Sunday, April 30, 2006

My sweet girl

Well. It's official. She's blind.


My little sweet girl Boo can't see a damn thing. Despite everyone's efforts. Despite all the vet visits and the money (over 2 1/2 K) and the drugs. Despite the promise this wouldn't happen. She went blind anyway. She wasn't cured. She'll never recover.

Some days it breaks my heart and makes me cry. Some days I'm overcome with guilt that maybe I didn't do everything I could have. Some days I feel so sorry for her it makes me ache.

She's so sweet and such a weird, funny kitty. The one who used to play fetch like a dog and act like she was a junkie and I was cutting her nice big fat line whenever she heard paper crunching. The one who'd steal my water bottle caps and flick them under the dresser. But she can't do those things anymore because she can't see.


But most of the time I appreciate every single extra second I get to spend with my Boogaloo because the vet says we're in "support mode" and I need to keep her comfortable and as happy as possible and that's just what I'm going to do. I'm going to give her as much love and attention she'll let me give.

She gets around pretty darn good since her world went to black last month and we try not to move stuff around so she doesn't konk her cute pink nose too many times. She still purrs like a motor boat, which is odd since she didn't do that very much before she got sick last August, and she tolerates the moments I get mischievous and put something on her head and call it her lovely new hat.


I feed her as many treats as she wants and lift her onto the sink to drink out of the tap. I don't mind (so much) when she crawls on top of me and just has to sleep somewhere on my person starting at 5:00 a.m. every morning. I'm even letting her slink around outside on the patio since that's her new obsession. And I respect her when she just can't take one more squeeze from her mama and gives me her annoyed meow that says "jesus h, get off of me already".

I'm convinced that the universe sends me special animals. I've never sought out any pet I've ever had, they've somehow fallen into my life and taught me so much, shown me so much love, and been pretty high fricken maintenance. But the universe knows I'll take care of the ones other people wouldn't and I'm grateful every damn time.

So, even though my heart will eventually suffer, I'll make sure my Boo Kitty won't.


Monday, April 24, 2006

I don't need no stinkin' title

Last week I was hit with yet another Hormone Storm that rendered me occasionally violent and more than occasionally panic-stricken and anywhere from slightly tearing with little hot water droplets that just sat on my eyelashes to openly weeping with the slobbering and the snorting. It was particularly bad. (Hint - do not watch Animals Cops when hormonal.)

Since I've changed jobs within my company and went from a hateful stressed-out crazy freak lethargic sloth to a bored comatose unmotivated jaded lethargic sloth it's been one extreme to another. Either way getting hit with a PMS Patriot Missile left me just the slightest bit INSANE. Which in turn magnified the self-imposed and circumstantial crap I'm dealing with and man, was I cranky.

There was one day that I had a five minute bout of the worst depression I've ever felt. Thank Jebus that one didn't last long. And it hasn't totally gone away but at least today I don't feel like running down a couple of nuns leading a kindergarten class across the street. (100 points!)Since I'm all blah and shit and NONE of you fellow BLOGGERS ever fucking E-MAIL me or TAG me with FUN shit, I done went and STOLE some meme thing or whatever the fuck THOSE things are but they look fun so POO ON YOU FOR NOT INCLUDING ME EVER.

~flips off internet~

6 weird facts/things/habits about myself.

(Just so you know, this was incredibly hard to write since I'm SO normal and shit.)

1. I go out of my way to step on dried leaves and pieces of bark so it'll make that crunch sound sometimes having to change course or take a really long step to reach a leaf that's not in my exact path and then I look like Lurch walking down the street taking a retarded stride. But only with shoes on because I'd rather live in a house with floors made of dog shit and cat puke than walk barefoot outside. (Sadly, the cat puke part is already there.)

2. When I don't have shoes on I sit with my toes curled under my feet. I've been known to sit like this for so long my feet get all cramped and stuck like that and I can't walk until the blood flows back in. Teachers used to cruise by me in class and point it out to everyone, which was SO fun, lemme tell ya. (Fuck you, Mr. Bailey.)

3. I only like to eat things in really small bites. I will cut a chicken breast into baby-sized pieces. I will never bite into a whole candybar, it has to be chopped up or preferably mini's or those Popables. If I could have every meal consisting of appetizer-like food I'd be happy. (Not all of the fried crap but bite-sized finger food with ranch dressing. Everything is better with ranch dressing.)

