whenever i don't want to do something, and i need to come up with a totally transparent excuse, i say "sorry, i can't do {insert avoided activity here}, i have to wash my cat." it's such a blatant lie that it easily conveys the sense of hell no, i would rather do any inane act than do whatever it is you want to do. cat washing -- the universal avoidance tool.
so have i really been spending the last two blogless months cat washing? nope. just once. and let me tell you, once was enough. scoutie and i were making breakfast one morning, and whiskey came running through the kitchen. her face was *covered* with cobwebs. we grabbed her to get them off, and realized that our usually white kitty was black from the belly down. next, boo came trundling by, and he had the same affliction. clearly these cats had been doing something naughty. we discovered that the cats had somehow gotten into the attic, which is full of roofing tar. boo has been trying to get in that room for 8 years. fucking roofing tar! so we threw them in the bathroom together while we finished our breakfast, grabbed the camera, and readied ourselves for the task ahead. cat washing.
for those of you who have never washed a cat, i have a suggestion. don't. but if for some reason you absolutely need to, let me walk you through it.
HOW TO WASH A CAT:
Find a very dirty cat in need of cleaning.- Decide that once you are going through the hell, maybe your miserable cat would like company so he doesn't feel so foolish and alone. Grab another cat.
- Fill up a small tub with warm water and a dash of Johnson's Baby Shampoo.
- Grab the cat with a death grip around his middle that shows you mean business. this is no time to worry that you are holding him too tight. hold him tighter!
Dip the cat in the water, and squoosh him down until he is up to his neck in the water. Careful, this is often where they get a little pissy. Hold 'em tight and whatever you do DON'T LET GO!- Don't worry too much about scrubbing. The cat will be fighting and biting and clawing so much to get out of the water that he will likely lather himself up with the effort.
- Once you figure he's been tortured enough, take him out of the small tub, and set him down. Pour warm, clean, water over him until there are no suds left.
Take the pathetic, shivering, cat, and wrap him in a towel to dry him off.- By this point, all the fight has probably gone out of your cat. He will just lay there licking himself dry and glaring balefully at you. Take this opportunity to grab your camera and take photo's of his tiny chicken feet.
- Repeat with the next cat.
Blow them dry with a hairdryer set on low if needed. Be careful not to point the dryer directly at their eyes or ears. They don't like it, and I don't blame them. Have you ever accidently suctioned your contacts to your eye by not paying attention to where the hairdryer is? It sucks. And the poor cat has been through enough, don't you think?- Now the cat is clean and dry, and you are probably soaking wet and bloody. Get out that first aid kit and clean yourself up.
so, sorry for the hiatus folks. as you can see, i've been busy. i was washing the cat.
may your life be filled with light and love and happiness!
- i took the GREs. not great scores but perfectly serviceable. hopefully they'll get me in to the grad programs i'm looking at: UNC Chapel Hill, University of Washington, University of Denver, University of Syracuse, and the University of Illinois
- the fall semester has begun. i am a senior. huzzah!
- i received a letter telling me that i've been "nominated by the Simmons College Faculty to be a member of Academy. Academy is the honor society of the undergraduate college." apparently my gpa places me in the 94th percentile of the class of 2007. of course my first thought was, 'dammit. i knew those 2 A-'s would come back to bite me in the ass... i should be in the 99th percentile!!'
- i've drastically cut back on hours at JP Licks and i'm happy as a clam at high tide working for the digital librarian at a private economic consulting company downtown. i scan and index documents and have plenty of time to do homework (or screw around on the internet, whichever comes first)
so that's my life in a nutshell. or bulleted list, as it were.
p.s. you're all welcome to attend the honors convocation at 2:30pm 9/13 at Simmons, where i will be awarded the Academy Scroll and pin. it's going to be ever so much fun.
p.p.s. the above postscript is entirely sarcastic. if i see anyone i know there i will bash you with my scroll and stick you with my pin. if you don't believe me i'm sure i can supply several references attesting to my violent and agressive nature.
