happy birthday, jesus!

I hope everyone has a happy holiday season. I'm visiting my parents (and the rest of my family, excluding my brother, his wife and the baby) for five days over the break. It is fabulous working for a place that gives you time off between the holidays! The Cat Named Jack will be staying home with the man and the other pets. As I have never been separated from him for so long, this will be interesting. I'm sure he will fare much better than I. It would be nice if the man were able to come home with me, but alas, he has his family Christmas on Christmas Eve, and as my family celebrates on Christmas Day, the four hour drive doesn't allow for both. Also, I have another Christmas on the 26th, as if the three I'll have had by then aren't enough. Oh well, I am not complaining.
May your days be merry and bright.


it (he) has arrived

Broderick Alexander
This is my nephew, Broderick. He is now 1 week old, being born 12/06/2006. I find this date to be quite wonderful for a birthdate as it is a mathematically logical number (12 - 6 = 6). He is my brother's child, and while I can say that I was skeptical that my brother would be equipped to "not kill the baby," let alone be a suitable parent, he seems to have been smitten by the baby and is adjusting quite well to fatherhood.

Broderick is a ginormous baby of 10 1/2 pounds and has already caused his parents much grief and worry as he had his stomach pumped at the ripe old age of 1 hour. Oh yeah, this kid is bound to be a drinker, he's already accustomed to the stomach pumping that is sometimes necessitated by binge drinking. In addition to the grief of having an infant undergo a procedure immediately upon entry to the world, the baby was slow to leave the womb and was actually reluctant to leave at all. The kid was meant to come out on November 30, but decided to stay inside for another week, just to torture his parents and to grow to gargantuan proportions. A rebel before birth, now that is one badass baby.

I must admit that he is cute, for a baby. His size brings him to be only a few pounds shy of what the Cat Named Jack weighs. However, I am sure that Broderick (aka "Brady") does not bite or claw at one's exposed skin when held, looked at, or thought about.

I am quite pleased that he seems to be taking after our side of the family - apparently, the baby has our nose (my brother and I do not share a nose, but rather have identical noses situated on our respective faces). Unfortunately, this is probably my least favorite feature of my face, but I think it looks better on him, if you can see it past his huge cheeks.

It is nice to see a baby that arrives into the world already cute and not looking like a tube sock with a face. I think this may be attributed to his gigantic size and his Cesarean birth (i.e., his face is not smashed or battered). The kid is a ginger (redhead), but his mother thinks that is a good thing. My dad is a also a ginger, so we knew it was a possibility. Yes, for a baby, he is quite elvish and cute.

Welcome to the world, little man!


open to the public (aka: i've now told friends about the blog)

Hey everybody, this is my blog. Today I have decided to actually tell my friends that it exists (other than Kristen, who already knew it existed, yet probably chose to ignore it). Welcome to my mundane life :)



I have a busy week this week. Of course, on top of the new projects, being out sick last week from work left a shitstorm of work for me to deal with this week. I am feeling a bit better though.

I live in Wisconsin, granted, Southern Wisconsin is much better this time of year than Northern WI, where I hail from. However, it is still cold. And we are going camping as a work outing (female staff members) this weekend. It is going to be a good time, but cold. Cold as in 20 degrees cold. And by camping, I don't mean motor home camping, I mean sleep out in the elements tent camping. Luckily, the man bought me a really nice sleeping bag for my birthday (knowing that I would be needing it for this event). I believe the man is also going camping this weekend in an unrelated event. The man is rugged and doesn't leak body heat out of every pore as I do, so I am not as worried about him. Plus, it has been scientifically prove that men push heat out to their extremities (aka dumbsticks and arms/legs) while women keep heat in their core (in the off chance that they are carrying an alien baby in there). In other words, I will come home with no arms or legs, but the man will come home with his man parts and limbs in tact.

I will be the bringer of booze and S'mores for the nature outing. Also, if I am really feeling domestic, I may even cook something. This is highly unlikely, however.

My friend Kristen is going to be in town for a couple days toward the end of the week which will also be a good time. I am looking forward to it, but I don't know how my workload will be managed in the next 3 1/2 days. Only time will tell.


parenthood revisited

Alright, I know I write about the cat a lot - but the little shit is now 11 pounds and bites with the ferocious intensity of an jungle cat. The man has trained him to have no fear and he is impossible to punish. When one of us tries to swat him away from the havoc he his wreaking he swats back at us as though we are playing the fun swatting game. The spray bottle that used to offer us some degree of solice is now more of a dousing game for the little beast who roams the house dripping wet more often than he is dry as a result of his recent naughtiness. I blame it on my sick days: Jack had gotten used to me being home and is now acting out because I went back to work and disrupted his "bother mama all day" schedule.

Okay, perhaps he is not as evil as I am claiming. BUT, since he is STILL GROWING without any intent of ever stopping, he does more damage when he does the things we used to allow. E.g.: jumping on the leather furniture.

down with the sickness

Argh...I have never had headaches quite like this before. There is an evil virus spreading through the office and I have now become its host. Oh yes, it has me in its clutches and is draining the lifeblood from my illness-stricken body. I now feel like a walking corpse. Strike that, walking is an exaggeration; it is more like the scary, jerky walk used in horror flicks to simulate a zombie/apparition's movements. That is what I do. Every time I move, blink, breathe, or exist, my body and brain shriek in disapproval. I've been out sick since Monday afternoon (okay, that is a lie as I came in for three hours yesterday to prep my boss for a presentation). This is more sick time than I've taken off in the past seven years (yes, since high school...I'm a dork and don't take sick time, even when I was a student my dorkdom reined).

My thesis is suffering as well seeing as I have had the attention span of a lightning bolt for the past week. So much for deadlines.

Also, the people at the health clinic/hospital keep badgering me to come in for cholesterol tests (lipids tests) even though I am only 25 and don't feel that I should be concerned enough to pay the $25 copay required by my lovely HMO. I have just received the second request for me to come in for the test. The first letter (sent three months ago) was polite and simply a nice reminder that I need to have it done: "Please schedule an appointment for a lipids panel...." The second, which I just received yesterday, was more insistent and slightly bitchy: "Could you please schedule an appointment to get your cholesterol checked?" My answer: "Could you please pay my fucking copay and go to work for me for three hours so I can get the damned test taken that will tell me to stop eating my beloved cheeseburgers and nachos which will then cause my already illness-ridden body to implode from lack of flavor?" Oh yeah, and not to mention that I am supposed to fast for twelve hours before the test. I'm skinny and need my nutrients to keep from passing out or getting bitchy. Having to go back to the doctor twice in six months is already making me bitchy and I don't think they will want a malnourished bitch coming in to the clinic - see, by not going in I am actually doing them a favor. That's me: Trish the altruistic



I've revamped the site - (not that anyone really cares whether it is "fetching" or not). But I love the new background, both pictured below in this post and as the background for the site. Yay!


