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I can’t say how much I love this article: http://thefanmetareader.org/2016/01/21/an-open-letter-to-pan-holmesian-fandom-elementary-is-not-your-punch-line-by-language-escapes/

Joey celebrates his birthday.

Source: The Joey Harris Show 01/17 by The Joey Harris Show | Comedy Podcasts

The former host of the Comedy Shak brings you life at the speed of his head.

Source: The Joey Harris Show Online Radio | BlogTalkRadio

This is a post that I originally wrote in 2013, after a sad event in my life happened. It had a large response, for which I am thankful.   After some time, I read it again.   I was proud of most of it, but felt there were some things that could be changed. A final polish, if you will. I also renamed it my original title. The original is still posted, but I hope you enjoy this new take on the story.

 

I’m a dog person.

 

I always have been.   Growing up, we owned dogs. I have owned a Collie, a Labrador, and several mutts. The idea of owning anything other than a dog never crossed my mind.

 

My ex and I had been married a little over a month and were finally settling into our new home. We decided to expand our family by getting a dog because we finally had a back yard where a dog could run and play.

 

The decision had been made and we were going to visit shelters the next week. The day before Halloween, my wife went with her aunt to visit a woman who was giving away kittens. Her aunt was going to get a kitten, wife was in supporting mode.

 

He was the runt of the litter. What he lacked in size, he made up in tenacity. He was going to get noticed and break out of this place. So he made his way to the front of the pack and looked up at my wife like Puss in Boots in Shrek 2. Those large eyes on that sweet face. He cracked my wife’s outer shell.

 

Hesitantly, she picked him up. He nuzzled against her face, his body looking like a large cotton ball with specks of orange brown fur.   She was falling in love.

 

Then she asked the woman when they were born. September 21, 2002, she replied. The day we got married. It was decided. We were now the owners of a kitten. It didn’t matter if I was a dog person, or if I had a mild allergy to cat hair. At that moment, it wouldn’t have mattered if I exploded within 10 feet of a cat, there was no way that cat wasn’t coming home.

 

Right away, you could see why she fell in love with him. He weighed next to nothing. He was just this little ball of fur that was so hesitant at first. He cried out when my wife’s aunt picked the fleas off of him that first night, but snuggled against my wife on the ride home.

 

I was reluctant to warm up to him at first. Scared that I would roll over and hurt him, my wife made me sleep on the couch that first night. She woke me in a panic the next morning when she woke up and couldn’t find him. I went into the bedroom to look for him, and found him sitting in a pile of clothes.

 

I was teaching at a community college, so on my free time, I would go home and check on him. Each time I opened the door, he was still right where I left him, on the couch looking around.

 

The second night wasn’t easier. He loved to roam all around the bed. Sometimes, I would open my eyes and he would be right there staring at me. He was on my stomach when I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, so I placed him gingerly on my wife as she was sleeping. She picked that exact moment to roll over, and he went flying into the closet.

 

We realized that we had gotten him too early. My wife had to teach him cat things to do, like when we potty trained him, she taught him to cover it up in a display that still makes me chuckle when I think about it.

 

The sex of a kitten can be a tricky thing to determine. We named the cat Halloween and since we thought it was a girl, called her Hallie for short. The first trip to the vet set us straight quickly, but now Hallie had a Boy named Sue thing going on. He wouldn’t be called anything but Hallie.

 

He had his own unique personality. His first toy was a little box from some Dots candy. We had games that we would play. When he was a kitten, I would hold him in one hand high over my head and taunt him. I got the kitty cat, kitty cat can’t do nothing.   After we had him neutered, he gained weight because he wasn’t as active. This didn’t stop our playing; we just found a new game. He would lie on his back and I would push him with my foot across the floor.

 

What made him stand apart from other cats was he didn’t think he was a cat. He thought he was a little boy. He also shared Puss in Boots adventurous spirit. Making his way across the living room by jumping from couch to chair, never touching the floor. Sometimes, he would try to jump too far and miss his intended target.   When this happened, he would come and show me his paw that he had hurt, and I would love on him until he felt better.

 

He even had a favorite movie. Most of the time, he wouldn’t care what was on the television. When I would watch Hellboy however, he would stop what he was doing, and look at the movie until it was over. I think it was because Hellboy always had cats around. I always wanted to buy him a trench coat like the one that Hellboy wore, if I could find one that fit him.

