You've heard me go on and on and on about gifts--how graciousness is generally good, but sometimes problematic. Sometimes=when the gift is inappropriate, not when you merely dislike it. It can be inappropriate because it is too intense, intimate, or expensive in proportion to one's relationship with the giver, (and/)or it could be inappropriate because of overt intent or hidden undertones--whether it's an expectation of quid pro quo, or an attempt to influence the recipient in an unwanted way. It could be a combination of all of the above. I've received gifts from men that are inappropriate because they were given after I explicitly told these men to stop giving me gifts, and in those cases I mustered the courage to overcome the expectation of graciousness. My mother, in her more functional days, often tried to push gifts on me--clothes, furniture--that I did not want or have room for, and they were inappropriate because there was an element of control: she, not I, would decide what I wore and how I furnished my house. And how much money would be spent on those things. Oh, the pushback when I bought a new suit for a job interview, when I could have gone to Goodwill! And--just as when I mentioned in passing that I was getting a (paid) haircut--who did I think I was? I was, am someone who, unlike my mother, leaves the house and interacts with people professionally and socially, and has a lot of hair. I invest in a decent haircut, or I have to deal with my hair every day. My well-meaning friend (WMF) once said something similar: "I would never spend that much money on a haircut."
But I digress. I'm here (partly) because my WMF just gave me, not for the first time, some thrift-shop finds that were a bit small for her. Now, I have no problem with thift shops; I shop at them myself. And I had no problem the first time she did this, but now that it's becoming a habit, I want to discourage it (and I think my lack of graciousness may have done the trick). I don't want her to buy stuff thinking that if it's too small, she can just give it to me. I don't want to deal with it. I don't want or need other people to buy me clothes. Clothes are a personal thing--they have to work for you, as I often told my mother as she tried to convince that whatever item of clothing she was pushing on me was very in-style. It doesn't matter if something is the trendiest thing ever; if it doesn't fit your body or your personality, don't wear it.
As with mom's gifts of furniture, these were items I was unwilling to pretend I wanted. I didn't want WMF asking after them (i.e., was I wearing them) and I certainly didn't have room for them in my closets and drawers. We eventually got to 'okay, well then give them back to Goodwill,' but not before WMF tried to convince me that this cardigan would look perfect over a black dress. Because I'm a terrible person, I bitched to two mutual friends about having to fight off these gifts. Both not only agreed that the items were unattractive and not me, but appreciated my frustration with WMF, even as she meant well. I told Camille about WMF's over-a-dress idea.
A.: The whole reason I wear dresses is so I don't have to match clothes. I don't want to wear anything over my dresses. I want to put on a single thing and go.
Camille: You sure do. [Shaking her head.] She doesn't know you very well at all.
Showing posts with label Gracie blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gracie blog. Show all posts
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Monday, April 14, 2014
What you go through when your animal is ailing
You kind of find God and start bargaining. "If she gets through this, I will be so much better about brushing her teeth regularly." You start appreciating the everyday annoyances ("why is she not in my face as I'm trying to get breakfast together?"); you just want to hear her whine, annoyingly, again.
The night before Gracie got sick, she was especially whiny (and I was really, really tired); I'd come home and fed her, and thought the least she could do was shut the f* up while I was trying to get my own dinner together, instead of reminding me, vocally and persistently, that she wanted to go outside. I finally let her out, and that's probably when she rolled around and cut herself on something on the ground. But who knows; it could have happened earlier.
The next morning, she wasn't whining for her breakfast. I thought, maybe she swallowed a stink bug and needed to sleep it off. That night, she was better, but not by much, and the next day, I noticed that she was also sore as well as lethargic and unhungry (which, by the way, are the symptoms of all kitty illnesses). So I took her in, panicked. They figured it out and fixed it, and soon she'll be good as new. But now she looks ridiculous, with a shaved backside and a conical collar on her head, and you can hear her from a mile away, since she bumps into everything with the collar (she and I are about equally spatially inclined). But she's eating again (just as of today, really) and her spirits are up. I'm so glad that she's back.
