Anti Jen

playing possum

2009-08-09T06:11:00.000-07:00

So it only counts as a sabbatical if I begin posting regularly again, right? Good thing my life is full of inspiring twists and turns. For example, it seems I have a new mammal in my life. It all started Friday night as I heard a noise beside my chair. I looked down expecting Ratty Catty and found this baby opossum instead. Cute, right? Always lacking a decent flashlight, I used the camera's flash to keep track of his movements.

Monkey was my assistant in the slow motion hunt. I am so grateful that he didn't start a fight with this thing under my bed.

As it turns out, I think the opossum would've left sooner if I weren't taking his photo. Despite the paparazzi, he seemed to have found his way to the open door. It wasn't until this evening, when I saw my laundry basket had sprouted a tail, that I realized I never actually saw him leave the premises. I'm still pretty sure he did leave, actually, or the cats would've been home a lot more today. (I always know there is a visitor in the house when the boys take shifts watching a certain room or corner...) So if he did leave, it's even cuter / more disturbing that he was back again tonight.

Chasing him with the camera once again, I insisted that he did not want to be an "indooropossuminChicagowithMama" and this time I made sure he left.

Just like all the rat tailed creatures who come my way, he left me a present on the carpet. Broken as I am, I felt worse about scaring the pee out of him than I did about having to clean it up. I wasn't sure if Nature's Miracle would work on opossum odors, so I didn't bother using any. Let's face it, it's not like it really works on cat smells anyway. Given the other atrocities I've removed from the carpet recently, this little spot was a breeze. Still, I am so looking forward to not having carpets.

About that. Friday, being eventful as it was, I found out that not only do I not have carpets in my new apartment, I don't actually have an apartment - at least not right away. I knew it wasn't good when my landlord started out our phone conversation by asking me if I had a place to stay when I came to Chicago... The renovation of my unit was delayed, it seems, by a decree from the gas company, which demanded improvements to the gaslines for the entire building. It should be ready by the second week of September, he says, but I get there on the 3rd. So now I'm supposed to move in to another unit in a different building and my landlord will pay to move my stuff into my real place later. I'm far from thrilled about moving twice in two weeks, but I still think my apartment will be worth the wait. And though I know it will freak them out, I almost think the double move could work to my advantage with the kitties. I wasn't really looking forward to having the christen my new place with their bladders. It might be too much to ask, but I'm hoping they get all the pee out of their system at the temporary place. More likely, they'll pee on both places with equal enthusiasm. Joy.

In other Friday news, my brother gave notice at his job - finally. He's been fantasizing about it for a while and I think he will be the happier for it. My mom would've preferred that he found a job before he quit his job, but that's not exactly how we roll in this family. So instead she is getting a puppy. Cuz that totally makes sense. Actually, it does make sense, because she'd like to have a dog but she's not home enough to take care of one. This is no longer a problem, now that she has an unemployed housemate, or a "remonster" as Erik and I called the unemployed Kevin when he lived under our roof, in homage, of course, to the Aqua Teen Hunger Force - season 2, episode 11. And, because I worked so hard to find it, here's a clip from his television debut:

Anyway, I had other sibling news on Friday but I am strictly forbidden from blogging about it. I'm not forbidden, however, from blogging about not blogging about it, or at least I'm not explicitly forbidden. How's that for some convoluted future-lawyer logic? It will make a great story someday (cuz lord knows said sibling can't keep his / her own secrets...), but until then, suffice it to say I was grateful for being trusted with the knowledge and the laughter it inspired.

Oh, and because I totally saw it coming and because I'm so happy with my school choice (and my yummy scholarship), I was not at all crushed to be officially rejected from Harvard on Thursday. In fact, with all the Friday excitement, I nearly forgot it happened.

Friday was also the day a dear friend of mine went under the knife for some exploratory boob biopsying. We'll know on Tuesday if the coast is clear, but in the meanwhile she reports that she is fine and dandy, though her chest hurts like hell. An interesting side effect of the probing, however, is that her offended boob is suddenly perky as all get out, so she's trying to figure out how to market the procedure (like booby botox), though she doesn't recommend it.

I wish that was my only friend / cancer update, but another dear friend is going under the knife next week. He's got skin cancer and so far it's not melanoma, but they've got to check each site individually. So next week it's all about his ear, and, apparently, regardless of which sort of cancer it is, he's most likely going to lose his ear - entirely. He seems in pretty good spirits about it, considering. For one thing, he's much taller than the rest of the world, so no one can really see his ears anyway. Besides, he's a collector of fractional creatures. He's got, I think, three three-legged cats, one of which has poop problems not quite like OC's but arguably equally disgusting... (Like my sister, he works in a vet clinic - so the cats are an occupational hazard.) Still, I was probly pushing it when I decided to get him a Vincent Van Gogh action figure to celebrate. (And though I found it a wee bit cheaper than at Archie McPhee's, I linked to their site cuz I love love love them...)

Which reminds me, oh my god have I been revenge spending. I think it is finally out of my system, and, really, it could've been worse, but still. Did I really need a Darth Vader flash drive instead of a regular flash drive at half the price? For that matter, did I need a flash drive at all? And the couch, for the cats, the same cats who have made sure I can't have a couch at all, really, I needed that? Actually, it is quite cute. And I slept on it, for days. But still, they're just going to pee on it, I know, but I can pretend they won't. And I sure as hell won't be unpacking it until the pee-fest seems to have ended... Anyway, I also bought some clothes, which is silly since I am moving to one of the best shopping cities in our country, but whatever, and a few assorted other goodies (covers for my phone and my ipod, for example). At least I didn't buy the Darth Vader breathing device, which would go nicely with the light saber I picked up at Comic-Con. And I haven't (yet) bought an expensive hand crafted ergonomic desk, though I haven't committed to the $50 crappy desk at Staples, either. If I had any actual cash, I'd just pick up a desk from Craigslist, but I have so much more available credit than I have cash... which is a bad thing, I know.

Anyway, that's enough news for one week. Time to get back to packing (I'm on a roll at last...) or back to bed, whichever.

starting over

2009-08-01T17:50:00.000-07:00

So can we call that a sabbatical? I've always wanted to take a sabbatical. It sounds much more important than a vacation. And as an unemployed parasite princess, I can't really take a vacation anyway, can I? And in my absence I have made some important decisions, so that's important, right? Now I find I am just a wee bit terrified because everything in my life is changing.

First off, I decided where I am going to school in the fall. Chicago. Um, yeah, where it is very cold and maybe dangerous. I'm as surprised as you are. But I fell in love when I visited - though, to be honest, there was a fair amount of cheap wine involved in the recruitment events. Still, I went there with a chip on my shoulder, at the end of a very long whirlwind tour of fancy pants law schools, and I left with a big fat nerdy grin of excitement. So this, I think, is good. What makes it even better is that they apparently loved me too, as they threw a nice chunk of money my way (presumably to keep me from loving Columbia which also gave me nerdgasms...). A great degree at a considerable discount - it doesn't get better than this.

Harvard, on the other hand, Harvard doesn't love me. They pity waitlisted me, which is fine and all, except for the fact that they got me all hot and bothered with that phone interview back in December. Looking back, I see where I likely failed the phone interview. And ultimately, the waitlisting was in my own best interest as this Chicago deal is nothing short of awesome. Besides, I was so borderline in the first place, I truly have to say it was an honor just to be nominated. But it has taken me some time to get there.

Yale's waitlist offer, in contrast, delighted me. I am much more likely to win the lottery than I am to get in off the Yale waitlist (and I don't even play the lottery), but this pity waitlist was like receiving an honorable mention. You don't win, but you get to know you didn't totally suck.

Anyway, I should fill you in on the rest of my school visits (and my many travels since), but it's all irrelevant now. Mostly I'm glad I got to visit my grandmother as she's not doing her best these days. Her 93 years finally caught up with her, it seems, and now even eating is exhausting. I'm mostly worried about my dad. Though he's very casual about death, I can't imagine he's ready for all this. I can't decide if it was good or bad that he was there when the decline started, but I'm thinking it was good.

Meanwhile, I have caved a bit to the black hole which is Facebook. I've even updated my status once or twice and if you follow me there you may already know that another terrifying development in my life is that my husband is buying a house. In California. A month before I leave for Chicago. I'm finally at a place of surrender with the process (which is good, I suppose, since the deal is set to close next Wednesday or Thursday), and I've been able to maintain a comfortable distance from the actual transaction (as in I got to keep my own savings and investments intact and my name isn't on the loan or deed), so I'm almost genuinely excited for him. This means, of course, that he'll be staying in California while I'm in school (though he's optimistic about catching up with me sooner rather than later), but given that he was flat out planning to be depressed by the snow and he just barely promised not to kill me with an ax (ala The Shining) - mostly because we do not own an ax - it could be for the better that he's not moving to the midwest right away.

The kitties, on the other hand, have no choice. As they have been hearing often, they are going to be "indoorkittiesinChicagowithMama." They are not certain what this means just yet, but they will surely make me suffer accordingly when they discover the truth. The great thing is, my new apartment has no carpet whatsoever. It is sad to know I am actually looking forward to living in the snow if only it means I will not have to attempt to remove bodily fluids from carpets anymore. And the couches? We haven't even considered replacing them. One less bulky item to move, right? That Ratty Catty, he's so thoughtful.

Actually, Ratty isn't even the gross one these days. He's settling into relative normality. I get to pet him on the regular and yesterday he even let me touch him outside. He wants me to pet his belly, I know he does, but he's just not ready to admit it. Of course it's been months since I've written and in the meanwhile he has been expensive as we had his teeth cleaned and his tongue biopsied. While the surgery was pricey enough, we also had to pay to have the carpets cleaned as he had to be indoors to get his antibiotics. It was worth every penny, though I found out I paid $20 too much after initiating service on line. (Good to know for future cleaning, but difficult to hear while paying it...)

Sadly, though, we've had more recent veterinary expenses. I came home Monday after spending most of a week away (going to Comic-Con with my little bro - payback for dragging him to the east coast...) to find poor OC all plugged up again. Apparently Papa did not respect the power of the Miralax and he failed to medicate OC ~~properly~~ at all. Just like that his 22 month health streak ended. It was sad. And disgusting. And to add insult to injury, I responded by overmedicating him in the aftermath. So what was normally a two day process of following around my feline fountain of feces became a three and a half day process, punctuated by four cat showers. Miraculously, only one of these showers resulted in bloodshed - a claw stuck in my boob (my right boob, come to think of it, the same one that inspires doctors to order extra mammograms - damned boob). The saddest part, however, had to be the very end, when an exiled OC spent the night outside on a dirty quilt that was waiting its turn in the laundry. He so very much wanted to snuggle me in bed, but there was this one spot on the underside of his tail that I couldn't get clean in the shower and the bed, the bed has seen enough cat shit for a lifetime. The look on OC's face the next morning, as his body was covered in dew, it said it all. He knew this was all Papa's fault and he was tired of eating his own shit. If he could get his hands on an ax, we know exactly who he would kill.

Anyway, I ought to finish blogging and start, oh, maybe packing. I've got exactly one month before my stuff leaves in a truck. The cats and I leave the next day, headed for LA where the kitties will be pawsengers on Pet Airways. I'm a little nervous for them (as it seems to be more a dog airline than a cat one, and for whatever reason they have to spend the night before I can pick them up...), but it is so much better than the road trip we had planned as the alternative.

Packing still feels overwhelming though, so maybe first I'll have a nap.

third time's a charm?

2009-03-22T08:17:00.001-07:00

No time to write, I say as if I still posted regularly. But today I have a good excuse at least. I'm flying to Philly (hopefully - I connect through San Francisco and have not always had the best of luck getting out of there...). My travel day begins in less than an hour.

Checking out schools, checking out cuzens, hoping not to freeze my butt off, looking forward to a nap on the plane.

weird thoughts and more fun with cats

2009-03-05T04:26:00.000-08:00

Ay yi yi. I am up at 4 a.m. because the phlegm won't let me sleep. I suppose it is only fair that I should be catching a cold from Erik, since he caught the one I brought home from Washington a few weeks earlier. It is nice, I must say, that I already have some cough drops on hand. Unfortunately, I am finding that tea is a better at doing battle with this particular tickle at the back of my throat and thus I must be upright, despite my desire to be dozing.

I have been meaning to blog anyway and I still have a number of essays and administrative tasks on my plate, so a little lost sleep isn't the worst thing. This irresistible urge to cough, on the other hand, that I could live without. I guess I should be grateful that at least I am not at work, like my poor beloved hubby. He looked like total crap when he left and will likely call out sick tomorrow. At least he looked like total crap with super cute green eyeballs and sexy long eyelashes and crazy big curly '70's hair.

Anyway, so I was already meaning to share a few delightful tidbits about little G's budding sense of humor, but I'll start with the freshest example first. This gem occurred March 1st, while she was chilling with the grandparents after an overnight visit. Because I am lazy, I will just cut and paste from the gmail chat where I first heard of it:

3:48 PM Kevin: grace said the funniest thing yesterday

me: oh yeah?

Kevin: she was eating waffles and she said

i'm thinking about weird things

3:49 PM we asked her what kind of things

she said

i was thinking that jenni was peeing in the house

me: what?!

that is indeed very weird

did you probe further?

3:50 PM Kevin: no

mom said, 'that is weird'

me: it is my own fault

for all my toilet humor

3:51 PM i wonder if Grace will remember if I ask her about it

Kevin: i dunno

she also said 'starfish'

3:52 PM apropos of nothing

me: oh my goodness

what was in those waffles?

So of course I immediately called my sis to get more information on these "weird" thoughts. Grace did, indeed, recall her comment and provided a perfectly good explanation. Apparently she had been dreaming about me the night before. In this dream I was in a park, peeing in public, and I had drawn quite a crowd. The crowd was gathered around saying, "Yuck!" and "Gross!" Grace soon came up and also said, "Yuck! Gross! I would never do that!" And thus, the weird thoughts were born.

Sis, being the good parent that she is, told Grace that she may very well someday pee in public because sometimes you just have to. She then provided an example of her own (this is where I learned that my sis has secretly fertilized my brother's driveway), after which I insisted that she share the end all of all driveway fertilizing tales (the story of The Pooper).

What? You say you haven't heard the story of The Pooper? Oh, c'mon, I know a few of you have. And though it is kind of cruel how much I love to tell it, I swear it is the funniest thing ever.

So a long, long time ago in a land not so far away, my mother once went out to take the trash to the curb. (Cuz, of course, it has always been my mom's job to take the trash out, despite the fact that she has always lived with men... This is a sad fact, I say, and one I was not aware of until that time she busted me for having tossed empty booze bottles in the trash as a teen. I still cannot believe I didn't even think to bury them at all...) Anyway, her driveway is long and thus her trash is on a cart. She begins to roll the cart only to discover that hidden under it is a big old turd. Now my mom had dogs at the time and so she thought to herself, "damn dogs," and she grabbed a shovel and commenced with the removal of the offending feces. She had yet to ponder how the dogs managed to poop under the cart. Hers is not to wonder why, I suppose. While in the process of scooping, however, she did happen to notice that there was corn in this poo. This is when she realized, "This is a people poo!" A brief investigation followed and the source of the people poo was flushed out, so to speak. In fact, I think it is to her credit that she so readily confessed to her crime. Though the perpetrator is forever known in some circles as The Pooper, others call her Mommy or Auntie. I know she would prefer to remain somewhat anonymous, so I will only say that she later married my brother...

Anyway, after my sis initiated little G in the story of The Pooper, I asked her if G had a response. In fact, she was speechless, taking it all in. It was then that my sis relayed that G, who commonly joins her mom in the shower, had just that very morning been found peeing down the drain. When asked about her activity, G replied indignantly, "What? It's not getting on you." When asked why she chose the shower over the toilet, G explained, "It just exploded out of me."

As for the tidbit I had meant to share in the first place, well, it almost pales in comparison. But since I have nothing to do but write an essay that could shape my future, I might as well dig in.

So this story takes place in my sister's car. We were driving along and for whatever reason I was talking about being drunk, or wanting to be drunk, or what have you. Sis, being the good parent that she is, decided to ask G if she knew what we were talking about, if she knew what "drunk" means. At first G didn't have a clue and so we explained that it is when you get all silly and sick from drinking too much beer, to which she replied, "Oh, like Uncle Kevin." Already hilarious. And so we began quizzing her about her various relatives, to see if they drink a lot of beer. Her mommy? No. Her grandma? No. Her grandpa? No. Her daddy? No. No? To the contrary, Daddy likes his beer at least as much as Uncle Kevin, and so we ask again. And again. Until we are beginning to think that maybe he doesn't actually drink much when he is with his G. Just when we were moving on, perplexed, G blurts out, "I was only kidding you!" Oh my goodness, she had us going and she knew it too. Silly little smarty pants.

Anyway, though I'm pretty sure I have more examples of G's priceless sense of humor, I really should move on. First, another pot of tea...

Okay, I'm back. Where were we? Oh, yeah, more fun with cats. First, you will be delighted to know this story has nothing to do with pee. In fact, since banishing the couches, I have been completely free of phantom pee smells and unfortunate mishaps. Granted, I was supplying the spoiled bastards with indoor plumbing, but that experiment ended yesterday, when hubby still had his olfactory senses. Turns out he was at least as bothered by the scent of the Scentsy as it reminded him it was just covering for the smell of cat litter. I was all too ready to oblige and, in fact, I really do need to completely banish the one most popular box for although the litter is expensive and relatively free of debris, the box around it is, shall we say, soiled. Yuck. For now, though, I'm just keeping the door closed.

But I told you this wouldn't be a story of pee and there I go, talking about it anyway. Sorry about that. Let's start over.

So this evening I am sitting there, innocently settling in to enjoy an episode of Lost. My killer cough has not yet fully bloomed. I am still hopeful for a lovely evening. Then in comes Monkey. Usually Monkey brings in sticks from the outside world. Don't ask me why, but that cat loves to bring in sticks. Sometimes he'll chase them if you toss them, mostly he is just proud of his find. He will meow proudly if he's brought in a particularly impressive specimen, as he did last night after bringing in about 3 feet of what I imagine is eucalyptus bark... Anyway, I can tell Monkey's got something and it is clearly not a stick.

The other thing Monkey's good at catching is mice. (In fact, he may have even resolved our mice in the attic problem. At least I haven't heard them for a while. He still likes to go on patrol periodically - he actually asks to be let up there - but he's never come down with anything, dead or alive.) So immediatly I know, this is a mouse.

The next thing to determine is if it is dead (and therefore just a really gross cat toy) or alive (and therefore mine). Um, yeah, it's moving, and hiding, and very much alive. Monkey seems to sense that the living room is not the place for mice. Perhaps this is because I have gotten up (and very few things will actually make me get up) and perhaps it is because I am yelling at him. For whatever reason, he decides to move the party into the office.

Suddenly, this is the image going through my mind. This is the last mouse Monkey brought home, an already dead mouse, who is in the process of being flung into the air so it can be swatted at again. I believe I caught this particular moment on camera before Monkey decided the mouse needed to take a bath in the cat fountain. Yeah, the same cat fountain I occasionally clean in my kitchen sink. I knew that water fountain maintenance was gross, I just never knew it was disgusting. Anyway, having witnessed the swimming of the dead mouse I suddenly realized why the mouse that preceded this one had been all wet. We just assumed he'd been caught in the rain. Silly bipeds. Anyway, the mouse I caught on film eventually became a hand-me-down gift to Monkey's paramour, the dreaded Ratty Catty. Ratty then took the mouse into his own room (yes, Ratty has his own room, and yes, it smells horribly) and proceeded to eat its butt. Literally. At least OC knows to eat things head first. Mmm, brains. Ratty does everything wrong...

Anyway, back to the mouse in the house. So I follow Monkey in to the office only to find he is, of course, playing with the rodent very near the water fountain. I begin to wonder just how exactly I plan on catching this mouse. I even contemplate just closing the door and pretending not to know about it. Then I remember the sound of the last mouse I took from Monkey, the one that was outdoors. This "rescue" was easier, for all I had to do was pick up my cat. Unfortunately, mice are dumb and he needed a handful of head starts before he actually began to get away. In the meanwhile, the commotion had attracted the attention of the neighbor cat. And the neighbor cat took over where Monkey left off, killing the mouse despite the rodent's rather vocal protests.

So I know I cannot ignore it, and besides, what if he didn't end up killing it? Then I have a mouse in my house. Unacceptable. I must carry on. First I consider a box, the cat nip box that is way too small for OC but way too big for this mouse. There is no way it will work. And so I think. A cup, I think. Not a glass that I would ever wish to drink from again, I realize, but a plastic cup, that is what I need. Conveniently I know I have one. Not so conveniently, it is on the upper most shelf of the kitchen cabinets - the one where I tend to try to dislodge things using a giant knife because I am way too lazy to get out the stool. After some knife weilding and some counter climbing shenanigans, I return with my cup.

Let's just say my first few attempts were not pretty. Once I convinced the mouse to seek sanctuary in the cup. Surprised at my early success I screamed and frightened him out of it. The next couple times he chose to run along the wall instead. Monkey thought this was great fun. Each time the mouse returned to his corner. Then, I'm still cringing to remember it, the mouse decided to wing it, and make a break for it across the open terrain. The only trouble is he ran right in to my arm. Needless to say, I screamed again. Then I decided to take a break. The mouse, sensing he was down to only one predator, made another attempt at escape - coming right towards me again, sheilding himself with none other than the cat fountain. Forcing myself to man up, I got on my knees and tried to lower the cup over the mouse. I was shocked when this actually worked. Keeping him in the cup (with the help of a postcard) and getting him out of the house (through two doors and one lock) was more difficult. Only then did I wish he were in a glass so the sides would not be so flimsy as I gripped them. Still, I soldiered on. Luckily, Monkey was distracted, checking and rechecking all the nooks and crannies for his catch, and he did not witness the tossing of the cup in to the backyard. He and his devoted Rat boy followed up with some excited searching of all the places that the mouse had been, but I think it is safe to say the mouse lived to poop another day.

As for me, I guess it is back to my essays and financial aid forms. I am certain to finish today as I have knocked down nearly all my distracting tasks. I bought plane tickets ($600 - ouch), I RSVP'd (though I think not to all my schools - hm, will have to check on that - plus I have to solicit travel subsidies...), I even bought clothes (on line, already I worry they won't fit, caught up in a moment of weakness), I made appointments (chiropractor this weekend, booby squishing six month check up when I get back), and I started to research hotels (narrowly avoiding booking a roach motel thanks to sister's sage advice). Today I can only distract myself further by calling the garbage company (to see about disposing of pee couches), and, well, coughing like a maniac all day. Fun fun.

usually i like being right

2009-02-28T23:45:00.000-08:00

Um. Yeah. We found it. The phantom pee smell. It was in the same place where everything I am looking for eventually turns up. Under my butt. This would totally explain the worsening of the whiffs in the afternoon. It wasn't the setting sun warming the windowsill, it was my big old butt, warming the couch crack. Oh, the humanity.

But we've agreed that the offense must've occurred while I was out of town. So I have only been sitting on pee for three weeks. I've only had the power to discover it (my olfactory senses) for one of those three weeks. So I am not that gross, right?

I know. I am gross.

This is why I will now tell you the story of the The Trouble With Birthday Cakes. To distract you. And to put my grossness in perspective.

As you know, the pee wars all started when I went out of town. There were skirmishes before, sure, but you know, the carnage. It's recent. And the reason I went out of town? It was a command performance - a request of my youngest niecelet, G. Cuz she was turning five. Something she'd been planning for at least ten months. And she was going to have her party. At Pump It Up - a bounce house where even grown ups can bounce - and I was invited to the party. Ten months ago. Cuz she was turning five. And we could have a sleepover. With her cousins. At her house. Like we did before. (This is exactly how G invited me. In tiny little sentences. With great enthusiasm. This is when I realized she is a bit of an up talker. But on her it is cute, not annoying. Let's face it, on G everything is cute.)

Clearly, I had no choice. I had to go. So I did. And though I am not mentioned in my sister's accounting of the day(s), I was there - sleeping over, pumping it up, heck, I even got to sing with the Olympia Free Choir (which was a total blast, though I was totally grumpy by the end of the long long day cuz my feet were cold and a dog had farted on me and I am pretty sure this is the night I got infected with the sick...). But my sis is not much for the blathering on, and I strictly forbid her from taking my photo, so I cannot really be hurt that I was left out of the tale. But indeed, all that making of the cakes - I have to say that technically I made the cakes. Sis supervised, documented, set timers, removed hot things, did dishes (lots and lots of dishes), and corralled dogs. But the measuring and mixing and pouring and such. That was me. Which is great. I live to follow directions. And I would way rather make cakes than corral dogs. Besides, I was paid handsomely for my efforts. I got to drink my sister's premixed top shelf margaritas. Just like at home. Only free. That is to say, I got to drink the second half of my sister's margaritas. Her ex helped himself to the first half many moons ago. (At least I admit I may have a drinking problem. He's still in denial, though my sister notices her booze disappears rapidly whenever he's been over to help with the dogs...)

Anyway, I digress. So there was the making of the cakes. Purple cakes. Pink cakes. Green cupcakes. Not so bad. Then there was the making of the icing. Like five batches of icing. I fucked up the purple icing - it kinda broke and was runny. I didn't make enough of the orange icing - so they had to use blue. But anyway, there was icing. Five hours had passed by the time we got to the decorating, I kid you not. Thank god for premixed top shelf margaritas, right?

So the cakes are done. The cousins are playing amongst themselves. The margaritas are making me warm and fuzzy. Life is pretty darned good. But there are still dogs. Big tall bad dogs. Little tiny yappy dogs. One dog that spins in circles and pees. And there are the cats. Everywhere. Not like at my house. Like my house on crack. Cats everywhere. So the cakes, they are not safe. They must go somewhere.

The spare room is not an option. There is a cat in there too. The visiting cat. (And, I discovered later, Ringo, the inside out butt catt, who had snuck in to terrorize the visiting cat and eat her food...)

So this leaves only the garage. Not a bad option, usually. Unless your garage happens to house your collection of nine unscooped litter boxes. In this case your garage smells like cat poo. Only it smells worse than cat poo. Cuz it smells like fermented cat poo.

But really, there are no other options. And besides, these are not my cakes. This is not my house. And the margaritas have made me all warm and fuzzy. So at first I go along with it.

Until I go to the garage to fetch a juice box for one of the niecelets. This is when I remember a funny story from my little brother's childhood. The one where he and I passed a dead and decaying bird. The one where I told him if you can smell something it is because tiny particles of that thing are actually in your nose. And though the dead bird was not particularly pungent, we decided this was really gross and we ran away.

So there I was, fetching juice boxes, with tiny particles of fermented cat poo in my nose. Looking at the cakes that took five hours to make.

It is already too late. I cannot eat this cake. I will eat plenty of things if I have to or want to. In fact, after this trip I have decided I cannot even pretend I am a vegetarian any more. It started as some sort of survival instinct - scarfing down the chicken at my sister's house and later ignoring the pepperoni on the pizza at the water park - but some of it was nothing other than temptation - the bacon my brother made for breakfast, the hot roast beef sandwiches that looked so good - and tomorrow, well, tomorrow we're celebrating our sortaversary - 5 years of wedded bliss - which we always do over big fat steaks...

But again, I digress.

So the cakes. They are ruined. For me. But to little kids, especially the little kids who had just decorated them, they were still magical butterflies and kick ass caterpillar cupcakes. And so I fetched the aluminum foil and covered them. It was too late, but it was better than nothing. Oh, and big time kudos to my sis for stocking the high end heavy duty foil in her cupboards. This way I could cover the cakes without even smudging them. Though the fact that I was drunk made the task a little more challenging than it should have been and I spent more time in the stinky garage than I might've liked.

Anyway, I still had the chrysalides. Yup, I made up my own cool recipe. The rice krispy treat chrysalis. Make a batch of rice krispy treats. Smoosh it into a shallow pan. Take a pint glass or cookie cutter and spray it with spray. Cut out circles. Take gummy worms and cut them in half. (Or don't. See if I care.) Put the worms in the circles and fold over and smoosh down like you are making a pot sticker. Voila. A rice krispy treat chrysalis. They were made in the kitchen and stayed in the kitchen. So at the party I had two.

(Oh, by the way, if you are going to run out and make rice krispy treat chrysalides right away - cuz you know you are going to make them sometime - be sure to buy generic rice krispies since we are still mad at Kellogg's for kicking Michael Phelps off the box...)

Um, so, yeah, I know my sister likes to encourage folks to read my blog so if you happen to be a person who happened to have been at the Pump It Up party and you happened to have eaten some birthday cake, first of all, I am sorry. I debated not telling this story. But this is my blog and it is already way too dull because I am acutely aware of my audience. (Which is why, by the way, I have actually started a secret blog - but I can't tell you where or it wouldn't be a secret. In fact, I shouldn't have even told you that the secret blog exists at all, cuz it is a secret. But I have always sucked at keeping my own secrets. I will tell you this much. My lack of posting here has nothing to do with my shiny new secret blog. In fact, I have only posted there once. Mostly I like to go there and read other people's secret blogs. Cuz people really tell the truth when they know nobody they know is reading. And they don't have all this post / not post guilt cuz they are all posting as regularly as they will elsewhere. And they comment like crazy. I am so happy to know that at least two other strangers out there on the interwebs can identify with my super secret struggles which are seriously nothing you want to read about. You are not missing a thing. You think this is too much information? You don't even want to go there. So don't start looking for secret blogs. Or at least don't start looking for my secret blog. Hell, I really wish I could tell you about the secret blogs, cuz they are wicked fun to read. But that is too bad. You will find them if you need to. In fact, I can't even reconstruct the trail of links I followed to get there. It was fate. And besides, you are not ready. You can't handle the secret blogs. Admit it, you can barely handle The Trouble With Birthday Cakes.)

Yeah, back to the cakes and the people who may have consumed them. I swear, they were only uncovered for a very brief time. I just have a low tolerance for grossness (my own grossness included - oh how slippery is the slope from normalish person to crazy cat lady) and I happen to have a way with words. And tonight I am avoiding writing my scholarship essays and updating my financial aid forms. And I don't have a couch to sit on. So let's just say for argument's sake that perhaps I have exaggerated. Though I will say, in my own defense, that my mother recently reported having spent significant time in the stinky garage (folding laundry while my sister was sick with the replicating virus) and later she noticed the smell of said garage had come home with her on her own clothing. And this is my mother we are talking about. The woman who has been through two generations of pee cats - Missy Moo (aka Pissy Poo, or Beatrix) and now Blackie (aka Pcat, Ginger, or Snickers, depending on who you ask). This is the woman who might hand you a jacket to put on (cuz god forbid my dad runs the heat) and then you may very well soon smell pee and only later will you realize you are wearing the pee smell. And when you announce your discovery she will be amused, not appalled. Yes, this is the woman whose entire house smells like pee. (Sadly, I thought this was only in the summer time when the pee was warmed by the sun, but I swear I smelled ambient pee during my winter time visit...) So you know this garage stinks.

Hm. I'm not making this much better, am I? Alright, I may have told you that you ate fermented cat poo infected cake, and that is not cool. But really, I was not about to ruin my niecelets long awaited fifth (!) birthday party by dissing her lovingly decorated cakes. I couldn't share. Until now. And you're right. I shouldn't have, even now. But see above, how I mentioned the secret blog. I am not good at keeping secrets. More proof. In fact, I think this will be the most difficult part of becoming an attorney. Wearing a bra, and stockings, and heels. Yeah, that sucks. Waking up every day to an alarm clock and working into the wee hours of the night, that sucks. Eye twitching, you know that's coming back. Feeling like I am married to my work and not my husband, super sucky. But keeping attorney-client privilege - my god, it will be required by law. Which is kinda like following directions. Which I am good at. So I am hoping it will all balance out.

Oh, yeah, and to distract you from the distracting story which was meant to distract you from the disgusting story, here's what we are thinking about the never-ending fight. First, a little refresher. He wants to buy a house. Fine enough, right? I want to go to school. Okay, so we are both taking on six figures of debt. Tit for tat. No stress there. Um, but he wants to come with me to school, leaving behind the job he had - the one that helped him qualify to buy his house. But that's not a problem, for him, cuz he can rent the house - to his little brother. And no one but his little brother. Cuz that's his plan. The part of it I trust the least. (No offense to the little brother, but he knows I have this issue. I have told him to his face. And besides, he doesn't have the internets at home. Cuz he is broke like we were when we were his age. Like we are now, really. And he doesn't know about the blog anyway. Either of them. So there...) Um, so we've been fighting. I call his plan the "Stupid Plan." This is disrespectful, I know, but he doesn't disagree. But I think this is cuz my husband is afraid of me. Cuz he thinks I once tried to kill him with a rock. But that was nearly 17 years ago. And the rock was not that big.

