What I’m Listening to Right Meow

January 13, 2019 at 8:49 pm (Uncategorized) (, , )


Who me?

We have two cats and I love them. They’re sweet and furry little angels who can do no wrong, except when they drive me crazy and I begin to Google “cat muzzles” (which is kind of scary and I don’t recommend it). To be completely honest, the younger of the two, Scout, drives me crazier than the his adopted brother Dude and that’s because there are many times that Scout just won’t stop meowing. If we shut the study door so Scott can concentrate on his schoolwork, she stands outside the door and cries. If we open the door then sometimes she’ll stand on my dresser, stare into the mirror and paw it like doing so hard enough will transport her into a magical universe full of fish and catnip – while crying. When I stand in front of the mirror and straighten my hair in the morning, she cries until I pet her with one foot (then alternate feet until I’m completely finished getting ready and about to leave the house. It’s great for core strength). That one’s kind of on me though as I accidentally induced that Pavlovian response but the fact remains that she’s very vocal and it’s more than a little obnoxious. But what are we to do? If she goes silent for longer than a few hours we begin to think something’s wrong so at this point it’s simply the default ambient noise in our home. In fact, she’s crying right now. One would think we neglected her to a horrific degree or something equally awful but no, she’s just looking at a shut door. I’m sure she has a truly painful life.

Anyway, she’s lucky she’s cute.

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Don’t Cry Over Squashed Squash

July 17, 2012 at 12:31 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Okay.  Today is better.

But my weekend was the best.  Besides the adorable calf from my previous post, the Saturday evening I spent at my friend’s old (as in over 100 years) farmhouse was full of pizza, more cows, kittens, barns and vegetable gardens.  My weekend also consisted of a tour through my old campus (complete with a drive-by of one of my favorite apartments); beer at one of my favorite sports bars; bagels from a well-known, local establishment; meeting and greeting other new feline companions; a walk through the state’s largest farmer’s market (where I was reminded just how much I love the hippies in that town); lunch and brews at the brewery of my dreams; a cook-out; tours of the new homes from two of my nearest and dearest and plenty of good, old-fashioned catching-up.  I got to see every person I hoped to and narrowly avoided some of those I didn’t.  I was given some news from one dear friend that wasn’t exactly happy but as she seems good with it, I’m good with it too.  I’m incredibly lucky that I know such strong, intelligent and resourceful women and I’m proud to have them all a part of my life.  I’m also very, very grateful that they took the time to hang out with me as much as they did in the short amount of time that I had.  I made a promise to myself to get back down there (with Scott in tow) sometime this fall so by putting it here in the blogosphere, I’ll be held a little more accountable.  Hear that, ladies?  Hold me to it!

I thought this was somewhat appropriate.

The only downside to the entire weekend happened, appropriately, at the very end of my trip.  Before I go any further, let me just say that every person in Bloomington seems to have their own garden.  Seriously.  Everyone.  Of the four female friends I spent time with, all four have their own personal patches of vegetables growing in their backyard (or at least trying to…Indiana really needs some rain).  At the cook out I attended, gardens were a hot topic of discussion and it seemed everywhere I went, that’s what I heard.  I’m not complaining because I honestly think it’s awesome but I am more than just a little bit jealous.  If I had a garden here, it would consist of a pitiful few seeds in a plastic cup on my balcony and not the rows of awesomeness that I saw all weekend long.  So with lots of gardening comes lots of extra vegetables and I’m never one to turn down free food, although I did try to beg off in this case since I was traveling by bus.  One friend insisted I take a large zucchini though and after loading it up in my purse and making a few penis-related jokes, I forgot all about it before boarding my bus and going on my way.  Toward the end of the ride I put my hand in my bag to search for my wallet and realized there was an unfortunate stench wafting from folds of my favorite purse.  Then I realized I had zucchini mash under my nails and all over my hand.  This was not something I wanted to deal with on a hot, crowded bus while facing another hour train ride home.  Upon inspection, I saw that the zucchini had snapped in half and mush spread over my wallet, journal, book, keys and every other damn thing I had in there.  And it reeked.  I managed to find some unharmed tissues and after getting off the bus I cleaned up as well as I could.  There’s probably still a rotting, smashed zucchini sitting on the steps of the building near the bus stop but that’s not something I think they can link back to me.  Unless the security for that building reads my blog.  Anyway, it was gross and I’m not entirely sure that my favorite purse and wallet are washing machine friendly but I guess I’m going to find out.  I was also bummed at the loss of a giant, delicious zucchini but there was just no saving that bad boy.