The night before Gracie got sick, she was especially whiny (and I was really, really tired); I'd come home and fed her, and thought the least she could do was shut the f* up while I was trying to get my own dinner together, instead of reminding me, vocally and persistently, that she wanted to go outside. I finally let her out, and that's probably when she rolled around and cut herself on something on the ground. But who knows; it could have happened earlier.
The next morning, she wasn't whining for her breakfast. I thought, maybe she swallowed a stink bug and needed to sleep it off. That night, she was better, but not by much, and the next day, I noticed that she was also sore as well as lethargic and unhungry (which, by the way, are the symptoms of all kitty illnesses). So I took her in, panicked. They figured it out and fixed it, and soon she'll be good as new. But now she looks ridiculous, with a shaved backside and a conical collar on her head, and you can hear her from a mile away, since she bumps into everything with the collar (she and I are about equally spatially inclined). But she's eating again (just as of today, really) and her spirits are up. I'm so glad that she's back.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Really, guys?
Who does that judgy bitch (pg. 17) think she is to tell me I can't fat-shame my cat? BTW, Gracie's lost a lot of weight, not that it's anyone else's business.
In case we had not already established that (some) guys will (try to) f* anything.
Also: Greg Behrendt on making men do some work (and on not ceding your power). See also my very popular "do not call him" post.
In case we had not already established that (some) guys will (try to) f* anything.
Also: Greg Behrendt on making men do some work (and on not ceding your power). See also my very popular "do not call him" post.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Tuesday evening roundup
Asia is coming up on a water problem.
An early take on industrial ag (including the antibiotics). Also, there's something about injecting oneself with guinea-pig testicles.
China loves The Daily Show.
How ridiculous-looking is my cat? She's a... ball of cat.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Clever conversation
I have been known to serenade Gracie with "Baby Got Back," but tonight, for some reason, she inspired me to "Just the Way You Are":
I dated a guy over the summer (late summer/early fall) that I tried really, really hard to like, but he bored me. The dude--nice as he was--had nothing to talk about. I bring this up because a friend who is committed to regularly advising me about dating thinks I should call him back. But I went out with him five times and there was zero chemistry and zero conversation unless I made all of it myself. How is that fair? Even I don't like to talk that much.
The irony was, this guy really liked cats (the compounded irony is said friend mistrusts men who likes cats). He kept asking me about Gracie, only he kept calling her "Tracie." I kept correcting him, but he kept calling her Tracie. That was the last straw.
I don't want clever conversation
I never want to work that hard
I [love] you just the way you are.Note: this newfound tolerance/appreciation does not extend to my dating life. In dating, I do want clever conversation.
I dated a guy over the summer (late summer/early fall) that I tried really, really hard to like, but he bored me. The dude--nice as he was--had nothing to talk about. I bring this up because a friend who is committed to regularly advising me about dating thinks I should call him back. But I went out with him five times and there was zero chemistry and zero conversation unless I made all of it myself. How is that fair? Even I don't like to talk that much.
The irony was, this guy really liked cats (the compounded irony is said friend mistrusts men who likes cats). He kept asking me about Gracie, only he kept calling her "Tracie." I kept correcting him, but he kept calling her Tracie. That was the last straw.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Wednesday morning roundup
India has a ways to go in terms of protecting speech.
What's the right size for government?
When you start to get depressed about the world, find inspiration in awesome ten-year olds.
Food waste is an abomination. So are the conditions of most food workers.
Mark Bittman's ode to the sweet potato. And, from Time, some other ideas for chips. I have yet to successfully make kale chips (need to remember to dry out the kale) but I'll keep trying. Haven't thought about turnip chips, but I've made some really tasty turnip fries.
That's a lot of $hit for a sandwich.
I will not be laying off the wine this holiday season. Mmm, wine.
