So...stress

So…Stress can suck it

I am so stressed out by stress.

There are days when I try to figure why I am stressed and that stresses me out, not necessarily because I do not know what has stressed me out, but because the list can be endless. Who needs all this stress, well apparently, I do, actually I do not, but I will not stress out about that, or will I?

I try to do what I can to control stress: therapy (yep), writing (yep…no not on the blog but elsewhere, gosh you are needy), meds (definitely yep), eating (triple scoop yep). With all that I still have stress. I actually have stress over how to control my stress.

You see, that is because I am an idiot. My physician recently decided she did not want to write sleep aides (of which I have a yearly script of 30, that’s right I use less than 30 pills a year but now I can not even get that) or clonazepam for anxiety attacks (another med I use less than 30 pills a year) so now I have stress about either finding a new physician or trying to deal with the few times I would need these pills. Arrrrrrgh!

I used to workout twice a day, but now I have three kids which require five times the effort and seven times the money with one third the energy and half the time (somebody do the math on that). What that convoluted sentence means (it sounded funnier in my head) is that I have been neglecting my workouts, ok I have not worked out regularly in three years. So now I stress out when I do not work out because I know what I am doing to my health (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, culinarily) and on the occasion I do work out I stress out over what I could be doing at home or how I may be putting my wife (what…dinkus married me?) out. This shit sucks…oops I have a kid reading over my shoulder…I mean this stuff stinks.

I have been told the best way to control stress is to let go, but I am also reminded that if you love something let it go and if it comes back…you know what, who cares?

I really, and I mean really, want to control stress. Crap (I am a learning computer)…now I think I am stressing out over wanting to control too much.

So, my dog, the Colbster

My dog should be put up for sainthood.

Colby (or Colbster or Colby A) is my seven year old black lab mix that amazes me almost as much as my children.  When my ex and I got him, he was just 12 weeks old and he was adorable (and he still is, in a roll on your back and show your junk kinda way).  His giant brown, soulful eyes, the white stripe that went down his chest and the gray ring that went around his tail were Norman Rockwell-esque.

I was going to name him Crosby (being a huge Penguins fan), but I was afraid a lot of people would name their pets (or kids) after Sydney Crosby.  Instead, I went with a sure fire name of a player that could not possibly be traded, since he was Crosby's best friend on the team, Colby Armstrong.  Armstrong was traded a year later (it's ok, now people just think I really like cheese).  Clearly his life with me was off to a fantastic start.

I had been warned that Labs took a long time to mature and get out of the puppy stage, but I had no idea how loooooooong it really lasted (longest. three. years. ever.).  He was a chewer, and he did not  have any distinguishing taste.  He was a fan of shoes, a wooden stand my grandfather had made, Luke's binkies, and oddly enough the carpet (the hole was dead in the middle of the living room, of course).  He would constantly run around, after what I have no idea.  The mistake  to get him a laser light was made (there are few days in my life I wish I could redo, that is one).  While it was hysterical watching him chase the laser light around the house, onto the couch, up the wall, etc., it was not so hysterical when he constantly begged/cried/acted like a teenager for the light.  He knew we put it on the fridge, so we moved it.  That did not work, because even tho we knew the light was not on the fridge, he did not (mind boggling, I know).

Colby was enrolled in puppy obedience school, and he was doing a nice job too.  However, about 3/4 of the way into it, Luke was born.  Clearly I missed a few classes with Colby A, and it showed as he was now THAT dog in a class.  I am sure you all know what I am talking about, he was more interested in sniffing some ass and biting some ears.  

When Luke was born I naturally had some concerns how a rambunctious puppy would do with my son, I know I say this a lot, but I am a moron.  I should have been worried how my soon-to-be-mobile son would be with my soon-to-be-calm dog.  As soon as Luke was mobile, Colby was a target.  Luke, and later Ave, would torture this dog.  They had no issue grabbing his tail, putting their fingers in his eyes, trying to grab his tongue, licking the inside of his ears (my daughter is so gross sometimes) and falling on him like he was a real life Pillow Pet.

Colby took it all in stride.  He never, and I mean never, snapped or growled.  It was like he was supposed to be with these kids.  I would look at him while one of my kids would be water boarding him, and he just looked up with those soulful brown eyes that told me he was cool with this, if he could have shrugged, he would have.

He (I refuse to call him an it) has had patience with my children, but man his patience with me is even more impressive.  First, I was a very different person when we got him.  I had a bit of a temper and I did not walk him enough, yet he plodded on in life.  I realized the other day that while my kids went thru a major transition during the divorce, so did Colby.  He lost his mom, kids, and his "brother" (a shepherd husky mix named Rico).  He never showed any behavior issues (probably because he likes the first couple of days my kids are gone).

There was a time after my divorce/separation that I did not want to be home when my kids were not there.  I would go out, sometimes overnight, and leave him alone.  I fed him and let him outside to do his sinful business (vague The Simpsons reference there), but he was in the house...alone.  This dog was a champ.  He did not have any accidents, aside from a bout with UTI (ouch), and he always greeted me with a wagging tail and cloud of hair (he's a shedder to the point he can look like Pig Pen coming at you).

