Spiders

Our backyard is pretty small, typical of an urban backyard. However, it seems dense...lots of trees and foliage on the sides, and when it rains and the grass and ivy has overgrown and there's a hundred shades of green I imagine I am in a rainforest.

I think the spiders think they're in a rainforest.

We get spiders, and they like to create their webs in our walking spaces...specifically, on our porch. We have to walk down the porch to get to the garage. Many times we've walked into a spiderweb. There's nothing quite like the feeling of walking into a spiderweb. There's not much you can do but run around screaming while waving your arms wildly. It's something to be avoided at all costs.

So in comes "spider check". Before I leave the house, Mr. CatLady will go outside with a wiffle bat and wave it around...thereby getting rid of any spiders who have made their webs in my walking space. When I come back, I call Mr. CatLady from my cell phone in the garage and he spider checks before I enter the house.

And that is just one of many reasons why I love him.

EZ Pass

I do not want EZ Pass. Mr. Cat Lady thinks I'm crazy. I just don't want the government to track me.

Is that crazy?

The government is tracking us...our debit and credit cards, GPS systems in everything, chips in our cats and dogs, and EZ Pass...just another way for Big Brother to keep tabs on all of us. Am I the only dystopia fan out there?

But you know what? EZ Pass is kind of nice. If Mr. Cat Lady didn't have it I'd never realize what a pain in the ass it is to try to find $3 in my wallet while navigating a SUV as the lanes change from 3 to 10. Not to mention having to pay attention to which lanes are the "cash only" lanes, and watch out for all the other idiots doing the same thing. So yeah, I will get EZ Pass. Eventually.

And scream about government tracking and mind control the whole time.

Hot

Forgive me blog, for I have ignored you. It's been 51 days since my last update.

It's hot. You know when you step out of the shower and immediately need another shower? Yeah. You know when you try to put your bra on, but your back is so sweaty it's slippery, so you try to rub your back against your bathrobe that's hanging from a hook in the bathroom, but since you're also sticky your back sticks to the bathrobe and when you move you bring the whole damn thing, including the hook, crashing down? Yeah. You know when you just can't.get.that.hair.away.from.your.neck? Yeah.

But yet, I sit here and drink coffee. Hot. I am an addict.

The gym has become like a church. Outside of the gym there's a sign: Cool Off Join Now. And it reminded me of the lyrics in "California Dreaming": stopped into a church/I passed along the way/well I got down on my knees/and I pretend to pray/you know the preacher likes the cold/he knows I'm going to stay. The gym is air conditioned. I go there because I can cool off, and while I'm there I exercise. Which isn't a bad thing, really.

It's hot. Typing? Is hot. My computer? Is hot. Someone please remind me why I wanted a house without central air?

Karma, part deux

...a cautionary tale.

At 11pm last night Mr. Cat Lady and I heard Cat Boy the Younger (age 2.5) playing in his room with the light on. Not a huge deal, he does that sometimes, and if he's happy, hey? Who are we to argue? So Mr. Cat Lady goes to bed, I stay up to argue with friends on line for WAY too long, and at almost 1am I head to bed as well.

I notice Cat Boy the Younger's light still on, but he is quiet. If I open his door I could wake him, and waking Cat Boy the Younger is something we don't like to do...so I tiptoe by. In my room, I notice Cat Boy the Elder has taken up residence next to my bed...which is fine, I keep a pillow and blanket there for him. However, he is snoring. And snuffing. And snucking. And....well, there was no way in hell I was getting to sleep with that. So down to the couch I go.

The living room is cold. It's June freakin' 12, and I'm in flannel pants with an afghan shivering trying to sleep on the couch. Jack finally comes up and lies next to me to warm me up; as I'm just about asleep he walks on my face to get away. Screw you, cat. Mars comes up and lies on my legs, and I sleep.

I am woken at 7:30am by the happy squeals of Cat Boy the Younger jumping in his crib. I head upstairs and Mr. Cat Lady is very hurriedly getting ready. Usually Mr. Cat Lady is out of the house by 6:30, so I ask him why he's still home.