Ooh! Today is my Gracie-versary: six years I've had that furball.
What's the right size for government?
When you start to get depressed about the world, find inspiration in awesome ten-year olds.
Food waste is an abomination. So are the conditions of most food workers.
Mark Bittman's ode to the sweet potato. And, from Time, some other ideas for chips. I have yet to successfully make kale chips (need to remember to dry out the kale) but I'll keep trying. Haven't thought about turnip chips, but I've made some really tasty turnip fries.
That's a lot of $hit for a sandwich.
I will not be laying off the wine this holiday season. Mmm, wine.
Ooh! Today is my Gracie-versary: six years I've had that furball.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Cat poop: It’s what’s for dinner
For a while, I tried the Shamu thing when Gracie expressed her dissatisfaction with something or other (my absence, her getting insufficient attention despite my presence, the switching of cat litter, etc.) by pooping outside the litter box. The Shamu thing meant ignoring her; I shrugged, cleaned up the poop, moved on
with my life. This took no more effort than attempting negative reinforcement. so even when the placement and circumstances of the rogue poop were particularly audacious, obnoxious, and ballsy, I shrugged
and let it go.
Until Sunday, when I nearly rolled my bike over it on the way in. I’d just cleaned the doormat from the last time she pooped all over it. I’d had it. So I reverted to my old recourse: I gathered the poop in a plastic bag and placed it on Gracie’s food dish. And imagined the following conversation (because that's what I do):
Gracie: Hmmm, where did that come from?
A.: What do you think?
Gracie: I must have created that.
A.: Right.
Gracie: But I don't like it on my food dish.
A.: Then don’t leave it outside the box.
In her non-defense, she's been contending with a new, smaller litter box (the other one had become to gross to be cleaned). But this is where the ‘parent’ in me comes out:
A.: Oh, you don’t like your new litter box? Did you know that there are cats out there who don’t even have a litter box?
Gracie: Meow?
A.: If you don't like it, drive your fat, furry ass to PetSmart and pick out the one you like, that also fits in the utility room.
Gracie: But mommy, I can't drive.,
A.: Then shut the f*up.
In all seriousness (or, at least, in more seriousness), I just have a low tolerance for whiny bi&ching, and I have a hard time squelching the ‘parental’ approach for trying to train Gracie out of her personality. As I watch friends with small children encourage their kids to use their words—there’s no excuse for whining or crying once you can actually verbally articulate the issue—I yearn to use the same methods on my cat. I just don’t understand why she has to cry about everything. I don’t respect that kind of thing and I won’t abide it.
And I can't take her seriously, because she cries wolf on a daily basis. As I got dressed this morning, I heard bloody-murder crying from downstairs. I thought, “good lord, what is it now?” And then I thought, “no, really, is someone slitting Gracie’s throat?” When she cries that desperately is when she tends to poop outside the box (in the "I'm hope but not paying her sufficient attention" category), so I thought, ‘great, all I need this morning is to clean up cat poop before I leave for work.’ But I came downstairs, and there was none. Rather, there was, but it was inside the box. She was just whining bloody murder because she wanted to go outside. Well, tough $hit (no pun intended), I want to play outside, too, but one of us has to make a living.
Anyway, I wonder if she’d also thought about pooping outside the box but decided against it because she didn’t want the output to end up on next to her dinner again. I’d like to think that deterrence worked.
Until Sunday, when I nearly rolled my bike over it on the way in. I’d just cleaned the doormat from the last time she pooped all over it. I’d had it. So I reverted to my old recourse: I gathered the poop in a plastic bag and placed it on Gracie’s food dish. And imagined the following conversation (because that's what I do):
Gracie: Hmmm, where did that come from?
A.: What do you think?
Gracie: I must have created that.
A.: Right.
Gracie: But I don't like it on my food dish.
A.: Then don’t leave it outside the box.
