How to save a life

Today we saved someone's life. Not kidding. Well, not literally, but kind of literally. My husband and I are in a co-ed fraternity known to many as "dog ownership." It's a very tightknit, respectful family, especially in Tulsa. We go to dog parks, dog-friendly places, and on dog walks and are always met with the caring, smiling faces of other responsible dog owners. 

Today our fraternity went into crisis mode.

Lady is a 2-year old Australian shephard with a sugar-sweet demeanor and flair for adventure. Maybe she wanted to build a snowman, maybe she wanted to catch snowflakes, but when we found her in today's BLIZZARD in the Reasor's parking lot she just looked frozen solid and scared to death. We weren't the only people who saw her. Another lady my age was heading Lady's direction at the same time. 

By the time we got to her, the other woman had already checked for tags. No name. No address. No phone number. I made the instantaneous decision, as many other people would, that we were adopting another dog. There was no way this sweet dog was going to become a pupcicle on my watch and I surely wasn't taking her to the pound. We looked at her tags again, however, and saw that under her Rabies tag, she did have a little yellow tag from a company called Home Again. There was a 1-888 number on the tag.

We called the number and were patched through to their dispatch. We learned Lady's name and breed and that she had been reported missing for about an hour. Dispatch located the owner's phone number and patched us through. We were greeted by the voice of a very emotional, and very relieved older lady. She told us she was on her way.

I love that you can tell so much about a person by meeting their dog. When Lady's owner arrived, there were tears streaking her face, her eyes were swollen and red, and Lady couldn't have wiggled that tail more if she wanted to. It was quite obvious to us that Lady was all this little old lady had, and that she was all Lady had as well. It was a heartfelt reunion that made us feel thankful to be part of such an amazing unspoken fraternity. We saved a dog from a blizzard today, but we also saved the owner as well. You could see it on her face, and you could see it on ours.

I love dogs.

We don't get bored... we get busy.

I stand corrected. Corrected at the lameness that I used to think of as Tulsa. I'm not going to lie. I wasn't thrilled about moving to Tulsa two months ago. I grew up two hours south of the city, but my only real memories of it were the blinding sunlight on the interstate, toll roads, and a vague recollection of the zoo and Tulsa University housing. For some reason, and I'm not sure why, I had tagged Tulsa as a pretty boring place. I was wrong. Here is a list of some of the completely un-lame things my husband and I have been up to since the move:

1.) Snuck into a Paint Horse show at the expo center, got to check out some spectacularly sparkly chaps, "ooo"ed and "awww"ed at the ponies, had allergy attacks, and both stepped in horse poop.

2.) Sought out Will Rogers State Park, drove an hour out of the way to find out it had been closed for 25 years, and then stumbled across Will Rogers' birth place and petting zoo. More poop.

3.) Found the one and only BBQ joint in Tulsa that serves sweet tea... and it is magnificent.

4.) Established our very first tradition as a married couple: Donuts from Merritt's Bakery every Saturday morning, without fail.

5.) Have regularly taken our dogs to TWO different dogs parks. Cold noses abound.

6.) Have had no less than 3 snowball fights.

7.) Ate the very best meal of my life at the Palace Cafe.

8.) Paid $5 to check out a rockin' antiques show, complete with awesome old beer signs.

9.) Lost $40 at an Indian Casino is two minutes flat.

10.) Found the Tulsa Trolley and Scooby, our permanent designated driver and trippy music extrodinaire.

11.) Stumbled across a kickball league AND a dodgeball league.

12.) Joined a "Young Professionals" group... since we are both "young" and "professional," technically.

13.) Soaped a fountain in the nicest shopping district in Tulsa.

14.) Had a beer at the oldest bar in Oklahoma.

15.) Went to the zoo, ate zoo food, heckled zoo animals, and got nasty "zoo" stares from concerned parents.

16.) Discovered the badassness that is QT Coffee.

COMING UP: The things we are soon planning to do...

- Go to a show at Cain's Ballroom

- Attend Saturday square dancing classes

- Learn pottery-making in the Brady District

- Check out one of the thousand art gallery parties downtown

- Go to the Tulsa State Fair

- Watch the Conference USA Tourney, at the actual Tourney

 

We must look like we have "it" together...

