Operation Pink Herring

Kittenwatch 2006

As of this morning, the kittens are still in the same spot, with their momma, despite the rain last night.  I made them a bed (of course I did, what did you think?) out of a Honey Bunches of Oats box and a towel and put it under the overhang, in hopes that they would move there in the rain and thus be in a spot where I could better spy on them, but no such luck.

I did get some pictures yesterday afternoon, although none of them can be classified as "good".  I was still balanced on the arm of a lawn chair, blindly holding the camera over the fence and clicking, so this is the best it's gonna get, unless they come out from behind the fence.

This gives a pretty good idea of the jungle back there.  That black blob is the calico kitten.

A slightly better shot of the calico kitten, when it fell over onto its side in an attempt to walk.  They are really, really small.  Their eyes are open, but they can't walk, only stumble around.

So, now  you can see why it was a very good idea that I didn't try to go back there and "rescue" them.  The bottom left is the corner of our fence, with the kittens curled up against it.  On the other side of that corner is our deck.  On the top right corner, you can see the cinderblock wall that divides our alley from the neighbor's.  And in the top left corner is the space I would have had to squeeze through.  It's going to take a lot more trips to the gym before I can get through an opening that wide. 

Here's one I took later in the night, without waking the kittens up. All three were sleeping in a pile, waiting for their momma.

Same picture, just with the flash on.

The Miracle of Life

Or, The Post in Which I Irrefutably Confirm My Status as a Crazy Cat Lady

Hello, this is Frankie.   I have been "caring" for Frankie for about a year and a half, when she and her sibling arrived on our third floor deck.  Sibling disappeared long ago, after he/she was "adopted" by a "nice" "family", Joel assures me.  Frankie has chosen to be my Outside Cat, and even though she hisses at me occasionally when I come out with her dinner of Meow Mix served in a tupperware container, I know she doesn't mean it.  She just gets confused sometimes, because she doesn't know how to tell Max that she'll never go out with him.  That's right, Max is in love with her.  Has been since he first saw her.  So much so, that he "half pipes" the back door when I'm outside with her, just to get a glimpse.

It nearly broke Max's heart when Frankie chose to shack up with another cat, one who is still in possession of his balls and is free to roam the alleyways with her at night.  Don't think for a minute that this scorn is not one of the contributing factors to Max's medication-requiring angst.  Unrequited love is a bitch. 

Man, i thought I was doing such a good job "taking care" of Frankie.  I kept her well fed, with plenty of water, and you should have seen her!  She was the first pudgy stray I'd ever seen.

That's right.  A pudgy stray. 

I'm a little slow, alright?

In a turn of events no one could possibly have foreseen, Frankie soon came around with two identical all-gray kittens.  Max was heartbroken, because clearly they were fathered by his competition, who also happens to be all gray.    I didn't take AP Biology, but it was pretty clear.  The four of them would come over and wait for me to give them food, and even Joel had to admit it was cute.  They were a little family: Frankie, Gandalf (The Gray!  Get it??) and the kittens, who I named Harry and Merlin.  When it started to get really cold in the winter, I opened up the trap door to our "basement", which is really a hole in the ground under our house which is home to our water heater, topsoil and mulch I bought for all the "plants" that "died", and random bike parts.  I put a cardboard box with some rags down there in the hopes that Frankie and her babies would go down there and keep warm, and that's just what they did.  A few times I went down there to get something, and I surprised Frankie and both the babies asleep in the box.  It made my heart happy, even though they always ran from me, the babies especially.  I finally had to kick them out and close the trap door to stop them from using the "basement's" dirt floor as a litterbox this spring.  I felt really bad about evicting them, but DAMN.  The smell came up through our 100-year-old-very-porous floorboards, and it was NOT GOOD.

About a month ago, I noticed that Harry was looking suspiciously chubby.  And I began to suspect that I might have to change his name to Harriet.  Then (s)he stopped coming around, and we went on vacation, and I was starting to assume that she'd also been "adopted".  There are a lot of "adoptions" around here, which is why my two feline residents are kept safely inside, where they can chase each other around and DRAW BLOOD (seriously, Max's face was bleeding AGAIN last night) from each other, which is at least better than being "adopted" by a car or a giant Baltimore mutant rat. 

Then, this evening, when I got home from the gym, I went out in the back to water the plants before it got too dark for me to see if I whether I was overwatering them just enough, or really starting to drown them.  As I was giving the hibiscus it's nightly 10 gallons of water (just kidding!  I only give it 4 gallons a day!) I heard this weird squeaking sound.  It sounded like it was coming from our neighbor's patio, which was very strange because our nice neighbor is NEVER HOME.  She asked us about a year ago if we would take in her mail because she had to suddenly go to Africa for three weeks, and we have seen her about two time since.  I thought maybe she was tuning up a wagon out there or something, a REALLY squeaky wagon, so I did what every good nosy neighbor would do.  I pulled over a lawn chair and peeked over the fence, in my cute Ann Taylor pajamas. 

