For a moment, the world stopped.

I like to laugh and do it as often as I can. Life isn't too serious to me, but I am a Cancer with a deep emotional range. I can go "zero to kitty" when I need to, but prefer not to. When I feel it coming on I just breathe deep, like Drew Barrymore in the movie Firestarter, and make the explosion dwindle to a a little pop. "PANT PANT OOOOOOOH....Just back off, back off"....and the fire of emotion flickers out. Just like Drew did it. Of course, sometimes I have a George C. Scott egging me on, like she did. Then all hell breaks loose. Meh, I'm human.

I'm also the kind of guy you want to be around in an emergency. I disconnect the emotion to deal with the emergency calmly. Then I go off and freak out afterward. Tears, sobs, lots of "OH MY GOD". You get the picture. The emotions get redirected, but they don't dissipate. Not like the "hello kitty fire".

Being a middle aged man....sorry, I have to deal with the fact that I just typed that. PANT PANT OOOOOOH. ...OK. I'm good. Being a man in his forties (Thanks Drew!), I have parents that are 80. Since my husband is a few years older than me, his parent are 90. We've run the gambit of health issues between the four of them. Dementia, COPD, falls, pacemaker issues, heart attacks, mini strokes and almost fatal blood disease. Walkers, wheelchairs, diapers, car accidents, oxygen and lots of fear. My parents are on the opposite coast, so when I get an emergency call I have to add a good 24 hours before I can even be close to helping in person. My in-laws are on the opposite side of town. Much easier.

Recently, I have been in awkward conversations with my mother about what happens if my brother retires and moves away. He is that last one in the area to help my parents. His kids recently moved (in the same month...that was easy for them to adjust to. NOT.) My two other brothers live in the south. I'm on the opposite coast. So...ding, ding, ding...he's the winner and gets to take care of them! Mind you, he is about six years from retiring, but my family doesn't like to wait until the last minute to create drama. We like years of build up. Call it the appetizer course. "I'll have the 'worse case scenario' with a side of 'we're going to die alone because our kids moved away'. Oh, and don't forget the soup. I'd like the 'don't worry about us' puree".

After one such conversation the other day, I sat on the floor playing with one of our dogs. I reminisced about my family, the health issues and what was to come in the future. As I half consciously rubbed my dogs belly and chest, I found it. A lump. No, a golf ball. A big, half squishy, half firm golf ball just under my dog's armpit. He's a Jack Russell Terrier. A golf ball size growth seems huge on his medium sized frame. The world stopped.

All I could hear was blood pumping in my head. All I could think of was my dog dying. My pal. The first dog I ever raised from puppy to (now) 11 years old. My parents and in-law health issues I have always compartmentalized to "be the strong one" and lead everyone through. But this little 19 pound bundle of wet kisses and purr-like growls had no way to tell me what was happening until I found it on my own.

Calmly, I turned to my husband and asked him to call the vet to get an emergency appointment the next morning. He was confused, of course, until he saw my face. Then he saw the little mound between my shaking fingers. I think the call took 30 seconds, tops. We had an appointment the next day. I was still rubbing the dog's belly as he enjoyed the back scratching the rug provided. Clearly, this enemy on his chest did not hurt him. I poked it again, hoping it was just muscle and I was confused. Nope. I got it right. I normally love being right. But not then. I would have given up being right for the rest of my life for that one discovery to be wrong.

The next day I was off to the vet. Our other dog, a German Shepard, has a little separation anxiety when he sees the Jack Russell go off without him. I'm talking Dr. Smith on "Lost In Space" anxiety. "Oh the pain! The Pain! OOOOOOOOOH!!!". Kind of like that. So my husband stayed home with him.

I love our vet. She is so cool, as are the other ladies in the office. I don't know if they get a kick out of a gay couple with two dogs that are drama prone, or if they are just amused by the dogs alone. Either way, they seem to really like it when we visit. She should. Our German Shepard's allergy issues bought her a new car. OK, maybe not. But surely a Hawaiian vacation or two.