In her non-defense, she's been contending with a new, smaller litter box (the other one had become to gross to be cleaned). But this is where the ‘parent’ in me comes out:
A.: Oh, you don’t like your new litter box? Did you know that there are cats out there who don’t even have a litter box?
Gracie: Meow?
A.: If you don't like it, drive your fat, furry ass to PetSmart and pick out the one you like, that also fits in the utility room.
Gracie: But mommy, I can't drive.,
A.: Then shut the f*up.
In all seriousness (or, at least, in more seriousness), I just have a low tolerance for whiny bi&ching, and I have a hard time squelching the ‘parental’ approach for trying to train Gracie out of her personality. As I watch friends with small children encourage their kids to use their words—there’s no excuse for whining or crying once you can actually verbally articulate the issue—I yearn to use the same methods on my cat. I just don’t understand why she has to cry about everything. I don’t respect that kind of thing and I won’t abide it.
And I can't take her seriously, because she cries wolf on a daily basis. As I got dressed this morning, I heard bloody-murder crying from downstairs. I thought, “good lord, what is it now?” And then I thought, “no, really, is someone slitting Gracie’s throat?” When she cries that desperately is when she tends to poop outside the box (in the "I'm hope but not paying her sufficient attention" category), so I thought, ‘great, all I need this morning is to clean up cat poop before I leave for work.’ But I came downstairs, and there was none. Rather, there was, but it was inside the box. She was just whining bloody murder because she wanted to go outside. Well, tough $hit (no pun intended), I want to play outside, too, but one of us has to make a living.
Anyway, I wonder if she’d also thought about pooping outside the box but decided against it because she didn’t want the output to end up on next to her dinner again. I’d like to think that deterrence worked.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Look at that sleepy f*!
 |
| What? What just happened? |
 |
| Are we done? Can I go back to sleep? |
 |
| I'll take that as a yes. |
 |
| Goodnight. |
 | ||||
Mmm, I love sleep.
|
Monday, December 26, 2011
Monday coffee
A.: I changed Gracie's food--put her on something more natural--and she's gained weight. I have to go back to Science Diet.
Mom: You've put on weight, too, you know?
A.: Are you comparing me to Gracie?
Do you people know how fat my cat is?
***
Dad: I slept very poorly last night. Not sure why.
Mom: I'm trying to sleep on the right side because Dr. Oz said it's better.
A.: Actually, I think sleeping on the left is better.
Mom: I don't think so.
A.: I'll look it up.
I go to the computer, look it up.
A.: Dr. Oz said on the left is best for high blood pressure. The Times' Well blog says its also good for heartburn.
Mom: Could you send us those links? I really don't trust the New York Times, but I'll let it go.
A.: Will do.
[Pause]
Mom: I take responsibility for this madness. We read to you. You wouldn't go to sleep as a child until we read to you. That's how you got your fear of imaginary spiders. We read you "The Hobbit".
A.: I know this story mom.
Mom: I still have the paperwork. I still have the diagnosis from Children's Hospital that you wouldn't mentally progress past the age of four.
***
This morning, I was doing yoga. Mom was about to hop in the shower. Dad was about to do laundry. I heard their voices upstairs, then dad came downstairs and went to the basement. Mom called him.
A.: He's not here. He went to the basement.
Mom (from upstairs): Oh.
I heard dad come back downstairs from the basement.
A.: Mom's calling you.
Dad: Mom is always calling me.
A.: I know.
***
I have been able to read, etc. when mom's asleep. Otherwise, she's always calling after me to have me see what's on TV or what's on the internet or to hear her tell me, again, that real writers already know how to write.
Mom: You've put on weight, too, you know?
A.: Are you comparing me to Gracie?
Do you people know how fat my cat is?
***
Dad: I slept very poorly last night. Not sure why.
Mom: I'm trying to sleep on the right side because Dr. Oz said it's better.
A.: Actually, I think sleeping on the left is better.
Mom: I don't think so.
