... and we’re still laughing.

us :: venetian, las vegas :: august 24, 2002

I had this whole big post written out where I talked about my friends having kids and getting married. There was this whole tangent about seeing the high school honey and all the weirdness that always dredges up.

It ended with the idea that I keep coming back to where I’m supposed to be.

Out of all the pictures taken at our wedding, this is my most favorite one. I have no idea what the hell we were laughing at, but I remember it was absolutely hilarious at the time.

At the end of the day, whether or not we actually tied the knot (we did), whether or not we ever have kids (Oh, hell no! My tubes are tied!), I’m with the perfect guy for me.

I never would have guessed that I’d get married, but I’m damn glad I did.

Any one that can make me laugh that hard, day after day, year after year, is the one I’m supposed to wind up with.

 

A Tribute to My Daughter

arsey melissa :: feb 25, 1998 - jan 25, 2011

Where do I even start?

I keep hearing my dad’s voice in my head, “She’s just a dog.”

But, oh, Dad, you are so wrong.

Arsey was never just a dog. You even recognized that fact when you met her and declared her your buddy. You were a man who didn’t even like dogs until she came into your life. During your brief time together, you two bonded.

So why do I still hear your voice in my head?

Tuesday, January 25th, I woke up to J screaming for me. She was not in good shape. Not at all. It was pretty obvious she was dying. So, we got her into the car and drove to the emergency vet. They pumped her full of fluids and revived her.

False hope is a son of a bitch. I almost wish we had let her die at home.

But.

They were able to get her back to normal and run some tests on her. We discovered that she had a bleeding mass on her spleen. There was an 80% chance it was cancer, and if it was, it was blood-borne and aggressive as fuck. They couldn’t even tell us if it was cancer unless they removed her spleen. If it was cancer, even with chemo, she wasn’t going to last more than a few months.

I didn’t like any of our options - how could you put a thirteen year old dog through major surgery, knowing that if she even survived the surgery, she probably wasn’t going to survive the cancer? How could I just leave her as she was? How could I let her go?

After a very long, tear filled, heart wrenching conversation, we decided to let her go. It was her time, and anything else wasn’t really in her best interests.

In the end, she made the decision for us. We spent a lot of time with her at the emergency vet’s. Once they had her off the fluids, she faded fast. Too fast. If we hadn’t decided to help her along, she probably would have gone in another hour or so.

She was never just a dog to me. To us.

At our first meeting, she chose me, and she remained my dog until the very end. Don’t get me wrong, she loved J, but she was my dog.

She used to sleep between his head and the headboard, butt towards me… every night, like clockwork, she’d roll onto her back and get stuck. She’d always end up kicking me in the head. If I was really lucky, she’d fart in my face.

You would talk to her, and she’d burp in response.

She loved the snow - after 12 years, she still got excited by the snow and loved to chase snowballs.

When she was excited to see you, she’d howl and add a little trill in the middle of it. I’ve never heard a dog do that before, and I loved how unique she sounded.

You could get her to wag her nub on command.

You could also get her to poop on command.

However, you could never get her to puke where you wanted her to. She puked in my hair, twice, while I was sleeping. Always, always, no matter how hard we tried to get her to the door, to get her at least to the hardwood floor, she’d puke all over the the braided wool rug. Those reddish dog food stains don’t come out.

She used to love to go for rides. One Saturday, when we were still in Ohio, she INSISTED on going to the Post Office with me. Of course, I couldn’t bring her in, so she pooped in my car. It took two weeks to get the smell out.

Whenever we’d take her to the park, people would stop and tell us how pretty she was. And you can’t tell me she didn’t understand them, because that adorable Aussie smile would take over her face.

She refused to be towel dried after a bath, preferring to do what J and I called the “Aussie air dry.” She would run around the house, rubbing herself against everything she could before finally flopping on the carpet and just rolling in whatever stink she could find.

She was a busybody… always too interested in what everyone else was doing to focus on behaving. She flunked obedience school. Twice.

We named her after Toledo Storm goalie, David Arsenault. Other names we tossed around: Chewbacca, Boba Fett, Jabba… I’ll never know where “Melissa” came from, but she was always Arsey Melissa.

She had her own song: “Arsey. She’s a puppy dog. Arsey. She’s not a big bullfrog. Arsey. She’s the puppy. She’s the puppy, she’s my puppy, she’s my dog…” (To the tune of the “Colonel Bogey March” from “Bridge Over the River Kwai.” You know - the whistled one.)

I dunno…

I think J’s final words to her were spot-on: “You’re the best girl.”

She was. She really, really was…

For Arsey…

I will carry the weight and I won’t let you have to again

 

Here’s to Friday!

bellevue, oh :: may 24, 2010

I try to not wish my life away (i.e., I wish it were Friday), but DAMN! I can’t wait to get this hellacious week done and over with.

It’s been about a month since my last Black Mountain Symphony show and I could REALLY use the therapy that being in a club, listening to my friends perform, provides me. To say I’ve been stressed to the gills is putting it mildly. To say that it’s affecting my health is an understatement.

I’m so careful with my moods and my triggers… and this whole shitstorm at work is pushing my control over the bipolar to its very limits. My little heart problem is acting up, too… so it’s definitely time to do something to calm myself down.

Which means, if you didn’t catch on already, ROAD TRIP!!!!!!

Dude, I wish it were Friday.

(And also—- I can’t wait for it to be my birthday. Three, THREE, Ryan Montbleau Band shows scheduled in Cambridge around my birthday, plus a possible NJ road trip to see them around that same time. *squee*)

U-C-O-N-N!!!!

THIS IS UCONN COUNTRY! GO HUSKIES!

As I write this, I am excited, again, over a football game. I suppose I have good reason to be. Tonight is UConn’s first ever BCS appearance.

My dad once said that I would one day love UConn and the opportunities it afforded to me. That one day I’d be proud to be a Husky.

I didn’t believe him.

While my four years with the UConn Marching Band transformed me and brought the most amazing people into my life, and the Men’s Ice Hockey team proved that I could fulfill my dream of working in hockey, I never thought much about it. The more UConn gains national notice (first the basketball program, now football), the more pride I do feel. Sure, it’s not my beloved BU, but the universe decided I was meant to be a Husky and not a Terrier. I wonder all the time about how my life could have been different if I wore scarlet and white instead of national flag blue (not navy!!!!) and white, but at the end of the day, I’m a UConn grad.

I’m uconntam.

Last night’s festivities were much more low-key than I expected them to be, but just proved to me that going to UConn was one of the best things I ever did. Hanging out with a few Sisters and Batman… making Steve’s day by giving him a copy of a hard to find OPIV cd… ringing in the new year by waiting for robo-Clark to appear on TV… These are the things that matter. These are the things that are important to me. These are the things that wouldn’t happen if I had gone anywhere else. Yeah, I’d have different friends and different experiences, but I guess the universe knows what it’s doing. We wind up where we’re supposed to - every day has value and meaning, and we’d be fools to ignore that. Sure, some of it sucked hardcore this year (J’s mom dying for one), but other days brought unimaginable joy.

On the drive back to New Hampshire, I thought a bit about 2011 and what it means to me. Where I want to be. What I want to do.

I couldn’t really think of anything.

I think that’s the best sign that my life is exactly where it’s supposed to be and how it’s supposed to be.

Sweeeeeeeeet!