She wasn't home.  There was no wagon.  But there were three tiny, adorable kittens nestled in the space between the cinderblock wall that divides our houses (which Frankie is sitting on in the picture above) and the 6-foot wooden fence that surrounds our back patio.  That space is a no-man's-land because there is no way to get to it -- unless you are an agile cat -- and it thus overtaken with weeds that regularly grow over the 6-foot fence.  Below the jungle layers, two identical all-gray kittens and one gorgeous calico were squeaking their hearts out and falling all over each other as they tried to walk.

It's been awhile since I've seen a really small kitten, as stupid as it sounds... I'd forgotten how cute they are.  It took everything in me not to saw off half our fence and steal them so I could raise them as my own. 

But it didn't make sense.  First of all, it would be extremely difficult to get into that space.  It would require jumping the wall into one of the neighbor's yards, and then shimmying through an opening that is about a foot wide and completely overgrown with weeds, and then going around a corner, retrieving the kittens, who would, I'm sure, go along willingly, and squeezing back out from between the fence and the wall.  And then, I'd either have to jump back over the wall -- with the kittens in hand -- or knock on the neighbors back door and say, "Hello, I'm just in your backyard here, and I have these kittens.  Could you be so kind as to let me come in, so that I can exit through your front door and go back into my own house?  That is, assuming that I remembered to unlock the front door."

Also, when I got a better look at the kittens, it was clear that they were too small to be away from their mother.  It would be one thing if I found them stranded on the side of the road after their mother had been "adopted" by a car. Or if I could quit my job to stay home and bottle feed them, keep Madison from eating them, and find them loving homes where their owner would buy them plenty of toys to knock under the oven and there would always be a warm place to sleep.   It's quite another to kidnap kittens whose mother is just off killing them some dinner, and is taking very good care of her babies by stowing them in a safe, out of the way, impossible to get to, hiding place.

Of course, even though I eventually came to the conclusion that I should not kidnap the very adorable kittens (which required both Joel and my mother talking me out of it), I still have not given up on them completely.  This morning they were still out there, in the same place, balled up with their momma in a big pile of adorableness.  I tried to take some pictures of them, but it wasn't easy to get a shot while I was standing precariously on a lawn chair, leaning over the fence, and have a I mentioned the weeds?  They are big.  And provide a lot of shade.  Which is probably why Harriet chose the location in the first place.

So, in the end, I put out some fresh food and water in the usual place for Harriet, and left them alone. Realistically, I know that is the best thing for them.   They're not hurt, they're not sick, and they don't need my "help".  They're not my kittens, and they'll probably grow up to be just as afraid of me as their mother.  But I'm taking it as a compliment that out of all the dark corners and alleys in Baltimore, Harriet chose to have and keep her babies in my back yard.   She put them in the place she though would be safe, and really, that's all I ever wanted when I started feeding their grandmother.  To give them some comfort, and a safe place to sleep. 

The last of the pictures, and probably also the last you hear from me because Madison set off the burglar alarm at 5:50am last night and I am so tired and cranky I might just die

Portland was the last leg of our trip.   Luckily, Joel's aunt and uncle live there, and agreed to drive us around in their car and show us the sights.  This was lucky because 1) I got to meet Joel's Aunt Ellen (who I fell a little bit in love with), her husband, Jim (who reminded me so much of my Uncle Norman), and their cat, Oscar (who weighed 20 pounds, introduced himself with a big meow, and then proceeded to give us a guided tour of their house and garden, which would have been very informative, I'm sure, if only I spoke Cat) and 2) They basically gave us a free tour of Portland, which was excellent, because with all the flurry of finishing school and going to L.A. immediately before the trip, and packing our 19 oversized bags, we barely had time to figure out what we wanted to do in Seattle and Mt. Rainier, and honestly we never even opened the Frommer's Guide to Portland before I returned it to the library the day we left.

So anyway, did you know that Portland is the "City of Roses"?  Neither did I.

But it is most certainly worthy of the title.  These are from the International Rose Test Garden, which was inside Washington Park, which is the largest urban park in the United States (bigger than Central Park!), and was our first stop on the Tour de Portland.

If I remember correctly, there were over 400 breeds of roses and over 800,000 roses.  Some were extremely fragrant, some had almost no scent, some had the typical rose scent, and others smelled like all kinds of perfumes.  They were all beautiful.  There were bees EVERYWHERE.

This one, called "Black Magic" was our favorite (the roses all names that you're expect to find at the racetrack -- Judy's Delight, Lucky in Love, etc).  It looked like velvet, and the underside of the petals was such a dark blood-red, that when the bud was closed, it looked black.

