Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Worst diary name, ever

Since it's been nearly ten years since my last post, I'm thinking the title needs to go.

I've been writing intermittently on Livejournal, but now it won't load for me, hence my reappearance here.

After eight years of President Obama, the country elected Donald Trump. I know, I can't believe it either. The first two weeks have been a dumpster fire of epic proportions, just a fucking disaster in all directions. There is literally nothing he's done as President that isn't offensive, if not unconstitutional. I've decided to be more politically active. I don't know how well that will go, but I marched on January 21, and I'm marching again on February 11. I'm trying not to lose my mind.

This past fall, David decided to become more active in the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) and asked me to participate more. I have been doing so, but now we are running into scheduling conflicts. My late cousin's youngest daughter is getting married on a weekend that conflicts with my AA duties, and the other AA event I can attend as a backup is on a weekend that conflicts with Coronation, which is an important SCA event. As much as I love the couple that are getting crowned, family and AA have to come first.

In December, I was elected DCM in my district. The AA structure is that groups have general service representatives (GSRs), all the GSRs from a district elect a District Committee Member, who goes to the Committee meetings at the Area level to represent the wishes of the groups in their district. Anyway, that's 6 district meetings, 2 Committee meetings, and 2 Assemblies per year. It's a two year commitment.

David retired from the Army a few years ago, and is now studying to become a financial planner. His next test is this Friday, and he's nervous as hell. I have my fingers crossed that he gets through and starts working soon. We are okay financially, but having him home 24/7 has gotten old. He needs to talk to someone besides himself and the right wing scream machine on the internet.

I am hoping against hope that in a couple of years, we can move away from Fayetteville. It's okay here, but I want to be closer to my mom. David and I would both like to live in Asheville, but it's more important to be near my folks. (Selfishly, I'm also hoping that David will make enough money that I can quit working. I took six months off in the beginning of 2015, and it was awesome.)

In 2013, I got a big yellow lab named Jake from a family that couldn't keep him. He is a big ol' chill dog, except for one thing: he's absolutely nuts about food. He acts like a look at feeding time, he steals food from the counter in the kitchen, he eats things that are not strictly edible. So far, everything has come out alright, so to speak. We've changed his middle name to Dispos-All.

In 2014, we got a cat form the pound, a gray tabby, who we named George. He's a sweetie, but he's always trying to get out. David is unalterably opposed to this.

Last April, I got a mixed breed puppy from a rescue in Ashe County. She's half-beagle, half-Shih Tzu, so they called her a Bijou. That would be a good name for her, but they had already named her Ivy, and since that's a family name, I kept it. She is almost a year old now, and I just adore her. She chews everything, she does not come when called, she's scruffy and stinky, and she is my heart. Jake is so sweet and gentle with her, and she is an absolute rascal to him. They play grr-and-tussle, and he never hurts her, and she's not at all afraid of him. Ivy also plays with George, and he's sweet to her too. I guess being a puppy gets you a lot of latitude.

My tabby cat Noel died in 2012, at the age of 19. She loved me, liked Mom okay, and tolerated no one else. My dog Dolly died in 2014, when she was 15. She was the world's greatest dog, and everyone who met her had to agree. I'm sure your dog is great, but Dolly was the WGD. I miss her.

It must have been in 2013 or 2014 that my cousin Cathy died of a brain tumor. She was six and a half months older than me, and it never, ever occurred to me that we wouldn't be old ladies together. We planned to terrorize the nursing home and hold wheelchair races in the halls. Fucking cancer. I went to see her a month or so before she died, but I couldn't go to her funeral or her memorial. I was just sick about it, but it's done. (I'd like to know why decent people like Cath die young but Dick Cheney goes on and on. Heaven doesn't want him and hell won't have him, I guess.)

That's the overall update.