Snobbish Tendencies

There is no such thing as the perfect person. This idea is best demonstrated by me, the perfect example of imperfection. I have always known I’m flawed, but there are times when no one is my biggest fan besides me. I like to call it confidence, but I daresay others would call it egotism. They are wrong, I am right.

One of my many imperfections is my knack for snobbery. This small little blemish on my saintly record first appeared when I was nearly 22 years of age (almost 4 years ago). I was living in my less-than-swanky apartment in the happening town of Livermore, and was looking for a facility to board my horse. And before I continue, let me say something about my horse. I love him dearly. He’s a no-nonsense, what you see is what you get, quarter horse gelding. He is not a show horse, he’s not a fancy horse, he’s just a horse. Yes, he’s amazingly fast, but he’s not going to win dressage championships or grace the cover of Practical Horseman anytime soon.

So there I was, looking for a place for my ranch horse. I came across a facility that was a little inconvenient for me, but I decided against it because it wasn’t posh enough. The fences were a little rickety, the barns were so dusty (???) and it wasn’t, I don’t know, elitist enough. That’s when I realized that I was a snob.

My snobbish tendencies lay dormant for a long time. In fact, most people probably wouldn’t think of me as a snob. I’m not high-to-do, I shop at Wal-Mart and am not ashamed to say that I’ve often done so wearing my sweatpants, and I haven’t bought eye make up in about two years. Like Dante, I’m a what you see is what you get kind of gal.

Yet, every so often, the prissy princess that sleeps deep down within me, raises her heavily hair-sprayed head. The most recent example happened tonight, as I was looking at photos of people’s Shelties, via Facebook. Now, the point of a dog is a companion, a friend, someone to come home to. And when one is looking for friends, they do not screen them for bad looks or disheveled appearance, right? But there I was, sitting on my tush, wearing my sweatpants, and shaking my head.

Trinity, God rest her little soul, was beautiful. A tri-black, she had a shiny coat, bright eyes, and personality coming out of every pore. I tried training her ears, but she wouldn’t have it, so they stuck straight up like a German Shepherd’s. Despite that, she was darling. She was gorgeous.

Riley, my little trouble maker, is a stunner. Right now he looks more like a fox, but that only proves it. He’s handsome. The Hugh Jackman of the Sheltie world. And his ears will be tipped and trained!

Many Shelties appearing on popular blogs or Facebook fan pages are junky looking. Poorly bred, they look muttish, with skinny snouts, big ears, and bad coloring. But why do I care so much? I have pretty dogs, that doesn’t mean everyone should!

It’s the snob within. She has to be fed. If I don’t let her out to turn up her nose and roll her eyes, she might consume me entirely. Imagine that. I’d start strutting around my basement apartment, have to buy designer sweatpants, and screen my friends to make sure that they too were wearing good sweatpants.

So I’ll indulge her every now and again. Otherwise chaos would reign.

Get me out of Bremerton

When I moved up to Washington two years ago, I was spoiled. I moved into my parent’s two bedroom 1920’s yellow farm-house, which sits on just over four acres. After a time I put up a temporary fence and was able to have Dante, my trusty steed, living with me. The house is very cute, with bamboo wood floors, yellow walls, purple in my bedroom, and was quiet. I was minutes away from Poulsbo, a lovely little town that is quaint, safe, clean, and darling. To me, Poulsbo represents everything that is right in the world. I just loved the little house, adored the town, and when my parents moved up here from California, I had to move out.

That’s when everything went to crap.

I moved to Bremerton and life hasn’t been the same. Bremerton is not quaint. It is not cute. It is not small and safe, clean or lovely. It is the opposite of Poulsbo. When people describe Poulsbo they say “Oh, I love Poulsbo!” and when describing Bremerton they say “Bremerton isn’t awful” or “Bremerton isn’t that bad.” Yeeeah.