Second stop was the Japanese Garden, which was also amazing and also within the ginormous Washington Park.

OMG! KOI!

OMG! ROCK GARDEN!

The next day, we were "on our own", meaning that Joel's aunt and uncle had left us with a list of the things we should do and their phone numbers if we had questions/got lost/needed them to come and drive us around some more. 

The Classical Chinese Garden was our first stop.  It was very different from the Japanese Garden, and took up an entire city block.  Everything but the plants was imported from China.  It was gorgeous.

OMG!  MORE FLOWERS!

 

I'm sorry, that didn't have enough attitude.

There, that's better. (Or, it was very, very bright.)

This guy was either getting a really close close-up of the lilypads, or he was just extremely thirsty.  Either way, he was justified as far as I'm concerned.  Lilypads = pretty.  Hot day = thirsty.

Chinese Garden = gorgeous.

Then we did some other stuff, including getting an awesome slice of "Swine and Pine" pizza at a Star Wars-obsessed pizza place, me buying many books at Powell's City of Books, the world's largest independent bookstore (most of which got soaked on the way home... thanks again, United!),  taking a walk along the river at night, and both of us buying more unnecessary items at an outdoorsy store that we definitely could have bought right here in Baltimore, but what would be the fun in that?

And then we came home.  And I might have cried a little, but it was out of happiness that we went, not sadness that it was over.  Mostly.  The End.   

A Whole Lotta Pictures

I never get sick.  But I do feel crappy a lot of times, mostly when I'm not getting enough sleep.  That is the case today, I've felt nauseous since I woke up this morning and I just want to go home and sleep on the couch.  Wah. 

But!  Pictures!  Without any witty commentary because nothing seems funny right now!  Of our stay at Mount Rainier and our drive-by tour of Mt. St. Helen's!

So, here is Joel standing in front of a giant tree trunk.  This was all very impressive in the visitor center area, before we'd seen any real giant trees in the giant tree forest, so please just humor me.  The date marker said the tree was born (started growing, whatever) in like 1512 or 1215 or something like that.  So, that's cool. Shut up.

Whoever owns this van, I would like to marry you.  Because that's friggin' awesome.

Orange hat! Camelbacks! 

I wish I was here.  Right now.  (Mt. Rainier is directly in the center, behind the cloudy-mist stuff).

Close up through the misty-clouds.

Strike a pose, there's nothing to it.

Me and the mountain. 

 

I think I was holding a snowball up or something, but now it just looks like yet another odd pose. 

Look, there is totally a marmot in this picture.  And I lied, because marmots are funny all the time, even when you feel like you might vomit on your desk at any moment.  What is NOT funny is that I finally figured out how to add text to pictures using powerpoint, but I can't figure out how to get it to carry over when I upload to typepad.  So just imagine that there is a little arrow pointing to the marmot (you can click on the picture to enlarge it -- he is located in the middle left of the picture, if you look at the wooden bridge in the center, then follow the bottom line of the dried up streambed to the left.  He's the brown blob before you get to the big rock) saying "OMG! MARMOT SIGHTING!!"  Stupid typepad.

OMG!  TWO MARMOTS!!  TWO MARMOTS, FROLICKING IN AN ALPINE MEADOW!!!

(Again, you can click on the picture to enlarge and get a better view of the frolicking. Just pretend you can see them, please.  I am not messing with stupid powerpoint and stupid typepad anymore today) 

OMG! PRETTY FLOWERS!! Almost as pretty as the half-dead African Violet on my desk! Being back at work is fun!!

I know nada about photography and I hate our lunky dunky camera whose batteries last for 5 minutes max.  And yet, these pictures came out like this.  So you can imagine how beautiful it really was.  Unreal.

Honestly, here's the only way I can think to describe this place:  You know that scene in The Sound of Music, when the Von Traps and Maria are escaping over the alps to get away from the Nazis with all of the 17 Von Trap kids in tow?  And you're thinking how much that sucks and starting to cry a little and it doesn't even look like they brought any food with them, and the dad is carrying one kid ON HIS SHOULDERS, and yet they are happy and singing, and everything is so beautiful?  Well, that meadow in the Swiss Alps (or wherever) is exactly what Mount Rainier looks like.  Exactly. Minus the Nazis.

OMG!  A DEER!!

Those from NJ will realize that last outburst was sarcastic.  Big deal, there's another stupid deer in a parking lot (yes, this was in the parking lot).  All I can say is, that deer is damn lucky he didn't jump in front of my car. 

(I was not at all being sarcastic about the marmots.  I am obsessed with marmots, and I think they are almost as cool as otters.  Marmots are freaking awesome.)

One of the many, many spiderwebs we encountered on Day #2 of hiking.  Thankfully, this one did not end up on my face.  The spider who spent all morning making it was happy too.

