Her recovery was a little TOO quick, if you ask me

Someone once asked me why I have a collar on Part II, as it didn’t really seem to serve any purpose at that time. I didn’t have an ID tag for her and it wasn’t like i took her out for walks– why the need for a collar? And even if I did get her an ID tag– she was a strictly indoors-only cat, so did I even need *that*?

He was the type who was sincerely displeased with pet owners who dress their pets, so I didn’t tell him that I thought Part II simply looked cute wearing a collar.

To be fair, that was only half of the reason. I agreed that because she never goes outdoors, I probably wouldn’t be getting her an ID tag, but I did want to get her a bell because, I don’t know, I guess I’m just a control freak who needs to know where her very small kitten is at all times.

Here in San Diego, Part II has discovered a penchant for exploring the unknown with wild abandon. She leaps into open drawers and creeps into the refrigerator (repeatedly, even after getting trapped in there several times [1]) and, particularly, *flies* into the cabinets as soon as the door has been opened. No amount of wheedling will get her out of there, so recently I discovered a much more efficient method: hooking my finger around her collar and dragging her out of the cabinet.

So, there it is. Justification for a collar.

Last night, I finally made it to Petsmart and found a little bell, but what’s more– I bought an ID tag for the beast. She’s already sneaked out of my apartment once, and while the common area isn’t that big and there isn’t a lot of traffic in and out of the building (plus, the entrance is a long flight of stairs down), there now runs the risk of Part II escaping outside. So, ID tag.

And ID tag + bell = twice the jingle. Without a doubt, I’m able to track Part II’s mischief-making. Sometimes it’s a cheerful little chirp of jingling as she tosses her head or leaps onto the window perch, but other times it’s like an onslaught of furious little bells as she tears around the apartment in pursuit of absolutely nothing at all.

For the most part, Part II has adjusted well to the move. She has her litter box, her food dish, her water fountain (yes, fountain, it’s a FreshFlow), her toys, and plenty of space to run around as well as plenty of window ledges to sit on to observe the outside world. She’s certainly adjusted better– and faster– than I have, but then, she doesn’t have to deal with insurance and bills and long lines at the DMV. So, yeah.

Random fact: Flinging Part II across the room doesn’t faze her in the least. Instead, she views it as an invitation to Play! and runs back for more. It’s like tossing a stick for a dog, except in this case, there is no dog and the stick is a cat and the stick has the ability to bring itself back to me so I can throw it again. Loads of fun.

[1] She wouldn’t come out of there and I was getting annoyed and cold air was being wasted, and I only had the door shut for a few seconds. Don’t give me that look, you know you totally would have done the same.


If the site has been having hiccups, this is why

I really need to make distinct categories for tech stuff and for design changes… add it to the list! (see below)

Astute, or hopefully not even that astute, as it’s pretty darn obvious, visitors will notice that I’ve added a search box to my blog, yes *finally,* I know. I’d played around with building my own some months ago but had trouble getting the search engines (namely Yahoo! and Google) to do proper crawls and, in short, I wasn’t getting the results I should have. So I scrapped the idea.

And then Typepad decided to offer "Bling for Your Blog!" i.e., widgets, and there’s a whole category devoted to search boxes. So I added one all clever-like, since Typepad proffered a warning that Widgets were not currently available for blogs running on Advanced Templates. I scoffed at their pedantic airs and Blinged My Blog! all the same.

Just for the record, I am still greatly irked by the word "bling" and am gritting my teeth each time I type it out.

So: Search box, check. Remaining on the list:

1. Clean up the Categories and Monthly Archives lists in the left sidebar with drop-down menus. done!
2. Redesign the banner and replace the dorky background GIF I’ve got going on.
3. Section for those "First-Time Visitors," complete with PDF Applications, OH YES. Not because I really expect, or even want, to get dates and whatnot from it all, but because I think it would be fucking HILARIOUS, just as a concept even. The first one to be filled out and sent in to me? Framed and hung on one of my still-very-empty walls.
4. Put up (this is highly tentative) a vaguely *nice* profile picture up, if I can figure out how to produce one o’ them babies.
5. Integrate my Flickr account. (Also tentative.)

Expect this all to be in place by 2007-ish, give or take a decade (I’d be impressed if I got this done within the taking of a decade, hey!). Again, I’m seeing more and more tasks it might be worthwhile, teaching Part II how to master. Useless beast!

