Where does your week fall on the It Could Be Worse Spectrum?

I’m having a tough week.  It’s one of those weeks where nothing big is going wrong, just a lot of little things that add up and make you want to scream.  I imagine this sort of week was Lucy’s norm—things break, you get locked out of your house or car, you embarrass yourself, etc. 

I imagine Audrey hardly ever had weeks like this (and when she did there was always a dashing fellow to save her from her near fall, or to catch her priceless vase that she knocked off a completely sturdy surface, or to carry her twelve blocks when she broke a heel). 

So my week has been definitely more on the Lucy end of the spectrum but I’m trying to be positive and not let it get me down.  I’m trying to do this by using a trick that parents the world over use on children who think the world is falling apart because they have to eat 14 green peas. “It’s not that bad, you could be…..” or “You’re lucky, there are….”  You know this trick; it goes a little something like this:   

You’re lucky, there are children starving in the Sudan.

You’re lucky, you could be homeless living on the street.

You’re lucky, you could be Jessica Simpson*.

And that got me to thinking….if you were to follow the chain of all the “you could be’s”, where do you end up? 

For instance, if rich parents in the United States say to their children, “don’t complain, you’re lucky, you could have to go to public school”

Then maybe middle class parents say to their children “you’re lucky, you could be homeless”

And homeless parents say “you’re lucky, you could be an orphan”

And orphan directors say (to little girls) “you’re lucky, you could live in China where they’d kill you”

And Chinese orphan directors say (to the little Chinese boys) “you’re lucky, you could be starving in an peaceful but economically depressed country in Africa”

And peaceful starving Africans say “you’re lucky, you could live across the border and be starving in a war torn, economically depressed country in Africa”

and on and on and on. 

But it has to end somewhere.  There has to be someone at the end that everyone, upon hearing their story, would say “you’re lucky….oh, no wait, you’re not, I really can’t think of anything worse than that.”  I imagine it might end in a tiny village in the Himalayas with some guy who lost his whole family in an avalanche and is missing parts of his nose and all of his toes due to frost bite (which render him unable to stand up since apparently your toes are an important part of balance).  Then his hut burned down while he was heating the cup of snow he was going to drink for dinner so now he lives in a lean-to outside his brother’s hut and his sister-in-law hates him.  

I’d like to buy that guy lunch and just say “wow, I’m sorry, you really are the saddest sack alive” Because he’s gotta be at the wrong end of the It Could Be Worse Spectrum, right? 

But that led me to think that maybe me buying him a hot meal would bump him up above the next worse-off case and disrupt the balance of the universe the way Marty McFly did when he went back in time. 

Right about there in my day dream I realized I was spilling coffee over the edges of my cup and onto the floor of the break room and thought to myself “god, could my life get any worse?!?” cleaned it up and went back to my desk. 

But what do I know, maybe the guy in the lean-to is totally happy because the view there is way better than it was in his hut and it turns out he didn’t like his wife and kids that much anyway.  Plus, now that he can’t walk he gets waited on like a king. 

*In a separate post I will explain why I feel so bad for Jessica Simpson and why I’m pretty sure she’s kinda far down on the It Could Be Worse Spectrum.

More Ithaca, Less Washington

Nine days ago Boomer and I packed the moving van and headed north.  Back to where I come from and much further from where Boo does.  Four cups of coffee and 6 hours later we pulled up to our new home, without any expectation of moving help and found two strapping lads waiting to move us in.  The move-in was not without issue (my box spring is still on the front porch because it won’t fit up stairs) but all in all it was pretty painless and only took about 30 minutes.  I was sort of a wreck—the kind that comes from an empty stomach with nothing but coffee lining it—shaky and wild-eyed but otherwise happy to be back in the first place I ever called home.  The days since have been a whirlwind.  Dog walks, a new job, campouts, intoxicating nights, a particularly fun dinner with three great boys, and a hip-hop show to die for.  How very Audrey of me, right?

But it hasn’t been totally without Lucy moments.  On the second day of work, I almost quit.  And only partly because I’m not sure I like my job.  In retrospect I think I almost quit because I was so looking forward to having the shit scared out of me by moving to a place where I had no job and very few prospects.  In the end I couldn’t do it.  I’m much too much a creature of comfort and being gainfully employed definitely gives a person a sense of comfort.   So I’m spending my days trying desperately to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing at said job (very little direction has been given.  It’s sort of been a “what would you like to do?” situation) and getting home every night while the sun is still shining.  So far, it’s what I wanted.  I’m exhausted but happy—I think this may have been totally worth it! 

The Audrey of Dog Walking

I AM the pack leader, I AM the pack leader....what, huh, oh jeez, was I saying that out loud while strolling down Independence Avenue?  It appears I was....