So now I’m determined to get the heck out of Bremerton and back into Poulsbo. I’m convinced that no one wants to live in Bremerton, they just can’t afford to live elsewhere. That’s where I am. Poor. The economy is craptastic and really difficult for someone who’s new to this whole freelancing thing, to get a hold on some strong business. And even if the economy wasn’t shite I would still struggle because most of the time I don’t know what I’m doing. Running a business is harder than I thought and takes tons of work.

I’m looking for a full-time job, so that my freelance business can be done selectively, in time that I’m not working at a regular job. That will really give me freedom to decide who I want to work with, and turn other jobs that are uninteresting to me, down. Also, it will get me out of poverty.

Those people who look at poverty with a romantic notion are idiots in my mind. I don’t see what’s romantic about worrying over bills, or not being able to make payments, or having to ask people for help. Icky yucky. Yet there will always be some moron out there who tries to glamorize the poor.

It’s my goal to get out of Bremerton as quickly as possible, like March or the middle of February. I want to get back to Poulsbo, where everything is daisies and smiley faces. I’ve applied for jobs, asked people to put in good words for me, and praying like crazy. It’s time to get out of Bremerton and back to the wonderful little village of Poulsbo.

The problem with puppies

Below are reasons not to get a puppy:

1. They are unreasonably cute. This leads to spoiling the dog beyond reason. Examples: allowing the pet to sleep on your lap during work time, kissing him all the time, telling him how much you love him when he doesn’t understand a word you’re saying.
2. Sharp teeth. When wrestling with the puppy, sometimes your shirt sleeve, pant leg, or skin of your finger will find itself in between the pet’s incisors. This leads to momentary pain. Unfortunately euphoria caused by the cuteness factor (see above) disillusions you.
3. Puppy’s need to chew. Those sharp teeth find anything: toys, bedding, important papers, non important papers, and the concrete floor. It is endearing though, when they have a collection of chewing supplies gathered on a blanket that is next to you. It’s nice to have him chewing on stuff, but needing to be near you.
4. Poopy. Everywhere. Then when you’ve trained him to poop outside, he ONLY wants to poop outside, and whines and jumps, and hurls himself at the front door to get you to take him outside. Sometimes he purses his lips in an “O” and howls, not at the door, but back toward the house, in hopes he’ll annoy you enough to get off your ass and take him out for a potty. You wonder who is training whom.
5. Poopy outside. Once outside in the world, there are many distractions. Neighbors cooing, cars driving by, SQUIRRELS!, crows, rain. And then puppy forgets that he has to make a do-do.
6. Poopy outside. So you take him inside because it’s cold and you don’t want to monitor him as he looks at squirrels and wags his tail at the neighbors. 5 minutes later he’s back howling because he’s got to go number two. So you take him out again, but there’s still all those distractions.
7. Have to go poop NOW! It’s gotten so bad that the hurling his little body at the door is almost funny if it hasn’t taken an hour to try to convince the puppy he has to go number two. You take the dog outside, baggie in hand, and finally he produces his finest work. All better now.
8. Barking. At just about everything, and especially when you flush the toilet. This is almost laughter barking, not just regular barking. Barking when you make the bed, barking when you go for a walk, barking when you run. Barking when he’s excited to see you.
9. Herding. This is limited to the herding group: shelties, collies, and shepherds. So strong is this in the little Sheltie pup, that as you run on the track, he barks and tries cutting you off. It’s lucky he’s not kicked accidentally 30 feet for trying to herd you in another direction as you’re sprinting down the backside of the track. Knock on wood.
10. Enabling. Once the pup has reached a certain age and bodily grace, you let him sleep in bed with you. You thought/hoped that his howling urgency to make a peepee would get you out of bed at a reasonable time. Instead, the puppy takes to lolling in bed with you, being cuddly and cute, snuggling with you, rather than demanding you take him out. Now the puppy is so cute and soft and squishy that you don’t want to disturb him in his little position on his back with his little arms on your chest. So much for that idea.
11. Lack of foresight. Everything is grand with a two pound puppy. He takes to sleeping in your coat, on your lap, in your hand. It’s so nice and warm. This lack of foresight leads to a 7 pound puppy, who is now much longer and bigger than before, insisting on napping in your lap as you work, with his head and paws stretched over your hands.
12. Puppy breath. Sigh.

