So last week I met my niece, Vivi.

And she's tiny and adorable and a very "good baby," as people say when their babies are... quiet? Right? Isn't that what make's a "good baby?" I'm not sure, but I do know my sister was asked at least 100 times by people we came across in public, "oh how precious... now is she a good baby?"

My sister, being the polite nice human/super mom that she is, would smile and respond, "yes, she really is."

And I would stand just a little more dumbfounded each time, wondering why people ask whether a week old person is "good" or not.

Well she swears a lot, and her favorite word is the C word if you catch my drift,  and boy oh boy is her digestive system active, she shits like sailor after a bad week of fish and sea brew, but other than that, yeah, she's a pretty good person, I suppose. She means well.

Have I mentioned before I think people make weird comments around babies?

I learned a long time ago I have to put just the right amount of attention into meeting a new baby or it can be interpreted wrong. For example, if I'm "too into" a baby I'll receive such comments as,

Someone's a natural...
Good practice, huh?!  
Makes you want one doesn't it?

And my favorite of all,

Oh.... I think someone has baby fever!

Baby fever. What a fever to have.

If people see a childless woman with that glimmer in her eye and a soft smile on her face whilst watching children play, they'll say, "I think she has baby fever!"

And if they see a man.

If they see a childless man watching children play, with a soft smile on his face, what kind of fever does he have? I'll leave that one open because I'm pretty sure we're all thinking the same thing here.

And it is fair? Probably not.

But perhaps no one should be watching children play in this day and age, a mistake I learned the hard way with Harlow this past summer when I was trying to show him the neighborhood pool by our house finally had water in it. I stood outside the gate smiling and pointing, "Har, look! It's a pool! Har!" I stood and smiled for longer than I should have, because eventually I noticed the life guards were all staring at me- an oddly dressed childless adult, gazing into a pool full of children, smiling and pointing, not walking away.

"Oh no, I'm not a creep! Just excited. To see the pool! I love pools!" I yelled as I pulled Harlow from the gate. A dead giveaway for what creeps yell.

So as I was saying, when it comes to babies, I error on the side of caution. And this is pretty easy for me because truthfully, I don't even enjoy holding small babies that much. They're wiggly and hot and that head weighs 1000 pounds and it all just makes me very nervous.

I just keep thinking about how incredibly new they are and it gets in my head. Like, one week ago they were in the Upside Down and now they're here. What a transition! Can you even imagine what that journey must have been like? Nine months of isolation in a hot tub and then BAM one day they're suddenly on land, being held by their crazy aunt who's trying to ask them through telekinesis, "what was life like on the inside?!"

Those Look Who's Talking flicks did a number on me.

Anyway, when I do actually hold a new baby, I make sure I'm sitting down in a sturdy place because that's what proper ten years do. I ask someone to place her in my arms, sit with her for a couple of minutes for photos, and then politely ask someone to remove the baby from my lap.

This post turned out a bit differently than I thought it would.

Long story short, Vivi is healthy and happy and most importantly, has a head full of hair, THANK GOD. We all know how important infant hair is, what with their constant nights on the town, prom up-dos, and everything else a two week old needs hair for.

We'll continue this series on babies on another day, for now Harlow needs to go to the park. So happy all of the kids have gone back to school so we can take our playgrounds back in the morning. When will people learn that jungle gyms are for dogs, not kids?!

said the crazy childless dog woman, as she cackled and reached into her purse for another dog poo bag....

Pumpkin Patch Chic

A question that's been on my mind lately... Is it really even October if you haven't been to a pumpkin patch yet? I think we all know the answer to that one. So when my niece, Lola, asked me to go to the patch with her yesterday (that's what the cool kids call it) I said absolutely!

We drank cider, played in a corn pit (because Nebraska) and rode the pumpkin patch train until I was politely told I was "too big and could I please get out so a child could have a turn," ....  which hurt my heart, but I suppose it made sense.

And naturally I drug my photographer along too (my mom) to grab some of those nice fall bloggy pics I've been after. Given that I'm in a very pumpkin loving mood right now, I'm going to go all in with a fall fashion post today and talk about my favorite finds from Nordstrom lately.

First things first, Nordstrom is killing it with their scarves this year. I got this twill stripe scarf for only $22 found here.

Other favs include these four, all less than $30, and all found by clicking here. 

Now to talk about denim...

I needed a new pair of jeans because I accidentally stuck my foot through the knee hole of my others (does anyone else ALWAYS do this?) and completely ruined them. I'm kind of particular about my jeans because I can't stand when they get super stretched out after one wear. Like, I get irrationally mad about this type of thing.