I've been watching the dog whisperer and reading his book and if you don't know anything about the dog whisperer, I will sum it up for you in two words...or a hyphenated word...or a phrase.  I'm not sure what to call it -- Calm-Assertive.  Caesar Millan, the dog whisperer, seems to think that if you project calm-assertiveness even the most wild, misbehaved, or vicious dog will become perfectly behaved in 12 seconds and make friends will all other dogs he meets.  It sounds like a total crock right?  But I'm trying it because he whispers to dogs and I do not.

The funny part is, it's kind of working.  On every walk I take deep breaths, walk with purpose and confidence, and apparently announce out loud that I am the pack leader.  In return, Boomer walks by my side--little ears flopping--stops when I tell him to, does not eat chicken bones (which has caused some disagreements between us in the past), and doesn't pause at every blade of grass.  We are working on the being nice and unexcited at every dog we meet. 

This is all well and good but the one thing that Caesar whispers to dog owners is that the dog should walk behind you.  WHAT?  How do you get a dog to walk behind you?  Is Caesar messing with me?

Anyway, for the rest of it, I am proud to say I am very Audrey--shoulders back, head high, relaxed, calm, and commanding.  For the walking in front of the dog, I could not be more Lucy--I am basically lunging in front of the dog, getting myself wrapped in the leash, and pushing him out of the way.  I imagine I look like I'm doing some strange dance that includes bumping into a dog that you are walking like you have no idea it is even there.  So my internal battle rages on.  But at least I have a dog that gets more well-behaved every day.

AM

Can Dogs be Narcoleptic?

Well, Boomer arrived a few hours late, but safely, on Wednesday.  He is incredibly adorable and very sweet, and VERY looooow energy.

Now, let me explain a few things.  I've never really had a dog and although I love them, have always wanted one, and am comfortable with them, I really know very little about them.  Also, I am generally a pretty nervous person.  So everything Boomer does gives me pause and his lack of energy is odd to me.  He doesn't play, he doesn't fetch, he barely eats, and he seems content with two 15 minute walks per day.  Don't get me wrong, having a dog that just wants to snuggle and sleep is a dream come true.  But I'm working on a few theories to explain his unusually relaxed attitude.  He is either a.) scared and unfamiliar with his new surroundings and it is making him mellow rather than excitable; b.) His age is misplaced and he is really 13; or c.) He is a Narcoleptic. Can dogs be Narcoleptic?

Also, he doesn't seem to love treats or bones or anything.  Today we had to teach him that bacon tastes good.  So now I think maybe -- and don't take this to mean that I would love him any less -- now I'm thinking he might be dumb as a brick.  I mean, who needs to be told that bacon tastes good?  Anyway, I have to go wake my dog up to try to make him eat.  Peace out ya'll.  

Guess Whose Coming to DC?

In a total Lucy move, I adopted a dog.  And not just one from the local pound, one from the local Alabama pound.  His name is Boomer and he is a small black lab mix.  He lands at BWI on Wednesday afternoon.  I've never owned a dog before and I'm learning all sort of interesting things like they need to walk a lot!  And there are all different kinds of food for them to eat!  Anyway, when he gets here he will contribute to the blog as well!

AM

Hello World, It's me Anna Maria!

Hello Internet!  Hello people on the Internet! 

Welcome to my blog! This first post is sort of a "who am I?" and "what am I doing in blog world?"  My name is Anna Maria D'Mestiere and I live and work in Washington, DC.  (live: Cap Hill, work: Gallery Place).  My dad is a private eye in Portland, Oregon who studies trees as a hobby (who does that, right?)  My stepmom is a writer and has made me think I might want to be one too.  My mother lives in Pennsylvania and has a Mah-Jongg club.  I have two older brothers who pay no attention to me but I'm sure they would if I were ever in real trouble.  I have these excellent friends who are more like sisters than friends.  Although that causes some bickering, they are like an appendage at this point, I wouldnt know what to do without them.  I like shoes, and New Orleans, and traveling.  I like cooking, and the beach.  I don't like peas.  Or birds.  I really don't like birds.

I would like to say I know where I'm going in life and have an idea of how to get there.  But I don't.  I have no idea where I'm going and even less of an idea how one would get there if one did know where one was headed.  And I'm pretty sure I'm okay with that.  I use a lot of my time that one would use getting to where they wanted to go in life, daydreaming about where I may want to go in life.  My daydreams are elaborate, and far-fetched, and generally pretty unrealistic.  And I'm okay with that too.

I've always imagined myself as an Audrey Hepburn type -- graceful and regal.  I've always projected more of a Lucille Ball image -- goofy and ridiculousness-prone.  I'm learning to be ok with that too but I sometimes need reminding that I cannot, say, have Oscar-girl as a job because I would inevitably trip, knock the lifetime achievement recipient into Jack Nicholson's lap, causing Nicholson upset, a broken hip in the lifetime achiever, and a rip to my dress (which would probably be on loan from some fabulous dress shop that I could never afford)  And I would most certainly be unceremoniously fired.  And although I've said I'm not sure what I am looking for, I know it isn't that.

So, I'm going to channel my daydreams and my waywardness into a blog.  And share my daily occurrences and thoughts with you!  Lucky you!

AM