must...have...food!

Somebody fix the cat a cheeseburger will ya?

Alright! I can’t take it any more! You win, all diets are off. Feed yourself into oblivion dude, because I need some sleep for crying out loud!

My cat is driving me into a state of exhaustion. Ever since I took away his automatic feeder, and started portioning out his dinner into equal rations twice a day, he’s lost his cotton pickin mind!

I first started noticing the strange daze in his eyes and odd behavior during the day. He typically follows me everywhere I go, stopping when I stop, to lay on his back feet straight up in the air like a satiated relative at Thanksgiving. As of late however, he’s taken to tangling himself in my ankles, while I’m walking none the less, to the point of tripping me in my stride.

Then there’s the endless pacing and stalking while we sleep. I’m awakened three and four times a night by loud bangs and crashing sounds coming from the kitchen.

(It’s important that you keep a visual in your mind for the next part of this story, as to the mental and physical condition of my cat. He’s the indoor version, litter box trained, no front claws, no back claws, fixed before puberty, overweight, lazy, lethargic, and sweet as a snuggle bunny. He’s a lap cap by definition preferring to lay at my feet or in my lap while I work, type, sleep, exercise, cook, read, put make up on, brush my teeth, do yoga, do laundry…pretty much anything. He’s afraid of doorbells, unusual sounds, male voices, the wind, flashlights, car rides, plants and basically any new object that comes into the house. He’s never been outside to do anything at all and perfectly fine with that. He wears a purple diamond studded collar that has a tiny jingle bell and our phone number on it just in case he ever gets outside and lost, God forbid.)

Then the unthinkable happened. We came home from our Halloween party, and Rockie was no where to be seen. I searched the entire house, to no avail and no cat. Fear and panic washed over me as I realized he had made a break for it probably while we loaded the car with party food and costume accessories. My naive sheltered house kitty, was lost outside in the great unknown. It was around midnight, dark, and my cat is black…. outside….lost…lots of trees and bushes. Needles and haystacks came to mind, as did cars and the numerous neighborhood bully tomcats that watch him jealously through the kitchen window.

I grabbed a flashlight and swore not to return without the cat. I panicked like a mother with a lost child. I guess hunger and some instinctual catlike behavior drove him outside to hunt for something to eat. There would be no sleeping until we found him.

I did. Two hours later, on the side of the house, hiding under some bushes and scared to death. He smelled like dirt instead of cat shampoo, and looked very relieved to see me. I was torn between hugging him and smacking his bottom.

The final straw though, came even later during my eventual much needed slumber. I guess he just figured Geez lady…what’s it going to take? I was apparently too stupid to notice that he was still hungry and it called for desperate measures. He climbed up on my nightstand next to the bed, and ever so calculating…knocked the glass of ice water over and on to my head. You can imagine what that was like to wake up to, along with the sound of the dropping glass!

His auto feeder is filled to the brim now. Ants be damned. I’m armed with raid, and plan to sleep a lot better tonight.

We successfully managed to mortify our children with one song and dance routine!

The Bad Fairy

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

I’ve got a random malfunction

It seems the random quote generator on the bottom of my blog is pulling a Miss. Jackson.

It’s failing to provide the satirical quote as it once did, while you surf the many pages of this blog, and has chosen instead to malfunction. According to the 15 paragraphs of script it took on the template it should be working just fine. Nothing has changed in the text that could cause it to cease producing. It’s just stopped. (Looks like a job for the “good fairy” )

Come to think of it…my alarm malfunctioned this morning too! Well maybe it was really me who malfunctioned by turning the alarm off, rolling over and going back to sleep. Either way, we overslept and were a few minutes late to school.

By the time I realized I had overslept, it was 7:30. That’s 15 minutes to shower myself, have breakfast, dress my son as a sorcerer for his Halloween party, and drive to school. Needless to say, I left the house with wet hair, and a hungry child, who regardless of those minor details, looked stunning in his finest wizardry. (We have our priorities)

I’ll get some work done until about 1:30 at which time I will go up to the school to set up for the party. With that said…. I’ll stop here and get to work.

so much to do...so little time

Tonight will be a busy night. I’ve got to decorate a pumpkin, make fruit kabobs and get assorted party favors ready for my son’s Halloween classroom party tomorrow. That’s in addition to the usual drills of homework, bath, dinner, assorted animal pamperings and finding the time to write another blog entry that will wow and thrill my gaggle of readers.