I also prefer them to be high waisted, I like a shorter crop, and if they give my backside a little lift I won't complain. I stumbled upon these distressed ankle jeans by Topshop for $80 and have been pleasantly surprised.

I've worn them several days in a row now (and one was a travel day and we all know how those go) and they still haven't stretched out! So these have been a total win in my book.

If you want a pair that is a little less distressed, I suggest these, which are also the same fit. And for a pair with no holes (I swear I wear hole-less jeans sometimes) click here, they're the same fit and only $70.

Favorite Jeans:

Now for some sweater talk. This chunky knit has a really fun scallop trip bottom which I happen to love. It's hard to see in this pic, so click here to see a much better photo.

Other favorites include this cable knit and this ruffle sweater.

And I'm pretty sure I've talked about this funnel neck sweatshirt no less than 100 times. It's also a great top to wear when meeting your new niece for the first time. Vivienne approved.

As I'm sure you can tell, Nordstrom is one of my favorite retailers. I always find what I'm looking for and love that they have a wide range of prices, incredible customer service, and free shipping both ways!

Shop my top picks below, or start by browsing all of their new arrivals here. 

Huge thanks to Nordstrom, my absolute go-to for online and in-store shopping, for sponsoring this post!

She Had An Appointment!

In an effort to lighten things up around here, today's post is called "She Had An Appointment." And just like everything I write, it is 100% true.

It is *partially* true.

The other day I was sitting in the nail salon by my house, attending my bi-yearly pedicure appointment, when the events I'm about to tell began to unfold. But before I start, I'd like you to know that I don't get pedis often for two reasons.

1. I am cheap.
2. The guilt I feel over making someone else touch my toenails doesn't sit well with me.

Let's just say I wasn't blessed with "pretty feet." If Game of Thrones needed extras to be feet-doubles for a scene about the Wildlings running amuck through a village, I could step in. And you don't even have to watch that show to understand that reference.

What I'm saying is that my feet look like they belong to an old Viking man who's had a few too many run-ins with giants and dragons and White Walkers chewing on them like rawhides.

Thus whenever I get a pedicure I bring whomever is assigned to me a couple of Gatorades and a sweat towel because I know they're going to need it. Things are about to get messy.

But I digress.

As I was saying.

I was sitting in my pedi chair, talon feet dipped in the warm water, when suddenly a very fancy woman in very fancy yoga pants walked in. The salon was full, but we could all tell by the way Mandi (that's what we're going to call her, Mandi with an I! DON'T FORGET THE i,) thrust the door open that she must have "had an appointment."

Or perhaps we could tell by the way she said it several times before even completely stepping inside,
"Hi, yes, I have an appointment. Hello, I have an appointment. I called. I have an .... " you get it. We all get it. She was the "woman with the appointment at the nail salon."

And yet there wasn't an open chair in sight. We knew it and Mandi knew it. As her eyes darted around the room looking for the person in charge we all kept our heads down, but our ears up, as one does in a situation like this.

A woman got up from her mani chair and hustled over to greet Mandi.

"Hello, here for a manicure?"

"A no-chip. I have an appointment. My name is Maaaandee. With an i!"

"No problem, will just be like five minutes."

Mandi sighed so heavy I can only assume she had somewhere very important to be. A funeral? Maybe a wedding? A birth?

"I don't have five minutes,"Mandi said, "that's why I made an appointment."

Did Mandi realize a no-chip took longer than five minutes? I wasn't sure. But I was sure I didn't want to be the one to tell her. It was clear she was already getting angry. I could see sweat gathering in her subtle blonde mustache, dribbles of makeup caught in each hair like tiny ornaments on a blonde Christmas tree.

I looked around and wondered who had overtaken Mandi's appoinment? I wasn't positive, but my guess was Virginia Slim next to me, I had seen her change her pedi color at least three times! That's sure to throw any schedule off.

"I'm sorry," the employee said, "we'll be very fast I promise."

Mandi huffed again, "Okay... why do you take appointments then, because like, I made one, and now I have to wait."

Nail salon drama was about to happen. We've all seen it before.

"I'm sorry, some appointments have taken a little longer than expected," the employee said.

Virginia Slim, I knew it! Meanwhile, Ginny next to me had her face so deep in a horny novel she had no idea what was going on around her.

"I can wait like five minutes is all and then I HAVE to leave."

