Guess I only write sad animal things in here now. Anyway, hi!

I’m having a "feel all the emotions" week and it’s making it hard to concentrate on or accomplish much of anything. Which...fine. Sometimes this is just how life is. But it sucks.

Last year at this time, almost exactly to the day, we found out that Mara had cancer. Specifically, anal sac adenocarcinoma or, as we maturely called it, "butt cancer." She had a mass on her anal sac (heh) and one of her lymph nodes. I won't bore you with all the fears and tears and options we ran through at that time, but we decided to start with surgery to remove the masses. She came through it great! There were some follow up steps, including an experimental (but free!) vaccine and oral chemo which, did you know that was a thing? Crazy. We were hesitant, but it had no negative effects on her, really, and was keeping the cancer from spreading. For a time, anyway.

She had a follow up appointment last week, and they found a mass on another lymph node. It hadn't been there a month ago when they did an ultrasound, so they took a sample. We found out yesterday that the mass is cancerous. Because of fucking course it is. I don't think either of us were surprised. When they told us there was another mass that had appeared that quickly, what else was it going to be?

I'm mostly OK. Mostly. It fucking sucks, but I've been mostly holding it together, if only because we still don't know what all the options are yet.

I just keep doing this thing where I'm, like, poking my feelings? To, I don’t know, see how much it hurts to think about Mara not being here this time next year, or when we move into a new place, or, fuck, not being here at all FULL STOP?

I don’t know why I keep doing that. It turns out it hurts a fucking lot, is what it does. And it makes me cry every time, and my eyeballs feel like they’re going to dry up and fall out of my head already so I really don’t want to cry anymore.

Meanwhile, Max is acting weird and apparently has arthritis and then he started eating dirt obsessively (wtf?) and we don’t know why. He gets to go back to the vet on Monday, so I’m hoping they can figure something out. I don’t know. I know this is normal (I mean, not the dirt-eating thing but, like, dogs having issues). He’s getting older, of course he’s going to have medical issues. But why does it have to be happening when we got such terrible news about Mara?

Life is supremely unfair, and I know that, but I don’t know why the universe feels the need to show me evidence of this all at the same time. It's rude.

At the same time, I know that we are very lucky. We’re lucky to have at least some funds, though they are not unlimited, to help our dogs with these issues. We’re lucky to have back up plans for moving and upcoming travel, should we need them. We’re lucky to have one another, so we can lean on each other when we’re having I AM NOT OK moments. I know all of this.

I also know we’ve been really lucky to have the last year with Mara, something I’ve thought and reminded myself of often since this time last year. We didn’t know if she’d make it through the surgery she had. And she did! And she has been acting normal (well, normal for her) ever since. We’ve been really lucky to have that time. The cancer she was diagnosed with is an aggressive one. We were lucky to have that time to enjoy her and, yes, even to take our time saying goodbye to her. Pet owners don’t always get that.

Still. It fucking sucks ass, is what it does. And no amount of luck with change that.

Goodnight, dear void.

Oops I haven’t been writing again SHRUG EMOJI. Oh, me. To be fair, after Joe and I got back from vacation a couple of weeks ago, we both got super sick or just had colds but whatever, either way, I didn’t feel like writing or doing anything that wasn’t lying on the sofa and whining about how I didn’t feel good.

Also, sometimes, it’s just hard to get back in the swing of things when you get back from vacation, unless the normal swing of things is just coming home from work, half-assing the easiest dinner you can think of, and then watching ER reruns until the end of time and by end of time I mean until you’re trying not to fall asleep on the couch because George Clooney is long gone and you don’t recognize any of the characters on the show anymore because seriously, why is Shane West. Not why is Shane West here, just...why was Shane West ever a thing.

Anyway. Hi.

I haven’t blogged in a hundred thousand years because...I don’t know, blogs don’t exist anymore and I’m pretty sure no one will even notice that I’ve posted this, but there’s something nice about screaming speaking quietly into the void.

I have been trying to write more frequently but it happens in spurts (grossest word) and usually I’m too tired after work to do much of anything. My new job (which is not really new anymore) is busy all the time but even busier in the summer because that’s when we need the most volunteers and most of my job = finding volunteers who want to clean up lots of poop and potentially get bitten by wild animals who hate them. Honestly, who WOULDN’T want to do that (I’m being serious) but it does take finding the right kind of person.

SIDENOTE: if you think you might be that person, please look up wildlife rehabilitation centers in your area and see if they need volunteers SPOILER ALERT they probably do but also heads up, you can’t cuddle the animals because it turns out WILD ANIMALS DON’T LIKE THAT. If you absolutely MUST cuddle animals, I don't blame you, but please look into animal shelters because those animals are in great need of cuddles.

Anyway. Turns out working is tiring DUH.

Things I’ve been trying to write include:

1. Daily journal entries. I average about 2-5 of these a month. 
2. Book reviews for Cannonball Read, a project in which you’re supposed to read and review 52 books over the course of the year. I’ve written...7. (But I’ve read at least 46, if my calculations are correct, and they probably aren’t. 
3.  A novel. Yeesh, who isn’t. 

I have been experiencing zero to middling success on the motivation and word count fronts but OH WELL. A quote popped up in a book I read recently (which one, I have no idea):

“Any time spent is better than no time spent.”

I’ve been trying to take it to heart. It’s always been difficult for me to not give up on things that take a long time to complete, or that I can’t focus 100% of my attention on, but I guess that’s what GROWING AS A PERSON is all about. Ugh.

Phoebe Princess Consuela Banana Hammock Buffay

When you get a pet, you’re basically signing up to willingly have your heart broken. Until they develop some sort of serum that extends the longevity of animal lives (get on it, science), we know that, in all likelihood, we’re going to outlive the little life we’re suddenly in charge of. Sometimes they pass naturally, hopefully at a ripe, old age after living a long, healthy life. Sometimes, unfortunately, you have to make the decision for them.

We took Phoebe to the vet last week and learned that she wasn’t doing well. She had several underlying issues that pointed to even more serious issues. There were options. More medical tests. Long term medications and vet visits. But we knew they’d be torture for Phoebe. We went home to think it over and decided that, when we really thought about it, her quality of life wasn’t so good. And adding additional medical tests and medication? Wasn’t going to make it any better. It would only delay the inevitable, and there would always be a chance that we’d wait too long and would need to make the decision suddenly. And in that case, she’d most likely be in even greater pain than she already was.

