Operation Pink Herring

Spoke too soon

Yea, about that whole "no more vet visits EVER" thing?  That was all going to plan, until about 11pm last night.  While we watched Jericho, I attached Max's new microchip-tag to his collar (totally redundant, since the chip is in case he gets lost without his collar, but if you've got it, wear it, that's my philosophy).  I got a message from the vet saying that his annual bloodwork drawn on Monday was all good, except his cholesterol was a little high.  WELL, DON'T I KNOW HOW THAT FEELS, BIG BOY.  My cholesterol has been "a little bit high" since I was about 3 years old, and I'm still kicking.  Everything else was fine for Mr. Senior Kitty, so all the more reason to kick all this preventative medical care to the curb. I even threw a notice that Henry needs some BS vaccine booster in the garbage, which I felt slightly guilty about.  And then I slapped myself in the face, reminded myself that they are indoor cats, and the toy mice they chew on don't have rabies.  NO NEED TO WORRY, GIRL.  TOSS OUT THAT CARD!  WAY TO GO!

I've been making an effort to get to sleep earlier, so I've been going to bed when Joel does (insanely early because of the whole waking-up-at-4am thing), and then reading until I feel sleepy.  Then I pop a couple of Lunesta, turn out the light, and wait for the sleep fairy to come and sprinkle her magical dust on me.  Sometimes the bitch doesn't show, and we all know how that turns out.  But mostly, the system has been working well.

Since he's been neutered and free-roaming, Henry has been sleeping with us at night.  He'll make a few laps around the bed, take a stroll up and down Joel's back (Joel's a hard sleeper, he doesn't notice), and then settles down at the foot of the bed.  Sometimes he takes a rest for a few minutes on my chest, but I have to kick him off so I can keep reading and find out who wins the war (kidding) (sort of... it's riveting!).  Last night, when I pushed him off my chest, I saw white glob stuck to his tail as he walked away.  And because, obviously, I have learned NOTHING in the past few months, I thought to myself "what is that?" and I plucked it off.  WITH MY HAND.

And then I looked at it more closely.  It moved.

(Commence the FREAK OUT)

The first thing I did was wipe the wriggling mass on my book, and for this I must apologize to my brother.  Dear Michael:  Thanks again for lending me your book!  And by "lending", I mean, "thanks for leaving it at Mom's house; by the way, I borrowed it".  I promise that I cleaned it VERY thoroughly, but still, you might want to skip page 176.  I don't know what happens because I couldn't bring myself to re-open that page, but you're a history major, so I'm sure you can figure it out.

Then I looked at it again to make sure it was really moving, not just a figment of my imagination, AND IT SURE WAS, so holding the book at arm's length, I jumped out of bed and carried it to the bathroom, where I deposited the book on the toilet.  Then I freaked out a little more, and finally mustered up the courage to pick the squirming blob up in a piece of toilet paper and throw it in the garbage.

I got back into bed (after pulling a Lady MacBeth and using up all the hand soap) and tried to read some more, but I just couldn't concentrate (not even to find out whether New York will fall to the redcoats). I could practically hear that thing crawling around in the garbage. I could feel its anger, could feel it coming for me. I contemplated emptying the bathroom garbage into the big, outside garbage can.  I considered making a bonfire and burning the sucker, and then salting his bones (um, do worms have bones? No? Well, you can never be too sure, I think I'll burn them anyway). I've learned a thing or two from watching Supernatural, and I KNOW how to kill something that just won't die.I could even stake the sucker through the heart, just to be sure.

In the end, I decided to pull the tissue paper out of the garbage and seal it in a ziploc bag (after making sure The Thing was still in there) (then I had to freak out some more, because it was STILL MOVING).  This morning, I took the baggy to the vet's office and presented them with a little gift.

Um, hi?  You guys remember me, right?  I was just in here with my fat cat (Max) on Monday.  And I've also been keeping you in business for the past three months.  In fact, I think you may be garnishing my paycheck at the moment.  Oh, and remember back in January when I brought my devil-cat (Madison) in, and he had to be given anesthesia and I bled all over your office?  That was fun.   Anyway, so I I have these three cats, and one of them (Henry) had roundworm and coccicia but we treated that and we kept him isolated the whole time, so I don't think he passed it to the other cats.  But then you guys tested a poo sample and said he was all clean, so for the past three weeks they've all been sharing a litterbox and last night I found THIS on his butt.  WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT? 

Oh, and I also might have added, WHYYYYY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME?  HOW COULD THE DRUGS NOT HAVE WORKED?  WHY WON'T THE ROUNDWORM LEAVE ME ALONE?

It turns out it is probably a tapeworm instead.  Which is awesome, because it's been a whole three years since we've had a tapeworm in my house.  In fact, a tapeworm is what prompted Joel to bring the cats to the vet for the very first time, when I was on vacation in Italy and we discovered what those little rice-thingies we'd been finding all over the house really were.  It's like a trip down memory lane!  Remember that whole year that elapsed between my adoption of Max and Madison and their first vet visit?  Man, that was awful.  Hooray for tapeworms, hooray for breaking that streak!  After we initially "killed" those first tapeworms, I had my first fight with the vet because the tapeworm came back.  They said that was impossible, the medicine is 100% effective, and I said WELL THEN WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? and brought them a bag full of poo to test, which tested positive and PROVED ME RIGHT.  My prize for being right was 2 more vet visits and a downward spiral to the point we're at today.

Anyway, tapeworms.  They're back.  VOMIT.  And now, they want me to bring all THREE cats in to the office for an injection.  Dr. Google tells me that there is a pill version of the same medicine, which I'm going to lobby for.  But before I order a lifetime's supply from 1800PetMeds, I guess I should wait for the vet to call back with the official verdict.

Man, and I was so close to freedom.  So close.

Home Sweet Tivo

Well, I made it home from New Orleans on Saturday night.  The meeting was just as much of a disaster as I thought it would be (although in ways I never could have imagined -- I'll give them points for originality), but now I'm home.  Phew.  The best part is that I think that things went SO badly that I have enough ammo to convince my boss never to work with this company again. 

Here's to hoping.

On Sunday, Joel and I spent a few hours cleaning the house.  WE are working on a new plan to share the housework more equitably, and so far it's working very nicely.  I didn't spend my entire day off on Monday scrubbing the house, and that was nice.  Instead, I ran some errands in the morning and met up with Joel at home for lunch.  Then I caught up on last week's Tivo cache, went to yoga, and took Max to his annual vet appointment.  Don't worry I'm not going to talk about that last one.  We'll just say that it was not pleasant for me, Max, or my credit card, and I have decided that these preventative visits are HIGHLY overrated.  Until they go out and get jobs with health coverage, I am hereby issuing a moratorium on vet visits.  Amen.

