Breaking the Chain

Happy 2012 everyone!  Yes, I'm wishing you a happy New Year on April 11th, that's the way of my world.  My blog world that is...I'm returning from my yearly break.  You know, like the ones I took here and then again here about a year later.  At least I'm being consistent in something right?

But no really, I don't just blog because I want people to read my weird thoughts about my weird life.  That's actually on the verge of scary.  What I really want to be able to do is look back when I'm 95 and remember the time my dog ate my favorite shorts or the story behind my broken ankle that is now arthritic (I'm fast forwarding to when I'm old remember?), or look back fondly on songs I liked or books I've read.  I realize that by taking these long breaks I'm totally putting a hurt on my story book of life.  This is all very much assuming that I can even remember my name at 95. 

It's time to get back on track.

So, while I've been gone I see that my following has tripled.  Get that, TRIPLED!  It went from one faithful reader to three.  Those are some powerful stats.  I aim to quadruple by the end of the year.  Who's with me?  ~crickets~

Since we last spoke things have been buzzing with work.  I'm now the assistant manager at the Santa Cruz SPCA and it continues to be the job of a life-time.  I consider myself one of the luckiest people alive to be making a living doing something I LOVE.  I'm blessed.  Just to remind you, I'm greeted every morning with smiling faces like this...

and everyday as I leave the furry kids behind I'm sadly bid adieu by faces like this...

It's not healthy.  Plain and simple.  But I love what I do and I do what I love.  Oh and by the way you just met Dazzle and Stanley, currently available for perpetual cuteness.

Because of the cute factor I almost ended up with a second dog recently after "fostering" a young puppy.  What was supposed to be a weekend gig ended up lasting about a month. Fostering is such a joke and I will never do it again because all it does is send me into a whining fit of "I want to keep him!" which in turn sends my husband into a terror induced coma out of which he emerges with a lot more sense than me.  Stay-tuned for a post dedicated to "Tikki," my almost-puppy-that-I'm-glad-my-husband-talked-me-out-of.  It's a doozy.

Thanks for not hurling rocks at me as I crawl out of my hole and yet again enter the blog world.  At this point though, I assume the lack of rock throwing can actually be attributed to the fact that no one is there to throw them.  Does a tree falling in the woods make a sound if no one is there to hear it?  I'll just leave you to ponder that...