Let’s regroup, then

Tuesday night: came home from work and immediately began assembling the furniture the nice IKEA people brought over earlier in the afternoon. Total hours slept = 2.

Wednesday night: went straight from work to Home Depot to buy fancy tools that apparently were necessary to put together the IKEA furniture. Learned that IKEA has several levels of self-assembly expertise, and while I had easily soared to the ranks of nightstand- and bookshelf- and even wall-hanging-cabinet-expert, I had yet to tackle bigger and more complicated projects such as the VARDE free-standing kitchen unit that required me to drill my own goddamn door handle holes. Returned home, continued working on assembly. Total hours slept = 2.5.

Thursday night: came home, passed out. Total hours slept = 8.

Today: Woke up at 4 a.m. Walked to Ralph’s to buy baking supplies to make cookies, which I’d promised my department I’d bring in for Friday. Return home and pull up the recipe file, only to realize that I’d forgotten the effing baking soda. It’s 5:30 by now, and I need to be showered and on my way to work in two hours. I steam and stew over this for about 15 minutes before rolling my eyes and heading back out. Pass by Stingaree, to make a complicated story simple, the stock guys ended up filling a large styrofoam cup with the kitchen’s baking soda for me, saving me a TON of time. Come home again, make the dough, stick the first tray into the oven… only to realize I don’t have an effing metal spatula.

I have to use a chef’s knife. Ghetto baking, Round Two.

Work = fabulous. Cookies = big hit. I adore my coworkers and hang out in one of the many Irish pubs down here with a group of them after work.

And now I’m home for a bit. This weekend is looking much more promising than last.

And that’s all I’ve got for now.

Still crazy, but it’s a controlled crazy

I was so annoyed with myself over that last post that I decided I had to do something to shake off the funk.

So I went to my freezer and switched the lids on the cartons of Rainbow Sherbet and New York Cherry Cheesecake ice cream.

I don’t know what’s more strange: that random act of weirdness or the fact that I *do* feel better, now.

Another long rambling discourse on relationships

I’m going to preface all this by blaming Charming But Single, who has recently begun exploring (and thereby writing about) online dating sites. Sometimes, I read things this woman has written and I wonder if I am not actually suffering simultaneously from schizophrenia and amnesia– but I can already see a tangent in development here and will steer myself back on track.


SO. This thing. About relationships and dating and people and moving to a new city that isn’t really new, but darned if the majority of people I knew from college didn’t move away after *they* graduated and I have returned once more to a city virtually chock full of strangers.

This thing that is not really so much of a *thing* but I don’t know what else to call it– this *situation,* then, that I have suddenly found myself in. It all started because I have become a Craigslist fanatic in my search for fabulous deals on fabulous furniture that fabulously needs a new home, a new, empty home desperately in need of filling– a new, empty home that, hey! is just like mine! Because mine is quite definitely a new and empty home! (Was, anyway. I now have a bed and a couch and more stuff is arriving tomorrow.)

I am inherently an impatient person. And one day, while waiting for fabulous furniture to be announced as up for rehoming (I was refreshing my browser, like, every five minutes), out of boredom I decided to click on the "men seeking women" category. Because I was bored. And because, yes, I happen to be single in this moment. And also because people who post things in Craigslist tend to be hilarious, albeit usually unintentionally.

The latter theory was upheld by unanimous vote in the personals section. OH. MY. GOD. One man requested in his post title, a woman who had her tubes tied. Another, who keeps posting to this day, aggressively advertised in sequential posts, all-caps, for Asian girls. Many pointedly and very seriously requested that gay men not contact them with offers of blowjobs. And the resounding majority of posts I looked at called for: down-to-earth, real, open-minded, honest, loyal, intelligent, friendly women, with such aggravating and mindless repetition that I considered making my own post and advertising myself as delusional, fake, closed-minded, deceitful, untrustworthy, stupid and mean. Some demanded no baggage; others still screened out "fat chicks" (and only one of those requests was joking). An understandable number (remember, this is San Diego, home of the beautiful crowd) asked for women who "took care" of their bodies.

On the one hand, I feel bad laughing at these posts because hey, these guys are putting themselves out there, they’re making the effort and that’s more than I’ve ever been able to say for myself. The only reason I end up in relationships is because someone has chased me down with dogged persistence and has kissed me.