You know what's great about never keeping up with your Tivo cache?  You find yourself watching last week's show just in time for the new episode.   So we watched last week's Lost last night, and now instead of ruminating for a week about how in the HELL John's father ended up hog-tied in The Others' basement, we get to find out tonight!  Yet another benefit of the great and wonderful Tivo.

Oh, and, yes, Lost has sucked me back in.  I will give them another chance, since they appear to finally be tying up some loose ends and plot holes (we get to know how John became paralyzed!  And it's only season, what, 29?) and for getting some better dialog.  When "Ben" was spouting off about the magical box that can give you anything you imagine, anything your heart desires, as long as you want it badly enough?  I was gagging.  I can swallow a lot more mystical mumbo jumbo than your average girl; I am a tree-hugging, karma-embracing hippie, after all.  I'll see your island with healing powers and raise you one dinosaur that hasn't been heard from since season one.  But I don't try to pull an ace out of your sleeve by throwing in some mystical box-thing.  Oh, no, buddy.  There is a limit to my suspension of disbelief, and it's reserved for daytime soaps.  Luckily, I can continue to watch the show in good conscience, because John agreed with me.  You'd better hope that box is big enough to imagine yourself up a new submarine.

LOVE IT.

That little one-liner was only topped by the spat between Tom Lennox (possibly the worst politician in the world, lacking the ability to pull off a simple double-cross) and Karen Hayes. When Karen asked snippily if Tom got that bruise on his face by falling down a flight of stairs, instead of replying "Oh, this old thing?  st got pistol whipped by a couple of insider terrorists, that's all", he says: "I tripped over your ineptitude".

OH SNAPS!  I'm not even sure what that means, since Karen was resigned at the time, but you get points for trying, Tom. 

Note to 24 producers: I don't think I was supposed to be laughing.  But keep 'em coming, it's better than this crap about waking presidents up from comas so they can stop WWIII from starting.  Days of Our Lives called, and they want their storyline back.

OOOOOH!  SNAPS! 

I'll be here all week, people, making jokes that only I find funny about last week's television episodes.  Stay tuned.

The Big Easy Made Me Do It

Hey, guys!  So I made it here to New Orleans.  And I have not stressed out very much at all.  Even when I had to sit next to my supervisor on the plane (she was coming down for something unrelated to my meeting, and I knew she was also coming today, but I did NOT know she was going to be on my flight), and she was wearing her business clothes and I was wearing my brown Old Navy fleece pants and a North Face zip-up.  We had a nice chat.  It was actually kind of nice. 

Holy cow, this whole "relax" thing really works!

BTW, do you guys think it's weird that I refer to nice, work appropriate clothing as "business clothes"?  What else should they be called?  I refer to my "business" pants on occassion, meaning the 5 pairs of pants (three brown, two black) that I wear to work every day, such as, "Crap!  I have to do the laundry tonight because all my business pants are dirty and I have nothing to wear to work tomorrow".  Every time I saw that, Joel breaks down laughing and starts asking me what kind of biz-naz I'm planning on doing.  Work pants?  The pants I wear to work every day?  The pants I wear on days other than Casual Friday? What do you call them?

Anyway, after we landed, I met up with another person from my office (who was there to work with my supervisor, I'm here solo on my project) at the baggage claim, and he asked me if I wanted to share a cab.  I said, sure!  Don't mind me while I just call the woman I'm supposed to meet here later, who is Kind of Crazy and I really, really didn't want to wait around for anyway, and make up a little white lie about all the work I have to get done in my hotel room.

So... that's what I did.  And then I went walking around the French Quarter instead of doing any work.  Because I also told her I would not be available until 6pm -- honestly, the things she wanted my "help" with are TOTALLY not part of my job and she is a very manipulative person, so I am glad I had the guts to "stand up" to her.  By leaving a message on her voicemail.  A message that was a total lie.  yes, that is what I call Standing Up To Someone.

Kind of like when I "stood up" to the vet by agreeing to not get Henry neutered for 6 months and then just secretly taking him to another vet. 

Anyway, I don't really know what I expected, but New Orleans is differnt than I thought it would be.  What I love is the Old South feeling I get just walking around.  I've never really been to "The South", and I feel like I'm walking through antebellum movie for some reason.  I love it.

What I do not love, and what I was not ready for, is The Dirty.  As I was walking around, I decided to walk on Bourbon Street, since that is the famous street, the only street I've ever really heard of.   Oh. My. God.  It smelled like horse poo.  There were Margarita stands, next to take out beer stands, next to Larry Flint's Barely Legal club.  On every block, people were wheeling kegs in and out of storefronts, and old people were walking around with giant cups of beer in their hands.  All this, at 2 in the afternoon.  I could practically see Mardi Gras taking place all around me, and that's probably why it made me feel uneasy.  Crowds scare the crap out of me.  Drunken crowds are my just worst.  Drunken crowds with pictures of alligators all over the place is pretty much my worst nightmare.

But!  Once I got off Bourbon Street, I liked the city much better.  Thanks to Janet's suggestions, I made my way to Jackson Square, which was gorgeous.

I stopped at Cafe du Monde for a cafe au laite and beignets.  I was all, "Oh, I'm only going to have one of these things because I really don't need three!  That would just be gluttonous"

And then I had one bite, and I thought, "Well, this is my lunch".

And when they were gone, I wondered if I could get another order without looking like a total pig.

(I didn't.  But I really wanted to)

And then, I had grand plans to ride the street car and see the Garden District, but then I got distracted by the Evil Coach Store.

Um, I have been wanting a Coach wallet ever since my wallet got stolen in December.  I've been looking on Ebay, and when we went to Chicago we stopped in the Coach store on Michigan Avenue so I could see them in person... and I fell in love with this bag.  I was really contemplating buying it, but I decided to think about it and come back later.  When we went back later, it was gone.  They didn't have any more. 

So when I walked into this Coach store, I looked around for it.  I didn't see it. So I asked the store employees.  They weren't sure they had what I wanted.  I gave up, and decided to just look around.  And then I found it in a corner.  The last one they had.

And I bought it.

I feel sort of sick about how much money it cost, and sort of giddy about how much I love this bag. 

And now, dear Internet, I have to actually go do some work to make some money to pay for the designer bag I just bought.

I'm SO over you

I'm totally over worrying about this stupid trip.  I'm actually sort of looking forward to it now, because the sooner it comes, the sooner it will be over!  It's like the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner Christmas morning will come.  Except instead of reindeer, I have a directions to a Drive-Thru Margarita place, courtesy of Janet.