So I've noticed something. People really like my husband and I. I don't know why this is... but people will literally single us out in crowded places and be incredibly nice to us for no reason. Check this out. Last weekend at the grocery store while we were discussing the pros and cons of chicken or beef, a rather large man (who looked like he's eaten his fair share from the deli section) walked all the way around the counter, specifically out of his way, to ask my husband about a particularly humungous slab of cow. My husband, being the carnivore he is, delved right into the history of this slab of meat, how it's butchered, where it should be cooked, etc. The large man was delighted and practically skipped away with his frozen bulging package of meat (sounds appetizing, eh?).

About a week before that, we were in Panera Bread and a woman who I can only describe as enthusiastic about bagels gave me personal service I have never experienced in a chain bakery. She touched my hand, called me by my first name, offered me extra lemons, and yelled, nay, BELLOWED across the dining room to make sure my Asiago with sun-dried tomato cream cheese was up to par. It was bizarre. If she had been 20 years younger, I might have thought she had developed an instantaneous woman-crush on me.

These sort of things happen to us EVERY WEEK. Strangers, completely random people, ask us for our advice. I had a woman in a Wal-Mart pop out of the dressing room 3 weeks ago and demand my opinion on 4 pairs of neon-colored stockings. 

My husband and I have discussed the nature of this phenomina at length, and the only thing we can come up with is that we must appear to have our shit together in a major way. I mean, what kind of perfect stranger are you looking for when you ask for advice? Do we look particularly non-threatening? Can you look at me and tell I'm probably going to tell you the truth, but in the nicest way possible? Does my husband just look like the kind of guy who is going to be able to help you with whatever totally off-the-wall question you have? I don't know what "it" is. But "it" has us baffled. 

Lent and Asbury's Second Veil of Her Most Holy

According to Wikipedia, Lent is the preparation of a Christian believer for Easter through self-denial. I think the only people who really do this are Catholics. I'm not sure because I'm Southern Baptist and the Lord knows we don't care about anyone else's traditions, particularly if they inconvenience us. Even so, every year I try to give up something, just to personally challenge and torment myself. I have given up mint chocolate chip ice cream, Dr. Pepper, sneezing, and even paper. None of these, Lord forgive me, have lasted until Easter. If people were completely honest, I think most of them would admit that the best part about Lent is going absolutely ape at the end of like two weeks and indulging in the thing they were trying to avoid. Do you know how great mint chocolate chip ice cream is when you have been purposely avoiding it for two weeks? It's AWESOME.

So this year when my husband asked, "What are you giving up for Lent this year?" he was a bit surprised to hear me announce rather triumphantly... "Nothing." That's right. I'm not giving up a damn thing. And I'm going to go ahead and say, I think God's okay with me sitting this one out. In the last month and a half I have given up fried food, cigarettes, non-diet soft drinks, and cereal. That's right. Cereal. As a matter of fact, I have been so successfully self-depriving over the past few weeks that instead of giving something up to get closer to God, my husband and I will spend this Lent season obtaining something entirely new. And we have already decided what this new thing is.

Church Softball.

We are going to join a church softball league. The challenge there, of course, is that we are not members of a church, having lived in Tulsa such a short amount of time (I throw that in there for our Southern Baptist relatives... who know quite well we lived in Huntsville for a year and weren't members of a church, and Chattanooga even longer without joining... we were just busy... okay, not that busy... give us a break we're doing it now, okay?). 

Over the next few weeks, we will be visiting and judging churches with more prejudice than Paul himself. Here are the top 10 characteristics (in no particular order) we want to see in our ideal candidates:

1.) A very boisterous pastor. We like 'em loud. 

2.) A choir that is racially slanted. Personally, I think white people are boring. And I am one. 

3.) An anti-youth movement. We really dislike your son who just bought his first Fender from your neighbor's garage sale wailing like a cat in heat to "Our God Is An Awesome God."

4.) A very-nice-old-lady population. Who doesn't love old church ladies? They cook, they smile all the time, and they always remember your birthday. The more of these, the better.

5.) Pretty scenery. Yep. I'm superficial. I don't like worshiping under fluorescent light bulbs.

6.) Relevant Sunday school classes. I don't care AT ALL about your theories on what type of fruit the forbidden tree really yielded. Let's keep it within the century, people.

7.) Regular outdoor revivals. Revivals are my FAVORITE. I have a special fan I keep just for the heat. I don't know why there aren't more of these. Maybe I should start a company. "O Lawd!"

