garden of eden.

    Can we talk about love for a second? Not the kind of "walking down the aisle, front porch swing, my family or yours for Christmas this year?" kind of love. Simply the feeling itself. Stripped down to the root. The raw, visceral emotion that changes everything you need in order to give you exactly what you want. 

Eventually though, that line will become compromised. 

You yourself don't know what you want or need so how exactly is someone else to know? Your desires and necessities change by the day-sometimes even the hour. No one can keep up with that.

                   But you need them to. 

You need them to keep giving you perfection in the form of destruction and keep burning the house down that you've built around yourself until all that remains is a charred crumbling foundation. You will be destroyed; and you should be, shouldn't you? You should leave them be and accept what was. 

                   But you won't.

Like the Mother of Dragons you will stand from those embers covered in your own dust and ash, look them in the face and ask "what's next?" You love it. You love this destructive, carnal rush. You will tell your friends this person means nothing because ultimately, they don't. 

                   But they do. 

You'll let this continue. They'll come around. You're different, remember? Nothing worth having comes easy, right? They will realize it's been you all this time and come running. 

                  But they won't. 

By the darkness of your bedroom they're all you need. That drunken "I love you" coming across your screen breaks your heart night after night. But you're an intelligent person. The sunshine brings clarity with it each morning. 

                 But the moon comes soon after. 

You may think your inner battle to be "head v. heart" but it's not. In reality it is a tag team match in which you have no partner. "head+heart v. you." You see, neither of them are on your side. They will run up and down you and body slam your soul until you shut them both off. 

                 But you can't.

Ultimately this love hurting you is better than not having it at all. Right? It will change. 

                 But it won't. 

                 It never will.

Darling they are your inner struggle but you are merely a shallow game. You know this. For the love of God, they warned you. It's been said that actions speak louder than words and while those words have you dangling off a cliff there will be no hand outreached in your rescue. I would tell you to leave..

                But we both know you'll stay. 

                Better rebuild that house.

                I feel a fire coming. 

    

My dog isn't your friend, and other things I'm not sorry for.

     If you have spoken to me even once, you know I am the epitome of what we society has so affectionately nicknamed-a crazy dog lady. You probably know my dog's name, have seen her picture (or twelve), and heard the latest random canine fact bouncing around in my brain that I think everyone needs to know. What I've learned is that dog ladies come in all breeds: grown men, grandmas, and couples that deem their four legged friend their "baby," there are tons of us...and I'd like to share some things we aren't sorry for.

• I am a single woman living in a metropolitan area. I operate alone on a daily basis. One of the many, though minuscule, reasons I have Rigby is for protection. Do I expect her to full-on take down an intruder in a single bite? No. Would she try? Yes. Am I probably going to have an intruder in my "sensor on every door/cameras everywhere" building? Probably not. But when we are on a walk, whether it be late at night or in broad daylight, she is going to bark at you. She doesn't turn into Cujo at every passerby, but if you come at us with outstretched arms then get pissed off when she barks...HEL-LO. First off, she does not know you and you are in her (more importantly to her-my) personal space. Secondly she is restrained on a leash and may feel like she needs to overcompensate for that. "I may be on this rope but I'll still getcha if you try anything," Is what she's thinking I would imagine, I don't know...crazy dog lady remember? When I see you walking with your human child I absolutely do not run toward it and get up in it's baby grill. Please ask before you touch my dog, I know her body language much better than you and if she isn't feeling it I will have no problem saying "not today she's a little crabby!" I'm not sorry that you are an absolute stranger approaching me and my dog isn't licking your face and rolling over on her belly, she's doing her job which is protecting me. 

