Rocky – My Doped Up Dog…

Rocky relaxing outdoors

Help. And I really do mean it.

I’m exhausted. Rocky, our Golden Retriever dog, is terrified of thunderstorms. Not just the normal variety of scared. It is just beyond…

Rocky pants and drools. Then whines and cries. And trots around the house, his nails clip clopping on the wood floors. What is he looking for? Me.

When he locates me, he hides underneath or behind me. He army crawls his 85 pound body under my pillow—then carries on with the heavy panting and drooling. He keeps army crawling closer, until he about knocks me off of my king size bed. I push him back to the middle and we start again. There is NO sleeping during a storm. At least not for me. He is on me like flies on shit until the storm passes.

“Close the bedroom door,” Boy is she dumb, you are thinking.

If I do this, he takes his routine on the road—and begins tormenting the kids.

“Shut ALL of the doors…like, duh!”

Rocky and Grace (our puppy) lounging in the family room

Tried it. He rams his body into my door and will not stop. I am not concerned for his  head and/or mental capacity, as there isn’t much hope for that. I can’t have a damaged door.

While on vacation a couple of weeks ago, I was desperate and slipped Rocky a Benadryl.  Yes—I drugged him. He spent the night tossed across my aunts’ couch, during an awful storm.  We poked him a few times to make sure he was still with the land of the living, but we all slept like babies. And so did he. We all felt a little bad. But not too bad.

Last night, I tossed a Benadryl into the back of his throat—but I swear he spit it out. Because I waited and waited—for nothing. And I do recall him struggling with it and that there might have been some chewing, or something…

The dog is 7 years old. I have lost all hope that he will mature and outgrow his fears.  Now, I’m just waiting for deaf and senile to hit. One of us.

Thank goodness the weather calmed down at 3am last night. Too bad the alarms rang at 6am. At 40 years old, I cannot function on 3 hours of sleep. Please forgive me, if this post is filled with grammatical errors, or makes zero sense–I am nearly incoherent…He of course, has been sound asleep since early this morning.

I did get caught up on my television in the middle of the night. Watched The Millionaire Matchmaker, which would be great if I LIKED The Millionaire Matchmaker. Nothing against it, but it only reminds me that I am now 40 and divorced. Watching others ‘date’ gives me the hives. It is like watching those ‘nanny’ shows with the awful, screaming, misbehaving children—just after you’ve put your kids to bed and finally have peace and quiet.

Rocky napping on a heap of pillows and blankets

Anybody watched the weather forecast for the next several days? Take a look…

And then forward some ideas for dealing with Rocky. Otherwise, I am going to be severely sleep deprived.

And no, I do not have a gun. (And couldn’t do that to my loyal friend, anyway.)

But I am open to less drastic ideas…

My LOVE – HATE Relationship with Facebook

At what point are our personal lives personal?

A couple of weeks ago, I hopped out of bed and walked into my bedroom door. Hard. The impact of my forehead and nose smashing into the door woke both of my kids up.

“Mom…what was that?” my daughters panicked voice…

“My FACE” I said, gasping for breath through my laughter…then “Who closed my bedroom door?”

Oh that was me I was up late doing homework and jumped into the shower and I didn’t want to wake you up so I shut your doorI’M SO SORRY!” my daughter.

“Whaaa waassss thaaaa?”  Mumbled my son, followed by more unintelligible nonsense before he rolled over and was back asleep.

My day started with a bang.

Did I post this on Facebook? Absolutely not.

Of course, I caught my daughter snickering several times before she left for school—at least she didn’t laugh in my (rather sore) face.

Bad enough that she went to school and told her entire French class—and many others. There are those that say she walked into school still giggling—and that she was laughing so hard as to be crying while relaying the story to the French class. Small town. Everybody knows me.

Heck, maybe I should have posted?

This whole ‘privacy’ thing goes back to elementary school. My mom insisted that grades were personal. When report cards were handed out, I was to bring mine straight home. No sharing with other students. You might think me a poor student. But most of those grades were A’s. In my family, grades were considered personal information. And because I made good grades, my mother would have considered it bragging—which to her was bad form.

Follow me for a minute…

Does ANYBODY go on Facebook to say they got a Rockin’ good deal on a pair of shoes at their local thrift store? Or that they spent the morning balancing a checkbook—and that they can’t cover their bills? How about to say that they got an appalling review at work? Or that their teenager is grounded for turning up incapacitated?

Or do they post that they were just at the Apple store getting a new iphone? Or maybe they just came back from a fantastic vacation—bikini shots included. There are pictures of children posed in fabulous houses. Life is all “Barbie and Ken” head to the Bahamas…

I cannot leave out my personal favorite: “Thank you so much (fill in the blank) for being the most wonderful  (husband/wife/girlfriend/child…) I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!” When did we stop walking from the kitchen into the living room to share these sentiments directly??

Maybe I don’t get it.

It seems to me that many people are boasting. A lot. And sharing mainly “Good News” or tidbits they believe might elevate others perception of the seemingly Perfect life they are documenting on Facebook.

Probably, I don’t understand because I am rarely on Facebook. I’m the person who gets the Evite AFTER the event has passed. The one who reads the birthday wishes nearly two months after my birthday. This might be why I have so few (less than 100) friends—when others have hundreds, even thousands…

Yet every time I decide I am done with Facebook, I login to find that a childhood friend has just gotten married, or welcomed a new baby—complete with pictures. And I go back to the happy memories of good times spent with that person. And I melt a little. I’m sincerely thrilled for them.

Or I see a quote that inspires me when I need it most. And I think…”I should get on here more often and be part of this.” More warm feelings…

The warm feelings last until I am “Tagged.”

Not ‘tagged’ as in running around the yard—until one of the other kids yells, “You’re it!”

Tagged in a photo. At my deepest core, I am a private person. The idea that others can post photos of me violates some sort of personal code I’ve got.

Facebook is here to stay. And my relationship with it will likely always be somewhat shaky…