Yesterday Cat went to make the leap from the toilet to the bathroom sink in frantic anticipation of a fresh sip of tap water. She tackles this feat frequently, because anytime anyone goes anywhere near the bathroom (which would be our whole apartment) she thinks she's going to get her fresh water fix. Cat thinks fresh running tap water is the shit.
Well, yesterday she didn't quite complete the transaction. It is not suprising this doesn't happen more often because A) she has the cat equivalent of a beer belly, and B) she has no front claws.
And so the situation played out. To my absolute horror, she ricocheted off of the porcelain sink and fell backwards, hitting her head on the toilet and frantically scampering away. I chased after her to make sure she was alright. As I sat down to comfort shell-shocked Cat, this thought crossed my mind: How do you know if a cat has suffered brain damage or internal bleeding?
She could have been massively hemorrhaging, and I had no way of knowing. I kept thinking about her tiny skull. It must have hurt like a bitch. Just minutes later Chris came home, and I told him that his life almost changed for the better. (He fronts that he hates Cat.)
A bit later in the evening, I left the living room, only to return to him hovering over the still shaking Cat, checking her out.
"Aww. You're worried about her," I teased.
"I just wanted to figure out if this was going to cost us any money." Nice cover.
I figured it would be too late by the time we figured out if anything was wrong. But this got me thinking, seriously, how much would we shell out to save Cat? We acquired her in her later years. She's a wonderful companion.
However, wouldn't it be more economical to shell out another $100 at the shelter to save another homeless critter instead of spending hundreds more to save this one. I mean cats are a dime a dozen. The benefits would be greater to us and society to let Val move on to kitty heaven.
Would my emotions outweigh my practicality if such a decision had to be made? I honestly don't think so. I am so going to hell, but I'm just being pragmatic: When the cat doesn't stick the landing, you must let nature take its course.
25 March 2006
24 March 2006
Belated chronicles of the January East Coast excursion
Finally, I am posting a link so whoever wants to can see the pics from our crazy East Coast trip back in January.
We hit up 7 states in 4 days, actually 8 in 5 days for me since I picked Dustin up in Wisconsin. Despite the rushed nature of it all, we had an amazing time.
We managed to visit friends in Ohio, take in the beauty of upstate New York, visit Niagara Falls, eat Buffalo Wings in Buffalo, roam Harvard Yard, sleep on the floor of a 20-year-old student/musician's bedroom, roam historic Boston and dine on fresh seafood, and most importantly, we saw Dustin off to his first semester at Berklee via a fun road trip.
I must say, Boston is a really cool place. Everything is so old. It's teeming with energy and creativity. And Cambridge. Wow. If I could do it all over again, I would set myself up to go to Harvard. The place took my breath away.
Chris and I left late Saturday night with plans to stop in Connecticut to slumber and head off to NYC in the morning. Hey, we made it that far, and I wasn't leaving until I saw the Big Apple. Well, after nixing some shady looking hotels--apparently people don't sleep in hotels in Connecticut unless they are paying by the hour--I saw a sign that said "Welcome to the Bronx." I promptly exclaimed this news to my darling husband who assured me that we were not in the Bronx, but alas, we were.
This meant only one thing. We had to keep going and stay in Jersey or Pennsylvania or drop some serious cash cuz we were sleeping in NYC. And my puppy dog eyes worked like a charm. I had to experience the magic of NYC in the daylight. So we settled for a dive in Brooklyn near Laguardia. I swear the walls were made of cardboard. It was more than I've ever paid for a hotel room. Sad. But I was like a kid on Christmas Eve. And so we awoke at something like 6 a.m., which was really 5 according to our Central Standard Time internal clocks.
We had 3 magnificent hours in Manhattan. Despite the fact that it was friggin' freezing, we took in Central Park. I figured that with our limited time, that was the one "must see." It had just snowed; it was early on a Sunday morning, and everything was quiet and still. My dear husband has seen the city a few times so he really was a good sport to freeze his buns off walking through Central Park. The rest of our tour was by auto. Since Chris had been there, and traffic was practically nil, we were able to cruise by all of the places you commonly associate with NYC. And, on our way out, we stopped for Bagels and Lox. Duh. I fell hard for that gorgeous, fascinating, electrifying city. I'm already craving my next fix. I knew it would be love at first site. But the affair was swiftly ended.
Alas, we were back in the Windy City by 1 a.m. When I awoke to see Chris off to work, I felt that it had all been one fabulous dream. Boston, New York...two more amazing places to add to my list of favorites.
We hit up 7 states in 4 days, actually 8 in 5 days for me since I picked Dustin up in Wisconsin. Despite the rushed nature of it all, we had an amazing time.
We managed to visit friends in Ohio, take in the beauty of upstate New York, visit Niagara Falls, eat Buffalo Wings in Buffalo, roam Harvard Yard, sleep on the floor of a 20-year-old student/musician's bedroom, roam historic Boston and dine on fresh seafood, and most importantly, we saw Dustin off to his first semester at Berklee via a fun road trip.