Worst of all is how you feel toward the puppy. You find that you care a lot about him, miss him when you’re not home, can’t wait until his older so he can just hop into your car and you can go cruising together. Other people envy you, because the puppy is so gosh darn adorable. Often times people will want to see the puppy more than you. Interestingly enough, this does not bother you one tiny bit.

So if you’re thinking about getting a puppy, think again. Be prepared to be turned to goo, to fall deeply in love, and spend way too much time using a baby-talk voice.

But it’s fictional

This past week I had a discussion with my best friend about the Harry Potter series. Being the nerd and nutcase that I am, I have read the books several times (in fact I’ve lost count as to how many times I’ve read Prisoner of Azkaban) so I know them backwards and forwards. I always tell people with confidence that Harry Potter is a great book, not morally corrupting. But, as has happened before, it was brought up that some Christians and churches did not like the novel.

One of the arguments I have heard from the other side is that Harry as a character is not good, so the story is not good vs. evil, but evil vs. evil. I admit, that idea irritates me a lot. Mainly because it’s not true. Furthermore, all one would have to do to see if it was true or not, would be to read the books.

As a Catholic, it parallels the lies other Christians say about my faith. I’m not sure how many times I’ve heard that Catholics worship Mary and/or statues. Some people say Catholics are pagans, or cannibals. All lies as any good Catholic can tell you so. Yet those myths are still around because they are repeated. When a lie is told often enough, people believe it. And all anyone would have to learn the truth, would be to go to Mass.

So back to Harry Potter. Harry is an orphan, for his parents (who were so cool!!) were murdered, and Harry miraculously survives the killing curse, and somehow defeats Lord Voldemort. Despite his horrible upbringing by his cruel relations, Harry wants to have friends, shares with them when he gets them, fights for them, and exemplifies the definition of courage and bravery. He stops at nothing to do what is right, and often has to go against the establishment (and in a couple of books that means he goes against the government) and break rules to do what is right. He is absolutely moral, has a strong sense of forgiveness and understanding (don’t think so? Finish book seven and we’ll talk!), and is willing to do ANYTHING for the lives of those he loves.

Harry is not an archetype like Sam from Lord of the Rings. He is a well-developed character with flaws. He is believable, he has weaknesses and strengths. He’s stubborn, often obsessive, willful, sarcastic, funny, and makes mistakes. For a fake person, he’s quite real.

Maybe that’s why I get a little irritated when people allege that Harry is bad or evil. Harry is a good person, as good as a real person can get.

The difference between Harry and Voldemort is huge, but the biggest difference between them all comes down to love. Voldemort does not understand it. Doesn’t get it, never will, and has no desire to understand it. It’s what makes him evil, and it’s what leads him into so much turmoil.

Harry, however, gets it. He understands that life is not worth living without people to love, and as literary characters go, he probably is the most caring and loving one of them all. And if you still think I’m wrong, finish book seven.

As for the magic, it’s not witchcraft. Yes, the title of the school is “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” but it’s not witchcraft. Witchcraft is summoning demons and spirits to do tasks of your bidding. Witchcraft is telling the future by slaughtering animals and reading entrails. Think Shakespeare’s Macbeth or The Tempest, the magic of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or even the witches in Neil Gaiman’s novel Stardust. That is evil magic.

And yet, no one complains about that magic. No one raises eyebrows over Buffy.

Even the bad magic of Harry Potter (where there is good, there is an absence of good), does not equate to summoning demons.

Here’s the thing: it’s all fictional. None of it is real. Magic is an element of the story. What are people so afraid of? Why are people reluctant to read Harry Potter? Are they afraid that they’ll be sucked into evil? Do they fear they’re not strong enough to resist?

The purpose of a story book is to entertain. Some books include murder, some adultery, fraud, arson, espionage, conspiring with the enemy, betrayal, love, happiness, religion, singing. Books include life. As long as a story is entertaining, then who cares if it has magic or not?

