There's Always Tomorrow

In preparation for Guest Cat, we of course had to clean the house. Kenny took care of the living room while I was at work on Friday. He filed everything - and I do mean everything - under "W." "W?" you ask yourself. Why yes, "W" - for "Widda's Room." Widda being my little black cat who died last August. She laid claim on the guest bedroom and the room will forever be known to us as Widda's Room. And the result of filing everything under "W"? Well, would you expect anything other than this:

If I had a modicum of self decency I would shut the door and hide this from Prying Eyes, and not post it on the 'Net, for all to see and judge. But alas, the first step of any good self-help program is Acknowledgement. So I'm acknowledging that this is a rather unacceptable result.

Don't confuse acknowledging with action, however. Did I clean this up over the weekend? Oh, no - no, I did not. I did do a lot of other cleaning, but this room will have to wait just a bit.

It's not a bother to five of us in the household. Er...six, if you count Kenny. Seven, really, if you count Guesty. I'm the only one who seems to find it Unacceptable For The Long Term. If you look closely enough, sorta towards the middle, you'll see someone who's not bothered by it at all:

One man's trash is another cat's treasure.

But the living room? It's lookin' pretty good.

Overall, I mean. Sure, there are some baskets under the coffee table that could use a straightening, but overall, the clutter is gone. Er, relocated. Whatever.

As for Twinkle, he's enjoying the hell out of the Guest Cat's travel carrier.

No worries, Dude. Chillax and forget all about it.

Guest Cat, Thy Name is Farkus

"She stares out at us from behind the chair with her yellow eyes. She has yellow eyes! So, help me, God! Yellow eyes!"

We're cat-sitting. My co-worker, who is my co-worker no more as of Friday since he quit his job (Gasp! Gulp! Yes! In this economy!! Quit a high-paying, low-rewarding job, and frankly I couldn't admire him more) and booked a train trip across the country for the next few weeks.

I got him into his cat-mess about a year and a half ago, when he was thinking about getting a cat and I plopped one down in his waiting arms. So I volunteered to watch this yellow-eyed pussy cat while he travels. How bad could it go? They're all cats, they'll eventually get along. Right? Right??

She was dropped off around 3 p.m. today and we were lulled into a false sense of cohesion. Toby sniffed her, they all took a good look at her and my cats then went about their business, which is batting a toy, eating some crunchy cat food and licking themselves. They couldn't care less.

So we went to the movies and figured they'd all make happy happy nice nice in the meantime. We saw that new Bruce Willis cop movie and it was quite funny, btw. And when we came home, Delaney the Guest Cat was hiding up in my recliner so we had to tip it up and prod her out.

She lunged at my face. And she's got full-frontal Weapons of Cat Destruction. Luckily my own cat-like reflexes prevented her from marring me. But I'm pretty afraid of her, that's for sure. We spent a good half an hour trying to catch her with a blanket so that we could at least show her where the litter box is located, but she outsmarted us. And when I was just sitting in my chair, with my arm on the armrest, she attacked it. And not in a 'isn't this fun, let's play!" sorta way.

Her beady little glinting yellow eyes strike fear in my soul. She's trying to hiss down Girl Cat, but Girl Cat basically gave her the, "Oh no you di'int just hiss at me, Be-yotch, I am NOT afraid of YOU, you are on my turf and I'm such a tough street badass I've caught chipmunks with my bare-muthafuckin'-paws, so check yourself" hiss right back at her. Girl's not afraid of her. But I am. I fear she will eat our eyes out while we sleep tonight.

She hasn't eaten, drank anything shit or pissed since she's arrived. She has hissed and lunged and scratched. And stared out from behind the television with her beady little yellow eyes, plotting our demise.

Kenny told her daddy that if we have her more than two weeks, he'll come back to a declawed cat. But first, we'd have to catch her.

WTF

Are there really so many deaths by hot dogs that we need to change the shape?? Seriously? This is NEWS?

Maybe this is more of a Twitter than a blog, but I'm confounded by what type of shit makes it as NEWS nowadays. No wonder I'm taking a hit of NyQuil and going to bed, where I can drift off to sleep with the sound of House Hunters doorbells ringing in the distance.

Hoof & Mouth

Friiiiday! I have watched a lot of Olympics this week and have just declared the skier from Norway as my new boyfriend. Mrs. Tracye Aksel Svindal. I'm liking it. I am going to doodle our names in a heart on my Trapper Keeper notebook.

