Alabama? Ireland? Where the Hell am I Again?

And we're home. Home to a couple of (surprisingly) unstressed cats, thanks to the Bestest Friend. Home after a week of more fun than should be allowed, interspersed with many pints of beer, lot of food and very little sleep. I took over 500 pictures (that's all???), and getting them off of my memory card seems like almost more than my mind can handle. We got up 20 hours ago, and I'm determined to stay up til at least 11 tonight (2 more hours) to try and yank my body into the correct time zone. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see if my brain follows my body back into the Central Time Zone.

Another year, another AWSOFTC(SFBIGTNABO)

Go here for 2008. Go here for 2009. So, snow is becoming an annual occurrence round these parts. I can live with that. Especially since it FINALLY happened on a work day, and work got cancelled*. Especially since Monday is already a federal holiday, making this a 4 day weekend. Especially especially since I stocked the wine rack and the beer fridge. Well, the wine rack is already showing some holes because we started on that last night. But that's OK. I have some rum and whiskey left. But enough about my alcohol collection! You want to see snow! Let's see how fierce and mighty this new Alabama Winter Storm of the Century is going to be. *Dear Firefox: "Cancelled" CAN be spelled with two 'l's, not just one as you think. Please update your dictionary, and thank you for making me doubt my spelling abilities, forcing me to look it up in 3 different places to be sure I was correct, even if I been using the British spelling forever and never knew it. Now I'll have to randomly insert 'u's after 'o's, too. Love, Me.

Heartbreaker

Dear sweet Deity, I cannot put enough disclaimers on this post. I've always loved R.E.M.'s song "Everybody Hurts". It's a heartbreaker of a song, that's for sure. And now, it's a tear jerker for sure. Simon Cowell, of American Idol fame - of whom and for which I have absolutely no love, in any way - has put together a tribute song to the Haiti earthquake victims, recording multiple artists singing Everybody Hurts. He's releasing it to raise money for the relief effort. NPR had a few clips of it on the radio one day this week, and I put off looking for it online. I've given, multiple times, to a few charities. Done what I can do, and all that jazz. But I'm sheltered. Privileged. I didn't want to see too much of what's happened. Because there's nothing much more that I can do. So tonight I looked on youtube for a video of the song, because it sounded beautiful. And I found this. Giving to relief causes tends to slack off after the first horror has passed. The first horror is quickly passing. I hope that this video always makes me cry.

I haven't worked this hard for a relationship since I was 16

So. Layla. I've left you wondering too long. First of all, she's a cat, so she's a little nuts. Second of all, she's a cat with an unhappy childhood, so she's a lot nuts. After a couple of weeks, I started letting her have free roam of the house 24/7. And the first night that I was Oh So Benevolent as to unlock her from her jail... She scared the pee out of me in the morning when she jumped off of the tippiest toppiest of my kitchen cabinets and ran under the dining room table. This is where she spends some alone time. On top of the cabinets I have not dusted in 5+ years of marriage. She's still cleaning my house for me. Go, Layla! She's roaming the house a lot more, and Lucius has finally acknowledged her existence, but I don't think he's too crazy about all the butt sniffing she does (nice visual, heh?). He sits down every time she sniffs at his rear, and then she backs her rear up into his face, and he gets a "really? Again?" look before he walks away. At which point she follows him and repeats the entire thing. Then they chase each other around for 3o minutes, until he conveys the point that "no, really, I'm lazy and don't exercise". Then they both sleep for hours. But last night she got in bed with us for a couple of hours...so I continue to hold out hope that one day I'll be able to touch this fiesty, shy, adorable cat.

Go Read This

Fed Up: School Lunch Project First, go back and read the archives.* Add it to your Google Reader or Bloglines or whatever. It's a very short post each day, and it blows my mind. I was a Private School Kid, but didn't have access to a cafeteria until half way through 7th grade - and then the food was very decent. So I was mostly a brown bagger, but my bologna sandwiches and apples were infinitely better than what this (courageous) woman is eating. The peanut butter and jelly "sandwich" made me lose my appetite. * I hate reading blogs in reverse chronological order, so I added it to Reader, then went for the "sort by oldest" option and hit "view all". She's only 18 days in, so there's not a whole lot to catch up on.