It wasn’t an easy decision. But it was what was best for her, even if it broke our hearts. Today we took her to the vet for the last time. I’ve been struggling with this decision, obviously, and have only just come to terms with it, though that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped crying about it. This week has really just been an exercise in how many tears the human body can produce. I assume I’ll stop crying at some point. A person can’t cry forever. (RIGHT???)

I adopted Phoebe 12 years ago, funnily enough from the animal shelter I’d later end up working at. I decided I wanted a cat, found the most terrified, saddest looking cat I could on PetFinder, and adopted her. Adopting such a terrified cat as a first-time cat owner was not my brightest moment, but we made it work. After she hid for a week and spent a few months slowly peeing on all of my possessions. Still. We found our stride.

Phoebe was with me through five moves. She was there when I met Joe, when we moved in together, when we got married. She was there when we (to her consternation) brought home Max, and later Mara. She was a sassmouth, who’d respond with a meow whenever you’d say, “kitty?” She hid from most people and was never very social, so whenever she’d crawl on my lap, I’d sit as still as possible, hardly breathing, so I wouldn’t startle her away. Last night, for the first time in a while, she came downstairs and crawled on my lap. Just for a few minutes. I think she was saying goodbye.

I’d had other pets as a kid, but she was my first pet. The first pet that I was directly responsible for. Though I feel like I failed her in not noticing earlier that she was struggling, I’m glad I was able to do right by her in the end. She’s not suffering anymore. And even though she did, in fact, break my heart, I also know she’ll live there forever. Thankfully, there’s some peace in that.

I wish I could rewrite the ending on this one

I have most Mondays off, so on nice days, I go hiking at one of the many parks in the area. Last Monday, I spent most of the morning and early afternoon hiking and, on the way home, tired and muddy, I drove through Lincoln Park, a small residential park with a few trees and a pond. As I drove by the pond, I noticed a woman in the middle of the road. In front of her was a duck, struggling to drag itself out of the street.

I pulled over and got out of my car, and at that point, the duck, a mallard, had managed to get himself into the grass. He seemed comfortable enough, though wasn't moving to walk or fly away, despite his wariness of the humans standing around him. A man who'd also been driving by told the woman and I that he had called animal control. He drove away and the woman, who had a car full of kids, soon followed him, thanking me as she left. 

“I guess this is my problem now,” I thought, and went back to my car. After texting some friends and Joe, I came to the conclusion that I’d wait for animal control but try to find another option in the meantime. I called Brukner Nature Center, which does wildlife rehab, and the woman I spoke to told me that, if I was able to capture the duck, I could bring it to them. Knowing what animal control would do should I leave the duck there, I decided to at least try to capture him. How hard could it be to capture an injured duck? 

SPOILER ALERT, it turns out it’s super hard! 

Joe left work early (which is ridiculous and also why I love him) and stopped to get a box and some towels. We tried to capture the duck once he got there, but it FREAKED OUT and also all the other pond ducks and geese came over to see what we were doing and swarmed around us like a bunch of duck-zombies, hungry for brains bread, and in the midst of all the confusion, our duck got into the water. 

So. At that point, we could have given up. But instead we went to Meijer and bought a net. 

We rushed back to the pond and saw the duck, which we (stupidly) named Lincoln, sitting on the little plank-ramp that the ducks use to climb out of the water. He wasn’t able to climb all the way out, so he was just sitting at the end. And unfortunately, every time we got near him with the net, he swam away to the middle of the pond where we couldn’t get to him. 

We decided to leave for the night, since it was getting dark, and try again in the morning. We tried for an hour the next morning, but were still unsuccessful. I came to visit Lincoln during lunch and again after work, each time feeling more and more useless. When I visited him that night, I was at first hopeful that he had gotten out of the water, as all of the ducks were huddled together in the grass next to the pond. But as I walked the path, I soon found him, still in the water, on the complete opposite end of the pond. He was still swimming away every time I got near him, but not quite as quickly. And he was all alone. 

I went home and cried to Joe, but we decided that, at that point, we should probably just let it go. He didn’t want to be caught. I’d spoken with someone from the parks department earlier that day, who told me that it’s extremely difficult to catch a duck that doesn’t want to be caught, but that they would try to catch him the following day. It made me feel a bit better, but I still felt like I’d failed in some way. If only we’d been able to get him before he got back in the water. If only. 

The next day, I went to work as usual, hoping that the parks department would have better luck than I did. Joe texted me around lunchtime, saying he wanted to try one more time to catch Lincoln. It turned out that my kind-hearted husband, also feeling badly about the duck, had gone by to see whether the parks department had been there. They hadn’t, and Lincoln was still in the water. He wasn’t swimming away as he had been the day before, so Joe thought maybe we could catch him this time. 

All of our duck-catching gear (which at that point consisted of two towels, a box, work gloves, a net, some bread, and a dog crate) was still in the back of my car (because you never know when you might need to catch a duck), so we were all set. We got to Lincoln Park and formulated a plan. I was cautiously optimistic but trying to tamp it down, as my optimism had gotten us nowhere so far. 

On our first attempt, Lincoln swam away again. He slowly made his way to the other side of the pond. I decided to stay on one side while Joe walked to where we thought Lincoln was headed. He crept up to the edge of the pond, slowly dipped the net in front of Lincoln, and Lincoln swam right into it. Joe scooped him out of the pond, easy as anything, and made his way toward me. 

Guys, I wish I could adequately describe the jubilation I felt as I watched Joe walk toward me, Lincoln safely in the net. I dropped the bread I was holding and sprinted to the car to get the crate ready. Joe deposited Lincoln into the crate and we made our way to Brukner, hoping that we’d gotten him in time. 

Brukner is about a 40 minute drive from where we live, and we spent the entire trip alternating between excited chattering and sitting in happy silence. Every now and then I’d break the silence with, “REMEMBER THAT TIME YOU CAUGHT A DUCK?” and we’d start laughing hysterically. 

(We also later realized that there was a guy fishing in the pond the entire time we were trying to catch Lincoln, someone who watched us scoop him into a net, put him in a dog crate, and then quickly drive away. I hope we gave him a fun story to tell on Thanksgiving.) 

Once we arrived at Brukner, we were able to transfer Lincoln into their care easily. I filled out a form, they gave us a patient card so we could call and check on him, and we were done. We both went back to work, feeling happy that we’d tried our best to help. 

I wish I could say that this story has a happy ending. 

Brukner was closed on Thursday and Friday, and when we called on Saturday, they told us that Lincoln had died. They did everything they could, even taking him to an outside vet, but, after all that, his injuries had just been too extensive. 