 

He could charm anyone that came into his contact. We lived for a few months with my wife’s grandparents, and right away Hallie went to work on them. He got grandpa to push him across the carpet and to feed him treats. The latter trick worked so well that Hallie got sick one time.

 

He was a very gentle soul.   There were a few things he didn’t like.   The vet, being groomed, car rides of any kind, an empty food dish, a dirty litter box, and children. He would tolerate them, but with unfamiliar people, it would take him a while to warm up to them.

 

When he was almost three, we had to give him up. I had just accepted an offer for a new job to work in college housing, and they didn’t allow pets. Some neighbors of my wife’s parents offered to take him. His mother took him to his grandparent’s house, both of them crying the whole way.

 

The neighbors had a small child. Give him time, we told them.   He isn’t used to small children but with time and patience, he will come around. His adventurous spirit couldn’t be contained. He came out of his carrier fighting to get back to his family.   One call later, and he was living with his grandparents. Two years later, the pet policy changed and he was back with his family where he belonged.

 

He adapted to his new home quite well. He became attached to a plush ladybug stuffed animal and would sleep or sit on it for hours. We started calling the ladybug his “best friend.” Sometimes he would sneak out of the front door and make his way to the lobby or the hallway and explore around. The students always enjoyed seeing him, but he would keep his distance from them. Strangers made him nervous.   Still, his adventurous spirit could not be denied. He loved to run in and out of rooms and to have me chase him back into the apartment.   I was literally “herding cats.”

 

A student pulled a prank that resulted in the lobby being flooded one morning. I had my RA’s wake students up and had them all come down to the lobby so that we could find out who performed the deed. Hallie did not appreciate being disturbed either, and stood by the apartment door and loudly meowed his displeasure at the students as they marched downstairs.

 

He became set in his ways.   In addition to his regular cat food, we would give him treats in the morning, tuna, soft cat food, and anything else that we thought he would enjoy. He would bat around a ball on a string, or chase the beam from a laser pointer, but wasn’t really into other toys. He also hated catnip with a passion. It made him sick.

 

We introduced another cat into his life. My wife had rescued a cat from inside the hood of a coworker’s car. We put up signs and advertised online for the owners to find the cat, since she had found it wearing a collar but no identification.   No owner ever came forward, so we kept the cat. We started calling her New Cat, then NC, then Encee. Hallie kept his distance at first then welcomed the new addition into his world. She passed away last year, and shortly after my wife got another cat, who went through the typical Hallie treatment.

 

As he grew older, he wouldn’t jump from place to place as much. It was harder for him to get up on the bed. The orange and brown patches started turning white. He was becoming an old man. That adventurous spirit never left his eyes. Those eyes said, “I’m a little boy, and I’m here to have a good time”.

 

For reasons unrelated to this story, my marriage split up. On the weekend my wife moved out of our apartment, I went to my parent’s house to give her space to move out. She was taking the cats with her, so before I left, I also said my goodbyes to them.   I told Hallie that he was going to have to be the man of his mama’s new apartment, and that he was going to have to take care of her and Encee. He looked up at me with that Puss in Boots looked and meowed. That look was one of many reasons that I cried as I was driving away.

 

Circumstances beyond her control force my wife to move away, so I had not seen Hallie in a while. I never stopped loving him or thinking about him.

 

This past Sunday, my Ex called me. After a short illness, Hallie had passed away. I cannot express the deep grief that overcame me. Sadness doesn’t begin to describe the feelings that I felt that day and continue to feel.

 

There is a story of a rainbow bridge, on this side of Heaven, where pets go. They are restored to perfect health and are injury free.   They can run and play, and there is plenty of fresh food and water.

 

I can see Hallie there, reunited with the pets that he knew here. His body is young and adventurous, matching his spirit. I hope he has plenty of treats, tuna, and soft food. I hope there is a ladybug for him to sleep on, a Dot box to bat around, and someone to push him across some linoleum. I hope for all those things, and for something more.

 

I hope he gets his boots.

 

He’s earned them.

I’m a dog person.

 I always have been.  Growing up, we owned dogs.  I have owned a collie, a Labrador, and several mutts. The idea of owning anything other than a dog never crossed my mind.

 My ex and I had been married a little over a month and were finally settling into our new home.  We decided to expand our family by getting a dog because we finally had a back yard where a dog could run and play.