A.: I'll look it up.
I go to the computer, look it up.
A.: Dr. Oz said on the left is best for high blood pressure. The Times' Well blog says its also good for heartburn.
Mom: Could you send us those links? I really don't trust the New York Times, but I'll let it go.
A.: Will do.
[Pause]
Mom: I take responsibility for this madness. We read to you. You wouldn't go to sleep as a child until we read to you. That's how you got your fear of imaginary spiders. We read you "The Hobbit".
A.: I know this story mom.
Mom: I still have the paperwork. I still have the diagnosis from Children's Hospital that you wouldn't mentally progress past the age of four.
***
This morning, I was doing yoga. Mom was about to hop in the shower. Dad was about to do laundry. I heard their voices upstairs, then dad came downstairs and went to the basement. Mom called him.
A.: He's not here. He went to the basement.
Mom (from upstairs): Oh.
I heard dad come back downstairs from the basement.
A.: Mom's calling you.
Dad: Mom is always calling me.
A.: I know.
***
I have been able to read, etc. when mom's asleep. Otherwise, she's always calling after me to have me see what's on TV or what's on the internet or to hear her tell me, again, that real writers already know how to write.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Anti-ode to my tabby
When Gracie first came to me,
I thought her previous family's decision
to de-claw her was a cruel travesty.
Years later,
I find myself pondering the ethics
of having her vocal chords surgically removed.
***
When I left for vacation,
the house was spotless.
It's now quite the mess,
and I've hardly been here.
How can one small fur-ball
be the root
of such disorder?
***
Good thing she's cute.
I thought her previous family's decision
to de-claw her was a cruel travesty.
Years later,
I find myself pondering the ethics
of having her vocal chords surgically removed.
***
When I left for vacation,
the house was spotless.
It's now quite the mess,
and I've hardly been here.
How can one small fur-ball
be the root
of such disorder?
***
Good thing she's cute.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Namaste
Regular readers of this blog know that I am at peace with my demographic (single woman with cat); however, it bears pointing out that it is impossible, literally, to be at peace as a woman trying to meditate, with cat. Whenever I'll be sitting there, trying to get my Zen on, Gracie takes it as a cue to be especially needy.
I was talking to Jay earlier, and he asked Smokey how it was possible for him to always be in the way. I ask the same of Gracie.
I asked my dad if he knew how to translate into cat that yoga and meditation do not constitute an invitation to sit on me or rub oneself against me. He said that there were no such words in cat, and that, in fact, those things meant the opposite. To a cat, any horizontal surface is an invitation.
Unfortunately, I had to endure a lecture before dad and I had this conversation. I made the mistake of asking my parents what they thought of Glenn Beck's character assassination on George Soros (they thought it was spot on). They proceeded to explain that I didn't live through what they lived through, I don't get it, I need to read up on my European history, and so on. I told them I was sorry I asked.
I was talking to Jay earlier, and he asked Smokey how it was possible for him to always be in the way. I ask the same of Gracie.
I asked my dad if he knew how to translate into cat that yoga and meditation do not constitute an invitation to sit on me or rub oneself against me. He said that there were no such words in cat, and that, in fact, those things meant the opposite. To a cat, any horizontal surface is an invitation.