so i am watching tv with scoutie tonight, ignoring the commercials and tapping away on my laptop, when i see something out of the corner of my eye, and startled, i look up. there, on my tv screen is a weird brown brick, with arms and legs. and everybody who touches it gets slimed. brown snail-trails are left in it's wake. skidmarks, if you will. scoutie informs me that it's name is "fudgems". and apparently this is supposed to encourage me to buy pizza.
the good folks at Domino's think that this little mumbling, dancing, giggling "brownie" is going to make me more likely to take them up on their Two-for-Tuesday deal.
i look at it and think, as i feel most people will, "oh look! dancing poo!"
i also think that the good folks at domino's need a new ad agency.
check it out for yourself. tasty treat? or dancing poo? i think the answer is clear.
a of days ago i celebrated my one year anniversary at the Crime Lab. yup, i have been gainfully employed for a full year. almost doesn't seem possible. and working for The Man at that. it's been a fun year. i have hired more people than i have fired. i have watched our budget balloon to new heights. we opened one new lab, and in October we will open another even larger one, and move our main offices. i have learned a tremendous amount about state government, crime control, and forensic science. and i have actually had a lot of fun along the way.
some of the fun has been funnier than others.
the crime lab isn't open to the public. we don't give tours, or allow the press inside. although we fly the state flag, the building is fairly innocuous. it's a converted school house and the sign on the front of the building is small. most people can't even find the doorbell.
and yet don't underestimate the public. they're tricky. they can sometimes find their way in.
of course, they make it no further than reception. and generally that means that i get brought up to the front desk and shoo them away. but sometimes i listen to what they want first. and what do they want?
i want a scientist to tell me, or at least an office manager:
a man walks into the crime lab with a zip-lock baggie. in the baggie is a clod of dirt with a chunk of something in it. the man found the clod/chunk in his backyard when he was digging up a tree stump. he thought it was suspicious looking. he thought it needed a trained professional to tell him what it was. he thought it could be a piece of wood. or a bone. but he wasn't sure. he was concerned and wanted a scientist to analyze it. i told him that we didn't do that, and that he should contact his local pd if he was worried. i told him he needed to leave and tried to hustle him along. he didn't want to leave until somebody in authority told him their professional assesment. it wasn't going to happen. finally he beseached me, and begged me to tell him what i thought. i replied "i think i write purchase orders for a living!" he nodded, sagely, took his clod and left smiling.
i want you to tell me if this smells funny:
a lady walks into the crime lab, clutching an disposable coffee cup, filled with what looked like... well... coffee. she sets it on the counter, and tells us that somebody is trying to kill her. every time she walks out of the room, they put a little more poison in her coffee cup. or maybe they pee in it. she's not sure. she wants us to run toxicology tests to prove that someone is out to get her, and she wants to know what the poison is. if it's urine, she wants us to run DNA tests so we call tell her who is out to get her. we explain that we don't do this, and that she needs to contact her local pd (noticing a trend here...?). she asks me what she should do. and i tell her, with a perfectly straight face, that i think she should stop drinking coffee.
i want to spy on other peoples kids, just not piss off my own:
a lady walks into the crime lab, clutching a magazine. slathered across the cover, in big type, is lurid details from the latest high profile pervert who was using myspace. she launches into a long, garbled, but very passionate ramble about how horrible dangerous the internet is. she has two young daughters, who use myspace, and she worries about them. she wants to teach kids about internet safety. she wants to help. she looks at me and wails "I WANT TO HELP THE FBI CATCH INTERNET PREDATORS ON MYSPACE!" i explain that we don't do that, and that she needs to contact the freakin' FBI. i also told her that she probably didn't need her help, but that maybe she should sit down with her own daughters and see what they are looking at and using, and explain to them about how to be safe. she looks at me, very affronted, and says "oh. they wouldn't like that. i like to give them their privacy".