I wish I had something deep to say here. But I don't. It just sucks. 

Even now, a few days later, I still find myself tearing up about that duck. I spent five days fixated on him, thinking about how to catch him or what was happening to him at Brukner. Our giddy happiness at having caught him turned into an impressive display of grief (we cried a lot and then impulse-bought a brass duck statue that we found at a vintage-y store) for an animal we’d known less than a week. 

If I’m honest, lately I’ve been feeling frustrated about the many terrible things happening in the world, things that I cannot change, or situations that have no easy fix. And here was a situation in which I could actually do something. There was a hurt animal in front of me. I knew exactly how to help. Someone else gave me the knowledge, I had all the tools. And I still failed. 

I keep wondering how my week would have gone had I driven home a different way. Or if I had just ignored the situation and driven by instead. I probably would have worried about the duck for a bit, then placated myself with thoughts that someone else probably dealt with it. Maybe that’s how the people I met last Monday are feeling. Several people happened upon Lincoln while I was waiting for Joe to get there with supplies, and each one seemed supremely relieved when they realized I’d taken ownership over this sad little duck. I'm a bit jealous of them, really. They can at least tell themselves that the duck was probably fine, since someone was there helping. I wish I could have done more.

Still, as disappointed as I am, I just keep reminding myself that there are ways to help. 

Brukner Nature Center, and other organizations like it, can always use donations, whether the donations are monetary or items like animal food or blankets. If you’re able to give, they’ll put these items to good use, helping animals like Lincoln, or educating children and adults in the community on how to safely interact with wildlife, both healthy and injured.  

I know that, because of organizations like Brukner, many other animals are successfully rehabilitated. I’m so thankful that a place like this exists in our community and that, when faced with this situation, I had an expert (other than Google) to talk to. I wish there had been a better outcome for Lincoln, but we happily made a donation so that the experts at Brukner can continue helping animals like him. It doesn’t feel like much, not really. But sometimes it has to be enough. 

I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.

Apparently, I only write here every six months or so. Remember when I used to write here multiple times a day? Probably not. I'm not even sure if anyone will even see this. Blogs have changed so much. No one has the attention span for them anymore. Everything is Twittered and Tumblred and FOR GOD'S SAKE Snapchatted, which I don't entirely understand because I'm an Old now. When did that happen?

I'm constantly surprised by the passing of time. Which is ridiculous. It's been passing my whole life but I'm still shocked by it. When someone says something happened in 2007, I think, "oh, that was just a couple of years ago," but no. It wasn't. It was eight years ago, actually. Eight years. I could, like, have had an eight-year-old in that time. I mean, I'm glad I don't. Eight-year-olds are little sassmouths. There are already two sassmouths living in this house, we don't need another one.

Anyway. I used to post here so much. I do miss it. The blogging community kind of fell apart in the last few years (and, yes, I realize that by saying "few" years, I could possibly be talking about the last eight years ago...WHO KNOWS). But I also think I used to post here more often because I wasn't happy at work and, probably (who remembers) in other ways. If posting less means I'm happier, then according to my archives, I've been getting steadily happier over the last ten years. I posted over 400 times in 2004 (Jesus, lady, no one needs to hear that many of your thoughts) and a whopping 7 times last year.

Do you guys ever read your archives? I find myself getting lost in mine sometimes, on my most past-obsessed days, trying to figure out where that girl went. Is she still there, somewhere? As we grow and get older, do we always encompass who we once were? It makes me a little sad to think she might be gone completely, but I can't be that sad, because I really have nothing to be unhappy about these days.

I really, really like my job, you guys. It feels weird to say that because it's never been true before. For a long time, two years exactly, I was pretty miserable at work, which made me not want to write anything because misery is exhausting. Then I got a job that I really like and things got really busy and I never wrote anything because work left me exhausted, but in a good way. Because I get to, like, use my brain and stuff. I even get to write sometimes.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't really have an excuse for not writing here more often. Not a good one, anyway. I find plenty of time to watch TV, and too much of it. Which I suppose means the girl I was talking about up there isn't really gone at all so WHEW BULLET DODGED.

NaBloPoMo: Day 5

I got homework at work today, which is fun because I don’t get homework anymore AND it involves very little effort on my end, which is my favorite kind of task.

My homework was to take this Myers Briggs personality test, something I’ve taken multiple times in the past, but took it again JUST IN CASE my personality had slightly shifted in the past couple of years. Or in case another personality had taken over, slowly and subtly, and I didn’t even notice. I was interested to see which Harry Potter character my new personality is.

As suspected, I am still Draco Malfoy, though percentage-wise I’m almost tied with Remus Lupin. I’ve taken a million and a half of these tests (thanks, Buzzfeed!) and am always either INTJ or INFJ. I like to say I’m an INTJ most of the time because fictional INTJs are always evil. Mr. Burns. Walter White. Tywin Lannister. Louise Belcher.

Yep.

INFJs are much nicer. Lisa Simpson. Kermit. Elizabeth Bennett. JK ROWLING. They’re also the rarest of personality types, unless you bring gender into the equation, in which case female INTJs are the rarest, tied with female ENTJ and male INFJ (going by my really extensive research that was basically Googling “rarest myers briggs types by gender”). SCIENCE.

GOB is an ESTP, apparently.

Why am I still talking about this? IDK BECAUSE I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MYSELF OK? Welcome to blogging.

Anyway. I think being tied between INTJ and INFJ means I get to pick whichever side I want. There are positives and negatives about both, but the INTJs have Mr. Darcy. So. I think you know who I’ll choose. Always.

Suck it, Cumberbatch.

NaBloPoMo: Day 4

Today I was singing in the shower, like you do, and, as is so often the case, my songs of choice hailed from the Joss Whedon oeuvre. I haven’t tested this theory officially but I’m pretty sure I could sing “Once More with Feeling” all the way through ALL BY MYSELF YES ALL THE PARTS ALL OF THEM.

I’m not really what one would call a “good singer,” but I do enjoy it, even if it’s just singing along to the radio or making up dumb songs to sing to my pets, or playing Rock Band a million years ago. Remember Rock Band? We have the entire set that sits in a closet in our house because it’s not fun to play just the two of us and we are hermit people who never invite anyone over to our house and the dogs haven’t learned how to play guitar OR drums yet. Slackers.

(Why doesn’t anyone play Rock Band anymore? We played it so much a few years ago and then just stopped but I don’t think anything took its place. Anyway. Whatever.)

