I mentioned our old (both in the senses of previous and elderly) cat Nicky in yesterday's comments. And it occurred to me that I should explain that the reason our very female cat had a boy's name (unisex naming being a topic that seems to be in the air this week!) was because my then two year old son named her such. Why? Because his very very favorite book at the time was No No Nicky, the story of a cute little kitteh who gets in trouble for all the things a toddler might be told "no" about. Going too close to the stove: "No, no, Nicky! Hot!" Getting into things that don't belong to him: "No, no, Nicky! That's not yours!" It was adorable, and D loved it. (And so naturally, Nicky was what you should call a cat who doesn't have another name.)
I was wondering if it were still in print, hence my trip to amazon, but alas, no. If you click on the link however, you'll see I could get a used copy for $33. Which is, coincidentally, how much it costs for a cat cremation. Huh. Anyway, my nostalgia for 1988 and my child's preschool days isn't strong enough to consider that. But the editorial review on amazon from the School Library Journal? Did you read that?
Parents may be troubled by how the concepts of friendship and safety are explored in these full-color board books for very young children. The cat Nicky has friends that include a baby, other kittens, two children, a man on a park bench, an elderly woman who feeds him from her porch, and a puppy. Although each character falls under the umbrella of friend, the relationships are not clearly defined, and the book will not hold children's interest. In No, No Nicky, the cat is pictured near a hot stove, an electrical outlet, spilled paint, and a cupboard full of cleaning supplies, but there are no clues as to why the situation is dangerous. Much adult interpretation will be required to help children understand the dangerous scenarios. The book itself fails to help children discern what is safe.
Are you fucking kidding me? I thought that in 1987 our society hadn't yet devolved into the over-protective hand-wringing idiocy that parenting is today, but apparently I remember wrongly! I will not buy a $33 copy of this book, but that doesn't mean I want my fond memories of it shit all over. Fucking children's librarians from Newark. God. (Plus? It held my kid's interest, bitch. So what do you know?)
xoxo
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
okay, fine
Since you all refused to care about my very important lunch question, being too busy "having a life" or some kind of nonsense like that, I just going to tell you more things you can refuse to care about. That'll teach you.
1.) Do you know how much it costs to have a cat cremated if you do not want the ashes back in a nice little urn? $33. Do you know how much it cost to have a cat cremated and returned to you in a nice little urn that you can put on your mantle or something? Somewhere around a hundred dollars. I cannot give you an exact figure, because that is not the option I chose. For one thing, I do not have a mantle.
2.) When taking your cat's rigor mortis'd little corpse to the vet's office for said cremation, do you know what is exactly the right size and shape to transport it in after you decide just bringing it in a trash bag is...wrong? Your yoga mat bag. I'm going to relate this to M1 when I see her at work next week and she is going to say to me once again, "Only you, Andrea." And she will probably be right. All y'all will never know another person like me. But we're all special little snowflakes, aren't we?
3.) If you ever find yourself in my position and decide to walk from the vet's office to the Y because it is sunny out and kind of warm and it's really not that far and some fresh air will probably do you good, after a mile and a half of scrambling over snow piles and dodging killer SUVs when you are forced to walk on the road, you will arrive at the Y and say to yourself, "WTF am I doing here? How did that NOT just count as cardio?" And you will be right. You will nevertheless go inside and run on the treadmill anyway, because you will decide that after only going to the gym twice the week before, it is not a good thing to get out of the habit of going several times a week. Or because you are stupid. One of the two.
xoxo
1.) Do you know how much it costs to have a cat cremated if you do not want the ashes back in a nice little urn? $33. Do you know how much it cost to have a cat cremated and returned to you in a nice little urn that you can put on your mantle or something? Somewhere around a hundred dollars. I cannot give you an exact figure, because that is not the option I chose. For one thing, I do not have a mantle.
2.) When taking your cat's rigor mortis'd little corpse to the vet's office for said cremation, do you know what is exactly the right size and shape to transport it in after you decide just bringing it in a trash bag is...wrong? Your yoga mat bag. I'm going to relate this to M1 when I see her at work next week and she is going to say to me once again, "Only you, Andrea." And she will probably be right. All y'all will never know another person like me. But we're all special little snowflakes, aren't we?
