Posts Tagged ‘sad’

Last night the old family dog and frequent contributor to this blog McGwire passed away. In many ways his last days were like my mom’s, constant health problems and having no permanent home for more than too long. He lived 14 years, unless my math is incorrect, not that it makes a difference at all. He was an old dog who still often times had the wonderment of a puppy.

Fortunately we knew McGwire was sick and I got to see him last week before passing. I stole some gourmet dog treats from work in hopes these might brighten his day. I suppose they temporarily did.

The story of McGwire is not a simple one. We first got him back in 1999, a few months after the home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Since I have a white family, we rooted for Mark McGwire to succeed. We were thinking about getting a black cat and naming it Sosa, but chose not to and thank goodness we didn’t because Sammy Sosa is white now.

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I remember the first time I held McGwire. He had shit on his feet. The shit on his feet go onto my shirt, smearing Tino Martinez’s face. The woman at the animal shelter said this was his way of saying he liked me. I knew immediately we would be mortal enemies.

The summer was spent raising McGwire, teaching him how to behave better and potty train. He had our first dog Baylee to learn from, but being the youngest he was always the spoiled one. McGwire immediately took the biggest liking to my mom. Whenever I questioned it my mom would say “it’s because I’m the mom” as if this justified him ignoring everyone else and being obedient to her.

As time went on McGwire grew closer to my mom than anyone else. He still loved us and we loved him, but it was clear he was her dog. He never quite learned how to play well outside as he was a dog who went by his own rules. Fetch for him was a one step process, running to the ball and then not bringing it back.

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After our parents sold our house he stayed with my mom. In that 2-3 year period I saw him a lot less. When I did see him it was almost like he didn’t even know me. He would bark like we had never met before and I was a threat or stare out me with no emotions. I would only see him a few times when he lived exclusively with my mom until she died.

When my mom died McGwire came to live with me. This was not the most convenient situation. McGwire would be alone for 10 hours every day on days I went to work. Amazingly he only ever pooped once in the house over those 20 months he lived with me and never once peed inside. Coming from a sick dog left alone who loved people, I appreciated his strong bladder and bowel.

The longer McGwire lived with me the more attached I became. He had without me wanting it to happen become my dog. I was in no position to take care of a dog nor could I take on the financial responsibilities fully. Still, there were no other options available. If I didn’t take him then he would end up in a shelter or worse, with someone I didn’t like.

At the end of last year I decided to move and McGwire would not come with me, while ironically I was actually in a better position to take care of him as I was jobless. Thankfully a friend of my sister’s was able to take him in and give him more love than I ever could have. He would have a yard, cats to keep him company all day, and more than a small apartment to roam around in. McGwire had won a retirement plan.

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Not everything McGwire gave the world was perfect. His poop was gross and his butt looked like an elephant’s face/my elementary school librarian. Having him in my apartment gave me bad allergy attacks at times and his selfish need to eat for survival cost me much of my social life for the good part of two years as I always had to make sure he got what he needed. Still, I tried not to complain. Taking care of him the best I could meant sacrificing other moments and opportunities in life. I think I did this because it was the simplest way I knew how to honor my mom.

Despite his brief shortcomings, McGwire was a loving dog. Behind kicking me off the couch every night at midnight, getting into my trash every so often only to find nothing interesting, and making most meals I ate intrusive to my knees, he was a great dog. He was a ladies man, choosing girls over me anytime. M.C. Gwire had a temperament that was near perfect and a breath far from it. He might be gone, but his presence will always be felt. McGwire is the reason why I wanted a job working with dogs in the first place. He gets a lot of the credit for every hug I give a dog at work. He gets a lot of the credit for every baby-talk voice I do that makes a dog’s ears go back and tail wag. Best of all, McGwire is the reason why I never learned to pick up food if I drop it.

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Here’s to you McGwire. I cannot cry over your death because I know if I did you would just come sit next to me and kiss my face anyway like you always did before. Instead I’ll eat a lot of candy today (that’s my excuse for eating a lot of candy) because you always loved food. I hope wherever you have gone has a cool bathroom floor for you to lay on and nobody ever turns away when you breathe in their face. Thanks for the love you gave everyone.

The hardest part of death is always that the world never stops. People can give you sympathy. They can let you relax on responsibilities. The world just keeps going though no matter what our mood is. Before I even knew he was gone I had a dream with him in it. I have always hoped that dreams are us entering another world, perhaps even an afterlife. If this was somehow the case, he seemed to be happier, younger, and healthier than ever.

The End. There are no two sadder words in the English language to me. Bubble Bath are probably the most fun words. It’s alliteration, contains few vowels (the sad letters), and bubble bathes remind me of being 22 again. I tried taking a bubble bath a little over a year ago. I sat in the tub and thought “Now what do I do?” and tried to type on my computer which was placed on the toilet. They’re still fun though. Not like endings. Even the end of this paragraph is making me a little watery eyed.

My thing with endings is that they feel so permanent. I guess they are. There’s nothing more exact and everlasting. A beginning is so short. It’s quick. You mothers can relate. Remember childbirth? Wasn’t it so quick and wonderfully painless? And when it ended it was so sad. No longer could you make excuses for eating an entire box of ice cream. So you try to chase that high again of being able to eat whatever you want. You’re a pregnant junkie. In short, if you’re not the oldest child in your family then you’re no different from a line of cocaine.