4. When I pet an animal I clench my teeth so hard it hurts. I've done this my whole dang life and it annoys the shit out of me. I think it's some left-over thing I did as a kid, you know, when you see a little girl or boy over-loving a pet and they're all rough and crazy-eyed because they love it so much they have to show that love by scratching the animal down to its guts until it squirms out of their little death grip and runs away forever. Please note: I don't hurt them anymore but the clenching continues. (OK, that's a lie. Sometimes I still get a little too rough but only with Rascal Fat Cat Triple Scoop because she can take it).

5. I can't even think about what's clogging my drain without getting seriously, physically ill. Like on the verge of yacking, ill. The thought of a congealed mass of hair and sludge and spit and...OK, I can't go on. It's the hair part that does it. I can't stand it. I won't wash my hands in a sink at work if there's a hair in it. Those big, black, wet....oh man. My breakfast almost repeated. You get the drift. And this is all stupid because I have hair down to my waist. But once it's off your head it makes me sick. (I did recently have the clog un-clogged and I had to grab the plumber by the collar and shout in his face that I MUST NOT WITNESS THE CARNAGE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?? I CANNOT SEE WHAT COMES OUT OF THERE. And he obliged and I think called me a crazy lady under his breath.)

6. I don't have a birthmark. Anywhere. I guess there was some purple thing on my knee that faded away when I was a couple of months old but there's no trace of it. I do have one knee that has a big round patch that stays white when I get out of a hot shower. The rest of me is bright pink except for that one spot, but it's the opposite knee that had the purple mark. (Or so my mother says and we all know she can't remember squat.)

Choosing 6 out of my arsenal of weirdness was hard. Maybe I could make this a weekly thing. Heh. And consider the first 6 people who read this TAGGED. YOU'RE. IT.


Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Please pass the Pepto

I just had the grossest lunch.

A greasy sausage sandwich served in a dirty ashtray would have been better than what I just consumed. I knew I should have gone to McDonald's but I have zero willpower when it comes to the golden arches and don't look at me like that I like their Big Macs and you can't dispute their fries so shut up and even though they have salads who the fuck goes there to eat lettuce when they'll give you a teeny tiny mini soft-serve cone for like a quarter?

My company is very large and I work at the main "campus". I know. It makes me roll my eyes too. And since we have like a billion people working here they have a cafeteria in one of the buildings within walking distance. It's not so bad with it's salad and sandwich bar and fountain drinks and home-made cookies, but they also have different "stations" that serve menu items for the day. And this is where things start to go wrong.

When I first started working here the food was super mega kick ass. Panini's grilled between that wanna-be George Foreman thing that puts freeway lines in the bread and makes the edges of the cheese all crispy and yummy, fresh salads with Cajun crusted salmon and fish-n-chips reminiscent of Great Britain. But ever since this weird chick who wears the wiccan necklace on full display, I shit you not, took over it's all gone to hell.

The food has gotten progressively crappy. The prices suck. And they never have enough people working the cash registers during the lunch crunch. But I'm a little scared of the witch chick so I don't say anything. However, I now call it the crapateria in secret retaliation. Ha! But I might have to brave at least an anonymous suggestion today since I'm suffering a gastrointestinal unhappiness and I think I might barf. And it will be a truly technicolor yawn, let me tell you.

I walked over to get some food since I was suffering a few hunger pangs and the Starbucks scone I'd eaten earlier had burned through my system and left me a bit shaky. I knew I needed some protein and was going to try and ignore the burgers and fries they have on hand every day. (Last weekend there was an unfortunate toilet seat cracking incident at home that I will not go into because fuck, I cracked the fucking toilet seat. Who cracks a fucking toilet seat? Big fat fatty asses do that's who so the elliptical machine is on a UPS truck somewhere in Ohio today making it's way to my big fat toilet seat cracking ass. OK! OK. It was a cheap toilet seat anyway. Fuck.)