"I forgot to set my alarm" he says while rushing to button his shirt.

I get into bed and plan to go back to sleep for an hour or so. "Well," I say, "you can just say you were up all night with a sick kid or two."

"That's exactly what I was going to say" Mr. Cat Lady laughs and kisses me goodbye.

I go back to sleep for a little while as I no longer hear Cat Boy the Younger. I think he must have gone back to sleep too. I get up around 8:30, go downstairs and get my coffee, talk to Cat Boy the Elder, and jump on line. I notice the time again around 10am, and realize I must get Cat Boy the Younger even though he is still making happy sounds in his room.

I open the door and the smell. Oh, the smell. I am used to his room smelling like zoo...but this was like zoo in India in July when all the elephants had food poisoning. And then I saw it. And him. Standing in his crib in just a diaper. Happy as a clam, if a clam liked to play in vomit.

Last weekend Mr. Cat Lady got him and his diaper was off and there was poop everywhere. This? Was worse. It was embedded in EVERYTHING. I gave him a bath and it was still in his hair. Scrubbed, combed, scrubbed, combed...now his hair smells like a mix of baby shampoo and vomit.

The pisser is that he wasn't upset. When Cat Boy the Elder would vomit he would freak out - vomiting can be scary, especially from a child's perspective - but this kid? Vomit is a playtoy! Let's put it in our hair and squish it in our blankies! The chunks make it fun!

Oy. Note to self...do not joke about staying awake with sick kids.

And karma? I'm not liking you too much right now. If you'll excuse me, I have some laundry to do.

Monster

This 12 year old Palestinian girl has just lost her family after Israel opened fire on them while they were picnicking on the beach. I saw her on the evening news tonight crying as she was looking for her father, only to find him dead.

In 7 years when she's 19 and a suicide bomber, we're going to call her a monster...all the while ignoring the fact that we're in the monster making business.

Terra'lert

Who is Terra'lert? Terra'lert is an important ally of Warren Terra. Warren Terra's why we're in Eye-rack. Terra'ists are in Eye-rack, which is why we're there...although I have heard that terra'ists wasn't in Eye-rack before we got there...but then someone gave me a nice kool brightly coloured drink and I forgot what I was saying...

Oh yeah, gay marriage! It's destroying America.

Ahem.

So, anyone want to play the "when the next Terror Alert will happen"? 'Cause elections are coming up, and they've trotted out the Gay Marriage pony show...when will Terror Alerts be brought up? Orange is a lovely colour for summer, or maybe for fall, like the colour of the falling leaves on the trees? Or will people wake the fuck up and not let the white house play on their emotions, no matter how misguided they are?

Gay marriage, folks...really? That's what you're worrying your pretty little heads about? Never mind what's going on in Iraq, that the victims of Katrina still have no homes, that people who've worked hard their entire lives can't afford their medicine...but gay marriage is the "moral" issue you're trotting out? You fucking stupid idiots.

I have a very hard time talking about gay marriage. I get so angry up that I fail to be coherent, and end up simply cussing. Bad new Buddhist. Bad Buddhist, bad.

Oh yeah, this post was about terra'lert. I think terra'lert will show his face around...August. There. Any other guesses?

Youse

The other day, I swear Cat Boy the Elder said "youse".

Youse. For those not in the know, that is pronounced "you-zzzzzzzzzzz". It's a highly unpleasant sound, especially coming from the mouth of your highly intelligent preschooler. It's like the unattractive and smelly cousin of 'you all', which, in contrast to 'youse', sounds quaint and even pretty.

Youse, I believe (although I try not to give it too much thought), is a Philadelphia term...or a New Jersey term...no, it's a Philly term. While I say I'm from Philly, I'm not from Philly. I do not say youse. Mr. Cat Lady does not say youse. In fact, I went on a date with a man who said youse. A second date was not forthcoming (although, in all fairness to youse, it was more the hair plugs that sealed our fate. Men, hairplugs? Not a good look. This from an admitted fan of hair for men and women. Go bald naturally. Please.).

I haven't heard it since. I'm hoping it was a passing goof.