"two balls short of a pair" or "one fewer man in the house"

It has been a whirlwind month. The man's grandfather passed away in August. I celebrated my quarter-century birthday August 30. My thesis chapter was due the first of September. Jack had his testes removed on September 5.

I was quite worried about the nut extraction that was to be performed on my beloved Jack. Was he ever going to forgive me for allowing someone to cut out his man parts? Alas, he did. He came home and acted as though nothing had ever happened. Cat normalcy has resumed and all is well in Jack's world. BUT...Jammer is having a horrible time these days. Her separation anxiety has morphed into a complete jealousy of anything and everything. The dog gets jealous when the man so much as leans in my direction and if anyone even thinks about the cat, she mauls them with her neediness. She has also begun to shed tumbleweeds, not just a few hairs here or there, but bundled tumbleweeds of Jammer-hair. We've been brushing her daily and each day we end up with enough discarded hair to form another canine. A BIG canine. A great dane amount of canine. I'm not sure what sparked this phenomenon. I am guessing that it all stems from when she saw me take Jack away to the vet and NOT COME HOME WITH HIM. Below is the mental dialogue of Jammer the Dog after I returned without the Cat Named Jack:

Tuesday, September 5
8:45 AM: "Trish is home. Trish is home. Trish is home."

8:50 AM: "Where's that evil usurper, that feline bastard that steals my much-deserved attention? I don't see him. Where is he?!? I smell him on her clothes but don't see him."


2:45 PM: "Why do the people keep talking about that wretched little beast. He is gone. They need to get over it. I have."

3:00 PM: "Trish is leaving, I want to go for a ride. I want to go for a ride in the car. I WANT TO GO FOR A RIDE! Damnit, she left without me."

3:30 PM: "Trish is home. Trish is home. Trish is home."


3:32 PM: "I'll show the people...they'll rue the day that they brought that bundle of cat filth back into this house."



I'm a Zwinky:

I made this during my break - notice that Jack is even pictured. If only my boobs were actually that big.



It is August. Sometimes I feel like it has taken forever to get here, other times it seems like the months have flown by. I've come to a conclusion regarding the 25 year milestone that I celebrate this month. I am not going to remind people that my birthday is fast approaching this year. If someone (aka: the man) wants to do something nice for me on my birthday, he'll have to remember it on his own. I usually remind people of my birthday, not for gifting purposes, but because I get so excited about the event.

FYI, I love birthdays. It doesn't matter whose birthday it is, I love them all. It seems to me that making it another year is cause for celebration, no matter what your age. I do realize that I may be setting myself up for disappointment by neglecting to mention my birthdate, but I've experienced this before. In true Sixteen Candles fashion, my family forgot my birthday when I was in my teens - I got an apology, but no bushy-eyebrowed athlete swept me off my feet. Let's see if the current bushy-eyebrowed man in my life remembers my birthday this year.



I had a great weekend with my friend Kristen. It was a much needed escape from the stresses of work and life, which have been piling up over the past month. It was fun to be able to do things with my friends (note that I do not really count the man among my "friends" because I have a tendency to think of all of my friends as being asexual and thinking of the man in those terms would be more-than-problematic to the relationship).

The man's mother is in town for the week, hence the lack of posts lately. I like her a lot - it is interesting to see where the man came from and where he got some of his idiosyncrasies and mannerisms. She really likes Jack, despite the little ditch-cat hissing at her and refusing to calm down when she holds him. Luckily, she like a cat with "attitude" and is not even joking when she says that he seems to be part bobcat. The man and I joke about it, but his mom is somewhat of a pet expert and this freaks me out a lot. FYI: I do not want a 35 lb. cat terrorizing the household, he does enough damage at 5 lbs.

I realize that the frequency of my posts is decreasing while their actual content interest is also on the decline. I'll work on that.


bon voyage!

These are the beings I come home to everyday.

BUT not tomorrow...my friend Kristen is coming to WI this weekend and I'm going to be visiting her at her parents'. Thus, the pets are going to be left under the man's supervision until I return on Sunday.

The man's mother is going to be staying with us for a week starting on Sunday as well. I've only met her twice as she lives in Oklahoma and doesn't make it back to WI very often. I know that she likes me (at least in comparison to the man's previous significant others) but I can't help but be a little nervous. I am thinking it will be a good, but busy week.


origin of the species

Here is a photo of the offending animal, which the man and I now believe to be a fossa. For those of you who are unaware, a fossa (pronounced foo-sa) is a mammal that looks very much like a cross between a dog and a cat - or, a cross between, perhaps, a dingo and a bobcat (such as our Jack).

Since we found Jack in a ditch, it is difficult to know his exact origins.

I take Jack to the vet on Friday for his second distemper shot. Perhaps now that he is older it will be more apparent that we are harboring a creature once thought to only inhabit Madagascar.



The neighbors have a sign in their front yard that reads "FREE KITTENS" in 3-foot tall lettering. The man and I, upon seeing this sign, have contemplated sneaking Jack into their litter of kittens and walking away (though I am sure he is three times the size and 5.3 billion times more havoc-wreaking). I love Jack, I really do, but he is being naughtier than usual lately and the man and I have not been getting proper sleep as a result.

I have suggested selling Jack on the black market, thinking that a bobcat/dingo hybrid would fetch a pretty penny, but have the sneaking suspicion that I am far too attached to him already. Because I can't bear to be rid of the little beast I am writing a complaint letter to his creator.