This trail was 3.5 miles, straight up the mountain.   The landscape was very different than the day before: less flowers, more giant trees, and more fog.

I think we were supposed to be disappointed that it was foggy, because the visibility was so reduced that we couldn't see the mountains in the distance... but I thought it made everything just look surreal.  I loved it.

OK, there were some flowers.  But a lot more giant trees.

This was at the top, at the "viewpoint".   Again, couldn't see much beyond the first few trees.  And you know what?  That was just fine with me, because I don't much care for views down into a valley 3000 feet below, unless there is a sturdy guardrail.

Joel making his way up the last part of the trail.

OMG! A BIRD!!

OMG... THIS BIRD IS VERY BOLD.

OMG!! THE BIRD JUST TOOK A DRINK OUT OF MY CAMELBACK STRAW!! (OK, OK, I'm kidding, but he was definitely thinking about it)

After we literally ran back down the mountain (because we were behind schedule, because Joel just HAD to climb off the maintained trail, up the remaining few hundred feet of the mountain, to see the "view" that was completely fogged in, leaving me to bite my nails and worry about him falling off the mountain, and OMG there is no cell service here, how would I call the ambulance and OMG what if one of the free roaming cougars comes over here while he's gone and eats me and OMG why won't that stupid bird leave me alone, I wouldn't want to take your picture anymore bird, go the fuck away... you get the idea.  FOR FORTY MINUTES UNTIL HE CAME BACK DOWN), we drove the three hours to Mount. St. Helen's National Park.  We knew we weren't going to be able to see much because of the fog, but it just seemed like a shame to be so close and miss it altogether.  We drove along some very windy roads that were on some very high cliffs for about an hour, and I literally got motion sickness from all the winding and worrying about driving off a cliff.   But it was well worth it, and I'm very glad we at least saw some of the park.  It was a lot of burned out trees, and it was hard to believe that it's been over 20 years since the eruption.  Everything still looks so desolate, especially when we were coming straight from the gorgeous forests and meadows on Mt. Rainier.

It was really beautiful in it's own way, though.

If it hadn't been foggy, the back side of the crater would have been visible in the distance here. 

This is what really blew me away.  We stopped here to look at the lake, and noticed that weird cover-like thing over it.  When we zoomed in with the camera it looked like... logs?  When we read the sign, it turned out that's just what it was.  Dead tree trunks that were killed by the explosion, and swept into the lake when the ash and lava raised the water lever temporarily.  20+ years later, they're still there, slowly breaking down and providing homes to algae and small vegetation that is beginning to regrow on the mountain.

I miss it.

Seattle, in pictures

I have to confess that Joel and I have a problem.   It's an addiction, a compulsion.  And we want to get help, but we just don't know how.  It's so hard.

We are chronic overpackers.  As evidenced here by our luggage for a nine-day trip, which is roughly equivalent to the baggage that my entire family brought for a 14-day trip to Hawaii in December... and that included Michael, who'd been living there for FOUR MONTHS.  Don't judge us.  It's a disease.

While we were in Seattle, we went to Pike's Place Market every single day.  We went for breakfast multiple times, we went to just walk around, we went for dinner.  I would have bought a ton of stuff, except... there was no room in the bags.  OK, I'm exaggerating a little.  It was mostly because any of the stuff I wanted to buy was food products, like honey and homemade jellies, and since I knew they would be confiscated as possible terrorist items, I had to make the sacrifice.

Joel took about 5 pictures trying to capture the famous fish tossing... but apparently we never caught one in the air on film.

But more importantly, I got a coffee from the World's First Starbucks.  And yes, it was delicious.

We took a break one day on some steps that totally had a name, and I wish I could remember it...

UPDATE: The Harbor Steps!  That's what they're called!  Thank you, Isabel!

We went to my second cousin's (first cousin once removed?  whatever the first born of your cousin's FOUR CHILDREN is called) swim meet.  He was awesome. 

From left to right, we have my cousin's husband, Doug (my cousin-in-law??), my cousin Christine, cousin's child #2, MacAllistar (eek...possibly #3, I can't keep track, my two cousins have NINE CHILDREN and I'm just thankful that the other five kids were out of town or I would have gone crazy) (from trying to keep them straight, not from the amount of kids, because honestly, these kids are the sweetest, most adorable children you will ever see.  I wanted to take them home.  In my days of lifeguarding and being a professional chauffer to an 8-year-old brat, I have seen how most kids behave... and these children are ANGELS -- but not in an annoyingly angelic way, if you know what I mean), my Uncle Norman, cousin's child #3, Grace Ann; myself; cousin's child #1, Jacob (having just finished one of his many swimming events); my Aunt Carol; and cousin's child #4, Truman.

And their dog's name was Hank.  You can all give me a round of applause now for not messing up their names ONCE.