But again, I digress. This is what happens when you haven't blogged for a while, I guess. The floodgates open. And tangents are made.

So the compromise. Funny enough, the compromise - which is now being offered by my hubby - was actually my idea in the first place. Ages and ages ago. When I first started taking this law school thing seriously. And, funny enough, the compromise is what many many people have assumed we were doing all along. The compromise is that we do both. I go to school. He buys a house. Only he stays here so he can work to pay for his house.

It's just, now that the compromise is his idea it seems like it sucks. I am not sure if this is cuz my default opinion is to reject his ideas, or if it is because I love him dearly and I cannot imagine living apart from him. I think it is cuz I know I would miss all the foot rubbing. And because I am deathly afraid of infidelity. (Can you say, Daddy Issues?) And because we would probly split up the kitties (he would keep the bad one and the Monkey and OC would go with me to live like a king, albeit an exiled indoor king...) and this is horribly sad to me. Cuz three years may be nothing in a marriage, but it is a lifetime to a kitty.

It also sucks cuz the more we fill in the details, the more it makes sense. He would now live in his own house, a cheaper house. A house which would be very close to his work, since he would give me the car. (We are a one car family since a deer used our truck to commit suicide while I was out of town. Sucks for the deer, but if Erik had been in his own car instead of my truck it might've sucked for Erik too. And it would've sucked for the opossum that tried to commit suicide earlier in his commute, only the truck is nice and tall. The Toaster - our Scion - would've smooshed him for sure. Anyway, we were likely going to sell the aging truck, when we were both still planning to move to the city, so this actually worked out well. In fact, we are well insured so we got top dollar for it from our insurance company. I tried not to sound too excited when they told me how much the settlement would be, especially since this is the second aging car Erik has miraculously totaled right before it would've become a money pit. I swear, he doesn't do it on purpose, but he is really talented apparently. The only thing that sucks is that I had to prematurely part with my beloved rescue net, seeing as how I don't have a vehicle for hauling around seals anymore. I stashed the net in a shed at the site, though, cuz I am still not emotionally ready to let just anybody use her... Oh, crap, I'm off on another tangent, a tangent within a tangent... sorry...) Where was I? Oh yeah, cheaper house, no brother factor, keeping the income, no pee cat in the city. What else? I get a sweet apartment near campus instead of heading out to the boonies (are there boonies in the Bay Area?) where we could rent a house big enough for all of us. Oh, and I get to store all my stuff here with my hubby. No garage sale. Major plus. He presumably makes a profit on the house someday. I presumably have to take out fewer loans since he is still making real money. Shit, we can even save money on cat food since the black cats can eat dry food while OC stays on his life saving Fancy Feast... He swears he would take the train up often, it costs just a little more than gas and he could sleep and I wouldn't have to worry about him crashing cars. (As he does often. Look at me, tying in the tangents. You go, girl...) I think that it won't be as often as either of us would like. And I think that's about it on the pro side.

Cons. I go to school lonely. He lives here lonely. First person to cheat dies. Well, he dies if he cheats. Cuz I kill him. He claims he wouldn't kill me, that he would just let me go on my merry way, cuz he just wants me to be happy. But if I cheated on him, well, I might as well kill myself cuz that would be a horrible thing to do to the sweetest guy I have ever known. Thank goodness I still haven't gotten around to that getting in shape business. I won't even be remotely milfy. I already know I will be the crazy old lady who everyone is nice to only so they can borrow her notes. Then they will all curse me behind my back as I ruin the curve on tests. Muhahahaha. Oh yeah, I plan to kick ass in school.

Um, yeah, back to cons. Other than the sucky lonely part, I don't see any. So that's what sucks the most.

My only out is to fall in love with one of my other choices. The logical sucky compromise plan only works if I go to nearby Berkeley. We aren't even considering the cross country long distance thing. And so I am going to check them out, or at least the ones I could love - NYU (highly ranked), U of Penn (near the cousins), U of Chicago (they offered me $ and have great clerkship placements and heck, Obama taught there), and Northwestern (who should, by all accounts, offer me big $ and if they don't, well, they are still the only school that bothers to train lawyers as business people and not just academics...). I may also visit Columbia - I still have a pretty serious crush on them, but they are "holding" me (not waitlisted, yet, and thus the need to write them a love letter) - but I must confess, I am a wee bit afraid of NYC. I know it will be big and scary and expensive. But that is not what frightens me most. It is the fact that the kitties would surely be indoor kitties there. And the fact that we might fall in love and never leave. Or worse, we will want to leave and be trapped there by my shiny new golden handcuffs. So I will see if visiting NYU makes me feel as if I visited Columbia. Or I will arrange to visit on my own, since I am not (yet) invited to the Admitted Students events (which will be going on all around me). Ugh. Oh, yeah, and everything goes out the door if Law School in the Bush calls. And, whatever, I told you about my secret blog, so I might as well name the School Which Must Not Be Named. It's not really a secret anyway, since I let my dad put it in the Christmas letter. It's fricking Harvard tugging at my heart strings, getting my stupid old lady hopes up. I have decided it's not that I have given up, it's more that I have surrendered to my fate. You know, I wasn't really surprised when I was singled out to be graced with the coveted phone interview. The one you can't get admitted without. But I never really considered that I could be one of the unlucky 20% who get the call and who don't get in. I agree with Meryl Streep, it isn't always nice just to be nominated. It is torturous. Delightful. Then torturous.

Holy moly. I have been blogging non stop for more than three hours now. Sadly, you are now very caught up with the big stuff in my life. I still have fun stories from my visit and months and months of seal stories, so we have places to go from here. Oh, and I didn't even tell you that my beloved chiropractor has breast cancer now. All I can say is WTF? I go out of town for less than two weeks and my doctor gets cancer, my truck gets totaled, my couch gets peed on, and my hubby starts getting all freakishly logical on me. Happily, I ran into her (my chiropractor) this afternoon so I could give her a hug and an update and an empty promise of helpfulness. She still looks good but she's only had her first round of chemo yet. Which reminds me, depending on how you count them, I'm about due for my follow up booby smashing session. More fun with cysts. See, plenty of blogging fodder.

But for now. Bed. Cuz I have no couch. I am gross like that.

And tomorrow. Steaks. Yum.

gahhhh

2009-02-26T23:17:00.000-08:00

I'm pretty sure I have officially broken my own record for the most consecutive days of not posting. It's not that I haven't had anything to say - for one, I haven't even begun to tell the tale of the Curse of the Dolphin (that's in my drafts folder from months ago) - it just that I think I've been holding my cyberbreath, waiting for news from that pesky Law School in the Bush. In fact, I've put many things in my life on hold. My desk is a mess. My laundry is unfolded. I have letters to write, forms to submit, plane tickets to buy... Most days all I have managed to do is run the dishwasher. There is just something really zen about running the dishwasher - even though it is WAY too loud. I swear the first thing I will buy with my grown up lawyer paycheck will be a silent dishwasher like my mom has.

But I digress.

So we're 72 days out now since I received the coveted phone interview from Law School in the Bush. According to my obsessive internet researching, I have been passed over by at least five separate waves of acceptances. No one at all has been accepted for the last couple weeks. Rejections and waitlists won't be handed out until April, so I'm not willing to give up all hope (despite my mother's and brother's efforts to sap it out of me... lovingly, of course...), but it's time to go on living, right?

Besides, I've got to update you on Ratty Catty. Last you heard, Ratty had begun flirting with me in the great outdoors while Barack Obama was settling in to his big old white house. Great, right? I mean, sure, we'd just had that whole flying pee on the couch belly scratch incident (from which I still have a bit of a scar), but whatever, we were making progress...

You may recall that when I was still optimistic about my chances with Law School in the Bush (and therefore feeling like I'd end up living in the snow), I had decided to step up my efforts to domesticate Ratty Catty. I secretly made available the two household litter boxes and I waited to see what would happen. One rainy afternoon, not long after the flying pee incident, he finally took the bait and peed in the box. He was super satisfied with himself and I was so proud that I sang his praises to the only other biped around - my poor sweet hubby, who totally objects to allowing outdoor kitties access to indoor plumbing. As you might imagine, Erik wasn't as excited as I was about my so-called victory. He was, in fact, appalled, pointing out in his annoyingly logical way that the kitties would soon come to expect this scooping service and he was not in any way, shape, or form going to provide while I went to Washington to visit the folks.

Sure enough, after I tried to wean the kitties off their boxes the peeing wars began. So many pees happened while I was gone Erik won't even list them all for me but the last one, I know, took place on the bed, right in front of his very eyes, on the day I was coming home. But Erik blames himself, cuz he thought maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't happen this time and he actually let Ratty on to the bed. When will we learn? So whatever. We got a new bath mat, a new rug by the front door. We stocked up on floor cleaner. We died a little inside. Nothing new, right?

Besides, I knew I'd be coming home from my visit with this fancy new cat lady present from my sister, queen of all cat ladies. It is an air freshening wax melting night light from Scentsy. It is the perfect gift for people who allowed their spoiled ass cats to pee indoors. What I didn't know is that I would also be coming home with a horrible cold. This distracted me for two of the weeks which I have spent not blogging and not getting admitted anywhere. It was great, actually, except for all the painful post nasal drip and the nagging coughing fits. Anyway, I was in no mood for resuming the litterbox experiment (and, I believe, I was specifically banned from doing so by the aforementioned husband...). So the war waged on.

One trouble with sinus issues is that you really can't smell much. So as my cold started clearing up I started smelling the carnage. Only I couldn't place it. I just get these horrific whiffs of pee and then - nothing. I bury my nose into blankets - nothing, sheets - nothing, cushions - nothing. I plug in the Scentsy. Better, but, no offense to Scentsy, not perfect. Again with the phantom pee. I begin to think maybe I am crazy. Erik and I go on a cleaning spree. We wipe every surface in the known universe (and by "we" I mean, of course, "he"...). We wash the entire bed again, for good measure. Still with the whiffs.

One day I think I have found it. The windowsill by my side of the couch, the one I use as a side table (cuz my actual side table is not enough to hold all the clutter I feel I must suffocate myself with) - perhaps it is the windowsill. It is wood. Wood is porous. It gets afternoon sun - just about the same time I get most of my phantom whiffs. It has to be the windowsill. So we scrub it better. But still with the whiffs.

Then tonight, tonight I think, now I know. How do I know? I have seen it with my very own eyes.

So tonight, much like the evening of the Inauguration, Ratty Catty was being especially sweet to me. For the first time since I left on my trip, he is offering himself to be pet right here in the computer room. And he is purring up a storm. "Yay," I think, "I am not a crazy person to give this ill mannered cat a home. Inside he is a real kitty. He just needs love and patience." Yeah, right.

Soon after our love fest peters out I hear the familiar sound of "scritch, scritch, scritch" coming from the living room. I know this cannot be good. Quickly I run through Ratty's rules of warfare - checking for violations. Is there a rug on the floor? No. Any clothes on the couch? Negative. Something plastic out of place? Nope. Is anyone chasing him or cornering him? Again, no. Is OC giving him dirty looks? No. OC is asleep in his too tiny cat nip box. Is there bedding anywhere, even in a laundry basket? No. Geez, what do you think I am, stupid? So I am stumped. I decide to investigate.

Ratty Catty is on the spare couch (not the couch which was violated by the flying pee incident) and he has peed - right into the crack of between the cushions.

All I can think is - Gahhh.

I know the couch is trash, but I still have to clean it. I grab some paper towels and begin to stick them in the crack. My hand is wet on the top and the bottom. I gag, perhaps throwing up just a little. I continue changing out paper towels. I believe I am cursing. By now I have woken up my sleeping husband. I know he is cursing. I make with the couch wipes but just as a courtesy. Soon my hubby is shoving the violated couch out the door. Again, cursing.

Did I mention that on this day 17 years ago Erik first asked me to be his girlfriend? It was confusing then, seeing as how we were already living together, but still, romantic just the same. My how times have changed...

Anyway, I give up. The pee cats have won. I turn around the boxes. If they are going to pee inside, please Lord, let us keep it in the boxes. I take a shower. My hand does not feel clean.

Of course, when I sit down on the remaining couch again I smell the phantom smell. A sad little lightbulb goes on in my head. Had I not been home to hear the scritching scratching, I would have never known about this evening's couch pee. The cushions are so perfectly designed to ferret away the evidence... I am now 90% certain this same ritual has been practiced on our primary couch. But my hubby has to go to work so it will have to be investigated and evicted tomorrow.

Good thing we are moving in four months cuz it looks like I am about to bring the patio chairs into the living room. Maybe it will motivate me to spend less time indoors.

Anyway, more on the moving later. We may have found a creative, if not still horrible, compromise to the never-ending fight I was picking at over New Year's. Neither of us like it, but we both get what we want. That's how a compromise works, right? But we'll see.

I also have to tell you the story of how we recently became a one car family. Oh, and of course there are a bazillion snippets to share from my trip home - G's budding sense of humor, the tale of the indoor waterpark and the broken thumbnail, and the horrible truth about birthday cake all come to mind... And I owe you about a bazillion seal stories. I've had a couple cute sea lions and even a couple of harbor seals (I know, already...), not to mention a bunch of run of the mill animals from last fall. Whew. I am getting tired just thinking about it. Maybe feeling overwhelmed with my blogger back up will motivate me to finish my financial aid tasks...

For now, though, it is off to bed with me.

a new day

2009-01-20T18:33:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I know the big news today is our brand new shiny president. It is, indeed, fancy and historic and gosh, just downright refreshing to have a bonafide smarty pants in the White House (it's been a while...), but my own news is just as exciting, at least for me.

Today was the first day Ratty Catty let me pet him outside.

This is big, people, especially considering I thought he'd still be mad about the forced belly session we had this afternoon. (I trapped his trusting little napping self in the office. That'll teach him to be all cute while snuggling Monkey...)

Believe it or not, I think we began to turn this most recent corner last week after Ratty and I survived a horrible incident. I had just happened to catch him (more by accident and instinct than anything else) and thought, heck, let's try a lap snuggle session. He's actually gotten pretty good at lap snuggles, when they are available. It's the holding while walking that seems to freak him out most. (This lesson, the walking, is most important because if I go anywhere other than Berkeley for school he will have to be walked through an airport metal detector...) And then there is the litter box lesson, but Erik made me abandon that experiment as it is too gross and too soon...

Anyway, much to my chagrin, I hadn't noticed that Ratty had already begun peeing shortly after I caught him. It's been a while since I scared the pee out of him, so this alone should have convinced me to call the whole thing off. But instead, when I did notice I figured, whatever, I'm already peed on, right? Only, the trouble is, he was still freaked out, so he started in with the bunny kicking. He won't bite me and he won't scratch me with his front claws, but man will he bunny kick. So once he got me bleeding pretty good (on my poor fleshy belly parts), I decided it was time to abandon the plan. He then launched out of my lap, peeing in mid air as he left.

Now in case you were wondering, you know you have become a crazy cat lady when you look down and see that 66% of your couch is peed on and all you are thinking is what interesting splash patterns the flying pee has left.

Anyway, I cleaned up and I fully expected to see very little of Ratty for a few days. Instead, he came up to me that very same evening (and the next one as well), offering me his head to pet while I sat in front of my computer (not blogging). A couple days later he met me on the landing by the cat nip garden, where the normal cats greet me. Of course, he didn't let me touch him but he was very distinctly there to see me. Shortly after he followed me into the laundry room. Laundry supervision is definitely not his thing. Then two days ago he followed me down the driveway to my car - again, completely unprecedented. And then, tonight, the highlight. A little timid head scratching in the driveway. I'm so happy.

Which is great, cuz, well, I could use some happy as I'm still anxiously waiting to hear from the Law School in the Bush and my tolerance for suspense is extremely low. Each day I waffle between optimism and disappointment, heavy on the disappointment. And this has not been so great for the wagon riding, if you know what I mean.

Mostly I just feel like a big dork because thanks to my obsession I can scarcely enjoy the acceptances I already have (oh, though I did get my first rejection, thank you, Stanford...) and I know that even being considered by Law School in the Bush is a big fat honor. And if and when I do get in, it's not like my life becomes a rose garden or anything. Then everything is super duper extra complicated because I'll have to choose between the place I already call home and the freezing cold far away place with more prestige and a higher price tag. It's just, I really really want to get in. And I know I have borderline numbers and they know I will come whenever they call me, and so I am forced to wait. I just so suck at waiting.

So though my presence on the wagon has been spotty lately (there is ice cream and soda in my fridge!), I believe I am off to the gym now, cuz I do find exercise is a great therapy. I must say, though, that it makes me strangely weepy, which is, I'm sure, part hormones, but I think it's mostly cuz all my fatty fatness is filled with sad thoughts of inadequacy. And so when I make those million little fat cells burst open they remind me of how they got there in the first place... I mean, seriously, a Tarzan cartoon nearly had me in tears the other day and don't even get me started on that awesome pilot who did not kill all his passengers in the Hudson...

Oh, and I do recognize it is mean and petty to have nicknamed my fellow gym members (you know, Heavy Cologne Guy and Super Sweaty Hairy Woman), so in the spirit of fairness, if I had to nickname myself, I would be either Red Faced Woman Who Needs to Brush Her Hair Better or maybe Red Faced Woman Who Really Shouldn't Wear That.

Anyway, I know I have all but abandoned my seal stories, but I had my first rescue of the new year this Sunday - a juvenile male otter, just 6 kgs, who, of course, died in transport like they all do. He sure was a cutie, though. It's gross, I know, but if I had been allowed to keep the pelts of all the otters I've "rescued" through the years, I'd have a pretty damn fine jacket or something. I think I'd make it into a pillow case actually. But then, of course, the cats would just pee on it and that would be depressing.

happier new year

2009-01-06T20:30:00.000-08:00

Wow, um, sorry to start the year with such a downer of a post.

I'm happy to report that things are nearly back to normal in the Princess Parasite household. As for the fight I picked, while I regret that it was ill-timed and uncharacteristically uncomfortable, it looks like it may have actually made a difference. As painful as it was, it seems we needed to flush the wound, remove some dead tissue, and we may be headed towards an actual real life grown up type compromise.

In other words, I'm winning.

It doesn't necessarily feel exactly like winning, but it feels a lot less stressful than when no one was winning. Or when I was maybe losing. And less stress is just what I need these days especially as I have once again resumed my delightfully torturous telephone watching vigil. Oh, Law School in the Bush, is tomorrow the day you will profess your love?

In the meanwhile, I have joined my friend Oprah in her quest to get back on the wagon. I will not, however, join her in posting photos of my current self next to my formerly skinny self. In fact, my new profile picture (like my last one) dates back nearly six years. This particular picture makes me smile most not because I was thin, but because it was taken on a significant seal day for me - my very first day in charge. The circumstances were somewhat scandalous (I was posing with a freshly dead otter all Weekend at Bernie's style) so the photo's been kept under wraps for a while. Now that my retirement is imminent and no one seems to care about otters any more, the picture has finally gone public.

Anyway, back to the wagon stuff. I've been good TWO whole days in a row. Not bad for me lately. Yesterday I went to the gym super bright and early. Everything was fine and dandy until I left. I was dismayed to find my olfactory system accosted by the heavenly scent of Dolly's Donut shop across the way. Morning = donuts, so today I went to the gym in the afternoon. Instead of yummy donuts, I found myself surrounded by the smell of old man. Heavy Cologne Guy was stinking up my favorite cardio machines. Seriously, who wears cologne to the gym? Anyway, so I was forced to kill time doing the resistance circuit with Super Sweaty Hairy Woman. At least today, for once, she was lifting weights before hitting the bike so she was only hirsute, not yet slick. And I am grateful that I found Heavy Cologne Guy already in action. The last time I encountered him I was halfway through my work out and had to decide whether to abandon ship or stay the stink-filled course. A horrible choice. So now I am thinking about setting an alarm for tomorrow as running the donut gauntlet is way preferable to encountering Heavy Cologne Guy and Super Sweaty Hairy Woman...

Anyway, I did have two serious high points to my day. First, my hubby came home from his orthodontist appointment with a present for me - my very own pair of fake teeth wearing real sample "Smart Clip" braces from 3M Unitek. He knew I would love them the minute he first saw them so he asked his doctor for them. Then, of course, he immediately regretted expressing interest for once he was denied he could no longer risk just pocketing them. Well, today he was rewarded for his honesty as the dentist found a spare pair somewhere and so he decided to share. Yay, me.

My second highlight came when I got home from the gym. I had paused on the front stairs to pet OC (who head bonked me with considerable force - very sweet and usually reserved for expressing hunger...). Much to my surprise, I heard a faint meow from the deck above. Ratty Catty was, for the first time ever, drawing deliberate attention to his presence. He is normally a very quiet, if terribly leaky, cat and the only time he'll vocalize is when he is looking for Monkey. Today he was looking for me. Of course, he wouldn't let me touch him or anything, but it's a start. And considering he is on high alert (yesterday he got cornered for flea poisoining), it's a major victory.

Anyway, now I believe I am off to the grocery store. I have waited just long enough that Erik will be getting up to go to work when I come home. Thus he will most certainly want to help me lug all the damned bags up our bazillion stairs. I know, I know, unloading the car is exercise, but I had plenty of that already today...

happy? belated new year

2009-01-02T03:17:00.000-08:00

So I always have a lame time on New Year's Eve. Too much build up, I think, not enough planning. Not that I do anything particularly exciting for any holiday, really, but New Year's - New Year's is consistently disappointing.

I am sorry to report that 2009 was no exception.

Except, it kinda was. I did have some serious laughs (singing karaoke and playing Balderdash with the nieces) and I also enjoyed a new-to-me ritual (tossing into a fire things to leave behind and things to look forward to...), but the fun was totally eclipsed by the big fight I picked with my husband first thing this morning.

Since my blog is only popular with folks who actually know me and my husband, I won't say anything more, except it's 3 a.m. and I am still awake cuz I recognize the importance of not going to bed mad.

I think I'm mostly mad at myself. This morning was not a nice time for fight picking, if there even is such a thing as a nice time for fight picking... But more so I am mad at myself because I can't find the solution. This fight I picked is one I've been picking at for months. Each time I discover the same messy wound under the same festering bandage. Every time the pieces look even less and less like they'll ever fit back together. Each time everyone's feelings are a little more tender, the anger a little more raw.

I only wish that "drinking to excess" was not one of the items I said goodbye to in the fire last night. Cuz going to bed drunk is not the same as going to bed mad. It's just the waking up hungover (and extra fat) part I refuse to deal with anymore. But you know, come to think of it, I have a fondness for just about everything I put on my farewell list last night. And all of the things to look forward to are big and scary and grown up. Ugh. 2009, please be gentle with me...

For now all I am looking forward to is scooping the litter box. I'm only hoping that Ratty was watching while Monkey made his recreational visit to the stencherator. That was the whole idea, after all - Ratty always wants to do whatever Monkey does, and Ratty needs to learn to use the cat box - but suddenly the idea seems, well, like it stinks.

Oh, but there has been one bright spot already in this brand new ominous year. While we were away on the two day drama filled road trip from hell, Ratty Catty did not pee on our bed. I am sure it was not from lack of trying. Instead, it is because my brilliant husband battened down the hatches (or in this case, the canopy). I feel like fricking Dorothy discovering that I had the power to go home all along...

Small favors, right?

again already

2008-12-22T20:12:00.001-08:00

I don't know when this blog became a tool for tracking how often Ratty Catty would decide to pee in inappropriate locations, but apparently this is the only thing that inspires me to click "New Post." So today the bed was his victim, again. I think I minimized the damage by catching him mid stream. I only had to remove two covers to contain the spillage. Of course it was a mighty chilly morning with rain and such outside, and these were two damn fine covers which I missed dearly, but whatever. Actually, come to think of it, the whole bed still feels contaminated by association, but I have just been so fricking house lazy I can't even begin to think about doing all that much laundry. Maybe if I had bought a stackable washer and dryer when the landlady put in the mini laundry room upstairs, maybe then I'd do recreational loads. But for now, all laundry, peed on or otherwise, must be paraded down the outside stairs and brought into the original laundry room.

Ugh.

And then he just went about his morning like everything was fine and perfectly normal. He even let me pick him up right after. So I put him in the newly-reintroduced litter box. He seemed perplexed. I've got to remember to add dirt, as I know he likes to pee on dirt. My brother suggested I put some sheets in there, maybe a Barbie and some pillows. Very funny. Ha ha. At least yesterday I got myself a bit of belly when Ratty was feeling especially safe (hanging with the Monkey). It didn't last long, and, come to think of it, maybe this is why I had pee in my bed today, but, well, I couldn't help myself.

Sometimes I wonder, "Just when did I become the crazy cat lady?" And then I remember, it was May 3rd, when I chopped Ratty's nuts off and officially made him part of the family.

Whatever.

Mostly, being the crazy cat lady I am, I am not even upset about the most recent insult to the sanctity of my sleep. Today I am upset because I am impatient and all spun up about some possible big law school news on the horizon. I am so spun up, in fact, about this bird in the bush, that my Berkeley in the hand has begun to feel like a consolation prize. And the big purple envelope in the mail from NYU - this should have been exciting, too, and instead I set it aside to continue to watch the phone not ringing for me.

The trouble is, I had convinced myself I wasn't going to hear back from the Law School in the Bush until January. At the soonest. If they decide they don't like me I won't know until April. But they have been flirting. And thus, I figure it's a month tops before they declare their love for me. So I had managed my expectations and disappointment Friday afternoon, when I figured the admissions office went on vacation like the rest of the school. That all went out the window today when my invisible friends on the internet started crowing about their acceptance phone calls. Then I got all excited anew.

And then the phone rang. But it was just my brother. Calling with the helpful Barbie bedding advice.

Now I am left to wonder, are the fine folks at Law School in the Bush working tomorrow as well? Even if they are, I suspect I will not get my call because surely they are in cahoots with the universe and the universe is clearly trying to teach me patience. Why else would I always choose the wrong check out line? Why else would I always miss on dock rescues if I don't wait for my team to arrive? Why else would I be so fricking fat from falling for immediate gratification practically every single time? Patience, fat grasshopper, patience.

And with that I am off to the gym to sweat away this angst. I have just enough time to get my cardio in. It will burn off about the same amount of calories I plan to drink tonight.

perspective

2008-12-16T05:28:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up to find all three cat fishes snuggling me in my bed. Monkey and OC were sharing Erik's side. Ratty was purring at my feet. Immediately I thought, "Crap. I really don't want to do all that laundry again." But I figured he hadn't peed on me yet, at least, cuz he usually pees and bails (unlike his buddy Monkey who seems to prefer to sleep in the smell of his own urine...). So I tempted the fates and made a move to pet him.

I pet and he purred for, I kid you not, twenty full minutes. It was magical. It annoyed OC, who was receiving leftover distracted pets from my spare hand. It displaced Monkey, who was edged out by an obsessively affectionate Ratty. And then it all ended when I moved in for the belly rub. I was reminded (by a scratch and a bite) that stray cat belly is still off limits. This was fine with me as it was really time to bring a close to all this madness before something got peed on.

Well, as it turns out, something was already peed on. My kitchen floor. My foot found the puddle on the way to the recycle bin. Thanks, foot. I'm not complaining, though, cuz I will take floor over bed any time. Much easier to clean and besides, I was due a morning shower anyway.

So yes, I am writing to report that I am pleased with my cat's inappropriate urination. More proof that I truly am the crazy cat lady.

gross

2008-12-12T05:09:00.000-08:00

So, I know I should have something to say for myself. Six weeks without posting, though, and most likely there's no one reading any more anyway. I do have an excuse, sort of. Essentially I've been holding my cyber breath as I wait for news back from law schools. Maybe I'm trying not to jinx anything. Maybe I'm just consumed by the cycle and unable to find something newsworthy in my daily life. Maybe I was just looking for a reason to take a break, as I have been a particularly lazy and uninspired blogger this year.

Whatever the case, I've been able to exhale considerably since being accepted to Berkeley Law this week. Yup. I don't have to live in the snow unless I really really want to. Life is good.

But what's so gross, you ask?

Well, remember that Tootsie Roll commercial with the little boy and the owl? The one where the boy asks, "How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?" Substitute the word "weeks" for "licks" and "Ratty Catty" for "to the Tootsie Roll center" and "to pee on your bed" for "of a Tootsie Pop" and you have the same answer the owl gave. One, two, three.

Yeah, I may be smart enough to study at Boalt Hall, but I am not smarter than a stray cat. He's been enjoying the run of the house since Thanksgiving and every night has been a gamble. The sad part is he's only been brave enough to get on the bed in the past few days. So really, you might say it takes only three days for him to pee on your bed, or my bed as you will, but it takes him three weeks to get up the courage. Ugh. I wonder if this means we'll be on lock down again? If so, the other kitties will not be pleased. The open door policy has been popular with them.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to convince the kitties that the attic and the laundry room are the coolest places to hang out. Unfortunately they are rather popular locations in the local rodent circles. Erik doesn't believe me, but twice in the past week I have woken up to hear the scritch scratching of little feet in the ceiling above my head. OC heard them too, so I know I am not crazy, but he doesn't make the best witness. At least my hubby has to believe me about the mice in the laundry room. Their droppings are proof positive. Anyway, I am too embarrassed to ask my landlady, who knows I have three cats, to hire a rodent exterminator. And, though I know they end up dead either way, I'd much rather have the mice die at the hands of my felines than in a snap trap. And I'm sure as hell not going to stick them to glue traps and drown them in a bucket. Thanks, Mom, for that indelible image in my brain. Mostly I am hoping that the mere presence of cats will suggest they should move on as the mice have seemed smart enough to avoid our actual living space. Lord knows there's been enough cat pee around to broadcast the dangers to any semi-intelligent rodent.

Which brings me to the silver lining in this morning's rude wake up call. While the bed sits and waits its turn (as it's inevitably a three load process), the stench of it will be suggesting to the laundry room mice that they should maybe think about clearing out. Either that or it will just give them a good chuckle, as even mice are smart enough not to pee where they sleep.

Well, I guess I'd better get started. Last time Ratty Catty peed on the bed Erik was talking feral cat colony. I know he won't believe that I changed the sheets at 5 am just to be sweet, but at least he'll have a clean place to fall asleep and dream of the life he could've had if he hadn't married the crazy cat lady.

i'm not not doing this

2008-11-01T23:15:00.001-07:00

Wow. Three weeks since I last posted. That may be a record. As usual, it's not for lack of adventure or access that I have been so distant. It may be from lack of inspiration. But mostly, I think, it's from sheer laziness.

So when I realized it was indeed November already, the official "Mo" of NaBloPoMo, I thought, "Hell no." It's not like I've ever successfully completed a NaBloPoMo challenge. And each of my (failed) efforts to post daily has been followed by another month of near nothingness, so does it really benefit you, my imaginary readers? Not likely.

And yet. Here I am. Minutes before the close of the first day, posting for the sake of posting.

Though tonight's post distinctly has no direction or theme, I have realized that I could get some mileage just by catching up on my seal stories. I don't think I've told one since July. If I separate my patients (which I'll likely have to research now, it's been so long), I could fill about half the month. Plus business has been heating up lately (uncharacteristically late in the season), and I even have some cutie-pie fur seals to tell you about. Mostly, though, it was a bleak summer filled with sloppy seconds and doomed patients. Perhaps a source of some of my stagnation? Anyway, the only reason I'm awake now is that I just got back from administering pain meds (in the rain) to a would-be shark snack, woefully named AshRebel. His wounds don't look all that grim, though, so I can't figure out why he's so miserable. But mine is not to wonder why. Mine is to avoid getting bitten.

Then, of course, there is my gripping obsession with my law school application cycle. Having no control over my destiny is virtually killing me. I do have one potential hurdle left, one last interview that I hope to be granted, and so I focus on willing it into existence. Each Friday I wake up and check my empty email inbox for a love letter from Toby Stock, Assistant Dean for Admissions at Harvard Law School. I didn't expect to get any sugar from Harvard this early in the process (if ever), but it seems that the folks who are getting the calls have numbers very similar to my own. But, really, I realize that waiting hardly makes for rivoting reading.

Oh, but I do have one victory under my belt. My first acceptance came from good old Georgetown. Granted, I nearly didn't apply to Georgetown (since my dad went to Villanova and they are basketball rivals), and, sure, we all know it's one of my safety schools, but the invitation to enroll sure did warm my heart. It even came with a handwritten note saying that my personal statement was "beautifully written." So, see, I can write beautifully - just not for you.

Sorry about that.

So we'll see. Maybe I can at least write often. No promises, though. I think it is the commitment that kills me.

