Pulling an all-nighter. Only 7.5 hours until the van picks me up for the airport. I’m still packing. I’m stretching it out to keep me awake. I’m pretty excited/nervous. I know it’s gonna be an amazing trip, despite weather and whether or not I packed the right shoes.
Diana & I kind of have no idea what we’re doing but we’ll figure it out. We’re smart kids. Going to an office party the night we arrive, so we can meet all the AKQA peeps out there as well as the neighboring office who is having the party.
Anyway, just wanted to put a quick note up. I may or may not post as we go along, but I’ll try to keep photos tossed up on Flickr.
And if for some reason, I die, just know that I went out in really high spirits. Not that I’m planning to die, but just in case. I mean, I could fall down the stairs walking to the van. That’s actually the most likely scenario on how I would die going to Amsterdam. Diana could write a book, "How Amsterdam killed my friend, Mindy" and everyone would expect drugs or some heated red light district fight and then be utterly disappointed when it turns out that I didn’t even make it Amsterdam. Talk about a twist ending. Maybe I’ll write the book but make it all about a philosophical death. Too much genius for one post. See how I ramble when I’m sleepy?
Anyway, I’m pretty much skipping Thursday this week. I’ll land on Friday and therefore, be a day off in my head for the rest of the week. Crazy how that works.
Back to packing. No more rambles.
Wow, I’m gonna be on a plane to Amsterdam in a couple days. It felt eons away, and now it’s practically here. Crazy times.
Ok, and I had an awesome nap Sunday. You know one of those naps where you don’t sleep too long and get groggy, but you wake up and feel like you have a whole new perspective on life and maybe you should never sleep ever again, just nap because naps are so amazing...
Yeah...and after that I cleaned. I cleaned like I was getting paid to do it. I’m talking sponge in each hand, down on the floor, scrub-scrub. It feels like a new apartment. I even vacuumed cobwebs out of the corners of the ceiling. I know, I rock. You should stop by just to smell the clean. Next step, being able to reach the light in my bathroom to put in a new bulb. It’s been so long that I’m gonna feel all exposed when I finally get a light.
Spindig was Friday. It was good times. I was pretty social, despite being left by the bus. I stood there waiting for it for 15 minutes. I waved to signal him and I was completely blown off. I was so irritated that I walked the 12 blocks or so. Grr. Karma paid me back though. I got my drinks for free due to a credit card machine malfunction and a kind bartender. Oh, and a truck full of immigrant workers hollered & honked at me. That was nice.
Saturday I went shopping on Haight. There were some lovely gentlemen working at Shoe Biz. I have severe shopping anxiety and they totally put me at ease. Thank you, boys, wherever you are. I had some good food at Asha that night with Justin, who invited me along to see Girls and Guns in 3D. It’s not at all what I pictured in my head. There were no life-size cut-outs of girls and definitely no laser tag. Instead, there tasteful photos of scantily dressed women holding revolvers, printed in offset blue/red, making some hot 3D action when viewed through the glasses. It was a neat exhibit. The old school viewfinders gave the best results.
Wow, I took a boring turn in there. I’m just stoked to leave the country. It feels weird leaving since I still kind of feel like I’m on vacation already. Vacation on vacation. My life is amazing.
My spirits have picked up from last week. Thanks for asking. I made it through. I’m a tough broad. I just hope I don’t get hit that hard for a long time to come. It was a rough week. I have to say thanks to Johnny’s friend in Amsterdam for being a drunk and having a friend that tells of his tales. It was the best laugh I’d had in a week. Sadly, it made me that person--the one laughing out loud at their IM window, while wearing headphones in a quiet room. I hate that person, but I seriously couldn’t stop myself. In fact, I need to put some quotes.
We were at a wedding party and we made him get a cab
because we wouldn’t let him ride his bike
We heard a "ding" and turned around. He’d crashed his bike in to a pole.
Good times waiting for us in Amsterdam.
The phrase "farm dog" paints a certain image for most--that of Old Yeller or Lassie--some large dog that wrestles coyotes and treads through creeks and prairies with their human companion. It’s usually nothing close to a 10-pound yorkshire terrier. But Jobbie was just that, a farm dog. Though he’d cooperate for the occasional photo near some pretty flowers, he was no indoor dog. He had a thirst for exploring, proved mostly by the solid mass of cockle burrs he’d return to the door wearing. We spent hours pulling those things out of that poor dog. Nature had not given him the proper attire for his adventures, but soon, we fixed him up with a schnauzer haircut so he could roam free without fear of entanglement.