Then the Sun Came Out and the Angels Sang

If there's one thing in the world I hate to shop for - and there is, otherwise this post would be wasted time for both you and me (assuming it's not already) - it's jeans. It's like they're made to fit broom handles, and then, so that they don't have to go to the expense of actually fitting around my stomach, the ingenious makers decide to stop the material about 6 inches below what will keep me modest if I happen to bend over. And, due to the fact that I can't hold anything for longer than 30 seconds without dropping it, I have to be careful whom I bend over in front of. That is way more stress than I should have from my jeans. And they frown on me taking a bottle of wine in the fitting room, so I have to do it sober. So. I dread jean-shopping. When I walked into Walmart today, I was hit with an urge to check out the jeans, and I hadn't been drinking yet, so I have no idea what came over me. Maybe 12 hours of sobriety? Anyway, ignoring my better instincts, I slunk over to the clothing department. I was cursing before I even arrived, and I just don't think that's healthy. But the jeans I was wearing - my only pair - are stretched out and don't fit right anymore (no complaining here, goodbye 20 pounds, I'm toasting your disappearance as I type!), leading to a threat of exposure greater than what I'm comfortable with. So, I shopped. For jeans. Sober. I only took 2 in the fitting room, because I figured after that point I would be frustrated enough to leave without buying the necessities we need around here. And, tolerant though he may be, The Professor wouldn't take "the jeans didn't fit" as a suitable explanation for the lack of toilet paper in the house. The first pair fit. Perfectly. Flawlessly. Comfortably. And with no threat of indecent exposure from my rear side. After I picked my jaw up off the dressing room floor (gross), I carefully checked the mirrors, because I was pretty sure they were some kind of fun-house-deception. I almost asked the attendant to let me try another fitting room, to make sure they fit if I wore them in a different location. But as I hadn't bought the wine yet, I was afraid that giving the impression of a total loon would flag me from being able to check out with any. So here I am, wearing jeans I'm not scared of. And terribly afraid that if I wear them in public, the whole backside is going to randomly fall off the first time I sit down. Is there a phobia for jeans? More importantly, is there medication for it?

You've Got Me on My Knees, Layla

[Warning: Very Long Cat Lady Post Ahead] I think we may have picked the most appropriate name ever for a cat. Yesterday, we got a new cat. A Bengal. A Bengal who has not been loved and properly worshiped. She's 2 years old, and grew up in a breeder-turned-cat-hoarder's house. The neglect has clearly made her what she is - under-sized for a Bengal and afraid of everyone. (technical details: she's an F3 marbled Bengal, gorgeous - but about half the size she should be).

Riding Home, it took an hour for her to come out from underneath her towel.

She's breaking my heart already. I have not heard the first sound - cry, purr, growl or hiss - since we picked her up. She does not react at all to anyone, unless you touch her. Then she darts from whatever place you've crawled under to find her to an even more inaccessible place. Well, that's what happened the one time I touched her side. I inched my hand ever closer to her face and she didn't move. I wanted her to sniff me, but she didn't do anything. No facial changes. It's like she didn't know my hand was there, and my finger tips were eventually less than an inch from her face. The second time I tried, I actually petted the tip of her tail - and got no response. It was like she didn't even know I was there.

Behind the dryer. On top of the dryer hose. To-do list now includes replacing the dryer hose.

She's had me on my knees a lot. After she moved out from behind the dryer, she found her way under my bed. So The Bestest Friend & I went in a few times over about 3 hours and laid down on the floor looking at her. One time she was in the bathtub, but we didn't try to get in there with her. Overnight she moved behind my dresser. That's a point in her favor: she's going into all of the dark corners I don't dust often enough and probably pulling out half the dust on her fur. So the other half of the equation: Lucius. Of course you're dying to know how he's handling all of this. He was locked up in the bedroom when we got home, and when I opened Layla's carrier she went immediately behind the dryer. When I let Lucius out, he found her carrier and crawled all in/over it, sniffing. Then he sniffed her out behind the dryer, but he can't get back there (too big to slide by the wall, to lazy to go over the top). So he went out in front of the fireplace and took a nap. Seriously, that was his response. He got up a couple of times and investigated anything that smelled like her, then went to the couch for another nap. I kept Layla in the bedroom with us last night and locked Lucius out of it. This morning he came in and sniffed out her location behind the dresser (another place he's too big to get behind). Looked at her for a second. Then followed me out to the living room to - wait for it - take a nap. I'm convinced there's a sweet, lonely cat in that beautiful little body. I don't know if we'll ever be able to reach it. But we've got all the time in the world.