For now I am off to bed cuz pain meds only last six hours so I'm back to work at the crack of dawn.

out of my hands

2008-10-10T10:24:00.000-07:00

I think I am relieved. All of my law school applications are submitted (having met my artificial deadline with the help of way too much soda, cookies, and pizza, and way too little sleep). Quite a few of my applications have even gone "complete" already (which is apparently important). But best of all, my Northwestern interview is behind me. The interview went well enough, I think, though I totally came across as the crazy seal lady. I just couldn't stop myself.

"Tell me about a challenge you've faced." - Seal story.

"Tell me about a project you've managed." - Seal story.

"What do you with you spare time?" - Seal stories.

"I mean, besides seals?" - More seal stories.

Um, did I completely forget that I ran a print shop and used to be a normal person with a very demanding job? Indeed. And could I have clutched my hands together any more actively? Probly not. It's funny to notice how rusty I am, having not had any sort of interview for years. Whatever. Really, I know I didn't bomb it and I should get in on numbers alone, so I have to let it go.

Letting go is not so easy for a control freak like me. So now I think I'll start helping my brother fill out his applications (since I learned so much about the particular pitfalls of each school during my three day push...) - but first he has to give me his work history and so far he won't even give me the time of day.

Anyway, I've got other things to think about as I am smack dab in the middle of birthday season.

For Erik's birthday we got pillows - which we needed after Ratty Catty peed on our old ones while we were out of town for the Northwestern interview. I know, it was foolish to trust him, but he'd been in two nights before and hadn't peed on anything... and we set up armaments around the bed (empty laundry baskets, piles of blankets)... but really, we should've moved the pillows into protective custody. Whatever. Stinking Ratty Catty. I will say he is doing much better with his lap snuggling (once he even seemed genuinely relaxed) and he also survived his first encounter with pill swallowing (that was not fun, and did involve pee, but the pill stayed in and the tapeworms died - so hooray). Now his biggest issue is OC, who has decided to hate the little Rat Fink. And OC learned how to be a horrible roommate from the best of them... Poor Ratty...

Anyway, for my birthday we are getting steaks. I tried to get out of the Birthday Steaks tradition (many of my seal friends are Libras, so we've been hitting all the hot spots year by year) but there was no talking my way out of it. Erik's birthday buddy (and the gal I call my future self) is looking at getting gastric bypass in a couple months and so this is her last chance to enjoy big yummy chunks of cow flesh. (By the way, I am so not getting gastric bypass in the future... nor will I be a Republican... So I guess she isn't really my future self...) Anyway, besides, it's our last birthday season together since I'm all moving away to law school and such. So, having exhausted all the notable steak places in our county, we are headed south to Ruth's Chris in Santa Barbara. Yum.

If not for the cat pee and the poverty issue, we might even make a romantic overnight out of it. But, really, I wouldn't be able to enjoy it...

Though I will be able to enjoy one final expensive hotel room this month. Next Tuesday I get to stay in San Francisco's Huntington Hotel (on Nob Hill). I was invited (first by my seal group, then by a seal friend) to attend our annual fund raising Gala (to be held at the Ritz-Carlton). I was excited enough to be included (which was mostly just in theory, for if not for my friend, I'd be looking at going alone or paying a discounted amount - still big bucks - to drag Erik along with me) but then I was doubly super excited to find a great rate on the Huntington (half price).

The Huntington is the hotel Erik first took me to after researching the best pools of San Francisco. And the pool there is, indeed, divine. Later we went there to hide out after Fabian died. We haven't been back since. So I warned my friend that I might cry, and that she will have to see way more of my skin than anyone should (since we will so be in that pool and spa every moment that we can), and I cautioned her that we may end up sharing a bed (cuz it seems like every time I share a hotel room I end up sharing a bed - surely because I don't want to), but she's game. And she'll be hooked. I told her we'll want to leave the party to get back to the spa...

And perhaps best of all, I found a perfectly cute, if not slightly cheesy, fancy gold sweater dress to wear to the event - and it was 75% off. I wasn't looking forward to feeling totally under dressed and I didn't really want to spend a fortune on an outfit (having overshopped for interview clothes) - and now my problem is solved.

Life is good.

Oh, and life is also pretty good for my broken-hearted, admittedly rather violent niece. Sounds like her former friend has already dumped her former boyfriend. The friend is now allowed to stand around the group (though no one will talk to her) and the cheating-cheese-smelling-man-boob-having ex remains persona non grata. Except someone has talked to him enough to learn that while in Europe this summer he got himself a tattoo. Um, but it's not a cool tattoo. It's actually a tramp stamp, like for girls. Yeah. Now I actually feel sorry for him. He lost the best girlfriend ever, he smells of cheese, he has dandruff and man boobs, and he has a tramp stamp. Six pack abs only go so far.

living the dream, the sequel

2008-10-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, so we all remember the story of my beautiful broken-hearted niecelet, whose no-good stupid-o boyfriend dumped her after two long years for no good reason and with very little finesse. There are details I haven't shared (ah, the awkward horrors of adolescence) - like how the break up actually started as "a break", and how he was inappropriately affectionate with his future girlfriend long before he was remotely single. Some among you may need to hear these details cuz otherwise you might begin to think my wonderful niecelet is maybe overdoing it a bit. Suffice it to say, she is so not overreacting. I swear. I know psycho when I see it. I have been there and done that. She is totally in the right.

As it turns out, the confrontation at the assembly was just a slappetizer.

More recently, she has received solid confirmation that her sleazy ex was messing around with her former friend before their break up. In front of all her friends. Who were then, of course, afraid to tell her. So she was wronged and publicly humiliated. And then she was dumped. Before prom. So the other day she pulled her ex aside to ask him just exactly what about her suspecting he was cheating qualified her as "a paranoid control freak" when, in fact, he was, you know, actually cheating. That's a rhetorical question, obviously. I don't know if he had time to answer anyway.

I do know my super strong brute of a softball whiz then socked him a good one right in the gut. After that she kicked him in the shins. (See? Not psycho. Psycho never goes for the shins. Psycho always goes for the nads...)

And then - this is my favorite part - she told him:

he smells like cheese,
he suffers from dandruff,
and, oh yes, she told him he's got man boobs.

Man boobs. I know. I thought, how does one have man boobs and a six pack both? Apparently the man boobs are a recent development - a side effect of ditching the rowing team. Say goodbye to your abs, slimy cheater boy, cuz six packs cannot survive under the shadow of man boobs. It's a scientific fact.

boob news

2008-09-30T00:30:00.000-07:00

First, let me say that Valium when mixed with Darvocet is a very deceptive little cocktail. While I could very clearly feel the edges of my world had been softened (thank you, Valium), I had great difficultly accepting the fact that I was pretty fricking blotto this afternoon. Simple tasks, such as stating Erik's birthdate and filling out a check, began to clue me in. Then, as Erik enticed me to use words with S's in them, I could totally hear that I was slurring my words. He likened me to Cindy Brady. Mm hm. I was in just the right frame of mind for having long needles poked deep into my unsuspecting boobies.

So imagine my surprise when the doctor decided not to do any poking. Apparently just making me dread the procedure for ten days was torture enough. I still got to strip down and get felt up, but I didn't even have to get my mammy's grammed. At first I was suspicious (or, rather, sssussspisshuss), since you know, a different doctor thought something about my cyst was worth eradicating. But then I grew convinced that my cyst just needed a little more screen time to reveal its benign nature. In the meanwhile, though, my cyst has made some friends. Thanks to a more thorough ultrasound technician (who I totally used to rescue seals with), we are now watching four cysts, not one. But they all appear nice and proper - thin walls, soft shape, no speckling. They are good little cysts. Thanks to these good little cysts I get to have my mammy's grammed again in six months (instead of twelve) - just to make sure everyone has remained on their best behavior.

After spending most of the early evening sleeping off my narcotic haze (and blowing off my gym partner), I have settled back in to my regularly scheduled distraction - my law school applications. If I had the balls, I would submit my Berkeley application in T minus 2 and a half hours - the precise moment they begin accepting them. But I know I have to print everything out and read it when my eyes are fresh and the light is good, cuz typos are the pits and I am way too OCD to forgive myself.

Oh, and besides, I have already screwed up with Stanford. Having my letters of recommendation sent directly to their office was, um, wrong. Great. So I had to confess my super lamedness in order to find out if they bothered to keep my letters. They have two of the three, which is better than I hoped, so I'm all set. Stanford's my longest longshot anyway - they didn't want me as an ungrad, then I attended their rival school, I don't have a perfect GPA, and I haven't cured cancer. Add to that the fact that I can't even follow instructions and I'm thinking my fate is pretty sealed. I only wish there were a place on the application to reveal to them my Big Game curse. Cuz, you know, it's only a curse if you want Cal to win. In fact, I am Stanford's lucky charm. It took all the strength I had not to mention it in my email to the Admissions Office this afternoon. I had to remind myself that a) I was on drugs and b) I already looked stupid.

Oh oh oh, and my new shoes arrived already. I still actually love the red ones a little bit better, but don't tell the black ones that cuz they are much more functional (being, you know, the right size and all). I don't want them getting any hurt feelings, after all. And I haven't had the heart to introduce them to my old work shoes. Those poor guys are so dusty and neglected, they already know they are yesterday's news. They don't need to see me parading around in my sexy grown up shoes. Not just yet anyway. And my new shoes don't need to know how I treat my shoes once the shiny newness wears off. Right now they can still believe they will be stored all orderly like, perhaps even in their original boxes. Maybe they think I will place them on a shelf built just for them, with a polaroid picture of themselves posed just so, so that I can always find them when I need them. Little do they know they are doomed to share a room with the stray cat who pees too much.

Anyway, I am just procrastinating now. All you really needed to know is that my boobs and my cysts are getting along swimmingly. Oh, but stay tuned tomorrow for the latest on my oldest niecelet and her no-good cheating man-whore of an ex-boyfriend. If you enjoyed the story of the slap heard round the school, you'll love the sequel.

delirious?

2008-09-29T08:21:00.000-07:00

Last night I had trouble sleeping. Perhaps it was the Pepsi I pounded at midnight. I hate to admit that caffeine might hold some power over me. I feel like that's some sign of weakness - or, more likely, aging.

And then I thought perhaps I was awake due to my grumpy new muscles. I seldom (as in never) seem to stretch after working out and it appears to be catching up with me. A friend is trying to entice me into attending yoga at our gym, but I still don't feel ready to do Downward Facing Dog in public. At least I went to the gym, right? Too bad my hour on the elliptical machine only canceled out all the full sugar soda I drank yesterday. The Chips Ahoy I inhaled are apparently free to roam about the cabin...

But the soda and the cookies were both part of the essay process. I think I made serious progress on my applications this weekend. My Berkeley essay might even be done. And good. Erik inspired the ending - the part where I warn the admissions committee that I have an apparent jinx that causes Cal to lose to Stanford in the Big Game. I'm hoping that still seems inspired and appropriate tomorrow, or else I have to craft another conclusion. Anyway, post essay excitement might also have been the reason I couldn't fall sleep.

But mostly I suspect I wasn't restful because I knew today I would have to wake up and have an "ultrasound guided biopsy" of my poor right boob. I keep telling myself it's most likely just a routine aspiration of a harmless cyst, but I hate that I had to use the word "biopsy" when making the appointment. Anyway, after the poking I get to enjoy some squishing, as they gram my mammies one more time, in order to be sure the part they poked was the part they saw on the scan in the first damn place.

So, yeah. Caffeine. Conclusion. Impending torture. Any of these could have been last night's culprit.

But this morning, thanks to this site, I find myself laughing so hard I am crying. I only wish my mother were savvy enough to send a emails or a texts as I am certain I could contribute mightily. Also, I am sorry to see that this site is currently not supporting submissions as I was fully prepared to upload my "Jenni Africa" photo for all the world to see.

{An aside to my dear Wendy: I totally think these are the folks that produced that book I found for you. Remember how I was so bummed that I never knew about Duran Duran fan fiction? Well, it seems after talking to my brother last night, I realized that had I actually been inclined as a teen to author any Fab Five inspired soft porn that I would need now to go back and make some revisions. Apparently the English are not big on circumcision. While I don't have any diary entries to alter, I have been forced to update a few of my mental images...}

Anyway, I am also excited because today is OC's buttiversary. One year ago today he had his last enema. I ordered orange cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles to give to the vet in celebration. I know the folks there are at least as relieved as OC and I are that none of them has had to put their fingers up his anus lately.

On that note, I am either off to the gym and then the bakery, or just off to the bakery. I haven't decided which.

updates from hermitville

2008-09-27T08:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry, folks, for my (continued) virtual absence. I'm sure you've grown used to such neglect, but it is still no excuse.

I wish I could say that I have spent my time away appropriately - that I have finished up all my applications earlier than planned - but indeed I have not. In truth, I am only posting now as a brief respite from my dreaded "diversity essay" - the one piece of my application puzzle which I ought to send to all schools. I know, I know, what exactly is so diverse about a middle-aged white woman? That's precisely my challenge. But I think this morning I might actually be on a roll. After that, I have left only the love letters - why I love Berkeley, why I love Penn, why I love Northwestern, why I love Cornell - and I believe I am still (barely) on track to hit my October 1st submission goal.

Speaking of Northwestern, have I mentioned that I have to profess my love for them in person? This semi-unexpected, not-entirely-required roadblock has sent me into a dizzying array of diversions. I have a room reserved (the interview is a 3 hour drive away - the price of living in paradise) and my resume is sparkly and fresh. I've had my hair done - not just cut, but colored - and I've done much shopping - you know, for grown up clothes, like bras and stockings and high heel shoes. By the way, I am in love with my shoes. This is probably because I have only worn them for 2 minutes, but they are so perfectly my style. I love love love love love my shoes. I love them so much that I stole a picture of them from Zappos just to share with you. Then, darn it, while I was there I ordered a pair in black - in a size more appropriate for my woefully wide feet. I have done so much shopping lately that I am expecting to receive one of those fraud alert phone calls any time now. "Um, excuse me, ma'am, but your card has shown some suspicious activity lately. In all the years we've had you as a customer we've never known you to visit a hair salon or a specialty undergarment shop..."

Another benefit of the upcoming Northwestern interview is that it gave me an extra excuse to look cute for my new driver's license picture. I don't know why the DMV suddenly decided that this was the year I had to renew in person, but I put it off until the very last second, dreading the photo shoot and weight question. In fact, the woman who processed my application was awesome. When it came to the needlessly invasive quesiton of weight she whispered her request for the information. As I hestitated, she encouraged me, assuring me it would be okay to list my "goal weight." I suppose I should have been mortified, having the DMV acknowledge that I am of a size worth lying about, but I was relieved. We immediately bonded over our fluctuating sizes (she confessed she once shed 200 pounds on the South Beach diet) and it was over in a flash. If you're lucky, loyal readers, I may even share with you my new picture, once it arrives. Of course, it can only be appreciated in contrast to my existing picture - the oompa-loompa as I call it - which was taken at the other local DMV, the one which sorely needs to color correct its damned camera. And that, that will be hard to share.

Anyway, other recent distractions include the near purchasing of yet another house in our neighborhood. This time I was actually genuinely on board with the process because the house was cute and not gross. Turns out it was also severely underpriced and we lost it in a bidding war by tens of thousands of dollars. C'est la vie.

But most of all I have been busying myself with doctor's appointments. I had my teeth cleaned, which was not near as much fun knowing that my regular dentist died three months ago (cancer of some sort). And the new dentist is making me come back to fill a little something that isn't quite big enough to call a cavity. In the meanwhile, Erik got a referral to consider getting braces. His lower teeth are all crammed in together causing him more headaches than I do. For years he's longed just to yank one out. Hopefully his new orthodontist will talk some sense into him about that particular plan...

I've also had my eye checked. That stupid scratch in my cornea is still there - four years later - so I finally let the doctor hasten the healing by poking holes all around it. Why this works even he couldn't say, but I wish I'd known how painless it was two years ago. I would've let him do it then, when the scratch was gigantic and easier to find. I also need to get both my eyes checked as I have begun seriously guessing at those eye charts. At worst I am apparently 20/40, as that is the DMV requirement, but I figure I should get glasses before I go off to school anyway. I look kinda cute in glasses, I think, and I will soon be doing a crapload of reading.

But mostly I have been getting my boobs checked. Indeed, I failed my second mammogram and was sent off to get a sticky old ultrasound. The radiologist is pretty sure my abnormality is just a cyst, so he's planning to drain it on Monday. Afterwards I will get my third ever mammogram. Here's to hoping the third time's a charm. Anyway, everyone is acting all very casual about my so-called cyst, but I have heard talk of a biopsy (if it turns out to be solid) and they ordered me a nice cocktail of drugs (Valium and Darvocet) for the poking day, so I'm not wholly convinced that everything is hunky dory fine. My experience with my breast cancer by proxy was that the doctors tend to tell you just enough to make sure you show up for your next appointment. They leave all the freaky bad stuff out until they are super sure.

Anyway, I am mostly not freaked out and I promise a prompt update when I know something. But for now I really must return to my diversity essay. Guess you will have to wait to hear about Bushy, an actual real live sea lion I got to net during this strange summer of the sloppy seconds... I can't believe even my seals haven't got me posting. So sad. Oh, and I didn't take any pictures (I know, you're glad) but I got to see a Harbor Porpoise necropsy which was kinda interesting. Poor gal was beat up by a gang of bottle nosed dolphins, which is way more common than you'd like to think.

living the dream

2008-09-16T16:00:00.000-07:00

Ha, I just realized from the title that you might think I am living the American Dream - of home ownership, that is. But indeed, thank God, I am (so far) not a home owner (or home ower, as my friend Tony used to call himself). Erik's bid was countered and he chose not to play ball. Still, I feel like the house is a looming possibility. It makes me buy cookies and ciders. But whatever. Today's post is not about my financial fears.

Instead, today it is about my dearest niece, miss Zoë herself. As the oldest - sister, niece, soul - Zoë is doomed to suffer all sorts of experiences first. This week's uncharted territory is the terrible break up. Drat that no good six pack ab toting cutie of a rich boy she's been dating for two years. After basking in the glory of her wonderfulness for so long, he finally broke down and has returned to being the serial dating man-whore he was when she found him.

I know. This is bad. This is pints of ice cream in the fridge, crying unconsolably all night bad. It's even had me sobbing, once while on the eliptical machine at the gym thanks to an ill-timed teen-angsty tune on my ipod Shuffle. And I'm not even premenstrual. Weird, huh?

Anyway, Zoë is fortunate to have my best friend as her mother. Jules has kept her daughter from making all the mistakes a broken heart wants to make - crawling back, begging for reconciliation - and instead has made sure she heads off to school each daying looking like the hottie that she is. We are also extra fortunate that Sadie, Zoë's little sister, was admitted to the same private high school so we can get her firsthand perspective on the break up. According to Sadie, her sister has been totally winning the split - she's been looking calm and collected and he's been looking down and dejected.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, after having a good cry in the dark room (a great place to cry, by the way - I used to cry in the dark room at work all too regularly...), Zoë was called off to an assembly. There she discovered her man-whore ex-boyfriend was parading around his newest catch, her former friend (of course). Zoë didn't miss a beat. She walked up to them, slapped him (hard) across the face, and told him to fuck himself. Twice. And then she asked him never to talk to her again.

I know. Awesome, right?

As the day wore on, Zoë's true friend made sure that the rest of the (very small) school knew her side of the story. Walking the halls Zoë found herself receiving high fives and style points. At lunch time, when the man-whore and his new catch tried to join the regular group in the regular place, Zoë got up and left. So did about 30 or 40 other people.

Kinda warms your heart, doesn't it?

nothing says lovin

2008-09-10T13:23:00.000-07:00

Nothing says lovin like something in the oven. Today I made the tuna casserole. Even before I read the comment from yesterday's post. Because I do love that house-buying man. Though I still hope he's not buying this house. And in addition to powerlessness, isolation, and financial anxiety, my three years of unemployment have brought me bliss and reconnection, adventure and relaxation. They have been life saving. And I wouldn't have had them without him. I wouldn't have much without him.

So says the tuna.

really

2008-09-09T19:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday he put a bid in on the house. Or rather, I, as his wifely secretary, put the bid in for him. It involved a frustrating stint at the fax machine (abusing my privileges as a volunteer), a trip to the copy center (since the fax no longer felt like copying the multitude of pages), and a stop at the post office. This was followed by a failed attempt to keep my Monday workout date. I drove to the gym but found all I could do was sit in the parking lot and cry.

My gym buddy understood. Her life is so much more colorful than my own. She has surely spent more than her fair share of time sitting in cars and crying. So then I went home and tried to get drunk. That didn't work out all that well either. This was particularly disturbing, because I am usually all too skilled at sucking down the sauce.

Finally I went to bed. Until I woke up. At 3 am. I was not awake because of the cats (miracle?). I did not even have a full bladder (darned failed drinking attempt). I was just awake.

I waited until the sun came up and the gym opened and I did my penance on the elliptical machine. But the rest of the day has been a surreal sleep deprived day of hoping against hope that the bid is rejected. This, apparently, we won't find out until Friday (thanks to a vacationing realtor).

But really, whether he buys the house or not, my world is still rocked. For the first time in our sixteen years together something huge came up. For the first time ever I didn't get my way. This is not to say that's necessarily a bad thing. Truth be told, if he can pull off the payments, the house is probly a great investment. Even so, it hurts. Because now I feel all the things I feared I'd feel when I walked away from my job three years ago - powerless, isolated, and worried about money.

This afternoon he called to see if I wanted him to pick up anything on the way home. I told him I didn't need anything, I was already working on something for dinner. He actually thought this dinner might be for him. Really. You decide to buy a house that I vehemently don't believe in and you think this is the day I will wake up and become domestic? Really?

It's sad to know he checked the fridge and the oven for these fantasy fixins while I pretended to nap in the bed. It's sad because he probly actually deserves to come home to a warm meal (maybe not today, but most days). It's sad because it wouldn't have been all that difficult for me to throw together the batch of Tuna Noodle (the legendary family favorite that ironically started as my mom's way to punish my dad) that I've been talking about for weeks. But mostly it's sad because it proves I really am isolated and he has no idea what I'm feeling.

suddenly september

2008-09-07T15:03:00.000-07:00

So I'm surprised I haven't been blogging recently as I have been very actively procrastinating on the law school application process. Like most projects in my life, the vision is there and most of the elements are 90% completed, but still I haven't quite managed to send off a single application. Granted, any application received before Thanksgiving is considered an early application, and applications just became available last week, but the perfectionist in me is disappointed. Personally, I think perfect me should be pleased that procrastinating me has gotten so much laundry done at least.

Anyway, I have to keep this entry brief if I hope to make it to the gym this evening. Yes, I have a gym. And I actually go. I kinda sorta hate my gym - it is stuffy and hot and has not a single water feature - no pool, no hot tub, not even a steam room or sauna - but it does have, well, all the stuff you need to make muscles. I considered joining the sexy gym, of course, but it is almost 20 full miles from my home. I knew I'd never go. So I signed on with the old folks gym. Besides, I'm certain I have more in common with the old folks than the sexy folks, so it's working for me.

Having been a gym rat now for nearly six weeks, I'm kinda bummed that I've only dropped maybe five pounds (depending on what sort of scale voodoo I do and which of the gazillion times I step on the scale each week counts as my official weigh in). Still, I am thrilled to have rediscovered my quads and my pecs, and best of all, my abs. I'm working on making friends with my biceps, especially as it will improve my net throwing stamina, but so far they are still pretty puny. My triceps, on the other hand, are almost not even flabby - though they are still far from their former waitressing glory. Sure, waiting tables was tough on my back and I got blisters from hot plates and I always smelled like food, but, man, were my arms cute. I want them back, my waitress arms. In fact, I have even considered getting a car that lacks power steering (I had one for a few of my peak waitress years), but I drive so infrequently I don't think it would be worth the investment. Oh well.

Anyway, I am tempting fate to go to the gym at all today as today I am in charge of seals. Recently, though, I seem to only get to enjoy other people's sloppy seconds (like the super cutie pie yearling we shipped off yesterday - sorry, no pix until I really get down to business on the great seal story catch up episode). Since I was on call yesterday, there are no seconds to enjoy today, so I am feeling kinda safe. Besides, I am extra overjoyed by an email I just received about a hideously wounded sea lion I sort of attempted to rescue a couple weeks back. Seems he found his way to Santa Cruz where he was rescued by my counterparts at our sister satellite location in Monterey. Too bad he didn't actually survive another 24 hours, but I'm surprised, given his exposed skull and all, that he made it into rehab at all. I could post pictures of him, but I know my graphic photos aren't exactly popular with my reader(s).

Speaking of my reader(s), little miss Wendy celebrated her 37th birthday just this past Tuesday. Her mom posted a fabulous birthday tribute, which made me feel both better and worse for merely thinking good thoughts her way all day. Not sure what happened to my birthday blogs this year, but once I skipped one I decided to skip them all. Anyhow, sounds like Wendy enjoyed her day, which is all that matters...

Personally, I was just pleased to make it through a Labor Day weekend without having any cats go missing. Last year, of course, poor Blackers got himself runned over. And the year before, you'll recall, troublesome OC got himself abducted. I was so proud that I was able to control my paranoia enough not to lock the kitties in all weekend. Little did I know I was due another dose of kitty drama, just a few days later. It was Thursday when once again old OC did not show up for his dinner. I wasn't too worried until I realized he'd missed his 4 am feeding, and then his 7 am breakfast. It wasn't until Friday afternoon that I was able to take what I refer to as the "worry walk" - cruising his turf, calling his name. I was at the far end of his known territory when I finally heard him answer back - from the crawl space of a neighbor's house two blocks away. He was a little freaked out, a little embarrassed, and a lot hungry. For the past couple days he's hardly left my side. It's been nice.

While OC was out exploring on Thursday, I went for my first mammogram. It was just to get a baseline reading, so it was no big deal. In fact, I found the most painful part was removing the little metal stickers from my nipples (which they use as landmarks on the xrays). They sent me home with a flower (making it feel more like an awkward date) and all was well.

Until they called me yesterday. Apparently I failed my first mammogram. I have to go back in a couple weeks for a do over. Normally I am a big fan of the do over, and even as they told me not to worry, I wasn't worried. Sure, my best friend has had breast cancer which she got, hmmm, just a couple years older than I am now. And sure, there's now breast cancer on both sides of my gene pool. But I know mammograms are imperfect and big boobs might be the best part about being fat, but they aren't the easiest to xray. But when I suggested we postpone the follow up appointment by a couple more weeks (calculating my likely bloat factor), I was told I couldn't wait the extra couple weeks. Two weeks, apparently, is fine, but four, four weeks is a problem. So which is it, I wonder? Nothing to worry about? Or something that can't wait? Whichever it is, I guess there is no sense in fretting about it. Still, I find myself absent-mindedly poking around the suspected boob to see if I can find anything. All I feel is boob.

Besides, I've got bigger things to worry about than my boobs. Lately my husband has been getting very very close to buying a dumpy little beach cottage we totally can't afford. I've been as supportive as I can - assembling the paperwork, making the phone calls - while being about as passive-aggressive and bitchy as I've ever been. Buying a house would be a great idea if I weren't, oh, I don't know, planning to take on up to $200,000 in student loans starting next year. Buying a house would make perfect sense if I wasn't pulling him away from his great state job in less than twelve months. Buying a house would be fabulous, if we had an extra thousand dollars in the bank each month - the difference between the rent on our awesome rental and the mortgage on his beloved scary crank house. At least he's decided to go for a crappier loan - so he doesn't have to drain my retirement accounts (just his own) to come up with the down payment. Yeah, good times.

The thing is, I don't want to make him trade his dream for mine. It sucks that my taking of the LSAT just for kicks happened to coincide with the bursting of the housing bubble. So who knows? It might happen. But right now I'm "winning." After I assured him that if he took on this debt, I would enroll in the law school that offered me the best financial package even if it wasn't the best school I got in to, he put his plans on hold. Truthfully, I might choose the scholarship over the prestige either way. At my age, that's not the worst strategy. In fact, at any age, it's not a bad choice. And I don't want to get my way through blackmail. So we'll see. I can't believe I am actually considering talking him back in to something I have been so actively talking him out of... I feel like I am on Judge Judy and I am saying too much, and she looks at me and asks if it looks like she needs any help? And I am supposed to say "no" and then shut up and keep winning. But winning doesn't feel like winning when it's in a marriage. I'd much rather find a way for us to agree - as long as we agree with me.

I know. I'm horrible.

abruptly august

2008-08-28T11:00:00.000-07:00

Well, well, I see that my July blogging streak ended with a whimper. Much as I ~~detest~~ love NaBloPoMo, it seems in many ways it is the kiss of death. Despite my best intentions, my enthusiasm always fades and usually I spend the following month in recovery. August was no exception, apparently. Still, I think more than an entire month off might be a record.

What's worse is I was unknowingly inspiring another NaBloPoMo rebellion over at Random Thoughts. Ironically, while I was justifying my own radio silence by MerryME's unscheduled vacation, she was doing the same with mine. A couple of emails and one hurricane later and we have finally broken the stalemate. Only, I think I tricked her into posting as I left this in draft mode for another week or so. Sorry about that.

You know, I've never been too productive during August anyway. The only month without a holiday (except dorky ones like National Tooth Fairy Day - which you can apparently celebrate on February 28th, anyway), August seems to exude laziness itself. Come to think of it, perhaps my hiatus was simply European. After all, don't the Italians take the entire month off for vacation? So see, I am actually back a few days early. Whew. I feel much better now.

Anyhow, you really haven't missed that much. The most notable thing I can come up with is that my mom was featured in her local paper thanks to the craftiness of my brother Billy and our Cuzen Bob. The actual spread was way cooler than the on-line version - it was the entire section front with a teaser on A-1. I wonder if newspapers make their on-line counterparts so woefully inferior on purpose, to avoid competing with themselves, or if they all just suck at it because they are new to the business? I suppose if I still had a job or even bothered to keep up with my old work friends I would know for sure.

Other newsworthy events include the fact that I have finally been able to pet the dreaded Ratty Catty without being rewarded with urine. His rules are pretty strict - primarily he prefers to be pet before breakfast or in the office, but then only if Monkey is around. But of course I am testing the boundaries. So far I have found I can pick him up briefly and he won't pee, but he will squirm and hide under the bathtub later. I've even held him in my lap once - but that was clearly a major violation of trust for which I got the claws. Oh, and if I try to touch his scabby knee - all bets are off. He turns on the attitude and shreds my hand like it is a cat toy. It's pretty funny to be scared of a 6 pound cat. Reminds me quite a bit of the winter of fur seals. It also means Ratty has some potential to be a real kitty someday.

In the meanwhile, Monkey has been actively trying to train his pet on the proper cat behavior. He comes to me when called and submits to snuggles and inspections. Here you can see Monkey introducing Ratty to the joys of napping in the laundry. (You can also see the look of disdain Ratty gives me constantly.) At least this was a load that was already dirty. Ratty's not allowed near the clean laundry anymore as it seems he likes to pee on it. In fact, we've been on pretty serious lock down since the last time Ratty soiled the bed. Oh, and my theory that I could keep him out of it with the Scat Mat? Scrapped. OC was the unwitting test subject on my set up. Turns out a cat who is shocked on the edge of the bed will not jump to the floor but will seek respite deeper in the bed - up by the pillows and such. I had thought for a while that the Scat Mat had maybe earned its keep by shooing Ratty off the couch, but seeing how high OC jumped when shocked, I think maybe Ratty jumped down on his own, before connecting two wires.

I am way behind with my seal stories (I think I owe June and July - I only hope I can reconstruct them), but so far in August you have missed precious little. I really only have one significant seal saga. It involves this little sea lion who got a fish hook in her throat. We know this as we could see, at least until she swallowed it, the fishing line coming out of her mouth. She also had an ugly abscess on her hind end which she acquired after something bit her bum and her girlie parts. Anyway, as you can see, she had a fondness for hanging out with the big boys. I don't blame her - they are quite sexy after all - but it made it much harder to get a good shot at her. Sadly, I blew the best shot of all - she was alone, about four feet closer to the edge than in this picture. My approach was fabulous, prolonged and subtle, by I was carrying the heavy net (not my fabulous lucky lightweight net) and I just didn't have enough strength to get ahead of her. In the following weeks I did my penance by doggedly stalking the dock and calling her in to others. It took 3 weeks and countless other attempts, but she finally turned up in a different location (on some rocks deeper into the harbor) and a pal of mine picked her up. He is, of course, officially my hero now. He named our girl Weston, after a friend who was visiting from out of town.

Anyway, here's a close up of the fishing line (see it coming from the left side of her mouth and then up to the center of her chest?).