I’m not sure how many readers it takes to make up a real gaggle, but this is my blog thank you very much, and I get to make up the rules and vocabulary as I see fit. So for all three of you who visit my site on a regular basis….you’re it. If you’ve just surfed in from Blog Explosion, you’re 30 seconds should be done about now, and you’ll be relieved to know that you can click the next button and earn your credits just for showing up.

Tomorrow I am going to a Halloween costume party at a friend house. I’ll be going as the bad fairy, (I’ve got some deeply suppressed desire to wear black wings and flame stockings)
If I ever manage to get the “Hello program” to work for me, I’ll be sure to show you the photo documentation of my costume.
I’m stopping here for now. I’ve got wings to paint, and red flames that still need to be added to my costume. Please come back again, I enjoy your comments so much!

They call it temporomandibular/muscle dysfunction.

When you walk into my dentist's office, you are personally greeted by the friendly, color coordinated office staff by name and your favorite non alcoholic beverage. They have already memorized you're personal information, based on a profile you gave during your first encounter. (What kind of music you like to listen to, what you like to drink while you're waiting, what room temperature suits you most comfortably). They are amazing I must admit and unsurpassed by any other Dentist's staff i've ever had the pleasure of drooling on.

I won't say these little extras are free, because i'm sure the cost is burried somewhere in the astronomical bills I pay at each appointment, but never the less they are pleasant and add to the total experience.

The office is modern and equipped with todays most progressive and technologically advanced dental gizmos available. Life size posters of model perfect people smile at you from every wall, their gleaming white teeth and dazzling smiles beckon you forward with a promise of the same.

Due to the dysfunctional nature of my rebellious temporomandibular muscle, I begin each appointment with a one hour surface electromyography session. Electrodes not unlike the ones used by some fitness fanatics are strapped to my jaws and trapezoid muscles. I am then asked if I would like to hear some Garth Brooks or maybe some Yo Yo Ma on a walkman while I allow the pulsating electric shocks to fatique my muscles into submission. I opt instead to watch the 36 inch plasma screen television that hangs overhead... and a warm blankie. There I lay comfortably in an arm chair recliner while my face and shoulders twitch and contort at two second intervals for the following hour.

This electrically induced exercise is designed to beat my clinched jaw muscles into a totally relaxed state at which time data can be gathered and recorded on my chart. Somehow through the twitching, I manage to fall asleep.

The next hour consists of the fitting of my new orthopedic jaw repositioning appliance. It's primary function is to coax the various muscles into a new and improved position, allowing for a harmonious, smoothly functioning chewing system.

The cost of this little puppy is $4500.

At that price I believe it should not only help me to chew harmoniously, but it should stir fry my vegetables, puree my potatoes, and fry up some chicken if you ask me. Unfortunately it does nothing of the sort and behaves more like a wad of chewing gum stuck to my bottom teeth.

Luckily, my speech doesn't seem to be too affected by its presence, other than perhaps a slight slur that sounds awfully similar to me after a few margaritas. They assure me though, that I will get used to it with time, if I promise to wear it 24 hours a day. They also assure me that the red circular rashlike reaction i'm having to the elctrode pad adhesive is only temporary, and that NO, I don't really look like i've just been attacked by a giant octopus.

I'll return every few weeks for the next three months for more shock treatments and orthotic adjustments. Then we start phase II of 'when Suzanna smiles'.

I can hardly wait to see what phase II involves, but i'm pretty sure I overheard the dentist say something about his new Leer Jet payment.

I'd better get to work and start saving now.

I've been served.

There's quite a buzz in the blogosphere of late, regarding the National Novel Writing Month and NaNoWriMo contest in which participants are supposed to write a novel in 30 days. The challenge? Starting at midnight on November 1, begin writing your novel. Write like crazy until midnight on November 30th or until you have at least 50,000 words, whichever comes first.