My real boyfriend and I have deemed ice dancing as somewhat boring. Maybe all those seasons of Dancing With the Stars has taken the edge of excitement off this event for us. When I was a yute it was one of my favorite parts of Winter Olympics. Now, a little drab.

So now I will confess a secret about my Yute + Winter Olympics. It's really quite shameful, and I just want to say that it's not all my fault, I was YOUNG and didn't really KNOW BETTER. Okaaaay.....here.....GOES:

One of my favorite memories of watching the Winter Olympics involved my mother and bowls of hot-off-the stove pigs feet. Yup. You read that correctly. I grew up eating pigs feet. And I LOVED them. I looked forward to weekends with a bowl of pigs feet and the Olympics. We'd eat 'em other times, too, but always on a weekend in the wintertime. But especially during the Olympics.

My mom would cook up a big batch of 'em. I remember she would take the little feet and hold them over the gas flame on the stove to burn off the little hairs. No one wants to eat hairy pigs feet, afterall. And then, when the feet were all clean, in a pot they'd go, filled with water and a good spill of vinegar. Then they'd cook, for a loooog time, with my mom periodically skimming the foam that would form off the top.

We (my mother and myself) could hardly wait for them to be done. Once they were cooked tender, in a bowl they'd go, three or four feet to a bowl. Then, the water/vinegar mixture was poured into the bowl of feet and they'd be plopped into the refrigerator to get nice and cold. The water/vinegar would congeal into a blubbery substance, and you'd dig in and pull out a foot, listening to the little suction noise the foot made as it pulled away from the congeal. A good pour of salt on the foot and by God, it was Weekend Winter Olympics heaven.

Okay, I'll pause while you go throw up a little.

Better? Good. Sorry about that.

I knew I'd found my Match Made In Pigs Feet Heaven when I spilled this shameful secret to Kenny and he told me that he, too, gnawed pigs feet during his yute. God Bless the Melting Pot of Ethnicity that is Ohio.

Happy Hearts Day!

My friend Murdoch puts a lot of effort into Valentine's Day. Even after many many years of marriage, he begins talking about V-day back in January, making plans on how to keep his bride wooed. It's awfully romantic. And then he asks me what we're planning.

Reader, it was all I could do to remind myself to get a card on Friday. And I work for a greeting card company, and have a half-price card shop at my service! That's how much effort my household puts into this Very Special Day for Romance and Love.

It's not that I'm anti-Valentine's Day. Not at all. Celebrating the day just somehow stopped happening, and then we got lazy and it stopped really mattering.


Today, I got nothing. Kenny's been too sick to even buy me a card, so I gave him the second one I bought for him (to balance against the humorous sexy message card, because everyone knows if you buy a humorous sexy message, it better just be a complementary card to the serious love message - the humorous sexy message cannot stand on it's own - not without repercussions) to sign and give back to me. So far I haven't received that back yet.

So what have we done for each other? Well, here's how we're rolling on this day of love:

1/ I turned the heat all the way up to 72. I pay the heat bill so it's rarely allowed to go past 70.

2/ I used the coffee grinder for fresh-ground Starbucks beans instead of the pre-ground Maxwell House stuff. Very special.

3/ The cats enjoyed Fancy Feast for breakfast, and I have a can for each for dinner, too. Toby promptly threw up after eating, his cat palette isn't used to the Finer Things, apparently. Kenny did clean it up. That was his gift to me.

Enjoy YOUR day of Romance.

Holy Bendiness

At my grandmother's funeral I experienced one of my favorite religious moments of 2010. It involved a very Catholic woman whom I've known for about twenty one years or so. She was my oldest nephews babysitter, so I have a good benchmark for how long I've known her.

Now, Theresa was a very good babysitter. A little eccentric, but her religiousness didn't ooze out of her too strongly back then. But now? Now it's a different story. Or maybe it was the setting, I will never be sure.

But. At my grandmother's funeral, she had been there for a while with her mother, milling about and such, and came up to my little circle, where I was talking with my cousin and her husband. Right out of the blue she started telling us some stories about the year my grandmother was born, 1917, and how it was that same year that three angels or Mary's or something presented themselves, I think one was called Fatima, and some miracles occurred and blessings were bestowed and then some other magic happened, I had really stopped trying to follow the story and was just nodding with a crooked smiled pasted on my face. So anyhow, something happened in 1917 that really moved her, and it was even more coincidental because the Death Cards that are passed out at funerals had these same angels/Marys/Miracle Ladies on them and it was an even BIGGER omen of something. And I have to be on the lookout for either one or three of these ladies/miracles/Fatimas presenting themselves to me soon, since maybe they'll manifest to me because of my grandmother's death.