And of course, what would a visit to Seattle be without a trip to the flagship REI store?   Here's Joel comparing two flashlights.  Please don't ask why he needed to buy a flashlight... in Seattle... for $40.  He just did.

Just like I needed to buy some sunglasses, since I predictably left mine in the car in Baltimore.  And I also needed to buy this awesome hat, because LOOK at it!  Don't say it's ugly, because I already took the tags off and wore it for several days.  Yes, that's a crocheted flower, and I love it.

We took ourselves on a tour of the outrageously large University of Washington campus.  Joel envied their enormous boathouse on their lilypad-surrounded lake.  And I took a ride on a dog.  Um... go Blue Jays?

This is Pioneer Square.  It's no Inner Harbor, but I'll give Seattle a close second to Baltimore's inherent beauty.

We took this "Underground Tour" of the old city, before it was raised to the current street level.  Apparently, Seattle used to have some... problems, whenever the tide would come in.  With the plumbing.  So when the whole city burned down, they raised it up a level so they could flush their toilets at low tide.  The whole time, the tour guide kept making these "jokes" about how there were all these huge rats down in the old tunnels, and how we should send the little kids in first so the rats could eat them instead.   I think she was trying to gross people out, but Joel and I were fairly certain that we've seen more rats in broad daylight in Baltimore than we did down in the Seattle tunnels.  Amateurs.

This was a view of the city street above from the tunnels.  And apparently where dirty old men come to try to see up ladies' skirts.  It was a classy tour, that's for sure.

(What's that in my left hand?   It's a Starbucks cup, of course!)

We had fabulous weather, and although it didn't come through in the picture for some reason, you could see Mount Rainier in the distance, to the right of the city skyline.  But you know what I liked best about the Space Needle?   Those great bars they have keeping you from falling out.  Now that's some smart city planning right there.

 

Yea, you could say we had a good time.

I left my heart on Mount Rainier

Well, I'm back.  We made it home last night without any major difficulties, besides a 90 minute delay to our flight in Denver because of thunderstorms, and the fact that during said thunderstorms, United airlines apparently left all of the luggage out on the runway to get soaked.  But that's OK, because, really, what would a trip be without United kicking you in the proverbial balls?  It's not like I bought several books at the world's largest independent bookstore in Portland, which I foolishly packed in my checked bag.  And even if I had, it's not like one of them was an AUTOGRAPHED FIRST EDITION BY ISABEL ALLENDE.  Nope, nothing like that. 

But aside from United soaking our luggage with a fire hose and blaming it on the "rain", and also lying about the flight being booked to capacity and refusing to seat us next to each other, everything was fabulous.  And I guess I shouldn't blame United for everything, now should I?  I mean, it is entirely possible that it's against FAA regulations to cover luggage during a torrential downpour, and that in a statistical anomaly, 40 people checked in for our very flight, but then neglected to board the plane after thinking things over.  I'm not sure I'd  blame them.  "Hmm, I hear it's might hot and humid in Baltimore this time of year.  On second thought, honey, let's just stay home instead," all those people probably said to themselves.  Yes, I'm sure that's exactly what happened.

I am not even going to try to go into what we did and blah blah blah, partly because I realize that no one but my mom cares (and don't worry mom, I'll be bringing pictures with me over Labor Day), and partly because I am lazy.  We uploaded the pictures tonight, and some came out really well, so I'll probably do one of my renowned photo essays tomorrow (or next week).

I am usually content to take a comp day off of work every once in awhile to recharge my mental batteries, but this trip made me realize how wonderful it is to get away from everything.  To be specific, it was when we had just finished a 7-mile hike on Mount Rainier, and we were driving to Mount St. Helen's on our way to Organ (the correct way to pronounce the state to the south of Washington is, I've been informed, "organ", as in liver and kidneys.  Only tourists say "Oar-a-gone".  Now you know.) and I realized that my cell phone had been off for two days, and I had no idea how many new emails were in my inbox, or what was going on in the sixty thousand blogs I am addicted to -- let alone what's happening on Rescue Me and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia lately.  There could have been a million people typing in Google searches about Julian McMahon driving a BMW in the nude and being directed to this site, and I would have had NO IDEA.  And that feeling was utterly wonderful.

So wonderful, in fact that I forgot it was my father's birthday.  More precisely, I had no idea what day of the week it was, let alone what the date was.  When I finally realized that it was August 17th, it was already too late to call a man who wakes up before 6am every day of his life... and my cell still wasn't getting service out on the highways of Organ.  Remember those summers before you had to get a job working at an ice cream shop in order to fund your Gap habit and buy 87-cents-per-gallon gasoline for your 1989 VW Fox, when the day of the week was completely irrelevant because Friday, Monday, Wednesday were all just one mass of gorgeous summer freedom?  It was just like that.  Except with a little bit of being a forgetful ungrateful horrible daughter thrown in.