And here she is in captivity. I'm pretty sure the knot on the right side of her neck is where the hook is working its way through.

Now I am trying not to obsess on two other sea lions I've seen lately. One was a big girl who started hanging on the same dock as Weston. That gal has a prolapse uterus (usually cancer, almost certainly fatal). I went trolling for her a few times, but I haven't seen her at all since Friday. Her condition was so advanced that I'm pretty sure she's found her way across the rainbow bridge on her own by now.

The other is a yearling who hangs on a tiny private dock. The neighbors' kid named him "Okie Badokie". Well, I'm kinda thinking he's Okie Dokie, cuz I had him halfway in my net (my lucky net) a couple times and he had the gumption to get away twice. Not that my dock rescue skills are impeccable, but it takes some energy to maneuver as he did. And the neighbors haven't called again, so I assume he moved on (as a healthy seal would after such harassment).

No, I have plenty to obsess upon right now as it is. Application season starts in just a few days which means I have a handful of essays to finish up and a resume to polish off. As a result, I've been catching up on my housework (and now my blogging). I have gotten one key essay done - the dreaded Yale 250 - and I actually love love love it. It makes me feel like I might actually have half a chance of admission now - it's that good. I only wish more things in life were determined by standardized tests and essay questions - except, of course, I know how meaningless and biased they are.

Anyhow, by now it is old news (literally, it's in the dump), but I finally uploaded photos of that fort that Kevin and I built for the nieces. Here it was in its glory days.

The fort: complete with removable pirate flag, very fancy "Beware of" sign (with lots of things to choose from - pirates, monster, mom, dad, Savannah, Maddie...), and the permanently mounted "No Boys Allowed" notice. The stained "glass" window flaps open, the door locks with a key, and the stuff on top of the fort is the roll-away roof for the courtyard area.

Here's a close up of the front door.

Another of the flag and roll up roof.

This is the spacious interior - room for all three niecelets and their anti.

And here's the other stained wax paper window.

In the courtyard they had a built in cabinet (which helped hold up the roof). Maddie immediately decided it was the perfect place to store her binkies (pacifiers).

Here's what we stashed inside before the binkies got there - two telescopes, a doll they already owned, and the first clue to the treasure hunt.

The clue took them to the coy pond.

Where they found a message in a bottle (inspired, perhaps, by the Police concert we'd just seen?). I was so thrilled that Kevin has a taste for Maker's Mark (as I now do, too, thanks Wendy). It was so superior to the wine bottle we'd been working with...

Anyway, the map led them around the yard to this table where, X marks the spot.

Here the final clue told them to look up.

Where they found the "treasure" which was really just a couple of Happy Bunny books I bought them, the aforementioned vomit flavored jelly beans, and some coins from Kevin's dresser. He was made I included real money - he'd tossed in his foreign coins and other things that "look like money." When Savannah asked why there was a button in the treasure, I explained the logic and she replied, "Uncle Kevin is an idiot."

Ah, the thanks we get.

for bony

2008-08-27T21:09:00.000-07:00

Because hotmail can't handle it, here is a video I shot this spring of Mandella during her rescue:

easy as abc

2008-07-20T23:02:00.000-07:00

My travel day begins in less than 8 hours. While I'm excited to get to see my man and my cat fishes again, I am sad to be leaving my family. It feels like I've had very little actual time visiting and yet I've been away for two full weeks. I know, though, that I've enjoyed much quality time (mainly with the delightful G) and I've added to my collection of notable quotables (my new favorite is Dad's "No time for laughter" and also G's "What? Pie?" response to They Might Be Giants' tune "Fibber Island"...). So I should be happy, not blue.

Um, but, yeah, I haven't posted for a bit have I? I almost blew you off again tonight but then I actually had two food related thoughts so I figured I ought to share.

The first was a sound bite from my brother this evening. "Mom, how can your fridge be so full of nothing to eat?" You would think this was the perspective of a unimaginative cook or a disgruntled teen, but in this case it was a simple statement of fact. My mom's fridge is packed full of nothing to eat. In part this is because she has a fancy shallow fridge, designed to fit in with the wall of cabinets. Mostly, though, it is because she loves to keep aging produce around. So much so that two days ago she put back in the fridge a bunch of ready made salad after telling it, "Oh, you're getting bad." Only last night did she begrudgingly, bewilderedly shuffle it off to the compost... She knows she has a produce problem, but she doesn't care. Mostly I just wish the fridge weren't an avalanche waiting to happen and that there was room for more than one or two Diet Cokes at a time. But, in fact, tonight Mom made us a very yummy meal (after making a trip to the store for fresh salad). My inner carnivore even caved as her pork roast seemed so not like dead pig and much more so like food. But then technically the roast came from the freezer. And my mom's freezer is actually full of real stuff to eat - it just takes a long time to cook it.

But the real food story on my mind is the sharing of Jelly Belly's Bean Boozled jelly beans. These beans feature identical coatings but distinctly different flavors. There are some combos I'll risk anytime (such as berry or toothpaste or even plum or pepper) and others that are nasty no matter which way you go (coconut or baby wipes and black licorice or skunk spray). For whatever reason, disgusting flavored candy is so up my alley. I split a box with my brother a few days ago and that was just fine and dandy. We were grown ups, taking chances, and laughing as we could tell what the other must be tasting. I was disappointed I never encountered the rotten egg and got only one moldy cheese, but all in all it was quite satisfying.

This evening, however, I split a box with my niecelets. (Well, with Savannah, mostly, and eventually Grace - Madisyn is way too smart to eat gross jelly bellys...) Since the girls were unwilling to even try the definite losers (the aforementioned licorice/skunk or coconut/baby wipes), I was stuck eating all of them. And then I discovered that though they might be game to try other colors, they weren't willing to swallow the gross ones. And so I became the human garbage disposal, forced to consume the ABC (already been chewed) jelly bellys - much to the delight and disgust of my niecelets. Some I would've salvaged anyway - no point in letting a good vomit go to waste - but others I could've lived without. I must say, though, I was really proud when Grace branched out from the safety of the berry/toothpaste realm and encountered her first booger. She's a trooper, that one.

Anyway, more on the evening with the nieces when I'm back on Californian soil and can process the photos I took of the amazing fort. I am totally not exaggerating when I call it amazing. Grace told Uncle Kevin it was, "really really really really really really really really really really cool." Madisyn told me she didn't like it, she "LOVED it." Meanwhile, Savannah seemed pleased but soon decided it was insufficiently decorated. She grabbed a roll of toilet paper and a roll of duct tape and the three girls made it spookier. Sadly, we could only play together for a few hours, but it was a blast.

As for now, it's time for bed. It's not like I need to be fully rested to hang out in the airport, but it would be nice to be chipper enough in the morning to earn more scorn from my dear dad...

breakfast bites

2008-07-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

After a late night (fueled by possible design changes and assorted law school essay inspirations), I woke up early to see my family off for their last work day of my visit. Looks like I caught on a little late, though, as breakfast was already eaten, the paper already read, and now the folks are already gone.

So I will have to amuse myself by recalling yesterday morning when my dad was annoyed by my rested, unemployed energy. Like my hubby, my dad is a man of few words and 24 hours ago he used some to tell me, "We like quiet in the mornings," in an effort to dampen my enthusiasm. This was quickly followed by, "There's no time for laughter," directed at both myself and my mutually tickled brother.

careful what you wish for

2008-07-17T22:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight's update from home was a grim one. Apparently Ratty Catty finally decided to test out the waterproof mattress pad I ordered last month. Though the pad surely did its job, protecting the already peed upon mattress, it seems this was little consolation to Erik who still had to process loads of soiled bedding. He was particularly bummed that Ratty has now christened the brand new comforter. (We tossed all the previously peed on ones thinking the smells trapped within might be the primary target. While we couldn't quite justify tossing out our $80 investment after just one pee, I know we both considered it...) A man of few words, my beloved made the effort to mention the phrase "feral cat colony," suggesting that I might have to choose "which f*cked up cat" I liked best. OC is reportedly growing more feral himself, upset as he is with the steeper security measures keeping him from my bed. He's back to only showing up for meals. Poor thing.

Instead of contemplating my Sophie's choice (which is really no choice at all - OC wins), I turned to the two things which help me solve most of my problems - the internets and my credit card. Next month's attempt at regaining my sanity will involve the use of a static charged scat mat (or two, as I bought an extension as well as an AC adapter - I never can just stick my toe in the water, can I?). I also nearly purchased a tone based cat trainer, but having pulled the batteries from my overzealous smoke detector, I couldn't imagine spending money to hear the same type of noise coming from my bed.

But inside I feel a little bit guilty. First, for disabling my smoke detector, of course. I know this is foolish and dangerous but that is a whole other topic... Second, for spending money I don't have. Suze Orman would surely tell me I cannot afford my feral cat... But mostly I feel guilty because each night as I went to sleep on my distinctly less comfortable waterproof mattress, I would grumble to myself, "Damn. My bed is now sucky and sweaty and for what? No one has even peed on it..." Now I have gotten what I wished for. My only solace is that I didn't give in to temptation and swap out the mattress pads... Oh, and obviously I feel guilty that my husband married the crazy cat lady. Who knew? Well, he probly did.

Speaking of crazy cat ladies, I am forced to realize that it is in my genes as I sit here in my mother's cat pee smelling house. (Sorry, Mom, but it is true. Usually I visit in the winter when it is unbearably cold and the only cat pee I notice is the fresh stuff I find. The heat of this summer has cooked all the latent pee spots and the entire main floor reeks...) In fact, I was a bit embarrassed today to have to show the cable guy around. Turns out the smell of the house was the least of my worries. After the cable guy determined he couldn't make the changes we wanted, I put him on the phone to explain it to my mom. Wanting to include me in the discussion, he put the phone on speaker. When my mom heard my voice return she assumed the phone was back in my hands, exclaiming promptly, "that cable guy is crazy." He smiled and told her that he could hear her. Good times, indeed. While my mom's charm didn't succeed in convincing the guy to make any changes, surprisingly enough I was able to get him to give me a signal enhancer. It may or may not help anything and we've still got extension cords running across doorways, but, heck, that's pretty nice for a crazy guy.

Anyway, I spent the rest of the day working on a surprise for my absentee niecelets. It's an arts and crafts project inspired by the tons of cardboard used to package my mom's new propane grill. (Which, by the way, I totally bailed out of assembling. I helped my brother stage it but ended up wiped out in the process. Turns out we both have the sense I was born with. Not taking the time to investigate, we lifted the incredibly hot, heinously heavy grill up two flights of stairs. Only after our herculean feat did we realize that the grill was holding ten smaller boxes we could've carried up separately...) So now I am building a fort. A kick ass fort - complete with stained glass windows made from crayon shavings and wax paper. (Which bled onto the towel I was using to iron them through. I was surprised. My mother was not. So often I wish I had the sense she was born with... Looking at her ruined towel, I believe tonight she wished the same thing...) Tomorrow I've got to work on a few more details (anyone know how to make rolling shades roll up? It has a retractable roof...), but I also plan to spend the day with G. I figure she won't mind playing at her cousins' house and she can help me test the fort's fun level...

It's a blessing that I have a play date with G at all. It's only thanks to her dad. As suspected, my sis still thinks I am a loser and is not exactly talking to (or even texting) me. She's just begun a string of four consecutive graveyard shifts (which end the day my plane leaves), so I understand why she was bummed when I flaked out on her last available night off. But I've got to be me. And I am a flake. Through and through. Give me a glass of wine and a comfy couch over a crowded room and live music any day. Especially when I am exhausted from being on vacation.

Speaking of exhausted, it's off to bed with me. With arts and crafts and child care on the agenda, I've got to recharge my batteries.

i'm a loser, baby

2008-07-16T18:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am a loser. Not only because I once again totally blew off my plan to post everyday, but more specifically because I bailed on my plan to attend a concert with my sister. As a single mother with a full time job, she was not terribly sympathetic to my plea that my vacation has been exhausting. But really, it has been. So much so I am going to keep this brief. I'm a loser. That's all.

couldn't do it

2008-07-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

I knew full well when I went to bed last night that I was blowing off NaBloPoMo. Convincing my eyes to stay open for even another five minutes was unthinkable. And this morning, after the first full night of sleep I've had since starting my vacation, I still find myself fairly uninspired but I'm thrilled to feel rested.

Much has happened that I could talk about. For one, my sister brought my niecelet G along with us on our road trip so she could attend her first concert ever. G had a fabulous time and was a great sport. She made us laugh when she commented that Sting looked like Uncle Billy (which Mom points out must mean Billy looks really old...). She made us smile when she boogied down with another 4 year old, a boy named Jack, in the aisle. We even snuck in a little sign language practice - signing the colors of the lights on stage, the stars and moon in the sky, and the grass we were sitting on. Finally, as Sue hurried home (due in Seattle very early the next morning) G went back to the hotel and had a sleep over with her Anti and Uncle, including a late night run to Wendy's followed by a 2 am bed time.

Yesterday, as I wasn't blogging, G and I went to Portland's Saturday Market to pass the time while Uncle Kevin got a tattoo. At the Market, G mastered the art of spinning a top (no small feat at her age). Her enthusiasm was so contagious that I was moved to buy her the top that spun for her the best. Unfortunately, this left us without enough money for even a snow cone, let alone lunch, so we played in the fountain before retreating to the car to seek out an actual indoor restaurant. There she didn't eat much (though she did make soup of her ice cream - a favorite childhood activity of mine) but it didn't matter as we succeeded in cooling off. We were also able to camp out long enough for Kevin's tattoo appointment to end, allowing the last leg of the road trip to begin.

Today's task involves waiting for the UPS man to deliver a new propane grill and then assembling it before dinner time. Mom's bringing home salmon, a dish I generally find yummy but morally complex since I began my work with the sea lions... I suppose I should go on about it (seeing as how July is about the food), but I think most folks understand the challenges of our place in the food chain so I don't feel the need to rehash the details just now.

What I do feel the need for is breakfast and a shower. Perhaps not in that order. And a bit of quiet time with my brother, not my blog, so until later...

starting to peel

2008-07-11T11:28:00.000-07:00

As my crispy fried skin starts to separate from my body, I am gearing up for yet another day in the sun. Today involves a road trip followed by an outdoor concert followed by more road trip and a night in a hotel. Somehow I accidentally woke up early again today. It was actually pleasant to have the house to myself and have a chance to catch up on my soap opera...

Having a few moments of calm made me realize that I was so whiny yesterday that I forgot to mention the good times that were had. Watching my niecelet paint her own finger and toe nails (for the first time ever) with my magic changing color glitter nail polish was priceless. I loved how she insisted on painting from left to right (not up and down) and how Mom's nail polish remover was as old and ineffectual as her pancake mix. Thus I can't be totally to blame that G's generously painted polish didn't dry completely and ended up rubbing off onto Mom's green couch. We rubbed away the sparkles and figured Mom would never notice unless the couch got full sun (turning the subtle streak bright red). Of course I later learned the couch does catch quite a few rays in the morning but not surprisingly Mom doesn't care. This couch is, after all, in the pee room and has seen worse things than a smear of nail polish.

Also, I failed to mention how it was worth nearly two hours in traffic to spend 45 minutes with my other niecelets. I feel so bad I have trouble hooking up with my brother's girls. We still didn't get much quality time in but I did learn that the younger sister is a groomer. I too love the popping of a zit or the pulling of a stray hair so I totally understand this primal urge. So I entertained her by letting her isolate and pluck the gray out of my hair. She only pulled a couple brown strands so it was worth it...

Anyway, I have nothing remarkable to say about food except that I learned today that my brother Kevin likes his coffee black. Yuck. I think the only reason to drink coffee is as a vehicle for sugar and cream. But right now all Kevin cares about is getting me in a vehicle at all so I'd better go...

crispy fried me

2008-07-10T20:55:00.000-07:00

Ow. My boobs are sunburned. Suddenly the things I love most about being fat are the most painful part of my body. Besides being fried, I am also tired and generally frazzled after having spent a 12 hour day doing favors for various family members.

The first favor was making breakfast for my niecelet. She complained (and I concurred) that the pancakes were yucky and weird. At my mom's house it is a miracle I could make pancakes at all. There is little doubt that the bisquick I used was well out of date... I disagreed, however, that the scrambled eggs were burned. I happily ate them all while Grace drank a "milkie" (pediasure meal replacement)...

My next favor was watching my niecelet not drown while my sister caught up with a friend of hers. This lunch date would've been a lot more fun if not for the fact that I was reburning my burned boobs and if I were not dreading the next favor on my schedule.

The dreaded favor was driving my other niecelets and their extended family to the airport so they could go to San Diego. It was my only chance to see them, though, and my mom wanted her car back so whatever. And in fact I didn't have to actually drive to the airport - just back from it. During rush hour traffic. With a seat belt scratching my extra burned boobs.

Finally, though, I had a favor done for me. I met with my folks and my brother for dinner and drinks before moving on to the next favor.

But the day wasn't over. After dinner I had to drive out to my other brother's house and fetch a few forgotten items. Tomorrow I get to mail one of them to San Diego.

For now, though, I am done with favors and have moved on to playing cards. In the darkness. And it is delightful.

sleep over snippet

2008-07-09T20:29:00.000-07:00

My second night in Washington and already a sleep over. After accidentally waking up way too early, I am struggling to keep up with my energetic niecelet. Mostly I am wishing I could have another piece of pizza but my ex-brother-in-law ate more than his share. So instead I will have an extra glass of wine.

Today's bit of wisdom, discussed over the rapidly disappearing pizza:

While ranking the relative craziness of my siblings and their spouses, we first decided the girls were in a tie for first. Sister cuz she has too many pets and has allowed her ex to move back in, sister-in-law cuz, well, she married my crazy brother for starters... This would put my bipolar brother in a solid third, which he was delighted to hear. Then, by default, the insatiable ex-brother-in-law lands in fourth, mostly for being willing to move in with his ex.

Then, between bites of pizza, he says he is grateful to be living with his ex.

Which is when we realize he's obviously taken over third place.

out the door

2008-07-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

Just a quickie post today as I am nearly out the door to begin my trip to Washington. I kinda dig my brand new but still bottom of the line luggage. I was happy to find it was on sale (though I wonder if it is just always "on sale"...) so I resisted the urge to comparison shop. That would have really let the errand eat up my day. As a result, I got packed up and in bed at a reasonable hour.

Since July is all about the food, I will report that the only creatures that have been fed so far today are the hummingbirds. Their food is only good for a week and I'm gone for two, so I figured best I could do was feed them this morning... The kitties are about to get fed, of course, and if there is time I will eat something... Come to think of it, I should've picked up more cat food while I was out and about yesterday but I didn't have the heart for a second stop. Besides, I know Erik will feed them way less often than I would've and he'll cycle in the really cheap stuff. Poor kitties.

As far as a kitty update goes: Monkey smells less like pee since he's stopped sleeping in it. OC knows I'm leaving - he has been sweet and attentive and even slept in the bed last night. Ratty is just Ratty but we did have a little play session last night. Guess that's all I can hope for.

And Erik, poor Erik, is nursing a wounded knee and ankle and trying to catch up on sleep lost to work and the holiday. I've got to get him up now as he is driving me to the airport.

So I guess that is your update. Bags bought. Birds fed. Cats crazy. Husband tired. Pretty typical day around this beach bungalow.

packing problems

2008-07-07T15:58:00.000-07:00

Okay, so my first packing problem is that I haven't really started yet. My flight departs in 25 hours. My trip begins in 19 hours. My laundry is mostly clean but not folded. A list is made but it is ambiguous and incomplete.

But my big packing problem is the one I just discovered. My luggage smells like pee. I know, I know. There's really no denying I am the crazy cat lady now. The question is, when and how did the luggage get peed on? It seems to have happened when the bags were nested (as the two biggest bags / outer layers have the stench) but they are almost always stored on end, and this is too much stink to be from vertical marking. This happened horizontally. The bags have been on their side since last night (Monkey has been sleeping on them, thus he too smells of pee), but nothing is wet. Just very stinky. So the stink must be old. Hell, for all I know the bags could've been peed on in one of the crazy cat houses I was in last (my mom's, my friend's...), but really, the evidence suggests this is not necessarily true and even if it were, it would only be marginally comforting.

I guess when and how it happened doesn't matter. And why we'll never know. The real question is, what do I do now?

I suppose I could run out and buy a new big bag. I needed new luggage anyway. The last time I flew with a "Damaged" sticker wrapped around my bag to hold it closed and one of the pockets was sewn shut where a second zipper had failed. But I planned to get something cool off the internets, not something equally crappy from a department store, and I really don't want to spend all day going out to SLO spending money I don't have.

I could have used my old duffel type bag for supplementary space but that poor thing was peed on and tossed out long ago. (That culprit was OC, who did the deed right in front of me...) And I already "donated" all my super old (pre college era) luggage to the thrift store (sadly, just this year...).

I could spare the expense and just pack really really lightly. Oh, how proud would Dad be if I only brought carry on? I'd probly end up checking the bag anyway. I hate being burdened by real life personal baggage (in and out of restrooms - yuck, up and down escalators - scary, bonking around stores - discouraging...) and I can never really lift it safely into the overhead compartment... But really I just can't see myself packing that lightly. My favorite oversized sweatshirt would pretty much fill the only non-stink bag that is left.

I could just cry. As my pee stink covered cat snuggles my lap. As I wonder why I agreed to be away from home for two weeks anyhow? I hate traveling. I always have. And now I hate it just a little more.

After I cry I guess I will go to Costco. I sure hope Monkey doesn't still smell like pee when I get home.

Oh, and just cuz I should make some token effort to tie in the food theme - the only thing that's gotten better about traveling lately is that airlines seem less likely to serve those icky honey roasted peanuts. Why they would serve anything so wretchedly aromatic in such an uncomfortably intimate environment is beyond me. Hooray for all the poor peanut allergy sufferers who have spared me any future torturous inhaling of a hundred people's collective peanut breath.

And just so I don't sound super whiny, I did once get a really cool airplane snack. They were little goldfish shaped like airplanes. I think I was on Southwest. I loved the idea so much I kept the package. Cuz I am a pack rat.

An overweight crazy cat lady pack rat with a drinking problem and bad hair, who needs to go shopping for luggage now.

unintentionally ingested

2008-07-06T22:15:00.000-07:00

Today it's tough to write about food as I am incredibly preoccupied by the one thing I ate today that wasn't edible.

As so often happens during seal rescues (or in this case, seal goose chases, as our rescue call turned out to be inspired by a perfectly healthy SWIMMING harbor seal... can you see why we are often reluctant to investigate second hand reports, especially when they are nearly an hour away?), my crew and I encountered a bunch of trash. The garbage today seemed particularly abundant - perhaps because we are in a holiday weekend, more likely because our "sick seal" was near a popular fishing spot... And so, although we had left many of the grossest pieces behind (an abandoned sock, slimy plastic bait tubs, a chocolate covered candy bar wrapper), we just couldn't walk past the plastic grocery bag stuffed full of unmentionables. Actually, I suppose we probly could've walked past it, but I made the case that we shouldn't, as plastic bags are my weakness. I cannot leave them behind. Plastic bags, fricking balloons, and, of course, fishing lines or lure - these are the things I will always pick up.

So, okay, yeah, we are discouraged to have no seal to rescue (especially cuz at this time we are still wondering if the seal was there for us earlier and we blew it by showing up too late) but at least we've done our good deed, right? Feeling good, I begin securing the lightweight trash in the back of my cab. I loosen a bungee cord to run it through the bag's handle when suddenly it slips. The cord flies out of my hand and as it whizzes past my face it fills my mouth with sandy salty muck from the outside of the bag. Yuck. It still makes me gag. I'm a good two hours from being able to go home and wash my face and brush my teeth. I don't want to drink anything to wash it down as I don't want to ingest any more of it than I already have. I spit. I whine. I tell myself it is okay. Surely the mystery liquid is just ocean water - not fish guts or urine. I want to cry.

I must say, though, I am grateful that my incompetent bungee handling did not result in the injury of myself or my rescue partner. I have seen those things do some wicked damage and though it is funny when it is not your and not your fault, I would've felt awful if either of us had taken an actual hit. So I put everything in perspective, mostly.

And then I remember many of our sea lions are suffering from leptospirosis this year. Lepto, that icky bacterial infection that is contagious to dogs and humans, is passed through contact with infected urine. So now I am really hoping that was sea water I ate, not pee water. And I Google lepto to see how long it incubates. I should know in as little as two days or as many as four weeks. But it was just sea water, right?

Anyway, then I go back to the site and treat the sea lion we do have (the one who really does most likely have lepto) and I am delighted to see I can actually get fluids into her tonight. All by myself. No other boarder to protect me. Nothing but me and my super quick hands and super calm demeanor. So I am feeling awesome (albeit still disgusted) until I try to get her into the kiddie pool to offer her fish. Now I just look like a bungling fool who is bound to injure her back, pushing and prodding at 55 kg of dead weight. Finally, after way too long, I give up and let the poor girl go back to resting. But not before picking up the smell of dead fish on my hands (which happens how, exactly, when I am wearing gloves the whole time?).

So now I feel like I have ingested pee and I smell like fish. But I take this NaBloPoMo thing so seriously here I am posting before I shower. Cuz I'm good like that. Or gross like that. Not sure.

Um, so is fish and sandy mystery liquid enough of a reference to food? I sure hope so. Cuz I've really got to hit the shower.

Oh, but while we're thinking of pee, our not-so-beloved Ratty Catty has officially already peed on our recently cleaned carpets. I am only glad because it was not my fault (I wasn't even home and he wasn't even trapped) and because I didn't have to clean it up (being not home and all). Still, I am sad for Erik, who did have to clean it up after apparently inspiring it, and I am sad for all of us cuz, you know, what the hell? When will this end? At least he's got me all warmed up for my pending visit to my mom's house. Her pee cat Ginger will make me feel right at home, I am sure.

Ugh.

Anyway, yeah, got to pack, got to travel. But really really got to shower.

not who i thought i was

2008-07-05T21:30:00.000-07:00

The arrival of Erik's aunt and her grandson has called in to question my very sense of being. Having a lifelong relationship with my own father's cousin, a genealogy buff herself, I felt confident I could accurately define the boys' family ties. I insisted that my hubby is a second cousin to his cousin's son. Still, it sounded odd to assert that I was right because, "My Aunt Kathy is my second cousin." This prompted a rather entertaining separate conversation about a friend's cousin who married his step sibling, resulting in complicated, duplicitous familial titles... Perhaps more surprising is the fact that I too know married step siblings. I had always thought it was funny that my pal's stepdad was also his father-in-law, but I had never realized this meant his nephews on his wife's side were also his cousins in some way.

Anyway, the debate carried over to the next day as we pondered the possibility that the boys might be first cousins, once removed. Unable to determine what "once removed" refers to, I wondered if we might both be right - if the "removal" might be from the first degree to the second... A quick visit to a genealogy website confirmed that the boys are indeed first cousins, once removed, and thus I am not the second cousin I always thought I was. (Much as I would love to sum up my newfound grasp on the topic, I think it's simpler for you to just follow the link if you really care...)

All that cousin talk inspired me to make a quick call, for the first time ever, apparently, to my own first cousin once removed, and my now second (not third) cousin, her daughter Carrie. They've been on my mind quite a bit lately as they live south of me just a couple of hours, very close to one of California's countless wildfires. I learned the flames have been even closer than I would've thought - a mere five streets away. Evacuation was imminent enough to inspire the packing of the car... Yikes. Thankfully, the fire has since changed direction a bit, so it seems they are in the clear. Besides, I know the blaze has been receiving the highest priority response, given its proximity to such a heavily populated area, so presumably it will be fully contained soon.

But what does this all have to do with food? Well, yeah, nothing so far. Who thought food would be such a difficult theme to stick to? Today I am finding food especially uninspiring as I'm still stuffed from yesterday. Since I'm sure you're dying to know how it all worked out, and because I need to tie in the topic, here's a quick rundown of my efforts:

It turns out that although my sangria was indeed a bit scary, it got yummier the more I drank. Next time I won't use as many oranges and I'll save room for soda water. Oh, and I will so ditch my "secret ingredient" - rose water. It's great in ice cream (mmm... my favorite Persian dessert), but in the wine it just made me think I was drinking soap.

On the other hand, the jello shots were ideal, causing me to wonder why I ever over complicated the recipe in the past. The remaining shots are calling to me from inside the fridge but I am on seal call in just two hours. I know as soon as I give in to temptation the phone will ring with a drive on rescue. And if I resist it will be a quiet night.

The corn muffins were, as usual, a big hit. I'm particularly pleased that this time we had the forethought to store the left overs in the fridge. (Being very cheesy they are quick to grow mold...) And I think the mild version was yummy but I haven't yet done a head count to see if one flavor was more popular than the other.

The peach and pineapple salsa and the cobbler were also both great. In fact, Erik enjoyed them so much he refused to take them to his brother's, ensuring he'd have plenty for later. The cobbler was indeed runny and, in fact, also undercooked, but it made for an interesting, if unintentional, consistency. I mean, really, you can't go wrong with fruit and sugar and crust, right? But I could've done better. And the salsa could've been hotter, for my tastes, but you just never know how hot those serrano chilies are until it is too late, so I played it safe this time...

Ironically, once again my 4th of July lacked any corn on the cob. Though we always buy plenty of it, Erik never seems to make it around to grilling it. This twisted tradition would be funny by now if it weren't so darned tragic.

Meanwhile, the half flat of strawberries and the watermelon suffered similar fates of being not worth the prep time they required. The watermelon will be delightful on another day but it seems the strawberries aren't saving well. I know this is because I get them from the biggest farmers at Farmer's Market, thus they are simply not as fresh as the other more expensive vendors... When will I learn that it isn't worth saving a couple bucks when you throw nearly half the berries in the trash?

Anyway, my beet and carrot salad was, I guess, too scary for my carnivorous guests. No problem there. I'm so digging the leftovers.

And then Erik's got plenty of his ham, steaks, and sausage goodies to go with the rest.

So all in all, another successful holiday. In fact, I also enjoyed the added peace of mind of being fortunate enough to trap both OC and Monkey in the house before we left for the beach. Even more fortunate was the fact that neither of them used the litter box during their captivity. All peace and no pee. Ratty Catty was, of course, on his own, but I'm sure he was more comfortable outside than in anyway. Speaking of Ratty, today, I am happy to say, I got to pet him twice - without even breaking the new "don't make Ratty pee on the carpets just so you can snuggle him" house rules. He's taken to hanging out on his old chair in its new location. Apparently it gives him a false sense of security, so I can get very close to him before he thinks of making his escape. Meanwhile, it is a tad difficult to escape from, so I have more time to swoop in. Thus I was able to get a quick swipe in earlier and a full session just now. I know this means he'll be too jumpy to approach tomorrow, but since I am leaving town in a couple days I figured what the heck...

Oh my god, I'm leaving town in a couple days. I sure hope I have a quiet seal day tomorrow so I can get some packing done. Ay yi yi...

finally finished

2008-07-04T13:36:00.000-07:00

My fridge is full of goodies, my house is pretty clean, and my nails are freshly painted. I figured I'd take this, the calm before the storm, to make my obligatory post. Sadly, I'm more exhausted than inspired, but I guess I will start with the token nod to this month's theme - the food.

Yesterday I made:

Some scary looking sangria. Too much wine, too much fruit, regretting the addition of my secret ingredient, rose water. Also regretting not spending enough on a nice infusion jar as the cheap ass sun tea jar I have is literally bursting at the seams. Very scary especially considering it seems hubby has plans to transplant our party five miles north to his brother's house...

Only one batch of jello shots. Without the test run, I was reluctant to use the peach or berry blue flavors and stuck with black cherry and black cherry rum...

Chipolte corn muffins as well as a batch made just with mild green chilies. I have a feeling not everyone likes them hot and the mild ones seem to have turned out great.

Beet and carrot salad. Probly pretty bland and probly all looking like beets after a night together in the fridge, but fresh is good, right?

Peach cobbler. Forgot to bug Erik to fetch the cornstarch down from the high kitchen cabinet (grr - I hate when he rearranges my kitchen without my input... though I must admit there are always more improvements than obstacles...), so this cobbler's going to be pretty runny.

Peach and pineapple salsa. After buying a whole box of peaches at Farmer's Market, I found I still didn't have enough for the salsa so we had to wing it with the fruit that was in abundance. I think it will be a wonderful improvisation.

Is that all I made? Seems like so much more. Still have strawberries to prep and whipped cream to make - but those are usually Erik's tasks - and he's still got to grill the zucchini and corn today...

