This site is currently under construction as of this afternoon when I got bored and asked myself, "Why is everyone else's blog prettier than mine?" Please continue to visit, loiter, critique...just no litter please. This could be a while. Just ask my former roommate about my compulsive furniture arranging tendencies.

salute to tripeds

I know it appears to have been a quiet week here at OneArmGirl headquarters since the last post, but I've had more than ample opportunity to promote, well, myself, in the past week, and have been so preoccupied handing out my blog address that I now find myself here on Thursday, hardly prepared to offer anything of the quality that I know you've come to expect.

I'm off-kilter and ungrounded since I drank milk coffee this morning instead of cream. Audra (aka BFF) despaired of me ever sleeping over at her place again and stopped buying MY cream. The nerve of her. She drinks some kind of deadly sweet vanilla creamer, and I have to draw the line somewhere.

"Oh, what am I going to blog about today?," I whine over said disappointing cup of coffee. "I'm a little scared to think," she laughs and proceeds to continue getting ready for work without further sympathy.

True, I've had so much material flowing in this week, I'm almost wondering if I have the energy to live my own life, much less write about it. Rewind a few days: the three of us, Audra, me, and five-year-old Eli (aka Audra's son, whom I maintain is 1/4 mine) were driving back from the Valley when some kind of road debris punctured a hole in her tire. We decided to go for lunch while her XTerra deflated in the parking lot waiting for AAA. Somewhere around half way through his blueberry muffin, Eli announced he had to go to the bathroom and I offered to escort him.

Sitting on the toilet while I wait outside the stall, Eli pipes up, "Tasha? Are you going to start growing your little arm sometime?" I absentmindedly offer my usual answer to questions I don't know the answer to: "I don't know, you'll have to ask God about that." Without so much as a pause, he replies, "Ok, well after we take care of some problems, eat and get our tire fixed, I'll ask God then, ok?" Funny, that's exactly how I feel.

So while I eat and get my tire fixed, I offer you the above: Shaina, the three-legged pit bull I met at Flying Star this week when I dragged my entire party to the furthest table on the patio so we could sit next to her. I've only met one other three-legged dog, a junkyard sweetheart named Big'un, only one of many bizarre encounters during an episode of my life called "Tasha falls in love with motorcycles and accidentally dates Biker Mike"...but I digress. Shaina was rescued by her owners after being hit by a car and chained to a tree without food and water. After two flea soaks and one leg amputation, she's become a model pet; her owners clearly smitten. And I have to say I'm a sucker for the stories that end happily.

So, I'd like to take this opportunity to give a little shout out to animal amputees, many of whom have come across my desk in the form of sentimental forwards intended to get you gushing with gratitude for life...

Molly: Hurricane Katrina and dog attack survivor


Mocha: landmine survivor

Happy: not sure how he lost his leg,
but he is obviously much cooler now.

Here's to good company.

OneArmGirl