Domestic Violence: The Tale of a Tail and a Leg

I hate going to the doctor.

I love my doctor; he's a great guy. But I have a feeling he is going to ask me about the excessive bruising on my legs.

Since he's an open-minded man, I could probably intrigue him with tales of kinky sex and whips and chocolate.

The truth is not nearly as exciting. It's all about a dog. Zoe, my little Whippet/Pit Bull mix has a very long tail. She is also a very happy girl who swings that tail like a whip whenever she is glad to see you. I've heard the screams of "ouch" from the vet technicians when they take her back to give her a vaccination.

My darling cleaning woman, Maria, has stopped wearing her nice dresses when she comes to work at my house. Instead, Maria sticks to heavy duty jeans now with leggings under them. She's a smart woman.

When we first got Zoe, she actually hit the wall so hard with her tail that she cracked it and sent up blood spray making the house look like a place that Dexter would feel right at home. I actually hope that nobody ever accuses us of being serial killers because the trace blood from Zoe's tail is everywhere even after a thorough cleaning.

My vet suggested we have the tail amputated. That seemed very harsh to me. And I'm glad we didn't do it. It would be like amputating her smile. And the good news is she has slowed down a bit.

Zoe no longer whips her tail against furniture or walls. She now concentrates on shins. I'm sure that feels a lot better to her than the hard walls.

I really don't mind the bruises that much. It makes me look like I may have played a part in an S&M "art film". Okay, porno. While that's not the look everybody goes for, I am not really opposed to a walk on the wild side from time to time.

And I have the bruise striped legs to prove it.

Why Are All Those Mexicans Marching?

A woman asked me that question on Saturday afternoon in San Francisco.

I had seen the huge throng of people with signs, but I had no idea what it was about. I thought it might have been an "Occupy" protest. Looking a little closer, I saw the "Pro-Life" signs.

The woman who approached me seemed a little agitated. I told her that I really didn't know. She followed up with a comment that "more white people should be having more children", and I just looked at her.

Of course, by this time I realized she was a little bit of a nut case. We ducked into a chocolate shop to avoid any further discussion with her. Chocolate seems to right the wrongs of the world in most cases.

There may have been a lot of Hispanic people marching that day. I would attribute some of that to the Catholic Church. I'm not sure though.

I sort of take exception with the words "Pro-Life". I mean, is anybody really "Anti-Life"? Even the opposite slogan "Pro-Choice" sort of annoys me. Don't we all want choices? Do we want to have choices made for us? I think not. If I could choose, I might want to live in Paris, drive a new Mercedes, and be 30 years old and married to Steve Jobs, and have Denzel as a lover. Is that an option? Of course not.

If one of my young teen granddaughters got pregnant by her daddy, her brother, her uncle, or a rapist, do I want her to have the choice to end the pregnancy? Yes, I do. Do I want to see the man who impregnated her in prison. Yeah, I do.

If a woman is carrying a child who has severe mental and/or physical disabilities, should she have the choice of terminating her pregnancy? I think she should have that choice. In the alternative, if a woman wants to have a baby that is the product of incest or rape, should she be forced to end a pregnancy? No, she should not.

Does that make me anti-life? I don't think so. It really is about individual rights, and perhaps the rights of a woman placed before the rights of a fetus.

Although I am Mexican, I wasn't marching that day.

Open Marriage

My friend Mike asked me to lunch.

I said "sure" and waited for him in the company lobby. I assumed our friend John would come too. I was wrong.

It seemed weird to me that Mike wanted to have lunch with me alone, since he, John, and I had been long time friends and something of a "Three Musketeers" act at the company where we all worked. None the less, I accompanied Mike to a very nice local restaurant. (This also seemed weird to me because we generally went to dives that were cheap but had good food.)

I remember ordering a crab salad and Mike encouraged me to also have a glass of white wine. Once our lunch had arrived, and we were chatting comfortably, Mike said "I really would like to go to bed with you." I nearly choked and almost fell off my chair.

I was divorced and in my late 20's at the time, but not at all used to having a friend make such a blunt proclamation. Oddly, it took me a moment to respond. Mike had gotten married just a few months before this lunch. I tried to find the right words that would reject his proposition and yet be polite enough to keep our friendship intact. "Mike, you just got married. It would really be wrong to get involved with someone who was married. It's just not for me. I am flattered though, so thank you."

Mike responded that he and his new wife had an "open marriage". He did not have to explain this concept to me. It was something I had encountered before. Mike was a very attractive and smart man. I had considered him a friend. I guessed he had considered me as a potential bed-mate. Whatever. Even if it was fine with Mike and his wife, it was not fine with me. No harm, no foul. But we were never really friends again after that lunch.

Years earlier, I had dated a man who was also dating another woman at the same time. Out of the blue, the other woman called me and wanted to meet me. She wanted to figure out a way we could all form a 3-way relationship. While friends of mine said they admired her being so forthright over this situation, I didn't feel that way. I thought it sounded tawdry and repulsive to "share" a romantic relationship with a third party.

I have a woman friend who has been involved with a man in an open relationship for over 20 years. It started out with my friend, another woman, and a man. Over the years, the man decided that the two women he lived with were not enough and he is now seeing other people too. My friend bemoans that she is miserable with this situation, but doesn't want to leave the beautiful house she shares with the two other parties. Still, she drinks like a fish and ends up crying every time we are together. She's not in a happy place, no matter how great the architecture is of this wonderful house.

