License and registration, ma'am

I fell in love today.

Oh, sure we had a rocky start, as I watched him two-finger peck my car registration information into his computer. I tapped my foot, exhaled several times (loudly), and chewed through three packs of gum as I wrestled with the idea of jumping over the counter to help the idiot type FASTER. But then, after twenty excruciatingly long minutes, he handed my driver's license back to me and said, "you definitely don't look your age. You don't look a day over 32."

Me: My eyes are puffy today...and I didn't sleep (kittens!)....

Lovebunny: Well, you look amazing for your age. You look amazing for any age.

Me: Thank you. I'll be back tomorrow.



So many people are afraid of dying. My biggest fear seems to be living.

My best friend in 4th grade and I sat at her Ouija board with our eyes closed and covered, socks tightly wrapped around our heads. Her younger sister, Sarah, wrote down the answers to our questions as the fingertip toy whizzed around the wooden board, stopping on various letters and numbers. I needed to know, and found out, my expiration date: forty-two years (and if it was a joke, someone had a horrible sense of humour, telling my friend she would die in a fire on her 16th birthday. We moved the following year, so I'm not sure if it happened as predicted or not).

I have no retirement, no 401 k, no savings account, no plans for a future. I couldn't tell you what would become of me, should I become ill. Sometimes I wonder how much of my grim future is self-imposed, if I'll be disappointed or elated to survive and become a frail old woman.

"I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
- Scarlett O'Hara


Fair-feathered friends

I complain a bit/all the time about the messes my kittens make because it seems to be never-ending. Like the hockey tournament they held in the kitchen with an entire box of Fruit Loops, or the glasses of water they consistently knock over, or even the trail of kitter litter throughout the house. Today, however, I reset the bar.

I was trying to change a lightbulb above the fireplace, lost my balance (I never claimed to be graceful), fell onto the mantle, which is apparently not attached, flipped it over and caused four potted plants with soil to sail through the air and crash onto the (BEIGE) carpet. Oh, and the black basalt cat statue I had from Egypt? It's not so much stone as something...less stone-like and more breakable since the ears broke off. Stupid cats.

My best investment: their new feather bed, which should sleep one but will occasionally sleep four. It keeps them out of trouble for...minutes at a time.


Hit and run (and splatter)

There are three types of people in my food-related world:

(1) Brussel sprouts. I'm sure there are people, somewhere, who love brussel sprouts, but overall, they're kind of bitter and don't even taste good when smothered with say, butter or cheese.

(2) Bread. Bread can hold its own, complement other meals or stave off hunger pains until the main event. From bland, soggy white to banana, this wide category describes about 80% of the population.

(3) Cherry cheesecake. Cheesecake makes the world a better place. Period.

Yesterday morning, a brussel sprout was apparently in a hurry. I was driving around 45 mph in my lane on my way to work, when I noticed a dark lump in between lanes. As I came closer, I realized it was a black cat, so I slowed down, and glanced in my rearview mirror to get out of traffic to help the animal. Rushed, impatient lady veered over in front of me, completely obliterating the small animal in the road and flinging blood/cat bits onto my hood and window. All I can think about is how much I hate brussel sprouts.


Last night, I fell out of bed and had an epiphany (seriously!)

A phone conversation:

My sister, TQ, mid-emotional/low blood sugar moment: And they just left me here, with nothing to eat, and I can't get to mall...
Me: Just slow down and tell me if you need me to pick you up.
TQ: Why?
Me: Because you're my sister and I love you.
TQ: Who is this?

I think my emotional growth was stunted somewhere around kindergarten. The why's don't matter so much as the what-the-hell-can-I-do-to-fix-it.

There's something wrong with someone who struggles with affection, who braces for hugs, who can't say "I love you" without being drunk. Do I want to be that old, bitter, jaded man-hating woman viewing people in love as idiots, with "kick me" signs on their backs? N-O. (probably not, anyway).

From now on, I am ALLLLLL about the love, baby. Truly, madly, deeply.


Shaving with Parkinson's

I have a propensity for all things 80's, including my Personal Touch razor (circa 1985) because it doesn't slice my achiles tendon or dice my tender ankle skin.

Occasionally, I use that razor of death to trim up the hair around my eyebrows when I'm all plucked out. This morning, distracted (and apparently blind), I shaved off half my eyebrow. Right in the middle. Cute little trained hairs replaced by smooth baby ass skin.

Maybe no one will notice...or I can draw some Vulcan-looking things with a fancy pencil...or shave the other one. Eh. I've always wanted to start a fashion trend.


Center for Disease Uncontrollable

My son, Dr. Truant, informed me this morning that he had pink eye.

Me: Let me see. Yeah, it's just red from staying up too late on the computer last night. Get in the shower.

Truant: Pink eye is extremely contagious you know.

Me: Don't make out between classes and you'll be fine. You missed yesterday because of a sore throat - you are going to school today. Per-i-od.

So, dumbass walked into his first block class and told the teacher he might have pink eye...and home he was sent. His theory, he told me tonight, is that he has bacterial conjunctivitis caused by streptococcus, thereby explaining his sore throat and red eye in one devious plot twist (this only confirms my theory that he's spending too much time on the internet).

My kittens are battling their own contagious fungal infection - ringworm - right now (any idea how difficult it is to give pills to four squirming little maniacs with teeth?).

Me? I've been itchy, scratching, feeling a fungal/bacterial growth over my entire body. Maybe my son will write me a doctor's note so I can skip work on Monday.