suddenly september

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

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

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

unintentionally ingested

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.

always darkest before the dawn

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...

super seal extravaganza

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.

irish eyes

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?

past, present, future

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...

here's hermit

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

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.