Did you hear that? Mandi HAD to leave. She meant business.

Well three minutes ticked by and everyone in the salon kept their eyes on Mandi the entire time, but only via side glances obviously. The tension was as thick as Ginny's breathing.

"It's been five minutes and I have to go!" Mandi announced as she stood up waving her phone as if it was a flag or an official notice, or literally anything other than a dumb iphone in a pink glitter case.

No one said a thing.

So Mandi pushed on one more time, "I'm going down the street to PS I Love You nails, this is ridiculous. I made an appointment."

The woman who attempted to work with Mandi before said, "I'm really sorry," and went back to the manicure she was completing.

So Mandi stomped out, slamming the door hard enough for the bells on a string attached to it violently smack together in one large angry clang, rather than a few cute jingles like bells are supposed to do.

And with that, we all went back to our manis and pedis while watching old episodes of Flip Or Flop on the TVs that were mounted to the walls.

Less than five minutes later a chair opened up right as a new customer walked in. She didn't have an appointment but managed to get a seat anyway.

And then about ten minutes later, the bells on the door jingled again.

Mandi. Was. Back.

"Do you have an appointment?" Asked the employee from before.

THE END.

I'm not actually going to tell you the end, because it's a choose your own adventure kinda thing. What do you think Mandi did? What would you do?

I just love the politics of nail salons and in my head, this post was a lot more interesting. Thanks for sticking it out with me. I'll be back to tomorrow with something much better AND a very exciting ANNOUNCEMENT!

Jk, I won't. I'll probably just be back with a work of fan fiction about Buy/Sell/Trade groups on Facebook because that's been on my mind for awhile and it feels like a good week to write fan fiction.

"Rules are rules, KAREN! You can't say you're buying the lawn chair and then not comment back for over TEN minutes. Ask an admin!!!!"

About My First Foster Experience

About Riley...

I thought I would still have him with me today, but I don't. After learning that the shelter had the space they were waiting on open up (earlier than expected,) I was told I could bring him back for the chance to be adopted. And so I drove him there last Friday evening.

It was hard and I felt really bad about it, but for more than a few reasons, I'm hoping it was the best decision for him.

I talked to him and scratched his ears the entire way, and also packed him a bag with bones, a blanket, some toys, and several bags of treats.

But it still hurt to return a dog to a shelter, even a good one like Felines and Canines. When he got out of my car he didn't whimper or resist, so I told myself that was a good sign. I also told myself timing was in his favor having Saturday right around the corner. The amount of adoptions F&C does on the weekends is insane. And so maybe he already has his home? I can't be certain, but you better believe I am watching their page like a crazy person just waiting for that update.

I knew going into this it was going to be very short term, and truthfully having this be my first foster situation, that's what I felt was best.

Here's a few things I learned from my first experience, maybe it will help you if you're considering giving fostering a try.

1. It's hard.
It's harder than you think it will be- both mentally and physically. But after just day one it gets a lot better. However, don't let me scare you off, I think having a backyard (or even just living on the first floor) would change things immensely.

2. About the not-neutered situation...
I don't think I'll ever take in a dog who is still "in-tact" again. I know that may sound harsh, but having a house full of dog smells already made this especially difficult. The belly wrap helped, but it wasn't just the leg-lifting on every corner of my wall that was hard, around day two there started to be some humping action, as well. And if there's one thing that pisses Harlow off, it's when another dog tries to hump him.

In hindsight, this is totally my fault. I should have known better than to agree to bring another dog into my house who hadn't been neutered while already having a male dog (who gets very mad when he's humped.) But I just didn't know. Now I do.

3. The crate.
Since I work from home, I didn't have to put Riley in there often. But when I did, it didn't go well.

I left him in there for 45 minutes one morning when I went to get dog food and came home to find he had broken off the top, pooped on the floor, peed on the bed, and scratched my blinds beyond repair. And yes, he'd already had his morning potty break, but the poor guy had to go again. We've all been there. I wouldn't want to go in my crate either.

I told myself he was probably scratching at the blinds trying to get out the window to go the bathroom, because he really did have an idea about potty training (regardless of what this story tells.)

The blinds were cheap and needed to be replaced anyway, Riley's pretty much a puppy, so none of that worried me.

However the second crate accident did worry me. This one happened later in the day when I met a friend for a late lunch. I stacked books on the crate so he couldn't knock off the top. When I came home an hour later and anxiously opened the door to where his crate was, I was hit with a blast of hot air. Riley was panting profusely and it was evident he had been working his heart out the entire time I was gone. His paws were red and painful looking, as was his mouth. He had completely chewed the rubber flooring of the crate and had managed to pull up the rug that the crate was on and chewed that as well. When I let him out he collapsed on the kitchen floor and panted for a half hour like he had just run a marathon.