Unfortunately, I had to endure a lecture before dad and I had this conversation. I made the mistake of asking my parents what they thought of Glenn Beck's character assassination on George Soros (they thought it was spot on). They proceeded to explain that I didn't live through what they lived through, I don't get it, I need to read up on my European history, and so on. I told them I was sorry I asked.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Gracie's monologue
That's right, mommy: check out my kitty balls! Yes, I did poop on the carpet, and yes, I do have the audacity to be all up in your face, instead of hiding and acting all meek like I usually do after I've done my magic. That's right: I don't need wet food tonight, or maybe even dinner, because I know that's what happens when I leave you turd bombs, but I had to do it anyway. No, it's not enough that you have to lint roll the carpets weekly to get my fur off--I need to leave you a smellier reminder that Im here. It's just the way it is, and that's the point I'm trying to make: you can't stop me. I mean, you could, if you listened to some of my uncles and applied a cork and duct tape to the problem, but I know you wouldn't do that, so I'm just going to keep pooping. Don't tell me I don't have kitty balls.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
A surprising endorsement
Shrek Forever or whatever it's called was really fun, but that's not the only reason I'm urging you to see it--it's also because there's a character who will remind you of Gracie.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday morning
This morning, as I was trying to get everything together (breakfast and coffee for all, snacks for the road for them/lunch for me) and making sure they got everything in the car. Which, by the way, they did not. Funny story: mom somehow managed to dumpster-dive a dehumidifier from half a block away. She tossed it into my backyard, and it's still there. And she won't let me throw it out. I have to hold on to this thing. Who knows what's in there?? Where am I going to put it? I don't want it in the house (nor in the backyard). But I digress. This morning:
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! She wants something.
A.: I know, mom.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww! Meeeowwwww! Me. Ow.
A.: Don't make me beat you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! Gracie needs you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww!
Mom: A.! Your cat is talking to you!
A.: Ya think?
Mom: A.! That poor thing.
Gracie: Meow.
Mom: A.! Why don't you feed the poor animal.
A.: Because it's not her breakfast time yet!
Mom: But she's hungry!
A.: She's always hungry.
Gracie: Meeeeooooooowwwwwwwwwww!
Mom: A.!
A.: Mom! I am in the middle of something and you're not helping!
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! She wants something.
A.: I know, mom.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww! Meeeowwwww! Me. Ow.
A.: Don't make me beat you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww
Mom: A.! Gracie needs you.
Gracie: Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww, Meeoooowwww!
Mom: A.! Your cat is talking to you!
A.: Ya think?
Mom: A.! That poor thing.
Gracie: Meow.
Mom: A.! Why don't you feed the poor animal.
A.: Because it's not her breakfast time yet!
Mom: But she's hungry!
A.: She's always hungry.
Gracie: Meeeeooooooowwwwwwwwwww!
Mom: A.!
A.: Mom! I am in the middle of something and you're not helping!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
An ode to (some) pets
I found myself talking to the worms:
"Hey guys. Hope you like apple cores and strawberry stems, and whatever this splattery stuff is."
You've got to hand it to them: they're the perfect, low-maintenance pet. Unlike some, they don't wake you up, shed, whine, poop on your carpet, or run up the vet bill; they eat whatever you feed them; you don't have to worry about leaving them for weeks at a time; and they give you rich organic matter in return for your food scraps.
Good thing you're cute, Gracie.
"Hey guys. Hope you like apple cores and strawberry stems, and whatever this splattery stuff is."
You've got to hand it to them: they're the perfect, low-maintenance pet. Unlike some, they don't wake you up, shed, whine, poop on your carpet, or run up the vet bill; they eat whatever you feed them; you don't have to worry about leaving them for weeks at a time; and they give you rich organic matter in return for your food scraps.
Good thing you're cute, Gracie.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Gracie inspires
You'll recall "Impressions of Gracie" from previous posts:
-She's shaped like a rugby ball!
-Is she carrying twins?
-There goes Jabba the Hut.
-She's the size of both my cats put together.
-Mon dieu, ce chat est gros!
Well, Richard--Marcela's Richard (see: Galapagos travel notes), not Japan Richard, just met Gracie.
Richard: That cat looks quite hefty--could he help us move this furniture?
A.: She's not really good for stuff like that.
Richard: Does she have a name?
A.: Gracie.
Marcela: She's beautiful!
Later
Richard: It's a very nice house. It must be great to have so much space.
A.: Why thank you. I didn't quite mean to get one this big... but the world was ostensibly going to hell when I was house-shopping, so I ended up with more space than I'd imagined.