Like I said, he is seven years old, so while he still has brown eyes (even more soulful now), his face has a lot of salt and pepper, his white chest stripe is drowned out by gray and the gray ring around his tail is replaced by all black, his look fits his demeanor, he is laid back, caring and patient, just like a grandfather.

His chewing on the carpet and running after the laser light are now replaced (like one of his ACLs)  with the occasional walk (when his bad wheel will allow it) and ten minute games of tossing a plush bone in the air.  He is not the same dog he was 5 years ago, but who among us can say we are.

Come to think of it, if I could be more like my dog, I would be a better person.

So, about the whole online dating thing...

So when I got divorced I knew that I was not the same person I was before I got married.  I knew that my views on the world, politics, religion, kids, etc. was completely different.  I am sure if you look back 10-12 years, you would wonder what the hell that person was thinking (I'm also sure that in 10 years I'll look back and wonder what I'm thinking now).

Unfortunately, the lack of self confidence and lack of guts I had before I was married when it comes to asking somebody out never left.  In fact it is probably worse now than it was in high school.  In high school, you had the sweaty pits and sweaty hands, you fumbled over words and you acted awkward, but in the end I was pretty resilient.  I just moved on to the next person (I was such a lothario, not at all).

Let me tell you something, as an adult I had hoped all that crap would have been controllable...nope, not a chance.  It is absolutely terrifying to put yourself out there.  I still have the sweaty palms and sweaty pits (and I think even my ears sweat somehow), I still get tongue tied, and I still act awkward, but to make it worse I have this whole I-am-aware-of-what-I-am-doing feeling while doing it. I do not know if it is because I am divorced or have kids or what, but I am keenly aware that I could be making an absolute ass out of myself (and on a much higher level than usual).  I have literally had a hard time physically saying words (those that know me, probably don't believe that). I have been terrified to put myself out there, because I thought being rejected can be one of the worst things ever.

So, I took a different approach to dating when I really decided I wanted to get back out there, I went the online route.  Now let me just say I have friends that have done well with match.com or eharmony.com, but I would not include myself in that group...not even close...I hate it...I bet the eharmony founder didn't use his service to find his wife.

First I tried match.com.  It is basically like signing up for Facebook. You put in your profile, add some pics, creep on some people's pages and send a wink/nudge/elbow to the face to somebody you think is cute or has a compatible profile. Of course match.com sends you about 5-7 profiles a day they think would be ideal for you, this is all based on...well...I don't know because they were so off I would have had better luck opening up the phone book (do those still exist) and pointing to a name.  I am a non-smoker with kids, I constantly got profiles sent to me where the people were smokers or did not want to date somebody with kids.  Well, I can't really do anything about the kids part (I didn't keep the receipts), and I do not think I want to do anything about the smoking part, so...

After wading thru the "picked specially for you" list, I would find a few that seemed to be normal, remember that word seemed, it comes back into play later.   I can not speak for anybody else, but I sent out quite a few unreturned messages and winks.  When I would get a wink or message from somebody I tried to respond, I really did, until the end of my subscription when I was letting it run out. 

So then I would get some responses back and some of the exchanges were nice, most were from hookers, some would start up then fizzle out and the occasional one would lead to a date who brought a gun with them.  Oh wait, did I mention a gun?

So after emailing back and forth for a week or two with what seemed (there's that word again) like a nice sensible person (she was a teacher, they're clearly sane, right...right?), we set a date to meet up.  We went to the movies and I got there first, and I waited.  She was late, and keep in mind she said she could see the theater from her house, but hey, things happen, right? I do, however, remember thinking this is not how it is supposed to be.  It did not feel right to me, but I was already there, so I was going thru with this.  She got there and we shared an awkward hug that feels like you're hugging a distant relative that you don't remember at all.  We talked a bit before the movie started and then settled into our seats.

After the movie, we decided to grab a few drinks so we could get to know each other better. She told me she was originally from the north hills part of Pittsburgh, but I noticed she had a New Jersey accent.  I asked her about it and she said she spent a summer there once (um ok). We got to talking and since it was in November the election was coming up and she started asking about my thoughts on politics.  I firmly believe there are three things you shouldn't bring up to somebody you first meet, religion, politics and Notre Dame football (all three will give you very passionate responses that could really blow up).  I did my best to dance around some of the questions, because I could tell she was passionate about it, but I was uncomfortable.  Somehow the political discussion turned to gun control.  I'm not a gun nut, nor am I anti-gun.  I have  hand guns and I have shot guns, but I do not hunt and I do not carry a concealed weapon.  I told her this, she did not like that at all.  Apparently I was supposed to be clearly on one side of this argument.  Her response, and I am assuming it was out of frustration, was to open her purse and show me that amongst the wallet, make up, some wadded up tissues, etc. was a handgun.  She informed me, in her New Jersey accent, that this should tell me where she stood (as if I didn't already know).  Shortly after that I asked the waiter for the check and walked her to her car.  This was clearly a loss for both of us, or so I thought.  At her car I gave her a hug and she asked if we could get together again.  It was at this moment that I realized I was wrong and I would rather be rejected, than do the rejecting.  I politely (I hope) told her that I didn't think it would work and she said ok and drove off.

Oh, and if you sign up for one of these sites, be prepared to get about a million emails begging you to sign back up, even if you opt out.