What if I had been gone another hour? Or two?

It was heartbreaking, and also evident that crate wasn't safe for him. So I emailed the shelter asking for any tips, or assistance, anything at all really, to help with the crate situation. And that's when they wrote me back and said that they'd just had several unexpected adoptions and the space they were waiting on was open. I could bring Riley back.

And that's why I originally had taken him in, to keep in my care until the shelter had some open spaces. Taking him back on a Friday evening before a busy weekend of adoptions was a good thing, I told myself... But even so, I just felt really sad about it all. I still do just writing this.

The only way I stop from moping about this is by convincing myself that in the short time I had him, I did my best to show him what a good home is. He tried peanut butter on a spoon, had a chicken breast for dinner, ran freely at the parks, and sprawled out comfortably on a large cozy bed, snoring as loud as could be.

I hope I helped make his life a little easier and better. But most of all, I hope and pray he's already been adopted...

As soon as I see his adoption pic posted, which should be any day now, I'll obviously share here asap.

If you've fostered before and had a crate experience like I mentioned, what did you do? I hope to do this again, but want to be better prepared next time.

Meet Our First Foster, Riley.

Meet Riley. He is our short-term foster pup for a few days.

We've only had him for 24 hours but it has been a whirlwind. I never thought fostering would be easy, but I feel like a complete idiot for being as overwhelmed as I am.

Within the first five minutes that  I had him in my car he took a hot deuce in my backseat. Luckily, I pulled into a White Castle parking lot real fast and got out of the car while Riley finished his... brown castle.
I had to, I'm sorry.

Thankfully it was on a towel, which is now in a White Castle dumpster. We walked around the block before getting back in the car and I'm so glad we did. I'll spare you the details, but the doggy pills Riley was given didn't react well with his poor stomach. It was my karma, I suppose. Once a mad pooper, always a mad pooper.

The only backstory I know about Riley is that he just arrived in Chicago yesterday morning from a high kill shelter in Kentucky. If not for Felines and Canines taking him in, he was set to be euthanized today. F&C wanted to save these Kentucky dogs (like they always do because they're wonderful) but their shelter was at max so they put out a call on Facebook asking for people to take in dogs just for 5-6 days while they made room.

I said yes.

And after having this dog, who is very very sweet and didn't deserve to die, I've been ridiculously stressed, cried a few times, had poop on my jeans, pee on my hands, and felt terribly bad for not being better at this.

He is a good dog, he really is. And he's super loving and sweet. So sweet it hurts my heart to watch him cower when we pass any man on the sidewalk. Whenever Chris comes in the room he hides under a table. I tried to light a candle last night and the sight of the lighter had him shaking uncontrollably.

What have you been through, little guy, I keep wondering when I look at his forgiving eyes. 

He has the face and demeanor of a puppy, but the dry painful patches of an old dog. If I had to guess, it seems he was left on concrete, perhaps a driveway or a garage floor, for long long stretches of time. Because someone obviously didn't want him, and yet they refused to get rid of him either... Just chain him up, why not? He's only a dog!

But there's a few things that tell me he has been in a home before, like for example when I let him on the couch he was pretty damn excited.

"You serious? I get up here?" He said with his big brown eyes and I melted.

"HELL NO YOU DON'T!" Har barked back and I stopped melting.

But Har's doing a lot better than I thought. He's anxious as hell, of course, but when isn't he? Riley follows his every move and thinks he's God, which Harlow loves and plays into big time.

"Watch me sing, Riley! Can you sing? I sing the best!"  And then Harlow starts howling and screaming, which in turn, makes Riley howl and scream, and he looks at me excitedly like, "can we really do this? Can we make all this noise?"

"Oh yeah, I do whatever I want. I run this show," Har arrogantly responds and then he lights a cigarette inside just to prove his point.

It's all fun and games until Riley tries to get Sloth and then Har gets pissy and lays on all of his toys "making them disappear."

Sloth is Har's first sidekick, no one gets to boss Sloth around but Har.

So why the stress you're probably wondering. A couple of reasons. (Small reasons, things I should be better at dealing with, yet I'm not.)

1. Riley marks. A lot.
He's still "intact" as the professionals say. Got some big old balls, as I say.
And so I've been watching him like a hawk, I haven't let him out of my sight once, which is kind of exhausting and takes away from work time.