I've been given the challenge. I've been 'served'

Sure I wrote columns in my high school and College papers, but i've always wanted to be published. I mean REALLY published, with my own table of shiny hard backed books for sale at Barnes and Nobles at $29.99 a pop. It's a pipe dream, with one small problem. One little snag if you will, a relatively significant issue I suppose and one needing explaining. I discussed it in my very first post of this blog entitled... To Blog or Not to Blog... in fact It's why I started writing this blog in the first place.

I-don't -know -what- to -write -about? I just can't decide.
I love to write. I love the combination of words and sentences coming together in a rhythmic pattern to express poetry or stories, but have no earthly idea what I could possibly say to fill 300 pages of a 50,000 word novel? That would involve me making a decision on what to write. A commitment to address one particular subject. And you know me and making decisions. It's like oil and water.

I seem to be more of the editorial type,...the columnist who pops off a wisecrack in 10 paragraphs or less, and then moves on to the next subject.
.

I'm still deciding what to write. Anybody got a quarter I can toss?

Sing me a song

Today is my birthday!

The physiological clock of any given female member in my family was programmed generations ago to stop tabulating once we reached the tender age of 30. What this means is that my sister, who is 10 years older than me, is 30. My mother (who looks marvelous I might add), is also 30. My Grandmother? Yeah, she’s 30 too. We’re ALL 30, feeling marvelous and loving every minute of it!

After a while, you eventually just forget how old you are chronologically and successfully trick your mind and body into accepting the age of 30, as fact.

I had to stop and do a little calculating the other day to remember my correct chronological age: …2004…minus 1965…carry the one, subtract that year I got divorced, …you’re smart enough to do the math. I am, …you guessed it. 30. My oh my how time flies!

There are advantages when everyone’s next birthday is always their 30th. You can buy one candle in the shape of the number 30, and reuse it each year to top every one’s birthday cake. Save a fortune by reusing birthday decorations and cards that say,.. “Today is your 30th birthday!” Recycle a birthday card and share it amongst yourselves.

Some people giggle at us and call us crazy. Others say we are are in denial, or fighting the natural process of life, ashamed of our age and refusing to age gracefully.

I say, .. lighten up, we’re only playing! It makes us laugh and we like that around here.

I’ll be happy to tell you my chronological age if you really want to know. I’m 39 Today! I have a wonderful family that keeps me on my toes, great friends, assorted animals to bond with, a comfortable job and good health. I feel like I’m somewhere in my twenties minus the class load and frat parties.

I consider myself very blessed, on this day….as every day.
Happy 30th birthday to me!

What did you learn today?

My boyfriend and I have this thing we do pretty regularly. Being both huge advocates of continuing education, every now and then we present the question: "What did you learn today?" It makes for interesting dinner conversation and helps the kids tell us what they learned at school as well. Somehow when they hear us discuss what we learned, it compels them to answer with something more than a blank stare and an "I don't remember?"

There are days when the topic of discussion is quite interesting and intellectual. Other times it might be political in nature, or derived from something we heard on a talk radio program while driving home from work. More often than not though, we come up with the oddball random bit of information useful only for a good game of trivial pursuit. Lastly, there's the painfully obvious things we know as adults, yet the kids still need to learn by doing so the hard way. It's these frustrating yet entertaining pieces of knowledge that I like to share with you guys from time to time if for anything other than my own comic relief.

Here's a few things my son learned yesterday:
1. You can't put cat litter in a toilet bowl. It turns to concrete and clogs up the commode.
2. You can't try to flush the problem away, because concrete is impregnable to water
leaving it no where to go but up... and out.
3. It's not a good idea to use the toilet scrub brush to clean the water and solidified kitty
litter off of the floor. It will just smear it around like chocolate on a white silk dress...
4. New toilet bowl scrubbers cost $3.99 at Walmart
5. Beta fish are easier than cats.
6. It's important to keep the cat away from the Beta fish.
7. Hamsters are easy too and like to roll around in little plastic balls.
8. Hamsters don't know how to stop at the top of a flight of stairs.
9. It's important to keep hamsters in little plastic balls on the ground level.
10.keep them away from curious cats that like to play with balls that magically roll around on
their own while you're at it..