So, we went on vacation and now we're back.  And my good friend insomnia has come to visit in honor of the occasion, which I'm sure will make going back to work after spending 9 days cavorting about the West Coast all the more enjoyable. 

It's my vacation and I'll cry if I want to... and I probably will

So I was going to show you all the pictures of the 70s swinger porno disco party hotel (and don't you worry, I took plenty with my camera phone), but then some terrorists had to go and screw everything up.  Instead of going to the hotel gym (which had three walls covered in wood paneling, and the remaining wall was a huge print of a nude beach, complete with a naked chick riding a bike right up front) and then sharing a cab to the airport at 9:30am, I spent the morning repacking my bags so I could check my backpack with all my precious toiletries.  And then I sat in LAX for for 4 hours waiting for my plane to take off, and now I'm home and I'm supposed to be packing for vakayshun and holy hell, it's already past midnight. 

The worst part of this is how sad every one of these terror plots makes me.  It breaks my heart that people have so much hate, and so much will to hurt other people. 

A close second is that you're no longer allowed to bring water on planes.  For a person who drinks an average of over a gallon of water a day -- I am not exaggerating, I am ALWAYS thirsty -- this is a real problem.  Especially because everyone knows that planes are very dehydrating.  It's all that recycled, pressurized air.  (And the fear.  Of, you know, snakes.  On the plane).

I have to go figure out how to smuggle my camelback into my carryon bag now.  Not sure when the next update will be, but I can promise you that there will be pictures a-plenty.

I had a nightmare about snakes this weekend, by the way. And also about parking tickets.

I just printed out my boarding pass for my flight to L.A. tomorrow.  One thing down, one hundred billion, three dozen thousand, four hundred and thirty three left to go.

I really wish that I had realized that this little trip was RIGHT BEFORE we left on vacation, because then I wold have found some way to get out of it.  Or at least to have better prepared myself for it.  As things stand, I'm freaking out just a little bit.  I'm honestly not sure why, because in my life, I have never packed for a trip prior to the night before leaving -- and sometimes I put it off until the morning of departure, if I'm not leaving at an ungodly hour (which I consider anything before 10am).  This used to stress my  mother out to no end, mostly because my mom is the kind of person who literally has her suitcase packed two weeks in advance.   It's part of the excitement for her.  I just like to worry about packing instead.  Our hotels, flights, and rental cars are all booked.  There is nothing to worry about.  But that's never stopped me before.

I have also developed this burning need to clean the house before I leave for any sort of trip.  Not because I'm ashamed that Liz (who won the Who Wants To Be My New Petsitter competition) will see the cathair tumbleweeds blowing around my house -- the girl lived with me for a year, during which I changed the sheets on my three legged bed zero times.    No, this is quite different than the unbearable compulsion that comes over me whenever someone is going to see our house for the first time, which drives me to scrub the insides of the cats' litterbox to a shiny mirror-like finish.   I can't explain it.  All I know is that I have to wash the kitchen floor, dust the bedroom, and finish training Madison to walk upright and sing the alphabet before I leave, and there just isn't enough time. 

Oh, and you know what isn't making my anxiety any better?  The movie that's opening next week. You know, the one about snakes on a plane.

Just call me Veronica Mars

As I was driving up 83 today -- sweating in my car with no air conditioning -- this nagging little thought started to bother me.  Maybe I should have called to make sure the program offices were open.  I mean, they're usually open in the evenings.  But... there are no classes on Fridays.  I've never gone there on a Friday.  There is a distinct possibility that I am sweating here in traffic for no reason. 

In fact, that thought was nagging me so much, that I actually missed my exit.  Who does that?  OK, shut up.  I do that.  All the time.

Anyway, I got to the building and was relieved to find the little back door unlocked.  Phew!  They're open.  Now all that's left is to convince that nice lady to give me back my envelope so I can take out all the pages with typos and replace them with crisp clean sweaty, crumpled new ones.

As I walked down the long basement hallway, it was beginning to look awfully dark in the offices.  In fact.. yep, definitely closed.  Lights off, blinds down, closed. CRAP. 

I kept walking towards the door, I guess I was hoping that it might be a surprise party for me or something, and I noticed that it was just the slightest bit open.  And I don't know what possessed me to do this, because I am not a rule breaker.  But it was gently about to blow closed, probably from the wind created by all the candles on my HAPPY SURPRISE PARTY cake, so I lunged forward and opened it, and walked in.

There was a woman standing all alone at the copier, and I suppose she was copying something.  I don't know, I was too busy trying to think of a way to explain my breaking and entering to notice.  "Um, are you guys closed?" I asked, as if I could not see that every light was out and all the doors were closed.   "Well, yea.  It's almost 6 o'clock," she replied, with some unnecessary snottiness.  I mean, they're open until at least 7 every other day of the week.   I guess I should have begged her forgiveness for not having memorized the office schedule before I missed by exit and parked illegally in the patients only parking lot, but instead I started rambling.  "Um, I dropped something off for Melissa yesterday, but I forgot to include something, would it be alright if I just stuck this in there and then -- " She cut me off and said "Sure.  Whatever.  Just close the door behind you."  And she left me alone in there.

