If there is anything that I’ve learned in my 35 years, it’s that swearing can be good for you. Making up swear words is probably better than weekly therapy sessions because it’s getting to the root of the problem — that ass-shit wankbastage driving on your bumper in the slow traffic lane when you’re already doing 10 over the posted mph, for instance — instantly, at the onset of frustration.
Because seriously, why build that shit up? Get those words and emotions and your fucking front end the fuck out of there! You’ll also be adding to your vocabulary.
I’m frustrated easily. I’m not particularly fond of being rushed, being spontaneous or being hungry (hangry best describes my hours between 3-6 pm). The non-spontaneity thing is new, by the way. I used to live my life by not planning anything… now, I plan months in advance because it’s just impossible to function otherwise. And during these moments, I accelerate from 0-to-complete bitch in less than 2 seconds. Ask my boyfriend about dinner last night. He can vouch for that episode.
Blame it on my blood sugar, yo.
So I probably cuss more than I “should” – you know, for whomever made that made-up rule about the correlation between swearing and a decreased IQ score. But in all the stupid things you hear – or experience, rather – is the person who is “too good to swear.” Who is this holier-than-Christdick figment of my imagination?
Because, mother fucker please: you know if you stub your toe, you ain’t yelling Gawd Dang that Dumb Step.
Swearing is good for the soul. It’s also good for conveying your emotion. And we all know that bottling up your emotions causes bad fucking things to happen to you (depression, weakness, fatigue, probably gout). A stream of profanity gets you immediate attention. Also, loudly screaming the word “FUCK!” is downright therapeutic.
The first post back is the hardest, no? Let’s just get the shit storm out of the way…
My cat Rudy is sick with a cold that he may/not have contracted from me. Lo, I disregard the science that species-to-species sicknesses — like human colds — are improbable. I was (well, still am) sick, and now he’s got the same runny eyes and nose and congestion and sneezing that I’ve had since returning from vacation. Poor thing.
He also had a vet appointment WHILE WE WERE GONE because of a skin allergy that may/not be attributed to new food. I can’t even describe how helpless of a situation it is when you’re a couple-hours-plane ride away from your pets and SOMETHING GOES WRONG. Which means Breakdown in a Public Place, naturally. Thankfully, that allergy has seemingly run its course, and we won’t buy that brand of food ever again. But, still, the cat needs yet another vet visit today to determine if it’s a cold or other allergies attributing to his current condition.
I’m also PMS-ing, so all of the things are making me a sobbing, bumbling mess.
And my wine with my vodka. But not really, because I’M OLD AND CANNOT HANDLE THE HANGOVERS. Ahem.
the week: Valentine’s Day was this week… you know, that holiday that I poo-poo’d. We kept on the tradition I started last year of having fondue (celebrated on Sunday, since Tuesday was a practice night for me). It was delicious. And reaffirms all I need is him and cheese and bread and wine and my cats to be happy forever and ever amen. The boyfriend got me a card, which happens… never. Naturally, in my current whack-a-doodle hormonal state, I cried.
He also got me this:
…which is still in mail purgatory. But, SQUEE! You know what’s better than love? Finding someone who knows you SO well.
Err, I meant *puke*
And then on Monday, I had cheese for dinner AGAIN. It definitely was not as delicious as the melty, dippy goodness.
I also got this month’s Foodzie box — which was the Date Night Box. It included: durum wheat Mohawk pasta, Fig & Port Vinaigrette, roasted salted pecans, Mendocino sea salt and a Port wine caramel chocolate bar.
That chocolate bar is from Sweeteeth in Charleston, SC. Did you read that it’s filled with port wine and caramel? And I’m having it with my wine for dinner.
PS: who’s already looking forward to Anthrocon this summer?
We’re hosting a small bottleshare gathering with some friends this weekend, which means I’ll be spending my Friday night lint-rolling every sitting surface in my house. While drinking a bottle from my new wine club delivery. And that chocolate bar.
We also have a fun Elite party to attend at Penn Brewery, courtesy of Yelp!