Dear Heavenly Father,

I am writing in regards to the good Samaritan act of kindness that the man and I performed by rescuing a stray kitten from a roadside ditch Sunday, May 14, 2006. As you are aware, having placed "Cat Named Jack" on that roadside with gunked-shut eyes, teetering dangerously close to the flow of traffic, this creature has some markedly obvious behavioral problems likely resulting from improper manufacturing practices. "Cat Named Jack" worked properly for approximately two weeks before signs of faulty construction became apparent. Below is a detailed list of the deficiencies of "Cat Named Jack":
  • Inability to remain still for more than 2.6 seconds.
  • Propensity to scratch and/or climb any vertical or semi-vertical object within or out of reach.
  • Acute sense of right and wrong with inability to adhere to "right" behaviors.
  • Hypersensitivity to movement and subsequent need to attack said moving object.
  • Teeth are too sharp.
  • Claws are too sharp.
  • Does not land on feet.
  • Broken food gauge = goes through one bag of kitten chow in less than two weeks.
  • Sleep mode is faulty = wakes up after minimal down time.
  • Reacts to the man's testosterone levels and, subsequently, is overly hyperactive in the man's presence.
  • Male features are still intact - will need to be removed. Has already required servicing amounting to $125 and is due for additional maintenance in the form of distemper and rabies vaccinations.
  • Overly cute. His cuteness may be hazardous to humans.
If you do nothing, I fear that "Cat Named Jack" will continue to show signs of disfunctionality. This is not an acceptable solution. In my opinion, your overall Godliness has a good reputation, and I trust that you will want to keep a customer happy. I see two options:
  1. Reprogram "Cat Named Jack," at no charge to me.
  2. Pay for behavioral training. If this resolves the problem without causing us any additional undue pain and suffering, the man and I will be satisfied.

If I haven't witnessed any change in behavior by Monday, I'll write again to follow up or may take up the matter with the Son or the Holy Spirit.


The Dish

P.S. If I have misdirected this letter and it should be going to your Southern counterpart, please forward.



I went to visit my parents in the Northwoods of Wisconsin this past weekend. I had a really good time, but my visit was a whirlwind adventure of events.

I attended Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest with my folks on Friday night. There is one movie theater with one screen within 30 miles of my parents' house. We attended the movie on the night it opened = first mistake. The movie was late to start (45 minutes) because the makeshift ushers (aka pimply high school kids) had to ask people to rearrange themselves so that each and every seat was filled in the theater. When the movie finally began, they decided to turn on the air conditioning (prior to this we were left to breathe in stifling, stagnant air of 300 people). The sound was awful, adding to the whole awful ambience. My dad was a few rows ahead of me and my mom (we were lucky enough to get two seats together). Then came intermission half-way through. For those of you lucky enough to frequent theaters with a timetable, you have probably never experienced intermission. Intermission is a break in the flick where people can go to the refreshment stand/bathroom/get a smoke while not missing the movie. Usually, this only lasts ten minutes. On this occasion, it lasted 20. Needless to say, no one was too happy when they left the theater.

My parents neglected to inform me of a family reunion, more than likely the omission was purposeful. I was shanghaied into attending (more or less, my father guilted me into going because my mother would not attend). I have nothing against that part of the family, I just barely know any of them and really don't have a lot to say to anyone as a result. But, to make Dad happy, I attended (plus, my grandma was tickled pink that she could usher me around to meet everyone and their brothers, cousins, offspring, etc.).

I went to an old friend's wedding that night (which was not the purpose of the trip, but rather a happy coincidence). I ran into a lot of people that I actually wanted to see and very few whom I didn't want to see. Mainly, I was able to see much of my family whom I haven't seen since February. I love my family for many reasons, but one of the biggies is that we can sit and criticize others in humorous ways for many hours at a time (this was evidenced by our conversations regarding the bubble gum pink, ill-fitting bridesmaids' dresses at the wedding). Oh, how wonderful it is to have partners in mockery.

I had a good weekend, but feel as though I haven't actually been able to relax. The drive is four hours one way and without air conditioning in 90 degree heat is almost unbearable. But, it was worth it to be able to see the family and to move some additional stuff down to my house.
The man missed me terribly (which still flatters me and makes me feel all a-flutter inside), as did the dog. Jack, on the other hand, seemed to have no feelings regarding my absence. This makes me sad (but I am happy that he was happy while I was gone). I actually heard a story from my cousin regarding the "missing" topic and it goes as follows:

Cousin to her 5 year-old son who spent the week with grandparents: I missed you this week.
Boy: I didn't really miss you, Mama.
Cousin: You didn't? That kind of makes me sad.
Boy: It's okay, Mama. Everybody doesn't need to miss everybody all of the time.



The man and I had a miscommunication yesterday which spoiled our plans for the evening. Note that I said plans because we had discussed doing something. He had thought that I would be working late (instead of having yoga class) and proceeded to not come home from his friend's house until 9 p.m. I understand that miscommunications happen, but I was not pleased to find out that he had still realized that he was late, even on his altered timeframe.

I am traveling north to spend the weekend with my parents and thought it might be nice to spend some time together before I leave. I was not pleased to have spent three hours waiting for the man to get home (I got a lot of things accomplished, but was more-than-perturbed the whole time). When the man got home he tried his hardest to get me to stop being angry with him - I'll give him credit for his originality, but won't go into details in this post. Below is a snippet of our conversation upon his return home:

Trish (from balcony as man exits his vehicle): Looks like you had to work late today.
Man: Umm...no...I was at Roger's helping him move a trunk. Did you just get home?
Trish: Yeah, three hours ago.
Man: I thought you had to work late.
Trish: No. I work late next Monday and Tuesday. I had yoga tonight.
Man (sheepishly): Do you want to go get some dinner? I thought we were going to hang out tonight.
Trish: So did I. Dinner is in the fridge, I ate two hours ago.
Man: You said you were going to be late.
Trish: Since when do I work until 9:30 at night?
Man: I only thought I was an hour late.
Trish: Why don't you strap a dick to your head so everyone else can see what I see right now.

All is well now (though he still owes me). I may even miss him over the weekend. I just hope he takes care of the cat while I'm gone and doesn't turn him from Jack into a jackal.



The man and I have been together for quite some time now (over a year, perhaps as long as a year and a half - I don't really know when a couple can legitimately be classified as a couple). In this amount of time we have gone from living in different states to living in the same state to living in the same house (this actually happened over about one month's time). I love living with the man. It seems, however, that I have gone from complete independence to whatever it is I'm doing now.

I didn't move here because of the man - he was definitely a part of it, but I have always planned on living here. Unfortunately, the man is the only person I had a connection to in the city. My best friend from high school (actually, the only person whom I've stayed in touch with) lives in a nearby city but her work schedule keeps us from seeing one another very often. In other words, I am rather limited in my scope of friends to do things with outside of work.

It seems to be impossible to make friends these days without seeming like you are trying to get in someone's pants. Men seem to assume friendliness and/or conversation is an invitation to bump naughties. Women seem to think you are trying to wrangle up their men and are often wary of other women. I can understand this and I am not judging, but it does make it hard to meet people.