8.) Constantly rotating tapestries. There is no denying that even the best of ministers can occasionally flop like a professional soccer player. I'm going to need something to stare at.

9.) Auditions for special music... conducted by me. If you stink, head on down to Asbury's Second Veil of her Most Holy.

10.) And of course, the driving motivation for our quest to cozy up to the Big Man, a softball team with a winning record. 

We'll let you know what we find.

Making Friends - The Jolly Trolley

Imagine an old "Rice-a-Roni" Trolley with gold handlebars and handcrafted slate wood seats blaring television theme songs from your childhood on an overhead video screen. Imagine this trolley being driven by a jolly hippie named Scoobie drinking Red Bull and passing out candy to passengers like some sweet little old lady. Now imagine this trolley roaring from bar to bar in downtown Tulsa on a loop sent from heaven that, at the end of the night, will deliver you safely to your own front door. This is the T-Town Trolley. And it's free.

Last night we had an unexpectedly good time. I say unexpectedly because everything about this Jolly Trolley was totally unexpected. We rolled around to our favorite places, laughed and chatted with other folks on the trolley, and got to site-see some really cool spots in Tulsa we have yet to visit. What was really unexpected, however, was the feeling that came over me at a hot dog vender at the corner Boston. 

Our friends would really have loved this.

For many 20-somethings, moving is an unavoidable part of finding where you belong. Sometimes, like for my husband and I, the place where you think you belong is where you simply cannot be. For us, that place is Chattanooga, Tennessee, the city we spent the best years of our 20s, where we went to college, where we made friends that turned out to be family, and where we met each other. I know a lot of people say their friends are like "family," but our friends in Chattanooga really are our family. Most people are lucky to have those one or two friends that they can count on in any situation. Do or Die. I can name like 10. Probably more. This is mostly because of my husband's fraternity, Lambda Chi Alpha, probably the most influential entity in our early 20s. The fraternity dictated Aaron's schedule, and therefore a lot of mine. It dictated the type of individuals Aaron stayed close to, a very solid, loyal group of guys. It even ended up dictating who I became friends with. My two best friends, Cakes and Cash & Prizes, were both dating brothers when we met many years ago. We were brought together by the "stresses" of college and fraternity life. We went through some truly horrific times together. And I can honestly say, these two women are more like sisters than best friends to me. 

So how do you walk onto a trolley and say to someone, "Hey, let's go through something really meaningful together so that we can be the best of friends."  Um, you don't. Making friends in a new town is incredibly uncomfortable, but I think it's even more uncomfortable when you are used to being around a very large, very tight-knit group of people. Seeing so many happy groups of people on the Jolly Trolley made me really miss our friends. 

My husband and I will soon be conducting interviews for good, solid friends. If you know of anyone who fits the description below, please have them submit their application by next Friday...

WANTED - Loyal, intelligent individuals with quirky and sometimes over-the-top senses of humor in their mid-late 20-somethings. Must love SEC football, smut television, good whiskey and/or great wine, dogs, children, America, and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Please submit your qualifications, video sample, mix tape, and blood/hair/semen sample to futurefriends at gmail dot com. If you don't know how to fit a blood/hair/semen sample into an email, then you aren't qualified to be our friend.

The self-entitled 20-something

So, Saturday mornings my husband and I have this tradition (of 6 weeks) of going to Merritt's Bakery on Cherry Street for some truly sinful breakfast pastries. This morning, after my weekly breakfast chocolate bar indulgence, I informed my husband that I wanted to continue hunting for an old standing coat rack at my very favorite store in Tulsa, Joz, an art deco collector's Albatross. The only way he was trudging through that store in  his PJs, I was informed, was if we went to his favorite bottle store afterwards. I immediately snatched up this bargain, seeing as how "his" bottle store just happens to sell my very favorite wines. After a quick and successful trip through Joz (I love my deco coat rack! A steal at $30.) we headed over to Utica Square's Grand Vin, and this, my friends, is where things. got. ugly.

There are many different kinds of 20-somethings - more than there are pastries in our favorite bakery. This morning my husband and I encountered the self-entitled 20-something, one of my most loathed. SE20s tend to live like they are 47 with a comfortable retirement, steady upper-management position in a solid financial firm, cars shimmering with "well-above-my-means," and are incredibly pretentious with, what I consider, the finer things in life. 