Anyway, now is when I have my party anxiety. Not sure what to wear - especially if I won't be at home in easy reach of my closet, bummed I won't likely be able to lock the kitties in for their own safety - the beauty of staying here is increased odds of encountering them, sad that I probly ought to drink my own sangria - maybe it is better this morning? Also, Erik's mom and aunt and second cousin are coming, which should work out just fine but definitely adds to the claustrophobia our house feels when filled with so much food and people.

Oh well. I'm sure it will all be fine and fun even, but right now all I want to do is go back to bed...

victory never tasted so bittersweet

2008-07-03T17:53:00.000-07:00

Not much time for posting today, ironically because I have to make food. I talked myself out of the deviled eggs and in to a nice beet and carrot salad instead. It still takes up room in the fridge, but it lasts longer on the buffet table. So far nothing is prepped - no sangria soaking, no jello shots jelling, no muffins baked - though Erik has the meat marinating. At least the house is fairly clean and the party doesn't technically start until the evening...

Well, technically, everything is clean in the house except the new cat chair. Yup, sure enough, little Ratty Catty peed all over it when I accidentally startled him last night. I had the audacity to walk by with a laundry basket in my hands. I should've known better, I guess. Anyway, at least he likes it. I'm used to cats giving new toys the cold shoulder. Ratty gave this one the warm bladder. And for once it seems the Nature's Miracle has soaked up the stinky pee smell, though it left behind an even bigger stain of its own... Best of all, for the kitties that is, Erik has agreed to only banish the other pee chair to the lesser used room, not entirely outside. So now they have two places to nap and pee.

I think I am behind on my party prep because I have been obsessing on my brother's LSAT score today. I woke up early just like it was Christmas and promptly logged on to his account - nothing. I then logged on every hour on the hour until his results were finally posted (at noon). The good news is: I do not have to suffer a humiliation as he did not beat my score. The bad news is: he didn't beat my score. I really thought he would (he mopped the floor with my SAT score, after all) and I'm sure he could've trounced me had he enjoyed the same freedom to study full time as I had. So yes, the victory is bittersweet, as I knew it would be when I was rooting for both sides. But, really, with scores just 4 points apart, we are both in the 99th percentile and we're bound to have an interesting admissions cycle. I think Kevin is pleased with his performance (it tracks with his average prep scores and was in the range he predicted), but he might've sounded happier about it had Mom not put him on an extra bit of emotional roller coaster. Though she played my voice mail three times, she swears she heard me say he got a 178, which Kevin knew he couldn't have with 8 missed questions. So he then called me, figuring one or the other number had to be wrong, and I had to break the news. Only our mother's poor sense of hearing could make a 172 feel so disappointing.

Anyway, kitchen duty beckons, but I just wanted to share the good news. My smarty pants brother is a confirmed smarty pants. Oh, and I know I didn't go into great detail about the arrest and incarceration of my other brother, but I did learn yesterday that the incident in question happened after he was unknowingly off his meds. That's one very expensive oops, I'd say. Too bad they don't make bipolar medication in a patch like they do birth control...

devilish thoughts

2008-07-02T15:01:00.000-07:00

Erik and I are hosting our third annual 4th of July BBQ in just a couple days. I just learned that I don't have to make potato salad since our guests are bringing this yummy weird cheesy potato bake that features a corn flake topping. Why, then, does this tempt me to make deviled eggs instead? I should rejoice in not having to keep a mayonnaise based side dish cold. I should delight in having one less thing to do. And, in fact, I've only ever made deviled eggs once in my life, so it's not like all my effort is guaranteed to taste good. And besides, eggs are ridiculously expensive these days so seriously, I need to let go this devilish plan.

So instead I am focusing on uncovering the living room floor. While I decided to spare the robot kitty from the garage sale fate, I did banish a number of rather nice sweaters and a whole bunch of lesser used board games. I'm also proud to say I rearranged much of my clutter to find myself more desk space. (I had forgotten what a lovely piece of furniture it was until I saw it empty again.) Best of all, I finally got to toss out the peed on cat chair (super cute kid's recliner turned scratching post I found at Wal-Mart years before) and install the stylish new replacement version (found on the internets - with free shipping). I'm not sure anyone has actually been in the new chair yet, though the cat toys that were sitting there are distinctly disturbed.

I am hoping to have enough energy post clutter sorting to make a trip to the grocery store. Erik thinks we can both shop and cook tomorrow, but it would be so much more relaxing to be able to get some stuff out of the way tonight while he works. Besides, then I will have the perfect excuse to swing by Subway for an easy meal I don't have to fuss over. I think if they still had the Subway Club card that I would be embarrassed to realize how often I eat there.

Anyway, since July is all about the food, here's what I think I am serving on the fourth:

Sangria - ran out of time to test the recipe. Am thinking I should head to Trader Joe's for some two buck Chuck. Am afraid of the very cheap red I picked up at the grocery store. Am too cheap to want to spend too much more on a wine I am just going to drown in sugar and fruit. But then I realize, with gas and aggravation, that a couple of bottles of local six dollar wine might just be the perfect compromise. Besides, Trader Joe's is like Costco - you always walk out with more in your basket than you had on your list...

Chipotle Corn muffins with honey butter - fast becoming my own party staple. It's a twist on the jalapeno corn bread I used to serve at Zachary's. Yum.

Corn on the cob - debating whether or not to buy the fancy new red kind. They are distinctly overpriced and I wonder how much of the color they might lose upon cooking. They do make me long for a great purple potato hook up. Oh, Berkeley Bowl, I miss you so.

Peach salsa - our first year we made mango salsa only to discover our guest was allergic. They're also allergic to chocolate - shocking, I know.

Peach cobbler - this is banking heavily on the peach guy being at Farmer's Market tomorrow. Sure there are always plenty of peach vendors, but oh, this one farm - simply the best.

Fresh whipped cream - this is Erik's contribution. Perhaps we will put it on strawberries, perhaps on the cobbler. I am not ashamed to admit we often just put it on a spoon.

Fruit salad - because it can't all be about the calories and because fruit salad is yummy.

Smoked ham - apparently. This is Erik's newest plan for his smoker. Never being much of a ham fan, and being an alleged vegetarian, this will not find its way to my plate - no matter how much Sangria I need to soak up.

Jello shots - this is a maybe item. They take up a lot of room in the freezer and again I failed to make a test batch. I am tempted to try to make them inside of orange rinds for fancy presentation but I doubt they will look as good as they did on the web page. And I bought a new kind of flavored rum that I am only hoping is not disgusting. I suppose if I made some tonight I could find out for sure with time to tweak the recipe, but there's that whole sloth thing going on...

I guess that's all I know about for sure, though I am also toying with making some sort of black bean and roasted corn dish and we usually serve olives to our olive loving friends. Right now, though, I must go for OC is in need of more Fancy Feast. If I don't act fast he'll make enough noise to wake Erik up. And besides, I need to get back to my clutter.

lemony goodness

2008-07-01T23:00:00.000-07:00

So NaBloPoMo, that insidious entity which has reached out from November to infect other months, is calling to me once again. Just post every day for a month, they say. It's that simple. And July's theme? Irresistible - it's food. When do I not have something to say about food? I don't mind admitting that I equate food with love, that I plan dinner while eating breakfast, that I am the most hypocritical vegetarian of all time. Food, what do I not have to say about it? And so, I suppose, I will try. Or, in the words of Yoda, "There is no try, only do." So I will do. I will post every day in July and I will post about food.

After all, clearly I have not been very motivated to post on my own. My seal stories have not brought me to the keyboard - even though last week I had a most fabulous adventure involving the nuclear power plant and a very cute man with a very big machine gun. Even in the midst of much family drama, I have held back. As I see it, some stories are not mine to tell - at least not until they are fully adjudicated. Besides, I might as well save some of the good stuff for the Christmas letter... But just because I don't want to leave you totally hanging, here's a hint - a snapshot of the rear end of my sister-in-law's very smushed, very expensive van, taken via a recent iChat I enjoyed with the only brother I have who has never been arrested on felony charges.

And yet as much as I know I need to post and as much as I love food, I find myself tonight thinking only of cat food - the 200 cans of it I bought this week that I still have to put away. The 200 cans that make me feel ever more like the crazy cat lady. The 200 cans that will not even make it through the end of July when I return from my vacation. The 200 cans that I charged to the credit card because expenses are expected to eclipse income this month.

On a more pleasant note, I considered posting about something that isn't actually edible but which smells a bit like food. At long last, the sweet smell of something other than cat urine permeates my house. Though the carpet cleaner finished nearly twelve hours ago, the tangy citrus fragrance of $159 well spent still dominates my humble abode. The humility of said abode is particularly pronounced this evening. As the carpets slowly dry, all the crap from the two ~~giant cat boxes~~ bedrooms is dominating the only remaining living space. The treasures that I found so cute when arranged just so are now menacing, suffocating, discouraging. Even so, I struggle to imagine parting with even a portion of it. A friend of mine is having a garage sale this month and after today it seems she may get to sell my robot cat and my skull bank, but other than that it mostly gets to stay. But is posting about clutter in a room that smells sort of like food truly in keeping with the NaBloPoMo theme? I think not.

And so, I suppose I am left to post about the grand day of take out I enjoyed today. It started with a trip to my favorite breakfast joint, Kitty's, where Erik and I first fled to avoid the fumes. Kitty's is the land of the hangover helper: one potato pancake and a half order of french toast. Good thing I wasn't actually hungover, though, cuz today's waitress was the one who doesn't bring a full half order of french toast - she brings a third of an order, which is really just weird. Still, she is possibly preferable to the other waitress, the one who brings a half order but charges for a full order. But ideally it is best to be hungover when the owner is working, as the half order of french toast is not actually on the menu and only she is able to hook me up with the right amount at the right price. Of course, when I am truly hungover, Erik is generally fetching me my starchy savior so who knows or cares what I pay, right? Anyway, today I was hangover free so I branched out and had a half stack of blueberry pancakes instead. Yum.

Then, returning to the lemony fresh house, I was amazingly spared the traditional post-Kitty's food coma. Instead it seems it was Freaky Friday, for Erik is the one who spent the rest of the day in a carbohydrate-fueled slumber. I sat here, hating my stuff, resisting the urge to walk on the carpet. Finally, after four hours I couldn't take it anymore. I had to walk on the carpet for no reason at all. My poor socks told me I had made a mistake. There are very few sensations I like less than a wet sock. And so, lesson learned, I returned to my incredibly shrunken world and continued not blogging.

Though surely Kitty's was enough calories to keep me going all day, I still sent Erik out to Thai Boat at sunset. After all, the kitchen is crowded so who wants to cook? And besides, it is Tuesday, and Thai Boat is "Open 7 days, closed Wednesdays" so if I remotely think I want Thai Boat on a Tuesday, I find I better order up or pay the price jonesing for it all day Wednesday. But again, just to mix things up, I substituted my usual pineapple curry for a peanut butter based param curry. Of course, I still ordered my staple - the Pad Prik King with Tofu "very, very spicy" - though tonight, I must say, it was really only "spicy." My nose hardly ran at all and I could actually taste the flavors. As I think I've mentioned before, I believe I actually prefer it that way, but I am reluctant to lose face after training the Thai guys to give me all the fire I can get.

Anyway, I guess that's it for food today - cat food, lemony goodness, breakfast date, Thai take out. Not a bad day, I must say.

nothing nice to say

2008-06-18T17:00:00.000-07:00

Hmm. It seems that more than an entire month has slipped away since last I posted. Funny how time flies when you become the crazy cat lady. When I first (reluctantly) welcomed Ratty Catty into the fold, I firmly believed that having three cats merely brought me to the threshold of crazy. Four cats, now that is crazy, I told myself. But three, three is actually legal (I know as I researched my county's limits). And besides, I figured, I am married, thus I can never truly fit the quintessential definition of cat lady - that lonely spinster surrounded by dozens of strays in a house that reeks of urine. But this, my marital status, could be considered a fragile thing - especially when my hard working husband has to sleep through my aforementioned feces sweeping... But now, after the month I've had and a few calculations courtesy my too-bright brother, I realize there is no denying it. It is true. I am she. I am the crazy cat lady.

The evidence? Well, we need to begin with the cats per capita and cats per square footage calculations. Both are extremely high here in my beach bungalow. Cats outnumber humans now 3:2 and mammals outnumber rooms 5:3. Thus the cats are seemingly everywhere. We have taken to calling the house the fish bowl as it seems the cats just circle around aimlessly, like they are on some sort of sinister loop. And the cats, well, they are now the cat fishes, of course.

Much like a fish bowl, I have noticed that the cats do not think twice before soiling their home, leaving it to the bipeds to clean it up. For example, mere hours after my last post, someone left me this disgusting present in the bed. (Yes, Aunt Kathy, that is the blanket you made for me as a wedding present. I'm so so sorry.) I thought, as I awoke to the overwhelming odor of feline feces, that I was merely having a nightmare, not living one. I immediately began sniffing it in, saddened by its familiarity and disgustingness, desperately trying to locate its source. Of course I looked to the dark dark corner of the bed (poo corner, that is), but no, the smell was weaker there. With horror I leaned to Erik's side, inspecting the pillows. Again, the smell was weaker. I realized I was playing the worst version of Hot and Cold ever. Not in the mood for games, I finally got out of bed and turned up the lights to find it there - cat poop at my feet, lightly smudged during the act of rising. The first thought I had, I kid you not, is that I can no longer tease Wendy for loving the cat that peed on her in her bed, not after knowing my feet had to be under or very near the turd burglar during the turd delivery. My second thought was, goddammit.

So I grabbed the pair of pants I had left on the couch. I began putting them on so I could remove the soiled blanket. I started with the right leg. The one that was saturated in cat pee. Defeated, I shrugged, hoping this meant I love you. I gathered up the pants and a nearby jacket (seemingly my hats and purse were spared? I prayed I was not wrong about my cursory analysis...) and then went to work creating a laundry pile.

Before laundering anything, though, I rewarded the most likely suspect, bratty Ratty Catty, with breakfast. After starting the wash, I set a trap. Displaying the brilliant sense I was born with, I locked Ratty inside the house with me, subjecting him to forced snuggles. I figured if I had to find his bodily fluids in the two places I occupy most, he had to let me kiss him. Well, that, of course, backfired. Ratty proceeded to pee on the cat chair, on the carpet, and, oh yeah, on me as I tried to place him in my lap. Gross, I know. A month later, we still haven't mastered lap snuggles (in truth, I'm afraid to try again), but I have gotten a few genuine purrs out of the Rat Cat - always under duress, of course, but not always accompanied by urine.

While I actually appreciated sleeping in a clean bed that next night, I soon found the process of bed soiling to be exhausting. Comforters, sheets, mattress pad - each is a separate load, so even without any soaking or double washing, this is an all day affair. And since my laundry room is down a set of stairs, each of these unwieldy loads makes enough contact with my person during transit to inspire interim showers. At least I have the time to spend all day laundering and showering, I suppose. And I've got my own machines. What a horror show it would be to load all that pee and poo into my car to go to a laundromat. So see, here I am thanking God for small favors.

My gratitude could only stretch so far, however. Since that cursed morning, we've experienced some sort of assault on the bed roughly every four to five days - the approximate length of time it takes for us to let our guard down, it seems.

Some days it's just a pee. Those days I suspect Ratty. Ratty has been all but exonerated, though, for the original poo after the second time I woke to the smell of feces and found nothing solid - just a smear of it trapped in Monkey's tail. Thus Monkey is the gato non grata after this week's fresh horror - another full sized juicy poop on the comforter. The removal of each poo, unfortunately, has been followed by the addition of a pee. This pee, I've since surmised, was most likely added by a second donor. For these I suspect OC, as we came home on Sunday to find him laying near his most recent work - the first fluid to actually make it all the way through the mattress pad and on to the mattress.

Now the cat fishes are banished entirely from the main room and the bipeds are camping out on the couches, allowing the Nature's Miracle to properly soak in to the mattress and dry. Meanwhile, I anxiously await the arrival of my new waterproof mattress cover (ordered over the internet from the Enuresis Society). I have not gotten to see my previous acquisition in action - an absorbent pad designed to go under your bed wetting child - as it arrived just before the banishment. I figure that though it is only three feet wide, it should cover enough comforter to protect from Ratty accidents, as he seldom ventures beyond toe biting territory.

Much like my mother, I have been trained now not to leave "targets" - no more clothes or blankets on the couch. Also like my mother, I now think nothing of sinking my nose into a suspect article of clothing, hoping to breathe in the noxious smell of cat urine, as then I can end the hunt and start the cleaning. Again like my mother (or at least my mother when she was my age), I have taken to drinking heavily.

My sister insists that I should get rid of Ratty Catty, that these are learned behaviors, the preference for soiling soft surfaces, and stress responses from the unhappy preexisting cat fishes. But I have come to realize that the worst of this is my fault. I have long known that Monkey will eat OC's Miralax-laced leftovers and now, I fear, he's having accidents as a result. So instead I have gotten rid of the comforters - three so far - and am keeping better control over the "poo poo powder." We've also had to discard six sheepskins - these Monkey likes to pee on and then sleep in (I've seen him do it). And though I haven't yet figured it is safe to rent the steam cleaner, carpet accidents seem to be on the decline. So things are looking up.

Besides, it's not really Ratty's fault he's socially retarded and has upset the fragile balance of my household. He is actually adjusting quite nicely, all things considered. See how happily he naps in the backyard with a couple of purloined toys? (By the way, I'm pleased to announce that only a couple of the dozen toys I purchased - the first bit of proof I was becoming the cat lady - have disappeared for good. The rest either cycle back inside on their own or are left where I can retrieve them.) Ratty has actually thoroughly enjoyed the banishment, as it means the other cat fishes have to spend more time in his realm. He is so gay for Monkey, the banishment has been his wet dream come true.

Meanwhile, Monkey has developed a problem bigger than loss of fecal continence. He has shown an increasing tolerance for risk. Here he is up our tree, for the third time in as many days. He's actually been up a couple branches taller and twice has been rescued by Erik. During one retrieval he even punctured Erik's cheek - sticking a claw all the way through his face for better traction. Their relationship has been further impaired by the fact that Erik was the one to shower Monkey on the morning of the poopy tail.

And, of course, since it's been six weeks, I've also had quite a bit of seal action, but I'll save those stories for later. I am happy to report, however, that Tackle Box has healed and been released, along with my Harbor Seals - Stello, Mandella, and Sneaker.

Meanwhile, my brother has finally taken the LSAT challenge. Sounds like he faced a rather brutal reading comprehension section but is otherwise pleased with his performance. His score is due to be released around July 7th so we will find out then whether I will suffer any humiliation during my upcoming visit home.

Oh, and in other family news, my sister's ex has gotten the boot from his humble abode. (He's been living rent free in a fire station since the divorce. It seems there was some sort of roommate drama that erupted which was settled not in his favor...) Sadly, I can't even say I was truly surprised to hear this means he is moving back in with Suz, at least for now, as our family is just so enmeshed that way. I can say I chuckled just a bit, as this is life taking revenge for the infamous two nights of incest my brother and I suffered at her Vet School graduation...

So other than seals, I guess that's it. That's all I've been doing for the past five weeks - laundry. You haven't missed much.

always darkest before the dawn

2008-05-16T02:11:00.000-07:00

I must say, I was clearly at a low point when last I blogged. Smearing cat crap under my bed was far from my finest hour. To top it off, that evening my dad, of all people, told me I didn't have the sense I was born with.

Yes, my dad said that. My dad, the very person whose genes I blame for the majority of my misguided adventures. The man who recently delighted in spending only $12 on Chinese takeout for three people (never thinking that he had ordered combo sized portions and no rice), the man who once thought he could pull off inviting his mistress to Thanksgiving dinner, the man whose own son thinks he is sucker enough to fall for a recently submitted investment proposal (asking for $100,000 to build houses during this buyer's market) that had been handwritten on an aborted grocery list. (Seriously - it starts out ~~Eggs~~, Lender Fees - $4,000... I nearly died laughing...)

This is the man who says I don't have the sense I was born with. On the contrary, I think the very problem is I that I have exactly the sense I was born with. And that sense told me to poke a frightened cat with a stick and then to poke it again after it peed. That sense told me it was more important to clean the mess up quickly than efficiently. That sense told me I could reach the dark corner of the bed well enough, though I clearly could not.

Thank goodness I married Erik. He soon woke up, having only barely slept through the hours long ordeal due to sheer exhaustion. He promptly moved the bed and attempted to help me relocate the cat. We were not without our own complications, mind you. We immediately lost visual contact with Ratty as he hid under the couch. Our efforts to find him inspired more fear based urine. Thinking he was surely now in, no longer under the couch, Erik lifted the sofa, smearing the urine along the floor with the couch. It was not long before we realized Ratty had retreated back under the bed. But by then the whole situation was just deliriously funny. Long story short, I ultimated grabbed Ratty's urine soaked body and smeared him across the entire living room in to the safety of the office turned prison cell.

Understandably, Ratty and I avoided each other the next day. We made up a little bit, just in time for me to take him back to the vet to be vaccinated and microchipped. He earned his freedom the next morning (Erik released him while I attended my meeting out of town). Ratty showed us his gratitude later that evening. He snuck in during the night to pee on the carpet one last time - choosing a spot just outside the bathroom door so we'd be sure to step in it. He also stole his favorite cat toy, hiding it under the deck, as has now become his habit.

Since then Ratty has actually been around quite a bit. The other night I startled him when I discovered he was sleeping behind the cat chair (his previous most progressive hidey hole) and this morning I found him courting Monkey in the bed (repeatedly, despite being scared away by a sleeping shifting Erik). This evening he staged a major coup and stole his beloved cat toy for the last time. I caught just a glimpse of its glimmering mylar as he disappeared with it under the house. Lucky him, I found a website that sells them for only $3. So I've ordered a dozen. As I did so I wondered if having three cats really does make me a crazy cat lady. Certainly ordering toys by the dozen is some sort of threshold.

But Ratty, though he is growing on me, is not the source of my purest joy. Not only did I get to leave town and sleep in a hotel room with no cat pee or poop in sight, but I got to attend a party, followed by my meeting, and then back again for my friend's Open Studio. I nearly ditched the party (that whole social phobia thing I have going on - Erik and I call it "driving around the block with brownies, crying" - can you guess why?) but I ended up having a great time and even stayed quite late - possibly too late, but whatever. Anyhow, I returned to town with my usual annual purchases - another fruit bowl or two (the pears are so happy to have a home away from the apples) plus an assorted item from the other artist (my friend's very own mom). This year I scored a major bonus - five imperfect (over glazed) bowls and six "ruined" saki cups. They are now adorning my garden as birdbaths and trinkets, respectively.

Not only did I have a fabulous time connecting and reconnecting with my Sausalito seal loving cohorts, but I came home in time to enjoy the only two seal rescues we'd had in two weeks. On Mother's Day, I had the pleasure of rescuing Tackle Box, a skinny sea lion yearling who was hanging out on a dock with his four to six adult male buddies. He wasn't on just any old dock, he was on the well-known "Scary Dock" - so named because of its popularity with the big boys and its easy access by the public. As it turns out, our rescue may have been less successful if not for the insistence of one big boy. His attempts to porpoise out of the water and on to the dock disturbed the slumber of Tackle Box's living pillows. As they woke they saw two women approaching with nets and promptly bailed. Surprised to have awakened with a thud (and trampled by one sea lion making a break for it), Tackle Box didn't realize he too should run away. Before I knew it he was in my net. It was glorious. And what made it all the better was that Tackle Box really needed a rescue. You can barely see it in this photo (though I got some gory close ups for vet staff), but he's got a fishhook stuck in his eyeball and another stuck in between his teeth. I know some of my loyal readers (all both of them) don't like the gruesome details, so please forgive me. At least I am happy to report that the hooks came out easily and the eye, stuck in a relatively fortuitous fashion, still functions. So now he just has to get over being super skinny (13.8 kg) without becoming habituated to humans. Still an uphill battle, but so much better than how we found him.

After rushing Tackle Box off for a same day transport, we responded to a second call in the South County, this time for an elephant seal we named Mountain. Mountain had been bitten by something (I say shark, but could just be other ellies) and he had a swollen hind end and a possibly broken back. (Thus the name, Mountain, as in BrokeBack...) To make matters worse, our caller had thwarted Mountain's attempts to escape by dragging the poor thing out of the tide line - using his injured rear flippers. This is never something we advise (it is illegal and dangerous and often unnecessary) but in this case it seemed especially cruel. We were still pretty nice to the well-meaning doof, though, especially as he had taken the time to call us, had waited on the beach for most of an hour, and he ultimately helped us carry the animal up the very long and steep trail. Anyway, we kept Mountain very comfortable all night - injecting the maximum amount of drugs every four or five hours, dismantling his carrier so he never had to move, foregoing tube feedings so we didn't jostle him, arranging for a very early transport the next day - only to discover his back was intact all along. He was just so skinny that the slope of his spine seemed unnaturally flat to all of us veteran rescuers. Embarrassing, I know. He did, however, have a broken leg bone, though, so I don't feel so bad about the pain protocol. I do feel bad that he didn't make it, but I can't say I am surprised.

And then tonight I had the pleasure of working with Smudge, another skinny elephant seal from the South County area. I didn't rescue him so I didn't bother photographing him (my night shots are all crap anyhow), but I did get to restrain him and prepare his yummy fishy breakfast. He seemed squirrelly enough that I am sure he'll do fine.

On the home front, I've just about wrapped up a couple of administrative projects that have been eating me. They reminded me that I still have a few law school essays to write, but I think at this point I am more inspired to attend to the chores I've been ignoring (dirty bathroom, skanky hummingbird food...). I've been seeing more of Erik, theoretically. He got himself assigned to jury duty, which he doesn't mind since he gets paid his full salary from work and it is way safer to watch a trial than to watch a crazy person. Still, he's been working nights (as now his regular shifts count as overtime) and in court all day, so he'll be sleeping most of Saturday. Perhaps then I will get my cleaning done. Quietly, of course.

Oh, and things are progressing on my Spanish soap. Mama Delores did not yet tell Alberto deLimon that Maria Elena is his real mother (and therefore that would make his girlfriend his cousin, which is actually okay, but no one knows, cuz she was secretly adopted...). This is a tragedy because now Maria Elena's ex has lied and told her that his no good son Oswaldo is her long lost child. Sigh. Best of all, I have been working on my verbs lately and I am increasingly able to recognize the use of conditional tenses. So I am making progress, even if I am rotting my brain. And now I have two episodes of Que Dice la Gente? which is the Spanish Family Feud. That's a whole other ballgame - exhausting to watch because of the preponderance of nouns and synonyms. My dictionary gets a workout then.

Ah, and it is apparently moth season. Monkey has taken up hunting them mercilessly. I have been able to spare a few their fates, but for the most part they are on their own. I try to avoid turning on lights at night but Monkey has figured out how to trigger the motion detectors on the deck. Clever, though a bit cruel.

Okay, well, lest this blog begin to feel like my third administrative obligation, I guess I shall sign off. Until next time...

too stupid to live

2008-05-07T17:48:00.000-07:00

Wow. Look. I am not dead. (Though as you can see from the title, I am too stupid to live.) I have not canceled my internets (though I was tempted to when my Charter bill went up) and I do actually have stuff going on that is worth writing about. So where have I been? Here, mostly, but with company at first. While I thoroughly enjoyed the long awaited sister visit (details below), this is also when the trouble started. And by trouble, I mean Ratatouille.

Ratatouille, or Ratty Catty as he is more commonly known, is a stray cat who began living under my back deck right around the time Suz and Grace were in town. He is not nearly as cute as he looks in this picture. Believe me. He is much more raggedy and has a rat like tail (thus the name) and he does not take the time to clean the cat food off of his nose. I guess technically his is a Siamese type tail, which you would think I would like, given the whole Fabian love affair, but Ratty Catty is no Fabian. In fact, he is so tiny I assumed he was a girl. And the miniature version of a Siamese tail looks very ratty.

But whatever. So I began feeding the starving pathetic looking lurker who lived under my deck. How could I not? And obviously I named him. And not surprisingly, I began seeing more and more of him. The trouble is, of course, if you give a cat a cookie, soon he must be neutered. So I worked hard every day to gain his trust - intending to betray it at my earliest opportunity. This opportunity came just this past Friday.

So, hooray for me. I caught my feral cat. I did Bob Barker proud and had him neutered. Fine enough. Only he went home with a prescription for antibiotics. This, I think, was to clear up his head cold as I can't imagine that Clavamox is issued standard to every fixed feral. So now I have to keep him in my possession until his meds are gone. No problem. I can do this, right?

We've had a few carpet incidents. At first he would just pee where ever. And though I showed him the litter box, he assumed I was offering him a place to hide, not a place to pee. It wasn't until we brought in a box of top soil that the carpet soiling came to an end. Sort of. Cuz we found out after two days that the dirt must be changed every day. If not, Ratty Catty will revert to using the carpet as a toilet. A toilet where he leaves his antibiotic fueled diarrhea. Yeah. Hooray for me, indeed.

But at least I am just a renter, right? And I can hire a carpet cleaner when this is all over. And I am doing a good thing. And Ratty Catty and I are bonding. He never bites and sometimes purrs. And my does he love Monkey. So it is almost kinda cute.

Okay, so at 2:45 this morning Monkey wakes up. He wants to go out. But no way, he is an inside at night kitty. He can go out right before dawn, maybe, but not at 2:45. So I let him into Ratty Catty's room to use the cat box. So now Ratty wakes up. And I figure, he loves Monkey, I should let them play. Thus I let Ratty into the main room (which is not his first time, but close).

Fine enough. Only I am getting no sleep while they play. And by play, I mean fight. Cuz Monkey doesn't love Ratty the way Ratty loves Monkey. And both Monkey and OC are starting to wish they had chased Ratty off instead of being the pussies that they literally are.

So I watch Spanish soap operas while they come and go. I am happy to see that Mary Elena and Aldo have finally reunited after all these years. Though I figured this was where the story was going, things looked bleak after he was presumed dead on their wedding day after his plane crashed and he was kidnapped and forced to work for a drug cartel in the Amazon and meanwhile she had ended up joining a convent. I am even more thrilled to see that Ratty will come on the bed even when I am in it. I get to touch him once or twice. I am having a good day.

Until I realize there is pee on the comforter. Ratty was flirting with Monkey, I think, when he peed just a bit. Yeah, at 4 am. It was great. I was cold and had to decide between having fewer covers (and exposing the next layer down to more pee) or laying in a bed I knew had cat pee on it. I put on a thermal and ditched the comforter. But that was just a wee bit of pee (though OC reports it is also on the canopy) - no big deal, right?

So Ratty comes out from under the bed shortly after Erik comes home at 8 am. He's in his own room again all safe and sound and gets his morning meds. Great. Interestingly, it's the first time he acts like he'd rather not take them, but whatever. So why, oh why, do I let him out in the main room again? Cuz I am dumb. But I get dumber.

So it is afternoon now and I am thinking that Ratty is due a snuggle session. Only trouble is he is under the bed. Of course. So I try to lure him out with food and with Monkey. No go. So I try to lure him out with a broom. I guess that would not be "luring" so much as "forcing" but it has worked before. So I try.

He won't go. And soon I have scared the pee out of him. Literally. You would think at this point, with pee on my bed and now under it too, that I would let peeing cats lie. But no. I have to clean up the pee, right? I don't own a mop and so I do a shoddy job involving a bar towel and the broom. So I can be finished now, right? And take a shower, of course, cuz I am gross. But I get grosser.

Because now I want Ratty out more than ever. Cuz I was close once. I think I can do it. This time... This time... I can't even say it... This time he poops. Which I know because I hear it gurgling out of him. In the far far dark corner of the bed (under my pillow) where it can never ever be reached.

So now I want to die. Oh and by now Erik is in the bed. Sleeping. And now it smells. And I cannot air out the house or Ratty will escape. Which is starting to sound like a grand solution. But I need to finish his antibiotics. Far be it from me to help those antibiotic resistant bacteria become even more resistant.

So I try to clean the poop. Same method as before, but using paper towels and a broom. I only succeed in smearing it EVERYWHERE. At the same time I am able to chase Ratty out. He pauses on things in his path, leaving poop on them. He hides under the couch. I get him out from under the couch and he goes - to his room? No. That would be too good to be true. He runs to the kitchen sink and across the kitchen counter. Now I want us both to die. I catch him, lift him and toss him in his room (cuz he isn't in to being carried just yet and I am scared and he is covered in poop). But I cannot close the door in time.

So where is he now? Back under the bed, of course, in what will now be known forevermore as pooh corner. He is no longer remotely deterred by any further broom action. He pretends he is not there. At least his bowels are empty. I guess.