My lack of friends in the general vicinity has indebted me to the man and his schedule. Before I left grad school I had an abundance of friends and was never left with the feeling of wearing out my welcome with any one of them; if nothing else I felt as though there wasn't enough time to maintain all the relationships. After college, it seems that I have an inability to meet people outside of the man's friend basket. Every woman in the man's friend basket is either an ex (I don't want to go there), married to a close friend of the man (meaning, much older than I), or has absolutely nothing in common with me. Even if there were some viable candidates, I do not want to get attached to anyone in the man's circle in case things go sour with the man and I'm left to give up the friends in the settlement.

I have tried taking classes (yoga, pottery, etc.) to no avail. I have tried hanging out in bookstores and coffee shops (this only led to men assuming that I was romantically available). None of this has worked. I have never had to work so hard at making friends in my life. I am hoping that the "pretend it's a dress" philosophy that I've adopted works. "Pretend it's a dress" = if you are looking for something (aka the perfect dress), you will not find it; if you are not looking for something, it will find you.

So, come on world - drop me a friend in the same county, I've stopped looking.



My brother and his wife are expecting their first child (sometime in November). While I can't imagine my brother being a parent or being responsible for another living, breathing creature, I am happy that they have decided to go the route of the breeders. I do not want to have children, neither does the man. I don't dislike children, per se, but I do feel awkward around the especially tiny ones and the ones where you have to monitor their bodily functions (aka what goes in and what comes out). I have never changed a diaper and would be perfectly happy if I made it through life without ever having to do so. It isn't that I think I would be incapable of parenthood, I just don't carry the desire to procreate. Personally, I believe that I have had to raise enough "children" in my 24 years of life - I have had many friends whom I had to take care of, clean up after and make sure they didn't burn the house down.

Breeders keep telling me that it's different when the kids are yours - they are less annoying and it is a pleasure to take care of them. I don't doubt that the bond creates a different experience, but I do believe that I could establish a bond with someone else's kid and then send it home when the fun wears off. Perhaps I am selfish, but I don't see a need for everyone to have kids. I know a number of DINCs who are happy and content with their lives (DINC = dual income, no children). The man and I have pets and I feel that they are close enough to offspring.

Taking care of pets (aka Jack) has also shown me that I am not cut out for reproduction. I love Jack and wouldn't trade him in for anything. He is a fast learner and will soon be able to take care of himself, for the most part. At ten weeks of age he is in control of his bodily functions and I only have to supply him with a food source, attention and litter box maintenance. In return he idolizes me and hisses at the roommates, which makes me happy. A human child would take much more effort and I wouldn't be able to spray it with a water bottle if it were naughty. Plus, I don't think children land on their feet if they fall from high places.

In other words, I would much prefer to be the cool aunt who spoils the hell out of her neices/nephews and then hands their sugar-laden, sticky selves back over to their parents.


bipeds vs. quadrapeds

Orpheus (my beta fish) is the only pet in the household right now whom I don't have ill feelings toward. I love Orpheus and he has been a good fish (though it was heatbreaking to lose his predecessor, Homer, I have grown to love Orpheus as well).

The two quadrapeds are a different story. Jammer has found and rolled in something that smells like putrid rotten fish and Jack is hell-bent on destruction. Jammer stinks, but at least that can be easily remedied by a bath (which will be administered tonight). Jack, however, is losing his kitten teeth and as each one falls out he is also losing all sense of right and wrong. We have a spray bottle to keep his behavior in check, but lately it hasn't been working and he just ends up dripping wet.

Things Jack likes to climb:
  • legs (of tables, chairs and humans)
  • Jammer
  • the back of the sofa (and the side, and the front)
  • curtains
  • surround sound speakers
  • trim (the trim around the door/window - oh yes, he can climb thin pieces of wood nailed against the wall)
  • the edges of the bed
  • any vertical or semi-vertical object

Things Jack likes to bite:

  • hands
  • feet
  • arms
  • legs
  • ankles
  • dogs
  • himself
  • blankets
  • furniture
  • clothing
  • books
  • anything he can fit into his mouth

Things Jack likes to scratch:

...see above lists...

Jack no longer sleeps. He eats and grows and bites and scratches and runs and runs and, oh, did I say he runs?

If this isn't a phase I will have to quit my job to keep a close eye on him and open a creepy sideshow where wild creatures are kept as "pets." I will be forced to make a living by standing in the street and peddling the show by calling "Step right up ladies and gentlemen...come see the ferocious, man-eating dingo/bobcat...but don't get too close, my friends, he has been known to rip off limbs faster than you could bat an eyelash and once he gets a taste for blood, we will all be doomed! Oh yeah, we have a stinky-ass dog, too."

If this is a phase I'm sure I will look back at it and try to remember what it had been like when I still had all my fingers and toes.


musings on bon jovi

The man and I watched Bon Jovi on Oprah the other day (before we took the baby to the vet). We do not normally watch Oprah, but since the man used to be a big Bon Jovi fan, we watched the show.

Some history on my early years and Bon Jovi: As a child, I thought Bon Jovi (the whole band) looked like girls; granted, I was in elementary school and long hair on men wasn't in fashion. I did like the music though and had a lavender-colored portable tape player and listened to Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet album religiously.

My current life as influenced by Bon Jovi: The man has a pair of ripped jeans that he refers to as his "Bon Jovi pants" and he often uses the phrase "Hell yeah, Bon Jovi!" at such random times that I don't quite know the reason for the utterance. The man was in high school during Bon Jovi's heyday and sported long locks of his own (which, apparently, was the fashion), the pictures of which are the cause for much mockery in our household.

Okay, getting back to what I thought of Bon Jovi's Oprah appearance. I was somewhat surprised by how much I like Bon Jovi as a person based on the interview. Gone is the bad hair (it's not great now, but it is much better than I remember). Gone are the spandex accoutrements. All-in-all, Bon Jovi is a good man - he and his band donated $1 million to Oprah's charity and he has been married to his high school sweetheart for 16 years despite the hoards of panty-throwers that would love to play Gina to his Tommy. The new single is being released sans music video with the money that would have been spent on production going to a Habitat for Humanity-type organization. He helps homeless kids in Philly. Like I said, he's a good guy.

Bon Jovi is what I think all rockers should strive for - using his wealth and celebrity to help others while remaining a values-driven human being with a real family that doesn't consist of a trophy-wife/stripper and a nanny. Hell yeah, Bon Jovi!



The man and I have decided that we either look like we are involved in some sort of scandalous abuse or in kinky pleasure-time activities due to Jack's latest hand-mangling binge. The man looks as though he has defensive marks from attacking someone and I have similarly scratched and scabbed appendages. When we went to the local convenience store to pick up the staples (Diet Pepsi and candy), the cashier did a double-take when the man handed over payment with hands that look like he indeed could be the BTK killer. Then, when I reached for my lemonade off the counter, the poor cashier looked similarly alarmed at the horrifying shredded mess that used to be my hands. Oh yes - the man and I are victims of abuse at the paws of a 9 week-old bobcat/dingo hybrid.