 The decision had been made and we were going to visit shelters the next week.  The day before Halloween, my wife went with her aunt to visit a woman who was giving away kittens.  Her aunt was going to get a kitten, wife was in supporting mode.

 He was the runt of the litter.  What he lacked in size, he made up in tenacity.  He was going to get noticed and break out of this place.  So he made his way to the front of the pack and looked up at my wife like Puss in Boots in Shrek 2.  Those large eyes on that sweet face.  He cracked my wife’s outer shell. 

 Hesitantly, she picked him up.  He nuzzled against her face, his body looking like a large cotton ball with specks of orange brown fur.  She was falling in love.

 Then she asked the woman when they were born.  September 21, 2002, she replied.  The day we got married.  It was decided.  We were now the owners of a kitten.  It didn’t matter if I was a dog person, or if I had a mild allergy to cat hair.  At that moment, it wouldn’t have mattered if I exploded within 10 feet of a cat, there was no way that cat wasn’t coming home.

 Right away, you could see why she fell in love with him.  He weighed next to nothing.  He was just this little ball of fur that was so hesitant at first.  He cried out when my wife’s aunt picked the fleas off of him that first night, but snuggled against my wife on the ride home.

 I was a little hesitant to warm up to him at first.  Scared that I would roll over and hurt him, my wife made me sleep on the couch that first night.  She woke me in a panic the next morning when she woke up and couldn’t find him.  I went into the bedroom to look for him, and found him sitting in a pile of clothes.

 I was teaching at a community college, so on my free time, I would go home and check on him.  Each time I opened the door, he was still right where I left him, on the couch looking around.

 The second night wasn’t easier.  He loved to roam all around the bed.  Sometimes, I would open my eyes and he would be right there staring at me.  He was on my stomach when I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, so I placed him gingerly on my wife as she was sleeping.  She picked that exact moment to roll over, and he went flying into the closet.

 We realized that we had gotten him too early.  My wife had to teach him cat things to do, like when we potty trained him, she taught him to cover it up in a display that still makes me chuckle when I think about it.

 The sex of a kitten can be a tricky thing to determine.  We named the cat Halloween and since we thought it was a girl, called her Hallie for short.  The first trip to the vet set us straight quickly, but now Hallie had a Boy named Sue thing going on.  He wouldn’t be called anything but Hallie.

 He had his own unique personality.  His first toy was a little box from some Dots candy.  We had games that we would play.  When he was a kitten, I would hold him in one hand high over my head and taunt him.  I got the kitty cat, kitty cat can’t do nothing.  After we had him neutered, he gained weight because he wasn’t as active.  This didn’t stop our playing; we just found a new game. He would lie on his back and I would push him with my foot across the floor.

 What made him stand apart from other cats was he didn’t think he was a cat.  He thought he was a little boy.  He also shared Puss in Boots adventurous spirit.  Making his way across the living room by jumping from couch to chair, never touching the floor.  Sometimes, he would try to jump too far and miss his intended target.  When this happened, he would come and show me his paw that he had hurt, and I would love on him until he felt better.

 He even had a favorite movie.  Most of the time, he wouldn’t care what was on the television.  When I would watch Hellboy however, he would stop what he was doing, and look at the movie until it was over.  I think it was because Hellboy always had cats around.  I always wanted to buy him a trench coat like the one that Hellboy wore, if I could find one that fit him.

 He could charm anyone that came into his contact.  We lived for a few months with my wife’s grandparents, and right away Hallie went to work on them.  He got grandpa to push him across the carpet and to feed him treats.  The latter trick worked so well that Hallie got sick one time.

 He was a very gentle soul.  There were a few things he didn’t like.  The vet, being groomed, car rides of any kind, an empty food dish, a dirty litter box, and children.  He would tolerate them, but with unfamiliar people, it would take him a while to warm up to them.

 When he was almost three, we had to give him up.  I had just accepted an offer for a new job to work in college housing, and they didn’t allow pets.  Some neighbors of my wife’s parents offered to take him.  His mother took him to his grandparent’s house, both of them crying the whole way.

 The neighbors had a small child.  Give him time, we told them.  He isn’t used to small children but with time and patience, he will come around.  His adventurous spirit couldn’t be contained.  He came out of his carrier fighting to get back to his family.  One call later, and he was living with his grandparents.  Two years later, the pet policy changed and he was back with his family where he belonged.