Later still
Richard: It's clear now why you need so much space: you've got to house such a big cat. It's like what they say--you can't put a whale in a swimming pool.
A.: Quite right.
Marcela: She needs to go on that thing... the MC...
Richard: The Master Cleanse.
Marcela: Right.
A.: I try.
Marcela: I know.
-She's shaped like a rugby ball!
-Is she carrying twins?
-There goes Jabba the Hut.
-She's the size of both my cats put together.
-Mon dieu, ce chat est gros!
Well, Richard--Marcela's Richard (see: Galapagos travel notes), not Japan Richard, just met Gracie.
Richard: That cat looks quite hefty--could he help us move this furniture?
A.: She's not really good for stuff like that.
Richard: Does she have a name?
A.: Gracie.
Marcela: She's beautiful!
Later
Richard: It's a very nice house. It must be great to have so much space.
A.: Why thank you. I didn't quite mean to get one this big... but the world was ostensibly going to hell when I was house-shopping, so I ended up with more space than I'd imagined.
Later still
Richard: It's clear now why you need so much space: you've got to house such a big cat. It's like what they say--you can't put a whale in a swimming pool.
A.: Quite right.
Marcela: She needs to go on that thing... the MC...
Richard: The Master Cleanse.
Marcela: Right.
A.: I try.
Marcela: I know.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Wednesday evening ramble
On Food
Remember last week I was rambling about the mainstreaming of "ethnic" food? Or gentrification, perhaps. Anyway, over the weekend, Whole Foods had green curry paste on sale... and sold out.
***
I bought some organic Pink Lady apples at Trader Joe's. It's like eating an appletini. Mmmmm.
***
Conventional sweet potatoes are officially not as good as their organic counterparts. It's not just a store thing. Trader Joe's was out of organic, so I bought conventional, and they're 'eh.'
***
On Gracie
A.: It's actually a good thing that you're not annoying as an intermittently beeping carbon monoxide detector, because if you were, you'd be homeless. That does mean that I'm going to tend to it before I tend to you, but I ask you to take the long view in this situation.
And while we're talking about the long view with regard to your being fed, I need you to help me out. You see, I--perhaps foolishly--adopted you, so I am obligated to feed you. As no such moral contract exists for the people who kindly agree to feed you when I travel, it would behoove you to cease leaving little kitty landmines for them to step on when they come to give you food. Is that clear?
Remember last week I was rambling about the mainstreaming of "ethnic" food? Or gentrification, perhaps. Anyway, over the weekend, Whole Foods had green curry paste on sale... and sold out.
***
I bought some organic Pink Lady apples at Trader Joe's. It's like eating an appletini. Mmmmm.
***
Conventional sweet potatoes are officially not as good as their organic counterparts. It's not just a store thing. Trader Joe's was out of organic, so I bought conventional, and they're 'eh.'
***
On Gracie
A.: It's actually a good thing that you're not annoying as an intermittently beeping carbon monoxide detector, because if you were, you'd be homeless. That does mean that I'm going to tend to it before I tend to you, but I ask you to take the long view in this situation.
And while we're talking about the long view with regard to your being fed, I need you to help me out. You see, I--perhaps foolishly--adopted you, so I am obligated to feed you. As no such moral contract exists for the people who kindly agree to feed you when I travel, it would behoove you to cease leaving little kitty landmines for them to step on when they come to give you food. Is that clear?
Monday, December 14, 2009
Conversation
At work, during a working meeting in my colleague's office.
Colleague 1: Anyone else we need to list as needing to sign off on this?
Colleague 2: W. [Colleague 2's cat, whose picture graced her mousepad]. He's on the mousepad, he has a stake.
A.: Ugh--Gracie pooped on my floor on Saturday night.
Colleague 1: Is Gracie... your cat?
A.: Yes.
Colleague 1: Okay, I didn't know that. I was going to say, you might want to look into getting new friends... but it makes sense now.