If you're thinking I sound a little... um, schizo lately (I'm stressed! I'm fine!  I'm stressed!  I'm on drugs!), I'll have you know that this is pretty much standard behavior for moi.  I posted last spring about stressingstressingstressing over papers for school how I couldn't possibly get all the work I needed to done in the time I had, it wasn't physically possibly, and why am I writing about this on the internet instead of doing actual work and OMG WHY DIDN'T I BACK UP MY WORK?...and then I just made the mental decision not to worry about it anymore and started looking forward to the due date, because I knew that once May 5th rolled around, the paper would be done.  Even if it totally sucked donkey balls, which I decided I was fine with. 

(I got an A+ on that paper.  And my teacher wrote me a note saying that it was the sort of project he "hoped and dreamed" about when he planned the course.  Um, yeah.  So that's what decided to stop worrying and just hand in a load of crap will buy you.)

I have to thank you all for your comments and emails of support.  I am feeling much better after those virtual pats on the pack.  Thank you, internet.

Oh, and I also should point out that I am on the lowest possible dose of Lunesta, so taking four in one night wasn't exactly a great idea, but my liver is none the worse for wear.  It's less actual drug than the approved maximum dose.  The worst part of it was that I took the second two between 4:30 and 6 am, which left me nicely drugged out for work in the morning.  But that's what coffee is for.

So by this time tomorrow, I will be on the ground in Louisiana, not being stressed out and hopefully finding time to enjoy some of the suggestions for sight-seeing that Janet gave me.  Oh, and hitting the Margarita Drive-Thru.  I tried on my good business suit last night, and the pants fit again (they were not fitting for awhile this winter, which was bad since I only have one real suit), so that's a good start.

As a farewell present, I'll leave you with this picture of my high school prom dress to play along with Isabel's request.  This isn't from my actual high school prom, as I don't have a scanner (and most of the pictures are in my mom's house in New Jersey, anyway).  It's from a little party I planned my senior year of college, The Track Prom.  I decided that if all the sororities and fraternities got to have formal dances, then so should our track team.  I was SO into it and everyone else got into it as well.  We all brought dates from the team, my friends and I spent hours writing "Track Prom 2003" in gold marker on champagne glasses that we'd bought at Walmart, one of our teammates "catered" it, and we even had a giant punch bowl... spiked, of course.  We voted on a prom king and queen (which my high school didn't even do, slackers), and no one was allowed in the door unless they were in full formal wear -- actual prom dresses were highly encouraged.   Then we all got totally wasted.  It was great fun.

I wore my actual prom dress, which my mom had to ship me from New Jersey.  God, I loved that dress.  It kind of pained me to wear it to a party where I knew it was going to get ruined (and it did), but I figured a dress that pretty deserved to be sent off with a bang.    My friend in this picture is also wearing her high school prom dress, which I still think is the most fantastic dress I've ever seen outside of the Grammys.  Only a few other people still had their original dresses, and could get their parents to send them.  Everyone else borrowed, made, or bought something appropriate at Goodwill.  Some of the guys wore top hats.  One wore a replica of the tuxes from Dumb and Dumber.  Another wore a bowtie and jacket with no shirt underneath.  It was awesome, is what I am saying.

Even if my dress was a little bit... um, snug? since I gained about 20 lbs and 2 cup sizes during my four years of college.  It might have taken two of my housemates and a lot of sucking in to get it zipped.  I think the hair-tie-as-a-bracelet and the Red Drunkface really pull the outfit together.  Farewell, my shiny pink dress.  Farewell.

Not the greatest day ever

Last night I said I would go to a dinner meeting in Philadelphia in my coworker's place.  Right from work, I took a taxi to the train station, took a train to Philly, and went to the meeting.  I have stopped stressing about making it to these meetings on time (hooray!) because 1. I don't really do anything anyway.  My job is to "observe", and 2. Getting there early is a bad, bad idea because they you have to schmooze.  I HATE schmoozing/small talking/networking.  HATE IT.  And I can usually manage to avoid it by waltzing in, right on time, and politely excusing myself just a few minutes before the meeting ends so I can "catch my train" (or plane) (or go sit in my car).  I always make sure to mention that I'll need to leave a few minutes early when I arrive, that way I don't look rude.  Or like I just hate making smalltalk.

Yesterday I had about half an hour to spare when I got to Philadelphia, so I got myself a cup of surprisingly good train station coffee (it was FAN-freakin-TASTIC, although I was quite tired, so part of that may have been the caffeine addict in me getting his fix), browsed a bookstore, and then hopped in a cab.  I arrived at the restaurant at exactly 6:25, and the meeting was supposed to start at 6:30.

Except it didn't start until 7 (for no clear reason) (and don't worry, I already told my coworker that she OWES ME BIGTIME), so I got to make small talk for an entire half hour.  KILL ME NOW.

Then I got a cab driver who apparently didn't know what the words "Left here, please" mean, who took me on the loooong way home.  I got a little worried that he was trying to kidnap and rape/kill me.  I had my phone out, 9-1-1 dialed so I'd only have to hit send.  Shit, so much for not worrying (but seriously, it was sort of scary).

I got home and plopped into bed exhausted, even though it was only 10:30, and I usually stay up organizing my paperclips or watching America's Next Top Model until at least midnight.  I popped two Lunesta instead of one, because last night was the first night we let Henry run free allll night long and I was expecting there to be some "noise" (by noise, I mean pandemonium) over that decision.  I wasn't worrying, i was just thinking ahead.

Then when Joel woke up at 4:30am for practice, I couldn't get back to sleep.  SO I took another Lunesta.  Then the cats were making some "noise" (here by noise, I mean Henry was yowling to himself in the bathroom.  He does that sometimes), so I took another one.

Here's a surprise: I was feeling a little messed up this morning.  But at least I got to stay in bed until 9.

Then I went to have my long overdue cholesterol test.  They use needles for those.  I hate needles.

You also have to fast for those.  I hate fasting. 

So after getting stuck with the vampire stick and downing a granola bar, I went to the gym.   Because that is what sensible people do.

Now, here I am, at work preparing for the Trip of Dread.

I think tonight's going to be a 3 glass night, if you know what I mean.

Fear and dread and other such emotions

I am a big believer in karma.  Not the bumper sticker, "karma's a bitch" kind of karma.  I actually believe that every action and thought we have creates a positive or negative effect on the world. 

Why, yes, I am into yoga?  How did you guess?

I know it sounds fruity.  Trust me, I know.   That's why I try not to talk about it most of the time.

Anyway, one of my  personal New Year's resolutions is always to be less judgmental, because thinking mean thoughts about other people (and, ahem, myself) doesn't do anyone any good.   Easier said than done: I still go off on at least one rant a day about people and things I hate.  The girl who HONKED at my mom and stole her parking space last weekend?  Beyotch.  The guy who made smooching noises out his car window while I was walking to work this morning?  Asshole.  The lady who was talking on her cell phone at the ATM this afternoon, using illiterate slang?   Idiot.  I'm trying, though.