You get the idea?.It's something you might want to try at home yourself with your family.

Learn something everyday from some one, some thing or about yourself. Look for the lesson in all you do and from all you meet. When you open your eyes and ears and listen with your heart, it's amazing at the knowledge you will acquire and the conversations that will develop.

The more I learn the more I realize I don't know anything.

You'll do well to take our word for it on the kitty litter thing though.

midnight raid

It's Sunday morning. First thing I notice when I come downstairs is that the hungry cat raided the pantry last night...chewed open the bag of cat food and had himself a diet crazed binge.

That explains the satiated yet guilty look he's got right now, and probably means I'll be cleaning the carpet later on.

Dang he's got issues.

Got food?

Ever since I put an end to the free-for-all cat food fest down on my bathroom floor, some things have changed around here. Namely my cat.

He isn’t pleased to say the least, because he no longer has an automatic food dish dispensing tender vittles twenty four seven. In the beginning, he looked a little panicked as he searched for his ever abundant meal supply. He’s done a lot of pacing around the house with a puzzled look on his cat face. “I KNOW it was here yesterday?” Its pitiful watching him wander around in a dazed Atkins starved stupor.

Whether he knows it or not, he’s on a strict ant free diet from here on out. He’ll be getting his meals doled out one at a time from this point forward, so as to prevent another insect outbreak in my home sweet home. (I’ll have nightmares for months after that incident thank you very much). By rationing his meals out I’ll also be helping him with his weight issue.

Whomever it was that surmised “cats won’t gorge themselves like a dog, if you put his food down to consume at his own discretion”…didn’t know squat about cats. I am certain they never met my cat. Being a first time feline owner, I believed this to be true when he was a kitty, and bought him a feeder that held a good three weeks of food (if this was indeed the case). Rockie however, four years later is rather…well…
portly as a result and in quite the overweight predicament. I like to call him “big and friendly.” I’m not allowed to write what my boyfriend calls him due to the foul language and obscenities clause regulating the composition of moral and ethical blog sites.

When it’s all said and done I should have a much healthier cat and an ant free bathroom.
Rockie on the other hand, is looking quite dazed at the left over KFC on the kitchen counter. I’d better go intercede.

The Ants go marching two by two….

So I’m sitting at my desk yesterday right? It’s coolish and sunny and I’m trying real hard to concentrate on the work at hand, instead of outside my window, when all of the sudden I’m distracted by a small blackish line that seems to be moving in a steady fashion across the bathroom floor adjacent to my office. There it was, the moment I’d been waiting for! A reason, ANY REASON AT ALL, to be distracted away from completing the quarterly reports that were due the following morning. Had a telemarketer called me to sell burial plots at this point, I would have stopped to chat. (Where are they when you need them?)

Anyways, I take the black line as the welcome diversion that it is, and gladly get up to investigate. Squinting to allow my eyes the chance to focus, I discover it is actually a little trail of the tiniest ants I’ve ever seen. About the size of a gnat, these ants happily marched single file from one end of my bathroom door, along the side of the wall, over the river and through the woods to the cat food in the automatic feeder. I studied them for a few minutes and marveled at how each and every ant was committed to following along directly behind the ant in front of him. I imagined them diligently making a sacred pilgrimage from some far away sand mound in my front yard to the promised land, which was Rockie’s big green bowl of dinner.

I tried to imagine what that first scout-er ant thought when he discovered the huge mound of Iams Hairball control formula cat food there for the taking? Dinner’s on me guys for the next 40 years!!! Woohoo!

I’ll bet somewhere back at the dirt mound, there’s a proud Moma ant bragging on her little scout for single handedly saving a nation from hunger. I’ll also bet your thinking to yourself that I’ve finally lost my monkey mind, right about now and that I need to get out more often? Just remember that when I started this story I was working on a budget. A budget involves math, money or the lack there of, and how not to spend so much of it next year. That’s only slightly more interesting than gnawing my own arm off in my opinion, so I resorted to ants. Bear with me.