I walked over to the mailboxes and easily found my bright yellow interdepartmental envelope that I'd dropped off yesterday.  I put it on the table and very, very carefully swapped out the pages filled with typos for the new ones I'd brought.  I then replaced all the paperclips and staples, put it back in the envelope, and was about to put it back in the mailbox, when I noticed the return address on the Fedex envelope on top of the pile.  It just happened to be the name of someone I knew.  Someone who I went to college with.  Someone who had the same work-study job as me, and who gave me a wee bit of trouble for not "doing" my "job" (see, she thought we were supposed to actually work.  I thought we were supposed to check in, check out, and do whatever we pleased in between.  Usually  drinking.  Or sleeping.  Sometimes a little of both, if I was feeling really productive).  And, apparently, someone who was also finishing her Portfolio at the same time as me.   

I can't tell you how bad I wanted to take her Portfolio and make a copy of it so I could take it home and rip it apart with my friends.  I can't say that the thought of accidentally pushing it into the garbage can didn't cross my mind.  But I didn't.  Karma comes around, people.  I just put mine on top of hers, walked out, and shut the door behind me.

Mission Accomplished. 

Anti-climax... part three hundred million

I was going to tell you all about how I handed in my Portfolio yesterday -- making me utterly and officially DONE WITH SCHOOL -- and how there would be no worrying that the US Postal Service had conspired against me, no mistrust of interdepartmental mail, et cetera et cetera, because I hand-delivered it to my adviser's office.  And how in doing so, I got lost on my own campus due to a massive construction campaign that has apparently commenced since my last class ended a mere three weeks ago, and how I forgot to change out of my cute Banana-Republic kitten-heel sandals before I left work, and how the shuttle route was changed (WITHOUT EVEN CONSULTING ME!), and how all this resulted in my developing two very large, painful blisters on the bottom of my feet and calling my boyfriend to come and rescue me.   The moral of the story was going to be, it was all worth it, because now I feel like it is really over.  Let the celebration begin!

But, I can't tell you that story, because somebody didn't proofread before they hit "print".  And someone's mommy was kind enough to proofread for them, and found a few typos...along with one partially completed sentence.  So, somebody will be making another trip... and begging the secretary to give them back that yellow Interdepartmental envelope they dropped off yesterday, so that they can just replace a few pages. 

Does this remind anyone else of a certain classic cinematic masterpiece?  Did you kill a cheetah?

Come one, come all.... except the guy Panama City Beach

All of a sudden my sitemeter started to go all CA-RAY-ZEE, and I started to wonder, had all those bitches that hated me in college found out that I had a website?  Am I being stalked by a secret admirer?  Has the internet heard that I am the proud mommy to The World's Most Neurotic Cat, and are visiting to pour out their monetary support for his horrific vet bills?

Well, no.  But there HAVE been some wild Google referrals lately.  So, I decided to keep track of them for a week.  And I've realized: wow.  People Google some seriously weird shit.  And then the internet, for some reason, sends them here.

For instance, just a few hours ago, someone in the far off land of Bangalore, India googled the phrase "blisters with puss third trimester pregnancy" and was sent to my site.  Which is very, very disturbing.  But you'll all be relieved to know that the symmetrical blisters/warts/callouses on my big toes are officially gone.  Just in time for my pedicure on Saturday! 

Then there was the fine fellow in Vaasa, Finland who got here by searching for "samatha fox boys torrent" I'm ashamed to say I don't know what that even means.  And I probably don't want to.

They're not all THAT weird.  And I can see how some of them would pull up this 24-loving, slightly television-obsessed website.  Such as,

"united standard awards for international destinations are temporarily unavailable at united.com" — Falmouth, Maine

"can julian mcmahon drive a stick shift" - Green Valley, Arizona
"connect to neighbor's wireles" --Lexington, South Carolina

"what kind of water spiders live in maryland" — Baltimore, MD

martha logan aaron pierce "love with aaron" — Watertown, New York

"hellman's rated best low fat mayo"  — St. Louis, Missouri

anecdote from einstein's life — Bangalore, India

"raid earth options sucks" — constable, New York

These are all things that I've talked about, in some way or another, during this site's short life.  I'm only sorry that I don't actually know the answer to the question asked by the resident in Green Valley.  If I had to guess, though, I would say: Yes.  He looks like the kind of guy who would drive a stick, doesn't he?  I'm also glad to know I'm not the only person who is dissatisfied with the performance of both United.com and Raid Earth Options, nor the only fan of Hellman's fake mayonnaise. 

