Retrobruxist Friday 12/21/12

Happy End of the World!

Three years ago, I was—shock!—dating. Go to that link, read it, and pay close attention to #3. I may have a real interesting update in the near future. Like, tomorrow night.

Two years ago, I was watching boys at the gym. The funny thing is I’ve gotten to know all three of the dudes I mention in this post, and I can’t imagine them now as anything other than my bros. Which is good because they’re all taken. As is every other worthwhile dude on the planet. What.

P.S. Look at my dogs! Oh my god, they are so cute.

I was contemplating impermanence this time last year. Still am, of course. The events in Newtown have kind of forced the issue, haven’t they? Six years old. Six. Three hundred weeks. Two thousand days. That’s all they got.

It’s weird how we chronicle our unknown number of days, or what makes us aware of their passing. A lot of people cross boxes off a calendar. Some people write in a journal. Me, I’ve been acutely aware of my life ticking away since I started using a

giant, geriatric pill box.
giant, geriatric pill box.

I empty compartments four times a day, and at the end of the week, when I shake the box and it doesn’t rattle, I know another week of my life is gone. Another week. One week as the numerator, and yet there’s absolutely no way to know the value of the fraction because the denominator is and always will be—whether because of the End of Days or America’s boner for the freedom to own assault weapons or cervical cancer or whatever—incalculable. Best live as one whole, I guess.

Previous/Next

Hi, guys! Several readers mentioned that they liked the previous theme’s function that allowed them to scroll back through posts and read any comments that had shown up since their last visit. Well, my buddy Craig installed a plugin that allows you to do just that! See those sexy tiger stripes on either side of the screen? Click on them for the previous or next post.

Now, he did it in about five minutes on my laptop in a coffee shop, and now that I’m home, I’m realizing the button on the left side is covering some of my sharing buttons, but people don’t share my shit anyway, so I’ll figure that out later.

Happy browsing.

Shanna’s Fosters

You guys, my friend Shanna, a true doggy-angel, rescues and fosters dogs (pit bulls and chihuahuas mostly) through various organizations. To her, it’s not about one organization or the other; it’s about the dogs. She finds great dogs, whisks them away from certain destruction, takes them to her house, and makes it work—despite the fact that she has four dogs and a cat of her own.

As you may remember, Tulip got adopted through her own Facebook page, so I helped Shanna start one for her fosters.

Right now she has two sweet babies who need homes. There’s Bella, who’s

6 pounds of snuggly lovin.
five pounds of snuggly lovin,

and Tank,

Tank
a pit bull who was abused and neglected (he has the scars and heartworms to prove it) and is nonetheless a 60-lb hunk-a sweetness.

Oh, that empty stare? That’s ’cause he’s blind.

If you’re so inclined, will you please Like her Facebook page and, better yet, Share it? And put the word out to people who are in the dog market (or not) that these two silly monkeys are ready to be adopted.

Thank you, Avid Bruxistists, for indulging my doggy fervor once again. I love you for it.

Retrobruxist Friday 12/14/12

Today, my problems seem so small compared to those of the parents of 20 kindergarteners in Newtown, Connecticut. I thought about suspending Retrobruxist Friday for the day, but in case you need a distraction (it’s a coping skill — for real, I learned it in group therapy) from your grief/confusion/anger/what-have-you, I offer you a few of my silly blog posts.

Three years have passed, and I’m dealing with the same shallow and/or generic messages from online dating prospects. Look, here’s one from today:

I bet you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS you didn't enjoy reading my profile because, in order to enjoy reading it, you'd have had to read it.
I bet you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS you didn’t enjoy reading my profile because, in order to enjoy reading it, you’d have had to read it.

I wrote a story in five episodes two years ago. It spawned the Call Me Crazy category on the blog because, in it, I got kinda crazy about being crazy.

A year ago, I had writer’s block. History repeats itself — drought this week. Maybe the words will come rushing out with my menses. (Hark, the sound of people deleting Avid Bruxist from their RSS feeds!)