- There is nothing sadder than Ticky yowling at the bathroom door because I am the meanest woman alive because I can't let him out until he uses the litter box. Oddly enough, this makes him more affectionate towards me when I nip in for a pee myself. He does not like to be alone. He does not want some water and wet food. Start laying the odds out on my winding up adopting him.
- Officially, that Business Information Sources Workshop and its assignment is the stupidest waste of my time ever. I don't even care, it is such a waste of my time and an example of that indirect Midwestern mushmouthedness that makes me scream.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Practically Briny Today
To recap: no car, sick kitten, overattentive vet.....
As Seen At Target...
So first there was French Women Don't Get Fat. Now there's Japanese Women Don't Get Old Or Fat. For crying out loud.
I am enormously tempted to pitch Eastern European Women Are Ageless Little Trolls--How Growing Your Own Food And Gossiping Improves And Extends Your Life. Any suggestions for chapters?
I am enormously tempted to pitch Eastern European Women Are Ageless Little Trolls--How Growing Your Own Food And Gossiping Improves And Extends Your Life. Any suggestions for chapters?
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Inside Job--Connie Willis
The two things I love most about Connie Willis's writing is the humor and the versatility. Well, that and the woman is either very good to her family librarian or just an encyclopedia. Her latest is this novella, clocking in at 99 pages of tight romance, satire and metaphysics. Rob runs a skeptics tabloid out of LA. His assistant is the famous actress Kildy, who chucked film to be his Girl Friday. She stumbles onto a psychic, whose usual channeling schtick has been interrupted by...H.L. Mencken! Is it for real, or are Rob and Kildy being hoaxed? Tons of Mencken quotes and detail in this frothy romp, a cute love story cum social satire. Totally recommended.
More Salt
So, over the past 2 weeks I have sent in documentation for at least $200 in reimbursements from my flex accounts, and yet again today, no check was in the mail. Crap.
Five Red Herrings--Dorothy L. Sayers
I loves me some Peter and Harriet, but I couldn't finish this one. First, no Harriet. Second, it's all obsessed with timetables and logic and that stuff. If I happened to be a detective confronted by tons of fiddley details, I would probably just let the person off. But some great lines, as Wimsey pumps a suspect's daughter...
"...Perhaps I'd better run you part of the way home."
"Oh, please do," said Myra. "Then we can drive the cows and make them run like anything."
"That would be very naughty," said Wimsey. "It isn't good for cows to run fast. You are an impertinent, bloodthirsty, greedy and unkind young person, and one of these days you'll be a menace to society."
"How lovely! I could have a pistol and a beautiful evening dress, and lure people to opium-dens and stick them up. I think I'd better marry you, because you've got such a fast car. That would be useful, you see."
"Very, " said Wimsey, gravely. "I'll bear the idea in mind. But you might not want to marry me later on, you know."
"...Perhaps I'd better run you part of the way home."
"Oh, please do," said Myra. "Then we can drive the cows and make them run like anything."
"That would be very naughty," said Wimsey. "It isn't good for cows to run fast. You are an impertinent, bloodthirsty, greedy and unkind young person, and one of these days you'll be a menace to society."
"How lovely! I could have a pistol and a beautiful evening dress, and lure people to opium-dens and stick them up. I think I'd better marry you, because you've got such a fast car. That would be useful, you see."
"Very, " said Wimsey, gravely. "I'll bear the idea in mind. But you might not want to marry me later on, you know."
The Morton Salt Girl Files
It doesn't rain, it pours.
Today:
Today:
- Got up to take Ticky to the vet. On the way to Tremont, my car's "Check Engine" light goes on and it begins to develop other troubling symptoms. Lovely.
- Dr. Bob is not there, so Dr. Alison sees us. She is much more worried about ol' Tickers, the cat that doesn't pee. She thinks nerve damage. She has me monitoring him and keeping me separated to see if he pees. Plus, she had me bring him back this afternoon so she could drain off some urine. I had already taken my car to Drellishak's, so we took a $16 cab ride out to Tremont. We saved some cash by taking the train home.
- Where I get hit on by a guy who chats me up about my cat. Why, why, why? Why do I not attract professionals with master's degrees? I really must look like crap. Why do I attract skeezy guys and black homeless men? This one kept rubbing his package and winking at me. Obviously that was too subtle, so he had to suggest we "get together sometime." No, no, no.
- While I'm grateful to Genevieve for the heater she gave me, it really smells like cat pee. Thanks, Oliver!
- I must be stupid, because I also seem to be unable to properly seal my windows with plastic.
- Homework. Procrastination. Anxiety.
- Multiple trips on public transit.
- Cold.
- No egg noodles.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
More Adventures in Homeownership
So the ex came over to get his furniture out of the basement on Friday night. No, I am not moving. I am planning to tear up the carpet, paint the rough wood paneling SW's "Snowbound" and turn this puppy into my own underground tropic beach house/exercise room this winter. Stop laughing. I can't make it look worse than it does, plus a finished basement is like a freebie room--it's nice when it looks good, but everyone expects it to look crappy. So I have no perfectionist fears.
I thought he was just coming to pick up some folding chairs, but he had intended to get the big table and chairs out and take it to the Goodwill. I didn't have the heart to tell him the Kamm's Corners Goodwill is closed, but neither did I want the responsibility of listing this stuff on Freecycle. So I shut up most of the cats in the kitchen and he took the stuff out the side door. I couldn't catch Tom Collins and Mencken, so I kept watch on the door to make sure they did not escape. No, they did not go running out into the night. It turned out much worse.
