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!
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.
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.
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 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."
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.
3:31 PM: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT DOING BACK HERE? HE WAS GONE? WHY DID THEY BRING HIM BACK? I HATE HIM!!!"
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
- Reprogram "Cat Named Jack," at no charge to me.
- 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.
P.S. If I have misdirected this letter and it should be going to your Southern counterpart, please forward.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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)
- the back of the sofa (and the side, and the front)
- 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:
- 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.
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!
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 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.
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.
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.
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...
...wait for it...
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
- Scratches McGee
- Scratchy McScratchesalot
- Little Jack
- Baby Jack
- 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.
Names that the dog answers to:
Words/commands/phrases the dog understands:
- Lay down.
- Get Jack.
- Get the Stick.
- Want a treat?
- 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].
- Oh my god, please stop doing that.
- 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.
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
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:
- 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).
- 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.
- 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).
- 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.
- I give all animals pet names whether they belong to me, or if they are wild, or if they are on tv.
- I have a degree in communications but I am completely inept at communicating with the man in any manner that displays competence or tact.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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'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.