So, I walk in and the first station I see has what looks like a nice salad with fresh spinach and grilled chicken and stuff. I am known to eat a bit like a bachelor, standing in the kitchen with a fork spearing mini ravioli right out of the can, so a fresh salad is a huge departure. I balked a little at the price of $5.99 since jesus this isn't Chile's for chrissakes and you certainly do not get 6 dollars worth of food in the styrofoam container but whatever, I'll get it. Then I noticed all the crap in the little bins and thought, hmm, that's some strange ingredients but again, whatever, it'll be good for me so serve it up.

Boy do I regret that decision.

This stupid salad of shit contained the following:

Fresh spinach
grilled chicken
feta cheese
fried chinese noodles from a can
tomato chunks
garbanzo beans
raspberry vinaigrette dressing

They forgot the meal worms and diarrhea.

This thing was so unappetizing I could only eat half of it. The feta turned purple from the dressing. The chicken tasted like it'd been soaked in a vat of salty brine with rotten garlic and plant filler and it didn't have the wiggly parts trimmed off so I'm pretty sure I chomped down on a chicken eyelid. The cucumbers were slimy. The tomatoes were crunchy. And the stale chinese noodles added a nice texture similar to broken glass. I declined the beans and mushrooms. Lord knows what symphony of suffering would have played out in my mouth if they were along for the ride.

And let me just say the snack bag of baked chedder and sour cream Ruffles didn't help matters a bit.

They're practically forcing me to cook for myself and I've been banned from the kitchen after the Cruton Incident of 2005. I mean really. This is not a college dorm here. Real live adults eat from that shitbox and I know my parents generation would appreciate broiled cow spleen with sautéed crab grass but all the people I know eat normal food without "creative" combinations and crap filler like that god damn red cabbage you find in everything now.

I expect a little bit more when I'm paying almost $10 a pop and not indigestion that causes me to mini-puke fetid frothy feta into my mouth for the next four fucking hours.

Now excuse me. I have to go settle my stomach with a bag of M-n-M's.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Leave my eggs alone I don't care if it's Easter!

Dear Everyone Who Keeps Telling Me to Have Kids:

Listen, I know I'd be a good mother. I've got the chops and instinct to pay attention to the important stuff and ignore that stupid stuff and I get the whole they don't need a friend until they're 22 and you go on an Alaskan cruise as two care-free pals thing. I know I was a pre-school teacher and a damn good one at that and I learned a lot about little kids and what it takes to care for them but here's the thing. THEY'RE A PAIN IN THE ASS.

Kids stink. They stink bad. They have this funk that comes off of them like steam from a turd. They're weird. They have mush for brains and do dumb things like walk over to you and wipe dog slobber from their face all over your new shirt that you just fucking put on because they think it's funny but hell no it wasn't funny and now Auntie Betty is a bit miffed and yelled at you a little Merry Christmas.

They are demanding. My GOD are they demanding. Watch me, Mommy, watch me, watch me now, Mommy, MOMMMMMM-MMMMMYYYYYY WATCH ME WATCH WATCH ME DO WHAT I CAN DO. ~jump~ Well for chrissakes, that's what you wanted me to see? That's just super I'm so glad I ran out of the shower with shampoo in my hair for that. And the screaming. WTF is up with all the screaming? Decibels that would shatter glass! Hey, ya little smelly bullhorn, I'm right in front of you!! SHADDAP.

I do not have a ticking biological clock. I never have. I was a terrible babysitter. I ate all of your food and didn't care what your kids were doing with those knives and I went through all of your shit trying to find the porn. I do not have the patience to sit down on the floor and play vroom vroom cars for 18 hours. I do not want to rock you to sleep for 3 days straight while you howl in my ear. I do not want to clean 12,942 shitty diapers.

I am old. I am out of shape. I like my afternoon naps. I do not need to care for another living thing to show me how selfish I was or to give unconditional love to an entire human being I'm solely responsible for. I have a forgetful boyfriend, a blind cat and another one who pukes every god damn day to deal with. Holding a baby for 20 minutes does not make me ovulate. You know what it does? It makes my arms cramp.

If you have kids, if you always wanted them, if it's the best thing that ever happened to you. Great. I'm so glad you're having a ball. But friends and strangers alike, the next person to give me the reproduction lecture gets a boot in the box.

I give you one final warning. Stay out of my uterus. It's closed. Permanently.