these things never happen on C.S.I.
i'm now officially the second member of the casa to have a weird nerve problem.i blame you, kate.
i normally don't answer my phone, but for some reason when the state of Michigan called me, i decided to pick up. only it wasn't Michigan. it was The Dove Foundation, a non-profit dedicated to family decency in films and television. they said they had a short survey that would take less than 90 seconds, and asked me if i would participate. i was feeling generous, so why not. here's the transcript of the call, to the best of my recollection:
DF: decent, good, kind people are concerned about the morality of television and movies going down the toilet, and are worried that the average american can't do anything to fix it. do you agree that the content of television and movies is often objectionable?
me: i don't think there is enough obscenity on television.
DF: what?
me: there should be more obscenity on tv.
DF: "click"
that's right. it all took less than 90 seconds because they hung up on me. so if you are reading over their survey results (which they swear are "unquestionably accurate and without prejudice") and wondering how middle america is feeling about decency on tv, the honest answer is -- no one knows. they hang up on folks who don't agree.
so to level the playing field, here's what i suggest. if you feel as though their research methods are shoddy, please take this survey. you don't have to tell them you want to see more tits and ass on tv, but you should tell them your opinion in a way that will be more of a pain in the ass for them to delete from the database.
the casa is generally a cluttered world of books and mail and the occassional cat-hair-tumbleweed slowly blowing across the floor. the bathroom and the kitchen are cleaned regularly but they are exceptions to the rule. we tidy up here more than we clean - moving piles from one surface to another, vacuuming the dust bunnies in the corners, shuffling books/dvds/videogames back to where they live (even though they always manage to migrate back to the coffee table/top of the tv/floor). i took a few hours of my days off to tend to a few of the forgotten realms, the areas we always look at and say, 'we really should clean that' but then dinner is ready and 'jeopardy' is on tv and then somehow the whole night has slipped away without getting anything accomplished.
i scrubbed the stovetop, soaking the drip pans and burner rack thingys (i don't know what they're called) for an hour in scalding soapy water. i thought the soaking would losen some grime but it still took 45 minutes, copious amounts of bar-keeper's friend, and plenty of elbow grease to get most of the baked on crud off. unfortunately it didn't occur to me to take a 'before' picture. oh well. recent houseguests may be the only ones who appreciate the full glory that is now the stovetop.
this was living in the fridge. i think it used to be a bowl of tomato soup (the chunky tomato bisque is amazing!). i know it's mold and therefore disgusting, but look. it's kind of beautiful, too.
i also tackled the primary living space with a few garbage bags, some furniture polish and rage (ha! this was a typo too good to fix... i meant to say rags), and the vacuum.
i found some peace in the process of scrubbing, of cleaning so hard i sweated, of going through the accumulated dirt and effluvia and finding things i had forgotten about. already the house has lost its sharp, clean edge. the piles have slowly started to sneak back onto the coffee table and i'm pretty sure i just saw a baby tumbleweed making its way into the kitchen. but i have to start carmelizing onions and chopping cucumbers for dinner tonight and then 'jeopardy' will be on tv and then... well. you know how it goes. why didn't anyone tell me how humbling cleaning a house is? and why did it take me so long to find the joy in the whole process?
so the latest headline regarding the big dig debacle reads "Romney: 1,454 problem areas in ceiling tiles".
really? you want to go on record with exactly how many tiles are a problem?
honestly, i would just stop counting at this point and proclaim "it's all just rotten". because let me tell you, this Dick Clark's Rockin' New Years Eve reverse countdown to total tunnel collapse is just getting ludicrous.
on a related side-note... look closely the next time they air a bit on the news about the tunnels. you will see tiny white tyvek tags used on all the evidence. i helped buy those. that was my work. so maybe that can be considered my donation to the fifty bazillion dollar price tag as well. i've done my part.