Finite Incantatum.

Want to lose weight?

Then do it.

I am a woman with many pet peeves, but one of them that really has gotten to me recently are people who constantly complain about being overweight, and regale countless stories about diets gone wrong. And then in the next breath they order fried chicken, pour ranch dressing all over their salad, and say they hate exercising. It’s things like that that make me go !!!?!?!?!?!

When people offer me a second helping of pie, or say “have another cookie” and I turn them down, they respond with “Oh please, you can afford to have another!” Yes, by modern day standards I’m thin. My sizes are all in the single digits, I don’t muffin top, and only in really bad lighting do my legs look kind of bad. But guess what, that’s because I work at it!

Fast metabolisms or skinny genes are both things I do not have. Because of this, I work to maintain my current weight. Is it easy, no. Few things in life are easy. I read labels and don’t buy things that are high in fat, or contain high fructose corn syrup, or partially hydrogenated fats. I don’t eat out all the time, and though I used to be a red meat lover, I rarely eat it now. I eat a lot of very good things, so I’m not as hungry. I wait out cravings, I don’t give into them. I EXERCISE and enjoy it.

Being fat and unhealthy is easy, and it’s cheap in the short run. You don’t have to work to be fat, just do whatever you want. And from the looks of it, most people just do whatever they want.

Then the real kicker is when people want to lose it right away, and can’t see a diet through. Well, you put the weight on over time, and it’s going to take time to get it off! So either stick with it and drop the pounds, or stop complaining about it. The sooner people take responsibility for themselves, the better.

Don’t put a dollop of sour cream on that backed potato. Throw out cheap syrup. Don’t drench salad with dressing. Start reading labels. Don’t eat out all the time, kill the Starbucks, drink more water, and most importantly, stop complaining! Complaining doesn’t help shed the pounds.

We could all have bodies like Evangeline Lily or Josh Halloway (I love Lost) but most of us choose not to work that hard. And Evangeline could look like the rest of us, but she’s not a lazy slacker who eats double fudge cake while watching television. They work hard, they sacrifice, they put their health and bodies before their cravings.

God help me if I encounter one more person who moans about being fat then orders a burger with fries.

Marriage: Partnership or Dependency?

Two things can happen when you’re single and surrounded by married people: you wish you were married, or are really glad you’re not.

Over the past few weeks it’s been the latter. In fact, I’d say that 75% of my time is spent happily single. There was a time not too long ago when all I could think of was getting married and having someone to come home to. I found a cure to that by purchasing a puppy. Hmm…

Now all I can think of is stuff that I can and want to do on my own. Where I used to think how nice it would be to go somewhere with a boyfriend or husband, now all I want to do is go out on my own and enjoy it.

I guess this feeling comes from many areas. I’ve been praying for happiness in my own life, and I think God answered that prayer. Also, having a bunch of friends who are married is insightful. It’s really nice to make spur of the moment decisions without consulting someone first. It’s nice that I can make plans for what I want to do without asking permission.

Even if I do get married one day, I can be sure that my marriage won’t be as constraining as many out there. My parents, who are still very much in love, lead lives of their own as well. And the key was that both of them were single for a long time before they got married. They figured out who they were on their own, rather than joining as one and being completely codependent on each other. 26 years later and my father still shows affection for my mother, as opposed to many new young couples; I’ve never seen the husband show any affection for his wife though there’s plenty from the wife to her husband…

From my understanding, marriage is a partnership. While it’s important to make decisions together, this parental feeling of permission-asking is claustrophobic. You shouldn’t have to ask your husband about every little thing, or wait by the door holding his slippers with a dopey face every evening. Likewise, men should get out every once in a while and have his own day, leaving the wife to have one of her own as well. Love is a special thing, I’m sure, but it shouldn’t make you a codependent. It might be fine for the first few years, but it’s going to get tired after 25.