And because I know that all these negative thoughts are totally counter productive, last week I decided I was simply going to stop worrying about Henry's integration into our little cat fraternity.  (Oh come on, you KNEW I was going to talk about him again sooner or later).  I've been letting Henry roam the house freely for a few hours a day lately, and it's been going....OK.  Sometime he just walks around the house yowling to himself.  Sometimes he finds a spot and goes to sleep.  And sometimes he chases Max under the bed in fit of hissing and claws and then attacks Madison while he's trying to take a dump in the litterbox.  It's these times that put my stomach in a knot.  Is this the right thing to do?  Should I have ever taken him in?  God, he's cost me so much money that I practically have to keep him.  But is he stressing out Max and Madison?  Is it fair to make them share our small house with another cat?  Is it fair to keep a rambunctious 1-year-old cat locked up in our small house?  Should I try to find Henry a new home?  How would I know that he's being taken care of?  AM I DOING EVERYTHING WRONG?

This is just a glimpse of what was going through my head every time I thought about the situation. It was making me sick to my stomach.  And then one day last week, I decided I was just going to stop worrying about it.   I realized that all my worry was only stressing the cats out more and making things worse.  And for crying out loud, they are CATS, woman.  It will work out.  If you have to find Henry a new home, you will.  If they can all learn to get along, they will.

BuT iF I gOeS aWaY, wHo iz goNna CaTcH aLL tHe MiCeZ?

And just like that, I stopped worrying.  And I feel so much better now.  Last night I got them all to eat together, and I was calm the whole time.  My heart didn't start racing when Max growled.   I didn't have a panic attack when Madison hissed at Henry between bites.  And they didn't all snuggle and sing songs afterwards, but they all ate in the same vicinity.  Fancy Feast: the great diplomat and saver of sanity.  It's a start. 

(Just so you know, I DO NOT normally feed my cats Fancy Feast.  I only bought it because I needed wet cat food to mix all of Henry's 9 bajillion pills in with, and it was on sale.)

(I AM SERIOUS. YOU MUST BELIEVE ME).   

This is the first time I've actually been able to make myself stop worrying about something with any real success.  Maybe it's because it's really NOT that big of a deal.  But to Crazy Cat Lady me, it is. So I'm proud of myself.  And I hope to employ this new strategy in the future. 

Like, I would like to stop stressing out about the business trip I have to go on this weekend.  I am dreading this trip only slightly less than the one I took a few months ago, and that's only because this trip is shorter.  If I could just fast forward time one week and be done with it, I would.  In an instant.  I cannot put into words how badly I don't want to go on this trip.  The project has been a debacle since the very beginning, and this weekend it will all come to a head -- and I'll be there, in person, on my own, without my caller ID and email to hide behind.  The company we're working with is certifiably insane, and I know that the whole weekend is going to be a disaster. 

But after this weekend, it will be OVER.  So I should just look forward to that, right?  No dice.  I'm still stressing out MAJORLY about this stupid trip.  I had a dream this weekend that I forgot to my suitcase with all my business clothes in the airport, and so I had to go to the meeting in my plane outfit (sweats, of course).  Last night I had a dream that things went so wrong that I landed myself in jail and had to call my boss to bail me out.  I was going to be in for two years, with parole after one if I was good.

(I swear, there is NOTHING illegal at all about this mess, this is just how badly my brain does NOT want me to go on this trip)

Note to self: these dreams are not doing anyone any good!  Please stop with the stress! 

Damn, it didn't work.  Baby steps, I guess.

Oh, and anyone know of a good bar in New Orleans?  I have a feeling I'm going to need a drink or twelve when this meeting is over.  They do serve alcohol post-Mardi Gras, right?   RIGHT????

Housekeeping and the weather

From an interoffice email news alert (and I get waaaay to many of these on a daily basis, on everything from "FuN WeEkEnd EvEnTs!!1!" to "Pass on this prayer because you're one of my favorite 12 people"), I have just learned that Baltimore City Schools are closing 2 hours early today due to the weather. 

It's raining.  CLOSE THE SCHOOLZ OMG WATER IS FALLING FROM THE SKY.

Sometimes this city really makes me want to bash my head into the wall, and then cry for the children who can't read because the schools here are so freaking ridiculous.

In other news, I have a few blog-o housekeeping issues:

#1: I will be deleting the old site at the end of the day.  I know that some people are still getting here from that link (the referral stats don't lie, I'm looking at YOU).  Update your links or lose me forever, Goose! (Does that movie reference make sense to anyone but me?  No?  Didn't think so.)

#2: Due to another attack of paranoia, I have temporarily upgraded to Typepad Pro so that I could use their "Find and Replace" tool.  I used this to replace my last name anywhere it appeared, which was in every photo title that was carried over from the old blog.  The result: I am thisclose to having my blog(s) not show up in a Google search of my name.  Oh, and also, all pictures from before the site switch are gone.  Oops.  I honestly don't think anyone will care, but if there are particular back-posts you're reading that NEED the pictures and you're DYING to witness my mad photography skillz, email me and I'll fix those particular ones.

#3: I have finally gotten around to writing an "about" section.  If you care to know how I came up with the genius name for this new pink site, I've explained it there.  It's not exactly deep or meaningful, just to warn you.

#4: HAPPY FRIDAY, INTERNET.  I know I say this every week,  but every Friday is a good Friday in my book.

Ingenuity

I have a bunch of plants.  I like plants.  I think they are pretty and nice and they make everything look so much better.  The problem is, they are alive.  Which means they can die.

Example 1: I used to have a nice African violent that my mom gave me.  She told me not to take it to work until it got warmer out.  I didn't listen, and it's still in my office, half-dead.  It's trying to hang on, but I'm thinking of just throwing it out.  It's sad to look at. 

 

Example 2: I used to have a different office plant, but then I went on vacation for two weeks last year, and it died from lack of sunlight and water.  Oops. 

Example 3: A few months ago, I bought this pretty plant at Home Depot.  It looked kind of like an orchid, but promised to be low maintenance.  I didn't get a chance to find out if that was true, because Max ate it.

I could go on, but you get the idea. For some reason I don't have the natural ability to make plants thrive.  But I'll be damned if that keeps me from trying.

The two plants I've had the longest are a potted hibiscus ("Hibiscus") a potted ficus tree ("Tree").  Tree came with the house when we bought it.  He used to have a twin, but he didn't make it.  RIP, ficus #2.  Hibiscus we bought the first summer in our house, because I love hibiscus (hibiscuses?  hibisci?).  They remind me of Hawaii, which I love.  But the problem with Hawaiian plants?  They can't last the winter in Maryland (at least they can't in a pot -- maybe it would be a different story if it was planted in the ground, but I don't actually have any ground to plant it in). So, ever fall when it starts to get cold outside, Tree and Hibiscus come inside... which is sort of a problem, because we don't have any space for them.