However, I am quite sure I have never discussed these topics:

"car falling off a cliff according to carl jung theory" — Kampong Batu Tiga Suku, Malaysia

"claustrophobia panic attack elevator trapped scream" — Spearwood, Western Australia

"impossibly skinny" fashion model video — Sodus, Michigan

and my personal favorite....

lobotomy "Sheppard Pratt" — Panama City Beach, Florida

I'm pretty sure they don't do those anymore, sir.  But good luck to you, in any case. 

Ya'll come back now, ya hear?

Hitting the Fan

Did you all like how relaxed and calm I was in the last post?  Wasn't it wonderful?  I hope you enjoyed it.  Because it is officially over.

The freaking out has commenced.  As in, OMG! I have 15242 gazillion things to do at work!  And I still haven't finished my Portfolio!  And OMG! IT WAS DUE YESTERDAY!!! THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END.

Then throw in a few more things I have to do at work, including a trip to Los Angeles for three days next week.  And the fact that next Friday, as in NINE DAYS FROM NOW we are leaving on vacation.  And nothing is planned.  We're not sure if we shoudl rent a car, or not rent a car?  Perhaps rent a car for part of the time?? OMG THERE ARE TOO MANY DECISIONS.

It gets better.  Wanna hear my travel itinerary for next week?  Sure you do!  You can store it away with my license plate number and home address for when you want to stalk me. 

**********************************************

Tues: 9:15am flight departs for Los Angeles

Weds: Meetings all day in LA.

Thurs: Flight departs from LA at noon, arrives in Baltimore at 8pm because of the warped space-time continuum. 

Friday: Fly to Seattle for Vacation.

**********************************************

So, you're probably saying to yourself, "why is she flying all they way across the country on Thursday, only to fly all the way BACK they very next day?"

Well, there is a reason.  It's called: SHUT UP. Some of us like to feel all fancy and use a "travel" "agent" while planning our "business" travel, and maybe we forget to consult our calendar when we do that.  So just shut up. 

Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to go steal some of my cat's Xanax so that I can get back to working on that "thing" that was due yesterday, figure out how I can pack for a 10-day vacation while not actually being home, and also figure out why my backspace key is no longer working.

Going out with a bang

Happy August, Internet!   Guess what today is?   Today is the day my Portfolio is due.

Guess what else?  I didn't do it.  Well, I sort of did.  But it's not anywhere near done.  Oops.

And guess what else??  This will officially be the first time I've missed a deadline.  Congratulations, Jennifer, you are officially a lazy college student.  Except you're 5 years too late.

I've always been a procrastinator, but I've never missed a deadline, because I'm... what's the word I'm looking for here?  Oh, that's right: NEUROTIC.   I don't even think I realized that it was possible to miss a deadline until about the middle of sophomore year.   I just figured that if you didn't hand in your homework on time, you exploded.  Or something.

So, here's the grand finale to my graduate career.  My portfolio is due, and it's not done.   I am so proud of myself!

(My adviser is totally on vacation until Monday.)

(But I am really am lazy.  Still neurotic as ever, though.)

Dark Horse

Last week, I was pretty sure that buying a motorized toothbrush was the most un-fun way EVER to spend $100.  I mean, how much damage can I really be doing by "eroding" my own "enamel"?  God, dentists are so uptight about some things.

But then, I found this puppy at Target, on sale for $69.99.  It was a bargain, which makes it, by definition, not so bad.

Also, on Friday I got to drag my very nervous, very fat cat to the vet.  And I decided that lugging a 15-lb angry, scared animal around the city in 100-degree heat and high humidity was actually much less enjoyable than blowing a benjamin on oral hygeniene.  Thus, Max took the lead in the race for The Least Fun Way To Spend Money.

But now his dose of kitty xanax has been doubled, and watching him wander about the house in a state of blissfully medicated calm has been well worth the dough, even if I do hate that stupid condescending vet.  Even more importantly, Max seems to have stopped chewing off his own appendages for the time being.

Oh, and on Saturday this came in the mail from the DC Photo Enforcement Office:

And now I'm quite certain that I was wrong all along -- because, surely getting your FIRST SPEEDING TICKET EVER from a robotic camera takes the cake as The Most Un-Fun Use of Hard Earned Money. Ever. In The Whole Wide World. 

Oh, yes, this ticket was from the return trip of my Drive From Hell.   Do you think temporary insanity due to heat stroke would be a viable defense?

Damn you, George W.  I know this is somehow your fault.  Stop violating my right to privacy as I speed along 395 -- at a mere 57 miles per hour, might I add.

(Edited to add: Oh, the irony.  I just realized that I should probably not complain about how The Man is all up in my grill, violating my privacy, while simultaneously posting a document containing my full name, home address, and license plate number on the internet.)