Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Sisterly advice

Next time you mouthe the words "he's going home with me tonight" about the lead singer of a band, make sure his sister isn't deaf and he can't read lips...

Yes, he did...and yes, they did - twice. Ah, to be twenty-four again. My post-bar action consisted of a near heart attack when I awoke the next morning to find a long-haired guitarist asleep on my couch.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Yo. Yo.

In two weeks...I'll start my new job!

My negotiating skills? Suck. Auto dealers, salesmen, real estate agents and flea market vendors love me because I never try to get the price down. If it seems fair, I pay it. Last time another company took over our contract and I was offered a smaller salary than expected, I cried and decided to quit because 'counter offer' was a foreign concept.

This time? I asked for 25% more money than I currently make, never realistically expecting them to offer it. They did. And when the woman from HR explained some of the benefits package, I asked if vacation time was negotiable, to which she replied "sure" and added another week. Just like that. She probably pays too much for new cars, too, I'll bet. Suckah!

In two weeks....Crunchy Black's blood will have to be sent again to the lab for FIV (the equivalent of hiv in humans). The results were questionable, so he'll have to be fed separately and sequestered as much as possible while waiting for a retest. There are multiple scenarios, but I'm trying not to obsess until I know something concrete. Who am I kidding?

Friday, October 27, 2006

Don't call me Bubba

I have, apparently, wiggled my way into the professional good ole boy network of southern Alabama.

I had just started my current job when some sort of incident involving a vacuum pump device, a faulty hose, and a few gallons of oil took place. On me. I had showered that morning, but it turned into a really bad hair, with lots of advice from co-workers on the best way to get oil out of clothes. Dawn dishwashing detergent is not the magic elixir they claim, by the way.

I couldn't go home (which was my plan A) because Sam, a computer/environmental scientist/geek from Louisiana, arrived to install a new program for me to learn. We became friends, though he later told me the image of me covered in oil was stuck in his mind forever (what is wrong with men?) .

His company is hiring a few people on my base, and, since he's helping in the hiring process, asked me to send my resume so he could write a job description using MY skills and certifications. I asked if he wanted my height, weight, and a photo to attach to eliminate the prospect of someone else applying.

His human resource department started the background check on me this week, and when my current company found out I was leaving, chaos ensued. Who knew I was such a hot commodity? I've always been tragically underpaid in this field, but it appears we're about to have an all out bidding war...for ME!*

*I'm almost afraid to post this entry, in case I somehow jinx myself and both companies wind up saying, "Nah, you can have her."

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Quarantine: do not enter

Bowie:
5/06 - 10/22/06

While it's not my intention to start an online cat obituary log (catobitog?), I have to mention the frail, sweet Bowie, who entered my life, and heart, this summer. She was the runt of my foster cats, surviving every possible illness and recent death of her brother, with an adorable one-eyed sense of sweetness.

When my sister's boyfriend offered to take Bowie in July, I lied and said she had an appointment the following week, so he couldn't have her (I believe I might have some sort of underlying pathological issue. Or two).

My personal veterinarian (ha!) has no clue what's causing the quick, successive deaths of my cats, but sent a blood sample for full screening when I showed up with Crunchy Black (always worth a few snickers when they call out his name in the waiting room and I mumble, "my son named him" as we walk back). He told me he'd like to perform an autopsy on the next one to die, which made for a rather awkward silence. I told him the previous two had died on the weekend and wondered if rigor mortis might affect the body. He told me that I could wrap the body in a plastic bag and put it in my freezer until Monday, when I could bring in the body.

What does one say to that? I feel like I'm stuck in a morbidly bad b-movie written by Stephen King.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Venezia

Pssst, Boy! There's a pigeon on your head!
[Piazza of San Marco, Venice]

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Rigidity

Don't EVER take 4-week old kittens to a veterinarian on a military installation, even if you think one's dying because they're so stuck on their regulations and policies and couldn't possibly bend their "you can't have these kittens back for at least three days" rule and "we'll have to euthanize this one because he has fluid in his lungs." And forget about suggesting bringing the wild mother-cat in, because she'll have to go in a different cage, then be euthanized in three days, anyway, unless you want to re-adopt it for the small handling fee of $72. And crying and hyperventilating in the office? Gets nada. Fuck me.

Ace's wild

Our weekend at the beach was a-ma-zing. Who knew beer and sun could be so therapeutic? Beer + sun = world peace. I'm sure of it.

I was always under the impression that I had inherited my (no) sense of direction from my mother, who had to call mall security several times when I was a child because she couldn't find the car. Turns out my sister's inner compass is just as faulty, even with a different mother. The drive through small-town Alabama to Florida should have taken an hour and a half, not four, but even Mapquest can have a bad day, I suppose.

One interesting fact about taking road trips with my sister: she plays strip poker in her mind. Every so often, clothing comes off ("I'm so over these shorts") until she's down to the minimum, comfortably driving along. Maybe you have to be there.

