October 19, 2019

That dog that I went to see about has come home to us. His new name is Gladwell and he doesn’t like stairs. He thinks running is funny and In’n’Out is yummy. Hikes make him tired. Patios are his favorite. I think he’s going deaf and he only has one eye. He’s a street dog from Orange County.


Anyway, Coppola really wants to be his friend but Gladwell isn’t super interested in Coppola. This makes Coppola try harder, I think, which only annoys Gladwell. So basically, Coppola is truly my son. We’re bad at understanding boundaries but we really, really like you. Please like us.

I had to go out to Santee to get Gladwell (formerly, Mr. Marbles) and on my way home, I got lost. My GPS was telling me to take Mast, which I did, but it dead-ended into this.

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This is not a great photo but it was a group of people all dressed in black, hijabs, and waving American flags. There were two police SUV’s. Did I mention this was at a dead end? Well, it dead-ended except that you could turn left into a neighborhood. Which is what I did because I was lost and hoped there was a way out. There wasn’t. So I had to pass by the group again. Then I attempted to follow my GPS which led me to pass the group again and turn into the neighborhood again. Did I mention my license plate reads: Holy & Wild? Did I mention there were cops? I really was nervous I was beginning to look suspicious especially since I came around twice after taking this photo. Geez Louise. I ended up abandoning the directions and took Mast in the opposite direction all the hell the way to I don’t know where but it worked because I found the 67 and made it home.

But first, we went to In’N’Out.


Coppola and I have gone to In’n’Out once a week, every week, since he moved down here. It’s our thing. We usually listen to Grapes of Wrath bcomgthatbookissoooolongitsbeenlikethreemonths or NPR or This American Life, etc. Today, we listened to David Sedaris. I got each of the doggies a saltless meat patty, which they enjoyed. Then, keeping in tradition, I finished my vanilla milkshake and let Coppola lick the straw and inside of the cup. This time I left a little more so Gladwell could have some.

My car is officially covered in dog hair and doggie bags. I plan on vacuuming it soon but feel good I at least got the outside washed. The dogs did OK in the car wash. I’m obviously a fan of exposure therapy so I’m hoping to expose Gladwell to as much of the tedium and horror of my life so he gets used to it faster and can get on with the business of loving us.

When we made it home, he seemed to be happy enough to have a quiet place to lie down with patio access. Though, I guess if he’s going deaf everything likely seems quiet. Coppola seems to be kind enough to know not to sneak up on him when he’s sleeping so I’m grateful for that.


Strangely enough, I haven’t told my parents yet. I told my sister and she was excited. It’s ridiculous that as a grown-ass woman I’d try hiding a pet in my own damn apartment from my parents 100 miles away. They love dogs. The thing is that they assume any pet I get will later become their responsibility. Which isn’t completely unfounded. All the animals I’ve brought home have eventually ended up in their care. Animals my sister has brought home as well. They had like 10 cockatiels at some point during the Recession and the greatest distraction from our poverty and unemployment was watching them all be born.

Anyway, I was visiting my budget yesterday and simulated being able to pay off all my debt by the end of 2022. I’ll be 36. I’m 33 right now. This includes my car and student loans… and rigid adherence to a frugal lifestyle. So, I’ll need to pray for strength on it.

Then I simulated not getting into any more debt and continuing to save and where that’d get me by the age of 40. Then I laughed, and laughed, and laughed…

God laughs, too, when we make our little plans.

Coppola laughs, too.