3.) If you ever find yourself in my position and decide to walk from the vet's office to the Y because it is sunny out and kind of warm and it's really not that far and some fresh air will probably do you good, after a mile and a half of scrambling over snow piles and dodging killer SUVs when you are forced to walk on the road, you will arrive at the Y and say to yourself, "WTF am I doing here? How did that NOT just count as cardio?" And you will be right. You will nevertheless go inside and run on the treadmill anyway, because you will decide that after only going to the gym twice the week before, it is not a good thing to get out of the habit of going several times a week. Or because you are stupid. One of the two.
xoxo
very important, crucial food question
Okay, kids, I bought me some Stop & Shop deli Swiss cheese. I just opened it and there are no holes. Is it possible to have hole-free Swiss cheese or did those idiots give me the wrong thing? Also? It kind of tastes like Parmesan, but I don't know if I am mindfucking myself into thinking that 'cause it looks wrong. So, incompetence of grocery employees or just what I get for being cheap and not buying the Boar's Head or Alpine Lace?
Answer soon. The fate of the universe and/or my lunch depends upon it.
xoxo
Also, please advise on how to tell if blue cheese and sour cream have gone bad. Extra points if you explain kefir.
(Blogger spellcheck does not recognize the existence of kefir. That's racist. Mongolian power! Um, no, Russian power! Wikipedia has corrected me. Maybe I should see what they say about effin' Swiss cheese. I'll stop editing this any.time.now.)
Swiss cheese is a generic name in North America for several related varieties of cheese which resemble the Swiss Emmental. Some types of Swiss cheese have a distinctive appearance, as the blocks of the cheese are riddled with holes known as “eyes.” Swiss cheese has a piquant, but not very sharp, taste. Swiss cheese without eyes is known as “blind.”[1] What the hell do I need you people for when I have the interwebs. God.
Mongolian kefir is "kumis." Everyone knows that. Duh.
Answer soon. The fate of the universe and/or my lunch depends upon it.
xoxo
Also, please advise on how to tell if blue cheese and sour cream have gone bad. Extra points if you explain kefir.
(Blogger spellcheck does not recognize the existence of kefir. That's racist. Mongolian power! Um, no, Russian power! Wikipedia has corrected me. Maybe I should see what they say about effin' Swiss cheese. I'll stop editing this any.time.now.)
Swiss cheese is a generic name in North America for several related varieties of cheese which resemble the Swiss Emmental. Some types of Swiss cheese have a distinctive appearance, as the blocks of the cheese are riddled with holes known as “eyes.” Swiss cheese has a piquant, but not very sharp, taste. Swiss cheese without eyes is known as “blind.”[1] What the hell do I need you people for when I have the interwebs. God.
Mongolian kefir is "kumis." Everyone knows that. Duh.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
tuesday tmi edition plus other stuff
First of all, I need to publicly announce that while I was digging out yesterday with the entire rest of my neighborhood--everyone seemed to come to the conclusion that the storm was mostly over at the exact same time--the old guy (not one of the sons) next door came over with his GIANT snowblower and shushed me out of the way and proceeded to do my whole sidewalk plus the part of the driveway I hadn't finished yet INCLUDING the tough part where the plows pile up the snow. Cookies apparently get you somewhere.
No, as I was saying elsewhere, apparently the whole family has decided to take pity on poor pathetic husband-less me. Part of me was going, "No, no, I've been going to the gym, I can handle this, I'M IN SHAPE," but fortunately I subdued it. I hate to perpetuate the stereotype of a weak and helpless woman, but sometimes it's just convenient to roll with it. (Yeah, I know, I'm going to hell.) But I'm sure it gave him the warm fuzzies to do his good deed for the week, I *was* the only chick out on the whole street for serious, and he has a GIANT SNOWBLOWER. That thing is monstrously powerful.
I don't know why I'm shouting at you with the cap lock key. Excuse me.
So now onto the TMI portion of our mutual day. Those of you who were cyber-with-me during D's long hospitalization four years ago may or may not remember that I truthfully maintained that, other than being at the hospital, school, or working, I spent the entire two and a half months distracting myself with baseball, bad TV (especially VH1 and VH1 Classic), and reading about and discussing other people's sexual exploits on the interwebs.
