I'm so busy with all this moving stuff that I haven't had time to call any of my friends who I normally spend time with. Somehow, that's okay. We've got a house to move. The life that was inside this house has been packed up, shared between boxes and our memories, but it's not here anymore. Maybe it's been gone for longer than I realized.

We had dinner at the Chinese resturant that used to be McDonald's. That place still messes me up. Where today there's a mahogany bar, at one time there was a deep fryer and a counter with hip teenagers waiting to take my order. And I'm sure that McDonald's has never served up an order of MuShu pork.

There were trick or treaters tonight. We were at the new house but came back here to my childhood home in time to hand out free candy. We ran into a neighbor my mom knew and as we stopped to chat, another neighbor guided his child past our darkened house, saying that 'those people never participate anyway.'

Nice. My mom was all fired up since this guy obviously had no idea how long we've lived here, how many stupid suburban events we've been part of over the years. Fuck off, all you Stepford families, we don't need your stinking block parties and PTA events.

The new house is pretty cool, spacious and roomy yet cosy. Not creaky like our house seems to me now. The emotions I thought I'd feel are noticeably absent--maybe because Ellie's death has left me spent, more focused on the things that matter, like who you love not where you see them. I gave the last of her things away today, 15 kinds of treats, pills and other stuff. Closure? No, but about as close to it as I could hope for. I still miss her like crazy, I think I always will.

One thing I forgot about Ohio is that it's cold. Frickin' cold. The California Liz wears a sweatshirt in the winter but the Ohio Liz needs a jacket. Hopefully the California Liz will remind the Ohio Liz tomorrow that a jacket is imperative.

And by the way, I really hate Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. I think we should re-name it Who Wants to Kiss My Ass.

But each time, I'm snapped out of it and the fact that she's gone hits me anew. Yes, she's in a better place, in the company of some amazing dogs and people, but my life has a huge hole in it where she used to be. Death is not hard for the dying but rather for those their passing leaves behind.

In this case, it's me left behind.

Don't try to say ' you only had her for 6 months and 8 days, you couldn't possibly have loved her that intensely' because it's not true. Knowing that our time with her was to be short, I made the most of every day I had with her, doing my best to treasure at least one memory from each day. We truly packed a lifetime into 6 months and 8 days, I don't know how I could possibly muster that kind of intensity again.

So I sit there and talk to everyone who comes in, all the while growing more and more bored/frustrated because I'm tired of answering the same questions over and over with each new person. I'd rather play a videotape of myself and save us all some time.

The idea of billing for my time is ideal. It would keep the windbags under wraps and would make it easier for me to say 'you know, this just wouldn't work for me. Ever.' Thanks to my homie brig for this one.

Once we pick the animals we think we can place, it's playing God again, deciding which family is worthy of this animal. Of course we have criteria, selected by experience not guesswork, things like holes in fences, previous animals who died under strange circumstances, unwillingness to spay or neuter, having 'gotten rid of' other pets, the list goes on and on.

Often, I don't have to ask about any of this--people will spill their guts if you listen long enough. So yes, we play God in deciding if these people are worthy of our animals. We're all about saving lives, but more importantly, making sure that the lives we save spend their days surrounded by love and respect. Is that so bad?

Today's Lesson:
When driving your old-ass car, 1. make sure it has enough gas to get where you're going--assume the gas gauge is incorrect and 2. bring your cell phone.
This concludes today's Public Service Announcement.

Here's Holly:

Mostly it just means she's gone.

On to bigger and better funded things!

But I was good, I told her that was fine, I'll stay at my friend's house instead. Then I hung up.

Gee thanks. 1. She's not a show dog, she's been rescued twice so at this point she's pretty fortunate to have a home. 2. Her pedigree says lemon and white. and 3. that's just plain rude.

Asshole. Why write to a stranger just to tell them you think they're wrong? Why can't people just let other people be?

I miss the healthier Ellie who said 'woo! woo!' when she was happy, who followed me everywhere I went, who ate Chex Mix with me after work every day, who bonked open the bathroom door every morning to make sure I was okay, who guarded my bed, who rolled on the grass every chance she got. My Ellie, who taught me the value of living and loving one day at a time. Together we packed a lifetime into 6 months and 8 days. My Ellie and me.

The sweetest of girls, the bravest of girls to fight so hard with such dignity. That was my Ellie. I'll miss you always, little one.

I did just accept a job offer after I got them to throw in the refrigerator I'd been wanting.

Why?

Because I'm so tired that I can hardly function. I'm going to be a real winner at this afternoon's interview. It's my third set this week and I'm officially sick of the whole thing. Someone just give me an offer I want so I can stop the madness.

Because I have an offer that I want but now that it's here, I find that I've become greedy. While at one point, I said I'd take my current salary because I liked the place so much, now I find myself unwilling to do that. As my mom says, it's a difference of a refrigerator. Do you give up a great house because there's no refrigerator? No. You wait and get the Sub-Zero when you can afford it.

Because we got approved to buy a house with no (count it, no) money down and I'm dragging my ass getting the paperwork together. I'm just not ready to move right now, there's too much work involved. The mortgage person is pushing me hard to get going and I just can't.

Because even though Ellie's cancer hasn't spread, she's still in pain and there's nothing else I can do for the moment. We are headed to a homeopathic vet next week, though.

Because I've been so stressed I haven't written back to lots of people who probably think I'm an asshole now.

Because I don't say no very often and when I do, people either don't hear me or are stunned.

Other than all that, I'm great!

In some ways, I'm lucky. My parents are leaving our house, but will still be in the same town, a mere 2 miles away from the house where I was raised. But it's still not my home, they're still leaving 30 years of memories behind in exchange for the smart thing--a one-story model house where they aren't prone to falling and will be able to maneuver easily for years to come.

But they're abandoning my childhood. What once was home is now someone else's house and I feel lost. Where are my memories now? They'll reside in my mind alone and any that might have been brought back with a trip home, triggered by something in my house, will never return. I'm forced to console myself with sentimental rememberings of what once was there. Even when I go there in 3 weeks, it's gone, most of the house packed and ready for a new adventure.

Guess I'd better get ready for the adventure too.

RU-486 It's about time.

George W. Bush is a moron. There is not GAS below Alaska's ground, but OIL, which, when refined becomes gas.

Trouble in the West Bank: kids, can't we just agree to disagree and move on with our lives? I know that you can't erase all that tension with a declaration that simple but wouldn't it be nice if we could?

My job search: I'm tired of talking to crackhead recruiters and to companies that have no hope of ever earning real revenues.

Our home owning dreams are going to happen. Perhaps sooner than I'd ever imagined.

I spent most of my hockey class aplogizing to people who didn't care for knocking their stuff off the bench, for inadvertenly stealing their pucks. And why? They didn't care.