again. And then again, just for fun. And then once more. If it weren’t for the tongue hanging out of her mouth and the string of drool in the corner, I would’ve thought she was a statue. Full-bred? More like half-dead.

The icing on the cake came when Amy asked why Lucy didn’t have a collar. According to Amy, a dog’s collar spoke volumes about their personality, since it was the only accessory they could wear 24/7. Darlene was wearing a light pink synthetic woven cotton/nylon collar with sparkling rhinestones which made me wonder what level her volume stood at. What Amy didn’t know was that I had taken Lucy’s collar off before walking into the store, on account that I promised she wouldn’t have to wear it inside if she promised not to chase after big dogs during our walk. So you could imagine my delight when I pulled out of my pocket, a Coach Signature jacquard fabric collar with gold leather trim. It was a gift from one of Lucy's many admirers and I knew as I walked away from Amy it was the ultimate final and silent word.

Two days later, I went back to PetSmart to return the toy I had bought for Lucy. It was bigger than I thought it was, so I figured a smaller one would do better. That’s when I saw Amy and Darlene. Did this woman, seriously, have no other place to go? Did she plan her days around taking her dumb dog to pet stores, dogging dogs? Ugh. At least my collar stunt prompted Amy to buy Darlene a new collar, a rhinestone choker that could have easily doubled as one of those bracelets most commonly found at Icing’s or Claire’s. It was actually a pretty good idea, and if Amy wasn’t such a hater, I would’ve given her the proper snaps she deserved for being so creative. But instead, I made sure the little brown C’s on Lucy’s collar were visible through her golden fur.

There we were, standing in the presence of each other, each one waiting for the other person to make the first move. It was like one of those old black and white western movies where the sheriff and a runabout renegade with the words, “the kid” placed after their name, stand in the middle of a dusty town at high noon. But instead of a tumbleweed rolling between us, a black male lab walked on by, sniffing Lucy out, swooning over the adorable little lady. She wasn’t interested so she just yawned and looked away. At that moment, another dog walked by. It was a border collie who was also interested in Lucy, but like before, Lucy wasn’t interested, so she turned away and looked longingly down the aisle at the toys and treats. The first dog, the black lab, took notice of the border collie and growled at it, before lunging at it’s throat! Two grown dogs, shrieking and snarling at each other, over little ol’ Lucy! As their owners struggled to pull back on their leashes with such force, I couldn’t help but look over at Lucy who was now sitting on the floor watching everything play out as if she knew the attention was all for her.

AMY: Can't believe all that fuss over a dog who isn’t even that skinny.
ME: Can't believe you’re trying to outdo Coach with cheap jewelry.

Ok, I didn’t say that, but I was thinking it, which is just the same thing, except it’s in a more refined and dignified manner. But it made me realize, it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, full-bred or mixed. All that really matters in life is that you own some designer goods. No, I’m totally kidding! But it sure comes handy when you meet narrow-minded people and their full-bred, half-dead dogs!