Just Bobbi. I’m just another girl trying to make sense out of my world and get through life relatively unscathed. I’m a student. I’m a volunteer. A daughter, friend, neighbor, and aunt. A reader, writer, and musician.
I like the rain and the dark. I like mysteries and vampires. I love language and words. I’m happiest when I’m learning.
I have OCD and panic disorder. It sucks – but I’ve learned to work around it. I spend a lot of my time dealing with anxiety. I run support groups, and do what I can to educate people. I advocate for disability rights and try to make people understand that, while living with OCD isn’t quite as cool as Monk makes it look, there’s no shame in having a disability.
I don’t know that I’m anything special. I’m just me. Muddling through and writing when I have the chance, because writing keeps me (somewhat) sane.
Austin, Texas – the Live Music Capital of the World, home of road humps and Serengeti-like summers, with a reputation for being Weird. Really. That’s our motto. Keep Austin Weird. Probably why I fit in so well.
I’m not a native Texan. I’m a North Carolinian implant who ended up here because of a computer game I bought when I was 11 and a well-timed pregnancy. In other words: My parents and I came to Texas for the baby shower of someone I met on the internet when I was 13… and just never left. See? Weird.
This is my school.
When I walk onto this campus, I feel like I’m where I belong. The University of Texas at Austin. A place I never expected to end up. I was all set to go to UNC. I was going to be a Tar Heel. Everyone expected me to go to Carolina – I was a hardcore worshipper of the basketball program, not to mention the prestige that went along with the light blue and white. Ultimately though, I surprised everyone when I walked away from a full scholarship there to put myself through school here. And while I sometimes question the sanity of this decision, I’m sure that it was the right one. I’m a Longhorn now, through and through.
I entered UT as a Social Work major. I thought it was what I wanted to do – until I accidentally ended up in a class that changed everything. Now, I’m working towards degrees in Russian and Linguistics, and I feel like it’s what I was meant to do. Language is my passion.
When we came to Texas, they landed in Lockhart. I know they wish I’d never left home, but an hour drive isn’t too bad. In fact, I think it’s just about right.
Mom works at the hardware store in Lockhart: Gossip Central, I like to think of it. Dad doesn’t work. He’s a disabled Vietnam vet.
We have an interesting history, the three of us. But as I like to tell myself, being normal is overrated and boring. And really… is anyone normal these days?
To be more specific, my dear friend/pseudo-sister Kelly and her family. That little blond boy in the back is my Monkey Boy – the baby who was responsible for the baby shower that brought me to Texas. The Munchkin in the front is a newer model, but I think we’re going to keep her. As for Dave, a.k.a. Computer Guru, he tolerated me crashing on his couch for weeks at a time when I was 17 and unemployed. And he makes the best Alfredo sauce in the world.
Monkey Boy and Munch are my nephew and niece, and anyone who has anything to say about that can take a long walk off a short pier. I love ’em like they were mine. And I only threaten to hang them by their toes once or twice a week.
Kel is awesome. She puts up with more crap from me than anyone else on the planet, including but not limited to: temper tantrums, meltdowns, and name calling. We met online when I was 13 and bonded over a computer game obsession and our mutual distaste for netspeak. We’ve been friends ever since, and these days, I introduce her as my sister. She blogs here.
I have some of the best neighbors EVER. Not to mention dead useful. Una is a vet tech and Jenny is a nurse – between the two of them, both my dog and I are covered for medical emergencies.
The three of us got to know one another well this summer over nightly dog runs. We have four dogs between us – none of them exactly small, and all of them still in puppy mode. It was either run the dogs or let them destroy our apartments – we opted to run them.
Jenny and Una tolerate my incessant Russian speaking, and tease me mercilessly about it. We trade movies, babysit each other’s dogs, and spend, literally, hours camped outside of each other’s balconies just talking.
My other neighbors range from psychotic and creepy to harmless but naked – but these gals are keepers. Couldn’t ask for a better set.
He is the Super Duper Cooper Pooper Puppy – most of the time, Cooper, or Coop, or STOP EATING THE CARPET!
I called in sick to work one day in December 2008 and drove to Copperas Cove to look at a litter of Labrador puppies. When I sat down in the middle of the pile of Labs and asked who was coming home with me, Cooper came and planted himself next to me.
He’s my baby – an incorrigible little imp. But I can’t imagine life without him. We’ve got a connection, this dog and I, for better or for worse. He never takes more than 75% of the bed and now only eats the carpet when he’s angry. He also likes popcorn.
Casper belongs to Jenny. He’s the smallest of the bunch and really should have been named Napoleon. He definitely has short-man syndrome. He’s all bark and no bite though. We’ll refrain from exiling him to Elba for the time being.
Casper is easily the most aloof of all the dogs. I think that underneath his icy exterior is a cuddle bug just begging for love and affection. But don’t tell him I said that. It would damage his pride.
Copper also belongs to Jenny. She nearly ran him over one day and decided to keep him. Actually, she said she was going to find him a new home and just never did. We’re not quite sure what he is – a Pitt/Golden mix, perhaps. Maybe Pitt/Chow. Either way, he’s been an interesting study. With people, he melts like butter. Couldn’t be sweeter. But I don’t think he had much socialization with other dogs, and sometimes he gets the cues wrong and it leads to fights. We’re working on him.
And yes, he always looks worried. It’s endearing.
Dylian (pronounced Dylan) belongs to Una. He’s a full-blooded Chesapeake Bay retriever, and it shows. I’ve never seen a dog so happy to be in the water. Dyl is a toy hoarder like no other. His favorite activities are tug-o-war, swimming, and long walks on the beach. He’s looking for a special lady friend to…. er…
Nope. He just likes to play. He’s a massive lug, and has an intense reaction to raspberry sounds. After a year, I’ve finally learned to spell his name right. Dylian is also tri-lingual, much like his mama Una. Cooper is very jealous and working hard to catch up. Come to think of it, so am I.
Hawk more often called Hawkie Puppy lives in Lockhart with my parental units. He is a Bouvier de Flandres (that’s boo-vee-ay), or to put it more simply, a freaking big Belgian cattle herding dog.
He came from Oklahoma. He sheds in furballs. He holds his dog treats between his paws and nibbles at them. We didn’t teach him to herd cattle, but he seems to know how to do it.
His signature trick is a whisper bark, and he likes to greet people by howling. He looks ferocious, but he’s really just a bundle of love.
Last but not least, Tucker also called Tucker Puppy, Tuck, and many other rhyming diminutives of his name that are not appropriate for print.
He’s the newest addition – a Cairn terrier that my mother got after our 12-year-old Westie, Boo, passed away. He is ROTTEN. Absolutely rotten. And a handful. And a little imp.
But he begs like a prairie dog and thinks he’s a Great Dane.
And I’m rather fond of the little squirt. He’s got spunk.
As you might have guessed, I’m a dog person. These little creatures never cease to amaze me. And what’s more, dogs never lie. Dogs don’t share your secrets. Dogs are loyal. In short: Dogs are everything that the majority of humans can only aspire to be. I’ve always felt connected with wolves and dogs. I think possibly I am part canine.
These are The Ducks.
The yellow one – Duck, Duckie, The Duck – originally existed to serve the purpose of helping me tell my right from my left. My sense of direction is horrible, and even after more than 20 years of life, I still can’t quickly discriminate left from right. So The Duck was procured, and perched on the right side of the dashboard in my car. Now, I get directions in Duck and Non-Duck. It’s very effective.
The pink duck is Penelope. I found her and knew it was meant to be. Duckie was lonely. He needed a partner. They had their wedding May 2010.