Maybe if Brad and Angelina ask me, I might reconsider, but I doubt it. I'm not really making a judgment on people who think this is a fine arrangement. Maybe for them it is. I'm just a selfish bitch and I don't like to share.

That's one reason why I'll never marry Newt.

Put On The Coffee, Bubbles, I'm Coming Home

Bubble baths are almost better than a gin and tonic with a twist of lime.

I do some of my most profound thinking immersed in a deep hot bath topped by bubbles. Okay, I usually am listening to CNN on the television playing in the next room and that always gives me food for thought.

I learn tidbits of news this way. Romney has family in Mexico. Uh huh. Huntsman dropped out of the presidential race. Uh huh. Okay, the truth is I really don't care much about what they are saying. But I like the "company" of a television.

When I'm bathing, I actually have company. Harry sits sentry right next to the tub. When he gets bored he takes a nap. Zoe wanders in to nip at his neck and see if he wants to play, but Harry takes his duty as guard seriously.

I bring all my "stuff" in with me. I have my Kindle, my iPhone, my cordless phone, plus a cup of coffee. What more could a woman ask for? Yes, it would be nice to have someone around to wash my back, but then I'd have to talk to them. And that would sort of ruin the whole experience.

An acquaintance sent me an email yesterday. Apparently, he wants to take a seminar that will enable him to improve his knowledge and skills and enhance his earning power. He needs in excess of $5,000 to take this course. And he wants financial help from his friends and acquaintances.

When I saw the email, I thought to myself, "Self, this guy really could use some help." But while in the bath this morning, I thought to myself "Self, I would like some new Prada boots for winter." But it would never occur to me to send out an email to all my friends and acquaintances asking them to donate money to me so I could buy those exquisite boots.

If someone has lost their home because of a fire or some sort of disaster, I always give as much as I can to help. I understand being desperate for money, and having to ask for a loan. But I don't really understand a grown-ass 50 year old man asking for money to take a seminar to enrich his life and his career.

I understand asking a partner, a family member or a close friend for a little financial help, but just to throw it out there and see if it flies? I don't know about that.

See, if there's something I want but cannot afford. I don't get it. Or I figure out a way to get it that may involve saving for it, selling something to pay for it, or stealing it. (Okay, that was just to see if you were awake.)

Maybe I'm just being a cheapskate.

Turning Tricks Is Not the Same As Doing Tricks

My husband, Alex, phoned at the polite time of 9:00 AM this morning.

As I have explained in the past, people really should not rise before 9. Most people die early in the morning, and wouldn't we all rather be in bed for that?

In any case, the subject of taxes came up in our phone conversation. That is not a soothing topic at anytime, but I believe it's worse before noon. We discussed money briefly and that's when Alex proclaimed, "We could always send Zoe out to turn tricks" to earn more money.

Alex's statement stunned me. Zoe is a young spayed female. She's innocent. What on earth was he referring to? When I expressed my dismay about what he was suggesting, he followed up with "We can teach her to roll over, play dead, you know, tricks!"

There really is one hell of a difference between a dog doing tricks and turning tricks.

(Alex has a way of mixing up his words that can sometimes lead to some confusion. When my mother choked on a sip of coffee, he assured her that he was expert at the "hymen remover" so not to worry.)

I was somewhat relieved that my husband was not suggesting a life of prostitution for our new dog.

Zoe really isn't that kind of girl.

Don't Push Me - Cause I'm Close To The Edge

Looks can be deceiving.

I look content. I look relaxed. But I'm not. I'm a seething mass of psycho just waiting to explode.

Don't let the new Bruno Magli pumps fool you. This is a woman on the edge. But at least I'm on the edge wearing Bruno Magli shoes. Shoes can make all the difference. Really.

I had a pretty good day. We took the pups and drove to San Francisco and picked up my daughter, Sheila, and my grandson, Cyrus, and my granddaughter, Arianna. We all went to Chrissie Field for a picnic. There were sandwiches, chips, fruit, salads, cheese and a wonderful baguette right out of the oven. We also had root beer, orange crush, and assorted other soft drinks in bottles. My family had just returned from the UK after three weeks of freezing their collective asses off in the cold.

Today was sunny and 70 degrees in San Francisco. It was a perfect picnic and a lovely day. The kids regaled me with their impressions of Brits. My daughter regaled me with her impressions of the crazy Persian family members they stayed with in London and Ireland. We laughed (unkindly sometimes) at the goofy people they encountered in London and on the emerald isle.

We were very close to the Golden Gate Bridge and while I chatted and enjoyed the lovely food and company I thought about the people who had jumped off that bridge in despair. For a crazy moment, I thought that I understood the act.

And then I looked down at my Bruno Magli shoes and realized I would never do such a thing in such exquisite shoes.

Good Karma and Star Power

Today, I received the strangest thing in the mail slightly after 2 PM.

My late pup, Honey, who died on December 10th of last year, has a star named after her. I have no idea who sent this to me. There is even a map of the galaxy so I can look for her star.

Yes, it made me cry. But it also made me think how wonderful someone was to do this. I have no idea where it came from. It may be associated with the organization who did the cremation of her remains. I just don't know.

A couple of hours earlier, I was communicating by email with a friend who has had a really rough holiday season. On a whim, I sent a little luxury gift to this person after the email conversation. I love to brighten someone's day, just as I love having mine brightened.

I'm not religious. But I do believe that if we spend a thoughtful moment doing something for someone else, we get thoughtful gestures returned to us. It's so much easier to do or say something nice than it is to do or say something hurtful.

Wherever Honey's star came from, thank you from the bottom of my heart.