 He adapted to his new home quite well.  He became attached to a plush ladybug stuffed animal and would sleep or sit on it for hours.  We started calling the ladybug his “best friend.”  Sometimes he would sneak out of the front door and make his way to the lobby or the hallway and explore around.  The students always enjoyed seeing him, but he would keep his distance from them.  Strangers made him nervous.  Still, his adventurous spirit could not be denied.  He loved to run in and out of rooms and to have me chase him back into the apartment.  I was literally “herding cats.”

 A student pulled a prank that resulted in the lobby being flooded one morning.  I had my RA’s wake students up and had them all come down to the lobby so that we could find out who performed the deed.  Hallie did not appreciate being disturbed either, and stood by the apartment door and loudly meowed his displeasure at the students as they marched downstairs.

 As he grew older, he became more set in his ways.  In addition to his regular cat food, we would give him treats in the morning, tuna, soft cat food, and anything else that we thought he would enjoy.  He would bat around a ball on a string, or chase the beam from a laser pointer, but wasn’t really into other toys.  He also hated catnip with a passion.  It made him sick.

 As he grew older, we introduced another cat into his life.  My wife had rescued a cat from inside the hood of a coworker’s car.  We put up signs and advertised online for the owners to find the cat, since she had found it wearing a collar but no identification.  No owner ever came forward, so we kept the cat.  We started calling her New Cat, then NC, then Encee.  Hallie kept his distance at first then welcomed the new addition into his world.  She passed away last year, and shortly after my wife got another cat, who went through the typical Hallie treatment.

 For reasons unrelated to this story, my marriage split up.  On the weekend my wife moved out of our apartment, I went to my parent’s house to give her space to move out.  She was taking the cats with her, so before I left, I also said my goodbyes to them.  I told Hallie that he was going to have to be the man of his mama’s new apartment, and that he was going to have to take care of her and Encee.  He looked up at me with that Puss in Boots looked and meowed.  That look was one of many reasons that I cried as I was driving away.

 As he grew older, he wouldn’t jump from place to place as much.  It was harder for him to get up on the bed.  The orange and brown patches started turning white.  He was becoming an old man.  That adventurous spirit never left his eyes.  Those eyes said, “I’m a little boy, and I’m here to have a good time”.

 Circumstances beyond her control force my wife to move away, so I had not seen Hallie in a while.  I never stopped loving him or thinking about him.

 This past Sunday, my Ex called me.  After a short illness, Hallie had passed away.  I cannot express the deep grief that overcame me.  Sadness doesn’t begin to describe the feelings that I felt that day and continue to feel.

 There is a story of a rainbow bridge, on this side of Heaven, where pets go.  They are restored to perfect health and are injury free.  They can run and play, and there is plenty of fresh food and water.

 I can see Hallie there, reunited with the pets that he knew here.  His body is young and adventurous, matching his spirit.  I hope he has plenty of treats, tuna, and soft food.  I hope there is a ladybug for him to sleep on, a Dot box to bat around, and someone to push him across some linoleum.  I hope for all those things, and for something more.

 I hope he gets his boots.

 He’s earned them.

When I played baseball and softball, I always played outfield. This seemed like a safe place to put me, seeing how I have a thimble full of athletic ability.
Out in Center or Left field, I never knew how to gauge where the ball was going to land. Often, I would find myself backpeddling to try and catch a flay ball, shuffling backward or glancing over my shoulder hoping I got to where the ball was going to be before it got there.
Then one day, a coach gave me a pointer. He told me to play deep. To start deep in the outfield near the wall. The reason for this, he told me, was that it’s much easier to make up ground if the ball is going to fall short than try to rush back to where the ball is going to land if I misjudge my opening stance.
My personal and professional life has been like that over the last few months. I have been glancing over my shoulder and shuffling around in a balancing act of trying to gain ground and avoid the wall that lies in the deep field.
That wall represented failure.
Every week, I would end up in the outfield, trying to avoid that wall while spinning my wheels never coming close to the infield. The best I could hope for was to end up in the same place I started.
Three weeks ago, life took me to the wall. To put it simply, I failed. I lost my apartment, my vehicle, a relationship, and was threatened with legal action against me.
The late Dominick Dunne said that failure, if you can get through it, can be the best thing that ever happened to you. I had no idea what he meant until three weeks ago.
We used to joke at my old job that if someone wanted to sue us, it would have to be for practice because we didn’t own anything. A funny joke in theory, not so much in reality. I was told, practice makes perfect!
Not something you want to hear.
Three weeks removed from that incident, I have a new prospective from deep field. No one wants to end up here. Now that I’m here though, I am going to make the best of a bad situation.
I’m going to catch the next ball.
Wish me luck.