On the other hand, some of these posts make me shake my head sadly and think that it’s hardly surprising they’re single.

I’ve bothered to respond to a few of the more sane-sounding posts, but I make it clear that I’m not really looking for a date from the start, and some of the e-mails have turned into friendly conversations. I’m a bit embarassed to report that, out of sheer laziness, when asked to write about myself, I just send them a link to this site’s About page (which means it’s highly likely that there are CL posters reading this very entry, in which case: um, hi! You, um, might want to leave right about now and maybe come back in, say, a week? Or… whatever..?).

Which segues into the more substantial part of this prattle: this website and its role in my life and relationships. I haven’t been writing about dates or flings or interests or anything of that sort, mainly because 1) in the beginning when it seemed "too soon," I didn’t want my ex-boyfriend to be privvy to such information and get even more pissed off than he already (unjustifiably) was, 2) even though I never showed any signs of any kinds of commitment in the least to these people, I didn’t want the dates/flings/interests to read about each other because you know, men can be total drama queens sometimes, and 3) there really wasn’t anything that juicy to write about. Maybe. Or maybe there was. You’ll never know!

[Right here is where I am giving up trying to make this "substantial." Fuck it. Rambling = full speed.]

I’ve obscurely made references to him elsewhere but for the most part, have refused to acknowledge his mere existence in my life– he knows my Myspace profile and we chat on AIM, so he has access to a number of links that could take him here and if he happens to read this I’ll probably never hear from him again, which may actually not be so bad because then I can reattach my head to my neck and be a little more realistic– but, whatever, here we go. Back in March, I sort of ended up falling for this guy out of nowhere. I didn’t WANT to fall for him, certainly never THOUGHT I would fall for him, and in fact almost backed out of our arrangements for a first date (we didn’t call it a date, it was just meeting up, but a spade’s a spade).

That’s why I had so much trouble accepting this job, three weeks later. That’s why, in the middle of interviews, I drove back to Las Vegas for less than 48 hours. That’s why my heart has kept itself out of this whole move. That’s (part of the reason) why I’m so homesick right now.

The stupidest thing is, we both discussed at length how glad we both were to not be in a relationship. We even joked about what a relief it was to not have to worry about falling for each other. We continued to joke about it on that first date and condescendingly scoffed at people who get attached to something that doesn’t even exist.

I’d like to say that it’s all his fault. He is, after all, the one who asked me to meet up with him– but beyond that, *he* kept in touch with me after that first date. I hadn’t expected to hear from him ever again, so his continued friendliness (and flirtations) startled me. And then we had a second date and he introduced me to friends (who introduces a fling to their friends?), and then we had a third date and he insisted on coming inside after lunch and talked to my mother for a good half-hour (again, WHO DOES THIS??), and I was even more startled. I guess you could say I was so startled that I promptly lost all my common sense and resolve and thus fell for him.

Except: this whole damn time, I have been vehemently against all and any feelings developed for him and the duality is maddening. I want to mean something to him, yet I also want to never again be "that girl" who changes the guy’s bitter view of "love" and awakens his heart and makes him realize that why, yes! the risk IS worth it! because I have already been "that girl" on several occasions and it always ends in an unhappy mess. I want him to read this because then he’ll know and will back away with a grimace and I won’t have to give him the "Look, I kind of like you so maybe you should just go away now" speech, but at the same time I don’t because our conversations make me laugh in the best of ways. And also, I don’t do the long-distance thing, ever, and I knew from long before the first date that I was going to be leaving Vegas.

It’s just all the little things that won me over. The five dots and my companion sheep, Kierkegaard and "Without Feathers," the SNL Harry Caray skit on hot dogs and Ella Fitzgerald. The fact that he actually read a book I foisted on him. Our running joke that he’d sold me his soul. His insufferable and irritating habit of never letting me give up on him 100%– though I’ve gotten as far as 98.9%.

And suddenly I’m tired of writing this. I’d delete it, but the truth of the matter is, I’ve written this post no fewer than four times already so I know that if I delete my words yet again, I’ll still end up trying to write this in the future, an endless series of trying to be eloquent about goddamn fool-hardy nonsense.

The point I was trying to make is, there *is* a reason why it’s been two weeks since the move and I haven’t thrown myself into the dating scene here, a reason other than the fact that I am daunted– nay, frozen with fearsome awe– by my competition out here: I’m no beauty– I’m hardly remarkable– but at least back in Las Vegas I felt I stood a fighting chance.