Which totally reminded me about that time when I told a waiter “no thanks” in response to taking home my leftover lunch by actually saying, “No. I’m having vodka for dinner.” That time was this week.
For all you pudding lovers: Saturday is the Valentine’s Day Pudding Massacre (aka: PUDDING WRESTLING). Be at Belvedere’s.
weekly reading wrap-up: Still on the same book as last week… I need to get in a few short ones this month before vacation.
seven things, seven days
1. cheese plate and giant heart-shaped red velvet cake at Sonoma Grille… with some of AB’s coworkers. I’m crashing this consultant party!
2. I painted my nails twice in two weeks. WHO AM I?
3. Turntable Kitchen was not worth the monthly subscription. Meh. Definitely sticking with Foodzie.
4. Birchbox was ridiculous this month too — not “lip tattoos” ridiculous, sadly. Regardless, I’m ready to unsubscribe.
5. Arsenal Plum Cider. Yum!
6. handwritten notes from bloggers are awesome. (thanks, Rachel!)
7. vacation countdown has begun!
Oh, I forgot. Another of my resolutions was “Adopt a new cat.”
Here she is:
Currently named Zira. Soon-to-be-renamed as Bessie. I think. Because her back spots look like a cow. Get it? Bessie the Cow?! BUT A CAT!
And yes, the felines now outnumber the humans in this house. I LOVE IT.
I don’t mind either title, really.
On most days, I’d rather hang out with my cats — unconditional love to the fullest. Save for the days when my darling Rudy uses my brand new upholstered dining chairs as a scratch post. Or sweet little Chelsea bites my restless legs through the blankets while I attempt sleep.
Animals make me happy. And I’ll take all the free therapy that I can get. But until someone in Pittsburgh opens up a cuddle cafe… well, I decided to cuddle cats at the local shelter.
I started volunteering at the Humane Society a few weeks ago because a) I now live within walking distance of the shelter, and 2) I seemed to have got over my Instant-Cry-Any-Time-I-See-An-Animal-in-A-Cage emotions (sometimes) and III) it warms my heart to be a part of making a cat’s scary stay in a cage a little more loveable by a little cuddling.
WE COULD ALL USE MORE CUDDLING. It’s the least that I can do to help.
Giving money is easy. But giving time (and a warm lap), I think, is also SO important to these animals. I’ve been a vocal and financial supporter of the adoption of shelter animals my entire life. And because I have some personal time to offer, it’s exactly why I decided to volunteer. Also, after the new year, I intend to cross train, so that I can walk the dogs too (it’s the next best thing to ownership, since I don’t have the lifestyle for a dog right now). Not going to lie though: those bunnies scare the crap out of me. Not sure if we’ll become buddies.
Volunteering: helping to prevent me from owning 8 cats.
BONUS: The following video from Bergdorf Goodman has nothing to do with PITTSBURGH’S local organization, but the Humane Society nonetheless (NY, in this case). Warning: You might tear up a bit. Won’t you foster or adopt a shelter animal this year?
1. itchy, ugly stitches in two parts of my body (removal next Monday)
2. series of rashes from covering said sutures with bandages (I’m allergic to adhesive)
3. open wound from third mole removal in my armpit that probably SHOULD have had a stitch or two
4. some sort of pulled/strained lower calf muscle on my left leg (NOT FROM ROLLER DERBY… grr!)
5. patchy, balding cat (vet visit tomorrow)
6. overly-tired body, psyche and absolute lack of motivation
7. car that needs its driver’s side fog lamp replaced (which was ordered over two weeks ago, but I haven’t had the time to go back to the repair place)
8. grossly neglected blog (the worst is behind you, I promise!)
I’m having a month, let me tell you! But I swear in between these incidents, there was fun… and a ton of driving.
How was your 4th of July holiday?
I’ll take crazy over sane any day, if it means I can give cuddles to this female cutie:
At least I’m not a LONELY cat lady.