Oh, enter note. I am a wino. Yep. I love good red wine. A lot. Wine is an incredibly personal experience for me. For instance, I don't drink wine with people I don't love. I don't know why. I just don't. My closest girlfriends, my husband, and my mother are the only people on the planet with whom I share this indulgence of mine. I like to smell the wine, I like to swish it on the end of my tongue and wait for the impending dry earthiness. I like to close my eyes as it warms my throat, and I like to remember everything about where I am when I take that first sip; the air, the atmosphere, and the company. I love wine. 

Which is probably why I wanted to unleash an unholy rage on these poor, unsuspecting SE20s.

So there I was, eyeing a bottle of Next, my most recent Pinot Noir find, when these three label-sporting Kardashian look a-likes came barreling in my husband's favorite bottle store like a bull in a Tiffany's closet. They were siblings, two sisters and one brother, and I instantly knew I wouldn't like them. Probably because of this exchange:

Brother: "Just pick out whatever you want."

Sister 1: "I don't see any California. Do you think they even have California?"

Sister 2: "Oh, here it is. Napa Valley. $100 isn't bad if they are going to split it, right?"

Brother, Sister 1, and Sister 2 then proceeded to step directly in between me and my Next and oogle over a sealed bottle.

Rage. First of all, what 20-something shops for wine based on which state is on the label? Furthermore, what pretentious 20-something arse of a man declares, "Just pick out whatever you want." What he really meant was, "I know nothing about what I'm doing here, I have no personal interest in what we are purchasing, and I have no respect for the experience I am participating in." Ugh! And THEN, they pick out a "Napa Valley," no concern for the color or flavors, just the location. Some winery could've literally peed in a bottle and labeled it Napa Valley and these three young arist0brats would've snatched it up like Green Tea Snapple. 

So what did I do? Nothing. My experience was ruined. I waited in the car and watched the three mousse-kateers exit the bottle shop and climb into Brother's Jaguar, absolutely hating them for their disrespect of something so exceptional, knowing they would not sit in their living rooms curled up in a blanket sipping slowly and making cherished mental notes. They would drink their "Napa Valley" quickly and without consideration for the work and craftmanship that went into the bottle. The would swish it in oversized stemware and laugh loudly and pompously, as if in competition with each other, the center of their own universe. 

We gossiped about them the entire way home. 

First Impressions

Ok. I'm on the bandwagon. I am officially blogging. And I would like to say that I spent months deciding what completely decadent, illustrious topics I would write about, but I didn't. It took me about 30 seconds. Because the best blogs are the blogs that are actually ABOUT something, right? I mean, I'm no Seinfeld. I seriously doubt I could make something out of nothing. So here it is. My blog.

I am 27 years old. I am married, have two dogs, and a college degree. A month and a half ago, I moved back home to a state I ditched like a bad habit nine years ago. And when I say ditched, I mean I threw all of my worldly possessions in the back of my car (that my parents were still paying for... what a rebel) and left town the day after high school graduation. I didn't even go to the senior party, a timeless small-town tradition wrought with alcoholism and premarital sex. I was too busy sleeping. 

Why did I want to get the h-double-hockey-stick out of my hometown so badly? I'm sure that will come to light eventually. However, in the meantime, let's talk about why I'm a stone's throw away from the very worst years of my life. 

20-somethings. Good God. Being 20-something is like dating someone who is slowly sucking the life out of you. You know that buried deep under all this suffocation there is a vibrant, youthful, productive member of society. The problem is that you have this appendage that renders you completely useless. You are unexperienced. You are unexperienced in life, unexperienced in love, unexperienced in rejection. You might think you have these things covered, but the world remains convinced otherwise. 20-somethings are not to be taken seriously. We are, in essence, the spit in the bottom of the Coke bottle. Just kind of gross.

Many 20-somethings I know take this revelation with a grain of salt. They're okay with it. It will get better in a few years, right? Probably. I, however, am constantly unsatisfied. I hate the plague of my age. Not that I'm wishing my youth away. Please don't get that idea. You could consider me a completely hopeless optimist. I believe that there is a place for the 20-something where she can be respected. Maybe even considered the ice in the Coke. It is my personal mission to find this place. And before I'm 30. Because then the title of this blog will just sound really dumb.

I am 20-something else. Just watch and see.