I'm working on tying up loose ends, such as finishing my master's thesis. I took a hiatus (longer than expected) from writing what is currently more of a thesisn't than a thesis. I just need to buckle down and get back to it - I have a feeling that it will go much faster than I had previously anticipated as I have always been quite prolific when held to a deadline.

Also, I'm getting in touch with some people to whom I haven't spoken in a while. Notice that I said "some" and not "all." There are some people who can be classified as "toxic friends" and will not be added back into the friend basket.

This weekend will be spent writing - either letters or the thesis. Now, I just need to find a good location from which to begin my assault on the little thesis that wasn't.



The man and I took Jack to the vet yesterday evening. I took the day off, partially to prepare for the vet but mostly because I had to take a personal day before the end of the fiscal year and this was the only day I didn't have meetings. Either way, much of the morning was spent watching the cat to see if he was going to crap in his litter box so that I could scoop it up and bag it for the vet. At the last veterinary visit the doc asked that when I return I bring a fecal sample (from the cat).

The shit collection process was distressing to both me and Jack. When he had finally done his business and finished the subsequent "burial of all evidence" ritual, I scooped out the poo and placed it on a dustpan so I could ready myself with the ziploc baggy. Jack then frantically tried to cover the crap with anything found on the floor, any miniscule amount of dust that his little kitty paws could kick onto the dustpan. He looked at me with an expression that said "What the hell are you doing? Someone will see this: I just buried this crap! How dare you place it out in the open?" as if he were trying to dispose of a dead body and I had just invited the feds over for coffee. After bagging the evidence I put it in a nondescript brown paper bag with the not-so-nondescript label of "'Jack': fecal sample." With that out of the way I was able to go about the rest of the day.

The day was good...Then we went to the vet. They (the vet staff) all love Jack because he is on his best behavior when we go to their office. He also pulls out all the stops in magnifying his cuteness so that it has the power to outshine the sun. When it came time to take a blood sample, the vet's assistant held down my baby while the vet STUCK A NEEDLE THE SIZE OF A PENCIL IN HIS LEG! Okay, I was calm, but couldn't look at the horrors before me - I let the man look on to make sure no real harm would befall our baby. Then, THEY MISSED THE VEIN AND HAD TO DO IT AGAIN! Jack was a champ though: he didn't move or cry or try to bite their faces off as he sometimes does when we are so much as existing in his presence.

I'm not a wuss. I have experience dealing with doctors and needles and scalpels. I voluntarily give blood regularly. But, I was distraught by the vet people holding down my cat and pulling out his blood. If the man hadn't been there, I would've dealt with it and been fine, but I'm glad he was there to stand guard as they did their work so I didn't have to witness it. If this is what it is like to be a parent, then I am glad that I don't have any inclination toward breeding. I'll stick to mothering cats, dogs and fish.

The good news is that his blood came back clear of disease and his feces was clean of parasites. It'll be at least three months before they remove his manhood. It will be good to have the balance swing back in favor of the teste-less in our bedroom habitat. Oh, by the way. Jack has tripled in weight from 1 lb. to over 3 lbs. in less than five weeks. This further evidences our belief that Jack is part dingo, part bobcat.


evaluation 3 - spikes

I'm working on the idea that I am not meant to be a consistently ambitious individual. I go through phases where I think it would be a good idea if I cooked more, or cleaned more, or ate healthier foods, or was nicer. Then, I wake up one morning and think "enough of that" and go back to my normal standards. I think of this instability as the line on a heart monitor - I'm happy with the norm for a given amount of time then, on a whim, decide to drastically alter my life only to return to the lull of normalcy once again.

Don't get me wrong, these spikes are good - I finished a multitude of yard projects over the past two weekends when I was on a landscaping upswing. That stint has now been replaced with the healthy eating kick (which includes not eating my favorite meals of nachos and/or cheeseburgers five times per week).

My spikes are an addiction. The only constant thing in the spikes is that I am constantly on one in one area of my life, fleeting as each spike may be. I go on music spikes (currently I am ingesting the Death Cab for Cutie "Plans" cd at a rotation of five times per work day). I go on food spikes (Fresca and cheese popcorn - this spike lasted four months and got me to a point where those two products were the only sustenance I wanted). I go on writing spikes (I wrote 23 handwritten letters/cards last month - not to mention multidunious e-mails).

Instead of being happy with the humdrum quotidian life I lead, I must snazz it up with some sort of "look at me, I do this, I am interesting and amazing" mentality - even if it only lasts a few weeks. I believe I will work on cutting down the frequencey of the spikes, knowing all well that my attempt at ridding myself of spike addiction is in effect its own spike.

june 7, 2006: evaluation 2 - livin' on the edge...

My consolidation loan has come through so I can cut my monthly student loan payments by half. On top of this my raise takes effect July 1. YAY! I am thismuchcloser to financial independence (not dependence from the bank, but from having to fall back on familial funding - which I haven't had to do since my employment). This "stability" makes me ponder the reasoning behind roommates.

I am happy where we live, but sometimes the man and I feel like we have three adult children who are in constant need of picking up after and are inconsiderate and unappreciative. With my newfound feline companion being an actual living, breathing creature under my care and supervision (in addition to the doggess) I have become less patient with the inadequacies of the roommates.

My course of action is going to remain steady - I am going to take pride in where I live and do my best not to fall down the slippery slope of passive aggression. I will make the place look and feel like home as much as I can and if I happen to piss off the roommates along the way so be it. It is not as though I am growing illegal drugs or subjecting them to any kind of injustice - a few potted flowers and a clean, tidy yard are beneficial to everyone. I leave the injustices to them.

june 6, 2006: evaluation 1 - i suffer from HRP

I have had to send a letter to an ex-boyfriend explaining that I don't want him to pursue any kind of friendship with me. This was all made abundantly clear when we were still together two years ago - when we broke up, we wouldn't be friends. Apparently, like many of the other things I ever said to him, this also went in one ear and out the other. That brought up a bunch of issues with my current relationship. The man and I are happy, happier than I can ever remember being as a result of a significant other - not that there have been all that many. Now comes the shitty part: I have developed a case of HRP. This is not a disease, not transmittable, not contagious (though I think many people suffer from it without having diagnosed the malady). HRP = Happy Relationship Paranoia. When things are so good, it is a definite failing to think "Oh my god, things could be so much worse than this - what if they get worse - then what?" Oh yes, I am suffering from this now...thank you ex-boyfriend.