It would be a serendipitous trip to East End Brewing Co. to have our growlers filled after Rudy’s vet appointment. Upon recognizing the Animal Rescue League, I made a quick turn-around to go inside to “just see.” Any animal lover knows how those trips usually pan out. We have talked about adopting another “friend” to Rudy, but it wasn’t the “right time” for a variety of reasons. Before Rudy became too complacent (or curmudgeonly), I wanted to introduce a second animal to the household.
I suppose this past Saturday, was the right time for us — and for that sweet, almost-two-years-old feline, Chelsea.
And I feel warmth in my heart, knowing that is one less adult cat stuck in a cage at the Animal Protective League kennel. Seriously, I nearly had a breakdown in the adoption room that we couldn’t choose more than one. There are so many cute kitties — and we were honestly stuck between two different cats (our apartment cannot handle THREE, thankyouverymuch).
So… now we have two cats of similar age and personalities — only one overweight white one who-shall-not-be-named that is TWICE the CC’s size (my nickname for her… I’m not sold on her given name, Chelsea).
But seriously, these cats need to learn how to get along because I’m about emotionally spent. HOLY Ceiling Cat, feeding time is stressful around here…
Consider adopting an animal with the Animal Rescue League or making a donation to their organization. And if you DO go visit the cats, do NOT open the cages or touch the cats without permission (ahem, AB!).
This post is not about slicing the skin of my pinky finger on the vegetable shredder.
Or that I just cut my tongue on a serrated bread knife (don’t ask).
OR that I seriously just spilled a cup of shredded mozzarella on the stove and kitchen floor.
No… this post is about giving thanks. And hopefully for blood that clots well and perhaps, a Band-aid. Or a maid.
But as the year is dwindling down, and I’ll soon be consumed by turkey and road trips, here is some (hopefully that’s sage) advice for which you should be thankful:
Be thankful for your quirks and imperfections, and ultimately, what makes you, you. I have many, just read above. Then, have a drink with me.
Be thankful for your support team. I have an amazing partner who encourages me daily to do what I love and talks me off of hypothetical edges of buildings. And even still tries to get me drunk to play with my boobs. How sweet, right? He has been my anchor during our transition to Pittsburgh, and I sincerely couldn’t have adjusted without him. Heh, adjustment… oh, that’s not dirty. Moving on!
I am thankful that every day I wake up, I walk in tattered slippers down about 17 stairs to my home office with nary a shower, use of a hair dryer or face full of makeup to do something that I love for work: write. I build my business daily and learn (way too much) along the way, but I am happier now with the direction of my life than I have been for years.
And incredibly, I am thankful that my 33 (and a half) year-old body has held up under the emotional and physical pain for my newfound love of roller derby — and has remained ever-disciplined to the training, commitment and total heart for the women I meet as result of skating. As with AB, I cannot imagine skating not being a part of my life. I mean, the bruised derby toe went away for two months while I moved and took a breather… but, that passion is burning more than ever.
For what are you thankful — and especially from this past year?
Seeing as how I just experienced an actual emergency alarm in my building, I felt it would be a good topic as any for Monday morning. What item(s) would you take with you in the event of a fire or emergency if you had to leave your home quickly?
Thankfully, I was already out of bed, in my hoodie and a pair of pants, but once I realized this was definitely not a test alarm (we have speakers, with an audible and voice-directed alarm, advising us to leave the building immediately), I slipped on my tennis shoes, placed my cell phone in my pocket and ran upstairs to grab the cat. And then, his leash (which hangs on the coat rack near the door and is definitely easier to control the cat than shoving him into his pet carrier).
I didn’t grab my keys, my purse, any photo albums, my laptop or even a pair of gloves. Does this say something about my character?
Oh, help me, I’m actually responsible for another living being. And he was so, so good (but scared and howling, and I so wanted to cry).
So, the cat and I traveled ten stories (by stairs) to the lower lobby where the rest of my neighbors were hanging, as we waited for confirmation by the management, security or the fire department. The garbage chute was the apparent cause — although there was no smoke or fire detected.