So after the ex left, I opened some wet food to do a cat count. Where's Mencken? I call him upstairs. I call him downstairs. I call outside (he's not called The Silent Scamper for nothing). And then I hear him in the basement. It sounds like he's behind the wall, crying. How the hell did he get there? Where is he?
I turn off the furnace to hear better. I get the folding chair and the flashlight. I'm panicking because I can't see him, but when I shine the light he cries more. It doesn't look like he's at the foot of the wall behind the wall with the shelves. It doesn't look like he's up on the ducts, like where Cain used to hide in the summer.
Manic adrenaline takes over. I look for ways I could take apart the wall. Can I saw through the paneling? Can I remove it if I pry off the trim? Can I remove the wall from the utility room side? Can I run out to Home Depot and buy a hammer? Crap, I don't have the right tools for this. I hardly have any tools at all. I start taking apart some of the dropped ceiling tiles to see if I can tear the wall down from the top.
Down comes an ancient kitty toy, a metal ball with a mouse inside. And used condoms stuck to the back of the tiles. I curse the former owners yet again. "Pigfucker"is an appropriate term for them.
But the good thing is that Mencken cries more, and I can see him. He's around the curve of a duct in a hidey hole. He's not stuck, because he can pop himself in and out. Poor baby is just scared. "Mommy's here, Menckey" I say. I never call myself mommy to my cats. I look at trying to take apart some of the ductwork. No tools. I'm a little calmer now. I keep talking to him and eventually lure him out of the hole. He walks very carefully along the beams to the utility room wall, and I meet him on the stepstool and pick him up. I take him to the kitchen for wet food.
I love my cats, even when situations like this spur me to crazy action. We had a dog when I was a little kid, but I never had a pet until last year when I got the cats. It's a complex relationship--I love them, they are amusing and good companions, but I try not to become too much of a crazy cat woman about them. But on a darker note, caring for them is a way of proving to myself that I am a good person. My ex had a way of convincing me I was a difficult monster, and I didn't question his opinion for a long time when he'd say rubbish like that if I had a cat or a child I'd lose interest after a while. I didn't realize that it was a projection of himself onto me and our relationship. So when we split, one of the first things I did (although I did have to be talked into it) was to get the cats. Yes, they cost money and break things and eat anything growing that's brought into the house. But they are so much more than that. To be trite, loving them and caring for them adds so much to my life than they cost. To be even more cliche and trite, I'm a better person because of them.
I thought he was just coming to pick up some folding chairs, but he had intended to get the big table and chairs out and take it to the Goodwill. I didn't have the heart to tell him the Kamm's Corners Goodwill is closed, but neither did I want the responsibility of listing this stuff on Freecycle. So I shut up most of the cats in the kitchen and he took the stuff out the side door. I couldn't catch Tom Collins and Mencken, so I kept watch on the door to make sure they did not escape. No, they did not go running out into the night. It turned out much worse.
So after the ex left, I opened some wet food to do a cat count. Where's Mencken? I call him upstairs. I call him downstairs. I call outside (he's not called The Silent Scamper for nothing). And then I hear him in the basement. It sounds like he's behind the wall, crying. How the hell did he get there? Where is he?
I turn off the furnace to hear better. I get the folding chair and the flashlight. I'm panicking because I can't see him, but when I shine the light he cries more. It doesn't look like he's at the foot of the wall behind the wall with the shelves. It doesn't look like he's up on the ducts, like where Cain used to hide in the summer.
Manic adrenaline takes over. I look for ways I could take apart the wall. Can I saw through the paneling? Can I remove it if I pry off the trim? Can I remove the wall from the utility room side? Can I run out to Home Depot and buy a hammer? Crap, I don't have the right tools for this. I hardly have any tools at all. I start taking apart some of the dropped ceiling tiles to see if I can tear the wall down from the top.
Down comes an ancient kitty toy, a metal ball with a mouse inside. And used condoms stuck to the back of the tiles. I curse the former owners yet again. "Pigfucker"is an appropriate term for them.
But the good thing is that Mencken cries more, and I can see him. He's around the curve of a duct in a hidey hole. He's not stuck, because he can pop himself in and out. Poor baby is just scared. "Mommy's here, Menckey" I say. I never call myself mommy to my cats. I look at trying to take apart some of the ductwork. No tools. I'm a little calmer now. I keep talking to him and eventually lure him out of the hole. He walks very carefully along the beams to the utility room wall, and I meet him on the stepstool and pick him up. I take him to the kitchen for wet food.
I love my cats, even when situations like this spur me to crazy action. We had a dog when I was a little kid, but I never had a pet until last year when I got the cats. It's a complex relationship--I love them, they are amusing and good companions, but I try not to become too much of a crazy cat woman about them. But on a darker note, caring for them is a way of proving to myself that I am a good person. My ex had a way of convincing me I was a difficult monster, and I didn't question his opinion for a long time when he'd say rubbish like that if I had a cat or a child I'd lose interest after a while. I didn't realize that it was a projection of himself onto me and our relationship. So when we split, one of the first things I did (although I did have to be talked into it) was to get the cats. Yes, they cost money and break things and eat anything growing that's brought into the house. But they are so much more than that. To be trite, loving them and caring for them adds so much to my life than they cost. To be even more cliche and trite, I'm a better person because of them.
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