The course of action that I will take in regard to ridding myself of HRP is to attempt to avoid overanalysis. I am a constant worrier and I am going to try to chill out. I will learn to let well enough alone and not pass my paranoia on to the man by way of neediness. Although, it would be nice if there were some sort of trend to the acknowledgement of my amazingness...

june 5, 2006: evaluation series

I am taking some time to reevaluate my life this week. Not any kind of deep soul searching, just a broad questioning of why I do what I do when I do it. This is number one of a series of blog posts entertaining this questioning and subsequent rationalization. There has been a handful of events (nothing major) lately that have made me rethink why it is that I have chosen to prioritize some things over others. I am writing a series of evaluations in the upcoming days.

...wait for it...

may 24, 2006: kitty commands

Names that the cat answers to:
  • Jack (rarely)

The cat's various names (which may explain why he has trouble learning his name - also see earlier post highlighting eccentric need to nickname animals):

  • The Cat Named Jack
  • Attack Jack
  • Monster
  • Crazy
  • Scratches McGee
  • Scratchy McScratchesalot
  • Little Jack
  • Baby Jack
  • Kitty
  • Turd
  • Stinkitty
  • Black Jack
  • Jack be Nimble
  • Jack be Quick
  • Jack Bauer (okay, we watch too much 24)

Commands/words/phrases the cat understands:

...Oh, yeah, he doesn't know any

Commands/words/phrases the cat doesn't understand, but should:

  • Stop eating my foot/hand/arm/leg.
  • Stop eating the dog's body parts.
  • The dog is not a scratching post.
  • I don't have nipples on my neck, so stop looking for them.
  • Stop attacking every moving and inanimate object.
  • Stop licking my face while I sleep.
  • Don't poo so stinkily.
  • Stop scratching my foot/hand/arm/leg.
  • Stop growing so fast.
  • Hold still...hold still...please, please, please hold still.
  • Make the dog stop breathing on me.
  • Be a lover, not a fighter.

may 22, 2006: my dog is s-m-r-t

Names that the dog answers to:

  • Jammer (only sometimes)
  • Jeff Doucette
  • Muffin
  • Sweetness
  • Jammerkins Snugglebutt
  • Dogface
  • Sugar
  • Stupid
  • Dog
  • Jack
  • Kitty

Words/commands/phrases the dog understands:

  • Sit.
  • Lay down.
  • Get Jack.
  • Get the Stick.
  • Want a treat?
  • Up.
  • Get Nike.
  • Get the Frisbee.
  • Who's here?
  • Do you have to go potty?
  • Gotta poop?
  • Want outside?
  • Want to go for a walk?
  • Want to go for a ride?
  • Take it nice.

Things the dog only understands upstairs:

  • Get the man.
  • Get Trish.
  • Want to go downstairs?
  • Where's the kitty?

Things the dog doesn't understand, but (if the heavens shine upon us) will some day:

  • No more human food.
  • Stop breathing on me.
  • Stop licking your naughties.
  • Stop licking [Insert any random object here].
  • Stay.
  • No.
  • Oh my god, please stop doing that.
  • Wait.
  • Get down. Get down. Get down.
  • These are work clothes, you can't jump on me when I'm wearing these.
  • Stop shedding.
  • Don't leave Jammer tumbleweeds all over the floor.
  • Roll over.
  • Bring me the remote.
  • Bring me a soda.
  • Get the phone.
  • Make me a sandwich.
  • Stop eating Jack's food.
  • Stop stinking.
  • Pay the bills.
  • Fill the car with gas.
  • Do the laundry.

may 17, 2006: ode on a "cat named jack"

The Cat Named Jack was born into the family at approximately 2:45 p.m. Sunday, May 14. This was Mother's Day - how fitting. We are approximating his age to be between five and six weeks. Notice that I wrote that he was born into the family on May 14, not into the world. He was happily greeted by his brother, Orpheus, and his sister, Jammer.

Jack (the shorter version of The Cat Named Jack) is much improved in health and attitude since we plucked him off the busy street and out of the cold rainy weather. He just discovered the joy of running yesterday and does so with much vigor and excitement so much so that he must make sounds to express his happiness. Before his discovery of running, he would mew out of fear when he found that he had wandered too far (out of sight) away from me or the man. He has also improved his hand/paw-eye coordination and is quite intrigued by all moving objects.

The man took the first Jack-watch overnight Sunday. Jack was a good boy and only woke up twice to eat and play. The second night was mine and he awoke more than twice. After checking on him a the first two times I realized that he had gotten an understanding of how to get attention when the lights are off and he is being held captive in his kennel (dog-sized, so it is more of a suite for him). He has taken to climbing the gate/door and shaking it while making pitiful mewing sounds. Yes, he is quite a sight with his fat little cat belly pressed against the gate. He hasn't quite mastered the dismount and often topples backward or stays hooked to the door when it is opened. Last night he slept throughout the night and only woke up when I did.

I am taking Jack to the veterinarian tomorrow to give him the once-over. Well see how this outing goes and I will report more later.

UPDATE: Jack was not as old as we suspected - the vet pegged him at 4 weeks, 2 days old. He is healthy, particularly given that we found him in a ditch in the middle of a thunderstorm. He weighs in at 1.2 lbs and we will be taking him back when he reaches the 8 week benchmark at which point he will have bloodwork done and shots administered. All we have to do now is put some goop in his eyes to clear up any infection and let him eat and eat and eat. The veterinarian and staff all fell in love with him immediately and hauled him around the office oohing and aahing. It seems that we have a little playboy on our hands.

april 27, 2006: i've been tagged, but I didn't even get the complimentary ear tag like wildlife does

Kristen prompted me to write about my eccentricities, which I will do, but I do not believe in forwarding silly e-mail messages/prompts that no one other than the author cares about so I will not go through the rigmarole of doing a "tagback." Here is her spiel:

Okay, here are the rules, once you've been tagged you have to write a blog with 6 weird things/habits about yourself. Then you need to pick 6 other people to tag and list their names. You need to leave a comment saying "You've been tagged." in their comments and tell them to read your blog.....