Colleague 1: Anyone else we need to list as needing to sign off on this?
Colleague 2: W. [Colleague 2's cat, whose picture graced her mousepad]. He's on the mousepad, he has a stake.
A.: Ugh--Gracie pooped on my floor on Saturday night.
Colleague 1: Is Gracie... your cat?
A.: Yes.
Colleague 1: Okay, I didn't know that. I was going to say, you might want to look into getting new friends... but it makes sense now.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
furball blog
For better or for worse, the fact that one's cat occasionally poops outside her litterbox comes up in conversation from time to time. Once or twice, someone suggests in response that perhaps she doesn't like the brand of litter or has some sort of medical condition. It's kind of like when people hear about RM and suggest that he's lonely, except in that case, I don't care, whether or not it's true. It's irrelevant. I would care if Gracie had a medical condition. Thing is, she eschews the litterbox strategically, not only in her timing but in her aim as well. She leaves her little kitty mines exactly where she expects you to step next. If I've left out the back door, and she is of a mind to communicate her displeasure with my having left, she poops just by that door. Last night, I went upstairs to get dressed for a party, and she pooped right at the foot of the stairs. See, she does have brainpower... now why can't she use it for Good?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Ow, my butt!
If you are still missing "Idiocracy" references, such as the one in the title of this post, you are truly missing out. See the f*ing movie.
***
You might disagree with the statement that I have not broadcast Friday night's incident, considering that I put it on the blog, but I'll remind you that very few people read the blog. I have not told most of my friends; I certainly have not told my parents, and I'll tell my coworkers for the purpose of making the court date next month. But I digress. I did, obviously tell my friends who met me at the hospital, I told the friends whose get-together I had left just before the incident, and I told Martha because we were e-mailing about other stuff.
I also sent my regrets to the hostess of a holiday party I was to attend last night--I shouldn't drive, among other things--and at that party she told a mutual friend. Who's now told three other friends. Which is wonderful, because this support network has come out of the woodwork and everyone near and far has asked me what they can do. Initially, I couldn't think of anything (apart from take me shopping, which P did yesterday). I mean, there is a lot that I need to do that will be painful, but it is entirely too disgusting for other people to do. I'm not going to let, much less ask, anyone else to clean my bathrooms and deal with my compost. In fact, my friends are helping with that already-- I don't dare put the cleaning off on account of pain, because I've gotten the sense that people are about to visit. But I've now thought of something that people can actively do: could you come play with my cat? Distract her from crawling all over me? It got old a while ago. Now it's also painful.
So what can you, my readers, do? Watch "Idiocracy," if you haven't already.
Ow, my butt!
***
You might disagree with the statement that I have not broadcast Friday night's incident, considering that I put it on the blog, but I'll remind you that very few people read the blog. I have not told most of my friends; I certainly have not told my parents, and I'll tell my coworkers for the purpose of making the court date next month. But I digress. I did, obviously tell my friends who met me at the hospital, I told the friends whose get-together I had left just before the incident, and I told Martha because we were e-mailing about other stuff.
I also sent my regrets to the hostess of a holiday party I was to attend last night--I shouldn't drive, among other things--and at that party she told a mutual friend. Who's now told three other friends. Which is wonderful, because this support network has come out of the woodwork and everyone near and far has asked me what they can do. Initially, I couldn't think of anything (apart from take me shopping, which P did yesterday). I mean, there is a lot that I need to do that will be painful, but it is entirely too disgusting for other people to do. I'm not going to let, much less ask, anyone else to clean my bathrooms and deal with my compost. In fact, my friends are helping with that already-- I don't dare put the cleaning off on account of pain, because I've gotten the sense that people are about to visit. But I've now thought of something that people can actively do: could you come play with my cat? Distract her from crawling all over me? It got old a while ago. Now it's also painful.
So what can you, my readers, do? Watch "Idiocracy," if you haven't already.
Ow, my butt!
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