I was in choir in school and I loved it, especially the time in fifth grade when we went to McDonald’s in our fancy robes to sing Christmas carols and I got to stand on a table and it was AWESOME until I went to the bathroom to take my robe off and one of the snaps on it got stuck in my hair and I for real thought I was going to have to shave my head to get it out. I didn’t, though. GOOD STORY.

The only thing I ever really miss about church is all the singing in unison. Which is weird because whenever I was the acolyte, I never wanted to sing along to the songs, I think because I was sitting in the front of the church, where everyone could see me, and the last thing I wanted was to be seen PARTICIPATING EARNESTLY in something. PERISH THE THOUGHT. 

(Did your church have children as acolytes? I don’t know if it’s just a Lutheran thing. I think maybe it’s like being a choirboy in the Catholic church. Basically, I lit the candles at the front of the church when the service started, staring at the flame as I carried it, hoping and praying (appropriate) that it wouldn’t go out because THEN WHAT WOULD I DO? Would I have to go to the back and start over? What would people think? What would GOD think? Anyway, I also was in charge of holding the dish where people put empty glasses when they were finished taking communion. It was really a lot of responsibility for a 12-year-old.)

If I wasn’t acolyting, though, I really enjoyed the singing part of the services. Especially at Christmas, because I actually knew those songs, except for the weird extra verses of songs like Silent Night that no one on solemn Christmas episodes of TV shows ever sings so why do they even exist?

 A couple of years ago (um, ok, four years ago, yikes), I went to a Sound of Music sing-a-long at the movie theater and it was magical. A couple years before THAT, Joe and I went to a Dr. Horrible sing-a-long at ANOTHER movie theater and THAT WAS ALSO MAGICAL. I haven’t really seen anything else like that around here recently, other than a Frozen sing-a-long last year that I was afraid to go to because I thought I might get irrationally angry at any kids butchering the words. So. I guess what I’m saying is, I really need a non-church, non-solo, adult outlet for singing. MORE OPPORTUNITIES FOR SECULAR SING-A-LONGS.

Until then, I guess I’ll just dig out Rock Band. How hard is it to teach a dog to hold some drum sticks, do you think?

NaBloPoMo: Day 3

I doubt anyone noticed, because this blog has become a bit like speaking into the void (I’m not complaining, it’s kind of nice, like it was when I first started it and just rambled on and on like I was writing in my diary), but I forgot to post yesterday.

Well. No, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t forget. I knew perfectly well I needed to write something, I just...didn’t. There were two reasons for this:

1. I spent much of yesterday preparing for our annual volunteer appreciation banquet.

2. I spent all my time not preparing for the banquet watching many, many episodes of Gilmore Girls with Joe.

And you know what? NO REGRETS.



I put pressure on myself a lot of the time for just SUPER dumb reasons. Like, I don’t even know, that I was five minutes late for work and now the day doesn’t count anymore? That’s a bad example. I can’t really be late because I can get there whenever I want. But we’re going with that right now because I can’t think of any other examples and it’s my blog and I do what I want.

My point is (and I do have one) that, even for something that means nothing to anyone but me, like National Blog Posting Month, I tend to be very hard on myself if I feel like I’m, I don’t know, “cheating.” So if I post a video instead of actual words or GOD FORBID don’t post one day, it negates anything else I’ve done for the month.

This is stupid, flawed logic and it’s something I hate about myself so I purposefully sabotaged myself early on in the month and now NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.



Anyway. Bye.

NaBloPoMo: Day 1

Willow: Carpe diem. You told me that once.
Buffy: Fish of the day?
Willow: Not carp. Carpe. It means “seize the day.”

Hey, so remember last year when I quit my nice HR job to work part-time at an animal shelter? And how most of my family (and probably my friends) thought I had lost my mind? At the time, I knew it was the right decision, even if others in my life didn’t understand it. Still. I’m not going to pretend it was always easy. Money was tight, my schedule was erratic, and I had no idea if this part-time position would ever lead to anything more.

A few months ago, while working with potential adopters, I met someone at the perfect time. Don’t you love how that happens? I’m sure it’s entirely coincidental, the pure happenstance of meeting someone who passes along a lesson you really need to hear, or it’s something our TV-addled brains just put together for us, wanting to turn our lives into a story with a satisfying narrative. But I don’t care. It’s the greatest feeling, meeting someone who turns out to be the exact person you were supposed to talk to that day.

It was a busy day at work, like always. I had been meeting with people all day, was in fact outside in one of the yards introducing some dogs to each other (you know, normal stuff), when someone came to tell me another person was waiting. I went inside to meet him and, through the course of his interview, realized I was talking to one of the nicest people I’d ever met. Like Heather Anne Hogan nice. (Psst, that’s really nice.)

He was there to meet a few dogs, as his dog had died a few months prior. He wasn’t sure he was ready to adopt another dog and was, in fact, still going to a grief support group for the loss of his pet. We talked a bit about Oak Tree Corner then, and how so many people are uncomfortable talking about grief, or even the idea of grief, and how certainly there are people out there who just don’t understand how hard it can be to lose a pet.

He didn’t end up adopting a dog that day, but during our conversation, he asked me how I ended up working there. I explained that I’d been working in HR for a long time but wanted a change, to do something where I felt like I was making a difference in the world.

In all honesty, in the days and weeks before I met this man, I’d begun to wonder if I’d made a mistake leaving HR. It hadn’t really been so bad, had it? It was a nice enough job. The money was better. The hours were better. I’d been thinking, you know, that maybe I should go back. I felt like I wasn’t contributing enough to the household. I wasn’t making as much money as I had been. My hours, I’m sure, were hard on Joe, since I worked most weekends, and often late-ish on Saturdays and, once I got home, I was usually exhausted. Good exhausted, but still exhausted.

Still, I couldn’t imagine going back to HR. It felt like giving up every time I thought about it. And when I mentioned it to this man, this near-stranger I’d met twenty or so minutes before, he said, “Oh, god, no, never go back.” You see, he, too, had once worked in HR, for more years than I had, and he also hated it, so he left and started his own business and never looked back.

“Don’t do it,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “You’ll regret it.”

I don’t know why I accepted this advice. Unsolicited advice usually makes me go homicidal and, in fact, want to do the exact opposite of whatever I’d been told, because apparently I’m still a child. But I think I was able to take it because it was exactly what I needed to hear, exactly when I needed to hear it. It’s what I knew to be true, deep down, under all the fear and doubt.