Behind the dresser, cleaning out my dust problems.

What'll you do when you get lonely And nobody's waiting by your side? You've been running and hiding much too long. You know it's just your foolish pride. Layla, you've got me on my knees. Layla, I'm begging, darling please. Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind. I tried to give you consolation When your old man had let you down. Like a fool, I fell in love with you, Turned my whole world upside down. Chorus Let's make the best of the situation Before I finally go insane. Please don't say we'll never find a way And tell me all my love's in vain.

BECAUSE THE SNOW IT IS COMING AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE

It’s just about time to play one of my favorite little games in this whole wide world. It’s a little something special I call “Go to the milk section of Wal-Mart and watch the local citizenry freak the frak out BECAUSE THE SNOW IS COMING”. I’m pretty sure the employees at Wal-Mart must play this game too, because they stuck the wine section next door to the milk cartons, so I can just pretend I’m trying to make up my mind between bottles of wine, and luckily no one has ever asked what I’m seeing in the glass that makes me giggle hysterically for moments at a time, because seriously, y’all, these people are flying around the last gallons of dairy products like someone has told them every cow on the planet is going to stop milk production all at one time and that time is in FIVE MINUTES. One time, a lady was holding up one of those HUGE half gallon cartons of French Vanilla Coffeemate and asked her companion how it would taste on cereal “if it comes to that”. IF IT COMES TO THAT you will be glad to have cereal, lady, cream or no cream. Anyway, my alcohol supply is down to 2 bottles of wine, a half bottle of rum and a half bottle of bourbon. The Professor is down to a 6 pack of beer, a half bottle of gin and the other half of the bourbon. IF IT COMES TO THAT I supposed I could mix the bottle of peach schnapps that’s been unopened on my shelf for over a year with some of the Mojito mix that’s been sitting there open for even longer, because that’s just the kind of alcohol martyr that I might become IF IT COMES TO THAT, but I’m not really into dying at the moment, so I think I’ll just buy some more wine. After all, Wal-Mart has gone to the trouble of putting the entertainment so close to the wine aisle, how could I resist a double feature?

Circle of Life

The Professor and I have started on a grand search to get a new cat. We've decided we definitely want another Bengal. Sultan was so wonderful and neurotic, and I know another Bengal will be neurotic in its own way, but I'm hoping it will be neurotically-related to Sultan. And so, for the first time since I wrote it, I went back and revisited the post I wrote about him when we had to put him to sleep. And unexpectedly, he was here again. I'm not a person who has to take their pet on trips, or dress them up (have you SEEN some of those cat outfits?!?!), or treat them as a baby in other ways (I laugh, derisively, at those people, truth be told - a cat is a CAT, for goodness sake!). But all of a sudden, the days after that one were HERE again: when I'd walk in the house and automatically look for 2 cats instead of one. When I would sit on the couch, ready to hear the sound of a cat not getting the attention He Deserved, and realize that He was gone. When I'd open the bag of food and not get attacked. It was surprisingly hard to read that post. I'm ready to be attacked again.

Bathroom Etiquette

Ok, y’all, it’s like the Fairies of Employment Fun are following me around these days. I am not even making this up: All of the women in my organization got an email today asking us to “check behind you when using the bathroom” because someone pooped on the toilet seat – and that this is the second time this has happened. Being the good employee that I am, I immediately forwarded the email to one of my male coworkers and asked him how often the men get emails like this. Apparently, they don't. I told him I pitied G, our building manager, for having to send that email. I can just picture G sitting there, staring at the email with the word “feces” jumping out of his screen at him, thinking “there’s nothing left to do but hit send. I really have to hit send, don’t I?.” The poor man. Every time I go to the bathroom at work I’m going to think about this email and giggle. And since we’ve never discussed my work bathrooms before (aren't you glad we're discussing them now?), I’ll tell you another fascinating tidbit: We have an old card catalog in the one of the women’s bathrooms. When they put it in there, I thought it was just going to be a place to store some feminine type supplies. But a few people are using it as an Atomic Event Readiness Reserve. There’s the toothbrush and hair brush, sure. But there’s also a jar of peanut butter, a juice box, bottle of water, cheese crackers, and several other type snacks in there. Who goes in the bathroom and thinks “Oh, look! Food storage!”?