Tree gets moved around every winter.  Sometimes I "trim" him (aka, I cut off some branches with kitchen scissors) so it can fit into a smaller corner.  Sometimes all his leaves fall off when I do that, but they always grow back.  Madison likes to climb in Tree like he's a freaking leopard in the jungle, and shake his artfully twisted trunk to make the leaves fall off.  Max breaks off its branches and hoards them in his favorite sleeping spots.  Why do I let this go on?  Well, first of all, I can't really stop them.  And second of all, I don't really like Tree.  He takes up space I don't have, and frankly, I'm a bit miffed that the people who sold us our house planted him in the tiny planter boxes outside without considering where he was going to go in the winter.   But after all these years, I have started to admire Tree's resilience.  Well played, Tree.  You can stay.  For now.

But I feel differently about Hibiscus, because we paid good money for her.  So each winter, I bring her in and let her live in the kitchen, because that is the only space that gets enough light for her very delicate temperance.  She's quite a nuisance to work around.  It's also very annoying that Madison enjoys sleeping in her pot, thus getting dirt and leaves stuck in his fluffy fur, which he then tracks all over the house.  But we paid $40 for Hibiscus, and she's going to make it worth my while by blooming every damned summer.

Hmmm, the last two paragraphs have suddenly made me realize that perhaps plants don't do well under my care because of my attitude?  Tough for them.

Anyway, a few weeks ago it got all warm out for the weekend, and I decided it was time to move Tree and Hibiscus outside for the summer.  Joel thought this was a bad idea, because it might get cold again.  Pish posh, I said.  They can handle it.  It's march.  They need to toughen up.  Then the temperature dropped into the 20s for a week, and now they're both looking pretty dead. 

Good riddance, Tree.  I'll still water you in case you make a comeback, but I'm not going to cry at your funeral. 

Hibiscus, on the other hand, will die over my dead body.  I moved her to the sunniest spot on the deck and gave her some water with carefully proportioned MiracleGro.  And then I set about removing the plug from the bottom of her pot so that she could drain properly.

Except the plug was stuck.  Really, really really really really stuck.   And Joel was not there to use his manly strength to muscle it off, so I decided to Think Like A Guy and bust out some tools on his ass.

First I got out some Wd-40 and tried to grease the plug up.  Mission: Failed.   Then I got out a saw, and tried to saw it off.  Mission: Accomplished... except the plug was still in the pot.  I had just managed to saw off the lip that you're supposed to use to pull it out.  Um... oops.

But then a lightbulb went off in my head.  I went back inside and got a big screwdriver and a mallet.  I then drove the remaining portion of the plug up into the pot.   

How do you like that, Hibiscus?  Drain away.  YOU WILL NOT DIE ON ME.

See, all those McGyver reruns really are good for something.   

All by myself, don't wanna be...*

*Do you have that song in your head now?  I do.  And it's accompanied by the mental image of Bridget Jones swigging directly out of a wine bottle while simultaneously smoking a cigarette and singing into a hairbrush in her pajamas. 

While Joel is away this week, I decided that I was actually going to cook for myself, instead of subsisting on frozen pizzas and Foreman Grilled sandwiches for 10 days. Not that there's anything wrong with that.  Not that I haven't done that before and been perfectly happy.  But I decided to use this week as a test in Living By Myself.

I have never lived by myself unless you count the 4 months I spent in Spain, where I lived in a single-person room in a dormitory of several hundred Spanish students.  I don't really consider that as having lived alone, because I really only went to my room (which was incredibly, unimaginably small) to sleep.  At all other times, I was in class or roving about Madrid with my friends.  Even while I was sleeping, the dorm was guarded by security guards and overseen by priests.  You know, so they could write up the kids coming home past curfew.  Yeah, I don't think any place that has an enforced curfew really counts as living by yourself.

I really have no desire to live by myself, except that I think it would be good Life Experience.  I feel like it should be one of those things that you can do and then say you've done.   Like "oh, I've climbed Mount Everest", or "I ran a marathon once".  What if I'm never able to say "One time, I lived by myself, and I didn't die or burn down the apartment."  WHAT THEN, INTERNET?  Will I have truly lived a successful life?

Sometimes I do fantasize about living alone.  Wouldn't it be great to not have anyone else's junk around?  Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to decorate any way I wanted without having to ask for anyone else's opinion or permission?  I could fill up the entire Tivo cache with Law and Order reruns and no one would make fun of me.  I could scrub the bathroom, and no one would mess it up.  I'd only have to do my own laundry and my own dishes.  I could re-organize my closet every day, and no one would be around to tell me that I was crazy with a capital COMPULSIVE.

But, ultimately, I think I would be horribly lonely.  And bored. And scared. I have these irrational fears about being murdered in my bed by a serial killer, and as stereotypical female as this is, I sleep better with a man in the house.  I also sleep better with my Fort Knox alarm system armed and a Lunesta and a few glasses of wine in my system, but that's neither here nor there.

I also think that my OCD tendencies would take over my body if I had total control over how the house was set up and organized, and I'd probably be spending my evenings cleaning out the seams in the kitchen countertop with a toothpick (whoops!  already did that!) and typing up color-coded, cross-referenced labels for the filing cabinet where I keep copies of my bills and credit card statements. 

Oh, and also, if I lived alone, I would officially be a Crazy Cat Lady.  So there's that.

Anyway, so I decided that this week I would cook real dinners for myself, because there is a chance that Joel will be going away for a longer period of time (actual length of time TBD, but I think it will be a minimum of 6 weeks) and I need to practice Living By Myself and Acting Like a Real Person. I decided it was a perfect opportunity to make all the things that Joel doesn't like.  Like eggplant.  And teriaki.   And... well, that's all I could think of.  Good thing he's only gone for a week this time.  Plus, it was one of my New Year's resolutions to practice cooking!  Oh, and it's probably healthier than eating Safeway 3-meat take-and-bake pizza every night, right?

But it sure is a whole lot of work to cook for only one person.  Good thing I like leftovers, because apparently the recipe I made last night, which called for an entire eggplant, a large chicken breast, a whole can of pasta sauce, and a whole bag of shredded mozzarella cheese is going to be lasting me quite awhile.   

(OK, fine, the recipe did not call for the entire bag of cheese.  It just tastes way better that way, and give me a freaking break!  It's mostly eggplant!  A girl can have some extra cheese with eggplant.)

I do have to say, my dinner last night was delicious.  And so was my lunch this afternoon.  And so will be my dinner tonight and my lunch tomorrow, although I don't think I'll want to see another eggplant for awhile at that point.