Which leads to stress... must. sell. tshirts. CLICK HERE TO REDUCE MY STRESS.

I bought him pup pull-ups and they have been very helpful! Although they're in the wash now, so it's back to watching him like a hawk. And we go out every 30 minutes, but not having a backyard whilst also living on the fourth floor is a little more difficult than I knew it would be...

"Do these shorts make me look European? Be honest!" 

2. He doens't love his crate as much as the shelter said he did.
The poor boy just cries and cries. And I refuse to leave him in there because so much of his life has been in there.

Last night was rough. But between the brown castles and pee probs, I didn't want to risk it. So he slept in his crate and I slept right by it.

3. Har is good, but not good.
If I so much as look at Riley, or pet, talk to, think about, or show any slight bit of attention to him, Harlow tries to sit on my lap or jump on my back. Yesterday Harlow was doing backhand springs on the bed, whilst wearing tap shoes, trying to make sure I looked at him more than Riley.

So that is a challenge in itself.

Long story short, it's been an adjustment. But I keep telling myself, no one said this would be easy.

And it's only for a few days to SAVE A DOG, so lighten up you selfish bitch.
(That's me, yelling at me, I've had a lot fights in my head these past 24 hours.)

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

As I'm writing this (sitting on the floor naturally) he just army crawled over (his favorite method of getting around) and put his head in my lap, stretched his paws in the air, and let out a large doggy sigh.

I can tell by the way he acts and looks at me, that he so badly wants to do everything I want him to do, but he just doesn't know how to do that yet.

He's a pile of love. And he was going to be put down today.

It's been a challenging day, but know that I've done my very best to spoil him the Harlow way. He's ran free at the park several times, ears blowing, drool flying. I spoon fed him dinner (he was pretending not to eat, but I think he just wanted to be babied, because he loved the food by spoon.) And his dinner consisted of organic kibble, with a scoop chicken and rice meat log on top, and a little pumpkin puree on the side to soothe his tummy (the chef is known for this dish.) Goes great with a merlot!

He's made himself at home on every single cozy rug, he goes back and forth between his two favorites all day long.

We've been to the dog spa twice now (going back in one hour, hoping to finally get rid of the peculiar scent...) and when Harlow walks away I make sure to look Riley in the eyes and tell him how special and smart and wonderful he is. By the way he wags his tail, I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what I'm saying.

To those of you that foster regularly, you amaze me. You selfless beings you, I had no idea how hard this was. You. Are. Incredible.

Now if you'll excuse me, Riley's pull-ups are ready in the dryer.

My Thoughts On Babies

As I sat in bed last night contemplating whether or not I was ready for the responsibility to take on a short-term foster dog for the weekend, my sister brought a third human into the world.

I repeat, while I was debating if I was ready for an additional dog (for 5-6 days only) my sister had another child (for life.)

Vivienne was born around 4:00 a.m. this morning. And if this were child number one, I wouldn't be writing this post right now. Instead, I'd be worried it wasn't time to share just yet! Did my sister have the correct pictures taken? Had she told family? What about friends? Had she posted the "We are so in love!" Facebook update yet?

But since it's child number three, I know this kid will probably be walking out of the hospital pushing her own suitcase, whilst making her own Facebook status by tomorrow already.

What I'm saying is that rules go out the window with the third. I can say this because I'm a third child.

And I turned out okay, right Harlow? 

Hells ya, you did. Now let's go get a Bloody Mary! It's nearly 9 a.m.!

(Then Harlow and I cackle and high five like the old crazy dogs we are.)

As I was saying, I turned out okay.

Well, I was okay until I started googling things about pregnancy and labor last night. There was a lot I didn't know. It all started with the word "cervix," and then things spiraled pretty quick from there.

The female body is incredible. We shed things and plug things and pop things. And wow. There's just a lot going on inside of us. We're like a full functioning factory. If the human body were online retailers, women would be Amazon.com because WE DO IT ALL. And men would be Joseph A. Banks because they basically just make cheap suits.

I'm kidding! Chill, boys.

After learning about our bodies I stumbled onto animal births somehow.

Did you know Pandas give birth to babies the size of a mouse? Think about the size of a panda. Then think about the size of a mouse. That makes sense to me.

You know what doesn't make sense? Humans giving birth to humans the size of watermelon. Zero. Sense.