I stayed up all night playing poker with tarot cards. I got a full house and four people died.
- Stephen Wright

Monday, October 16, 2006

Solve for z

(x - y) / 2 = z

x = age, in years, of old, decrepit crone with the failing liver;
y = age, in years, of her college party-girl sister;
z = number of times x will vomit after a night on the town trying to keep up with y

Saturday, October 14, 2006

You're blocking my sun

When my sister moved down here to Alabama in May, we/I had grand plans of spending weekends at the beach, bikini-deep in Budlight, but life/her boyfriend got in the way. They broke up in August when he took her away for the weekend, then started making out with a random girl in the pool when my sister went up to the room to change her clothes. She monitors all her ex-boyfriends relationships on their MySpace's and told me random pool girl is driving down from New York to be with him again this weekend (and I thought I had a propensity for stalking!).

While I don't know how altruistic her intentions are, my sister is whisking me away to the beach in Destin this weekend. I've already laid down the ground rules: no booze, boys or new tattoos. Er, maybe just this once.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Highways and byways

My ex- starts his new job today with training in Orlando (I'm letting my emotions fester for a while before I talk about that), so he had our son for the weekend, then flew him back to Tallahassee for me to get Sunday night. Post-party pick-up mom.

Most of my life, people have told me to slow down when driving, but my son? Nagged the entire way because I was only going 80. He missed his car and could not possibly wait another minute for the reunion, even going so far as to tell me that he could claim youthful offender and his car insurance could cover it if I got a speeding ticket (which I pay, incidentally).

We arrived home (finally!), and he took his poor car with cat-prints on the hood out for a spin. Just like a neglected girlfriend, she paid him back for his weekend getaway, stranding him on the side of the road about ten minutes from our house.

My son, who knows next to nothing about cars, had the hood open, peering inside, as I pulled up.

"It sounds electronical, don't you think?"

Rule #1: if you know nothing about cars, make up words.

Monday, October 09, 2006

For those running at half speed

Once there was a woman who stopped visiting my blog when she realized I was ONE person with TWO blogs (oh, God, the horror!). I use this space for myself, while I keep another for my parents/not-so-interested family members, which means I can bitch about my sister, showcase my boobs or talk about threesomes, all in the privacy of my Indigo blog.

Seriously, it's not a diabolical plot twist.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Yes, we're going to a party party...

For birthdays during my obsessive, all-things-Beatles phase (which later evolved into one of all-things-George Harrison), my dad would take me shopping at Harmony House, where I would select the perfect album and we would try to answer the age old question: Beatles vs. Rolling Stones. We shared this interest in music, so browsing together was like being in a candy factory with a chocoholic.

I don't recall a special tradition for his birthday, which is today, though I do remember buying many ties and candles over the years. 2003 stands out for the best surprise, when my mom & I painted his kitchen while he was at work.

For something different, I thought it might be nice if complete strangers on the internet could wish him a good one... (GO!)

You say it's your birthday
Well it's my birthday too--yeah
You say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you.

Friday, October 06, 2006

"I called you and it went straight to voicemail." Yep.

My cell phone, which is also my home phone, has been dead since Wednesday and I'm in no rush to recharge it.

I get like this sometimes, when I'm not able to articulate thoughts, let alone share them with others. It seems much easier to turn inward and avoid people (I wonder if this is what autistic feels like.) If brains are prisons, mine is solitary confinement.

My dad struggles with this, as well, although I always found it a quirky and endearing trait in him. He drove three hours to his neice's wedding reception a few years ago, because he knew he should be there, but he couldn't tolerate the crowd (which was mostly family). He entered the front door, marched though the entire hall, then exited out the back door and returned home. Odd, now, that I should so completely understand.

My ex- used to say to me, "You're going to grow up just like your dad* - alone in a cabin in the woods somewhere, drinking beer."

And? What's so wrong with that?

*he recently got married, moved out of the woods, and switched to whiskey (just kidding).

Monday, October 02, 2006

Addison was here.

Parents with many kids always say they love them equally, though perhaps in different ways. I don't buy the Party Line. Of my ten cats, Crackhead Kennedy and four month old Addison have always been more gentle and affectionate. They slept with me, greeted me at the door with a cold beer (not really), and consequently gained exalted "favorite" status.

Addison was lethargic Saturday, but I didn't really notice...he's a cat. Around midnight he started wailing, and when I got closer I could hear his shallow, pained breathing. His eyes were open, staring blankly and I knew there was nothing I could do. He continued having convulsions and crying loudly, as I helplessly held him. The other cats gathered around, equally confused and concerned.

I laid down on the floor beside him, holding his head tenderly in one hand, and petting him with the other, as he passed away. He still twitched, so I kept holding and petting for probably another half hour. To stop would mean giving up, I suppose, and I was clinging to some desperate hope that he would be alright. He wasn't.

I wrapped him tenderly in one of my favorite, softest hand towels and placed him in an empty box, with a lavender rose from my garden and a catnip toy mouse. My son dug the hole next to the pink Camilla bush that's starting to bloom, and we buried him together.

His brother has spent the past two days wandering around the house, crying. I'm equally as subtle, walking around with my puffy eyelids and sobbing whenever I think of him.

The most frightening part is that his death is eerily similar to whatever-still-undiagnosed disease ended Jock's five kittens lives. Another of my cats has similar symptoms and I'm scared to death I'll lose them all.

Addison used to sit on my laptop keyboard when I left for a moment, surprising me with gibberish, pop-up windows and odd searches. This one's for you, sweetie. MMMDHGEHEKLJK. Rest in Peace.