Rant: Dog Owners Are on My List

Warning for irresponsible dog owners: Stop right here. Don’t read this. I’ll just piss you off.

I’ve been walking a lot lately for a few reasons: 1) I really prefer to go outside to exercise, even if it is 95 degrees, because fresh air is good for my mind. 2) My ankles think they’re older than the rest of my body, so running is painful. 3) A trip to Santa Fe and Taos in September has several days of hiking on the itinerary; therefore, training is in order between now and then so that I don’t embarrass myself on the trails.

My favorite walking route is through Eagle Lake Park, a beautiful Florida setting with an entrance just down the street from my home. Getting there before 7 a.m. means fewer people, dozens of rabbits nibbling grass, a better chance to spot the elusive fox squirrel and listen to the soothing cacophony of birds greeting the sun.

A few deep breaths and stress begins to melt away until… Until I come across the first pile of dog crap right in the middle of the trail. Can you hear my silent screaming?

So instead of spending my time looking up into the treetops to spot an osprey or hoot owl, I’m having to watch my step.

No, I am not a dog owner. Still, what do dog owners not understand about picking up their dog’s excrement? If they find their own dog’s poop so disgusting that they can’t bother to be considerate to others, why’d they get the damn dog in the first place? Do they really think that their own dog’s crap doesn’t stink?

I know that not every dog owner is thoughtless. My deep and heartfelt sincere appreciation goes to those of you who carry little plastic bags on your walks.

Rude dog owners beware: I’m the bitchy old lady down the street who you hate and I’m watching you. (Especially the chihuahua owner who seems to think because her dog is little, its little piles don't count.)

Employed? Unemployed? Nope. Introducing DKR Communications

Instead of slipping on the high heels this week, I allowed my feet to go commando and flipped open the laptop at home. Introducing DKR Communications.

Here’s the deal…

A little more than a month ago, I let my boss at Syniverse Technologies know that I was ready to try something different. To get back to my writing and editing roots. To stop driving 40 miles each way to work. To stop working 50-60ish hours a week on top of the time I spend in the car. Four weeks later, I’m sitting here at my kitchen counter writing a blog entry.

I know, I know. Blog writing won’t pay the electric bill. Just to make it clear, I do have paid work on my agenda. One, I’ve turned my former employer into a client. Apparently I’ve fooled the people there into thinking I have some skills, so I’ll continue to work on special projects for Syniverse as long as they’ll have me. Executive and investor communications have been on the agenda this week. I also scrounged up other work with a New Jersey-based company. I’m converting a white paper to an industry publication article and developing a couple of case studies.

So, no, I am not unemployed. Just self employed. I need to get used to saying that, I suppose.

Am I worried this won’t work out? Of course. Am I missing my friends (and they were friends more than colleagues) at Syniverse? Very much. Already. Has NPR withdrawal started because I can’t listen to my shows on the way to and from work? Yup.

Now for the flip side. This morning I took an hour walk through Eagle Lake Park — an hour I normally would have spent sitting behind the wheel of my car on my way to work. And I swear that the scowl lines between my eyebrows are beginning to fade.

Maybe, just maybe, this will all work out and produce a happy ending.

Facing, Conquering a High School Reunion

The dreams — and not the good kind — began a couple of weeks before a recent high school reunion party. Anxiety, sweaty armpits and feelings of inadequacy, the same feelings I often experienced in high school, filled each dream and remained after I awoke.

What the heck?

Why should I — a 50-year-old woman who earned a master’s degree, has remained happily married to the same guy for 30 years, raised with my husband two intelligent daughters who didn’t move back home after completing college, and traveled the world both for pleasure and for business — feel anxious about seeing a group of people more than three decades after having left adolescent hell?

Have you figured out yet that high school was not one of the better times in my life?

More often than not, I felt like a social outcast lurking on the fringe of the popular cliques despite having known many of the members all through elementary school and junior high.

Could have been that I wasn’t a joiner in an attempt to be a ‘70s free spirit who shunned organized activities. Could have been that I had an inability to make witty small talk and smart retorts. Could have been my horrible teenage skin and hint of female mustache. Could have been that I was a member of the band and an oboe player. Could have been that my shyness was mistaken for snottiness. Could have been a lot of things, imagined or real.

So after failing to lose five (or 10) extra pounds and to perform the requisite number of pushups needed to sculpt my upper arms, I visited a salon to eliminate stray grays and wax my upper lip, donned a new dress that would properly support and display half-century-old cleavage, and headed to the festivities.

What happened? I had a good time.

So a week or so of reflection time has left me with the following:

• I still am and probably always will be uncomfortable and unskilled with small talk, though that’s nothing new.
• I still am racked with anxiety in social situations, though a glass of red wine helps soften the edge, as evidenced by the reunion Facebook photos in which I am tagged. This is not new knowledge, either.
• I still feel like I’m teetering on the rim of the “in” group circle and more likely to fall off instead of in, but I don’t care much at all. This is a newer realization and one I’m glad has finally sunk in. Takes off the pressure.
• And apparently I had an impressive ass back in the day. Turns out my future husband wasn’t just saying it so he could get a better up close and personal look at it. (Thank you, gentlemen. Your short but sweet reminiscing about my 16-year-old backside made my day.)

Most importantly, I learned there are a lot of good people out there with whom I attended high school. I hope our paths cross again soon and we can have a conversation in a Starbucks or at a cafe, where my social skills work much better.

Welcome to Diane's Blog

Blog evangelists generally have the same list of must-does for any wannabe blogger:

• Have a focus for the blog’s subject matter
• Write for your audience
• Post regularly

I am clearly screwed. I have no clue about where this blog will go. I have no idea if anyone will read anything written or if he or she will come back for another look after the first look at my drivel. Oh, and I have an occasional problem with commitment to tasks, so the “post regularly” part is threatened before I even put up this first entry.

One other blog requirement I hear repeatedly is to be authentic and transparent. Warning (or relief) for readers: No sharing of my deepest and darkest secrets will take place in this venue. I don’t even think about those things myself as some things are best left untouched. You know what I mean.

I hope you join me on my blog journey and that you’ll share your comments and suggestions along the way.