But whew… what an adventure to experience at 8 am on a Monday. I think I’m still shaking.
So, what would you grab?
The Good: I’m generally happy. I’m staying busy. I’m probably in the best shape I’ve been in ten years. I found a sport and a group of ladies whom I obsess over more endlessly. I’m active. I’m involved. I’m finding success. All good, right?
The Bad: I’m lonely. See, AB’s job took him to Pittsburgh, so in a twisted and incredibly sad way, we’re now in the throes of a long-distance relationship. When I stay busy, I don’t think too much of it. I make my own hours and utilize the evenings and late-late nights of insomnia with more work and more writing. But some times for a second, it completely catches me off guard. Because of this, I’m eating horribly — if at all. Mostly because AB is not here to cook for me every night. I’m generally too lazy to cook for myself, which results in a bowl of cereal before bed (but at least it’s organic, right?). At least I’m not eating my feelings.
Like I said, I have good weeks and some really, really bad weeks.
This is one of those bad weeks.
And every time I so much as think about how much I miss my boyfriend I go into a sobbing fit, worthy of The Notebook ending. It’s ridiculous. Even if we’re sitting at either end of the living room staring into laptops or TVs, it’s just better when he’s here. Bed time? Forget it. I typically don’t sleep well. If at all with that as well. I get him on the weekends, which again, is hard because I just want to spend time with him, but we find ourselves with 18 different sets of plans and places to be. Then, Monday comes and it’s as though he was never here.
More so, we’re still not in a position to determine if we’re staying or going, which is stressful and frustrating and driving me bonkers all at the same time. While I enjoy some level of spontaneity, I think I’ve sharpened my internal planner devices. I feel almost as if my life come Fall is at a stand-still. While I’m working so hard on everything here…
Regardless, even in Pittsburgh, one day I hated it and started crying at the thought of being there wandering all lost (literally and metaphorically) looking at bridges and rivers and figuring out which way is fucking North. Then the next, I’m all, “Oooh, I lurve it here!”
Which so obviously leads me to…
The Hopelessly Menopausal Cat Lady: I’ve never *truly* been much of a crier. I’ve long considered myself fairly stable, uber-resilient and well, too much of a bitch to really care about shit. And too often, the fucking crying has as well caught me off guard. In public. Which I hate more than anything. And it’s uncontrollable.
Seriously, hormones? STFU.
Also, I’m pretty sure I had my first hot flash in Pittsburgh last week. Either that, or I was about to pass out for a number of unexplained reasons. I hope neither of those brings about unwanted facial hair. I didn’t have much of an appetitive at dinner. When we walked into the hotel bar to grab a drink for the room, I got all hot and flushy. Like, once I got to the room, I couldn’t take my clothes off fast enough. Within ten minutes, I was cold again. Do menopausal ladies also get night sweats? Because I have those nearly every night now. And our thermostat is set to 64.
I can’t go spend more time during the week in Pitt because of the cat. Perhaps it’s why some of my resentment and bad mood is focused on him. But I still love the fucker. I mean seriously, I just now pulled the TV antenna out of his mouth. ARGH. Rudy also meows at everything. EVERYTHING . I’m beginning to understand the differences in sound between when he’s hunting and when he’s hungry. It’s usually the latter. Of note: he likes the cactus plant, and he’s been chewing on it. This is weird, right? We’re currently growing some of that cat grass, so in 5-7 more days, hopefully he’ll enjoy chewing at that instead.
While he hasn’t become any more of a lap cat, he does curl up behind me while I’m sitting in my computer chair. The last couple mornings (way too early to write here) I’ve felt him at my face — which, obviously, wakes me up. Setting the auto-feeder has helped quell his loudness in the mornings exponentially.
It’s a bad week.
Sidenote: no sooner than I hit Publish, the cat broke a glass candle holder in the bedroom. We have concrete floors, so there are shards of glass everywhere. Awesome. I’m getting ready to leave. This will now take what’s left of my afternoon to clean up. DEEP BREATH.