Here is my list:
  1. When I was a child I would kiss my mom good night each night and tell her that I loved her for fear that she would die in the night if I didn't - this lasted 'til I was nearly 10 and realized that I didn't command that kind of power over life and death. However, I have now found that I have the intense need to wake "the man" up before I leave for work each day and kiss him goodbye for fear that he or I will die before I return (there is no "love" exchange as we do not do that, and I'm not sure if I could even insert a "yet" in there because I'm an idiot unable to judge level of emotion in other people).
  2. I have the sneaking suspicion (shared by the man) that one of the roommates doesn't brush his teeth very often so I move his toothbrush and toothpaste very particularly to gauge when he has last moved them. UPDATE: I saw that he got a new toothbrush so I think I may have just been bored, but I carried out the procedure nonetheless.
  3. I LOATHE socks. I could wear flipflops each and every day and be perfectly content (if they were appropriate work attire and there wasn't that pesky thing called winter in WI).
  4. I need to use a blanket all of the time. It could be 100 degrees outside and I would still be found sweating under a blanket on the sofa watching tv. I think it is a cuddle issue - I need the security of the blanket. I also like to be naked under the blanket, but that is more of a comfort thing and I haven't been able to do that since I moved in with the man.
  5. I give all animals pet names whether they belong to me, or if they are wild, or if they are on tv.
  6. I have a degree in communications but I am completely inept at communicating with the man in any manner that displays competence or tact.

march 27, 2006: dog mental disorders...cured by exorcism?

The man and I have decided that the dog has a split personality disorder. Her good half is Jammer, her bad/naughty/make-you-wish-you-were-never-born half is named Jeff Doucette. This name came about when we were watching the end credits of a movie and laughing about certain names. When the man said "Jeff Doucette" the dog, who was being more than a tad bit pesty, ran over to us and dive-bombed us on the couch. So begins the saga of the schizophrenic Jammer and her nasty inner demon Jeff Doucette.

Anyway, the man was gone at a tournament Sunday and I took who I thought was Jammer for a walk out back (the man lives on a dead end road that goes back into farm fields about a mile). The minute we got out of sight of the house, Jeff Doucette emerged and the dog went berserk. She was okay at first, running ahead of me for about 200 yards, then pooping and then running some more. Then, after we turned around, a pheasant flew out of a creek (aka drainage ditch) and Jeff sprung to action, galloping through the nasty, putrid shit spring of water and chasing that damned bird from the pits of hell, sent to be the bane of my existence. I proceeded to yell at Jeff, then he (she turns into a he when she is Jeff because only a penis-wielding creature can wreak so much havoc) turned to look at me, while standing neck deep in the murky algae-coated water, as if he had done nothing remotely wrong. He proceeded to trot home while I was fuming, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get him into the house and up the stairs to the bathtub without causing a torrential downpour of dog-nasty to rain down on the house (which I had just cleaned the day before).

I played frisbee with Jeff for a bit, hoping (in vain) that some of the grossness would ooze off of him, or at least dry, before we went into the house. Alas, I had to pick the little beast up and carry him upstairs (he seems to gain weight when under the Jeff Doucette mind control). The second I put the dog into the bathtub, Jeff Doucette released Jammer from her prison. She seemed to be shocked that I would torture her by giving her a bath, particularly for wrongs that she herself did not commit. She was quite docile, though incredibly pathetic, and didn't even try to get out of the tub (as she normally does when the man and I both administer the bath time activities). After the bath I towel-dried her and set her free to frolic about the house. I then cleaned the bathroom for the second time in 24 hours. The sludge at the base of the tub was of a consistency only seen in the work horror/sci-fi movies.

Without jinxing myself, I will claim that I may have managed to exorcise Jeff Doucette from Jammer's little dog body in the bathtub as she was the picture of perfection for the rest of the day and was also quite good this morning as I prepared for work. She even followed me into the bathroom as if she had forgotten the torturous bath of the day before (she usually stays out of there for at least two weeks after she has been cleansed). I'm not sure I believe in holy water, but that bathtub faucet definitely was spewing something resembling a spirit-freeing fluid.

feb. 12, 2006: can you "turn over a new leaf" if the trees are bare?

Well, I am newly employed after many years of schooldom. So far it is going well, just pretty busy for the first week and one-half. I am not complaining though because the job search was not something that I would like to repeat anytime in the near (or distant) future. I am now in the "real" world and it sucks even worse than the "unreal" world at times. I am deciding to try to be less cynical and it is nearly killing me (see, I obviously suck at being optimistic). Let's just say that I have yet to find any rose-tinted glasses that fit me and that the glasses that I do find are always half empty (is that a mixture of cliches?).

I am still homeless. I am not so sure about the whole permanent (or semi-permanent) dismissal of all independence-minded feelings for the purpose of cohabitation. It is not the man that is holding me back from the decision, but rather the man's two roommates that would make the penis-wielding:female ratio go from 1:1 to 3:1 (I guess that if I were to count the dog it would be 3:2, but she also licks her naughties as I imagine the menfolk would if they were able, thus rendering her exempt from the man:woman ratio). I like the man's roommates, but as they are men, they are selfish and dirty by nature. I liked/loved living alone (with my fish), but now I am faced with the prospect of either (a.) never seeing the man and moving into an apartment, (b.) moving in with the man and chancing that we will break up and I will be out on my ear, or (c.) happily living with the man and the other men and turning into one of the Stepford wives. I suppose that I could move in and everything could be fabulous, but the way that I am feeling today would make me think twice about that notion. The long and short of it is that I need my own space within the house and the man is not making any kind of headway in acquiring said desired space (even though it exists and is not currently being used by any of the penis-wielding members of the household).

This indecision has nothing to do with my feelings for the man. In fact, the amount of time I will be putting in at work plus the stress that that work would cause are bound to affect my personality and I do not want to "take out" anything on the man that he wouldn't deserve. Unfortunately, because of my now-hectic schedule, I have only been able to spend a minimal amount of time with the man since I have been employed (as opposed to spending nearly every waking and sleeping minute with him for over a month). I am not taking the separation well and see it as the end-all of the relationship. Perhaps that is a tad bit melodramatic.
Yet another reason for my uncertainty is that the man and I do not take steps in the correct order. For example, he asked me to move in before we ever had the exclusivity/boy(girl)friend discussion. Now that the move-in is more likely to happen, there are still some steps in our relationship that we are hopscotching over. I am not a spontaneous leaper and this is making me uncomfortable.

Here comes the "new leaf." I am not going to micro-manage my relationship despite my intense desire to make it fit into what I want, when I want. I have been pretty good at going with the flow lately, but that was when the flow was going the way I wanted it to. Now I feel as though I have relocated to Australia and the flow is now reversed sending everything in a backwards spiral down the shitter. I guess I'm going to just have to learn to speak with an accent.

jan. 30, 2006: reasons why kristen is the most amazing friend...always

I have decided that now would be a fabulous time to post on the amazingness of one particular Kristen out there (you know who you are):

1. No one else would appreciate the wonder and magic of a little-known, grape-flavored, purple thumb man named Peter Hood who died tragically one day back in 2002.