A month later, I interviewed for the job I currently hold, a full-time position (at the same company) that I love. The money and the schedule are better, much more in line with my previous full-time position. The difference now is, I’m so much happier when I’m at work. The days are so busy. There’s so much to do. But I’m EXCITED to be there. I love going to work and there are days when I accidentally stay late because I’ve gotten so distracted by whatever I’m working on that I didn’t realize how much time had passed. AND EVERYONE IS SO NICE. Plus, you know, if I ever need a break, there are plenty of fluffy animals around to distract me.

I used to come home from work full of complaints about the day. It was exhausting, and I’m sure not super fun for Joe to listen to. Now I come home and can’t wait to talk about the wonderful people I work with and the animals I work for. So Joe is still sick of hearing me babble, just for different reasons.

I guess my point is follow your dreams or whatever? Even if you’re scared? I don’t know. I still feel like I’m faking my way through this whole “being an adult” thing most of the time, but I think I’m getting better at it. So there’s hope for anyone, I suppose.

"I lost Ed Truck and it feels like somebody took my heart and dropped it into a bucket of boiling tears."

This post contains spoilers for The Good Wife, How I Met Your Mother, The New Girl, and Hannibal. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. If you get spoiled and get mad about it, take it up with this guy:

If this doesn't scare the shit out of you, you're not watching Hannibal and you must remedy that immediately.

You guys. I'm having a problem. TV is betraying me and I'm not sure I can take part in it anymore. The TV. None of it. It's gotten so bad that I've taken refuge in old episodes of America's Next Top Model, over twelve seasons of which is on Hulu Plus, which is yet an other reason I should cancel both our Hulu and Netflix accounts because I'd get SO MUCH DONE. But we already got rid of cable, so I suppose Hulu and Netflix are acceptable vices. It's healthier than binge drinking, probably. I don't know. I'm not a scientist.

When I was in college, there came a point in my classes where I was reading the following three books at the same time: Moby Dick (for a class on transcendentalism), Hamlet (for my Brit Lit class), and Crime and Punishment (for Russian Lit). These are all...dark, depressing works, so much so that reading the three at one time began to affect my mood. That's how I feel about my favorite TV shows lately. Watching TV hasn't been the joy of all joys that it should be, and it's making me want to stop watching TV FULL STOP because why am I even watching TV if not to enjoy myself?

1. The Good Wife

I've already written about this but it's still SO DEPRESSING. Will Gardner died two episodes ago, and in the latest episode, we got to watch everyone hear the news and cry a lot. FUN. I mean, it was very well done but if the rest of the season is going to be like this, I don't really want to watch it. I wish regular TV shows would stop going all Game of Thrones on their characters.

GOOD BECAUSE IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT I NEED ONE

2. HIMYM

UGH. About 20 minutes into the finale, I realized I probably wasn't going to like how it ended. The internet has been speculating for months that A) the Mother is dead and B) Ted's going to end up with Robin anyway, even after realizing he wasn't the guy who was in love with her anymore and after both he and Robin had grown so much. I admired the time and thought put into the theories but brushed them off (much like I did when someone posited that Will might die on The Good Wife), because why would they do that? After all this time? After making us sit through that horrible scene where Robin freaking FLOATS AWAY ON THE WINDS OF UNREQUITED LOVE:

Seriously, what?

In the end, however, that's exactly the path the creators took, because that's the one they'd planned at the beginning of the show. And it was terrible and I hated it. Some clever person, however, cut together a new ending, one that will wash away (a bit) of the foul taste the finale may have left in your mouth.


3. The New Girl

Look, I haven't even watched the episode where Nick and Jess break up because A) it happened right after Will Gardner died and B) I DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE IT. NO DON'T MAKE ME.

Me too, Jess.

4. Hannibal

Bev died. Bev! I loved Bev! And she died in a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad way!

I screamed.

Sigh. I mean. I know I shouldn't get attached to people on this show. Everyone is going to die and be made into a fancy pies and Hannibal is going to eat it and maybe throw out some food-related puns and we'll all cringe-laugh into our wine, wondering why we continue to watch these shows when all they do is break our damn fool hearts.

THE END

PS: But don't worry, you can wash your tears away with Captain America: Winter Soldier because it was AWESOME. Seriously. It was this good:

The story was good, too, if you're into that sort of thing.

this contains spoilers for: The Good Wife, Downton Abbey, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones and other shows that are so old I've decided they don't need spoiler warnings

I haven’t posted in almost two months and, of course, the thing that brings me back is TV feels. Last night’s episode of The Good Wife ripped out my heart and threw it on the ground and stomped on it with cleats and then scooped it up and threw it into a blender. THINGS ARE NOT OK.

Do any of you even watch that show? I hesitated at first, because it’s on CBS and it seemed like a total mom show (and maybe it is, because most of the moms I know watch it), but it’s actually really, really good. I KNOW. It shouldn’t be that surprising, really. It’s filled to the brim with talent: Julianna Margulies, Christine Baranski, Nathan Lane, Alan Cumming, and, until last night, Josh Charles.

Because last night The Good Wife lost its damn fool mind and killed off Will Gardner.

I have two major problems with this (well, three, if you count the fact that I don’t get to see Josh Charles on my TV every week):

1. The Good Wife is not Grey’s Anatomy. Killing off your male lead? OK, I guess, if you absolutely must, but in a courtroom shooting? Really? 

2. No more Willicia. A major driving force of the show was the will-they-won’t-they thing between Alicia and Will (and whether or not she’d ever leave her dumb husband for him). So. Guess that’s over, unless Will comes back as a walker.

Earlier this week, my friend, Nancy, who keeps tabs on these things, brought to my attention that Josh Charles hadn’t yet signed his contract for next season. We briefly considered the idea that they might kill him off, but dismissed it for the above reasons. Because why would they do that? I’ve seen articles calling this a brave move and, yeah, I guess it is, but was it smart? I’m sure the show will continue to be well-written and well-acted. It will probably bring out some really fantastic acting from the other leads. But I can’t imagine I’ll enjoy it the way I used to. I told Nancy that I would stop watching the show if they killed Will. I still have that inclination, but am also curious to see how the rest of the season plays out. So I’ll watch, but I doubt my heart will be in it (except for the part of my heart that is HORRIBLY BROKEN BEYOND ALL REPAIR).

I don’t remember being this upset about a character’s death since I don’t know when. Which is a total lie, because I REMEMBER THEM ALL. And here they are, in order of feels:

Sybil, childbirth (Downton Abbey)

I was spoiled for this and it was still hard to watch. The show killing off the most likeable of the sisters was shocking enough but was especially nutso when you consider what happened later that season, which leads me to...