I must say, Boston is a really cool place. Everything is so old. It's teeming with energy and creativity. And Cambridge. Wow. If I could do it all over again, I would set myself up to go to Harvard. The place took my breath away.
Chris and I left late Saturday night with plans to stop in Connecticut to slumber and head off to NYC in the morning. Hey, we made it that far, and I wasn't leaving until I saw the Big Apple. Well, after nixing some shady looking hotels--apparently people don't sleep in hotels in Connecticut unless they are paying by the hour--I saw a sign that said "Welcome to the Bronx." I promptly exclaimed this news to my darling husband who assured me that we were not in the Bronx, but alas, we were.
This meant only one thing. We had to keep going and stay in Jersey or Pennsylvania or drop some serious cash cuz we were sleeping in NYC. And my puppy dog eyes worked like a charm. I had to experience the magic of NYC in the daylight. So we settled for a dive in Brooklyn near Laguardia. I swear the walls were made of cardboard. It was more than I've ever paid for a hotel room. Sad. But I was like a kid on Christmas Eve. And so we awoke at something like 6 a.m., which was really 5 according to our Central Standard Time internal clocks.
We had 3 magnificent hours in Manhattan. Despite the fact that it was friggin' freezing, we took in Central Park. I figured that with our limited time, that was the one "must see." It had just snowed; it was early on a Sunday morning, and everything was quiet and still. My dear husband has seen the city a few times so he really was a good sport to freeze his buns off walking through Central Park. The rest of our tour was by auto. Since Chris had been there, and traffic was practically nil, we were able to cruise by all of the places you commonly associate with NYC. And, on our way out, we stopped for Bagels and Lox. Duh. I fell hard for that gorgeous, fascinating, electrifying city. I'm already craving my next fix. I knew it would be love at first site. But the affair was swiftly ended.
Alas, we were back in the Windy City by 1 a.m. When I awoke to see Chris off to work, I felt that it had all been one fabulous dream. Boston, New York...two more amazing places to add to my list of favorites.
Seriously. I wrote about this...And a lot.
I've never been a fan of Britney Spears. I rolled my eyes and ranted about kiddy porn back in the days she showed up in those slutty Rolling Stone pics in her tender mid-teen years. (Though I did sort of like a couple songs, and must admit I was ever-so-slightly envious of her hot body.) In fact, lots of folks were talking about this teen pop sensation. She gave us plenty to talk about.
Now those who follow celebs (which seems to be everyone, even "respectable" news outlets, but that's a different post for a different day), are constantly criticizing Mrs. K-Fed for letting herself go. Geez. Leave the woman alone.
Who hasn't had a bad year (or years) in the personal upkeep department? God only knows I'm just getting myself back in shape after a post-wedding let go. And how many pregnant women bounce back into perfect shape right after giving birth? Besides, the Britster still looks better than most of the overweight American public!
I just think that after working her ass off as a teenager, she's entitled to relax and live a more "ordinary" life. Imagine having your chubby, barefoot, cheeto-munching ass plastered all over the cover of trashy magazines nationwide. Yeah, she chose a life in the spotlight. This much is true. She may be living the "white trash" life. But I think she's entitled.
I mean, come on, fess up, I know you've drank Old style in your undies while watching NASCAR or have left the house in raggedy, dirty sweats without brushing your hair (or your teeth). How many best-selling records have you had? We all have our trashy moments. And trashiness is a relative term, so even if you haven't done anything as "extreme" as the situations above, you know you've been trashy by your own definition. We just go there sometimes.
So, I'm on the record to say I whole-heartedly support Britney--because, ya know, the world really cares whether or not I support Britney just about as much as I care if I support Britney. Uh huh.
But, seriously, it is interesting that many of us are still talking about her and haven't let her fade into obscurity. Maybe we're just concerned about the once, doe-eyed Catholic schoolgirl who proclaimed she was "not that innocent." Maybe we just want better for the driven--and arguably talented--girl whom we've watched grow into a young woman. Doesn't that ring true for everyone? We all have someone in our real lives whom we look at and think, "He seems happy, but I envisioned so much more for him." Maybe we see ourselves, how we've hoped for better, and how we don't want others to make the same mistake of not living up to their potentials.
But hey, Brit's lived out her dreams with more ambition than most, and I support anyone who does whatever makes herself content. So as I sit here on my lawn chair drinking strawberry wine coolers in my American flag bikini, admiring the dandelions growing in front of my double wide (damn those kids need to quit screaming, mommy's drunk), I raise a toast to Britney Spears for being whomever the hell she wants to be.
Now those who follow celebs (which seems to be everyone, even "respectable" news outlets, but that's a different post for a different day), are constantly criticizing Mrs. K-Fed for letting herself go. Geez. Leave the woman alone.
