I was born a Ramblin’ Man

 Well, not really.  A Ramblin’ tomboy is more like it.  My dad introduced me young to the pleasures and pains of wandering.  Pains, because when you’re grounded, it’s an ache that tends to find dangerous ways to relieve itself.  I’ve tried many over the last 25 years, and have found a few that can satisfy even when my thirst for adventure exceeds my water supply.   Running is one that has remained a steadfastly stout companion; fast, demanding, unrelenting, and requiring little to no mental effort, which is exactly how I like it.  Yes, go ahead and go there.  I always do.  

  Almost a year ago, I finally got my German Shepherd Dog.  Yup.  Dog is part of the name.  I’ve always wanted a purebred GSD.  When I was a kid, hanging out in a group of ne’er-do-wells in the neighborhood, some bigger ne’er-do-wells suddenly started beating the shit out of us.  Ok, not really.  They squirted us in the face with their neon squirt guns, leaning back on their ten-speeds and laughing their asses off.  The German Shepherd Dog who lived in the house we were at, Schatzy, came ripping out of the garage at a trot that guaranteed she was going to kick some ass and take names. Those boys couldn’t have stopped laughing any faster than if they’d suddenly actually really been in Fast Times at Ridgemont High when Phoebe Cates walks out of the pool.  All that was left was the sight of them pedaling as fast as their scrawny legs could take them in a cloud of dust.  I knew right then and there, someday, a GSD would be my companion.  

  So since the advent of Facebook, I’ve become an attention whore.  Mostly with pictures of my ramblings and my RocketDog.  I decided to stop subjecting hapless innocents to my ramblings and loads of photos and go this route, where people can punish themselves with my drivel by their own choice.  I can’t promise anything other than that–that this will most surely be filled with drivel.  Also, I’m not very tactful generally, I’m blunt, constantly told I’m arguementative and opinionated (who the Hell isn’t?  Some people are just better at disguising it) but hey– this is my fucking blog, right?  If I want to argue with myself, post a million pictures of the same thing, discuss my very blase and unremarkable running and random thoughts whilst running, so be it.  As mentioned before, it’s one of the less dangerous ways to pacify my endless wanderlust.  I can’t promise it will be funny, good, intelligent or even annoying.  Wait–maybe that last one. 

And with that, I’m going to go pour myself another two-fingers and listen to cry-in-my-glass-what-passes-for-country-music-today.