Once the ants had provided all the entertainment value they were capable of I was ready to move on. Now to get rid of the ants. This would take some fore thought because if I sprayed ant poison everywhere it wouldn’t be healthy for my cat. I was also outnumbered by about 3,000 to 1, so the odds were stacked against me from the get go. I opted to get a large wad of toilet paper, and my thinking, (however skewed), was to start at one end of the soup line and start wiping them up in one clean sweep.

Apparently ants have an inaudible emergency broadcasting system that once activated, sends aunts scurrying to the far corners of the earth. Or in this case, my bathroom. I barely had gotten a good grip of the TP before they were on to me. Each ant went in a different direction and now I was in trouble. I had ants on the floor only this time in a chaotic frenzy as opposed to the nice little line I had enjoyed before. There were ants on the counter, ants in the sink, ants on the walls, up the toilet, in the cats water, his food, and yes….ants in my pants.

To end this long story, I ended up spraying ant poison everywhere, slamming the bathroom door and declaring the whole site a disaster area. Once the noxious fumes had dissipated, I went in to hose down the bathroom surfaces, rid the room of residual poison and dead ant carcasses.

My budget is still incomplete.
Such is my life today.

It was Guido, in the Alley…with a revolver

Ok, not really. It was more like Mary, in the bank, over a cup of coffee, but had I told you that earlier would you really have checked back in today to see if I made it home alive? Probably not.

The good news is that I am indeed alive, the birds are chirping and the sun is shining. I’ve applied for a line of credit that will cover the compounding expenses I’m incurring at the bank rob..…er uh…I mean the dentist’s office and as luck would have it, Mary is a compassionate soul.

She is only more than willing to help me acquire a pain free smile, with a jaw joint that doesn’t click or pop when I chew. “Just fill out these forms, initial here, and sign on the bottom of pages 2,3,4,5 and 6.” "When you’ve finished signing (my pretty), gather your belongings and step back into the office with the big red door. I’ll meet you there for fingerprinting, blood work analysis, and to arrange the details for the handover of your next born child. You can leave your van keys with my assistant too as we will be needing them for collateral, along with your house keys and your right arm. You are right handed aren’t you? (We only accept the dominate one needed for daily functioning)”.

Now that I am contractually obligated to a life of complete and utter Servitude to Mary, I’ll be sure to smile effortlessly and wave as my dentist drives by in his new Mercedes sport.

I’ll bet Mary’s somehow in cahoots with my dentist and they laugh every night whilst rolling lavishly together in big piles of my money. Who can blame them? Had I had the foresight to become a dentist, instead of a traveling saleswoman of sorts, it could have been me with all that money! But I didn’t.

So like I said when I started... I’m alive, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. I’ll choose to focus on that today and think about how great it will be when my jaws are fixed, pain free and my smile rivals that of any moviestar.

Oh yes,

all donations can be wired directly to the Savannah Bank, care of the “When Suzanna Smiles” fund. Thanks for your contributions.

Loan Sharks and Orthodontistry

It’s Sunday, a dreary one at that, and I’m looking for inspiration to write this morning. I had to take yesterday off from posting because had I written, it would have been more like a ranting raving session on the downfalls of insurance in this country and certainly nothing very pleasant to read, so I spared you all the grief.

You see I went to the Dentist yesterday. I’ve had this TMJ bite problem for several years now, and apparently I’ve procrastinated fixing the problem so long that I no longer have a choice anymore but to get braces. Again. This will be the second time mind you, as I already labored through a full mouth of railroad tracks and headgear when I was a teen. That alone was not enough to fix the problem so I’m told, and I’ll be needing a second installment. Oh Joy! (Coincidentally there are still orthodontists in Savannah whose sports car payments and children’s college tuitions are dependant on the condition of my oral health. I believe it is my personal karma to help them accomplish these goals).