I have cleaned the smear (laying face down in a delightful collection of dust bunnies) and in the process I have presumably cleaned the pee. But I cannot reach it all. I know some is on the floor protector under the bed post. I can see it. And I know I can never get that out. And I know it is still all over Ratty. That cat who cannot be bothered to clean his milk mustache will surely not be in a hurry to clean the crap from his entire body. And it is on the brooms. Both of them. Even though I have hosed them off, they still hold pooh in their bristles. So now I need a new broom. And, I think, a mop.

But worst of all, I know I will smell cat poop from now until eternity. Every time I try to sleep I will remember this day. Oh how I used to love to sleep.

And this is why I am too stupid to live. Seriously, how can I outscore 99.6% of the people who want to go to law school and still be this stupid? I am depressed.

On a happier note, I totally enjoyed my visit with Princess Grace and sister Sue. Though we didn't get to all the things on our list, we did do the majority of them. We:

Stopped at In-n-Out on the way home from the airport. In fact, we stopped again on the way back to the airport. That visit was less successful and involved the spilling of ketchup and french fries in the car, but really, I blame myself. Ketchup should never be allowed in the car. And also, I don't care. Cuz it is only a car. (Incidentally, it is a car that now has Monkey pee on the front seat, cuz he too went to the vet on Friday to xray his broken-ish tail...)
Went to the beach - often. We only got wet once, though, cuz it was windy and the water was cold. It was hilarious cuz at first Grace did not approve of the kid friendly beach Erik had recommended. The waves were not big enough for her. Until she was in them, up to her arm pits, and then she was pleased.
Swam in the indoor pool at the hotel Erik picked. I don't think that you can call it warm, though. It might have been comfortable if we could have all swam, but I was the baby holder and I found it very very cold. Grace wouldn't trust Erik to keep her from drowning, which we think has a lot to do with Grandpa's campaign to convince Grace that Erik is a bad driver. Not sure why a bad driver couldn't keep a four year old's head above water, but the two skills seemed to be linked.
Walked in the March of Dimes / March for Babies. It was fun and worthwhile and together we raised over a thousand bucks, but I am officially calling it the Death March for Babies, because instead of the 6 miles advertised on the website it was 10 miles long, all very urban and often uphill. I kid you not, we crossed the freeway three times. I suddenly understood why our event had fewer people attending than the one in Tacoma. Though they faced rain and sleet in Washington, at least they got to walk around a park. And take shortcuts and stuff.
Ate giant pizza slices in Pismo. Yum. And Grace and I played inappropriate video games that involved shooting people.
Ate clam chowder out of sourdough bread bowls. Though I think the better chowder was a few doors down, our restaurant was right on the beach. And I had a killer salad.
Watched Dora the Explorer - but surprisingly only once. Signing Time (with Alex and Leah) was much more popular, at least with me and Grace. ASL is our thing.
Played on NickJr.com, but only when Suz wasn't on MySpace, cuz I found my aging iMac just can't handle the strain of all those graphics.
Played with the kitties - at least Monkey, as OC predictably made himself scarce. Grace loved Monkey and insisted on calling him Gus (the fat mouse from Cinderella).
Drank Diet Coke. We went through more than 48 cans and I swear I didn't have any.

We did not:

Stop at the winery that looks like a castle. And I did not make Grace a princess hat. Conveniently, she brought two tiaras of her own and I still have my fabulous crown from my queen costume, so we were all set for make believe...
Rent a surrey and ride it out the Rock to look at otters. We drove out in our car.
Stop for cotton candy on the way back, since we were now in our car.
Swim in the warm outdoor pool at the Inn at Morro Bay. Sadly.
Pay for parking in Pismo. We just parked at the hotel.
Have a dance party, though we did have a BBQ.
Build yet another graham cracker house. We figured it was a bit much for Grace and we really didn't have the space.

Anyway, in between having company and neutering Ratty Catty, I also made a trip to Sausalito to work with my elephant seal friends. There I surprisingly sucked, too, having trouble hitting the vein for my two blood draws. I'm pretty sure it is because I was trying in a new (inferior) spot and because I psyched myself out, but whatever. It was still fun.

And I think I am going up to the Center again this weekend, though I just heard a rumor I may not be needed. Which is a bummer cuz I was looking forward to sleeping in a hotel, where there is no cat poop under the bed.

super seal extravaganza

2008-04-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

March kept me so busy blogging (almost) every day that I fell way behind on my seal photos. I've finally got them all downloaded and doctored and it seems pup season is indeed in full swing. Before we get into the deluge, though, I'll share my wee bit of family news. Apparently Kevin and my Dad are shaving their heads (this weekend?) as a fund raiser for cancer. Dad doesn't have much hair, as most of you know, so he should be pleased to calculate that he is raising more money per follicle. Still, I can't imagine Kevin without his curly locks. He assures me there will be photos.

Anyway, April has been pleasant. A bit windy for my taste and not enough rain (getting worried about my chance to work with bees this summer), but the sea glassing has been good. I have officially found the Big Dipper (though the Little one lies beyond the horizon?) and I have enjoyed a couple fun walks with the 79 year old Norwegian lady in my neighborhood. Our paths often cross in the evening but usually she's with her German friend, Anna. Anna travels often, and so when I come across my neighbor alone I join her. Anyway, I've enjoyed her tales about her parents (her mother would be appalled that Hillary is running for present - she once freaked out when the person who showed up to repair her washer was female, calling the company and insisting they send someone else, who was not a "voman"...), and her sons (one, I knew, lives across the street and has apparently stopped drinking, the other has moved in with her after suffering multiple strokes, yet he still smokes...). But the story I enjoyed most of all was when she told me I had a very Norwegian looking face. I assured her I was Welsh, maybe Scottish, and also part Irish, to which she replied, "Oh, but you know that the Vikings came over and raped all your women, so you've got some Norwegian in you..." Too funny.

So I've only got three days to clean before Grace and my sister get here. I'm super excited but somehow not very inspired. Perhaps this is because I have been to my sister's house. And she's the first to assure me that with six fewer cats and two fewer dogs, my house is automatically cleaner than hers. I'm a bit concerned about the spider karma, though, because the guest room is also the spider portal. And I have to stock up on Diet Cokes (Suz drinks at least six a day) and I fear that I missed the best sale last week. But I will definitely be making a trip to Costco for blueberries - Grace is so cute with the blueberries... and tonight we are going to try to make hot dog octopi, just like we had at Disneyland, to perfect our technique.

Anyhow, those who really don't care about the seal stories can stop here. Those who like the photos can just skim. For the rest, we'll start with my most recent fun and work our way back...

I was last on call Sunday April 6th, which started at 8 am with the task of feeding and shipping off the sloppy seconds. First was an elephant seal named Chuckles. In addition to being vocal and adorable, I liked Chuckles the most as we had a connection. I'd actually put her on watch the Thursday before. At the time she didn't look quite so dehydrated and she was in a quiet place, though I must admit my first instinct was to pick her up. I was surprised to learn she was only 33 kg - seems we should've scooped her up after all. (The cut off for pick ups is 40 kg.) Still, had we rescued her Thursday I would've missed out on a lunch date with my rescue pals.

The second of my sloppy seconds was Ojo Rojo, apparently so named for the red spot over his right eye. We get lots of calls on elephant seals with alleged eye injuries because of their red third eye lid. I'll admit it's a bit creepy to see (we encounter it at alot as we often wake them up to assess them). Other common "ailments" are labored breathing (they always breathe that way), crying or snot (which both signal hydration), and, funniest of all, their self-awareness that they are dying and thus they are burying themselves (as elephant seals like to flip sand on their backs). I love how people assume a marine mammal would be so courteous as to dig his own grave. Anyway, Ojo Rojo was a little quiet, and a little crummy looking, but he's still in treatment, so that's good.

So we got breakfast into the two elephant seals, but before we could ship them, we got calls on two other animals. I went with one girl to put another ellie on watch (which again I am thinking we could've picked up, he was maybe 37 kg, but with great red gums and a little snot) while the rest of the team checked on Sparta. Sparta was tagged, a suspected victim of long term DA, recently released in our area. I have mixed feelings about the fact that we couldn't catch Sparta. He's only been out for a month, but if he came back in he'd most likely get an EEG during which they'd probly detect subclinical seizure activity, after which he'd most certainly be euthanized. On the one hand, it must be no fun to be an epileptic seal. On the other hand, is it more fun to be dead?

Anyway, while the sloppy seconds were finally in transport, we got to pick up my first chocolate flavored harbor pup, Sneaker. (Though come to think of it, Melissa turned brown as she grew up, still, this was my first black baby...) Sneaker was illegally picked up and moved from a floating oyster bed to a muddy boat launch. By the time we got involved we figured it was too late to reunite her with mom. So we had the pleasure of keeping her overnight and I got to do the whole midnight feed routine. A nice full day of being on call.

I believe I mentioned that I played on Thursday April 3rd, helping to ship off Bait, another sea lion (from the drive on beach) who'd been seen apparently swallowing fishing line. We were surprised to see she'd barfed up a bird in the morning. Very interesting, not the usual sea lion fare. It was then that I noticed Bait most likely used to have a flipper tag (again, possibly a chronic DA). You'd have to be a bit brain damaged to eat a bird instead of a fish... Anyway, according to the medical updates, Bait had no fishhooks inside but she was the victim of gunshot and sadly, she didn't make it. That's the problem with writing my rescue stories up late - I can't just leave you with the happy possibility that a bird barfing seal is now in perfect health. Well, I guess I could. But I don't. Sorry about that.

Anyway, after we shipped off Bait, we captured Loggerhead, a sea lion hanging on a dog beach that should not have been easy to catch. Loggerhead was right in the tide line and well aware of our approach. She let us catch her, I swear. Turns out, though it wasn't obvious at the time, that she is also listed as a gunshot victim. We were kinda hoping with no salmon season this year that we wouldn't have a shot sea lion season either. Guess we were wrong. Anyway, after leaving Loggerhead to rest, we went and checked on the would-be Chuckles, marking her with a yellow S (which was for Sharron, or Super, depending on how you look at it) and had the aforementioned lunch.

Tuesday the 1st was when I caused big trouble. I was minding my own business collecting sea glass on my local beach when I came across a skinny little (32.2 kg) elephant seal on watch. I called the gal that was in charge of rescues that day and in my apparently less than tactful way I made a strong case for a pick up. At first she seemed pleased with my intervention (having felt bad leaving him on watch) but she soon called me back to scold me for second-guessing her. I later got a second scolding from the chick who is in charge everyday for allegedly "not following protocol" (though I had followed protocol) which I assume was also just because she didn't appreciate feeling second guessed. Whatever. I'm happy, as I'd get in trouble everyday if it was what's best for the animal. Anyway, I rescued the poor thing with the help of a local gal who was on schedule, but I let the usual crew treat it. We named it Ray Sugar (for Rachael, the little girl who helped me watch it, and Sugar, her off leash dog...) but I have no photos as I don't take my camera sea glassing and I didn't feel very welcome to cruise by the next day.

From here we have to go back to Sunday night, March 30th, for my next seal action. Sunday I had the pleasure of putting Mandella, another harbor seal, on watch. She looked okay then, was alert, and was in a rookery with adults nearby (within earshot, but not line of sight). No sign of an umbilicus (meaning, like Sneaker, she was at least ten days old), and spots on her fur (so no preemie lanugo coat). All this added up to no automatic pick up. Anyway, my friend and I checked on her the next morning (actually, I was lazy and sent my friend first, sure she would be back with mom) and we picked her up on Monday the 31st. It was tough to hand her over to the Monday crew, though we did get to come back for the midnight feed. Good old midnight feeds. I can always count on those.

Also on the 30th we picked up McLovin, a scrawny critter from San Simeon who waited patiently for us for nearly four hours while we went to the drive on beach to fetch a sea lion. Too bad McLovin is a girl, as we were intending to use the name on a boy. Anyway, here McLovin is looking a bit fierce, but in reality she was pretty sweet. A bit barfy, but that's usually our fault when we tube them too quickly...

The sea lion on the drive on beach (that we abandoned McLovin for) was poor old Subprime. We named her that as we could tell, like the real estate industry, she was destined to crash. She was bony, barely responsive, and just plain sad. No interest in water (as the lepto animals usually have), no true Stevie Wonder head bobbing (as the DA animals have) and no fight against her sub Q (as sea lions always have). Anyway, she did show seizure spikes on her EEG and also had serious parasites, so she has crossed over the Rainbow Bridge, as they like to say...

Anyway, the day before, on Saturday the 29th, I had the pleasure of picking up Chunky, from Olde Port Beach, a dog beach in Avila. He was being harassed by a big white poodle and pretty much couldn't care less. Being too tired for either fight or flight is a good sign that it's time for a pick up. Though he was far from Chunky, that's what the folks on the beach were calling him, so we went with it. We had a bit of misadventure on this rescue as a gal got our 4WD truck stuck in the sand (cuz she didn't put it in 4WD), but we got unstuck fast. Much quicker than the time I got my own 2WD truck stuck on the same beach (with one seizing animal in the back, and one on the beach...). At least I wasn't driving then and it wasn't my idea, but I shouldn't have handed over my keys... The sad / funny thing is, as we were leaving with Chunky, yet another 2WD truck was stuck in the same soft sand (loaded down with bonfire goodies)... They really ought to post a warning there, or perhaps just a camera for YouTube.

Anyway, on Wednesday the 26th, far from my usual day, I helped with more sloppy seconds. First was Carne Asada, a very stale left over who'd been picked up the 24th. Apparently Carne Asada was scheduled for relocation by Monday crew, but Tuesday crew made the case to keep him since he was the same size as the others they were rescuing that day (and under the 40 kg cut off). Here she is giving that adorable coy, over the shoulder look. Definitely not the skinniest animal of the season, but far from fat and sassy.

The Tuesday sloppy seconds also included Elicious, who seemed very down and crusty. She was easy enough to work with, but clearly not all that photogenic.

They also picked up Slime, who was pretty cute, other than the injured eye (which is not very evident in this picture, you're welcome). I didn't really work with Slime much, and don't know how he got such a disparaging name, but he was much more active than Elicious, which is, of course, a good thing.

Best of all, of course, and the reason I was out to play on a Wednesday, was Stello, the harbor seal I mentioned ditching my husband for. Having done her 8 pm and midnight feeds the night before, how could I not show up for breakfast and to see her off? Unfortunately, Stello was pretty active, so all the photos I've got of her are pretty fuzzy. This is the only one which is entirely in focus. Makes it look like we snuggle up with these cuties, but really she was just being moved from one place to another.

My last legitimate shift before Stello was Friday March 21st when I picked up Brystyn off Moonstone Drive in Cambria. We were supposed to name him Rystyn, but realizing we had a Rustin on site already, we added the B. Brystyn was borderline (alert, good gum color, freshly hauled out) but was destined to be harassed (busy beach) and so I'm glad we abducted him. Besides, he may have been the animal that had been called in the night before on a beach right around the corner. There we found only flipper tracks. And if so, he really wasn't getting very far.

Later that same Friday, on a third trip to Cambria, I got to pick up Hookis, at sunset. It was an easyish rescue and a glorious, purple sunset. Here I must give photo credits to my friend (who went to see her the next morning? or used a flash?) cuz the only shot I have of Hookis was in the pen that evening and my night shots look like crap. Anyway, we nearly left Hookis on watch, as she was pretty short for her weight, but we decided we didn't come all that way just to leave empty handed. Besides, when we went to fetch the carrier, she looked at us with her big bewildered eyes and all too visible neck, seemingly feeling abandoned. I'm extra glad we picked her up as we got to name her for another rescue buddy's sick niece. She's a good specimen for a special name, being on the healthier side of a pick up.

So I believe this leads us back to ... Valet, Hangemhi, Roo and Repo. I think Valet is scheduled for release soon. Hangemhi is still on site. Roo, unfortunately, didn't make it. The only good part about that is that we hadn't named him "Hookis" - something we'd considered as it was the last rescue the gal with the sick niece had gone on... And Repo, well, Repo showed up again the next day, but didn't stick around long enough to be taken back to Monterey. I suspect we'll be seeing him again soonish.

Also, stay tuned for more kitty drama. I just saw a black cat that wasn't my own (no thumbs) in my living room and again under my back deck. And my own black cat just met Rusty, the neighbor cat, in Rusty's yard. Erik reports Monkey was confused that Rusty followed Monkey over to our house for a bit of a chat. Poor Monkey has so much to learn about the real world. And hopefully Wendy has not made it this far, but I'm pretty sure Monkey has also tasted first blood. We found a bird under the bed last week and since it was all of a bird, not just bowel and wing, we figured it couldn't have been OC's catch. In fact, Monkey seemed nonplussed when we showed it to him, so I'm pretty sure that meant, "been there, done that, it's broken, Mom, it doesn't move any more." The gross thing is it was right by Erik's slippers, which is a favorite place for Monkey to hide his cat toys. I'm fairly certain this means the bird has been in the slippers, but Erik would like to believe otherwise.

last list

2008-04-01T21:56:00.000-07:00

Having missed a post on Easter, I owe you a list. I could wax on and on about my recent seal rescues - and believe me, I will, once I get myself organized. But I've been rather busy, so that will take a bit. In fact, I even had a surprise rescue this evening when, while innocently collecting sea glass, I stumbled across a skinny specimen my cohorts had left on watch... I could tell from fifty feet away that he was dangerously underweight. So I made a call and convinced them to let me pick up his starving little 32 kg self. Though I am now infinitely less popular with my friend who had put the seal on watch, I'd happily be in trouble any day if it's what's best for the animal.

Anyway, so tonight's theme is disturbing / amusing things my husband has uttered in the past 24 hours. Here they are in the order quoted:

When I asked if he knew anything about the SVP (Sexually Violent Predator) who had been found dead / presumed murdered at his work the night before, he commented, "Well, he must have been especially annoying."
When talking to his brother about their historically poor performance in school, he noted that he, "got great grades at Cabrillo - a 2.6 GPA."
When I squealed after petting Monkey's belly and accidentally / absent-mindedly encountering his penis, my husband remarked sadly, "Why doesn't that ever happen to me?"

So while none of these comes close to my favorite Erik-ism (fruit is salty), I hope they are a swell list to end on. NaBloPoMo has been well, not fun, annoying really, though I am strangely tempted to start anew. April's theme is the alphabet. I guess I've a couple hours left to be inspired...

ten in ten

2008-03-31T23:28:00.000-07:00

I've got ten minutes before I have to leave to give yet another darling harbor seal pup her midnight feed. I'm doing pretty swell, having now worked with two of the three that we've picked up from our area so far this year. I even got to help on the rescue (having put her on watch yesterday), despite my laziness (as I sent my friend out alone, sure she wouldn't still be there...), and the fact that I never work with seals on Mondays.

Pressed for time, here's a list of ten things I've got to do tomorrow:

Pay the rent.
Mail Kevin the last disk of the third season of the Wire. Apparently I left it in my dvd player and didn't check before mailing the others off...
Feed the hummingbirds. Again. I've already made the juice so I am committed.
Which also means I should clean the cats' drinking fountains, but I'm like months behind on that... Poor kitties drinking gross water. But then again, they'd drink from the toilet if I let them. And OC likes to drink from the bird bath. Which is seriously filthy looking.
Deal with OC's sheepskin - which I just discovered Monkey has been using as a latrine. That fricking Monkey. Now I know they make kittens cute just so you won't kill them. I've washed the fur but can't remember if you are allowed to put them in the dryer. Either way it will never be the same.
Take a walk. Though it is supposed to rain. And it's been damn cold. Hope it's warmer when Grace is here.
Buy groceries. Erik might go with me which would make it a date.
Hear from a Realtor. I should be more excited about that but now I am back to being terrified about the whole home-ower scheme.
Empty the dishwasher. But I do that every day. No big deal.
Sweep and vacuum. I got sand everywhere after my harbor seal rescue.

Not the most riveting list to end on, I know. But remember, it's not my last list, cuz I owe from Easter. It's just the best I could come up with in ten minutes.

almost april

2008-03-30T21:57:00.000-07:00

So tired. Long seal day. Only two keepers (McLovin, the scrawny elephant seal and Subprime, the California sea lion that isn't doing so well...) and two on watch (perfectly healthy harbor seal pups), and Chunky, of course, who we shipped off early. Need a shower but must make list.

In anticipation of my super fun visit from Grace and my sister, here's a list of some things we will do:

Stop at In-n-Out on the way home from the airport.
Stop at a winery that looks like a castle, also on the way home from the airport. If I am crafty, Grace will be wearing a princess hat I have made for her ahead of time.
Go to the beach - often. Though not for long if it is cold and windy like today.
Rent a surri (4 person bike, not daughter of TomKat) and ride it out the Rock to look at otters.
Stop for cotton candy on the way back.
Swim in the warm outdoor pool at the Inn at Morro Bay - either as pool hoppers or guests. Haven't yet decided, but they owe us a couple of swim sessions since the pool was closed when the folks were in town.
Swim in the warm indoor pool at a hotel Erik knows in Pismo. Here we'll be legit cuz we'll be staying there before (and possibly after) the godawful early in the morning March of Dimes.
Walk in the March of Dimes.
Eat giant pizza slices in Pismo. Erik has wanted to do this for ages. I have ordered giant pizza from a place in SLO (that I think is now closed), but they didn't cut it into giant slices - just weird squares. Something about giant slices sounds way cooler.
Eat clam chowder out of sourdough bread bowls - I'm sure also in Pismo. This is what my sis wanted to do in San Francisco. San Fran may be known for its sourdough, but Pismo is known for its clams. So should be close enough, right?
Pay for parking in Pismo. This is a new phenomenon. So I will have to complain about it.
Have a dance party. No sleep over is complete without one and Suz is in the mood for Depeche Mode.
Watch Dora the Explorer. Which reminds me, I've got to get her added to my Tivo. I hope she doesn't conflict with my Spanish soaps.
Play on NickJr.com. Grace loves NickJr.com. And I love the way she says it, "Nick.Junior.Dot.Com." This reminds me, I should buy more printer ink. She loves to print out the pictures she colors in. Trouble is, she prefers to use just one solid color.
Build yet another graham cracker house. This time we are going for height. We think with a little patience and a lot of icing we can make one taller than Grace.
Play with the kitties (at least Monkey, OC will most likely make himself scarce). Grace has discovered the joy of cat toys and Monkey loves attention. He doesn't jump as much or as high as he used to but he still fetches (usually).
Drink Diet Coke. I will have to stock up. Suz is an addict and Grace has quite a taste for it, too.

I'm sure we'll do lots more things, but these are the firm items. And I am, as I mentioned, tired. And dirty. So there.

things i smell like

2008-03-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

I had a pretty ideal seal day today (two calls, but only one rescue, a relatively late start, with no midnight feed). Since our day started late, I have an overnight guest, Chunky. Chunky will be on his third tubing by breakfast, so he'll be getting his first taste of a delightful treat we call Elephant Seal Formula. Actually, I guess he won't actually taste it (since we place it directly in his stomach), but I suppose he could barf some up... Anyway, I didn't want to have to make Elephant Seal Formula at 8 am, so I prepared it already. Thus my clothes (and my hands) now carry that sickly sweet Sausalito smell comprised of:

Fish and Fish Mash (fish blended with water)
Salmon Oil
Milk Matrix
Dish Soap
Nolvasan
Bleach
Latex Glove Dust

Nauseating as it is, it also makes me smile. Here's hoping tomorrow is equally manageable.

books i have loved

2008-03-28T23:01:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I'm not as big a reader as I ought to be. I'm certainly a fraction of the reader I used to be. A shadow of the reader I was meant to be.

I have fond memories of staying up late on school nights, feverishly devouring the Little House on the Prairie series. Once my pillowcase even caught fire, ignited by the heat of my hardworking reading lamp. I still enjoyed books in junior high and high school - though I felt it was absolutely ridiculous that we had to read the Scarlet Letter twice (our teachers couldn't agree over when it would be better taught....). And don't get me started on how little I enjoyed the Waste Land (although, really, that may not be T.S. Eliot's fault - I had a distinct disconnect with old Barf Bag, my teacher...). Anyway, somewhere along the way, under the weight of required college reading, I lost my way. I stopped reading for pleasure almost entirely. I began to look at books as expensive to purchase and heavy to move. I failed to recognize them as the treasures that they are.

Nowadays I'll read my mother's book club hand-me-downs. On occasion my brother will trust me with one of his favorites. And when visiting my nieces in Oakland, I'll often borrow from their extensive, eclectic library. But I have yet to branch out and reconnect with the world I used to love. Like MerryME, I have a collection of children's books that I cherish. Every now and then I'll read one before a nap. But grown up books are few and far between in my life. On a cold day, I'm more likely to cozy up with a good puzzle book than a new novel. This makes me just a little sad.

Reading more often is in the same category as yoga and flossing - something I imagine myself doing, but never actually make the effort. Something I have no excuse for avoiding, as I know it will enhance the quality of my life. And so, to remind myself of who I was and who I'd like to be, I offer a list of some of books I have loved, in the hope that it will inspire me to love anew:

Geek Love, by Katherine Dunn - appealed to my inner freak show
Mouse Tales, by Arnold Lobel - my childhood favorite. Erik and I often quote various lines such as, "Hello sky." "Hello roots." and "You are very clean now."
The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner - best with Cliff Notes, granted, and I wish that someone would print it in multiple colors as he first envisioned - or maybe different fonts for different narrators? Sure would help to keep the Quentins straight...
The Mill on the Floss, by George Eliot - I don't actually remember the plot much, and had to confess recently that I didn't realize the author was a girl, but I recall it was long but didn't feel that way...
Middlesex, by Jeffry Eugenides - one of the few hand-me-downs from my mother's book club that I wasn't embarrassed to read...
Claude the Dog: A Christmas Story, by Dick Gackenbach - I don't even like dogs, but this story makes me smile. It also makes me feel like a selfish bastard.
Pretty much everything by Dr. Seuss (especially the Sneetches), Eric Carle (especially The Very Hungry Caterpillar, of course, though I loved when Grace read me Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? over the phone recently), Steven King (especially Thinner), and Charles Bukowski (especially Post Office - which I stole from a library ages ago - perhaps this started my book karma?).
And, of course, the entire Harry Potter series. No shame there.

Not very sophisticated, I know. But no real guilty pleasures, either. My taste in books is, I see now, far better than my taste in television. Which isn't saying all that much.

houses i could buy

2008-03-27T23:35:00.000-07:00

Today I discovered there are actually houses in my neighborhood that Erik and I could afford to buy. By us, of course I mean Erik, cuz I have no job. And by afford, I mean, we could pay twice what we are paying now. This would be a stretch even if we ditched my favorite distractions - cable television, our cell phones, the internets, Netflix, Thai Boat, take out of any sort...

Anyway, here is a list of my observations on the houses in our price range, in the order we saw them:

Sold
Built for hobbits, strange slanted room, no bathroom?, big yard
Dump, deck collapsing, next to Coyote hill
Orange, no carpet, cracked cement floor, good windows, decent yard, nice layout
Tiny, built-in barking neighbor dogs, stained wood floors, disturbing light fixtures, broken window, nice jasmine plant
Connecty, weird layout - even for a duplex, vacant lot next door, fence falling over
Unsafe / condemned

We're going to look inside #4 tomorrow and we are actually sad to hear that #5 is already in escrow. #1 was the real blow. Erik had his eye on that house ages ago - before we were real grown ups who get a bank to loan us $300,000.

i forgot

2008-03-26T20:26:00.000-07:00

Is anyone surprised I ditched my husband for the harbor seal? Stello was worth every midnight minute of it... 6.3 kg of pure sweet suckling goodness. Now I'm a bit sleep deprived (as I also went in for the 7 am feeding), and the only thing standing between me and my bed is today's list.

Since it seems that I've left something off of every list I've published so far, I'm thinking that's my theme for tonight. Here, in the order posted, are the items I should've included the first time around:

In the future I will also be walking in the March of Dimes for preemies with Grace. Haven't sent out my beggar email yet, but my sister doesn't seem to think it is all about the fundraising.
I was also awake thanks to Monkey's stinking up the litter box with his powerful Monkey poo followed by incessant, obsessive compulsive scritch-scratching.
I apparently couldn't spell NaBloPoMo. This was one of many days I called it NaNoBloPoMo.
It was also fabulous that I got to see my husband all day.
Hm. Six fruits was it for my breakfast that day. I didn't even have OJ. But this morning I had craisins. That counts, right?
I also can't climb monkey bars, don't do my hair well, and should learn to decorate cakes.
I also did not buy a giant bean bag chair. Erik swears he wants one, but I think not as much as $300.
I also needed toilet paper, but I felt like you didn't need to know. Today I need eggs, and I think it was evil they were not on sale before Easter.
The uterus also thinks it is okay that I get foot rubs while refusing to give them.
I also need to finish the papier-mache cactus, to honor a cactus I lost to a termite tenting. I've been struggling with the concept of the needles, but I have a plan - toothpicks.
In other good news, Zoe got the same scholarship as her sister.
I failed to list my love of snap dragons, and I recently realized that I didn't know that the "little / big dipper" I thought I was seeing is actually Orion's belt. Also, I never knew that Nevada is very similar to the Spanish verb to snow - nevar, the past participle being, I'm pretty sure, nevado. (Interestingly, it seems the words for "suffering" and "patience" are quite similar. I think I like this language...)
I already mentioned the spiders keep haunting me. I just saw one by the light switch. Creepy.
I also couldn't post cuz I was uninspired. Obviously.
I also spend a lot of time on the imdb, working on my celebrity spotting and proving to Erik that I am right and he is wrong.
I also cheat on my diet. But you knew that.
Hm. I didn't leave out any secretly rescued animals that weekend, but I have had two ellies in between. (More on Brystyn and Hookis later...)
You should also have Reaper & Pushing Daisies on your Tivos. Now that the writers are back, they might actually have new episodes / be on at all.
I'm also excited that I live somewhere where I can watch the sunset while surfing the web.
14 - Sadie will be 14 in a couple weeks.
How did I forget, in my relaxation fantasy I would still have to find time for a nap.
As I mentioned in comments, I forgot my favorite new phrase "Suelte me!" or "Let me go!" And since I have noticed "Por el amor del dios..." or "For the love of God..." and "No puede ser." or "It can't be."
Um, I forgot everything that day. I forgot a list. I also forgot to stop drinking.
My brother and I also discussed the recipe for an Old Fashioned - my brother's drink of choice that night.
And yes, indeed, I also love beets, and snow peas, and snap peas, and green beans, acorn squash, and celery even...
And today, well, I'm sure I have forgotten something. Mostly I forgot to nap.

Whew. I feel much better.

i like peas

2008-03-25T16:06:00.000-07:00

I remember the first time I was suckered into this NaBloPoMo thing, one of the organizers suggested an entry could be as simple as "I like peas." Well, today I find myself in a hurry again (headed out of town last minute) and much as I do like peas, peas do not make a list. So here are some more veggies I also like:

Peas (which, funny enough, I once served to my niecelet Savannah for breakfast - weird, eh?)
Carrots (my favorite - but not when limp and buttery on a buffet line)
Asparagus (love the way it reminds you that you ate it)
Corn (especially on the cob)
Broccoli (not if overdone)
Cauliflower (with salsa or cheese sauce or in a curry)
Eggplant (sometimes, other times it is really gross)
Spaghetti squash (with spaghetti sauce or recently with a tapenade)
Zucchini (again, only if properly cooked - and often for breakfast)
Artichokes (yum, super yum, but so much work)

We'll see if I am back in town in time to post again in time. Just now I got a call inviting me to a midnight harbor seal feed which is tempting me to ditch my hubby and just stay home. Oh, those harbors are so darling... Decisions, decisions...

the agony of defeat

2008-03-24T16:49:00.001-07:00

So, as my loyal reader(s) already noticed, I failed NaBloPoMo again yesterday. For real. No possibility of fudging the clock. I guess you could say I took a holiday - being Easter and all. The truth is, it was an unscheduled interruption. I failed to plan my day properly and my evening got a little more festive than I expected. I was enjoying a jolly little drunk dial from my brother and the drunk and the dialing got a bit too mutual. Next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor, lovingly cared for by my enabling husband. I'm glad he thinks I'm cute when I'm obnoxious. I'm pretty sure if I was married to me I'd be divorced.

Anyway, my memory is a bit foggy on all the details of our extended conversation, but here are the things I can recall:

I'm pretty sure I successfully talked him into taking the LSAT in June. I told him I'd give him $500 if he can beat my score. I am banking on my mother's logic - that once I can get him to take the test his ego will drive him the rest of the way to law school. Evil, I know. See how I will be a good lawyer?
I also learned that his friend / rival from high school / college is currently attending law school at my old alma mater (wonder if he beat my score?) - which makes him less likely to want to follow the same path, but whatever.
And I learned that the Beatles once had a very disturbing album cover.
I'm also pretty sure I agreed to fly up there in July to attend a concert - Elvis Costello opening for the Police. Now that I think about it, I'm remembering that I was designated as our designated driver. Fair enough. The way I feel today, I can imagine I still won't feel like drinking in July.