Honorable mention: Matthew Crawley, car accident. I was also spoiled for this but, even as I watched, was hoping I'd read it wrong? I read an article last night that compared Will’s death’s to the move they made with Matthew on Downton Abbey and couldn’t help but think, “oh, fantastic, that’s when I lost all interest in the show.”

Billy, brain tumor (Ally McBeal) 

I know, right? What? Ally McBeal? I don't remember a whole lot about this, other than it was really sudden and shocking because this was before the internet spoiled everything.

Melissa Scully, gunshot wound (The X-Files)

This was mostly sad because it made Scully cry a lot and Scully crying is the saddest thing ever.

Honorable Mention(s): Mulder, buried alive in the desert. And Mulder, gunshot wound to the head. And Mulder, alien...stuff.

Hank, shot in the desert (Breaking Bad)

I'M STILL UPSET ABOUT THIS.

The Red Wedding, EVERYBODY STAB NOW (Game of Thrones)

No, I HAVEN’T read the books, thanks for asking, and yes, I reacted exactly like these people did:

Boone, airplane crash, but not THAT airplane crash (Lost)

I wasn't all that attached to Boone, but this was the first main character death and the moment we learned this show wasn't playing around re: killing off favorites.

Honorable Mention: Sun/Jin, drownded (WHY BOTH WHYYY)

Honorable Mention #2: Charlie, also drownded (NO SERIOUSLY WHYYYYY)


Lucy Knight, stabbed (ER)

ER was one of the first shows I really, really loved, and so Lucy’s death was the first time I realized a show could break my heart.

Joyce Summers, Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

This one was just mean. Just...I hate you, Joss Whedon.

Honorable mention: Anya, killed as an afterthought, RIP.

Mrs. Landingham, car accident (The West Wing)

I don’t want to talk about this anymore.


Anyway, RIP Will Gardner.

At least Dan is still alive.

ROONEY MARA!

So, those who follow me on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram (in other words, those tools I use to distract me from doing some actual blogging/writing), may already know this, but Joe and I got a new dog!

She is the weirdest dog ever and I love her.

(I’m sure most of my friends and family, upon hearing that we had some “big news,” expected it to be about a baby but nope. Sorry!)

Anyway. She's a year old, some sort of beagle mix, and her name is Mara but she already has some nicknames, including:

Marabelle
Crazy Eyes
Mad Eye Mara
SWEET GIRL PUPPY FACE

and, my favorite...ROONEY MARA.

(Thank you, Billy Eichner. I can’t find a video of Billy Eichner shouting ROONEY MARA but just trust me that it’s hilarious, OK?)

When I started working at an animal shelter, I figured it was only a matter of time before I fell in love with a dog and brought it home. In fact, I soon started coming home at least once a week, regaling Joe with tales of some new dog I was obsessed with. But he never took the bait. Which...in hindsight was a good thing because A) those dogs were awesome, but would have been a disaster in our house and B) then we wouldn’t have gotten Mara.

I met Mara when I took her to an adoption event about a month ago. The point of taking animals to these adoption events is to hopefully get someone to, you know, adopt them, or at least generate some interest in the dog, so maybe someone will see itand, like, go home and think about it for so long that they’ll suddenly realize they simply HAVE to go back and adopt it.

I guess this time, that someone was me. I actually called Joe and told him to come to the event so he could meet her, thinking that if I was being ridiculous (again), he’d talk me out of it, but then he knelt down in front of Mara and she perched her front paws on his knee and licked his hand and BOOM we were DONE. WE ARE SUCH SUCKERS.

Still, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to rush into anything, so we decided to wait and see if she was still available in a week. Plus also, you know, introduce her to Max and make sure she didn’t like to eat cats. She passed both tests with flying colors.

Phoebe doesn’t really like her, but then again, Phoebe doesn’t really like anyone. Unfortunately, Mara, so far, has not shown Phoebe the deference that Max does, so there’s been a lot of hissing and “NO MARA”-ing, but I suppose that’s to be expected.

We were prepared for a second dog. It’s something we’d been talking about since we moved into our house. There were things we knew, like that our expenses would double, the dogs might not get along at first, Phoebe might riot and puke and pee on all of our stuff, but we were pretty sure we could deal with it.

However. (There’s always a however.) There were things we did not consider. For instance, it turns out Mara is allergic to grain. So that’s been fun! There were a couple of nights where we didn’t sleep, because Mara was up hacking and LICKING THE DAMN FLOOR, which I don’t think is bad for her but it’s really, really unsettling. Also, there was one night where she was acting like she was going to throw up, so I let her outside and then went to the basement to look out the window at her and was climbing over the couch when I fell and ended up knocking over some water I’d left down there and so there was shattered glass just, everywhere, and I thought maybe Joe was going to murder me.

Anyway! Since that escapade didn’t end in divorce, I feel pretty good about the solidity of our marriage. Whew.

It’s been about two weeks now and I think things are finally starting to get to the new normal. Even Phoebe seems to have accepted yet another interloper in her world. Max was pretty perturbed the first few days that Mara was here, mostly, I think, because of two reasons. One was the aforementioned middle-of-the-night hacking, which disrupted his sleep, and the second is that she doesn’t seem to care if Max is lying somewhere she wants to be, she just jumps up and crowds right into him...which disrupts his sleep. He’s getting used to it, though, and has stopped giving us, “why did you do this to me,” looks.

That’s actually one of my favorite things that Mara does. She just makes herself comfortable, wherever she may be, which then causes her to do one of my other favorite things. She seems to hate falling asleep, I assume because she’s afraid she’ll miss something, so she holds her head up and her eyes just fall slowly closed, until she jerks her head and wakes herself up. IT’S ADORABLE YOU GUYS.

She lost.

I was sort of worried that there was no way I could ever love another dog as much as I love Max but it turns out I can and now I love Max even more? Love is so weird. I sometimes think of love as this exhaustible resource, like I should hoard it to myself because I might run out eventually, but duh, obviously this is not the case.

the year end stuff

This morning, around, oh, 3:45am, I threw back the covers, grabbed my pillow, and stomped out of the bedroom because Joe was snoring so loud that I felt my only options at that point were to either smother him with a pillow or go sleep downstairs. I chose to sleep downstairs. I hope Joe appreciates that.

So, you know, I guess it would seem that the year is going out the way it so often comes in: with too little sleep and a headache. I guess what I'm trying to say is I feel hungover even though I haven't had a drop of alcohol which seems unfair? But c'est la vie.