Well, yesterday, after sobbing about the cat and digging out/being dug out of the snowstorm, and having been told by Led Zep Girl that our department was staying closed, in my grief and sadness I really couldn't concentrate on anything other than zoning out on the internet. One of the weightlifting forums that I always read has a huge number and variety of different boards, including one that is simply "misc". Misc is almost completely populated by 15 to 24 year old males at their most obnoxious, sexist, and homophobic prime. If you took anything you read there as anything but a bunch of chimps posturing for each other, a.) your head would explode and b.) before it did, you would weep for the future of the entire English-speaking world. But if you keep in mind that it's really just a bunch of boys and men who haven't quite yet stopped being boys dick-measuring and showing off for each other, it can be amusing at times. Yesterday? In my inability to cope with anything else, I ended up on misc.
And thus I came across a "dat ass" thread, consisting of post after post after post of pictures of women with magnificent booties clad only in thongs or other brief undergarments. (If I didn't know Mr Indemnity is on vacation, I'd have sent him the link, 'cause that's the kind of friend I am.) I was fairly mesmerized because this was certainly the largest collection of female gluteal perfection I had ever seen. After some time perusing it, I also became aware that I was, uh, aroused. Now this was extremely surprising for two reasons. First of all, as you are all aware, I am the most heterosexual woman in North America. I enjoy looking at pretty women on an aesthetic level, but it doesn't make anything happen in my pants, yo. And, secondly, I am not generally visually aroused anyway. I read pron, not look at it.
I was musing over this and I remembered what I referenced above, how when D was in the hospital, one of the few things that diverted me was reading about other people talking about sex. And then I thought about how the summer after my mother's death, I distracted myself with what was, for me, unusually casual sex. It all came together into this stunning (haha) insight: grief makes me horny. In fact, the day of my dad's funeral? Oh, yeah.
I have no idea what this says about me, but it's probably nothing good. And nothing that years and years of expensive therapy couldn't cure, I'm sure. Maybe I'll get right on that.
xoxo
No, as I was saying elsewhere, apparently the whole family has decided to take pity on poor pathetic husband-less me. Part of me was going, "No, no, I've been going to the gym, I can handle this, I'M IN SHAPE," but fortunately I subdued it. I hate to perpetuate the stereotype of a weak and helpless woman, but sometimes it's just convenient to roll with it. (Yeah, I know, I'm going to hell.) But I'm sure it gave him the warm fuzzies to do his good deed for the week, I *was* the only chick out on the whole street for serious, and he has a GIANT SNOWBLOWER. That thing is monstrously powerful.
I don't know why I'm shouting at you with the cap lock key. Excuse me.
So now onto the TMI portion of our mutual day. Those of you who were cyber-with-me during D's long hospitalization four years ago may or may not remember that I truthfully maintained that, other than being at the hospital, school, or working, I spent the entire two and a half months distracting myself with baseball, bad TV (especially VH1 and VH1 Classic), and reading about and discussing other people's sexual exploits on the interwebs.
Well, yesterday, after sobbing about the cat and digging out/being dug out of the snowstorm, and having been told by Led Zep Girl that our department was staying closed, in my grief and sadness I really couldn't concentrate on anything other than zoning out on the internet. One of the weightlifting forums that I always read has a huge number and variety of different boards, including one that is simply "misc". Misc is almost completely populated by 15 to 24 year old males at their most obnoxious, sexist, and homophobic prime. If you took anything you read there as anything but a bunch of chimps posturing for each other, a.) your head would explode and b.) before it did, you would weep for the future of the entire English-speaking world. But if you keep in mind that it's really just a bunch of boys and men who haven't quite yet stopped being boys dick-measuring and showing off for each other, it can be amusing at times. Yesterday? In my inability to cope with anything else, I ended up on misc.
And thus I came across a "dat ass" thread, consisting of post after post after post of pictures of women with magnificent booties clad only in thongs or other brief undergarments. (If I didn't know Mr Indemnity is on vacation, I'd have sent him the link, 'cause that's the kind of friend I am.) I was fairly mesmerized because this was certainly the largest collection of female gluteal perfection I had ever seen. After some time perusing it, I also became aware that I was, uh, aroused. Now this was extremely surprising for two reasons. First of all, as you are all aware, I am the most heterosexual woman in North America. I enjoy looking at pretty women on an aesthetic level, but it doesn't make anything happen in my pants, yo. And, secondly, I am not generally visually aroused anyway. I read pron, not look at it.