Anyway, today is traditionally the holiday I celebrate - buying up all the half priced Easter candy for my nieces - but I think they've finally grown too old (and paranoid about their gorgeous teenaged figures) to make it worth my while. I could continue the tradition for my niecelets, but that would involve postage (which eats up most of the $ saved) and, besides, it's really not a healthy practice. So good for me, I guess, though I feel sort of let down. Of course, that could be just the hangover.

you don't say

2008-03-22T22:17:00.000-07:00

I'm really having list envy. When I started this month I had delusions of grandeur. I thought maybe I could produce something half worth reading, something like you'd find on McSweeney's, but as you've seen, I've pretty much just cobbled together some crap each night so I could feel somewhat accomplished and go to bed. Sorry about that. Not sorry enough to change it, I'm sure, but sorry all the same.

Had I not been entirely slothful today (including a delicious session of "family nap time" when I joined Erik and the two kitties in bed this afternoon), I might have been able to make another list of elephant seals I've rescued. But considering I didn't help with the two they got today and I only got two myself yesterday and I don't believe two items makes a list, I'm out of luck. Besides, I've been too lazy to upload my photos. So that's out.

I could continue to list the places where the spiders have been taunting me (my couch side table, the bathroom floor, just now on my mouse pad), but that would be super redundant. Worse than just phoning something in, I think. Though I felt like it was important to share that the spider karma continues, you know, just in case any of you might find yourself tempted to entertain your housebound kitty with murder for hire.

So the most entertaining thing I have come up with tonight are the top ten phrases I have learned from watching Spanish soap operas.

No te preocupas. (Don't you worry.)
Va a salir bien. (It will come out well.)
Estoy embarazada. (I'm pregnant.)
No puedo creer. (I can't believe it.)
Voy a matarle. (I'm going to kill him.)
Secuestraron a mi hermanita. (They kidnapped my little sister.)
Maldita! (damn)
Andrea está emborrachando. (Andrea is getting drunk.)
Andrea está en coma. (Andrea is in a coma.)
Roxana está loca. (Roxana is crazy.)

Sadly, I don't think my new found knowledge will serve me well in the real world. Though it is good news that I am now able to comfort my imaginary Spanish speaking friends, I hope not to have to discuss with them my murderous thoughts, my unexpected pregnancy, or the kidnapping of any of my relatives.

rushed

2008-03-21T23:00:00.000-07:00

This will be another phoned in NaBloPoMo entry, I think, as once again I feel rushed. As usual, I'm almost out of day. I have less than 90 minutes to work with at this point. Even if I had more time, quite frankly I'd rather spend it eating or sleeping or eating so I can go to sleep. I am depleted from my adventures chasing elephant seals. Today we got two new patients, did three tube feedings, attempted two subQs. It's the most action anyone's had for a week, but not so much that it should've been so hectic. The problem was we had to drive north three times (not just two) and the last time we were racing daylight. I think what I feel is a hurry hangover - I want to slow down, I am allowed to slow down, and yet I just feel kinda grumpy and wound.

So what would be a good list then, eh? Perhaps a relaxation fantasy. I would like to:

Wake up naturally - no hungry cats, no telephone calls, certainly no alarm clocks...
Then get a massage - 90 minutes at least. I find that an hour is simply not enough. It takes half that time for me to really let go and enjoy. Sadly, I need to find a masseuse that I love. I've had some that get me, but they've all been random city folks. No one local has really found a way to hit my spot.
Afterwards I'd rotate through my favorites - sauna, steam room, hot tub, pool. I'm imagining a swanky hotel with very few guests (as opposed to gym or club) so I don't have to be courteous to others. The Kabuki Hot Springs in San Francisco would be perfect - if I had the place to myself. Some may disagree, but I have found there is a limit to how many naked women should be in one room at any given time.
Since I'm in a hotel, apparently, definitely room service - a nice butter leaf salad, yummy rolls, a bottle of wine, and something chocolaty for dessert. Erik will order a burger and I will eat most of his fries.
Hopefully we have a view so I can savor the sunset - though tonight the setting sun was my enemy, the moon rise was astounding.
After sunset, maybe a little TV? - if I'm in a hotel with room service, apparently I am out of town (guess that explains why the kitties didn't wake me up, eh?) so I am imagining I am free of Tivo (LOVE my Tivo as you know, but sometimes I feel pressured - like now, I am far behind on my Spanish soap operas and Tivo likes to remind me with those pesky exclamation points...). With limited channels maybe we'd catch a movie? Then early to bed for sure.

Sigh. I feel better already. But I am still hungry. And sleepy. And on call for another hour still. I'd best get myself fed and not tempt the fates... They love to mess with me.

by the numbers

2008-03-20T22:13:00.000-07:00

Maybe by the end of this month I will actually have come up with a theme for my list well before the list is due. As it is, I have less than two hours left to post and thus you are subject to my whim. Tonight's entry can only loosely be considered a list, I think. It's more like a game of word association - which, by the way, I've just discovered, you can play on line. As if I needed another way to waste away my days in front of the computer screen... Anyway, here goes:

Love of my life - Erik, of course
Cats I've had trapped in neighbor's garages - Fabe and now OC
Boxes that Monkey has peed in lately - no more boxes for Monkey
Pillows on my bed - sadly, I don't really love any of them
Letters in my first name - proof I am not a Jennifer
Fingers on Monkey's front paw - but you knew that already
New deadly sins - it looks like I'm guilty of at least 3 of them so far...
8. 8? I forget was 8 was for - did you recognize the Violent Femmes reference? "Kiss Off" was a major part of the soundtrack to the best of my adolescence...
The pathetically low number of pounds I have shed this year - but at least I can wear my ring again
Commandments - jeez, who knew I was this Catholic? Since I know you are wondering, depending on your interpretation, I may have broken as few as four or as many as eight...
More lists left this month - also my favorite number, since I was born on the 11th.
Eggs in a dozen - funny story about eggs. Tonight I found myself in line behind a guy at the grocery store who was buying five dozen eggs. Though he looked a bit old for mischief, I couldn't resist asking if he was going to eat all those eggs or if they were for throwing at something. He played along at first but soon reminded me this Sunday is Easter. Forgetting Easter - one more reason I am surely going to hell...
Triskaidekaphobia - a word I once tried to play in Hangman during elementary school. In hindsight, I'm certain my stumped colleagues were right to chastise me for using a word I didn't truly know myself, as I just now had to look up the spelling...

Whew. Getting this in just under the wire... I've never really claimed time management was my strongest suit.

i'm so excited

2008-03-19T17:50:00.000-07:00

Those who know me well would not be the least bit surprised to hear I often ride the roller coaster of anxiety. Even when all is right in my world, I tend to manufacture things to fret about. (Usually I decide the kitties look sick. Thank goodness I am not a parent as I've always figured I would raise a hypochondriac scarred by Munchausen Syndrome by proxy....) I can't seem to help myself, though I've tried to learn from this pearl of wisdom (which I attribute to Oprah, who was quoting, apparently, William Ralph Inge) - "Worry is interest paid on trouble before it comes due."

Lately my anxiety level has been fairly low. I have been allowing myself to relax, enjoying the calm before the law school storm. I have been trying to stay out of trouble, thus at this very moment I am ditching yet another staff meeting with my volunteer group where I tend to get myself spun up over petty stuff. In fact, I've been in such a good place recently that I even tried facing some of my fears by walking across the Golden Gate bridge. (Sadly, anxiety won as repeated brushes with imaginary death forced me to turn around at the first tower. Still, I can say I have walked on the bridge, just not across it... and it will be there next time I am feeling brave...)

Over the past 24 hours, however, it seemed anxiety was mounting. But now, as I watch the sun settle slowly into the ocean, I celebrate that so many of my concerns have been resolved. Here are the top three reasons I am currently so excited:

The worry cycle all started shortly after midnight, when I went canvassing the neighborhood looking for my orange cat, OC. He'd missed lunch (not really his style since the jihad died with Blackers) and I hadn't thought much of it till he missed dinner too. My heart raced and my spirits fell as I called his name out into the quiet of the foggy night. Usually he finds me quickly. Something was wrong. Thirty minutes later I came home, defeated, hoping to find him inside. He wasn't. So I called over the back fence one last time and finally he answered back. He sounded a bit panicked. It didn't take long to realize he was trapped in the neighbor's shed. Knowing she is a cat lover, I figured she wouldn't mind that I went trespassing to free him. He could've taken the shortcut home (over the fence) but he followed me the long way (around the corner), thanking me for coming to his rescue.
Then this morning I woke to an emergency call from my best friend who was having a bit of a meltdown. She's been nursing a pretty serious plane phobia since before 9/11 (when she lost 4 colleagues in the towers) and though she'd told her employers before they hired her that she doesn't fly, she recently found herself scheduled to speak at a symposium in North Carolina. We'd made plans to weather the worry together (with Ativan and / or alcohol), she was no longer convinced she could board the plane. She hadn't slept for days. Today it was my job to convince her that it was okay to back out. In fact, it was better for the company. And so she summoned the courage to talk to her boss and now she is free. She's hard on herself. She's not particularly proud of her choice and she doesn't completely buy my logic that it is more than fine. But she is done with the worry. Like me and the bridge, she thought she was ready to face her fears. We both turned around. And it's okay.
Then this afternoon, while savoring a particularly enjoyable entry from my blogging buddy Merry ME (to whom I wish the happiest of birthdays), I finally received an email I've been anticipating for over a month. It was my TA confirming that he'd be happy to write me a letter of recommendation for law school. Bless his heart. I had pretty much sour graped myself to death, arguing that his letter would have been at best generic, and that generic letters are worse than no letters at all. I scolded myself for even thinking he'd remember me. I told myself I didn't deserve his time. I told myself that academic letters aren't expected of non-traditional applicants such as myself. But inside I worried. I knew that my stats are pretty darned great, but they aren't perfect. They are just enough to get me on the cusp of some really good schools. I knew that my boss would write me a decent letter (especially as we will likely collaborate), but my work history is far from stellar. I knew that the letter from my volunteer friend would also be strong, but really, what have I done lately but cause trouble and ditch meetings? I needed this letter, but I was too worried to admit I wanted it.

So hooray. I can hardly contain myself. My kitties aren't sick. My friend's not scared. And my TA does remember me. To quote a really dorky 80's song, "My future's so bright, I gotta wear shades."

five things on my tivo that should be on yours

2008-03-18T20:35:00.000-07:00

So I recently learned that it was not Monkey who was prank calling Santa Barbara. It was my Tivo (something about Vonage and VOIP...) So this got me thinking about my Tivo and how I love it, even if it does make prank phone calls on occasion. So in honor of this great love, here is a list of season passes I have that I think everyone should have:

Breaking Bad - So good it surely won't be on long. Shows I love this much never last. They had a very short season (now in rerun) which is another bad sign, but I can hope for the best.
Dexter - I was late in the game discovering it (caught it on Netflix), but I love, love, love it My only concern is that it reminds Erik how much he thinks he wants to live in Miami. It's more than a bit graphic, sure, and definitely twisted, so I was surprised to see regular cable picking it up, but then I realized I've certainly seen more gore on the evening news - without the clever dialog and plot lines.
Nip/Tuck - Erik won't watch it with me cuz he says it is still technically a hospital show (and he gets enough hospital at work), but it is really part soap opera part soft porn. I can't tell you how often I have seen Julian McMahon's butt. This show has definitely jumped the shark a number of times, but that is part of its charm, I think.
Ninja Warrior - I must confess, it gets old and is on often in rerun, so we recently deleted it from our season pass list, but now I am bummed because I haven't seen the new obstacle course and it is apparently defeating everyone. Erik and I enjoy it so much we've even talked about traveling to Japan to watch the Sasuke competition live...
Monk & Psych - I have them share a spot as they are pretty much the same show, only different. A nice way to cleanse the mental palate before the weekend.

Of course I did not include all the classics - Survivor, Lost, 24, Amazing Race (my idea of hell on earth, but still a hoot to watch), Grey's Anatomy - cuz, well, you probly already have them on your Tivo, right?

irish eyes

2008-03-17T19:00:00.000-07:00

It seems that all the world is a little bit Irish on St. Patrick's Day. By blood I know I have a legitimate 25% claim, but if Irish-ness was measured in freckles, or affection for alcohol, perhaps, I'm certain I'd score much higher. Anyway, I know I should have some clever Irish theme in honor of the holiday, but I'm feeling a bit wed to this whole list idea. Unfortunately, I only really have two Irish-ish tales (both brief and not all that interesting) and I'm pretty certain two items do not make a list. Still, I hate it when people hint at stories and fail to tell them, so I guess I ought to share them all the same...

The first is when I felt my most Irish. Many of my aunts and uncles were out visiting (to attend my sister's wedding - which I often cynically refer to as the pre-divorce party) and one evening a couple of my uncles broke out into song. Their Irish tunes - some traditional, some made up - were delightful and spirited, and the feeling of joy and lightness was contagious. Granted, my uncles are actually much more Irish than I am (McGowan, O'Malley...) and they married into the family, but still... Anyway, I think perhaps I enjoy this memory so much especially as it contrasts with a distinctly less pleasant Irish-ish memory from the same period. This more haunting memory involves waking up (always early) to same darned cd (River Dance) every fricking morning (until we hid it). My Dad doesn't recall his River Dance period, but I had always interpreted it to be his own pathetic attempt to establish his own Irish-ness. Now that I have seen how my parents relate to technology, however, I believe it may just honestly be that he had no idea how to change the disks in the player...

Anyway, my second Irish tale is when I felt my least Irish. This was when I lived in Santa Cruz and had just moved into the best (and worst) house ever. There we had a very Irish neighbor - red hair, Gaelic accent, proper posture, great garden... he even had an Irish setter - and one day I made him a strawberry pie as a gesture of friendship. He accepted my pie fairly graciously but when I tried to claim a shared heritage he asked my name. The conversation ended shortly thereafter when I told him I was a Thomas. "Thomas?" he replied dismissively, "That's Welsh." Which I guess I should've know (Thomas' English Muffins and all) but it hadn't dawned on me to tell him my grandmother was a Bruton...

Anyhow, since I've got to satisfy the list theme, here are the four animals I've rescued over the last two weekends.

1. First, the Saturday before last, we rescued Valet, a skinny little elephant seal pup with an eye injury. He was at the bottom of the stairs of a very busy hotel and we had to utilize the valet parking to get anywhere close to him. You can see the scratch across his eye in this photo. The vets say it is old and he's likely lost the sight permanently, but luckily we've released a number of one eyed seals. Still, sure did look like it hurt.

2. The next day we picked up Hangemhi, another ellie named in honor of a team member's pending jury duty. Hangemhi seemed rather ordinary until I noticed his bloody broken tooth. You can see the few droplets of blood beneath his head here. Later it turned to blood and pus and was also coming out of his nose. We gave him some antibiotic and I assume he is okay as he is still on the list of current patients and hasn't made the radar of the head veterinarian.

3. Then, of course, there was yesterday. We picked up yet another ellie off dog beach. We named him Roo, in honor of our Australian volunteer who had her first rescue (and transport) that day. Roo seems pretty darned fine (in fact, he was juicy enough to be snotty, as you can plainly see) but he was seriously underweight and in a bad location. Definitely a good pick up.

4. And then, as you've already heard, I got to visit with Repo after sunset last night. My pictures aren't great, this is the only one remotely usable, but then I shouldn't have been taking any at all. This was taken outside of a friend's house. We convinced him to come along for the drive as the tide was high and we didn't want to get stuck in the river. Turns out I probly could've handled the terrain, but it was nice to see my friend anyway.

So I guess that's it for now. Can't believe this month is still only half over. I have no idea what tomorrow's list will be but I guess the surprise is half the fun?

foiled again

2008-03-16T23:59:00.000-07:00

So only super obsessed readers may have noticed that I have once again failed NaBloPoMo. Others will be fooled by the fact that I have fudged the time stamp to make it look like I posted on time. Few will be surprised that I cheated, for those who know me know that I have cheated on:

Spelling tests (looking on a friend's paper)
Calculus tests (sharing answers with a friend)
Monopoly (I was banker and gave myself interest free loans so I could stay in the game)

I have never cheated on:

My husband
My taxes
Yahtzee (though sometimes I am tempted)

Anyway, at least tonight I have a good excuse for my tardiness. I just spent the last 4 and a half hours relocating an otter. Not just any otter, either, but Repo, the otter I could have rescued as a pup many years back, but I was out of town that weekend. He came from a beach right in my neighborhood but he was picked up illegally by members of the public and my friends repossessed him from their garage. Thus, the name, Repo.

So Repo is special as he was the last otter pup rehabbed by the Marine Mammal Center (now all otters go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium). Apparently we didn't do the best job keeping him from habituating to humans. Repo is now a serial restrander - showing up on piers, in kayaks, and on very populated beaches. In fact, he was picked up in the very same spot just a week ago. Though I know it's not what an otter should do, I was happy to get to see him again. And I was happy the Aquarium didn't want us to bring him in and happier still they let us relocate him rather than leave him be with the drunken spring breakers around.

Anyway, now I'm due a shower - I'm cold to my core and I am almost certainly tainted with otter poop...

webthings i love

2008-03-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

I spent most of today in a meeting and then on the road home from San Francisco. Since I knew I'd be away, I prepared this bit of insight into the sites I visit when I ought to be blogging. Inspiration or procrastination, you decide:

Checking up on passiveaggressivenotes.com. This one is my favorite.
Passive Aggressive Notes led me to a million other fun places, including foundmagazine.com
where this one made me cry and this one made me laugh.
I forget to check Postsecret on a weekly basis and I know I am missing out.
But I keep a watchful eye on Bent Objects because he's just great.
and the more twisted Really Bent Objects where I find this one naughtiest.
I found him through the Sneeze, where you must read Steve, Don't Eat It.
At times I obsess on the TLS forums. The site is a great resource for my law school prep, but the forums are as addictive as VH1.
At least they have helped wean me off my other addiction, Yahoo's Alchemy. I think you can only be free of this game when you get someone else hooked. I shared it with my brother, Kevin.
Of course I check a number of other blogs regularly including Random Thoughts, Stefanie Says, Dooce, and She Walks. All of these ladies are in my life (real or imaginary) thanks to my dear pal Wendy, who should keep a blog herself, I'm betting, cuz she's really quite charming and insightful.
And I've been learning Spanish for free on LiveMocha where you can hear my terrible accent here. (Maybe, I'm not sure the link / audio works - I have trouble at home... this could be a blessing...)

Tomorrow I am on the seal schedule and today they were busy, so perhaps tomorrow's list will include my rescues for the last two weekends...

reasons i can't post right now

2008-03-14T11:56:00.000-07:00

I really can't post right now. At least not anything interesting. Here's why:

I'm going to a meeting in Sausalito tomorrow and I've got to hit the road right now to get through San Jose and San Francisco before traffic.
I've got to play with Monkey before he goes. This will be his first truly abandoned overnight. He will be lonely. I will feel guilty.
I'm also in a hurry cuz if I get to SF early enough and fresh enough I plan to walk across the Golden Gate bridge. Not sure why I want to - tall, scary, cold - but I do. And this is one of the few times I can bring Erik with me to protect me.

Something more interesting tomorrow, I promise...

spider karma

2008-03-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

Ever since I helped Monkey kill that spider last month, it seems I have been suffering arachnid revenge. At first I thought it was just a matter of perception (the noticing all the red lights when you are late to work theory...). Then I thought maybe it is just spider season (could still be, in fact). But now things have seriously escalated. Here are the disturbing places I have encountered spiders in the last few days:

On the couch, on my favorite green and white blanket (a wedding gift from my Aunt Kathy). This spider was quick enough to disappear before Erik could escort him outside so the blanket remains under quarantine.
On the couch, again, on my other blanket (the yellow quilt my mom made ages ago) - but this time I was sitting under said blanket. I only noticed as I felt him scurrying across my arm. Before I knew it, he had crossed my lap. To my dismay he disappeared into the couch cushions. What a way to ruin a very rare OC snuggle.
Finally, just moments ago, I ran across another spider in the kitchen, on my Agave Nectar. Again he was also too quick for Erik to capture. And unlike most spiders, who head for the darkness, he is now guarding the microwave, rendering it and the nearby toaster totally useless.

Guess it's time for bed. Think I'll sleep with the lights on.

i never knew

2008-03-12T20:48:00.000-07:00

What is it that they say? You don't know what you don't know? Well, recently I have been learning all kinds of things I never knew:

I accept that my floral knowledge is, shall we say, limited. I'll always adore my childhood favorites - Daisies (for Daisy Chains), Dandelions (for wishes), Buttercups (for flirting) and Johnny Jump Ups (my favorite). As an adult I grew to love Hyacinth (great fragrance), Roses (of course), and various Orchids (mainly for killing). But never did I think much of those ubiquitous yellow flowers that pop up everywhere this time of year. I guess I just figured they were weeds. Well, I have recently learned they are called Sour Grass. As you may have surmised, the stems are edible and sour. Erik says they taste like dog pee. Surprisingly, he has yet to convince me to try one.
I also accept that I know next to nothing astronomical. I did take Astronomy in college (to satisfy a science requirement without taking a lab) - but that was all math and it was many many moons ago. Still, I was shocked to learn that I have long mistaken the Little Dipper for the Big Dipper, meaning, I suppose, that I have never really seen the Big Dipper at all. Tonight I couldn't find the tiny cluster of stars I have always called the Little Dipper, but I have learned that I am not the only one to find them dipper-like. My error is apparently common enough to inspire this astronomy.com forum post, titled "Will Make You Laugh." For those who are curious, here's a great guide to the real deal. Trouble is, I was out there gazing tonight and I think my new Little Dipper was oriented the other way...
Finally, it is no surprise that my geographical skills are weak. Still, I always sort of assumed Death Valley was in Nevada because, well, Nevada is the hot state, right? Sad, I know. Anyway, I'm learning about Death Valley as Erik is planning a trip there. I believe it is a trip I will skip, cuz much as I dig a good swimming pool and those mysterious rocks of the Racetrack Playa, lately I have just not been drawn to the heat. This surprises me as I have always been cold to the bone and suddenly I'm just not. I don't know if I am packing around too much personal insulation or if it's a change in my hormones or what, but it makes me nervous about Erik's desire to live in Miami after law school...

Anyway, I am confident that there are a ton of other things I don't know but for now I feel my work here is done...

a bit of good news

2008-03-11T22:28:00.001-07:00

Seems like I am always bitching about something, so today I have for you good news:

My niece, Sadie, was accepted to her first choice high school today. (Very competitive, great Ivy League placement, not far from home, looks like a ski lodge - they even serve free hot chocolate and allow their students to nap - we know cuz her sister Zoe already goes there...) Not only did they accept my dear Sadie, but she scored a generous scholarship, too. I was confident she'd get in all along, but it sure is nice to know I was right.
Researchers saw one of my favorite harbor seals from last year, Luka, chilling out on the Farallon islands. They even got a picture and she looks happy, fat and sassy. We don't usually get confirmation that our rescues survive the season (the harbors are wearing numbered hats as part of a study - much easier to read than a flipper tag) so I'm soaking up the warm and fuzzy feeling of a job well done.
I also knocked a few things off yesterday's to do list. I put away the laundry, emailed my TA, and caught up on some of my on line Spanish lessons.

I'm sure there are other great things going on in the world, but in my slothful corner of the universe, these are the things that made me smile today.

unfinished business

2008-03-10T20:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight I finished my newly started knitting project. Hooray. I should be happier, especially since I had a serious mishap and was forced to start over half way through. (To those who can drink and knit, I salute you... I do not share your skills... At least I confirmed that I can cast on without my mom around...) But instead of celebrating my victory, I find myself thinking about all the other unfinished business in my life. Including:

I need to find a new cat sitter. Mine quit at Christmas time and I haven't replaced her since OC's been so fragile. I'm actually going out of town this weekend and could even take Erik with me, but I haven't bothered to find someone else I can trust with my house keys and my kitties. Lazy? Paranoid? Just in denial? Afraid to leave OC? A mix of all four, I suspect.
I need to finish or discard the papier-mache penguin. He's been in my life for a decade now and he still has no eyeballs. I almost parted with him during the purge but the thoughts of dismantling him or tossing him away whole were both too disturbing to bear. Which means, I think, I should finish him.
For that matter, I should paint the papier-mache cat. I could never finish it before because I started it for Wendy. Now that I traded her for a nifty purple scarf, I feel I can finally paint him black (like my lost cats) instead of white (like hers).
And I really need to finish the papier-mache Zoe doll I started when she was two. Yeah, that was nearly 14 years ago. I am ready to let go of all the overly ambitious animatronics I had had planned, but I really need to at least assemble the limbs.
Beyond arts and crafts, I need to send a follow up email to my former TA. I sent him a package by snail mail a few weeks back soliciting a letter of recommendation for law school. I failed to include any sort of reply postcard (it seemed very fourth grade at the time - Do you like me? __ Yes __ No __ Maybe) and I didn't request any sort of confirmation receipt from the post office. So now I obsess on whether he just doesn't want to write me a letter (no big deal since he hardly knew me at the time so the letter will be generic at best) or my package got caught up in his office's version of a spam filter. Why am I afraid to email, then? I guess cuz I hate asking for favors. And I hate even more being rejected. Still, this is a must do. Just for peace of mind.
I also need to finish the laundry. As if laundry can ever really be finished. I feel so hypocritical, bitching as I did about my husband's jacket robbing me of my sense of completion. Everything is clean, and everything's dry. Only one load remains to be folded. But nothing at all is put away. Shameful.
I need to download my elephant seal pictures so I can tell you all about Valet and Hangemhi. And, for that matter, I ought to follow up with vet staff to see how they are doing. They've been on my mind.
I need to work on my Spanish. Beyond just watching my Spanish soap, that is. LiveMocha is very insistent that I am behind in my lessons (still afraid to do the speaking ones) and I know I could be making serious headway. One positive sign - I've begun to dream in Spanish. Or rather, I've had Spanish speakers making guest appearances. I have noticed, however, that in my dreams their Spanish is horrible. So again, I need to finish studying.
I also need to burn my Rocket Spanish on to disk(s). I don't trust my hard drive. It hasn't been clicking for a while, but it is very tired. I would hate to have to download all those lessons again...
I should also be working on my optional essays for law schools. Application season isn't until August, but how relaxing would it be to be entirely prepared?
For that matter, I should figure out how to get a Dean's Certification from my Registrar. I know I'll need one for at least one application.
I should order OC more Lactulose from the vet. It usually takes a few days to get it in and I don't know why I wait until I am nearly out to re-up. I think I secretly believe it is not a vital part of his therapy, but even if it isn't the key, I am too superstitious to change a thing. We're approaching six months here, people.
I need to stretch. And walk. And floss. And eat more vegetables. And drink more water. And go to bed earlier. You know, I need to get on with the business of being a better me.

I'm sure there's more unfinished business in my life but my brain feels lighter now. At least now I have finished one thing. I finished blogging for today.

nine lies my uterus tells me

2008-03-09T22:18:00.000-07:00

Though I thought yesterday's grocery list was scraping the bottom of the inspirational barrel, I was pleased to learn it was enjoyable to at least one loyal reader. And, indeed, I found it handy as I printed it out and made it to the store - a virtual miracle given the fact that I've been busy with elephant seals this weekend. (More on them later - I don't feel like Photoshopping their pictures just now and I have less than two hours remaining to come up with something to honor my Nanoblopomo obligations...)

Anyway, I thought this evening perhaps I would try for something a tad more entertaining. Tonight I will share with you a number of wholly irrational thoughts I revisit often. Although I know they are nuts, I am powerless against them. I have found it impossible to purge them from my mental playlist. Since they seem to be more persuasive at certain times of the month, I like to think of them as lies my uterus tells me.

My uterus says that my husband puts his ugly tan plaid jacket in the laundry hamper just to aggravate me. It seems that he waits until the basket is perfectly full to discard this particularly oversized piece of clothing, thus ensuring I cannot wash all the clothes in one load. My uterus claims that this is a plot of his to squash that satisfying feeling of having all the laundry done at once. In truth, I know he puts the jacket in the laundry because it is dirty.
My uterus says that I should eat the chocolate ice cream because I deserve it. When my mind protests, calculating the number of points in real ice cream, my uterus claims that I actually like being fat because then I get to have big boobs. My uterus fails to remind me that my boobs are actually also quite cute when they are small and perky, because my uterus simply likes chocolate ice cream. My uterus also strongly believes my husband when he says he likes me at every size. My uterus is the only part of my body that believes this. The rest of me knows my husband is too smart and too sweet to tell the truth.
My uterus is convinced that it is okay to go out in public while wearing Happy Bunny pajama pants. I'm actually often inclined to agree, but I know that Oprah Winfrey would call me a "shlumpadinka."
My uterus thinks the cats can sense REM sleep and they dedicate their lives to disturbing it. Again, I tend to agree with the uterus on this one.
My uterus thinks that the cooking of any meal which does not involve either the freezer or the microwave is insanity. The uterus prefers take out.
Along the same line, the uterus feels strongly that the family that operates Thai Boat should never ever be allowed to go on vacation. They should certainly never be allowed to take an entire month off to go to, oh, I don't know, Thailand or someplace far away like that. The uterus feels that at the very least Thai Boat should have to notify its loyal customers in advance to warn them of the pending shortage of this very addictive food. (The uterus would not be at all surprised to learn that their recipes include some sort of narcotic...) The uterus also believes that their take out menu should be a legally binding document and the uterus would like to force them to adhere to the part that reads, "Open 7 Days" which is in direct conflict with the part that says, "closed Wednesdays." At the very least the uterus thinks the matter should go to an arbitrator.
The uterus thinks the world revolves around me. This is not an altogether unpleasant thought (it certainly justifies much selfishness), but it comes with an unpleasant side effect. The uterus thinks that all the world recalls each and every horrible thing I've ever done or said. My uterus is fond of reminding of what a dumbass I have been.
My uterus thinks I should have a cocktail. It never thinks I will have a hangover. And when I do wake up feeling poorly, the uterus always blames me. The uterus claims it never said I should have the second, third or fourth cocktail, only the first. I suppose my uterus has a point there, but still.
My uterus has horrible taste in TV but prefers to think of our time spent in front of the tube as hours spent partaking in pop culture. Even the uterus knows this is a lie. The uterus and I agree that it is sweet and adorable of Erik to let us have the remote control even though we use it to watch trash.

On that note, I guess I am off to enjoy my Thai Boat with some trash TV and perhaps a cocktail. Hopefully I can at least resist the ice cream...

things i need at the grocery store

2008-03-08T19:16:00.000-08:00

What list is more basic than the grocery list? Since I don't have anything embarrassing on the list just now, and I don't have anything more inspired on my mind, here's my list now:

Milk - non fat and whole (Erik won't drink anything but whole)
Tortillas - flour for sure, maybe corn?
Oatmeal - at least I've been good at breakfast
Tomatoes
Carrots
Asparagus (cuz it's in season - zucchini if it was not)
Onions
Water (I hate buying water but our tap water is gross)
Ready to Eat Bacon - Erik's new favorite
Bread? (mine is on the verge of molding, Erik needs some sort of white bread, he looks like he likes white bread...)
Sugar? (once I feed the hummingbirds again I will be low)
Yogurt? (if it is on sale - I don't always eat it. Though I used to be a yogurt junkie, I tend to forget about the ones I buy. I think they suffer from poor product placement - on the bottom shelf of the fridge. Total tangent? I remember my mom even had a yogurt maker... which is gross, if you think about it.)
Butter? Could go either way but if Erik gets on a grilled cheese kick my supply could be gone.
Diet soda of some sort. Not the Diet Coke junkie my sister is, but they may be how I am leaning. I've been drinking Diet Sunkist of all things which is strange as I usually hate the artificial orange flavor (reminds me of baby aspirin).
Chili? I suspect Erik has eaten all of his, but he can always live off beans...
Mint Chip Ice Cream - Erik's ultimate staple. He's always sad when Breyer's is on sale cuz he strongly prefers Dryer's but I can't bring myself to pay full price....
Fruit Cocktail
Raspberry Jello - Erik claims he's making a Jello mold...
Peaches and Oranges - in plastic jars, not cans (I got Erik hooked on the good stuff)
Cinnamon Graham Crackers - again for Erik...
Sliced Salami
Smoked Gouda
Sour Cream

Ok, now I have to go feed an elephant seal (and again in the morning after daylight savings begins...), so the shopping will have to wait.

five things i did not buy on the internet

2008-03-07T19:42:00.000-08:00

This morning I received another early phone call. I was afraid at first that it would be Monkey's friend again (who, I have noticed, was amongst my missed calls a couple days ago so I wonder if he is still receiving calls?) but then I heard the voice of my credit card company. They wanted to know if I had recently spent $1700 on D-Link.com. Indeed, I had not. Perhaps something about my purchasing history (involving mainly pet food stores and Wal-mart) clued them in to the fact that I am not very techie?