I had my best "I will be calm and freak out later" smile on as she examined him. Her face didn't lie. It was serious. Not "you have to put him down" serious, but I could see she was grappling with what to say to me. The location of "the growth" is in the middle of significant nerves that are crucial to the function of the leg. It HAS to be removed, but it will be complicated. The surgery and the recovery will determine the use of the leg. Um....hello...we haven't even discussed what is inside "the growth" and I'm already envisioning his leg being useless. So I asked..."what about 'the growth'?" It needs to be sent off to be tested after removal. OK...gimpy leg and tests at some undisclosed lab. Got it. And then she got a crooked look on her face.

"I haven't been able to perfect a jock strap slash bra to place on a dog after this type of surgery."

The humor of the universe found a way to come in and rescue me. I don't know why that statement made me giggle so much, but it injected some very positive energy into me. As we wrapped up and I scheduled the surgery I had a different perspective. Sooooo...he has to wear a jock strap bra after the surgery. Will he be a "B" cup? Should the jock be more of a thong, so we can choose different colors? Will he be identified as a tranny in the dog community? For a moment, my head filled with something other than "this is it". It was delightful.

Of course the next week will involve some spoiling and extra treats. It will also come with some angst and maybe a really strong martini the night before surgery.

Whatever next week brings, I am confident of two things.
First, I am calm in emergencies and I will prevail.
Second, if the universe had to throw this at one of my dogs, it picked the right one. He's a tough little shit and it'll take more than this to bring him down.

Family. Friends. Dogs.

If you have a family, you know how things can be. Sibling rivalry, aging parents, dysfunctional drama and the bliss of the love you all share. As you get older, you can add niece/nephew drama, great niece/nephew bliss, aging aunts and uncles, and so on. I wouldn't change my family for the world. Not even my redneck, bigoted, hide behind religion, third failing marriage brother. My parents helped make me who I am, and I kind of like me. My brothers made some pretty awesome kids, who are now adults. Not to mention my brothers themselves, because they are kind of cool. Well, maybe not the redneck. He's just kind of lost, but harmless.I love him anyway.

I never thought I would be married and have kids. That just didn't happen for "my kind". But here I am...married. No kids, though. Except our two dogs. Yes, I am one of THOSE dog people. They are like my kids, but I don't dress them in little outfits or talk like a wittle bwaby to them. OK, OK, I call myself and my husband "Daddy", but that's as sappy as it gets. We grew out of the matching leash and collar phase early on, thankfully.

So there you have my family. My parents, three brothers, four nephews, six nieces, one great-nephew, two great-nieces, one great-nephew/niece on the way, and a few nieces and nephews unaccounted for in various countries. (My brothers were in the military at the end of the Vietnam War, what can I say?). Add to that my dogs,  husband, his sister, her husband, two nieces, two nephews, and 90/91 year old parents. It's quite a combination.

But wait...there's more! Order before midnight and you'll ALSO get....friends who are like family to us. We have a handful and cherish them like they are blood. Or kin. Or whatever description you use for close family ties. I'd happily give these folks a kidney if they needed it. Or a shoulder to cry on. Cocktail. Place to stay. Make over. You get the idea.  We're talking friends for life. Just like family. Except for one small caveat.

Sometimes these friends can hurt you deeper than any biological relative. Maybe that's because you choose to have them as part of your family, instead of just being born into it. When that kind of hurt happens, there are no books to guide you through. There is no self help website to type in a question and get the right answer. You are on your own, with your anger, sadness, despair, questions, disbelief and an unbelievable urge to vandalize their car. Oops, was that out loud? I digress.

It gets really complicated when the friend that hurts you is actually related to other friends who are like family to you. Still with me? It's like dysfunctional dominoes at a family reunion therapy session. One goes down, they ALL go down. You not only get what the first one threw at you, you get the whole family's approach to dealing with conflict. Handed down over so many maladjusted decades it becomes their reality. In essence, you get the defective family special in bulk. Like a trip to a Freudian Costco, but without the cool food samples. Of course, if they fancy themselves the local Kennedy's, or say, the mafia of town, it gets even more frustrating with the added arrogance and sense of self entitlement. Mind you, because of the aforementioned dysfunction, this is all via email and Facebook, of course. Never in person. Even though they are hovering around retirement age and live a stone's throw from you. Sigh. I guess they are too old for anyone to suggest growing up.