I like to think that I’m a lot of things. A good man, a hard worker, a loving person. I leave the determination of what I really am to others to decide. When I look at myself, I see myself broken.
I was in an automobile accident almost two years ago. Like a movie in my head, I can relive that moment over and over again. I can slow down or speed up what happened. I can look at the event from any angle that I want.
My life this past year I can also see from various angles. The car I was driving was totaled; broken beyond repair. I’ve also been broken. Broken by life, circumstances, my own actions, etc. I’ve been gathering up the pieces slowly and taking them with me. Unlike the car, I can’t say my life is a total loss and start all over again.
My relationships to people have changed over the past year. That’s been the hardest for me. I’ve always been proud that I maintain good relationships with people even as those relationships change with distance or frequency meeting. Now I’ve gone from being close with friends and acquaintances to no longer being friends and having those same acquaintances ignore me in public.
I’ve discussed this with people who tell me just to forget it. I wish I were that person who could just forget it, but I’m broken.
I’m broken and hurt. I’ve tried so long to hold things together and not let the world I know spin apart that I don’t know what it’s like not to struggle, to wonder how I’m going to pay that next bill, put gas in my tank or food on my table.
I’m broken inside. I spend nights lonely and talking to myself. I second guess myself. I miss my former life, my friends, a steady paycheck, therapy for my mind and soul. I keep coming back to a question.
How do I come back from broken?

I’m fat. There’s no gentle or easy way to put it. I have an eating problem. It has bothered me and caused me problems off and on my entire life. It has been commented on both in my personal and professional life. Children have come up to me and pointed and said you’re fat. It makes me sad, but there is no one to blame but myself.
To be rejected for my weight and looks hurts. Comments from family members and friends also hurt. When I call them on it, they say they were just trying to help and I shouldn’t be so sensitive. Turning my own words against me.
I live alone and don’t have many friends around, so I eat alone a lot. It feels like I’m always looked at. I’m always embarrassed. The title of this post comes from an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. Ray’s sister in law Amy has a brother Peter (played by Chris Elliot). Peter is extremely socially awkward. He tells Ray that he got dressed up and went to a local bar to meet women. He saw one he liked, and we t up to her and asked her how she was. Her answer is the title of the post. I didn’t see the episode in question until this year, and when I did, tears started flowing. I know what Peter is feeling.
Bottom line, I’m fat, and I know it.

I wish my life were better. I’m tired of saying I’m hanging in there. I’ve come to realize that 2012 has been one kick in the balls after another. My life sucks right now, but so what?
I’m going to be okay. This time in the desert that I consider 2012 has been rough. Living from check to check, rejection both professionally and personally, lied to, mental cruelty, weight gain, medical scares,etc.
That’s life. Whether you believe in a higher power or not, nowhere is it written that we are going to have an easy time while we are here. Life doesn’t work that way. Humans don’t work that way. No one owes me a thing. Do I wish things had turned out differently? Of course. They turned out how they turned out. I go forward from here. I have regrets of things done and things not done. Life only moves forward. It’s time I moved along with it.

A lot of things have been going through my mind lately. I feel like a failure. I’m 34 years old and have just about nothing to show for it.
My marriage failed, and it was completely my fault. I have friends, but they live their own lives and I feel like a burden to them at times. My family has never been anything but wonderful to me, yet I feel like a failure to them.
I’m not saying I am a failure, only that I feel like one. I’ve screwed up so much that my name should be changed to Phillips to avoid any confusion. My failure as a human has put me on this couch on a Saturday night completely alone, jobless, broke, no insurance, and dangerously high blood pressure.
I don’t know where to turn on a daily basis. I pray, I try to keep my head up but it isn’t always easy when I don’t know how I make it from day to day.
I’m not asking for pity, I’m where I am today because of my own actions or lack thereof. If you feel sorry you can pray for me, we all need prayer.