Tony, Tony, Tony!

It's over. The Sopranos is over. I've watched every single one of the 86 episodes. I have a major crush on James Gandolfini. I can't imagine what it will be like now on Sunday nights when I don't have pasta and Tony to look forward to.

I've been reading the various theories surrounding the abrupt ending. And, I have to say that the more I think about it, the more I like the ending. Here is the theory I like the best: Tony has to spend the rest of his life, wondering if the person in front of him, to the side of him, in back of him, will do him harm. His talk on the boat with Bacala about what happens when we die.... that was foreshadowing. Onion rings with family is about all Tony can control these days. And, there was proof that even sitting in a diner with family was cause for concern.

To me, that's life. We have so little control. We control the right here, right now aspect of things. That's it. When I look down the road it looks mighty grim for me sometimes. Financial, health-wise, whatever, the odds have never been in my corner. And, for Tony, it's the same. I guess that's why I like him so much. I feel his pain. He had a crappy mother, but, she was the only mother he knew. My mom wasn't the greatest, but, she was my mom.

The Sopranos resonated with so many because it mirrored the ambiguity of life. Nothing is certain. A person can go to Target and end up strangled under a tree. A person can go to a junk store and buy a colorful painting for $5 and find out it's worth $5 million. I've stopped planning for the future and instead, preparing for the NOW. That's it. Can't do it. Case in point:

Lola the weiner dog. She was a gift (and I use the phrase haltingly) from Gordon. A weiner dog that needed to spend time on Dr. Melfi's couch for sure, but, knowing Lola, she would have pissed on it. This dog is the thorn in my side. She whines. She pees. She destroys carpet. She chases bitchy old neighbors. She scares developmentally delayed adults. She scratches screens. I finally, after being terrorized by a neighbor who claimed to be terrorized by an 8-lb. weiner dog, caved. I put an ad in the paper and the first person dumb enough to take her, took her.

Yes, my daughter was distraught. Tears. Gloom and doom. But, peace. Peace. Peace. I get a call yesterday, 'mom, the people that took Lola are returning her at 6 pm'. Dammit. Dammit.

So, up pulls the car, with Lola, trotting alongside the owner. "She pooped 3 times in the house, and nearly got killed on the highway, running away from us'". The other dogs were thrilled to see her back, and, I swear, they looked as though they high fived her as she trotted in and plopped up on the couch.

I resigned to my bed at 8:45, unable to cope with a long-ass day and Lola by my side. I awoke with Lola next to me, along with Squeegy and Maya the cat. I'll probably develop fleas. I know, 'you lay down with dogs and you'll get fleas' or, whatever the heck that saying is.

Back to Tony. It would be so great to be a bad-ass. I'd love if, for at least awhile, people were a little fearful of me. Instead, NO ONE IS AFRAID OF ME. I accept everyone. If I were a car dealership, I'd give everyone a loan. Is this a problem?

I dunno. Maybe it it is a problem. But, I suspect that, at the end of our lives, there is a sort of audit and being a nice guy or gal, comes in handy. I am a nice gal. And, Tony wasn't. Lola? She needs to worry. She was NOT a nice dog. She was a bad ass.