Jobbie was a special dog. I know that’s what everyone says of their pet, but my claims are not without evidence. We drove all the way to Pittsboro, IN to retrieve him, after months of mom pining to own a yorkie, my dad had finally given in. We picked him out of the bunch and he traveled home with us in his little crate, despite our pleas for him to ride on our laps. It’s been so long, that I cannot say for sure, but I don’t think we held out longer than 1 night before snatching him from the back porch and offering up a cozy spot in the bed. And snuggled up way down under the covers in my parents bed is where he spent his nights from that point on. As he got older in recent years, he’d usually beat my dad to the bedroom door, dropping the hint that he was ready to get under the covers.
Soon after we got Jobbie, a friend of my brother’s was watching Aladdin and somehow, made up the name Jobbie. My mom heard it and decided it was a good name for our new puppy. Despite our extended family trying to rename him Puddles, the name stuck. We tacked on the other names because mom had wanted to give him a French name, so not only did he get a French name, he got 3 names, making him pretty fancy.
We were fascinated by this tiny dog. He fit on our Barbie beds, and as we found out one day when he went missing, he could fit in my brother’s toy tool shed as well. It became my brother’s favorite game--"what places can I hide the tiny dog?" He was a quiet little guy, but we did notice him in the dryer before starting it.
Jobbie had no street cred in the eyes of my dad. He hid him under the seat whenever he took him to the vet. It wasn’t too long before dad came home with another surprise, a St. Bernard pup. Some might call it overcompensating, but my dad said it was the dog he’d always wanted to have. This new addition, Buddy Joe, stayed in the house as a pup, but quickly outgrew his indoor welcome. Jobbie owned this pup. To me, they were always a bit like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito, muscle & brains. They were quite a pair but never fought. Buddy Joe knew his place.
Even as he got older, we tried to take Jobbie wherever we could. He bailed out of the dune buggy as we were barreling down the road. He was completely fine. He was possibly the healthiest dog the vet had ever seen. Even in his later years, he was remarkably able. Each visit, we would be prepped that his days were probably numbered due to his age, but the little guy just kept on living. His hearing was gone and his sight was practically there. He weighed a bit of nothing but had a healthy appetite and explored the area around our house as if he were still a pup. He became a bit needier these last couple years--wimpering for some lap time. Personally, I don’t think it had anything to do with his age, but more to do with 3 other dogs sharing the house with him. This dog was raised with constant attention. He just missed what he used to have. Normal for anyone, I say. But he was old and a little gray and his hair was thinning. No one wants to cuddle with the dog you might break if you hug him too hard. I felt bad for him.
I may have fallen short on showing affection for my family, but I made it a point to give that dog a little me-time. His utopian life had been disrupted by the addition of a smaller and more hyper yorkie, who I believe, if dogs actually have feelings about other dogs, Jobbie absolutely detested. The pup wanted nothing more than to play & frolic and Jobbie wanted nothing more than to avoid those 2 things as much as possible. It was a rough adjustment time for Job. He withdrew more & more each time I visited, to the point that I would have to scour the house to find him hiding on some blankets somewhere.
He was a great little dog, who stuck by us during some tough times. I only hope he enjoyed his days. I like to think we gave him some adventures most other yorkies would only dream of. He didn’t waste his days in a designer tote with ribbons in his hair and 2-hour appointments with the groomer. He had adventures--rode on 4-wheelers, chased cars, attacked UPS men, and tore my dad’s "no indoor pets" rule completely to shreds.
This morning, after getting off the bus a block past work because I wasn’t paying attention, I was crossing the street when I felt my phone ringing. It was my mom. She said "Jobbie got hit this morning by the neighbors." I knew in his frail state there was no way he could have survived, but that little ounce of faith we all hold on to begged to ask the question anyway, "Is he dead?" "Yes," she responded, noticeably holding back on some emotion. The neighbors said he ran out as they were coming over the hill and there was nothing they could do, which I believe. He couldn’t hear or see them in all likelihood. It was really a matter of time before it happened. Luckily, my brother was home to bury him in the yard. My mom couldn’t bring herself to look at him. I really didn’t know what to say other than "sorry," before reverting back to my safe play of using humor to lighten the situation. "Well, now aren’t you glad all 3 of us left our dogs with you? At least you have company :)"
I do feel bad, though. Jobbie’s been with us about 15 years. That’s a long time for a pet. It’s hard for the reality to sink in way out here, but thinking about it is definitely making me tear up. I imagined with his age that when I left that morning for my trip across the country that it would be the last time I ever saw him, and so I was sure to give him an extra scratch behind the ears. And between he & Snippy, who I was also certain I would never see again (but has made a complete turnaround with her medication), I had to rush off to get in the car because I felt the tears coming. And they’re definitely coming right now.
Jobbie, thanks for being a wonderful part of the family. You’ll be missed, but I’m certain you’re thankful to be rid of Briece at long last.
Here Comes the Sun Again - M. Ward