I Wouldn't Step on Your Dog if He Took Up More Space.

YOUR blog is behind, Matt Smith? Let's talk for a second about THIS blog. MY blog.

And yes, since you mention it, everything DOES have to be about me. And at least one word in each of these sentences DOES have to be in all-caps. SOMETIMES TWO. Just so we're on the same page.

I'm glad you're in Seattle. Not that I'm glad that you're not, y'know, in Boston with me, but I am glad that you took a bold step in a direction that may not have seemed entirely right at the time. I think we all need to do that at least once. With most people, that bold, perhaps misguided, step is not a move across the country... or even a move to the Northeast or Midwest or anywhere else. Sometimes that bold step is simply a final decision, unprompted and unadvised by others. Sometimes that step is buying a house. Or quitting a despised job with a good salary. Or marriage.

But for you and me, our bold steps say, "Let's get the hell out of here and try someplace new for a change." We move. We move to places like Minnesota where we know no one, to Evans City where we converse with folks we normally wouldn't even dare approach, to Boston and Seattle where we thrive only with the advice and help of a few dear friends.

The thing about us, Matt Smith, is that we'll make it. We'll manage just about anywhere. We're malleable, adaptable. The places we go can take our red and blue Play-Doh selves and mix it up on their preschool desks and we'll blend into that disgusting brownish gray ball that doesn't really look like anything, until you look a little closer and you see that there's a streak of blue Matt Smith here, writing an article for some kitschy paper about his comical observations of a fishing boat, and a smear of red Meredith there, trying to get kids to understand the world by allowing them to attack each other with yellow felt top hats.

It's a rough life, and a strange life that we're pulling ourselves through. And moving our stuff within. I'm constantly realizing how BIZARRE everything seems to be lately. For instance:
Why does a certain mother on the D-line insist on breast-feeding her FOUR-year old son ON THE TRAIN, let alone breast-feeding him at all? Buy him a hot dog, for Christ's sake.
Why do people think that Starbucks orders are so confusing, and why do they equate that confusion with the French language? "Venti" and "grande" are not French words, so don't tell me, "I don't know what size. I don't speak French." I don't speak French either.
Why do Bostonians cuss as if the four-letter words were merely interjections? And why do they do this at 7 in the morning while remodeling the deck outside my apartment?
Why is a small beverage in Texas 32-ounces?
Why does the bank charge you a FEE for overdrawing your account?
Why do people carry their small dogs in handbags? Throughout history, dogs have WALKED. They have FOUR LEGS, for goodness sake. Let them use them.

Like I said, everything's wild and weird and wonderful. Someday, Matt Smith, we'll find our places where we can settle. Hopefully they're at least a driveable distance from each other.

And I'm glad your stuff fits in your car.
My stuff didn't. And I had to sell my car.