2010 Not Resolutions but goals

Resolutions are silly, but goals are viable. I say resolutions are silly because they so often fail, and everyone makes just one a year. But this year is going to be different for me. I’m going to have some very concrete goals and if I can’t achieve all of them, I’m not going to beat myself up about them. But writing them down and putting them out there is going to hold me accountable.

So, 2010, I hope you’re better than 2009!

General and Personal goals:

1. Look hot (drop a size, tone the arms, always have cute hair).
2. Learn to play the piano.
3. Read more books (1-2 per week) and watch fewer DVDs.
4. Get a full time job as a graphic designer and/or creative writer.
5. Buy a house (heavily dependent on goal #4).

Spiritual goals:

1. Go to confession once a month.
2. Say the rosary every morning.
3. Read one book on theology or apologetics each month.
4. Talk to more people about Jesus.
5. Be more active in the pro-life movement.

Business goals for 2010:

1. Focus more on web design and less on logos.
2. Partner with an SEO company (possibly in the works!).
3. Finish up SHC web site, and all pending logo projects.
4. Learn jQuery.
5. Invoice on time.

Lofty goals:

1. Take a vacation to England and Scotland and see the Harry Potter hot spots.
2. Have some art work on display in a coffee shop.
3. Get an Arabian and train for Endurance.
4. Conduct the necessary research for my novel.
5. Write half of, or all of Jaden Baker and submit it to a literary agent (biggest and loftiest goal of them all).

And there it is. A very slimming, packed, and exciting year awaits me!

Breast Cancer “Awareness”

Recently many women on Facebook started posting their bra colors to raise breast cancer awareness. I didn’t know there was such ignorance out there about breast cancer that we needed to raise awareness about it. Hmm. Guess I was in the dark! I suspect that once that trend on Facebook started, magically people said “Oh, breast cancer is such an issue, we need to do something!” because no one was talking about it before.

People love to feel like their doing something to contribute, when really all they’re doing is nothing. Breast cancer is a disease, not a cause. No one wants breast cancer to be around, and if we could get rid of it, we would. Legislation or ignorant minds do not stand in our way. So why do we have all these meaningless movements? How is posting your bra color going to help anyone with breast cancer?

My grandmother has had breast cancer twice. It’s a horrible disease and millions of dollars each year go toward researching and screening for it. But I can promise that you wearing a black bra and telling your Facebook friends about it, isn’t going to make one shred of difference. Nor is it going to raise more money or awareness. Everyone knows breast cancer is a problem!

How about next time people actually raise awareness for something that no one knows about. That way people can become aware of it. There are a lot of things out there: slaughtering of unwanted horses and post-abortion syndrome are two that come to mind. But breast cancer is something we all agree is a huge problem. But all of us agreeing on it isn’t going to make the problem go away.

Riley : Sheltie Puppy

With every closed door, another opens. And with every tear shed a smile is surely around the corner.

My beloved dog and companion, Trinity, died at the end of September 2009 after suffering from chronic renal failure. The loss devastated me. Trinity went everywhere with me, she was the dog and friend that I had when I moved out of my parents house, moved to Livermore where I knew no one, and she was with me when I made the long journey from California to Washington, where I really didn’t know anyone. She was the family I came home to, always thrilled and excited to see me, bade me good morning with her smile and tail wag, and had the best time playing ball with me, chasing squirrels, and just going to the store, riding shotgun. She was beautiful, gentle, a princess always. She will always be remembered and missed.

Playing ball in Livermore, CA

I’m a girl who needs her dog. Much to my mother’s dismay, my first word was “doggy.” Dogs have always held an important role in my life, and so I’ve always needed one. Trinity was not replaced, because she can never be. She was my pumpkin seed, my Trinity monkey, my little scruff mcgruff.

On December 3rd a new Sheltie came into my life. After we got the news that Trin was terminal, my mom started puppy research, trying to find breeders who had pups. As luck would have it, there was a very good Sheltie breeder in Port Orchard who had a slew of puppies that would be ready to go home at the beginning of December.