The problem with my jaws have become so severe that it’s interfering with my ear canal, and causing a lot of pain and ringing in my ears. I am left with only two choices:
1). Live with the pain and do nothing, or 2). go visit a dark hairy guy named Guido to discuss the second mortgage of my house and a monthly repayment plan. I’m not fond of either option, but just as in politics, there is no C) none of the above choice.

My appointment with Guido is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 8:30. If you don’t hear from me again after today, please notify the the Chatham County Police department with this information for their further investigation, and remember...
I love you all.

Have a wonderful Sunday!

For those of you with Cats...

Today I am going to cheat. I'm in a terrible hurry so instead of my usual rambling, i'm choosing to share with you something that made me giggle. I did not write the following nor do I know who did, but will take this opportunity to give them all the credit and thank them for making me laugh. It came to me via email from a dear friend:

How to give a cat a pill:
1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.

4) Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right fore-finger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.

5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.

6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9) Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Throw Tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.

12) Ring fire brigade to retrieve cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap.

13) Tie cat's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.

14) Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15) Arrange for SPCA to collect cat and ring local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

Happy Birthday to Hannah

Just a quick Happy Birthday to my niece Hannah! Hope you have a great one!
Aunt Chee Chee

Confessions of a flip-flopper

Hello my name is Suzanne, and I’m a flip-flopper.

It’s not easy being me. To always see each opposing side of an issue, to constantly seek the middle ground, the path that makes the majority happy. To suffer at the mere idea of having to choose a side on anything by disregarding possible options to the contrary. Standing convicted of anything is as difficult for me as climbing an ice capped rocky mountain…in the winter…during a blizzard… naked… without a rope… or a map...with my hands tied…to my feet. There’s soooo many things to consider, and possibilities abound. Who am I to say or judge what’s right or wrong?

Maybe Senator Kerry is the same way? Maybe he really was for sending the troops to war, before he was against it? Maybe he really was for spending the money on our troops, before he voted against it? Maybe he can’t decide which shirt to put on in the morning either? Can I blame the man for not being able to make up his mind? (Hello Kettle?... this is the pot) I have no strong convictions to vote for either presidential candidate this year. I see good and bad in both, and unfortunately for us, this is not a multiple choice vote with a c) none of the above option. Do you suppose that if enough of us penciled in “Dick Cheney for president” it would fly?

There are a few exceptions to this rule, topics where my opinion will never falter no matter what you do or say and if I’m confronted with the issue, will whip out my proverbial soap box, sit there and refuse to budge. Smoking is one such issue. I’ll never smoke, I hate it, it makes me sneeze. (At this point I’ll refer you to my previous post on “needing a nap”.) Don’t get me wrong. This doesn’t mean I will ever, EVER push my feelings on you. If you want to smoke… go ahead and knock yourself out. You’ll just never convince ME that it’s acceptable, tastes good, won’t kill you, won’t age you, doesn’t cost too much, or is socially appealing. I’ll never give. Don’t even go there,
you’ll shoot yourself trying. Just smoke your cigarette, preferably away from me, and leave me to savor the one conviction I do have. Now…back to flip flopping.

I have always had a hard time making up my mind for as long as I can remember. There is evidence of this all around me. Just look in my closet for example. You’ll find the same shirt in three colors, the same shoes in 4 colors, the same dress in multiple patterns simply because I couldn’t make up my mind at the time, which color was the best choice or which I liked the most. I couldn’t commit to just ONE, when two of them were perfect. How would I know if I was going to be in a red mood, or a purple mood the day I would wear that shirt? Black is classic, but sometimes browns are better. Shopping could take forever at this pace. I’m getting tense, little beads of perspiration are starting to form on my brow, I wring my hands together…the pressure to make a decision is here, and this is where said condition begins. Indecision.

With age, experience and financial independence I’ve learned how to cope with this shortcoming of mine, this inability to make a decision. Carry them both to the register and purchase each color in question. There. Decision averted. Whew! That was close.

It’s not that I lack substance, and I realize my shopping story is just a silly example for the sake of illustrating a point. While diplomatic in nature, this inane ability to see a situation from every side is frustrating at best. Without trying, I put myself in someone else’s shoes and see the point from their eyes. There are pro’s and con’s for everything. There are good and bad qualities in every person. Do I really have to decide, without a shadow of a doubt, on anything? In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter what I think in the first place?