-made a tshirt-got a new job (don't be alarmed - i'll still be serving ice cream for your pleasure from time to time)-fell up the stairs 3 times-broke 2 sales records at the ice cream store-dropped: a box of spoons and several ice cream scoops on the floor at work, a container of gorgonzola and a container of oats on the kitchen floor, and a whole pizza (luckily it landed cheese-up so dinner wasn't ruined)-visited my doctor for a fun-filled annual physical (apparently my blood pressure is *very* good!)
-made some cookies and sent them to portand, oregon
-reread several delightful young adult books
-read a new young adult book
-took whiskey out for a jaunt in the backyard in hopes of slimming her down a bit. she gives kathryn's garden two paws up.
i think that's about it. further updates as events warrant.
i am not sure if the 80's were kind to anybody, but they sure seemed to hit me particularly hard. in most pictures from that time, i am staring out at the camera, unabashedly, with baleful eyes. you can see the same look reappear from age 16 to 21. i am sure that i smiled during those years, but it sure doesn't get captured on film a lot.
what does get captured is a fascinating array of haircuts, some spectacular, some scary. and you can tell that my look vacillated from hippie to punk rock to downright preppy. i was clearly trying to find my nook, as most kids were probably doing. i was experimenting. and i was sometimes so unbelievably full of myself that it's hard to take my teenage self seriously.
i look back and wish i could have a talk with that kid. tell her that we were going to grow up okay, and that maybe we didn't have to fight so hard. my senior year book quote was Dylan Thomas, and simply read "do not go gentle into that good night". good lord. i was a pompous, self-aggrandizing, maudlin kid. thanks for all of you who bore with me. it probably wasn't easy!
i haven't said much about quitting smoking, and i thought maybe i would check in about. it's been over 40 days since i have had a cigarette, which seems monumental after 21 years, on and off, as a smoker.
there are very few things that we measure in days. a baby's age perhaps, a countdown since a birthday, or how many days late a period is. since i have no children, i'm fine with being 35, and my period isn't late, it got me thinking... what if i measured all my life events in days? would that make it seem better or worse. so here's my countdown:
last cigarette -- 43 days
last drink -- 6022 days
last kiss -- 23 days
last time somebody tried to kiss me -- 4 days
last laugh -- less than 1 day
last cry -- 3 days
last scream -- 8 days
last time i made a new friend -- 29 days
last time i pissed off an old friend -- 7 days
all in all, i think counting in days makes my life look okay. sure, i wish it had been a shorter span since my last kiss, and a greater time since i hurt somebody i cared about... but i guess i think that i'm doing okay.
and someday, when i start counting my time as a non-smoker in years rather than days, maybe i'll stop counting all together. seems unlikely, but maybe.
i have finally been vindicated by mass.gov. i was spending some time checking out the new citizen information pages, just to see what kind of face massachusetts was putting forwards to new folks. i would hate to think that people would come to the state and think that we spend all of our time debating the various merits of fluff. and at first, i was skeptical. for example, under the "practical guide to living in the state", there is a section for helpful hints. this has four hints -- how to find a doctor, how to find a dentist, how to find a licensed day care provider, and where you can get a nickel for your empty soda bottle. one of these things isn't like the other.
but i kept on, figuring there must be some wisdom in these pages, and there was. i am relieved to know that embalmers need to be licensed in this state. this could one day be useful. but the real kernel of wisdom was tucked deep in the list on the page of Unincorporated and Unofficial Names. there, about two thirds of the way down, right below Pocket and right above Point Independence, there it was!