Daylight savings weekend recap

I'm embarrassed to say this, since I usually count down to Daylight Savings Day for at least a month.  Last year, I had a chart with the sunset times and days left until DSD on it starting from January.  This year, I was uber-excited that DSD was coming a few weeks early.  So very excited, that I completely forgot about it.  On Sunday morning, my mother and I were busy painting my kitchen, patting ourselves on the back for being so closed to finished by 10am.  (Or maybe that was just me -- patting myself for being out of bed by 10am on a Sunday).  And then we found out that it was actually 11am.

Oops. 

Happy Belated Daylight Savings Day!  My favorite non-holiday holiday of the year!  Even though I forgot about it.

My mom and my brother and my brother's girlfriend came to visit this weekend.  We had fun, but more importantly, my mom helped me paint the kitchen.  We now have another room down, and I am one step closer to Finishing What I Started and having the whole house painted.  It's a slatey-blue color.  I'll post a picture as soon as Joel comes back from the Georgia with the camera.  I'm baching in all week this week, while Joel is away on Crew Spring Break 2007 -- Rowers Gone Wild.  So far I have had Chinese once and pizza once.  I plan to have each at least one more time before he comes back, and to watch as much Law and Order as is humanly possible.

Back to the painting -- every time I finish painting a room, I am amazed by how much nicer it looks with pretty colored walls, instead of boring white walls with ugly stains and scuffs on them.  And then, I get obsessed with making the room "perfect".  In the bathroom, this involved going over the edge between the ceiling and the wall about 30 times to get the edges straight (Mission: Failed).  In the living room, I started compulsively dusting and re-arranging books on the shelves.  And last night, after I my mom left, I found myself moving the furniture back into place, scrubbing all the baseboards and trim, and washing the top of the refrigerator.  You would not believe how dusty it gets up there!  Or maybe you would, and you just don't care because you are a normal person.  But you can see your reflection in the tile behind the fridge now, for whatever that's worth (I'll tell you what it's worth: 20 minutes of my life).

So, I am pleased to report that my kitchen now looks better than it ever has.  However, I don't want to cook anything or even walk on the floor, out of fear of messing it up.  I worked too hard to let anyone in that room.  Nope, from now on, we'll just have to live without a kitchen.  We can admire it from the hallway.

This was the first time we've had people stay over in a long while, and I found myself in this weird limbo between trying to offer real-person hospitality and still living sort of like a college student.  I mean, it seemed like a good idea to get rid of the only kitchen/dining table we had at the time, since Joel and I only eat on the coffee table... but it's sort of awkward when guests have to eat their cereal on the couch.  I think it's normal to eat leftover pizza for breakfast... but should I have, like, gone to the grocery store beforehand?   Made dinner?  Something?

Luckily my family knows well enough to bring what they can't live without along with them.   And I did offer them my last PopTart, and I shared my Chinese leftovers.  I just wish sometimes that I had a guest room, or something.  I suppose it didn't help that the kitchen was a total mess because of the painting.  Some day, some how, I will have a fully furnished guest room.  And a place to park cars.  And a closet.

Some day.

And in crazy cat lady news, because I know you're all dying to know, Henry is now officially ball-less and is doing fine.  I've started letting him out of his confinement to get socialized with Max and Madison, and it seemed to be going oh-so-well yesterday... until he started a fight and got clobbered by Max.  Baby steps.  The good news is that pissy Madison is scared crapless of Henry and hides in his cat-house at the mere thought of him.   Which I think is funny.  Because I am mean.

In conclusion, I'd like to leave you with a little piece of original artwork that I call "WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME SLEEP, YOU PSYCHO".  As you may have noticed, last week I learned how to use Paint.  I know, welcome to 1984.  Well, it's new to me.  And it's fun.  So I decided to draw a picture of how I woke up this morning to find Max approximately 3 inches from my face, purring like a chainsaw and staring directly into my eyes.  He officially owes me a cup of coffee for that one.  I'm putting it on his tab.

I should have been an artist.

Dude, I'm still in love with Duncan Sheik

Hey, remember when I stared that thing and I said I'd finish it later?  Well, it's officially later.

==========================================

38. Window seat or aisle?  That depends on many factors.  How long is the flight?  If it's a fairly short flight that's really early in the morning, I'll take the window so I can sleep against the side of the plane.  If it's longer than 2 hours, I need the aisle because I am physically incapable of holding my  pee for more than 2 hours.  Except for the one time when I flew from LA to Baltimore on the day of the averted terrorist attack in London, and they were not allowing ANY liquids into the airport, and I had to get the airport apparently 19 hours early.  I didn't have to pee once on that flight.  But I was so thirsty by the time I got home that I would have broken open a coconut with my bare hands (just like Bear Grylls taught me) if I'd had one.  I hate making people get up so I can pee 20 times on the same flight.  If you've ever sat next to me... yea, sorry. I have problems.

39. Ever met anyone famous? The most famous person I've ever seen up close is Sean Astin.  I went to a benefit dinner for work last year, and his father was the guest of honor, and he was there.  The whole night, I kept saying I was going to go up to him and get a picture with him, but then I chickened out because I didn't want to "bother" him.  So that will always be the night that I sort of met Sam Gamges/Lynn McGill/Rudy. 

I really did meet Duncan Sheik once, but I have a feeling that I am the only person who has thought about his since Barely Breathing stopped playing on the radio in approximately 1996.  Which is a shame, because his music rocks, and he is hott in real life.  He gave a concert at my college, and I actually did get up the nerve to go and talk to him during a break.  Mostly because he was standing right in front of me.  I think I said something about how his music really spoke to me.  And then I forgot to ask him to sign my CD.

40. Do you feel that you’ve had a truly successful life? Lord knows that I am quite good at making myself feel inferior for not making more money/having a career/having finished painting my house/writing a great American novel/wining the Nobel Peace Prize sometimes... but yes, I think I've had a pretty successful life, so far.

41. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? I honestly do not have a system for eating pasta. 

42. Ricki Lake or Oprah Winfrey? Ugh, neither. If I had to pick, I guess I would choose Oprah... but man, Ricki sure was fun back in the day.  Ricki, Ricki Ricki! (Can you see me pumping my hand in the air?)

43. Basketball or Football? Neither.  Sports are way boring unless you know someone who's playing.

44. How long do your showers last? My showers are as short as humanly possible.  If I'm washing my hair, 7 minutes.  If I'm not, I'd guess 4 minutes.   I hate taking showers.  I also hate swimming and anything else that requires me to get water on my body.  I don't know why, it just is what it is.