If that’s the worst thing that happened, though, I still think I’m super lucky.  And next time I make a visit, I’ll be sure to bring a plastic bag for any produce that comes home with me!


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Labor Day

September 2, 2011 at 8:07 am (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

Labor Day makes me think of labor pains which makes me think of the old TV show Growing Pains which makes me think of the crush I used to have on Mike Seaver which makes me think of how I used to want to have his babies which makes me think of labor pains once again which makes me think of labor and childbirth and real, actual babies and bottles and diapers and fear and terror and much, much crying.  This makes me glad I’m not pregnant but I can’t really express that because it seems like half of the women in my office are currently growing a fetus.  Which sounds and seems rather laborious in general.  Which makes me think of physical labor which makes me think of hard work and little return and the fact that my apartment needs a good cleaning.  Which makes me think of my apartment in general and how right now it has some of my belongings packed and ready to go on a road trip home to see my mom this weekend which makes me think of how I’m going to have to pack my cat too which makes me think of the upcoming five hour car trip listening to her bitch and moan.  Which makes me think of my poor manfriend who shall be forced to endure it the entire time.  Which makes me think that I hope the combined experience of the car ride with my cat and the weekend around my family doesn’t cause him to ditch me at Mom’s and drive back to Chicago screaming and terrified.  Which makes me think of Chicago in general which makes me think of pizza which makes me realize that I’m kind of hungry.  Which makes me think of stomach pains which makes me think of labor pains which makes me think of Labor Day.

So 80s, So Dreamy

Obviously my mind is a bit all over the place right now…it happens.  Hope everyone has a fantastic and pain-free three day weekend!

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R.I.P. Calberta

July 20, 2011 at 8:27 am (Uncategorized) (, , , , , )

Calberta is the name of our family cat that lived for nearly 20 years.  She had long gray fur and was one of the most affectionate and loving cats I’ve ever been lucky enough to know.  My mom had to put her down yesterday and while I know we shouldn’t be upset since she lived such a long and healthy life, she’s obviously on my mind and I wanted to share a little about her today.

Oh crap not like that

Calberta was named after Calbert Cheaney, who was a basketball for Indiana University for 3 years in the early 90’s.  As die-hard IU fans, we named her Calbert back when we thought she was a boy and simply gussied the name up once we realized she was a lady.  I don’t know exactly how long it took us to figure this out but in my defense, I was young.  Calberta was the only kitten we kept from the litter that our cat Bernadette had.  I had chosen the name for Calberta’s mom, which was unfortunately not after Bernadette Peters but rather Saint Bernadette.  This was back in my uber-religious phase when everyone thought I was going to be a nun.  Ah, the delusions of youth.

Anyway, Calberta was the type of cat who would follow you around just to curl up in your lap when she got a chance.  She would also sleep on my face when I was growing up, causing my allergies to flare up and an irrational fear of falling asleep with her in my room.  I think she did this on purpose but it was hard to be mad at her because she was just so darn cute.  Of course, this was a dozen years or so or better.  As she aged, Calberta was still as loving as ever but she was a little more pitiful to behold.  We liked to say (and by we I mean I) that her meow-er was broken because when she mewed it was all crackly and hoarse, like a little old lady’s raspy voice.  She still got around pretty well though and up until a few weeks ago she was roaming the woods and backyard per usual.  My sister, mom and I used to joke that the poor thing would outlive us all but time eventually caught up with her as it does all of us.  She’s now laid to rest in a nice spot behind our house, where she can watch us from now on.

I just wish I could’ve been there with my mom for the ordeal.  My mom is the strongest woman I know but no one wants to have to watch a loved one pass away.  I’m extremely thankful she was able to spend that time with Calberta though, because that cat really did deserve it.  Now she’s playing with our dogs Gabe and Hershey, her mom Bernadette and our other cats Stinkybones (hey she looked like a skunk), M&M and B.C, my mice Oscar and Meyer and my bird Skye.  R.I.P. guys, and thanks for being the best pets you could be.

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