thatnight.net

If the topography of Pittsburgh were a flat series of websites, and I was a little arrow floating across it all, I would StumbleUpon the moment I found one of my favorite musicians performing in a little stone park as workers paused and ate their lunches, and recommend that everyone join me.

Scott Blasey of The Clarks

The dog had his surgery today. He’s doing fine, although, from the looks he’s been giving me, I may wake up tomorrow morning with a clear plastic cone shoved down my throat.

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After a very long day and night of non-sleep and hours of diligent carpet cleaning, Bello is home from the emergency vet and satisfied with the state of his stomach on drugs. As am I. For a five pound animal, you’d be shocked at the metric tons of discharge that had been heaped upon the floor. And spread upon the walls.

In the middle of it all, when the sun finally came up and my worry skyrocketed as I had to force-feed him drops of water from a needleless syringe, Bello was wrapped in a blanket and we made the drive across town. He was immediately injected with fluids and tested for anything serious, and sent home with a bag of meds and instructions for a bland diet.

Our guess is that he picked up a bug from the new backyard, although I’m almost positive that a year of dealing with crap like this finally set him off.

I’d been saving those funds for his neutering later this month, and the way he smirked at me on the ride home suggested that yes, he had overheard me make that appointment over the phone, and all of that money I just spent for a diagnosis? Totally his plan all along.

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Two nights ago, as I sat in my new bedroom with Bello, I was thinking back to when I first started keeping a website. I thought about the people online I grew up with, one of whom is now pregnant, PREGNANT, and how back then, they didn’t have the name blogger. Instead, they were called Emma. And Rachel. And Leah.

I love that blogging has become mainstream, although I’m sometimes annoyed that there are those who try to regulate it. When I come across anything regarding the rules of blogging, as opposed to technique or technical aspects, I want to thrust my fist into the monitor, grasp for the webmaster’s neck, and gently inquire as to whether or not he KNOWS WHAT A BLOG IS.

So I tried to define my reasons for blogging, which was about as successful as trying to explain my website’s angle, the answer to which I stuttered through several times at PodCamp. Well, I’m a girl. Living, I guess? I mean, I know I’m living. But, I guess…Pittsburgh?

What was your question?

But yet I continue to think about it and make myself crazy. Because like most aspiring writers, I hate myself.

So I was watching the MSNBC website’s live stream on my TV, which was being received through my computer, because I don’t have, or plan on getting, cable. And I just wanted to mention that because I hooked it up all by myself.

Derrick was passed out after installing my curtains. (I should also mention that he had worked all day. He was not brought down by curtains.) They fit my room perfectly, and for a few minutes, I was transfixed by them, and the city skyline I could see beyond them. And Bello was watching me closely, momentarily ignoring his lack of a proper food dish, just in case I brought out that power drill again and set his world aflame.

Just then I heard a few shouts from outside, and turned to my TV to see Obama approaching a podium, nodding somberly in his victory while acknowleding his undertaking, and as I looked around my room and out into Pittsburgh, I thought that if I could take all of these little moments and collectively define them, I could adequately and confidently tell people who are just beginning to brave Wordpress.com what it is, exactly, that I’m doing.

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Don’t put him in coach, they say. He’ll never kick it that far. He’s too small, guys. He’s the shortest player we got. He’s not made for this sport, they say.

Kick the ball, Bello. Just kick the ball. It wasn’t enough just to get here. I need to make that kick. To win that game. To prove them wrong.

The big dogs get the jackets. They get the points. They get the girls.

Well I have a jacket now, too. I’ve made it this far. I’ve earned these colors. They will cheer for me. They will not look away when I take the field. When my mother turns to the quarterback’s father and squeals MY GOD HOW CUTE, he will not roll his eyes. He will cross his arms and nod hard.

Damn good kicker, he’ll say, as they carry me out on their shoulders.

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Derrick’s reaction to my showing him a tiny red and white varsity letter jacket that I bought for Bello to cover up a too-short grooming travesty in anticipation of the upcoming frigid weeks of autumn:

“Why would you buy him that?”

“Because he made the team. Don’t go raining on his dreams. He got a starting position. He’s very excited.”

“Oh? A starting position? What was he assigned to be? THE FOOTBALL?”

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October is the perfect month. While I love summer, and even though fall borders on a long and dark five or six months punctuated by an early and overwhelming holiday season, …

holiday season…

Did anyone else just shudder? Get unnerved? Anxious? I can say things like, mittens. Hot chocolate. Christmas Eve. Fine. But I hear “holiday season” and I’m running faster than I would being chased by a giant butcher on stilts wielding an obnoxiously loud chainless chainsaw through a cornfield maze which I hope to experience later this month.

Anyway, I’m not going to get into terrifying things. Like shopping lists. Replace that bloody butcher’s apron with a Santa suit and you have my ultimate nightmare.

There are a lot of good things about this month, a lot of stuff to look forward to and acknowledge. Today is Bello’s first birthday.

He’s been with me through bouts of drama, multiple residences, mixed emotions, happy times, and huge mistakes. It was a good year to have him here. He’s now fully grown and still not much bigger than a toaster.