Because we were the first to inquire about the puppies, I got first pick. But, as tradition would have it, I did not pick this dog either. I told Jan (the breeder) that I wanted a little boy, someone who was very friendly and had a lot of personality. She told me that she had a runt in the litter, but he was scrappy–didn’t know he was small. He would need a lot of attention at go, but he would make a great companion dog. I told her I would take him.

First photo, 5-6 weeks old

At first I wasn’t sure what to call the little guy. The breeder had been referring to him as “little guy” or “Einstein” because he had a tendency to do really dumb stuff. I had been thinking about Riley for a while because I liked the sound of it, how easy it rolled, and because it was so Irish. Shelties are not from Ireland, but the Shetland Islands of Scotland. Nevertheless, this new puppy would be very red in coloring, so Riley seemed to fit. But I wasn’t sold. It wasn’t until later that night when someone I knew told me about the expression “Living the life of Riley.” It’s a privileged and pampered life, where someone loves and looks after you. And then I loved it.

First photo of me and Riley together

Riley and I are a good match. He’s got two speeds: go and sleep. And when he goes he loves to wrestle with me, chew my hair, jump around like a rearing Lipizzaner, chase and herd me, and of course, play ball. When he’s tired, he whines for me to hold him and he sleeps in my arms, and now that he’s bigger, in my lap. He’s sweet, adorable, with a visible edge of mischief.

He’s an athlete, even as a pup, and LOVES to run and jump. I think he’ll be an agility champion.

Riley Beckham

Riley is already acquiring other nicknames: Riley Bean, Ri Bean, Ri Pie, and Trouble, as in “Hey Trouble, what are you up to?” He’s 12 weeks old now, 95% potty trained, knows how to sit, come when called, and retrieve a ball. He’s very different from Trinity in many ways, but they both seem to have met everyone. Riley has so far never met a stranger, and nor had Trinity. Everyone was a friend to her, as they are to him. He’s exceptionally friendly and outgoing and loves to lick and nibble ears.

Riley looking mischevious

I look forward to the many many years ahead of us together. While Trinity saw me through high school and college graduation, my first job, and starting a fledgling freelance business, Riley will be with me for other big adventures.

Riley isn’t really a pet–he’s just happiness pretending.

The Importance of Stuff

One of the most common complaints of those who consider themselves to be spiritually superior is that stuff doesn’t matter. By stuff I’m referring to actual physical possessions that people purchase. These spiritual know-it-alls look down on people who want to own things, telling them such canned phrases like “money can’t buy happiness” and “you can’t take it with you.” But these folks overlook the spiritual value of items, of things that we own. “Materialism” is a word that has been used too liberally of late, and many have been unfairly cast under that column. Regardless, is it so bad to love your possessions?

What a lot of people do not consider is the emotional value that things have. When I moved out of a house and put most of my things into storage and moved into another couple’s home, I didn’t think about giving anything up except my privacy. I had temporarily bought into the idea that things were just things–they held no real importance. But as time started to wear on me, and my private space was growing smaller, I began to long for my sofa, my squashy arm chair, my movies, my books, my everything.

Certainly a person is not defined by the amount of the items they own, and it’s of course true that you can’t take it with you, but until that time when God calls us, stuff matters.

Finally I was able to obtain my own little corner of space and I removed everything from storage. When that rolling door slid up with that cranky clackety sound, I ran inside and hugged my couch, lovingly stroked my armoire, and couldn’t wait to lay hands on my Harry Potters (which I’ve still not done!!! But I know they’re with me in a box.)

It all boils down to identity, to privacy, autonomy. My couch doesn’t define who I am, but it’s where I sit, all alone (wonderfully) and relax. The big and comfy chair is where I can ponder my day and read a book. It’s mine and no one else’s. It’s an independence thing, an atmosphere of Courtney that I can retreat into for needed space and solitude when the days get a little crazy.

Many people miss what our items represent. We love our stuff because we love what it represents: freedom, joy, privacy. Would I save my mac computer over a person? Well…that’s a toughie. I’d certainly save a person over my PC. Because of course people matter more than things. But I like my things too.