I'm so tired, in fact, that I have started babbling even more incoherently than I usually do, leading Joe to tell me multiple times to just take a nap already. But will I? No! Because I'm not tired! I am basically this today:

TAKE A NAP

But that's not what I want to focus on. OH NO IT'S NOT. It seems only right that I write some sort of end of the year wrap-up, because of, I don't know, blogging rules or some shit. So here are some things, mostly good, that happened this year.

1. I had some book reviews published on Pajiba. SO AWESOME.

2. Related: Marcus Zusak, author of The Book Thief, tweeted me about my review of his book. SO VERY AWESOME.

3. Also related: blogger and writer Pamela Ribon also tweeted in response to a review. ALSO SO VERY AWESOME.

4. I quit the job that was causing me emo feelings.

5. I got a new job where it's actually in the job description to play with dogs and cats.

6. I went on several trips, Chicago (twice!), South Carolina, Florida, and had almost 100% positive experience with all! I say almost because one trip was for work. The non-work parts were awesome. The work-work parts were...not.

7. Two friends had babies.

8. PENGUINS.

9. Had some feelings about volunteering.

10. Wrote a lot. I know it doesn't seem like it if you just look here but I wrote here and for Cannonball Read and Ashley's Harry Potter project but I also did a lot more personal writing. So there's that.

There's probably more but I'm tired of typing and really wanted to end on 10 SO THERE.

Happy New Year, internet. I wish you many David Tennant GIFs (and, you know, other good things) in the coming year!

Allons-y!

hold onto your butts

I can't believe I haven't written about this yet. I guess I've been busy...um...watching The United States of Tara in its entirety over the course of a week. PRIORITIES.

Christmas came and went, as it does, and very quickly, as it ALSO does, and faster and faster each year. But, lucky woman that I am, I got to open one of my Christmas presents early.

I came home from work one evening, exhausted and stinking of puppies (which is pretty standard these days), and trying to work up the energy to go to my work Christmas party (which wasn't too difficult, it's just that I need to work up energy for any kind of extended social interaction where small talk might be expected), when I noticed a card sticking out of my Christmas stocking.

Inside were two tickets to Newport Aquarium's Penguin Encounter. See:

Craziest eyes to have ever crazy eyed.

My response to opening this gift was something like, "What? What? What does this mean? Does this mean...oh my god...oh my god...what does this mean? Does this really mean we get to meet penguins? Like meet meet them? Like shake hands?" for, oh, about half an hour? And then for the rest of the week? JOE IS SO LUCKY.

It was awesome, you guys. The encounter itself lasts only about twenty minutes, which passes far too quickly, but it's great. I'd go again. Like, SO MANY TIMES AGAIN. I'd pay five times as much if it meant I could spend twice as much time with the penguins. I briefly considered asking for a job application once it was over. I mean, how different are penguins from dogs really?

When you arrive at the penguin encounter, a penguin handler makes you wait five minutes while he or she tells you about how you can't pick up the penguins and cuddle them like little babies unless you don't have a particular fondness for your eyeballs anymore. (Still. It's tempting.)

After the liability spiel, you're finally allowed in the room with the penguins. When we went, there were about eight penguins roaming about the room. You mostly just sit in one place and have to wait for the penguins to approach, which is difficult. I really wanted to get up and waddle around with them but I don't think that's allowed.

The handler picks up various penguins and you're allowed to, like, pet them on the back and wings. They're so soft! I wasn't expecting that. And they sometimes make sounds like braying donkeys. Definitely was not expecting that, either. Anyway. Here are some pictures of penguins. That's what you're here for, right?

HELLO I AM A PENGUIN.

I named this one Donkey because she made donkey noises. CREATIVITY.

Blueberry tried to steal my umbrella. I guess cause it was blue.

Newport Aquarium opened in 1999. It's open every day (except major holidays), there are five penguin encounters daily, and each encounter has a limit of 12 people. Assuming the penguin encounters started when Newport Aquarium opened, over 300,000 people have taken this tour. It's fairly easy to buy a ticket. It's not all that expensive. Anyone could do it. But I don't care. It still feels special. Like, I touched a penguin! Who cares if so many other people have done the same? Extraordinary experiences don't become any less extraordinary just because others have experienced them.

I'm not sure when my obsession with penguins began. It was probably always there, along with my obsession with, oh, all other animals. I know seeing this video a million years ago definitely didn't help:

And this latest penguin encounter has only strengthened my resolve to have my own pet penguin someday. I'LL SPARE NO EXPENSE.

All I want for Christmas is this

I keep dreaming about work. But not my current job or anything, because that would be normal. No, I keep dreaming about my old job, which is very annoying as I no longer work there. 

I guess I had a lot more anxiety tied up in my previous job than I realized. The reasons aren't really important. But apparently the anxiety didn't magically go away, even though I haven't worked there in months. I had the most vivid dream about it last night, so vivid that I woke up convinced I was running late, that I needed to get up right away and leave early since it was snowing.

I don't have to be at work until 11:30 today. I woke up at 7:30. So. You do the math.

I don't have anxiety dreams about my new job. Not yet, anyway. Maybe those don't show up until you've been there at least six months. Still. I wish I'd stop dreaming about my old one. I'm not holding my breath or anything, I mean, after all, I had an anxiety dream about high school a while ago and high school is a lot further back than a few months.  

Speaking of work (NICE SEGUE), I had yesterday off so I took my sister to see Catching Fire. We went in the middle of the afternoon and there were about ten other people in the theater, and yet there was still a lady sitting a few rows behind us, explaining specific plot points (loudly, of course) to her husband. She was one of those people who, instead of whispering to her partner during non-silent parts of the movie, would try and speak OVER the loud parts, because OMG what if he couldn't hear her? What if he didn't know that, in the previous movie, Peeta and Katniss had almost eaten poison berries? What if he forgot that Katniss had volunteered for Prim? What if he didn't remember that District 13 supposedly didn't exist? OMG PEOPLE GO HOME AND READ THE BOOKS.

Usually movie-talking sends me into an apoplectic rage. I normally sit there fuming, wishing I could get up and scream, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UUUUUUUP" into the person's face.

Which. I never do. Not out loud. But my brain always looks like this:

Actually...it's probably more like this:

But it didn't bother me that much yesterday. I thought, "well, maybe he's hard of hearing and he missed that part." I guess I finally remembered the whole "this is water" thing while I was actually IN the moment. Score.