(I’m a middle child and the one on the left in this picture)

The end of TV shows is what gets me most. I think to myself “Well what happens to them next?” I can’t watch a finale if I don’t go to bed immediately after. Otherwise I sit around wanting to hurt a network executive for not letting the show go on forever. I know John Ritter died and the show lost its charm, but James Garner and David Spade were comedic gold! I actually never watched that show. But I did watch Clifford the Big Red Dog where John Ritter voiced Clifford. It was so sad when they had to write Clifford off. Emily Elizabeth wouldn’t come out of her room for weeks. They had to give Clifford the Viking Funeral and send him out to sea and let him burn he was so big. I always thought they could have just gotten a new voice actor but they were committed to John Ritter. I guess once you get the dad from Problem Child you know you’ll never be able to top it.

(Stop looking at me like “oh no this kid is trouble” and help that cat!)

At times even a good meal can be upsetting. I’m having a good time then the waitress (I always ask for a waitress, I’m not pinching a guy’s ass) comes by and brings us the dessert and the check. Suddenly I lose my appetite. The good times are ending. I sob into my ice cream. My fictitious friends who do not exist who have joined me think I’m weird. Not as weird as the real people at the restaurant wondering why one lone person is in the party room and why he ordered for every seat. To this day I still can’t eat pie because it reminds me of the end of a meal. I’ll usually eat my meals in reverse if I feel like it though. I’ll finish with soup because to me soup already tastes like tears.

Endings that have a new beginning are easy for me to get through. New Year’s is never depressing for me. I never think about how I wasted an entire year and how it’s already 2012 and I have nothing to show for it. The thing about New Years Eve is that the old year ends and you get a new one. We should do that with everything. Every TV show should get a spin-off. And when the spin-off ends we give that a spin-off. I can get through that. And all restaurants should be all you can eat forever. Like you can leave and come back. That way the meal is technically never over. It would hurt business but it would save sadness. I think most Chinese businessmen wouldn’t mind. They always seem well-tempered and forgiving.

(He laughs because he knows what duck sauce is really made of)

Now has come the ending of this post. You might be sad, that’s okay. I am too. But this isn’t a permanent ending. This is just an ending for today. Tomorrow there will be something new. You have that to look forward to. So dry your tears and wait another day. And that my friend is all I have to say.

*I should mention that ending with a rhyme scheme like I just did always helps. It leaves things on a cliffhanger and when things end on a rhyme people look up and nod while taking it all in.

There are a lot of mixed messages pounding in my head about how to deal with emotions. On one hand I’m told not to cry because I’m a boy and need to be strong. On the other hand I’m told not to bottle things up. Most of the time, all I want to do is cry. I want to cry when the line at the bank is too long. I want to cry when one of my sinuses are stuffed up. But I can’t cry. All because of how society will react to my behavior. It’s nuts.

I keep my emotions bottled up for the most part. I don’t like to rub how awesome my day was in the faces of others. I also like to be honest so I have to go out of my way to make sure that I have a bad day. That way everybody wins. I get to remain being honest about how bad my day was and you don’t feel lousy knowing how inexplicably awesome it could have easily been.

The older I get, the more in touch with my emotions I am. I’m not afraid to cry or smile in the faces of strangers. I’m so not afraid of it that I probably do it too often. Which do you think is creepier? The smiling stranger or the crying one? I’d say the smiling one. There are more things to cry about than there are to smile about. I’m much more likely to trust a crier than I am a smiler. People who smile too much are usually brainwashed and may or may not still have their testicles. At least a crier you know their intentions, to bring you down.

The only time one should really always show their emotions is when they are positive emotions. Really, as much as it can be annoying to know about how much more wonderful your life is than mine, it’s still good for you to let it out. If I have a problem with your great life, I will not pay attention to it. Or more likely, I will find a physical flaw of yours and make fun of it. And if you have a problem with that, big ears, you can continue bragging about how wonderful your life is. You have to give a little to get a little.

For negative thoughts I believe more often than not it’s best to keep those deep inside. If I let out everything I thought I would probably be in prison, an insane asylum, or on television. I’m not tough enough for prison, not flexible enough for straight jackets, and don’t tan well enough to be on television. I could always play a ghost or a hermit, but then there’s the fact that I am a terrible actor.

From talking to other people, if I hadn’t kept my emotions bottled up as a teenage boy and instead shared my feelings like I was “supposed to”, I probably would be dead in a murder suicide right now. Being a teenage sucks and the worst thing about it is that it’s impossible to understand that you’re not alone until you get older. Mostly everybody I know had fantasies of blowing things up or stabbing enemies to death with novelty pencils. Teenagers are the most violent human beings, what with raging hormones and the anger at having pubic hair to trim. It’s not good to share your emotions when you’re a teenager. They try to send you to school psychiatrists who forgot what it’s like to feel left out. School psychiatrists are dicks. The moment they send a kid somewhere else for “help” is the same moment they ruin that kid’s self-esteem. And that’s all we’ve got in this world, esteem for ourselves. Once that’s ruined, then we’ve got nothing. Then we really have something to be angry about.

It’s good to be honest about how you feel, but remember, if you think it may make you sound crazy, it probably will. Some things are left unsaid, at least for a while. If you’re reading this and you’re an angry teenager do not fret. Most of those problems that piss you off now will go away. You’ll find new things to get angry about. Instead of being pissed off about what someone said on Facebook you can be pissed off about the realization that you will die alone. Yikes!

Wear your emotions honestly, but don’t be surprised when people think you’re a nutbag. We’re all a little crazy, big deal. But if your emotions involve kidnapping, torture, or murder, wait a few years until you grow out of it. Odds are you’ll find someone else who feels the same way and you’ll both end up in prison for doing something perverted to a mean gym teacher’s buttocks.