I was musing over this and I remembered what I referenced above, how when D was in the hospital, one of the few things that diverted me was reading about other people talking about sex. And then I thought about how the summer after my mother's death, I distracted myself with what was, for me, unusually casual sex. It all came together into this stunning (haha) insight: grief makes me horny. In fact, the day of my dad's funeral? Oh, yeah.
I have no idea what this says about me, but it's probably nothing good. And nothing that years and years of expensive therapy couldn't cure, I'm sure. Maybe I'll get right on that.
xoxo
Monday, December 27, 2010
i can't keep saying muy triste
It gets old.
Evil Kitty is dead upstairs on my daybed. After getting worse and worse over the course of the last day despite being back on the other medications, I basically think D and I pushed her over the edge into shock by attempting to give her pills this morning. I am, as you might imagine, crying hysterically as I am typing this and feeling like shit that her last interaction with us probably felt to her like we were torturing her. I dunno. Even if it had been possible for me to leave the house yesterday afternoon or this morning, I think she'd have gone into shock and died on the way to the vet, just from the stress of leaving the house. But I am so fucking sad. A week ago she was doing so well, all fat and happy and feisty. We even bought her a giant tub of catnip for Christmas.
I won't say 2010 has been the worst year of my life (hello, 2006!) but it's in the top five. Something good better happen soon because I really am on a thin edge here.
RIP, Goozy.
xoxo
Evil Kitty is dead upstairs on my daybed. After getting worse and worse over the course of the last day despite being back on the other medications, I basically think D and I pushed her over the edge into shock by attempting to give her pills this morning. I am, as you might imagine, crying hysterically as I am typing this and feeling like shit that her last interaction with us probably felt to her like we were torturing her. I dunno. Even if it had been possible for me to leave the house yesterday afternoon or this morning, I think she'd have gone into shock and died on the way to the vet, just from the stress of leaving the house. But I am so fucking sad. A week ago she was doing so well, all fat and happy and feisty. We even bought her a giant tub of catnip for Christmas.
I won't say 2010 has been the worst year of my life (hello, 2006!) but it's in the top five. Something good better happen soon because I really am on a thin edge here.
RIP, Goozy.
xoxo
Saturday, December 25, 2010
a christmas present for YOU
The management of The Adventures wishes you a lovely day full of prezzies, eggnog, Chinese food, obnoxious relatives, or whatever is your tradition, all y'all.
xoxo
Friday, December 24, 2010
the xmas eve that doesn't feel like xmas eve
Evil Kitty started acting weird again last night, lethargic, howling, refusing food. "Goddamn it, cat," I told her, "do NOT die on Christmas, because I am on a very thin thread here." I was worried the vet's would be closed today, but I called at 8:30 and they were indeed open till 2 pm. They asked if I could be there by 9:20. Of course! And Evil Kitty is anemic again. 17, not 12, but 17 ain't good. The vet (ours was on vacay) said she probably was taken off the prednisone too soon. I told him the ultrasound vet was adamant she shouldn't be on it, and he said, yeah, it's a very delicate situation but she can't keep having this happen every three months either. (Note: yes, $265 visit today and we're going back Monday,; this cannot keep happening every three months.)
So then I came home and delivered my gratitude cookies (see comments for that) and then I went to Stop & Shop to buy veggies for tomorrow and a piece of fish for tonight. I line ahead of me was a woman with $60-something worth of groceries, whose debit card was rejected. "I was just at the bank," she said. "The money is in there. I'm about to cry any minute." She decides to try using the atm to see if her debit card will work there, but the atm inside the store was out of order. Her bank has by now closed. She decides she will go to their atm and asks the cashier and the manager who's come over if they will hold her stuff till she gets back. They promise they shall. And I'm standing there thinking, I should offer to pay for her stuff. Other than having just swiped my debit card at the vet's office, I honestly don't know why I didn't. And now I kinda feel like shit about it. Someone did something nice for me this week and here was my chance to pass it on. And I blew it. Sigh. No wonder my karma sucks so bad.
Oh, and I haven't wrapped presents yet. I had to sit down to eat my leftover chicken and type on the internet first, but I'ma get right on it. After I chug down this bottle of water so I can pour a glass of wine. Wrapping presents is traditionally an alcohol-fueled endeavour, yo. Plus it will probably make me feel better about my shortcomings as a human being!
If you are drinking and wrapping too, avoid paper cuts and remember scissors are sharp objects.
xoxo
Twinkle twinkle.
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