I would love to take the day off and spend it with him, but like with any other one-year-old, I’ll push the celebration to Saturday and get through the workday as quickly as possible. I’ll find consolation in the fact that as the uppity neighborhood parents see my 22-year-old self pushing a stroller full of babies, pumping Celine Dion’s A New Day Has Come through my iPhone’s speakers for everyone to hear, they’re probably thinking, wow, that woman looks great for her age.

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If there was anything my friends could ever rely on me for, it was to fall asleep. In their cars. On their couches. Given the opportunity, I could go to bed at 11PM and sleep straight through till noon.

This year, though, something in me finally had enough sleep, and I’m up at 8AM, even on weekends. The past few nights especially have found me restless, and I’m hoping whatever bad karma has found its way into my evenings will have had its fill by next week.

Tuesday Night

Awakened at 3AM, presumably by the rain. I look around the bed for Bello, my typical first response upon waking up, and find him motionless at my ankles. I look at the clock, and as I do, my blanket moves up a few more inches, covering my eyes. I am immediately freaked out, convince myself that I am dreaming, and remain still until I can fall asleep again.

Wednesday Night

Bello had a busy day, as we had a lot of running around to do for lacrosse. It’s his favorite thing, going to games and practices, as he can sprint in wide circles around grassy fields while simultaneously being fussed over by groups of squealing girls.

He must’ve came home that night and drank a bit too much water. I realized this when I woke up a little after 4AM to a watery wet spot on the left side of my body, a watery trail across my chest, another to my right and off the edge of the bed. I searched for Bello, who was, startlingly, not on the bed, and saw him across the room, facing the corner, dejectedly hanging his head, afraid to make eye contact.

My eyes flooded with tears, both in the confusion of sleep, and the thought of how long he’d been standing there, distressed, waiting for me to wake up.

Thursday Night

I curl up in bed, feel a tickle on my arm, and ignore it. Hair, I thought. The feeling returns, and as I go to brush it away, feel a tiny girth leave my arm and fall onto the sheets. I jump to the floor, shoo Bello off the edge, and in my panic, grab the only plausible thing within distance, a leftover bottle of Aquanet. I shoot and spray.

Yes, it killed the hornet. I didn’t put a glass over it and release it into the night like an elegant dove. I killed it. And I’d do it again.

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Bello has been in the process of losing baby teeth. This means, mostly, that he’s gnawing on everything except his chew toys, especially toes. It also means I’ve been enjoying exposing his two, overlapping rows of teeth to guests, like, Look! LOOK! LIKE A SHARK!

I check every once in a while to make sure everything’s going OK in there, even though when one or two go missing from his gums, I never find them laying around on floors or in food bowls.

This afternoon, he was messing around with a plastic monkey grabber, when a tiny white object flew up into the air and Will grabbed it before it could land and be devoured out of curiosity.

Someone may or may not be getting a slice of pepperoni under their teeny, ratty pillow this evening.

I bet you’re wondering what a monkey grabber is.

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I swear, for the past week, I’ve awakened every morning to beautiful, sun-filled blue skies. I’ve stretched and smiled and said, “so pretty!” And it never fails, by the time I get myself together and set foot outside, the sky is overcast and it’s at least 25 degrees colder than I feel it ought to be.

I went to watch the first lacrosse game of the season yesterday, and by the time the final whistle blew, I noticed that my manic sideline pacing had not only caused mud to crawl up to my knees, by also that the denim was frozen solid from the wind, resulting in a back-to-the car wobble resembling an uncomfortable non-cowgirl in chaps.

I’ve also been doing a lot of driving to various city outskirts lately, and it never ceases to amaze me how far away you can be from downtown while still catching small glimpses of the skyline. I always get at least a little excited when I’m over 20 miles from the city and can see four spikes sticking out of the hilly horizon in front of me.

It’s kind of like that thrill you got when you were a kid and your parents were driving you down that main street in Homestead to Kennywood and in the distance you saw the hazy loops of the Steel Phantom, and that’s pretty much still the case for me now except that the Steel Phantom was turned into the Phantom’s Revenge and instead of loops there’s just that one big hill which is still daunting but slightly less threatening.

Bello has been joining me on a lot of my road trips, and has finally become brave enough to do the dog thing of sticking his head out the window as I drive. I’ve taken to pulling his hair up, as it’s growing at an alarming rate, and the weather’s still too cool for a shavin’.

What? Stop rolling your eyes. It’s blue. Jesus.

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Today, I was going to write about meaningful things. Listening to Lifehouse will do that to you.

I probably would’ve discussed the past year, highlighting how detached I’d become after the down-slide of what was, essentially, a six-year relationship.

I could’ve mentioned the transitions between colleges, how I was never really completely sure I’d made the right decision.

I might have noted my displacement after finally coming back to a Pittsburgh that I wasn’t entirely familiar with, and the reasons surrounding my return.

But I’m still not sure if I want to go there. So here’s my dog, eating a pupcake.

Either way, he’s happy.

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