And that reason is that confounded guy.

Even if there weren’t 400 miles between us, even if we both didn’t work as much as we do, even if we both had the time and the desire for a relationship, even if he one day woke up and lost all of *his* common sense and developed a modicum of feelings for me– I can’t shake the feeling that it still would never work out. Which is both a sadness and a relief for me to believe: sadness because he really is an incredible person, relief because I am tired of fishing in the air, of leaning on broken reeds, of chasing rainbows that lead to nowhere. I’ve done enough rainbow-chasing, thank you very much. I believe that, yes, at 22, I have already filled my quota of time wasted pining over men who think nothing much of me, when they think of me at all.

I currently have: a cat who runs to greet me when I walk through the door, a freezer full of mochi ice cream and grapes, and an apartment within walking distance of crazy delicious sushi bars and a Spanish restaurant that offers free salsa lessons five nights a week.

If that’s not enough to lure my heart back, well then, it was a stupid heart and I don’t need it, no how no way.

Three of my most favoritest things ever


Some of the best cereal in existence, my useless face-tromping beast of a kitten, and the fabulous ensemble of sheets and quilt covers and pillowcases I put together myself.

The bed which really made this whole picture possible, I do love as well. But I’m still getting to know it and I don’t want to be hasty and make fantastic claims like, this bed is my most favoritest thing EVER! Though it is, to date, my most favoritest BED ever. Yum.

No, it doesn’t bounce, but I’ve been told it’ll be good for me

So Wednesday and Thursday were super lousy and I spent most of those two days half-delirious, wishing passionately for someone to magically appear and make me some goddamn sugar-free peach Jell-O [1] because that’s my equivalent of chicken soup, and while I wouldn’t have minded some chicken-less chicken noodle vegetable soup, I don’t have any of the ingredients for it. I do, however, have two boxes of peach Jell-O. But making yourself Jell-O when you’re sick is akin to buying your own diamond solitaire for your left hand. Some things, a girl just doesn’t do for herself.

But where I was going with this– this last half of my week has overall been pretty crappy, but in the midst of all this, on Wednesday night– the bed I ordered arrived! It’s not the Simmons Beautyrest model that I really liked, but I did still splurge– a little (::cough::)– on it. And I know I was all in a snit over memory foam mattresses because you can’t jump on them like you can on a spring mattress, but hey now. Let’s not be obstinate and refuse to broaden our horizons here, yes? The showroom dude was all, you’re totally going to love memory foam, all the people who work here sleep on it and they swear by it now, you’ll never want to go back.

We’ll see about that.

With the new sheets I’d bought for this bed, though (I’ve only had full-sized beds before, and all the stuff I had for the king was left with the bed… as, um, "mentioned" in other posts)– I definitely have more incentive to call it a night at, like, 8 p.m. now. And so far, I’ve had no problems falling asleep. But I don’t know if that’s from the food poisoning or the fact that this bed, OH MY GOD, this bed, it CRADLES your body. Individually wrapped coils be damned.

So, yeah. Baby steps, baby steps. I may become a fully-fledged convert after all.

[1] Clarification: that was what I wished for until things got so bad that I decided I wanted nothing to do with food, EVER AGAIN.

Home, sick trumps homesick

Day Two of Body-Shutting-Down-Without-My-Consent. Am pretty pissed about this whole thing, when I have the energy and consciousness to be pissed off.

My semicircular whatsit canal thingies are in better working order as of present as at least now I can walk and move around without the room spinning in circles and shadows turning into 3D monsters that lurk around the the edges of my peripheral vision. The last time the waking world was this disagreeable to me was when I started down the path of choosing to be an organic Crazie instead of a pharmaceutical Vegetable.

All attempts to be semi-productive and get work done from home have failed in that consciousness today has equated to nauseating misery. Much like with a full-blown UTI, I sought refuge from the stomach-lurching by hiding under the covers.

It’s been real fun.

Having just woken from my latest nap, I’m actually feeling better. My fever is gone (my pillowcases all the worse for it) and I’m actually craving– well. Not food, but tea. But just the fact that I’m willing to swallow anything right now is a good sign.

I really ought to teach my cat some caretaking skills. The whole time I’ve been sick, her idea of nurturing me has been to zoom around the apartment and chew on my hands whenever they appeared from under the covers. Good-for-nothing beast.