45. Automatic or do you drive a stick? Stick, baby.  I learned to drive a stick in 3 days when my beloved first car (an automatic) was killed in a tragic accident (not really that tragic, since humans were hurt and the insurance company of the idiot who hit me paid me about triple what my car was worth) and I needed a car IMMEDIATELY.  When you're a high school junior who has just gotten used to driving herself to school, you simply cannot go back to taking the bus. You just can't.  And so I bought the very first car I could afford, which was a stick, and my dad taught me to drive it in three long, painful lessons.  During one of which I asked him if I could just hold the clutch down all the time to avoid having to time it with the shifting.  Why not?  Who says I can't? 

Like I said, it was painful, and probably even more so for my dad.  But on the fourth day, I drove that car to school.  I was afraid the whole way that we wouldn't make it, I stalled about 793 times on the way (about 5 miles).  But now I love driving stick.  I find it much easier to parallel park, especially on the hills around my neighborhood.  I just wish it weren't so hard to eat while driving in a stick. 

46. Cake or ice cream? Eh.  I'm not a desserts person.  I'll just have a second helping of whatever was for dinner, please.  But ice cream, if I had to pick.  Coffee Oreo.

47. Are you self-conscious? Not half as much as I used to be!

48. Have you ever drank so much you threw up? Never.  Liz will testify.  I never throw up.  I will stand by this statement until someone provides DNA evidence that the puke on the bathroom wall was in fact mine. 

49. Have you ever given money to a beggar? Yes, I'm a big sucker. 

50. Have you been in love? Yes.

51. Where do you wish you were? At home on my couch.  Or in Hawaii.  Either one.

52. Are you wearing socks? Yes...I always wear socks in the winter, even (especially) to bed.  Otherwise I get too cold.

53. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? No.

54. Can you tango? Hell, no.  I'm not much of a dancer until I have about 7 drinks in me, and even then... I can't really dance.  I'm white as they come.

55. Last gift you received? Free undies from Victoria's Secret.   Last real gift I received?  The gorgeous Kate Spade purse Joel got me for my birthday.

56. Last sport you played?  Um, running? 

57. Things you spend a lot of money on? This dude.

58. Where do you live? In a very narrow house in Baltimore.

59. Where were you born? New Jersey.

60. Last wedding attended? My friend from high school, Pony.  No, it's not his real name.  But it is what everyone calls him.

62. Favorite position? Lying down in my bed with a Lunesta digesting in my stomach.

63. Most hated food(s)? Dead tie between olives, capers, and tomatoes.

64. Most hated soda pop? I don't think I've ever met a soda I didn't like.  I guess my least favorite would be Dr. Pepper.  Too spicy for a soda.  But I'd still drink it if one appeared before me right now.

65. Can you sing? Oh, can I.  Not very well, but I do love to sing.

66. Last person you instant messaged? Isabel introduced me to the Google IMer this week.  My life is changed for the better.

67. Last place you went on holiday? Chicago.

68. Favorite regular drink? If regular means non-alcoholic, it's a tie between water, Diet Root Beer, and coffee.  Depends what I'm in the mood for.  I could not pick just one!

69. Current Song? I have been listening to the same Shakira/Sarah McLaughlin/Nelly Furtado mix CD at work for the past month... I kid you not.  But my favorite "current' song is probably Irreplaceable.  I have a love/hate relationship with the great Beyonce, but that song rules.

70. Tag 3 friends. Um, tag?  You're all it?  I never was very good at that game.

=============================================================================================

Happy almost-Friday, internet.  Here's to hoping it's a casual one for you all.  I know I'll be washing my jeans tonight.

Ikea ate the internets

My list for last weekend was one of my most ambitious yet.  I usually try not to make my to-do lists too crazy, because then I just feel bad when I only manage to get 2 things out of 78 done.  But oh, this weekend I was feeling motivated.  Beyond motivated.  This was one of two free weekends I'll have this month, so I was all gung-ho.  I am very much looking forward to all of my weekend plans for the rest of the month (except the one work trip, I'm not looking forward to that at all), but going to Richmond for your friend's birthday party and having your family down for the weekend doesn't leave much time for obsessive cleaning, does it?  So this was my list for this weekend:

• Finish laundry
• Clean house (this was then broken down room by room, so that I could have the satisfaction of crossing more things off the list)
• Do taxes
• Tape and prime kitchen for painting
• Go to yoga on Saturday
• Go running on Sunday
• Go to Ikea (return boxes, buy diff. size boxes, buy shelves for office and living room and more magazine holders)
• Go to mall to use free certificates from Victoria's Secret
• Go to grocery store
• Pick up dry cleaning
• Buy flowers from Home Depot and re-plant pots in window box
• Go to mall to use free certificates from Victoria's Secret

(I get those certificates from Victoria's Secret all the time -- am I the only one?  They send me a card in the mail for a free pair of undies, no purchase necessary.  I guess they figure people will be drawn to all the pretty things and end up buying something... well, not me.  I take my free stuff and run.  And I can't pass up free stuff.  I just CAN'T.  Which is why getting free stuff makes my To-Do list)

I am pretty sure there was more stuff on there too, that I can't even remember now.  That's how far it was from getting done.  Ikea ate everything on that list and still had room for dessert.

We went to Ikea with very specific things in mind, which is important when you go to the Swedish Superstore.  If you don't have a plan, you WILL get sucked in the vortex, and you WILL lose hours of your life (and possibly the contents of your wallet, too).  We've been known to wander into to Ikea "just to look around" and to emerge hours later, confused, hungry and tired, carrying a bag full of decorative bamboo shoots and three different picture frames.

The plan for this trip was to return two boxes that we bought for our new bookcase without checking to make sure that they actually FIT in said bookcase, to pick up two smaller versions of the same box, some additional magazine holders for Joel's extensive back-issue collections, the shelves they were out of last time for our new living room, and some shelves I decided I wanted for our home "office" (aka storage room/cat litterbox room).  That's it.  Nothing else.  A quick trip.  In and out.

Except they were out (AGAIN) of the shelves for the living room, the only thing we really, really needed.  We planned our entertainment system intending to have these shelves, except Ikea apparently stopped making them in the black-brown color.  They might (might) get the black-brown versions back in stock in the next 4-6 weeks.  They also might not.   So much for finishing that room off.

They also did not have the shelves I wanted for the office, nor did they have ANY shelves that would fit that space. 

They were also out of the magazine holders.  All out.  Not even a display one to steal.

Oh, and they were also out of the smaller boxes in black.  They did have them in white.  No thanks.  I don't like white boxes.

So, accomplishing 0 of the 5 goals for this trip had me a little... peeved.  I might have said something about this being a giant conspiratorial plot by the Swedes to make you want, nay NEED, their stupid "Jarpen" shelves and then refuse to sell them to you, thus sucking you into their evil grasp, enabling them to take over the world, one consumer at a time.  I was pissed.  But not too pissed to pick up a few cute picture frames on my way out.  While I went to stand on line and pay for my frames, Joel wandered over to the As-Is section. 