Youse. What is this boy doing to me?

Cassettes

So, I'm in the market for a new car. I won't get a new one for at least 2 more years, so now I'm just in the "seeing what's out there" stage.

Yes, it takes me over 2 years to make a decision like this.

Saturday I was out with Cat Boy the Elder and we passed the BMW dealership. I said, "wanna look at cars?" and of course he said yes. We stop in, look around, and a salesman actually paid attention to me! So I tell him what I want and he brings one around from the back. I get in and it's pretty darn nice...nicer than my 2000 Jeep Cherokee. As I'm sitting there he's going on and on about "Blue Tooth Technology" and how to use my phone with it, blahblahblah. I only have a cell phone because Mr. Cat Lady made me get one after I ran out of gas on the highway. But anyway.

I notice something missing on the dashboard. I look at him and say, "don't laugh, but does this model come with a cassette player?"

He has an odd look on his face and asks, "You have a lot of books on tape?"

I smile and say, "No, I have music on tape"

Damnit all, but he laughs. He tells me they have to go through this whole process of ordering from Germany, and they might be able to get one on this year's model, but it would take at least 4 weeks. I can tell it pains him to talk about cassette players when he wants to talk about the latest and greatest technology.

Cat Son the Elder and I finish looking, and leave. $40K+ for a car and I won't be able to play my favourite mix tapes in it. Harumph.

Yesterday the entire Cat family went to an outdoor festival type thingie. Subaru was there with a few of their cars out on display. The Outback is a car I have been looking at for a long time. I like the price, I like the look, and I like the colours. I open the doors and start looking around, and a woman comes over to me and asks if I have any questions. Mr. Cat Lady is whispering in my ear, while poking me, "ask her the Question! ask her the Question!" So I do..."do you have cassette players as an option?"

"No," she says, "you might be able to find that on a used car but we no longer make cars with cassette players."

Mr. Cat Lady is now jumping up and down with glee, calling me a luddite. Saleswoman starts telling me about the cool navigation system. Mr. Cat Lady actually laughs when she mentions the navigation system.

I've got a navigation system. It's called a map.

I thank the sales woman and leave pissed off. Navigation system. The last thing I want is some disembodied voice cutting into my music (on tape!) telling me to turn left when I know I'm supposed to turn right. "So just turn the navigation system off" Mr. Cat Lady says. No, because it still pisses me off...it takes away valuable dashboard space...space where a cassette player could go. Navigation system. Can't people read maps anymore? Soon people will be needing technology to tie their shoes.

Now, I love technology. I'm using it now. Mr. Cat Lady works in technology; technology keeps us in the finest grade of kitty kibble. But really, folks...let some people have a choice.

Car manufactures, you got me with your luxury of air conditioning, heated seats, and automatic windows. But keep your hands off of my cassette players!

Squirrels

Happy town squirrel

I like squirrels. They're so damn cute.

Years ago I was in Philadelphia with a boyfriend. We were sitting in the park in Rittenhouse Square and he said he felt bad for the squirrels. I said "Huh??". He said that he felt sorry for squirrels in the city, having to deal with the people and the noise and the lack of space to "run free".

That had to be about one of the dumbest things I had ever heard. SORRY for city squirrels? Fat little city squirrels? Who didn't know any difference between the city and say, the Montana wilderness? I can see feeling sorry for hungry squirrels, baby squirrels that were abandoned by their mamas, dying squirrels; but sorry simply because a squirrel lives in the city?

That was simply reason number 37 out of 283 why boyfriend did not become Mr. Cat Lady.

So sometimes now, years and a lifetime later, when I see a squirrel in my town I wonder if he'd be happier out in the middle of nowhereville. And I laugh.

Snarking

I enjoy going to message boards. I've been going to internet message boards since I jumped on line...a good 7 years or so. Often, I find the courage behind a keyboard to say something that in real life, I am just too shy or quiet to say. Not to say I'm a pushover marshmallow in real life, my Leo pride and temper wouldn't allow that. But rarely do I feel noticed. On line, I slip into the person I wish I was on the outside.

