Cube with a blocked view.

Do you REALLY want to know this much?

I've had two friends now who've told me that it's great that I do this (blog), but they really don't want to know this much about me. How sweet :) Granted, they aren't really close friends in the grand scheme of life and perhaps this stuff was just making them feel too close to me. Can't imagine why... Or maybe there really are some things better left unsaid.

Ah well, I do it for me and if you aren't comfortable reading, don't. Oh, and if you'd rather remain simply an acquaintance rather than have all this lovely knowledge about me, you're likely better off not reading as well.

I made a mad dash cleaning of my house last night, including my much neglected laundry pile. That's what I get for inviting company over when my house is a disaster area. Still is in fact, but like I always asked Mom when she did this... "are they coming to see us, or the house?" Yeah, sure, it's a little of both and you'd like for there to be some counter space and an absence of cat hair on the floor, but it sometimes just doesn't work that way.

Particularly with my cats. They see the vacuum as a challenge and a clean floor as a bad thing. The second I'm done and the vacuum is safely stored away, it's like the WWF has come to my living room. Tigger's jumping off the back of the couch to tackle Bailey, I'm sure I've seen a flying scissor kick or two from the princess herself. They roll around kicking, fighting and growling and the result - carpets that look like I haven't vacuumed in a week.

Bailey tries to do her part to keep the place clean, I'll give her that. If, for some reason food gets under the water bowl, she makes it her personal mission to clean that up. One never knows where the water bowl will end up, but she gets every bit of food that was under it. I think it's her last ditch effort at working for her food. Now that the food I buy doesn't roll so she can chase it through the house, she has to find another solution - food under the water bowl.

So, I skipped breakfast this morning and went to Starbucks for a Mint Mocha Chip and a scone. I'm standing there waiting for my frappuccino and the girl ahead of me gets a non fat, no sugar blah blah blah. The guy behind the counter takes one look at her and asks if she wants whipped cream on it. I stifled a laugh. Perhaps he was hinting at something... The girl was a stick. You could count her ribs...through her shirt! I'm fairly certain I have more muscle to my arms than she does her legs.

Yes, I have more than my share of padding so perhaps I should stfu, but how...when, even...did the skin and bones look become appealing on a woman? Who looks at another person and says "gee, you don't quite look like a starving child in Africa. Could you maybe skip eating for a week?" Hell, who looks at themselves and thinks, "geez, I'd find it much easier to get a date if they could count my ribs - front and back - without me ever taking off my shirt!"

Look at what appears to be the fashion standard for our society - Hollywood. The bleached blonde, plastic surgery capital of the world. We fake 'n bake, spray on tans and dye our hair hoping to emulate a bit, just a little bit, of what we see on the screen. We shop in stores where if your body isn't absolutely perfectly proportioned, you're better off going to Value Village in search of clothing to make you look your best. You'd have a better chance of finding something.

People go out in search of Angelina Jolie's lips (and hell, they're kissing Brad Pitt, I can see the attraction!), Nicole Kidman's nose, a model's breasts, eyes, cheeks or chin. We spend hours at the hairdressers coloring our hair and getting it cut "just like Jennifer's." Ok, not me so much, my hairdresser would never allow that ;)

What happened to just being you? The you that you got to be in that big genetic lottery. Tall or short; blonde, brunette or redhead, pale skin, dark skin or somewhere in the middle. When we all go in search of some artificial ideal, we create a society where perfection is worshipped and imperfections are hidden or removed. A society where we all begin to look alike and what makes us unique is destroyed.

Perhaps it's just me. My love of the underdog (go Flames Go), that makes me seek out the imperfect in the world around me. The unwanted, the unloved, the things in our world that just aren't perfect so they're thrown away.

There are three dogs I've had the pleasure of being around that I will never be able to forget. The first was Sasha. She was a mutt that was found half frozen on the highway out by Edson. She had missing and broken teeth. Yes, broken. This allowed a space on one side where her tongue would stick out. Permanently. She'd been abandoned and apparently abused, yet at that adoption day, she stuck by my side. Literally. I finally had to sit down because wherever I went she LEANED against me. She had a bit of mass behind her too so I was constantly trying to stay balanced. When I sat down, she lay her head on my lap and stared at me with these big brown eyes. Yes, she drooled, but I couldn't bring myself to move her head.

I went home that night and tried to convince my husband we should foster dogs simply for her - she'd just come in to NASAP's care. I found her picture on the website and showed him. By the time I convinced him though, she'd been moved to the permanent care part of the website. A vet visit showed her to be suffering from cancer. And my soft little heart melted even more. No, I never had Sasha in my house. She died a few short months later and it's probably a very good thing I only spent one day with her.

Next to come into my life was Bud. A border collie cross. Likely with lab based on body shape and toe webbing. I've talked about him before. I fostered him for 5 days. He was terrified of men, and protected me like only a herding dog can :-D

Finally, there was a deaf purebred at one of our adoption days. He was a bird dog of some kind and I want to say some version of Pointer, but I could be wrong. He sat there just watching the birds in their cages all day. But he'd been trained. Hand signals. Smart dog, yet imperfect so he ended up at NASAP as a "special case." A hunting dog who couldn't respond to verbal calls and had to be looking at you to know what you wanted. A bad thing in the city when they get out of the house without a leash.

All of these dogs were less than perfect. And many would have walked right past them, dismissing them as less than worthy because of these imperfections. Many go off in search of the perfect purebred. And now that Britney and Paris have been seen carrying dogs the size of a purse, girls will flock to petstores spending hundreds of dollars to be just like the famous. They'll keep the dogs as a fashion accessory, but when the responsibility kicks in, the SPCA and groups like NASAP will get these animals because suddenly they're an inconvenience.

And on and on we go. A celebrity decides to change something to stand out from the herd of cattle that is Hollywood, and the rest of us follow, regardless of what is involved.

Well, maybe not "the rest of us," I have a friend who swears by luau fridays. Hawaiian shirts every friday. I can't see him carrying around a dog named "Bit Bit" anytime soon. And his beat up Rabbit convertible is far from Hollywood standards. He's got the right idea. He is who he is and life goes on. Not that I'll be picking up a hawaiian shirt any time soon. That's his fashion statement.

posted by Erin @ 9:25 AM