PODUNK.
i have been telling people for years that the mythical Podunk, who's name is synonymous with East Bum Fuck Nowhere, was actually an unincorporated township in Worcester. and now Mass.gov has validated this.
okay, actually nobody is totally sure where the first and original Podunk came from. maybe it was massachusetts, maybe it was near Ulysses NY, Hartford CT, or Wadsboro VT (all worthy contenders). and maybe the truth doesn't matter. maybe Pudunk is just a small, unimportant, tiny place within all of us. mine just happens to say "wicked" a lot, bitch about Mitt Romney, and drive around in an old beaten car that has a bumper-sticker slapped on it's ass that reads "Don't Blame Me. I'm from Massachusetts".
so shayne and i both had the day off on friday (thank you bunker hill day, or breed's hill day, or whatever you want to call it) and we decided to head out to the beach. while this might conjure up images of long white beaches and vistas of endless sand dunes, we decided to be city kids and go to a city beach -- so we headed off to revere beach. we spent the day counting gold chains roped around overly-tanned old men's waddles. we saw a girl who was eight months pregnant in a thong bikini (and much to our dismay she looked far better than either shayne or i in our non-pregnant state). we got cheese fries at kelly's. and we played like children in the ocean.
the cats are recuperating nicely. boo is back to his old self, and trixie is learning to keep her tongue in her mouth without the aid of any teeth. i am simply amazed at their resiliency, and i am much relieved.
last night it was drinks at bones with the foundation, needs more meat, and the lower-half of the casa. we tried to get together with vontrapperkeeper, but for some reason our messages weren't getting through to his blackberry... there were endless movie quotes being thrown around. a lot of $2.00 beers were guzzled. and much to my dismay everybody kept singing that james blunt song "you're beautiful". that song makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a dull butter knife. however, i confess i like it a little more now that i have heard the parody "my cubicle" (which you can listen to here). good times.
boo and trixie went in this morning for their dental appointments.
boo, who has genetically bad teeth, lost another three molars. i am not sure how many this leaves him with, but i think the answer is "precious few".
trixie, as i have mentioned, is allergic to her own teeth. while i was hoping for the best, sometimes it is unclear exactly what the best is. she had twelve teeth removed. this will, in the long term, make her much more comfortable, and she will adjust just fine.
i, on the other hand, am a wreck. there is something so overwhelming about seeing your own pets in pain. i can't explain to them why they hurt. or why i put them through this. i can't tell them that they will feel better soon. i mean, i do. but they don't exactly understand me, although i use my best baby-speaking voice. the best i can do is just know, in my own heart, that i am caretaking the best i can and that i am making the right choices for them.
sometimes being a grown up sucks.
le jour de gloire est arrive!!
why am i singing La Marseillaise, you might ask (if you know the french national anthem in its native language, which i happen to know all the words to for some completely unknown reason... i'm sure those brain cells could be used for something much more worthwhile)? because for the first (and probably only) time in my life, i'll be cheering on the french national football team tomorrow at noon. i don't feel good about it - i've been making a concentrated effort to support countries that have been victimized by imperial powers. this sometimes means that i have to deny my own heritage (actually, it pretty much always means that... apologies to the US and english teams but c'mon now, you guys are representing some serious assholes) and it often means that i'm supporting african countries that i'm only vaguely aware of their geographic location (i found togo the other day - turns out it's right next to ghana, who knew?), but i think i'm a better person for it. however, sometimes personal feelings take precedence over idealist impulses. so allez francais!!
allons-y, les bleus!
if technology advanced, and scoutie and i ever had a love child together, it would look a little like this.
creepy, right?
just so we're all clear: i told kate a month ago that we had critters in the walls. she thought i was insane.
i hope they find their way into her bedroom and scare the bejesus out of her.
i was lobbing lemon wedges up into the gutter trying to dislodge the pigeon squatters that had moved into my gutter. after taking out a generation of pigeons-to-be with a broom, they finally began viewing me as their natural predator, and they wisely moved on.
their damn cooing was driving me insane.
and now i have found something evening more annoying than the maniacal sighing of a nesting bird -- squirrels. in particular, clumsy squirrels, tripping and falling and generallry galumphing through the walls. it sounds like we are under attack.
now, i am a pro at getting rid of pesty varmints. i got out my trusty broom, and started whacking the walls.
so far, all i managed to do is disrupt some dust bunnies.