Deck the Halls with Cats and Pumpkins

Let the Holiday decorating frenzy begin! It’s October and this marks the beginning of my favorite season. I’m referring to the extended holiday adornment period that starts with the pumpkins, witches, and black cats of Halloween and ends in an extravaganza of snowflakes, Jolly Santa’s and jingle bells.

Retailers everywhere begin assembling their wares even sooner than October, (sometimes as early as August)… and for me that’s just fine. I used to hate this premature practice of solicitation on their parts, but hating is so cumbersome and not nearly as fun as decorating. So I decided instead to use the retail pre-displays as my planning phase of the project, for developing themes and ideas for the upcoming events.

As the first week of October arrives, I’m ready with my assortment of jackolanterns, ghosts and goblins. Ever since we acquired our cat Rockie 4 years ago, the black cat theme runs predominant at Halloween in our home as a kind of tribute to our furry friend. If left to choose between that or a rubber rat, we tend to gravitate toward the black cat hands down. Let us not forget the recent addition of fiber optics to our holiday decorum either. What home is complete without a glowing skull or an animated angel who’s wings light up and change colors every few seconds?

I will leave the Halloween goodies out a day or two into November, and then it’s time to redo everything in scarecrows, strewn hay, more pumpkins, and the handmade vegetables my mother sewed years ago.

Isn’t this fun?

I need a nap

It’s the antihistamines talking again and each day I swear I’m going to manage without one. I wake up and the sneezing begins. After a round of about 10 achews, God bless you’s, and a most severe rubbing of my nose, I break down and pop a pill.

Staring at myself in the morning mirror, resembling a creature more like Rudolph’s mother than a female, I reach into my basket of assorted promises for an itch-less, sneeze-free four to six hours. There’s so much work to be done, and I know in the back of my mind that once I medicate, my motivation to accomplish anything will wane. The desire to breathe and to stop the itching wins in the end and I swallow the little gem with nothing more than spit.

The makers of antihistamines lie. I know this because I’ve succumbed to their marketing ploys and false advertisements many times in the hopes for relief. Liquids, gelcaps, capsules, nasal sprays, over the counter and prescription strength drugs, all claiming to last 12 hours with no drowsiness. Liar Liar pants on fire! No matter how well I slept the night before, as soon as the chemical compounds enter my blood stream,...I fall into a trancelike state of somber. I need a nap. Don’t get me wrong, the relief is undeniable. Sneezing and itching stops, and I am once again, able to stop the contorting of facial features and epileptic like sneezing fits. A little make-up on the red nose and Im presentable enough for the day ahead.

Although I am currently experiencing a “12-hour-time-released- non-drowsy” drowsiness, and the couch is calling my name in multiple languages…I still need to get to work, so that’s it for now.

I should have taken the blue pill.

On golf balls and antihistimines

I'm not sure where this weekend went. Here it is, Sunday night already and I can only remember maybe 10 hours of it. I've managed to stay asleep the majority of the time, thanks to an antihistimine induced coma. If you're an allergy ridden person like myself, you'll know what i'm talking about. If you don't have allergies, and are looking for a cheap sleep aid, I highly recommend Benadryl.

Through it all, I do have a few conscious memories of the hours we spent Saturday on the driving range trying to learn how to play golf. Yes, you read that right. I was trying, for the very first time, to grasp the popular concept of hitting a little white golf ball into an iddy-biddy hole located somewhere outside of my field of vision and through the time and space continuum. I know this actually happened and isn't some drug induced dream because each time I move i'm reminded of the experience by my sore muscles.

Let me first start off by apologizing to all golfers, professional and recreational alike. I used to think golf was boring, and such a silly sport tolerated only for the solidifing of business deals. "How hard could it be?", I thought. I'm not clutsy, and usually pick up things rather quickly, so this should be a piece of cake right? After a few instructions on hand positions and standing correctly, I took an ever so calculated swing of my club, slicing it through the air like a mighty samurai.