Not that this has ever happened to me. OK, it did. Like you couldn't tell. No, I am not perfect. But I was a good friend. I did what a good friend would do. I was honest, up front and I did it like a man. In person. I'll never regret that. I don't regret being friends with them. There were many happy years. I'll always be a little sad they weren't who I thought they were. Or maybe that I didn't hold the place in their lives I thought I did. The anger is gone. The holes are still there. Especially the one their child left in my life. It's like a divorce. All your other friends run around not knowing what to do. Everyone is sensitive, some want to drag the drama on forever, some have no idea it happened.

So, that family thing. I still love my family, biological or otherwise. I'll never stop adding to the circle. But I will think twice about who to trust enough to be in that circle. Maybe I've become the Kennedy's. Naw...they can have it. Too much drama and everyone keeps kicking off.

I'm happy being the Griffin's. A dog with a martini and a baby who plots to do in his mother.

Now THAT is my kind of family!

I cannot tell a lie. I blogged.

OK, OK. It's a long time coming. I'm finally doing this, thanks to a great friend who turned me on to this. (We all have good friends, but the great one's are few.) Let's hope I am as exciting as I think I am.

So, I feel the need to introduce myself. Like open mic night. Or AA. I'm BonVivantInExile. Not really, but there are days when I miss life in the city (Three of them to be exact. Manhattan, Boston and San Francisco). Maybe I really miss my 20's and 30's, but it all blends together, so we're good. I've come full circle. Born is a small town, escaped the bright lights and big cities.....and circled back to a small town. City, actually. Over 50,000 people compared to my 4,000 hometown population. Along the way I acquired a great wardrobe, life lessons I will never forget, life experiences I never imagined, the love (and betrayal) of friends and a little slice of heaven called home. My version of home comes with my lovable husband and dogs. For those of you clicking back to my profile because you're thinking "I thought this was a guy??", you are correct. And I did say husband. Yup, I'm a Mo. But don't tell my husband. He doesn't know.

I like to think of my blog as an episode of Family Guy. I expect flashbacks, annoying laughs, a dog with a martini (OK, the dog is me) and a variety of situations that will make you laugh and feel better about your own life, all at the same time. That's not to say I have a bad life that will make yours seem so much more tolerable. I don't. It's all what you put into it and how you deal with this dramedy called LIFE.

How do I deal with it? I laugh. A lot. A LOT. At myself mostly. But also at the world around me. Hell, if I don't I'm going to cry, right? Aging parents, upside down economy, loss of personal "wealth", getting older, being on a budget, trying to lose weight, balancing my small businesses, watching my mother in law's mind slip away, and so on...

Where was I? Oh yes, laughing. My friends help with that. I have some funny people in my life. People I love and know will always have something fun to do, say or discuss. Today's subject was phones that auto correct your texts and posts. My example...I was waiting to pick up someone from an incoming flight. It was delayed, so my hubby and I stopped at a swank bar to have a drink and wait. I'm a Facebook whore, so I posted what we were doing. "Having a little drinky poo at "said swanky location" before heading to the airport".  Auto correct does not like "drinky poo" (which is a great line from "The Women", if you saw the original). It changes it to....wait for it....stinky poo. So all my Facebook friends got to read I stopped for a stinky poo before going to the airport. I laughed so hard I cried. As did the entire bar, because I HAD to share it. And that's how I roll.

There's my first blog. That was kind of fun! I have more adventures and thoughts to share. But for now, it's off to bed, where my last thought for the day is always the same. I kiss my dogs good night, I kiss my husband good night, and then turn the light off with a final thought as I smile.

Wow...this is my life. Tell me again, HOW did I get here?