But again, sometimes I am surprised I'm noticed. And more than being simply noticed, I am surprised when I invoke such ire in someone that they follow me around on message boards simply to disagree with me. Not like an internet stalker, more like an internet snarker. She's the poster who if you say you like ice cream, she says ice cream gives her brainfreeze. If someone disagrees with you, be it a movie choice or a parenting choice, she's there agreeing with the person who disagrees with you. She brings up something you said over a year ago in an attempt to make you look bad, when it's hardly relevant to the conversation at hand.

In a way, I should feel flattered. And I do. I have my very own internet snarker. But I also wonder what would cause someone to expend so much energy on someone she doesn't like. There are posters I don't care for...it happens. And I know I won't be everyone's cup of tea (ego: What!!? I'm perfect! I'm pretty and smart and generous and...) and I can, somewhat, accept that. But why not just mentally ignore? That's what I do.

And of course, if I do it it's the right thing to do.

Materialism

So I have decided I'm a Buddhist. Perhaps. I don't know.

Christianity is easy. Go to one of the 20 churches within a one mile distance from my home for an hour a week, read this book, and pray. Ta-da! You're a Christian. Now, I kid the Christians, but since I was raised in the tradition it seems easy to me. But in my heart, I knew it wasn't right.

So the other day I found myself in one of those Tibet stores in he city. The kind with the incense, music, and pretty colours. And I realize that I want to be in that store, with the incense and music. And I wonder...was I a Buddhist in a prior life? Certainly this familiarity and comfort isn't from my childhood; a childhood that was so white and subarban that dijon mustard was exotic. It's from something else. And then it makes sense.

Maybe, that's where my home is? And so I begin to read, and learn; I've always been interested in Eastern philosophy so I grab a few books from my bookshelf, go to a few websites, and decide...I am a Buddhist.

But I like things.

I like things a lot. And I'm reminded of a few months ago when I saw Tracy Ullman on Jay Leno. She was talking about her daughter, who was a young adult, and how her daughter fancied herself a woman of the people. One with the working man. Hating the bourgeois. And then she said, that's my daughter..."The communist with the Marc Jacobs handbag". And after I patted myself on the back for knowing what a Marc Jacobs handbag was, the image stayed with me.

Can I be a Buddhist with a Kate Spade handbag? Okay, 3 Kate Spades , a Burberry, and a Mulberry that I visit at Nordstrom?

Is it contradictory to be a Buddhist who likes things? Am I thinking too much? And why is my internal monologue like a Donald Rumsfeld speech?

Ego

Today in yoga class we did a balance pose that even the instructor (who I swear can put her ankles behind her head) said was difficult. But ME, chubby yoga newbie, was able to do it. And as I was looking at myself in the mirror with my perpherial vision I thought, "I'm doing it! I ROCK!" I stumbled.

Ego. Have to learn to let go of the I and just be.

Karma

Sometimes, karma hits quick. So quick it's scary.

A few nights ago my parents offered to watch the boys so Mr. Cat Lady and I could go out on a real date. We went to a sushi restaurant we hadn't been to in a while, but we used to really enjoy.

It's a BYOB so on the way there we stopped to get a bottle of wine. I run inside and in the cooler I see "Fish Eye" Chardonnay. How perfect, I think, Fish Eye wine while eating raw fish. Cool.

I get the wine and Mr. Cat Lady and I giggle about how appropriate it is to drink Fish Eye wine with sushi (okay, I giggle while Mr. Cat Lady breaks a half smile). We order our regular fare of rolls and maki. When the maki arrives it's a nicely arranged set of crab, tuna, salmon, smoked salmon, and shrimp...looking at me.

"Oh look" Mr. Cat Lady says, "they put the heads back on". The shrimp are looking at me. Their beady black eyes are large. Mr. Cat Lady picks one up and tries to remove the head, but it's not easy. They didn't put the head back on. They never took it off.

Ugh. Mr. Cat Lady gets the heads off in a less than appetizing way. I don't eat shrimp that night.

And Karma laughs at me.

