Mad Zoo House

I've only used these retractable leashes:

a handful of times, but that's no excuse for what I do every. single. time. I use one. I always have that momentary panic when the dog dashes off and the leash just keeps going and going... and instead of searching for the brake, I always instinctively grab for the actual leash with my other hand.

Dummy. Nothing like grabbing onto a cord moving really really fast. Apparently negative reinforcement doesn't work on this primate.

(sidebar - I made sure to note "BF Skinner" in my subject line so the Simpsons/X-Files fans reading this wouldn't wonder why the principal/Mulder's boss would be dissapointed in me. :P)

(Pre-emptive sidebar - you should know that I am really bad at directions. Like, pathetically bad. Especially when driving. Carry on.)

Today, the first day of my faboo new job, I had the pleasure of meeting Kate, an English bulldog. Kate and I will be spending 20-30 minutes together, twice a day for the whole week. Kate lives with her mom on the west side of Portland - luckily it was somewhat close to an area I lived in when I first moved here (8 1/2 years ago) so I wasn't as nervous as I normally would be. Until I made the mapquest-directed left and started noticing the numbers were too high. So, I flipped around, Blues Brothers style, and went through the intersection. Now the house numbers are too small. Well, balls. I turn around AGAIN, knowing for sure that every homeowner I passed was noting the fool who was lost. You know what? Screw 'em. :P Anyway, I end up where I was with the original left turn, and there it was. In my defense, the number on the mailbox was NOT very clear.

So I find the apartment, get the key from my handy-dandy organizational system for my new job (have I mentioned I'm a Virgo?), put it in the lock, and nothing. Won't turn. This goes on for a few moments, while Kate is inside barking, and I'm jiggling the doorknob, pulling it and trying the key, pushing it and trying the key. My carpal tunnel is just about to give out when I finally get it open. It's all cake from here, right?

Kate is a cutie patootie who took a few moments to check me out before deciding I was OK. For my afternoon visit we took a nice walk where she actually tried to gallop-run a few times. Hilarious. Apparently I was walking too slowly for the overweight bully. And, luckily for me, she did not kiss me.

I have to say, it's amazing to me to have a job where I immediately feel 100% comfortable with my skillset going in. I can't believe this is my job. Awesome.

Oh, when I got home, my dogs' noses were attached to my jeans for approximately 10 minutes. Thank goodness dogs aren't capable of guilt trips.

People, if you haven't read this blog, do it. I mean it. It's effing hilarious.

Carry on.

Yeah, baby! You read that right!

And get this - it's not even an office job! YEAH.

I will be working at SafeJourney Pet Sitting. Walking dogs, playing with dogs, playing with cats, getting paid - what could be better? :)

So let's have a toast to me, who will no longer be a non-contributor to society. :P

And p.s. to those of you in the Portland area, tell your friends about this awesome pet-sitting company! Thanks!

Buy it, people. Your salads, veggies, and/or herbs will never stay as fresh for as long. Do it!

So it's been almost a month since my resolution to stop biting my nails. So far, no biting! The secret? Keeping polish on AT ALL TIMES. What a pain in the not-getting-smaller-despite-resolutions ass. My nails seem to reject all nail polish after approximately 18 hours. This may or may not be because I am unable to maintain the "lady of leisure" status required during Nail Polish Drying Time. But, whatever.

Other things I need to get used to:

1. I now have to deal with stuff getting underneath my fingernails - mainly when I'm cooking and cleaning. Annoying.
2. I now have the worry that my nails will catch on something and rip/tear (which would likely lead to a recurrence of biting) or, even worse, break, which will hurt.
3. I now use my fingernails for things rather than my fingertips - things like typing or text-messaging. It's a weird feeling.
4. Due to my allergies, I rub my eyes a lot. They're always itchy. One of these days I'm going to scratch myself. And as we all learned from Ralphie in A Christmas Story, it's all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out. Or something like that.
   

On the upside - I'm not biting my nails! :)

or, at least, why the cats in my house are funny:

1. The foster kittens, whenever I open the door to go downstairs, come bounding up the stairs at lightening speed. Then, when I close the door behind me, the flop down on a step as if I won't see them. Then they refuse to get out of the way even when I'm about to step on them.
2. Moe's long memory about where his fishing wand toy is kept and how he will immediately appear from anywhere in the house when we open the door to the closet where said toy is stored. Add to this Moe's shock and bewilderment that the other cats enjoy playing with said fishing wand toy and he doesn't get it all to himself.
3. Claudius, playing with afore-mentioned fishing wand toy, grabbing it in his teeth, ears back, leaning back on his haunches, walking backwards as if he's actually going to get anywhere with his prize.
4. Claudius's short memory about the dogs and the fact that they will chase him. And the fact that he has never learned to just not run.
5. And finally, the moment that made me laugh so hard I almost choked; the moment that made the past decade of being a cat owner worthwhile (if, of course, all the many other moments didn't do so); the moment that won't be as funny without a video or even photographic evidence, but I'll try anyway. Feeding time means all five cats hovering in the kitchen, meowing pathetically as if they haven't eaten in weeks. The five cats don't all get along, but at feeding time they're so focused on me and food that they'll stay in close proximity even though they may not like each other. Anyway, the other day Claudius noticed Pandora (The Cat Who Never Comes Downstairs), and started a play-attack by getting up on his hind legs as if to pounce, only Pandora started walking away. Instead of falling back on all fours and chasing her, Claudius continued to walk on his hind feed for at least half a dozen steps, with his front paws outstretched, walking the wobbly drunk-like walk of a toddler taking his first steps. Freaking hilarious.