(Though that didn't stop me from passive aggressively complaining about the ongoing idiot commentary within earshot of Talking Lady as we exited the theater. YOU GUYS I CAN'T HELP MYSELF.)

Anyway. I'm finding it hard to get worked up about things lately, especially this morning, as right now I'm sitting on the couch, curled up with Max, a blanket, and a hot cup of coffee, the computer screen illuminated by the Christmas tree next to me. I'm listening to the Muppets sing Christmas carols and snow is falling softly outside. I plan on reading Harry Potter until it's time to leave for work, where I will get to play with puppies and kittens until I come home and hang out with my family for the rest of the evening. No wonder I can't bring myself to get worked up about anything, not even Talky Lady and crazy anxiety dreams. Hopefully it'll stay this way. You know, if the fates allow and all that.

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

My idiocy is well-documented on this blog, but I really outdid myself yesterday. I went to the grocery after work, in the midst of a (barely) snowstorm, two days before Thanksgiving. And not only that, I went to the bad Kroger, the one with long lines and not enough cashiers, the one with questionable produce at the best of times, all because it’s five minutes closer than the good Kroger. I always do this. The good Kroger is so nice. It’s newer, everyone who works there smiles and says hi and asks if you need help instead of glaring at you or avoiding eye contact, and they always ask me if I’d like help out to my car. I would never, ever take them up on that, but I like being asked. It makes me feel like a 50s housewife for a moment (and a moment is really the only length of time I ever want to feel like a 50s housewife).

Her eyes are screaming.

I walked around the store, doubling back now and then as I inevitably forgot something, and spent my time mentally killing everyone in my path. The woman examining a box of band-aids, somehow blocking two aisles: DEAD. The man careening one of those stupid car carts down an aisle while his screaming children orbited around it like flies on a turd: DEAD. The lady standing in front of the bananas, blocking the entire display with her cart, while she obliviously chattered away on her phone: DOUBLE DEAD.

As I walked down the baking aisle, scowling at the world in front me, my brain looked like this:

I made this myself.

And then this lady, an older woman who was being trailed by several grandchildren, started coming down the aisle. I was already mentally rolling my eyes as her grandchildren splintered away and she slowly rolled her cart down the very middle of the aisle. However, she maneuvered her cart to one side when she saw me and then she completely erased my bad mood. It was like magic.

“Do I need nutmeg? Hmm, I can’t remember if I need nutmeg,” she said to the grandchildren who were no longer behind her. She kept walking, paying no mind, then looked straight at me.

“What do you think, honey? Do I need nutmeg?” she asked.

And without even thinking, I blurted out, “Of course, you can never have too much nutmeg. I bet you’ll be glad you have it.” She laughed and thanked me for my help, then continued making her way down the aisle as I exited the other end, grinning like a fool.

It reminded me, almost exactly, of a commencement speech David Foster Wallace gave called This is Water. Have you heard it? Here, just watch it. I know ten minutes of internet video is like ten hours of real time, but I promise you that it’s worth it.

I wish I could tell you that, after my short interaction with that lady, I made a conscious effort to pull my head out of my ass and remind myself that no one else in the store really wanted to be there either, and maybe I did, for a few moments, until someone else entered my glare zone. So, you know. Can't really put that one in the win column.

Although, at least I’ve got the perspective now, right? And just in time for Thanksgiving, too.

FABLES review: Volumes 1 & 2

 Crossposted from Cannonball Read 5

It seems only right, as it’s been announced that FABLES will be ending at issue #150, that I should finally start my review of the series. Nothing like waiting til the last minute, yes? I’ve been meaning to review FABLES since my last go round of Cannonball and, in fact, did manage to at least review one collection last year, a Bigby-centric collection called Werewolves of the Heartland.

I wish I’d loved that collection more. I’m surprised I didn’t because, as I mentioned, it was Bigby-centric, but I suppose they can’t all be winners. Luckily, the first two FABLES collections, Legends in Exile and Animal Farm, are absolutely:

Can't stop thinking about DOCTOR WHO: blame the 50th Anniversary.

I came to comics late in life, thinking (wrongly, like so many people) that they were all superheroes and big-boobed-spandex-clad ladies. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I started reading comics and FABLES was one of the first.

FABLES hits all the marks for me. There’s an ongoing mystery, a smart-as-a-whip-takes-no-nonsense heroine, a tortured hero, still haunted by things he’s done in the past, an unlikely romance that sparks in the first collection and heats up throughout the rest. And, best of all, fairy tale characters, just, ALL OVER THE PLACE.

When ABC announced that Once Upon a Time was going to be a thing, I was of two minds. Part of me thought, “awesome, I love stuff about fairy tales, how cool!” but the other part of me, the larger, angrier part, just think-shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK WHY ISN’T IT FABLES?”

I did try Once Upon a Time for about half a season but it just didn’t hold the appeal for me that FABLES did. Probably because, the entire time I was watching it, I was just wishing it was FABLES. 

Oh well. Moving on, I guess.

Slight spoilers, ahoy.

Fables, Vol. 1: Legends in Exile

Our story takes place in a part of New York called Fabletown, where a bunch of fairy tale characters took refuge when their Homelands were invaded by the Adversary and his forces. The Fables have disguised themselves as normal New Yorkers, so the Mundys of the world can’t detect that there are immortal beings in their midst.

We’re introduced to some important Fables, namely Snow White, Fabletown’s deputy mayor, and Bigby (formerly the Big Bad Wolf), the town’s sheriff, when Rose Red (Snow White’s sister) is allegedly murdered. Bigby and Snow team up to find Rose Red’s killer. Prime suspects include Jack (of beanstalk fame), Rose Red’s longtime boyfriend, and Bluebeard, her secret fiance.

We also learn that Bigby has been nursing some hardcore unrequited love for the beautiful Snow White so, you know, YAY SHIPPING.

  Fables, Vol. 2: Animal Farm

So last issue, we met the human Fables but you just know there are non-human ones, right? RIGHT? Well. There are. FYI. The three little pigs. The three bears. Three blind mice. Chicken Little. Yada yada. While the human Fables get to enjoy the conveniences of big city life, the non-human Fables have to live on The Farm, so as not to arouse suspicion in the Mundy world when someone sees a talking pig wandering around. The Farm seems nice enough, really, but some of the non-human Fables bristle at being told they HAVE to stay there.

Enter the revolution, which Snow White and Rose Red stumble right into. Shit gets real, you guys. Shit gets SUPER TOTALLY REAL.

Anyway, it’s hard to review these without giving too much away. You should probably just read them, OK? OK. Good talk.