If the whole object of the game was to make the tee or little clumps of dirt and grass reach the hole...i'd be giving Tiger Woods a run for his money right now. Only i'm told it's the golf ball that must make contact with the club, not the tee or the freshly uprooted grass samples that are now scattered in various locations around the country club. (i'm not sure, but I think I heard laughter coming from the pro shop)

A local golf instructor took pity on us at one point, and offered a few instructional tidbits. Chest out, arms straight but not locked, knees relaxed, butt out, lean a little forward, create an "L" with your wrist and your club, pivot on your toe on the follow through, head steady, eye on the ball...swing using the fulcrum of the torque generated from your torso...blah blah blah. If I could remember to do all of that at once i'd be good to go. What was it again? um....

I gave it a whirl, complying with as many instructions as I could remember. I swear, I don't know how it happened, but the tee disappeared into thin air leaving the ball exactly where it was on the ground. How is that possible?

The putting green proved equally as frustrating, because my now keenly trained arm muscles were having difficulty adjusting to the ever so slight tapping motion needed to putt as opposed to the more powerful driving swing. Three hours later, I left the course in complete disgust, and with a new appreciation for golfers everywhere.

I imagine I will try again one sunny day. We did have a great time even if I stank at the sport and I'd hate to think I was defeated by a golf ball in the end. Besides, I love to make people laugh. Laughter is good for the soul, and i'm pretty sure they applauded our performance as we drove off into the sunset.

The Pottery Barn Rule?

Last night I watched, or rather started to watch but only half paid attention to, the first presidential debate between Bush and Kerry. I’m not a die hard fan of politics but I try to stay in the loop because I’m a grown up and that’s what grown ups do, right? Anyways, Senator Kerry was talking about Bush’s decision to go to war and that he should have used the Pottery Barn Rule. Excuse me? I’m sorry….did he just say the Pottery Barn Rule? I came out of my comatose glaze and listened a little closer. (Apparently there’s a Pottery Barn Rule in politics). According to Kerry, the rule states that if you break something you fix it. Funny, …I took political science in college and I don’t remember any terminology based on a retail chain that charges waaaay too much for bed sheets and furniture? Come to think of it, I’ve shopped at the Pottery Barn and I think their rule goes more like, “If you break it, you buy it”?

Perhaps Kerry is trying to relate to the female voter by using simiIes, to liken politics with shopping? Perhaps he’s confusing himself with the “Ikea rule” that says “if you buy it, you spend the next 6 months trying to assemble it”?

This is what I’ve learned about him after this first debate. He’s a very good debater. Schooled in the art and tactics of debate. The problem is, that half of what he said was not true, and the other half didn’t make logical sense. You can’t turn a country’s entire political venue around in 6 months, anymore that you can use a self tanner and expect no one to notice. (ahem). I think I’ll stick with Bush. While maybe not the best public speaker in town, he is at least determined, stable and grounded in reality.

To blog, or not to blog

OK! I'll blog... i'll blog, already!

While the grandiose dream of becoming an author has relocated, at least temporarily, to the parking lot sector of my brain, I have come to the conslusion that creating a blog will suffice for now. Writing a real leather bound book is probably not going to happen for me any time soon due to time constraints, work, small children, and... well...lack of enough knowledge on any one particular subject matter.

I suppose I have plenty to say. Alot of little blurbs on several topics ranging from the foils of parenting, current events, traveling, and uh.. the best way to get cat barf out of carpets. Will anybody care or read my blog? Probably not. But hey, that's ok. I'll get a kick out of it, and while I won't be mingling amongst the published, my thoughts will be available to all who care what I think, or have a cat with an upset stomach.

Now for those barf stains:
The most effective products available are enzyme-based products such as "Shout", followed by a club soda rinsing. The enzymes in "Shout" chemically break down any offensive odors instead of just masking them with the sent of spring breeze or oranges. (Be sure to set aside a portion of the club soda for later use). I like to use my steam/vacuum cleaner afterwards to suck everything all away. When you're done admiring your work, you can use the extra club soda to mix yourself a well deserved drink.