Pigs, Drunks, and Amy

English: Pigs and Daffodils Pig farm and Daffo...

English: Pigs and Daffodils Pig farm and Daffodil fields (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My goodness, October 1st!  I didn’t realize how long it’s been since I’ve posted.  blahblahblahlifeexcusessadnessmuckfringeblahblahblah.

I’ve come to a very important (though I’m not sure why) realization.  Little Incredibly Dumb Dog isn’t all that dumb, she’s just a pig.  The other evening I was getting ready to walk the beasts, and the little one was being a nuisance.  I dropped my sweatshirt on top of her to keep her busy while I got the leashes.

You know, that’s supposed to be the test of doggie intelligence, how long it takes them to get out from under a towel, or some equivalent.  Imagine my surprise when it took her about 1 second.  Maybe I didn’t have it completely over her.  So I dropped it again, making sure the thing was centered.  Same result.

This is the same dog that I still have to keep a pee pad in the apartment for, even though she’s over two years old now.  She’ll do great, not use the pad at all for 10 days, and then do nothing when we’re out on a walk, come in and race to her pad to pee/poop.  And still, not always remembering that it doesn’t count if only her front half is on the pad.  Very special.  Even more special is how she’ll take a treat and run to the pad to eat it.  Thus, my conclusion–she isn’t dumb, she’s just a pig.  Eleven dingy white pounds of gross.

Yes, I’m still writing.  Slowly.  Painfully.  I hit 35,000 words earlier today, which I figure puts me about halfway through the first draft.  My protagonist, Christina, is now permanently pickled.  Half time, that moment when I close the file and have a wardrobe malfunction through blogging.

The Pin-Up by Charles Dana Gibson.

The Pin-Up by Charles Dana Gibson. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Do I still think Astonishing is any good?  No clue.  I’m too deep in it.  Slogging through the middle muck, trying to figure out how in the world I’m going to write her way to an ending.

So the other morning I was walking the beasts, thinking once again how much easier life would be right now if I was better at drinking.  Sadly, Mrs Fringe pretty much has a one drink a week limit.  More might sound appealing in my head, but my body doesn’t want it.  But it would be easier to put myself in Christina’s head and ride along with her downward spiral, and easier not to care when Little Incredibly Dumb Dog is rolling in another mystery puddle in the curb.  I was contemplating all of this, and then I heard a familiar voice, “Hi Amy!”

It’s a parent I used to see during drop off and pick up when Flower Child was in elementary school.  Never got to know him other than 2-5 minute chats waiting for the kids to come out or bring them in.  Nice enough guy.  Except for one thing.  My name isn’t Amy.

I don’t have any clue why he thinks it is, but he does.  For all the years I’ve been doing the parent thing, there are more parents of my kiddos’ classmates whose names I don’t know, and who don’t know my name, than who do.  I probably didn’t notice the first few times he said it.  Hey, it’s a group of parents, I’m waiting for my kid, didn’t pay that much attention.  Then I noticed, and corrected him once or twice.  Nope.  I don’t know if he didn’t hear me or has a mental block, but I decided it didn’t really matter.

I live in a fantasy fringey world of pigs and drunks, I suppose being an Amy is pretty good.  Maybe I should use Amy as a pseudonym for Astonishing.

{| style="width:100%; border:1px solid bl...

{| style=”width:100%; border:1px solid black; background:#ffe0e0; padding:0; text-align:center;” |- | This photo is of Wikis Take Manhattan goal code R13, Curb cut. |} (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


  1. Call it what you want, mrs fringe. Whatever your little heart desires.

    This was an interesting post, I envision you doing something then stopping, looking around like, What? Really? Then you notice something that gives you pause, makes you smile a little or say WTF? Then you get yourself a cup of joe and sit down, open your Amy File. . .

    Christina’s looking back at you, doing the same damn thing.



  2. Congrats on 35k words and it’s so good to hear from you! True Story: I have a neighbour who calls me Karen. I’ve corrected her upteen times over the years to no avail. What the heck, now I just answer to Karen!


    1. Hi Karen? It’s Amy… 😀

      Thank you! I’m hoping to get myself back on track here, which of course means catching up with my favorite blogging friends 😉

      The trick is going to be to do this while continuing to move forward with Astonishing.



  3. I had someone call me Mary every day at work for a year – no clue as to why. Good job getting to the 35K mark. I’ve been thinking about doing the NaNoWriMo again this year – trying to get my project close to a complete place. But then again, it’s such a commitment. I admire your determination. Dogs are all smart – they just play us.


    1. Too funny, learning that this “new name” phenomenon is relatively common makes me wonder if I’ve ever been the person calling someone by the wrong name. 😉

      My hat’s still off to you for Na NoWriMo from last year. That’s more than I can do. 🙂 This is slower than my “norm” but I’ve never been a fast writer.

      I think you’re right–these pups do all play us! ❤


  4. Yes, pig sounds about right. 🙂 Sounds like a few residents here on occasion, and NOT the four legged one.

    I am certain I’ve been the one to call someone by the wrong name, probably a million times, and never know it. I can see something in writing and remember it but introduce me to someone verbally and I’m terrible with names. Social media agrees with me in that respect! So, nice to meet you Amy. 😛


    1. 😛
      I think that’s why it doesn’t bother me–I’m terrible with names, too. Then again, I usually stick to “Hey, how are You?” “So good to see You.”


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