And all of this and more is why I put up with crap like: not being able to walk without rambunctious kittens grabbing for my feet or pants; having to find hiding places for boxes of tissue because certain cats think of them as inviting toys; having to outfit my house with covered trash cans, and so on.

So, I've mentioned my father died a few years ago. Obviously, I feel robbed - he was relatively young and despite smoking for over 40 years was in pretty good health. Unfortunately because of an irrational fear of doctors, he never got checkups and by the time his cancer was found it was pretty much too late. He and I never got the chance to have a real relationship, and because I live over 3000 miles from where I grew up (and because the idea of his terminal condition left me paralyzed) I didn't get home in time to really say goodbye or have a conversation with him (he was in a coma by the time I got there and died 24 hours later).

Anyway! So I know a woman whose father has cancer. It got pretty bad. So bad that they asked her brother to come home, as well as relatives in China, to say goodbye. About 6 months ago, his latest CT scan came back clear. The cancer is gone. They're all aware it could come back, but they are considering him cancer-free. Obviously I was very happy for her, but at the same time, I was sad, jealous, bitter. I hated that reaction, certainly wasn't proud of myself, but there it is.

Yesterday I learned that her mother has a brain tumor. They don't have the results of the biopsy yet. Her mother hasn't been acting like herself for weeks, to the point where she doesn't think her mother recognizes her. So, she has no idea if her mother is dying or not. Her father's cancer could come back at any time.

So now I know better than to waste time and energy being jealous and bitter.

When I was a kid (and watching a lot of TV) it seems like all the sitcoms I watched cycled through the same storylines. And no, I'm not remembering the same sitcom. Like, I remember when several sitcoms had storylines about the kids having to get their tonsils out. I was 8 years old, the same age my mom was when she had her tonsils taken out, so I remember feeling very worried that it was a sign that mine would have to come out too. I didn't like ice cream then, and don't like Jell-O, so I was afraid I would have nothing to eat. I still have my tonsils, by the way.

Another storyline I seem to remember seeing frequently is of someone throwing their back out. That's always funny. Characters lying on the floor, or hanging in a doorway upside down in some weird torture-like device to correct whatever the problem was. You can't not have funny stuff happen in situations like that!

Until it happens to you. Or, in this case, me. I don't know what I did to my back since I was fine for most of the day until I got up from the couch to make dinner, and suddenly it was Neanderthal time. I can't walk upright. Yup, I hurt myself getting up from the couch, apparently. And now I'm hobbling around like a witch in a children's fairy tale. owie.

I am going to say yes. Since we got our fun new espresso machine last week, I have gone through a lot more milk. So I'm going to go ahead and say for the record that this new toy will not only pay for itself (in reduced trips to the snooty coffee shops out there in the world) but will also make El Fyd and I more healthy because of the increased intake of milk. So there!

Who had the brilliant idea that the Crazy Cat Lady also crochets? Where does this stereotype come from? Or maybe that's where the Crazy part actually comes in - not because a woman would have to be whacky to want cats in the first place, much less several of them (I know all you hatas out there are nodding emphatically in agreement), but because said woman enjoys having a cat or two while also indulging in an hobby that involves moving yarn quickly with long, enticing sticks.

No wonder she's nuts. Do you know how difficult it is to crochet with cats around? Especially kittens. If the yarn moving on the hook isn't appealing enough, it's the hook itself. Long, shiny, and moving? Score! And god forbid the skein or ball of yarn accidentally rolls on the floor - you'll never see that sucker again. And if you do, it will be a matted, pulled apart mess.

Even if the cats aren't the type to freak out over yarn, they are inevitably going to want to be in your lap, thereby preventing you from getting any work done. The particularly annoying cat will not want to be IN your lap, but will want to be rightupnexttoyou so you can't move your crochet hooking arm anyway. I'm one set of hair rollers and a wedding ring away from being *that* woman.

The foster kittens are totally feeling better, in case you couldn't tell.

Target doesn't have any coats anymore, save the few relegated to the clearance racks. No coats! It's January FIFTH! But, they have a complete selection of swimsuits and bikinis. aaaaallrighty then.

Recently I found an old journal. The first entry is from January, 2003. It's barely full, so you can imagine how many entries there are. In fact, the only entries are perhaps a handful, each in January and February of the past three years. In case it's not obvious, I started this journal with the intention of being my "new year's resolution and goals" journal. So you can see how each of those year's resolutions worked out.

Actually, the resolutions I had 3 years ago, and every subsequent year, are the same ones I would have had this year (I like to call them The Big Three):

1. lose weight
2. get out of debt
3. figure out what I want to be when I grow up

Since those haven't changed in all this time, I'm thinking I should change my Big Three to One and make my resolution "learn stick-to-it-tiveness." cheese and rice.

Anyhoodles. I did decide to give myself some reasonable and attainable goals this year, to hopefully ensure some success:

1. stop biting my nails once and for all
2. read for pleasure for at least 30 minutes every day
3. continue teaching myself to bake

The first two are, so far, going well. Victory will be mine!