I would have thought that by the year 2017 we'd have figured out a better way to do this by now. We've got cars that drive themselves and iphones that open on facial recognition, and yet we're still kicking it old school when it comes to childbirth.

And yes, I'm aware several moms enjoy the "miracle the of birth." That's wonderful. Incredible, really. I applaud those moms. I wish I could say I look forward to someday experiencing this miracle.

But truthfully, I'm not so sure I do.

I wish we could lay eggs. I feel like I'd be pretty okay sitting in a warm incubator just relaxing on my eggs for a few months, catching up on Netflix, sending emails, doing whatever. (In my mind that's how I envision this all would work.)

And today's post has been brought to you by ten-year-old me! I am all over the place, my apologies. So much going on in my head.

Long story short, Chris and I are not ready to have children. Someday, yes. Today, no!

But to every mom who has birthed children, you amaze me. You grew a small human inside of you. Meanwhile, I'm still struggling to grow proper eyebrows.

I think I should wrap this up now.

And yes, we're getting a foster brother for Harlow tomorrow :) One of us is more excited than the other.

Bye! And happy birthday, baby Vivi! Can't wait to meet you.

A Day In My Life In 2017

This morning I decided to give myself an easy way out for my post today. I had major writer's block and couldn't come up with a thing so I thought why not do one of those, "A Day in My Life," posts.

They're a little blah to write, but I'll admit I always enjoy reading other blogger's, LOOK AT WHAT I DO EVERYDAY posts, so why shouldn't I? I'll be back tomorrow with something better.

So this is me on this very morning. Before I do anything else, it always starts with coffee in the kitchen.

Harlow eats his breakfast and sits on the kitchen balcony looking for cats, while I sip my coffee and write down goals and mantras for the day in my journal. This is my favorite part of my entire day. It's my moment before I "plug in" to emails, work stuff, news, basically the grind of everyday stuff.

And so sometime after babbling in my green journal for about 5-10 minutes, I grab my phone and check Facebook. And this is when I see that people are praying for Vegas. Almost immediately I know, as we all know.  It's happened again.

I don't want to say we've become conditioned to this disgusting kind of tragedy, but haven't we in a sense?

Right away, I start googling "Las Vegas Shooting" and my stomach drops, as it always does, when I start to read the details. "50 dead, maybe more." "Over 200 injured." And then sometimes I even click play on the shaky videos taken on iphones, shared by popular news outlets. I hear people screaming, gunfire cracking over and over and over, people running in a mad dash for their lives until the screen just suddenly goes black.

I shouldn't watch these, but I do. I do it because I want to know what happened. I can't process it. My brain won't let me. So I watch the clips and I try to put myself there and wonder how I would react.

An hour after waking up my entire newsfeed on Facebook is full of "Prayers For Vegas." People who were just there a month ago! They know this area! They've been there. And I'm the same way, as soon as I read about this my mind goes back to my last trip there in February.

Did we go to Mandalay Bay? Can I picture this? What if we had been there today rather than February?

It's as if we're all trying to find a connection somehow; a common ground. A way of reminding ourselves it could have been us.

By now there's even more prayers on Facebook. And Instagram. Every social media channel.

And I think prayers are good. We need more positive energy right now. But what I don't like is what comes after the prayers.

Because as soon as we're all done praying and saying how sad and messed up this is, what a scary world we live in, do you know what comes next? We'll start arguing about who's fault this is.

It's around this time when there's always that status from some VERY tough dude that's something like, "This is why I carry! If this ever happened to me I'd pull out my (insert gun name here) so fast and shoot that piece of shit he didn't know what hit him."

What a bold statement to make from behind the safety of your Facebook screen.

To me this kind of statement is especially hurtful, because I always imagine a victim's family member reading stuff like this. It's like poking a finger in their chest saying, your child should have done this instead!

I don't know what the solution is, but something has to change. However I'm pretty sure it doesn't lie in our Facebook arguments (or blog posts.)

I do know a man cowardly opened fire onto a crowd of innocent concert dwellers from the safety of his 32nd floor hotel room and now people are dead. He used extreme violence to incite terror and fear, to people everywhere.

The Facebook prayers will continue, the arguments will start shortly (if they haven't already,) and I'll add outdoor concerts to my list. My list of places where I go and have to scan the area and wonder, if it happens here, where would it come from?

I'm going to resist the arguments today, because I'm pretty sure pissing each other off right now won't help anyone. I think at the root of it, we're all just a bunch of people who are scared and worried, and want someone to tell us we're safe.

I think the best thing we can do right now is just try to be better to one another.