Anyway, you would think if the folks who are trying to steal my credit are techie enough to need $1700 of stuff on D-Link they would be techie enough not to get caught. On the other hand, Cecil Ericson, the guy who is trying to steal my brother's identity, also has a flaw in his system. He's apparently overweight (as he used Kevin's card to order Nutrisystem) and he may be disappointed to learn that his the food was recently delivered to Kevin's address.

Anyway, since March is all about the lists, today I list the five things I did not buy on the internet:

This cat butt wallet that was in stock when I bookmarked it but is sadly out of stock now... I wasn't sure if I was getting it for myself or my sister (who always buys me fun wallets) so I hedged. Alas, I guess the internet has made the decision for me.
A pepper mill that is taller and easier to fill than the two I currently own. I figure I will get one eventually, just not today. (I've had fantasies of drunkenly swiping one from a restaurant, but now that I've been shopping around I see the restaurant sized ones cost big bucks so I might get in some real trouble...)
This bear shaped ottoman, though I am still seriously considering it. Erik lost his ottoman to OC's leakage many many moons ago (now OC enjoys it in the garden), and it way past time to replace it. There are many ottomans which are cheaper and / or more functional than a grizzly bear, but seriously, none are cuter. And he comes with free shipping...

An electric tandem bicycle on Craigslist. Erik and I have been considering a tandem bike for a while but due to our differing heights, it seems unlikely we'll ever enjoy a bicycle built for two. Anyway, I love how this listing tells you if you don't want to pedal then get a motorcycle...
And, of course, $1700 of merchandise on D-Link.com.

Anyway, I guess in theory this list is endless. Since I bought nothing at all on the internet today, all things that are available should be listed. But who's got time for that?

As for now, I am wondering if I regret not buying Thai Boat for dinner this evening. Erik is claiming the window for ordering closed when the sun went down, but then I am very good about reminding him that he promised to fetch in his wedding vows.

things i can't, shouldn't, and might someday do

2008-03-06T19:39:00.000-08:00

Today I am feeling a bit blue. Perhaps it is because my folks are gone (back to my regular life - no more Scrabble, no more eating out). Perhaps it is because I haven't had a good long walk in a couple days (need to keep those endorphins coming but once I lose momentum...). Perhaps it is because those darned kitties woke me up every two hours just like clockwork last night (but then what else is new?).

More likely I think I am feeling down because I received an unexpectedly high bill in the mail which, really, doesn't affect me so much as Erik anyway. And I know I should just be grateful that we have the money to pay since we just got our tax returns back. But I had already counted those taxes before they hatched so I am feeling like there's a big old hole in our get out of debt plan. Again. Which, ironically, makes me want to go out to eat.

In the spirit of feeling blue (esp. as I just discovered my usual favorite take out place is unexpectedly closed), today's lists are all about things I could do better, if at all...

Here's are things I can't do, but wish I could:

hula hoop - I even bought a hoop recently (it's purple and it lights up) to encourage myself but if I couldn't do it when I was young, I'm not sure what makes me think I'll catch on now
cartwheel - this is something I could do when I was young. Now I think I am off balance (too much lower body weight) and scared.
yo yo - yeah, manual dexterity, not my thing

Things I do, but not well:

sweep - it's always been challenging for me. Ever since my first job (McDonald's), I found that the physics of the broom escapes me.
speak Spanish - though I have optimistically included Spanish on my law school resume, my "friends" on LiveMocha might advise me to exclude it. They recently gave my writing assignments 2 out of 5 stars. But I should have known better than to conjugate gustar so sloppily. At least my Spanish soaps are helping. Now if only I have the occasion to tell someone not to worry (no te preocupas) or express my disbelief (no puedo creer), I will be all set.
knit - I am half way through my mystery project but as usual my stitch count has varied dramatically. Hooray for forgiving yarns. Will I ever be ready to knit something that has an actual pattern?

And things I plan on learning, if only in the most basic fashion:

ballroom dancing - maybe just the salsa. And for the record, I thought ballroom dancing was groovy before Dancing with the Stars...
bee keeping - if the rain continues, that is. Otherwise the honey guys won't need my help.
American Sign Language - at least as much as I can pick up from the kid's show Signing Time.

six yummy fruits in my breakfast

2008-03-05T18:38:00.001-08:00

I think the absolute best part of my honeymoon four years ago was the fabulous selection of fruits available for breakfast each morning. I was reminded of this Mexican bonanza today when Erik served me:

Watermelon (as an appetizer), followed by French Toast covered with
Nectarines
Bananas
Kiwi
Blueberries
and Mangos

And of course I can never eat Mangos without thinking of this great short film, Bobby Loves Mangos, so I have been whistling the theme song all day.

Would write longer, but Monkey thinks it is time to play.

five fabulous things that happened today

2008-03-04T16:59:00.000-08:00

Today was full of sunshine and laughter and a few extraordinarily pleasant happenstances including the following:

My mom started my newest (2nd ever) knitting project for me. I'm certain I could cast on if my life depended upon it (provided I had my instruction book handy), but somehow it seems that something knitted is even more especially special if my mom has a hand in it.
I found the bestest piece of sea glass ever. Well, probly the bestest. I do still love the pink piece I found on Hearst State Beach by the San Simeon Pier. And I have only found two pieces of red ever and only one piece of yellow, so I can't turn my nose up at those either. But today? Today I found an entire jug handle and neck. At first glance it looked like your average brown piece (inch long, half inch wide) but when I lifted it from the sand, out came this entire apparatus. I know, some think it is trash. I think it is beautiful.
My dad suffered revenge. Though Erik didn't mean to torture him by driving way too fast and way too far on the winding old highway one, he did confess to catching on to his discomfort at least a mile before my dad expressed his car sickness. Oh how Mom and I chuckled hearing Dad detail the adventure. Like most of Dad's classic stories, it involved many hand gestures, whistles, and high pitched noises. He insists Erik could have a second career as a race car driver. He recalls being on 16 miles of twisty road and finally having to speak up when the sign said 11 miles of turns remained. To make things worse, their final destination (a mountain hike) was unavailable (road closed) so they went to an alternate location (Erik's secret swimming hole) where Dad was so unsettled he didn't even want a beer. And the water there was cold. So cold. He could only sometimes put his feet in. Dad made us both feel the cold wet cuffs of his jeans. But the best part? Erik shared with me a specific quote, sure to become an "old tape," which happened after Erik told Dad he didn't think he got car sick (since he always subjected his family to the scenic route...) and Dad replied, "I think it might be different if you're not the driver." Priceless.
O.C. got a new plant for his garden. It is cat mint, not cat nip, but he appears to enjoy it at least as much. When I shared it with him, he rubbed his face all around it, ate the tenderest, youngest leaves, rolled around a bit, hugging the pot, and gave me a big old bump on the forehead with his gigantic pumpkin head to tell me thank you. Even now he is hanging out with me by the computer (not his usual routine). I am pretty sure we are in love.
My sister agreed that the San Francisco portion of her pending visit might be superfluous. I was starting to dread the hours and dollars spent in the big city but I thought it would be much more difficult to convince her just to come to my quiet beach town and enjoy life. What a relief.

So life is good, eh?

ten things I couldn't do today

2008-03-03T21:10:00.000-08:00

So here are ten things I couldn't do today:

Sleep in - nothing new here. Besides the regularly scheduled Monkey business, I had a breakfast date with the folks. Sadly, tomorrow's breakfast date is even earlier...
Ride a bike very far - we borrowed cruisers from the hotel and my pedal fell off a half mile away. At least I didn't crash. I usually crash.
Swim - turns out the hotel pool was closed for maintenance. Now I have an imaginary rain check and will feel entitled to pool hop there in the future.
Convince Dad that he no longer has to coast to save gas. He used to do this, calling it his poor man's hybrid, but now that he has an actual Prius it turns out he coasts even more often to get the consumption meter closer to 50 mpg.
Positively identify either a Whimbrel and a Whillet at a distance. We went bird watching today and we are definitely amateurs. Amateurs with poor vision and vastly varied opinions.
Nap - I went shopping with Mom instead. I was a wee bit jealous that Dad was napping but it turns out his rest was brief (again thanks to Monkey...).
Replace the mug I broke a billion years back. I actually went to get a new one right after the tragedy but tricked myself into buying a different, far less functional piece. Now that I realize the error in my ways, I found the store was no longer carrying my beloved mug. I do think I will bring it in, though, and see if they can find the artist to have him duplicate it...
Finish my dinner - we went to Taco Temple, yum. I can almost always finish my regular (house salad and a veggie taco) when I get it as take out, but I know that is because I don't have to move afterwards. I can just slip off into a delightful food coma. Having to walk the three blocks home, I chose to box up the rest of my meal...
Roust my Dad into a Scrabble rematch - he won last night by over 20 points and he never wins... I don't think his pride is the obstacle, though. The poor guy is just exhausted from not napping.
I couldn't not post. Not this early into this imaginary Nanoblopomo, at least. But clearly I couldn't come up with a clever idea, either. Seriously, I should get more organized if I am going to attempt these things.

Oh well. At least I made it to 10. And now I am off to bed. If Monkey allows.

ten reasons i am awake right now

2008-03-02T07:42:00.000-08:00

Ah, another Kitty Wake Up Hour. How delightful. I know I should be grateful to find the sun shining, the birds chirping, my health intact, another gorgeous day of leisure ahead of me. Instead I find myself wondering why a cat who sleeps away 90% of every day thinks that 5 am is a fantastic time to roust the family. Try as I may to adjust his sleep schedule (by rousting him all afternoon), Monkey persists in being an early riser.

Since March is all about the lists, here are Monkey's top ten tactics to disrupt my REM:

Bringing a paper ball to bed and tossing it around... if I throw it he will fetch, but throwing, of course, still involves being awake
Bringing a feather stick to bed, after pathetically dragging the stick slowly across the floor... again, if I wave it he will play, but this too requires being awake
Mewling loudly while looking up at imaginary bugs on the walls
Mewling loudly at nothing at all
Batting OC through the canopy... very ineffective and somewhat comical, devastating for the canopy
Jumping on OC's head when he sits by the door asking to leave... just plain mean
Scrambling under the covers to claw my feet
Scrambling under the covers to claw my ass
Jumping on top of the covers to capture feet in motion
Knocking over mystery items in other rooms - today it was the ceramic "duck" that looks suspiciously like a vulture that Kevin made in elementary school... usually he just knocks the glasses off the blind pig or dismantles Darth Vader's head...

Only if he is feeling special will Monkey come snuggle my head and even that turns ugly. Like most cats he prefers to snuggle with his butt in my face. If he is does grace me with his cuter end, it often ends in a sneeze (his, not mine) - though this is less frequent since changing to expensive cat litter.

In any event, I am awake. And my husband is on vacation. And my parents are in town. And they are staying at the hotel with the adequately heated pool so I am excited. Tired, but excited.

P.S. I seriously doubt anyone read this during the hour it has been posted, so I am not bothering to make this tidbit into its own post, but apparently Monkey's Kitty Wake Up Hour is effective in at least two counties. Just got a call from a man in Santa Barbara wondering why I have been prank calling him at 4 and 6 in the morning the past couple days. Yeah, Monkey also sometimes steps on the phone...

past, present, future

2008-03-01T10:41:00.000-08:00

Since I haven't posted for a long while (again), I figured perhaps I owed it to my loyal readers (can you be readers if there has been nothing fresh to read?) to participate in the newly torturous version of NaBloPoMo - the one which is available monthly and with a theme. March's theme is lists. Much as I love a good list, I'm thinking this first post only loosely applies, for here I am playing a bit of catch up with the little bit of news you've missed since my last efforts...

First a list of things past:

1. On February 16th I rescued my first ever blackcoat, an elephant seal pup still wearing his long blackish baby fur. Blackcoats are in theory automatic pick ups cuz they are still too young to be separated from mom. In fact, Rustin still had some remnants of his umbilicus. Strange that in my six years rescuing he was the first blackcoat I'd ever seen. Anyway, we found him beneath the Estero Bluffs, at the water's edge, barely responsive, and only 53 kg (less than half the size he should've reached with mom). It was late so he got to spend the night, which is great fun cuz elephant seal pups are what we call the "trainer model." I got to let all kinds of new folks do the tubing and restraining while I just supervised. With the sea lions and fur seals I pretty much hog all the action as the inexperienced handler could very well get bit. Much as I love hogging the action, I like how elephant seal season makes me feel like I might not actually be the selfish bitch I know I am.

2. The next day, while preparing to ship Rustin, we got a call on Chubina, a gal twice his size hanging on a popular beach in Cambria. We were a bit perplexed by her healthy body weight, but after discussing it with the professionals, we decided a rule is a rule and a blackcoat is an automatic pick up. Chubina was pretty cooperative but even so it was a feat to fit her 107 kg in the carrier. Thank goodness the fire department was on hand to help us get her off the beach. Sadly, we did not get to play with her at all because it was time to transport and, as the vet tech said, she wasn't going to die of starvation any time soon.

3. Shortly after my transport driver left with Rustin and Chubina, the call came in on Michigan. He was on a crappy beach, the Sandspit, and I didn't want to torture my entire crew with the hike out there just to discover he was a perfectly healthy weaner. So I went out as the scout, foolishly failing to bring a jacket. Imagine my surprise when again I found that long dark baby fur on my little 93 kg darling. So I waited there for at least an hour before my crew showed up (one of them with an extra jacket, bless her heart). Sadly, by the time we got him back to the site the professionals had decided to end all this madness. Plans were made to relocate both Michigan and Chubina. The whole blackcoats as automatic pick ups rule has now been modified to exclude weaners who have yet to molt... Interestingly, this is the second rule I have inadvertently been integral in changing. The other was in Ms. Grindle's calculus class, 1989. She now specifies that students can not use fruit as a vehicle in the annual egg drop competition (this coming immediately after Wendy and I successfully used a watermelon...).

On to things present:

1. I am presently finishing up celebrating my first ever real wedding anniversary, yesterday. Today we must finish decorating our graham cracker castle (something we enjoyed so much with the niecelets we decided to do it on our own) which became a daunting task when we ran out of time and icing. Like most homeowners, we overextended ourselves and had nothing left in the budget for upkeep...

2. I am also ignoring the flat tire on Erik's car. We noticed it the day before yesterday but didn't want to be bothered on our anniversary. Kindly, the neighbor came up to notify us as he knows Erik works at night and commutes on a winding road with poor cell reception.

3. I am also debating whether or not to have a healthy breakfast (oatmeal and tea) or a decadent breakfast (tiramisu from the same bakery that made our wedding cake). Guess which one is winning?

And in the future:

1. My parents will be showing up some time today in their brand new car (the Prius Touring). I convinced them to stay at the Inn in Morro Bay (cuz it offers a winter special unlike their favorite bed and breakfast) which means soon I will be floating in the Inn's yummy heated pool. I put their room in my name so I could check in early.

2. In April I will get to see my sister and my youngest niecelet, Grace. They are coming down for 5 days, to my actual house. They are not just coming to my state and saying they are visiting me. They are actually coming to my town. To visit me. Grace and I are so excited. We were chatting about it on the phone after she found out. She kept saying, "Do you want to go to April? I want to go to April." And now, apparently, she keeps asking her mom "Are we at April yet?" So cute.

3. And at some point in the future I will regret having tiramisu for breakfast. I'm pretty sure.

So that's all for today. See you tomorrow, it seems...

the birds and the bees and the story of the spider

2008-02-12T19:23:00.000-08:00

So my neighbors moved away last month and as I anticipated, their renters are not filling the bird feeder that sits atop our shared fence. As much as I miss the avian activity, I am comforted to know that things are apparently now a bit more challenging for OC, my beloved serial killer. I haven't seen him munching on a headless carcass in a good while. I've also noticed he's been coming inside more often, looking to play with me. He's bored. I benefit.

In addition to having less bird blood on my hands, I've also found myself in the position to save a good number of bees lately. I keep finding them in the tide line, struggling, dragging their worthless wet wings across the sand. I'm not sure why they are anywhere close to the ocean (very little flowering vegetation nearby) but I figure it's the wind that pulls them to the shore. Escorting them to the dunes has added considerably to my exercise and I'm happy to report that I'm finally on track with the whole excavating my real self from my fat self plan.

Funny enough, the bees started appearing just before I got up the nerve to give my contact info to the honey boys at Farmer's Market. I am hoping to become an amateur apiarist this summer. I'm told we need 15 more inches of rain before the bee farmers will need volunteers. So here's hoping for April showers and May flowers.

And though I've been good to the birds and the bees, I must say I am feeling a bit blue today for what I did to the spider. I discovered him on my desk this morning and while it was clear his plan was to flee like a well behaved arachnid, I was inspired to introduce him to Monkey. This was, I guess, pretty harmless as Monkey soon lost the trail. Feeling sorry for my pathetic indoor kitty, I decided to help Monkey resume the hunt (a couple of different times). He seemed excited. They appeared evenly matched. All was right in the world.

But a few minutes later I noticed the spider limping across the kitchen floor. Monkey had either lost track of him again or let him go. Surely this is the part where I scoop him up in my spider catcher and put him outside, right? Wrong. This is the part where I grab Monkey and have him finish the job. I knew right away that I had made a poor choice. Monkey was having fun, sure, but the spider wasn't. I cringed when I saw that he had crawled into a crack in the wood floor. I poked at his little legs hoping he was just hiding but he was not. He was dead. And I killed him. I have felt horrible ever since.

I was glad Erik was awake to serve as his pall bearer (removing dead spiders is so definitely penis work). And I immediately called and confessed to my sister and my best friend (you can take the girl out of the church, but you can't take the Catholic out of the girl, I always say...). My friend counseled that it was a valuable learning experience. She's very zen that way. My sister distracted me with niecelet, Grace. I told Grace I was sad cuz my cat had chased a spider and it died and she responded, "My cats can die. Lucy died. And Chet died, too." Poor Grace. She's got so many pets to watch pass. She's particularly cute about Lucy, though, that horrible dalmation that no one else loved. I'll never forget the time she called and told me, "I'm going to tell you a story about Lucy. I was worried about her. And then she died." Oh sweet Grace.

Anyway, Erik says I have to let the spider go. It's just mental clutter. Like the $6 Costco rebate I failed to use last year (if I drunk dialed you during the Super Bowl I am sure you heard all about it - repeatedly, apparently) and the $10 coupon I forgot to use at Ralph's when it was new so many years back. But then he went and reminded me of the crickets I bought for Fabe when he was an indoor city kitty. They crawled into the dark corners like roaches and Fabe showed no interest in them so I'm pretty sure he didn't actually kill any. Over the next two weeks we ended up tossing them out the window one by one. I'm almost certain that they died on impact after suffering virtual starvation. Sure, they were feeder crickets, but I think somehow the fate they had on Curtis Street was worse than death. So of course, remembering the crickets has made me feel worse, not better.

Sigh.

here's hermit

2008-02-02T18:07:00.001-08:00

This morning's distraction was last night's action, a super skinny sea lion named Hermit. He came off the drive on beach some time around 9 pm last night. The cute little bugger got a tube feeding and a transport courtesy of my fabulous Saturday crew. He was so adorable it was hard to think of him as mere sloppy seconds.

Other than the presence of Hermit, the day proved uneventful. I haven't cleaned my bathroom. I haven't folded my laundry. I haven't even considered beginning purging the kitchen or the closet. Okay, well, obviously I considered it, cuz how could I mention it without considering it?, but I roundly rejected the idea, I suppose. And worst of all, I haven't taken my walk. I put my sneakers on, I got my jacket out, and then I sat here. For an hour. Realizing I have nothing to blog about and thinking how very cold it looked outside.

So now it is an hour colder. My life is no more interesting than it was before. And I am going. Right now. To take my walk. Dammit.

i love it because it's trash

2008-02-01T21:40:00.000-08:00

I've never really questioned before why I feel such a fondness towards Oscar the Grouch's theme song, "I Love Trash" (it's even on my iPod), but after spending nine days going through my own stored stuff, I realize that I apparently share Oscar's love of trash. "Anything dirty or dingy or dusty, anything ragged or rotten or rusty...", it was all there in my precious storage tubs. I am embarrassed to admit how much refuse and recycling I have generated by finally getting rid of things such as used wrapping paper, raggedy clothes, and old utility bills. I parted with half finished crafts - my pine cone flowers, some papier mache possibilities, and crusty glow-in-the-dark paint (though the papier mache penguin has earned a temporary reprieve). I've tossed greeting cards and bank statements, shoe boxes and bubble wrap, worn out rubber bands and dried up balloons, spiral notebooks, empty gift baskets, my fat clothes, my skinny clothes, and, of course, old magazines. I wouldn't be my mother's daughter without a bunch of magazines around. I wish I could feel free of my stuff after all the hours spent purging, but since much of it hasn't actually left the premises yet, I just feel more weighed down than ever. Despite using the absentee neighbor's trash cans last week and starting the purge the night before trash pick up, we still have quite a backlog. Thank goodness trash day is on its way around again. Monday's pick up won't bring us back to zero, but any breathing room will be welcome.

My reward? I found lots of treasures. Like the comic above. Notice how I used white out to create my Dad's former comb over? And how I wrote "Just kidding!" on the bottom? I wasn't really kidding.

My favorite, though, is this gem, the note Jules and I gave Erik to order take out for us from Max's Opera Cafe. Why he had to be deaf, I don't know. But it sure was cute watching him go along with the gag and then giving him flack for clapping when the singing stopped. And the quote from the waiter, "White bread, you look like you like white bread," is forever precious.

Anyway, I hope never to amass quite as much crap again. To remove temptation, I went paperless on almost all my bills last year. I even have hippie grocery bags now, though I have yet to use them. (They are actually just my collection of tote bags, pulled one by one from the storage tubs and made useful all of a sudden.) Clearly I am not a true hippie, however, as I still resist flushing my flushable cat litter. This choice then necessitates the presence of shopping bags, a vicious cycle I haven't quite figured out yet... Anyhow, I do think I have gotten a handle on my spending so I shouldn't be bringing new stuff in. I don't cruise thrift stores or garage sales (okay, so the thrift stores here all suck, and, yes, I did buy an air hockey table at a garage sale last year but that was just down the street and I only stopped cuz I saw the table...) and I don't visit eBay. Erik isn't as optimistic as I am, but I don't blame him.

In addition to shedding stuff, I'm working seriously on shedding pounds. I'm still trying to figure out how to lose weight and drink alcohol at the same time. It's working, but I know it would be working better without the booze. I think I will give myself through the Super Bowl with the bottle and then try to put it away until my wedding anniversary on Leap Day (for which I have already bought champagne). Baby steps, right?

Erik was laughing at me because I found it interesting that many of my favorite bloggers are also trying to shed clutter and weight. Erik pointed out that it may be the type of personality that wants to blog also collects crap and calories. Smart fellow, that one.

Though the purge was physically and emotionally grueling, now that it is mostly done, I can say it was worth it. Erik will be happy to get to reclaim some garage space at long last. I remember he was so pleased when he first set it up as his home away from home. All he had was two recliners, a stereo, his surf boards and his tools. Then the construction started and my stuff (which used to be in the laundry room) came down to the garage. I'm pretty sure it was breeding there in the dark of the laundry room cuz it seemed to have multiplied. Anyway, I am trying to respect Erik's "man space" especially since I was touched by a recent episode of Snoop Dogg's Fatherhood. Apparently even Snoop Dogg is reduced to hanging with his homies in a shed in his yard. Poor men. What a price to pay for the ability to pee standing up.

Anyway, I haven't been completely without seal action. Usually a good rescue story inspires me to blog, but I guess not this time. Maybe cuz I didn't do much? On January 26th I got to help pick up Stocky, a 50 kg sea lion, from the rocks of the jetty. I didn't bother to go down and get photos of him with my own camera so thanks to my good neighbor rescue pal for this shot. Notice how he's hard to find? They'd already called off the search before I got there. They'd been soaked by the crashing waves (larger than usual - it's been stormy) and had been told the animal was farther down the jetty than he was. Someone in the parking lot saw us putting away the net, though, and pointed us in the right direction, so I didn't miss a thing. Anyway, sadly Stocky is already toast, suffering uncontrollable seizures up in Sausalito.

On a happier note, I learned that they released Castelanetta and Jiffy. Jiffy's bit of good news came as a shock to me cuz he really needed his eye removed and he was most likely a long term domoic acid victim too. When I was told they probly wouldn't do the surgery, I figured they probly wouldn't do anything, if you know what I mean. And it's such a difficult call - whether or not a sea lion with brain damage can really thrive in the wild - I thought they'd err on the side of euthanasia. Glad he got a second chance, though I wouldn't be surprised if he shows up again.

I was bummed to find out that I missed the first ever (to my knowledge) stellar sea lion brought in from our county. Poor thing was super skinny and just a pup (though he was already the same size as Stocky). After seeing the pictures, it was no surprise to learn he died soon after making it to Sausalito. It made me a little less jealous that I missed getting to work with him.

And of course the 25th, the day before Stocky's rescue, was my 3rd sadiversary of Fabe's death. I've actually been more emotional about Blackers lately, having found his baby picture while sifting through my stuff. And tonight, as if to remind me of the horrors of the outdoor kitty, OC caught up with me on the tail end of my walk and cut in front of two cars in the process. I'm sure I looked like an ass, walking down the middle of the street trying to block for him, but I didn't want my cat to get run over (again) and I wasn't sure they could see him. Ay yi yi. But he really is so happy outside. Sigh.

And a couple days after my seal action, on the 28th, Grace had her fourth birthday and Billy had his 33rd. Apparently I haven't come up with a birthday tribute idea for this year (having also skipped my sister's in November). I'm lame like that, I guess. So Grace had a party at the zoo and rode the carousel there a whole bunch. She loves a carousel, that girl. She called and told me all about it. It's so awesome that she calls, even though I still can't understand all of what she says and she often tries to show me things over the phone.

In the meanwhile, I've made some decent progress on my law school efforts. I have secured two solid letters of recommendation. A friend offered to write one last year and I finally approached my former boss this week. I was sweating his response because the company has a no recommendation policy, but I preemptively argued that this was a different sort of recommendation. It's for school, not work, and besides, I don't even get a copy of the letter (unless he wants to give me one). So I'm just about ready to pop the question to my third and final potential recommender, my former TA. He actually inadvertently started this whole purge cuz I knew I had saved my midterms from his class - somewhere. (I found them early on in the process but continued cuz I was on a roll.) In the letter I haven't sent him yet I told him that I hope the archived midterms speak more to my resourcefulness than to my hoarding disorder, but I fear the truth is closer to the latter.

And, as if I haven't been productive enough, this morning I got our taxes done. This year I took the time to pay attention and realized I probly overpaid a bit the past few years. I'm always in a rush to file so I have a tendency to make the calculations before I have all the pieces of the puzzle. This year I waited and realized I could take an extra deduction or two. Of course soon after I mailed off our returns, I realized I could've taken yet another deduction for Erik's union dues. Whatever. Next year. I freak out about having to pay an extra 2 cents for gas, but somehow I can't let myself obsess on giving the government more than its due. So the extra time I spent was worth $71 and I was surprised to see we are getting a total of 8 grand back. And I know I say this every year, but we really do have the potential to be free of credit card debt by the end of 2008.

Yay.

back from the dead

2008-01-20T01:30:00.000-08:00

You'd think having not posted for nearly three weeks that I would actually have something to show for it. And I guess I do. I've been working on my personal statement for law school and I have to say, I'm fairly fond of it. Now I'm in the process of dusting off my resume. Soon I'll send them both to the folks I hope will agree to write me fabulous letters of recommendation. It's a step I planned to have complete in January (though applications aren't available until September) so, sorry, internet friends, but it's been my priority. I'm actually kinda nervous cuz I'm not sure my former employer will feel allowed to write a letter for me (as it is against company policy to give employment recommendations) and my academic contact (now a partner in a top 100 law firm) hasn't heard from me in fifteen years. Still, both men thought highly of me back in the day, so I'm hoping for the best.

In the meanwhile, I enjoyed a lovely visit with the niecelets who came by Morro Bay on their way home from San Diego. Of course, Morro Bay isn't exactly on the way home from San Diego, and sadly, they drove out during the worst storm California's seen in a while, but still, I think it was worth it. That's easy for me to say as I wasn't the one stuck in the car with no crackers and zero visibility. I was just thrilled as the girls picked me over Disneyland. I think I made it worth their while.

Although I wasn't on the seal schedule during their visit, we had the good fortune of getting to see the first animal of the year, a sea lion named Castelanetta. We were invited to feed him breakfast on the 3rd. Though none of us was eager to be up that early (Maddie almost ditched), I think it was a highlight. Castalenetta, having had the good sense to bite the hand that tube fed him the night before, was being offered whole fish instead. That made things much quicker and easier for everyone involved. I'm pretty certain I broke some sort of rule letting the girls throw the fish into the pool but since they were perfectly safe (in the next pen over) and totally silent (a big concern around sea lions), I figured what the heck.

Afterwards we came home and built graham cracker castles. Maddie and I accidentally destroyed our first attempt. (It collapsed when she leaned over it to reach some decorations. As it came crashing down she yelled, "it was your idea roof!") We were much better off for the misfortune, however, as we built a significantly sturdier second version. Can you see our coy ponds and the fire pit in the foreground? And the Tootsie Roll wood pile? And the stained glass windows made from Pop Rocks and sprinkles? And I know you are digging our sun deck.

Meanwhile Erik teamed up with Savannah and built a huge spread complete with a roller coaster. Though it looks rickety, their house was pretty solid and it even had graham cracker floors. Maddie was disturbed that her sister's house was overrun by gummy rats. I was just jealous as Maddie wouldn't let the rodents anywhere near our abode. Still, we teased them, claiming that our house was owned outright (paid for by insurance, no doubt) and theirs was surely mortgaged to the hilt. Only after the girls left did Erik and I exchange kudos for the house our spouse had built.

Later we learned that Savannah is a cat whisperer. Monkey really is a belly cat, but this was ridiculous. I can hardly believe he's nearly ten pounds now, though this picture shows you where he carries it all.

A couple days after the girls left, I got a sea lion of my own. Jiffy, seen here on the ramp up in Sausalito (where I went the weekend of the 12th), is not necessarily going to make it back out into the wild. Her fate isn't sealed, but since she is very likely a long term domoic acid victim, they are not certain it is worth the effort to remove her damaged left eye. But at least she's getting fed something other than peanut butter (which the public was reportedly offering her before I got there) and she won't become shark bait.

After my visit to Sausalito, I swung by Oakland to see the older nieces. They were busy, as they tend to be, with softball and school and boys so I mostly spent my time getting their wireless network up and running. (They got iMacs for Christmas...) Sounds like I could get to see Zoe next weekend if I go down to Santa Ana with her mom. I may take the train home early, or flake altogether, we'll see. The visit is for softball, of course, so that saps some of my motivation. I'm also thinking I may drag Zoe out to the East Coast this spring to visit colleges together. As much as I feel that Berkeley remains my first choice (especially as I would graduate the same time as Sadie), I realize I have to seriously consider the other top schools (despite the weather). I'm thinking it'd be pretty nifty to end up the same place as Zoe, and she is definitely not staying in California. She's probly mortified by the idea that I could follow her, but so far she has been too polite to hint at it.

Anyway, on the home front, it is official - Mom is fine. Her echocardiogram came back normal. Rumor has it she and Dad will be the next to drive down to California. They're heading out on Leap Day (my first real wedding anniversary) for a quick dose of sunshine.

Amazingly, OC is also fine. He's nearly completed his fourth month of passing unfettered feces. He's so much happier than I've ever seen him before, though he really hates Monkey and I know he misses dry food. I also don't think he realizes yet that our next door neighbor moved away last week. She fed the birds along the fence line which in turn fed OC. I don't know if his hunting has suffered yet or not, but he could use the challenge anyway.

I guess the only other news is that I've downloaded an online Spanish course, trying to get my language skills back. I've always done pretty well in the present tense (though I have a serious Valley Girl accent) but other than that I'm pretty lost. I'd like to be fluent-ish before law school - partially as a resume builder, but mostly because Erik keeps claiming he wants to move to Florida after graduation. He has no appreciation for the humidity / hurricane factor. All he knows is he's been cold lately.

So I guess that's it. My month in a nutshell. Congrats if you made it this far. Lord knows I nearly didn't.