Who hasn't had a bad year (or years) in the personal upkeep department? God only knows I'm just getting myself back in shape after a post-wedding let go. And how many pregnant women bounce back into perfect shape right after giving birth? Besides, the Britster still looks better than most of the overweight American public!
I just think that after working her ass off as a teenager, she's entitled to relax and live a more "ordinary" life. Imagine having your chubby, barefoot, cheeto-munching ass plastered all over the cover of trashy magazines nationwide. Yeah, she chose a life in the spotlight. This much is true. She may be living the "white trash" life. But I think she's entitled.
I mean, come on, fess up, I know you've drank Old style in your undies while watching NASCAR or have left the house in raggedy, dirty sweats without brushing your hair (or your teeth). How many best-selling records have you had? We all have our trashy moments. And trashiness is a relative term, so even if you haven't done anything as "extreme" as the situations above, you know you've been trashy by your own definition. We just go there sometimes.
So, I'm on the record to say I whole-heartedly support Britney--because, ya know, the world really cares whether or not I support Britney just about as much as I care if I support Britney. Uh huh.
But, seriously, it is interesting that many of us are still talking about her and haven't let her fade into obscurity. Maybe we're just concerned about the once, doe-eyed Catholic schoolgirl who proclaimed she was "not that innocent." Maybe we just want better for the driven--and arguably talented--girl whom we've watched grow into a young woman. Doesn't that ring true for everyone? We all have someone in our real lives whom we look at and think, "He seems happy, but I envisioned so much more for him." Maybe we see ourselves, how we've hoped for better, and how we don't want others to make the same mistake of not living up to their potentials.
But hey, Brit's lived out her dreams with more ambition than most, and I support anyone who does whatever makes herself content. So as I sit here on my lawn chair drinking strawberry wine coolers in my American flag bikini, admiring the dandelions growing in front of my double wide (damn those kids need to quit screaming, mommy's drunk), I raise a toast to Britney Spears for being whomever the hell she wants to be.
06 March 2006
Back in the saddle
Oh how I lament the fact that I can't quite discipline myself to make more frequent blog entries! Hopefully all the mindfulness and self discipline I am taking from my yoga classes will translate into the rest of my life. I mean that was the whole point in taking it. Getting myself to be still and focus through nearly 3 hours of yoga each Saturday and an hour each day has been a miracle. Being unaware of my thoughts and focusing on the here and now...you've got to be kidding me...I can't do that. Amazingly, I am learning. I can actually feel myself mellowing out.
Stress? What stress? Worry? What worry? But alas, not tonight.
Tonight I find myself cramming for the horrific string of days known as midterms. I haven't had actual midterm tests in a very long time. Being back at Columbia has meant lots of papers and projects with the benefit of fewer tests. For the more verbally inclined like myself, the papers and projects route is brilliant. I love the fact that I go to school with thousands of other art geeks who also display their intelligence and skill through outlets other than tests; not to mention the fact that all of my professors are art geeks in their fields and don't adhere to your run-of-the-mill academic practices.
I wasn't so lucky this semester. I get four midterm tests, two of them coupled with midterm papers as a little something extra for shits and giggles. I've been blissfully unaware of the existence of test-related stress and anxiety--that last minute panic that erases everything you know until after you've bombed said test.
Oh how the feeling that your brain has liquefied and your life is in imminent danger comes back so quickly.
Without my pre-test coping mechanism of consuming chocolate and mountain dew, my nerves would send me off attempting to contract the bird flu in order to avoid the inevitable doom of test day. Ahhh. But now that I've freaked out (and in a way that was productive in meeting my goal to make time for writing each day) I must get back to my little all-nighter. I. am. too. old. for. this. Seriously.
Stress? What stress? Worry? What worry? But alas, not tonight.
Tonight I find myself cramming for the horrific string of days known as midterms. I haven't had actual midterm tests in a very long time. Being back at Columbia has meant lots of papers and projects with the benefit of fewer tests. For the more verbally inclined like myself, the papers and projects route is brilliant. I love the fact that I go to school with thousands of other art geeks who also display their intelligence and skill through outlets other than tests; not to mention the fact that all of my professors are art geeks in their fields and don't adhere to your run-of-the-mill academic practices.
I wasn't so lucky this semester. I get four midterm tests, two of them coupled with midterm papers as a little something extra for shits and giggles. I've been blissfully unaware of the existence of test-related stress and anxiety--that last minute panic that erases everything you know until after you've bombed said test.
Oh how the feeling that your brain has liquefied and your life is in imminent danger comes back so quickly.
Without my pre-test coping mechanism of consuming chocolate and mountain dew, my nerves would send me off attempting to contract the bird flu in order to avoid the inevitable doom of test day. Ahhh. But now that I've freaked out (and in a way that was productive in meeting my goal to make time for writing each day) I must get back to my little all-nighter. I. am. too. old. for. this. Seriously.
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