•  The same goes for your dog. It's not fair to mine or yours to just charge them at one another and expect them to become instant friends. Rigby loves nine out of ten dogs but you don't know that.  For all you know she is a completely unsocial hermit and is going to react in a very big way. This is another thing people need to understand. I socialized my dog with others from a very young age so she's usually cool with new friends when introduced properly. Not all dogs love other dogs, this doesn't make them mean or bad dogs. Add in the leash factor..bad deal. You know when those people selling things on the side of the road approach your car? You panic. You know they aren't wielding an axe or anything crazy but still, you're trapped. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, here they come what do I do with my hands? They know I saw them there was eye contact. I'll pretend to text..wait no that's illegal. I don't have any cash, THANK YOU GREEN LIGHT." That's typically my inner monologue, at least. Imagine you're in a doors-off Jeep and they just run toward you and hop right in! Not cool. I'm not sorry my dog acted like a complete spaz when you allowed yours to get tangled up in her leash. 

• I have hardwood floors. I have a double coated lab running around my apartment 24/7. Guess what that means? Dog. Hair. I am not exaggerating when I say I can Swiffer and vacuum every day and there will still be tumbleweeds of fur going across my floor three hours later. Guess what else? I sure as hell am not going to clean the floors of my twelve hundred square feet apartment every day. I have better things to do. Those better things may be watching Netflix in no pants but that sounds a lot better than vacuuming to me. I chose to coexist with an animal; I chose to live amongst hair. You are well aware I've made this choice so please for the love of GOD stop stating that there is hair in my apartment or I will start replying with "WHAT WHERE DID THIS COME FROM?! WHAT IS THAT BLACK THING OVER THERE?! WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE?!" I'm not sorry that my dog sheds and I'm not sorry that I don't want to clean it EVERY. DAY.

• I think that sometimes people forget that dogs are animals. In an ideal world we would all have perfectly obedient canines, but this is not an ideal world. The other day a couple brought Chinese take-out to the dog park. Let me tell you about this park really quick: about an acre of fenced in area, picnic tables that the little beasts typically stand on like mountain goats, and at least twenty dogs at all times. Oh, and wood chips and dust flying all over the place when the kids decide to collectively run like the British Calgary. Everyone is confused why you are trying to eat here and even more confused that you're throwing a fit because there are ten dogs surrounding you begging for your General Tso's chicken. Also let me say that Rigby is part Coonhound despite her all black appearance. She drools when we are at the park. Like, looks like Santa Claus with a slobber beard drools. Please don't have a panic attack in your LBD when you call her over and that slobber transfers. You are in a DOG PARK. You CALLED HER TO YOU. There are DOGS HERE. Be thankful that you just got mine's slobber and not the drool of that Boston Terrier that is always eating poop. PS Rigby was being a perfect angel and smelling grass during the take-out debacle but still...I'm not sorry that my dog is..a dog?

• My dog poops. Yep, believe it or not, she does. Outside. In grass. Also we live in a city that requires I clean it up (Thank God). I am not sure why you are giving me that stink face as my dog squats it out or while I clean it up. Actually, no, I totally get the last part. It's really gross and I usually laugh when I see people doing it. But long story short, it's not like I am doing my business on the sidewalk. Until I can train her to use the toilet she is going to have to poo outdoors. Just look away; you're probably embarrassing her. I'm not sorry my dog poops. However I am sorry that I made you read the word "poop" so many times just now. 

• If you have Instagram, you are some degree of narcissist. We all are, and we all love it. We post selfies, pictures of our food, our kids, pictures of us working out, basically our lives. Mine happens to include my dog, beer, and inspirational quotes. But mostly, my dog...and beer. I love seeing sixty pictures of your kids because they're cute and they make you happy, that's why I follow you. I post pictures of Rigby because she is my child more or less. I'm not sorry that you've seen sixty pictures my dog. You know it's going to happen, just let it.

    I am sure there are more, these are just my initial thoughts of dog ownership. The bottom line is that we love our fur babies. Probably too much. But hey, that's our peroggative and we most definitely are not sorry for it. We wear that dog hair loud and proud so you shouldn't be surprised by everything that comes along with it. We know some of you don't like our four legged kids and that's fine. But at least give in to your inner dog lady a little bit, you might just love it.