RabbitBlog Rawks And Stuff

I love RabbitBlog. I used to love Suck, until they went away, which sucked and not in a good Suck-age kind of way. Now I love RabbitBlog in spite of and more often because of the egregious swearing for effect. Read thusly:

“We’ve all been through all kinds of bullshit. But believing in love makes love possible, and deciding that it’s impossible is fucking stupid. Getting hurt is no big deal, idiots. I’ve been hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt. Every time it’s easier. You have to keep leaping, keep throwing yourself in. Find someone who’s worthy of your crazy mind and your stupid notions and your filthy urges and your homemade waffles with blueberries on top. Fuck the flinchy and the fault-finding! Find someone who’s fun and moody and sweet, someone who knows how to listen and apologize, someone with opinions about everything, someone who can’t help but tell you how great you are, often. I know you can do it, fuckwieners. I’m counting on you.”

and (via Brutal Women, another blog I gotta rave about):

“Life is short, dippies. Today is the day to make your move. Buy some flowers, and a lottery ticket, and start to believe in the possibility that your life could be big and bright and pretty. As Frances McDormand says in “Almost Famous,” “Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid.” Magic, honkies! Believe in magic for once in your narrow little lives. Give up on the mundane for a minute, and open up your hearts, and listen to all the dead people in your office and on the street outside, screaming the same thing: “Live, motherfuckers! Stop planning and fucking LIVE.”

I’ve been sick since almost the New Year – first flu then pneumonia then lungs not working and needing fuckloads more asthma meds. Now I can breathe again, and focus, and stay awake without having that creeping sense of paranoia that the Earth is about to fall into the Sun just because I can’t get enough oxygen. Yay drugs. Time to fucking LIVE. Life is good.

Of creatures that remind me that life is good, Angus the Mangus (like Dennis the Menace but fuzzier) is awesome still and always. I heard him bark for the first time today. Not the “let’s play” bark we get on occasion when he’s really amped and just can’t help but sound off, but a full-throated “get the hell out of my backyard or I’m gonna eat you, you nasty flappy feathered thing” bark. I wouldn’t mess with him, based on that sound. Never mind that both his bark and his tail are bigger than the rest of him (although the rest of him is a hefty 41.5 lbs at a mere 17 weeks… we got ourselves a big dawg). I really wish he didn’t have such a passion for eating the lava rocks out of the backyard firepit, but hey, every dog’s got its quirks. The cute way he makes piggy grunts when excited to see us, or offers up a paw in preparation for assuming the belly-rub position, more than make up for the various untidinesses of tending to a critter who’s the goat of the dog world.

Of two-legged creatures who remind me that life is good, TGP is the best. He’s definitely the man to have around when one is sick and flailing – he never flinched when I coughed up half a dead frog and it splattered all over the kitchen sink, nor failed to take on full dog and dishwashing duties when I was too sick to stand up straight. He even pets my head and tells me that I’m beautiful when my face is all red and chapped and swollen because I’ve just used up half a box of kleenex mopping up the brains that have been leaking out my nose. He’s either totally delusional or the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. I vote for the latter.


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