And then? She turned to my cousin and asked her about her religious affiliation.

I looked from my uncomfortable cousin, to Theresa, to my cousin's husband and tried to brush off Uncomfortable Conversation with a, "Um, not Catholic!" response. She persisted, as all good Catholics should. When my cousin responded with, "Buddhist" you could see the uncomfortable tables turn just a bit. But then Theresa expounded on Buddhism by asking, "Is that where you meditate and do the yoga and stuff?" Yep, it's where we do the yoga. And stuff. My cousin said something along the lines of not too much yoga, but ya know, maybe some, just to keep everything bendy.

So yeah. One of my favorite religious conversations for 2010. I. CANNOT. WAIT! To see what/who/how many religous miracles/ladies/Fatimas/Marys present themselves to me! I just hope I'm not naked when it happens.

**MAJOR UPDATE**
I decided to go to the Almightie Google for answers, so I'm not nakedly surprised by apparitions some day. Here's the wooo-wooo part of the story: The Lady of Fatima first presented herself on Sophie's BIRTHDAY!!! Our Lady of Fátima is a title given to the Blessed Virgin Mary with respect to reported apparitions of her to three shepherd children at Fátima in Portugal on the 13th day of six consecutive months in 1917, starting on May 13.

What'cha Praying For?

Sunday evening. Where has the time gone? Oh, yeah. Nevermind. Things are weird. I haven't shed many a tear, but I have been angrier than all get-out, so I think it's just the phase I've landed in.

Right now I'm procrastinating, sidestepping Responsibility. I've been on my work computer since noon, doing odds & ends, cleaning up emails and sorting my files. I still have to complete my self appraisal, which could really be summed up quickly and in one word: AWESOME. I don't know if that'll fly, though. It SHOULD. I'd like to just try it for the sheer reaction from my director. Test her sense of humor. Since the damn thing was due last week, I need to get on it so it's in her inbox in the morning. That would be the diligent thing to do. Although the Superbowl and a glass of wine are calling.

Is it pretentious to drink Riesling while watching the Superbowl? Somehow I think it is just a tich-bit hoity. I'm pairing it with Cool Ranch Dortios so I think that's knocking it off it's pedestal a little.

I don't have much wit or items of interest to e-chat about so I guess I'd best go work on finessing the word Awesome into some sort of critical success factors language. Stupid rules we Humans create for ourselves. Someone just sits around and thinks this shit up and then we jump through hoops to sound Smart and Worthy of our jobs and paychecks. Where's my beach cabana? That's really where I belong. And I'd even give up the Reisling for cold cold beer for ever and ever. Amen. I think I just prayed to beaches and beer. That sounds about right.

Extra Special Saturday

To escape from life for a little while we headed to the movies. Saw Mel Gibson's new flick, and boy-o-boy could he use some Botox. He looked wrinklie and old and short. And the movie stunk, too. The enjoyable part was that we got to move seats because the people directly behind us had a loud running commentary. Once we moved, the new people behind us were diddling each other. At least that's what we inferred from the soft moans. Now, as I said, the movie was pret-ty dry. But some parts apparently were wetter than others.

We ended our cheap date with Taco Bell and fruit punch.

Sophie Flashback to 2008

A gentleman farmer presented Sophie with this carrot:

She tried to give it to me, but I told her I had no need for it.

Sophie decided to keep the carrot. She said she'd make soup.

A Kick In The Snatch

I'm officially a grief-eater. We started the day with doughy doughnuts and ended with same, plus a cuppa whole milk, good for the bones, ya know. The grocery cart included a liter of wine (a necessity), two bags of Doritos, donuts, peanut-butter wafer cookies, hot fries, potato chips & Helava Good Dip, and two liters of diet soda. Keep in mind, we stopped drinking soda last July and have given up artificial sweeteners completely.

So it's been a surreal experience.

My 92-almost-93-year-old grandmother fell down the basement steps, busted her head on the cold concrete floor and died. We found her Monday night. So yeah, pass me the chips & dip. And don't scrimp on the pour of wine.

WTF, 2010??

Well, when I posted the "Oye Vey" comment, I had no idea what the night really had in store for me. Let's just say that it didn't get any better, and the psychic sure didn't see this one coming. I want my $40 back.

Just No Words For Some Days

Oye vey. Really, Twenty-Ten needs to step it up.