2. I have never seen anyone eat so much of the same variety of food at one time and not be entirely turned off from that food for the rest of one's life. I take this to be a good sign that she will not grow weary of my friendship anytime soon even if I have a tendency to overwhelm her from time to time.

3. She appreciates my caustic cynicism and brings me back to reality when I blow things out of proportion (see blog titled "Where is the love?"). Also, she does so in such a way that I do not feel stupid - and she knows that I hate feeling stupid.

4. Her optimism and love of love and all things romantic is in complete contrast to my usual personality and that is why we work. It is similarly important that she doesn't freak out in my instances of romantic foolishness.

5. She laughs at my jokes. Even the stupid, un-funny ones. Also, she likes my witty t-shirt collection. She even takes the initiative of creating her own witty and sarcastic t-shirts (e.g. "get a job").

6. There is no one else that would appreciate having their own Golden Girls ringtone. More importantly there is no one else who I would rather be Golden Girls with in my old age.

jan. 27, 2006: where is the love?

Lately it seems that a number of the important people in my life are splitting up with their long-term significant others. While I understand that this is not uncommon and that people shouldn't stay together if they are unhappy, it still makes me question the whole concept of "togetherness." In my ponderment of coupledom I find myself wondering what would happen if one actually did forgive and forget. By forgiving and forgetting I mean forgiving the wrongs of the relationship and then forgetting that the relationship ever existed.

Everyone (that I know, at least) goes through the post-breakup throw away festival. You know, going through the house/apartment/trailer/cardboard box and tossing out all mementos, photos and keepsakes that are either a.) too painful to look at or b.) reminiscent of the evil bastard/bastardess and therefore should not be allowed to exist. I happen to just like the concept of decluttering my life of both the man and his belongings when a relationship is over so that I can move on and don't have to worry about being weighed down by the past. This is my new take on life and love (or at least it is while I am happily coupled). BUT...here is the kicker. What happens when the relationship was serious but there are no mementos or photos to link said relationship to reality once the ties that bind have been loosened? Hmm, then what? Well, I raise this point because the man and I don't have any photos of "us." He has a few photos of me (none of which I consider very flattering, but he claims are "cute) and I have zero photos of him. So again I say...what happens if things go sour and there is nothing to throw away?

The throwing away of the no-longer-significant other's stuff would be rendered anticlimactic and thus the purging would not work. I have the feeling that this would be worse than having photos of the previosly-loved one plastered all over every surface of one's living space (but not as bad as having their likeness tattooed on your ass, for example). In other words, I am taking up a bit of photography to alleviate any future lack of stuff to throw out in light of the recent splits. I want to be able to forgive and forget but in the forgiving and forgetting to be able to tear pictures and cards into tiny little bits before shoving them through my paper shredder. Knock on wood (I have a good thing going and don't want to jinx it).

jan. 20, 2006: reasons why the man is the most amazing boyfriend...today

I may not always give the man enough credit for his actions in our relationship, not because I am not grateful and appreciative, but rather because I believe it goes without saying. I mean, really, I wouldn't be around if he wasn't amazing in comparison to my own amazingness. So, here are the reasons why the man is a great companion (oh, how I despise the word but am using it anyway):

1. He is most patient despite his nature for being quite impatient. This newfound patience has arisen as a direct result of my dwindling patience and complete desire for immediate gratification.

2. His extreme optimism in the face of my extreme pessimism. This comes in the face of the lack of job and unwavering feeling that something is going to blow up in my face (particularly my relationship with the man). However, he is on the opposite end of the spectrum with complete unwavering faith in our relationship because he "believes in us," etc. Keep in mind that as a rule his pessimism usually matches if not overshadows my own with its severity.

3. He has accepted my love of cheeseburgers and nachos and reminds me often that I look like a vegetarian (meaning I am svelte) even though I eat like a lumberjack (thank God for high metabolisms).

4. He watches Gilmore Girls with me even though he hates it and thinks that all of the characters have the same personality. He is even willing to admit that the show is clever and witty with smart humor (although the first time he watched it he had to step out on the porch and scream for some unknown reason - I am just going to believe that small mind gnomes had crawled into his brain through his ears and were telling him that he had to yell for world peace).

5. His approachability rating is about as high as mine and seems to attract more random weirdos than I do. I find this quite refreshing and now have someone to blame for all of the oddities we encounter when we enter the world of the public. Oh, what a wonderful thing it is to no longer be the weirdo freak vaccuum on my own.

jan. 11, 2006: cohabitation

I am a nomad. I have no home. I am squatting at my significant other's until I have a permanent residence and a job to pay for said permanent residence. I am also living at my parents' house semi-permanently, as much as I hate to admit that little tidbit. The job market is kind of slow right now, what with all of the holidays and such, so this squatting is becoming more lengthy than I at first imagined. I actually don't mind sharing a residence with three men and one of their girlfriends, but it is a different lifestyle to that which I had previously been accustomed. Here are the main ways in which my life has been altered since I have been staying with the man:

1. I no longer can get away with "the whole bed is mine and I can lie down wherever I wish and wake up in whatever sprawled out and contorted position I so desire" without waking up and hearing about how much I stole the blankets and smacked the man in the head with flailing limbs.

2. I am a much better person than I thought I could ever be as I have made an effort to leave the toilet seat up when I am done so as not to rock the boat for all those penis-wielding members of the household.

3. I have had to mix my favorite spiral mac and cheese with the regular kind as to pacify the man who hates the spiral kind (but who also does not even know how to make mac and cheese).

4. I have to wander to the bathroom in the middle of the night with clothes on rather than in whatever I happen to be sleeping in as not to be caught in the hallway with my pants down (figure of speech).

5. I actually get to wake up and spend time with the man, which is a welcomed change from the short term visits that our long distance relationship had consisted of. Note: this is a happy change to my life and should not be misconstrued as griping.

i have arrived

I'm moving my blog over from myspace, the bastard stepchild of the blogosphere (as much as I hate to use the term "blogosphere"). Also, I feel that I may be too old to use myspace and instead of using it as a friend-generating/pot-selling/sex-mongering device as I hear it is often used, I was using only the blog function.

I'm reposting my blogs from the past - do not go thinking that I am incredibly prolific and they are all the fruit of one day's labor.

Oh yeah. Welcome to the new blog.


trish t.