Thursday, January 28, 2010

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.

Monday, January 18, 2010

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?

Sunday, January 10, 2010

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.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010


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?