Jack

So, Jack has breathing problems. Probably comes from his missing eye thing. But he's always sneezed a lot, breathes through his nose and sniffs loudly...that sort of stuff.

Yesterday he came up to me sniffing. Loudly. It was funny, so I sniffed back, in an exaggerated sniff, snuff, shnuck sort of way. He looked up at me, head cocked.

Then it hit me...I am making fun of my handicapped cat.

I suck.

Bookstore

I spent the night at my parents' a few weeks ago. Just the kids and I, Mr. Cat Lady had been away for two weeks. It's always weird going back to my hometown. My parents now live in a new development on a road that used to be all farmland...now it's all developments, acres and acres of identical houses. The older developments on the road are still new to me; it's hard to believe that 15 years have passed since Pat McCann and I parked his brown Volvo and got high among the new construction.

It's with that stepping back in time but aware of the present feeling that I spend my time there. With that in the back of my head I went to Barnes and Noble with my mom and two kids. I'm always wondering if I will see someone I knew in my previous lifetime...and if I do recognize someone, the catty part of me hopes she's aged worse than I. My mom takes the boys and heads off to the children's section, giving me some time alone. I head over to the religion/philosophy section, where I find a seat and a book about the "dark side" of our astrological signs...humour, of course. I begin to read.

I can tell there is someone next to me. I don't pay any attention, but in the back of my head I do wonder if it's someone I used to know. Finally, he turns to me and asks my name. I smile, thinking it's an old friend who's recognized me, and tell him. He then asks if he can pray for me.

Pray for me. As I sit there reading a book of the "dark side" of something that is seen by some as occultish, there is even a pentagram or devily thing on the cover. Pray for me.

Two thoughts run through my mind...why do people do that and, more importantly, why do I attract them??

Dump

About 9:15pm on Tuesday my stomach started to feel a little funky. I head to the potty, where Mr. Cat Lady catches me.

"Our leader is speaking on tv and you're taking a dump?" he says, laughing.

How appropriate, I thought.

Armageddon

I find people who look forward to Armageddon no better than your average terrorist. A child who tortures puppies. A rapist who videotapes his actions. One who delights in the suffering of others.

It sickens me that there are people who have taken Jesus's teachings and turned them into some perverted violent fantasy. I am amazed that there are people who look forward to this myth with "great anticipation" and excitement.

Suspending the disbelief that Revelations was not just a biblical bad mushroom trip, I guess I must be thankful for the internet. Without it, I would have never thought there were people in the world who took all that shit literally, and look forward to all the horror it describes. Who would look forward to such devastation against their fellow human? Other than terrorists, of course.

What's the difference between Jerry Falwell and Osama Bin Laden? No, really, I want to know. If it was the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse instead of 4 airplanes on 9/11, you know that he would have been jumping up and down with glee instead of blaming the day on "feminists and abortionists".

These people make baby Jesus cry.

Ironman

I like the Cardigan's version of Ironman.

In fact, I like the whole album.

There...I said it.

Blog

What is a blog? I've been thinking about that the past few months. Is it an on-line journal? If so, who would care to read it? If something is written and nobody reads it, does it...make a sound?

Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in inaction. Like my mind is Snow White and my thoughts are the trees in the forest trying to grab her - although my thoughts DO grab me, and keep me stuck. I think too much, I get mired in the definition of things, the identity of everything around me.

And so, I have to let it go. Write when I feel like writing, without getting caught up in definitions. Because, really, that's all I can do.

Houseplants

Stupid non-noise making houseplants

If Darwin was so great, why haven't houseplants evolved?

I mean, really.

If it doesn't cry or meow (or in the case of Mr. Cat Lady, bitch) it doesn't get fed. Houseplants in the nursery know this. When I enter, they cower. They shrink. I am not the plant messiah. I am the plant grim reaper. I almost feel bad for the plants I bring home. Almost. If houseplants were smart they would realise after they saw their friends dying that they must do something. I think that either houseplants should evolve to make noise when they're thirsty, or someone should help them along by creating a houseplant that makes noise when it needs water.

Like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors. How cool would it be if when plants were thristy they said "FEED ME"?

I'll tell you how cool...very.