And he just happened to find half of a couch that we have been wanting for months, but unable to find for a reasonable price on craiglist there.  It was 30% off.  I took a look at it, sat on it, and then refused to get off it, so no one could buy it while we were thinking about it.

Then we noticed a sign that said "All couches 50% off today only".  That's in addition to the 30% discount.  So it was 80% off.   So we bought it.  Even though it was on the chaise, and we didn't have the half-loveseat to go with it.  No problem, we figured.  We did have the regular loveseat, so we figured we could just push them together and it would look sort of weird until Joel could find the matching half-loveseat on Craigslist.  Good idea, right?

And then the problem arose of how to get this chaise home, since we drove my Jetta.  We decided to go home and get Joel's truck after a cursory inspection of my trunk, which reminded us that it is just a poor, simple Jetta, for the love of God, it's not capable of this sort of thing.

So we went home to get the truck.  And on the way, I convinced myself that we should just buy the matching loveseat at full price because we were getting such a good deal on the chaise that it would still be a good deal.  Then I convinced Joel of the same.  So we arrived back at Ikea, bought ourselves a loveseat, picked up our chaise, and went home with them firmly bungeed in the back of the truck.

We got them into the house with minimal problems (minimal = we only  had to take the front door off the hinges) and then decided that while we were on a roll, we might as well just move the existing loveseat upstairs to its new home.  It was about 10pm at this point.  I wasn't kidding when I said I was motivated to get stuff done this weekend.

We tried to get that damn thing up the stairs for about an hour, until I was ready to cry and just put the damned thing out on the street with a "FREE PLEASE TAKE" sign on it.  Joel vetoed that idea.  After all, here we were, just one staircase away from having a set of fully matching furniture.  Finally we left the couch, vertically on its side, in our kitchen and went to bed.

The next morning, after we tried a few more times to get it up the stairs, Joel got the idea that we should hoist the couch over the back balcony, since the stairs thing just was not happening.  We've moved things upstairs this way before.  Things like a boxpring.  When we had my dad and brother helping.  I honestly could not imagine how we, just Joel and myself, were going to lift a pretty heavy loveseat over our heads and over the balcony railing.   But I agreed to try because I couldn't think of anything else, and I was really, really sick of trying to push that thing up the stairs.   And somehow, with only a ladder, two towels, and the strategic use of my body weight, we got that thing up there.  I took the picture from yesterday because I wanted to remember forever how ingenious my boyfriend is (and how strong I am) (and how much I hate living in a rowhouse sometimes).  There were a few moments that were a wee bit scary, like when the loveseat was rotated so that only one edge was on the balcony and I had to lay across it to keep it from falling while Joel ran upstairs.  And the part where we actually had to look at all the crap in the gutters.  Ew.

But in about 40 minutes, that couch was moved from our kitchen to the upstairs living room, where Henry is now sleeping on it every chance he gets.  And the new couches are downstairs, where Max and Madison are sleeping on them every chance they get. 

(The giant ottoman in the bottom/middle of the picture is going upstairs.  I swear, it's not really a sea of brown leather).

I ended the weekend by putting our old couch from upstairs, a chair, and a cabinet-thing (all Ikea, of course) on Craigslist to make some room for the new stuff... and since then I have been fielding more responses than I can handle.  35 people alone want the cabinet-thingy.   People using words like "love" and "have to have" and offering more than the asking price and wanting to pick it up IMMEDIATELY.  Is there something I'm not seeing about this cabinet? 

 

Really, is there something so special about this?  Shoot, maybe I shouldn't have sold it.

On the other hand, I'm now $20 richer.  And that $20 will be paying for Henry's neuter surgery, which I'd like to remind everyone is TOMORROW!  Yippee!!  (Henry is less excited, I think).

Lastly, I would just like the internets to know that I have changed my opinion about what my least favorite part of our house is.  It used to be parking.  It is now this:

I don't care if that banister is original from 1901.  The next time we need to move something, I'm sawing the damned thing off.  With a nail file, if I have to.

Ikea Ate My Weekend

The newest trend in the ghetto practice of putting a couch out on the porch -- a couch on the balcony!  Classy!

But enough about me, what did you do this weekend?

Enough about my femenine troubles, let's talk about my cats

As you all know, Henry is back.  And he's been back in a few...ahem, big... ways.

The "biggest" being that he's not neutered.

After much TLC and a few homemade kitty-casts, Henry is pretty much all better.  The gaping wound in his paw is almost 100%  healed.  The two nasty ass parasites he had (yes, it turned out he had TWO; the other one was invisible) are dead.  He's sporting a brand new microchip and a not-so-new collar (courtesy of Max's hand-me-down box) in case he runs off again.  His ribs no longer stab me when I pick him up.   Because if there's one thing I'm good at, it's fattening up cats.

 

(PS - Max is NOT fat.  He's just big boned.  And his belly just hangs over his feet to keep his toes warm.)    

So now the only thing left to do is have him neutered.   This would all be very simple if my vet would just get in line with the program, but NOOOOO.  She wants to "wait".  Until his bloodwork has been normal for six months.

Six months does not work for me.  So I am taking him to another vet, the same one we took Max to for his surgery.  I don't particularly like this place.  It makes me nervous.  But they charge less than a low-cost clinic (LESS!), they have a pretty good reputation, and most importantly, they don't seem to have such a conservative view of how long a cat needs to wait to get neutered.  I did call them and ask if the couple of medications he's still on will interfere with "the surgery" and they said no, it would be fine. 

So I'm sure it will be fine.

And I'm sure as heck looking forward to not having a fully-intact male animal in the house.  No more humping my leg.  No more trying to fight the other cats.  No more forlorn crying at night.  No more "marking" in my living room.  Yea, I'm looking forward to ALL of that.

So can someone tell me why I feel so guilty? 

I purposely did not pick up my vet's call today.  I just let her go to voicemail, so I didn't have to tell her that I wasn't going to bring him in again in 2 weeks for a checkup.  I don't want to bring him in for that checkup for two reasons: 1. I really don't feel like paying for it, and 2. I know they will notice his shave belly and missing balls, and realize that I had him neutered, AGAINST THEIR ADVICE OMG.  I'm afraid that they'll yell at me.  Tell me I'm a terrible person for endangering his health.  Tell me that all my cats are going to die because I'm neglectful and a bad owner.

I know it's crazy.  But honestly, I am dreading going back there.  I'm dreading getting in trouble.  With the vet! 

To all you people who have actual, human children: How the hell do you do it?  How do you not die of panic attacks and guilt trips? 

I'd really like to know, because I am frightened for myself and my future children and everyone around me the first time they sneeze or cough or look at me cross-eyed.