Also, I’m 40 now, and I really don’t feel like coming up with a new tagline.

ABT, we’ve had some good times. We chronicled some Keeper, collected some recipes, and found some cool child-free folk around the world. Most importantly, we got in the habit of writing regularly (and not for work), which may have made this new project possible.

Stardate: December 31, 2011

Project: Feature-length screenplay

Deadline: March 31, 2012

Irrational wish: Steve Buscemi reads it, loves it, and wants to be in it

Realistic wish: Someone on planet earth wants to produce it (and doesn’t turn it into a pile of crap (Descendants) What? Nothing.)

And we’re off…

Just in time for Halloween, Keeper unfurled some fang upon the world. There are fewer functional fangs available these days, as evidenced by this rare close-up, but he still gets his point across pretty well.

Hannah & Keeper

Our newly adopted Hannah has been successfully reintroduced to indoor living, that is, artificial lighting, climate-controlled temperatures, stain-resistent carpeting, and occasional encounters with the indoor wildebeest known as Keeper.

After an initial battle for dominance, both parties decided they were too damn old to fight, retired to their assigned corners, and promptly fell asleep.

It’s strange to have a creation out there, a deeply mutated version of yourself,
running loose and screwing everything up. I wonder if this is how parents feel.
–Dexter Morgan

Keeper and I have fostered lots of dogs, but we rarely knew much about their life stories. With Hannah, we do. She’s family. One more casualty of divorce, foreclosure, and a down economy.

Then why does she look so serene? I have to presume it’s the river, which has also kept me sane here in Jacksonville as I navigate this city’s crap-ass job market and wonder how anything ever gets done.

We go out on the dock most mornings and ponder how we ended up here. I’m mean, we’re both in our prime, are we not? Me, with my resume, her, with her mature, laid-back disposition. (She’s actually been known to tackle smaller animals and fight over food, but there’s been no sign of trouble at all. Keep’s inner tube is probably just eliciting pity).

She’s 14 now and over the years, as more animals joined her family (lap dogs, rodents, cats, birds, mice, a horse, a rabbit, and the odd hedgehog) she found herself becoming the outside dog. Albeit in a fancy neighborhood, contained only by electric fence. But still, I think dogs know when they’ve been demoted. As for me, I’m the architect of my own demise (if demise is where this ends up). When the house sold in Virginia, I could just as easily have gone north, where jobs are plentiful. But I took a chance on Florida to be near family—and fell in love with lots of it.

So.

Now we’re three beings on the brink. Just a few great clients could set me back on the path to normalcy, fill my apartment with furniture, and allow me to start having friends over. (A beanbag and a beach chair are not exactly welcoming). But I’ve been searching and meeting and interviewing and exploring for nine months now. Two jobs were so stupid I couldn’t even comply for the sake of a paycheck. A few more months and we might all be living in a van. Down by the river.

At least we won’t have far to go.

But look at that face. Despite her wart-covered elbows, fatty tumors, and occasional asthma, she’s a happy, hopeful girl. Dinner sends her rolling around on the carpet with joy. A short walk makes her whole body wiggle. Hiding out under the bed? A day at the beach in her book.

I think we’ll press on, at least until the end of the year, and hope for the best. Besides, where can I really go with two elderly dogs in tow?

Seven months in Florida have been full of twists, turns, and false starts, but it looks like I’ve found a place to settle in (see: “settle in” above). How do I know? Signs. Signs!

The first giveaway that Jacksonville would fit: Dance Trance is within walking distance of my house. Duh. If I drove 10 miles each way for almost 10 years to get there in Virginia, it must be a necessity. Now we’re neighbors.

Second, trees. Jacksonville has real ones. Big, solid, sturdy, leafy trees. Silly palm trees are purely for decorative purposes, and are therefore relegated to shopping boulevards and such. Fine. Good. Stay there.

Third, ginormous, affordable, old apartments. Wood-floor, high-ceiling, giant-window kind of places right near the water. Much appreciated after my recent break-up with homeownership (which didn’t even include central air).

Fourth, above mentioned water. WATER. The St. John’s River is right outside my house with free, daily, front-row performances by the sun himself. He has many moods, and is quite mysterious.

Fifth, flying fish. Keeper has so little to enjoy in his old age. No more long walks or beheading stuffed animals, his poor sight and hearing make it impossible. Until a fish flung itself up on the dock and practically into his mouth. I almost had a seizure, but in canine society, can you imagine what a monumental touchdown this must be? He was gleaming.

Sixth, cats. A pack of them, who live all over our courtyard and wear fluorescent collars despite sex (or sexual orientation). One named Charlie threw himself on top of me when I came to look at the place. I took it as a sign.

Seventh, complete and utter job failure turned small miracle. I came here for a”writing” position at a mega corporation, located in a mega office park, where people wear badges and eat in cafeterias and everything resembles the artist’s rendering. Creepy and also the final straw.

So I’m embarking on a boss-free existence in my spacious abode in historic little San Marco—with runners running by, independent businesses lining the boulevard, a gluten-free restaurant around the corner, and the dock (THE DOCK!), which will come in handy when I worry over keeping clients. When you sit near a river, the concept of work and money become ridiculously obscure. Stress doesn’t have a fighting chance. Nor do useless meetings, blood pressure-raising cubicles, and coma-inducing PowerPoint presentations anymore. We are through. Done. Finished. Over.

Like the fish who found himself in Keeper’s fangs. (Been there, and it ain’t pretty.)

The golden years are affording Keeper the time to take on several new hobbies.
A favorite is removing bath mats in order to nap on a nicely chilled floor.

Well, as we’ve seen with The Weiner, when you think with your dumb parts, it’s easy to veer off course. As it was with my attempt to South Floridian myself. Epic FAIL. It went a little something like this:

Globetrotting child, for once in her life, tries to become “family-oriented.” That is, not pick a new location based on its scenery, cuisine, or airport proximity, but on its closeness to relatives. So Miami seemed like the logical choice, big enough to have a few jobs, with family just three hours away in Melbourne. However, the job I chose was as wrong as ski pants in a swimming pool. In fact, there wasn’t a single thing right about it: the work, the environment, the people, the hours. Okay, maybe the money was good, so if this was a test in selling out, I’m happy to report that I’m not capable of it. No amount of money or bonuses could have kept me there. My only regret is staying for eight weeks and not leaving after one. It was that ill-fitting.

And then it dawned on me. My all-time favorite dance program is based in Jacksonville. Living there would mean having access to all of the classes my knees can handle, taught by its very own founders! It’s like Muslims going to Mecca. Or something. It’s at least a sign of my burgeoning enlightenment, for this time I am choosing a place based on something way more important than work (or its perceived coolness). Yeah, yeah, I’ve been warned about Jacksonville’s redneck tendencies. But you know what? I can do red. I went to college in South Carolina, and met some of the most amazing people I know in always-underrated Richmond, Virginia. I even found a website dedicated to the city’s independently owned businesses. That’s way cooler than being J. Lo’s winter hang-out.

An added bonus: If Jax doesn’t work out, it’s as close to the border as I can possibly get. Shit, it nearly escaped the state completely, so maybe we’re on the same wavelength entirely.

I’m getting used to Florida’s balmy weather, and love swimming year-round, so come on Jacksonville, show me a good time and cough up a job. I think we’re gonna be good together.