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| Feeling grass for the first time. |
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| The other baby and family we could have been friends with if we weren't freaks. |
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| Sylvester, wigging out at the awesomeness of being outside. |
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| First time swinging. Lincoln was non-plussed. |
Showing posts with label Ramblings of a crazy cat lady. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ramblings of a crazy cat lady. Show all posts
Monday, September 3, 2012
Proof
Going through old photos, I found these pictures. If you remember this post from a while ago, here are the accompanying photos, along with proof of our weirdness in bringing our cat to the park.
Good times.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Why I Don't Make Friends
Yesterday McKay took a half-day for the holiday, so we decided to head off to the park, the whole family!
The park was surprisingly empty for a holiday, but there was one other couple there with a stroller. I insisted we walk to the opposite end, for fear it was the neighbors we accidentally stalk. But those fears proved ungrounded, thankfully.
We commenced taking a zillion pictures of things like "Lincoln's first trip down a slide!" because we're new parents and have energy to do things that we will never do for our future children. The other couple quickly approached us, and started chatting, making my blood pressure go up at the thought of (oy) socializing.
Turns out, their baby is almost exactly the same age as Lincoln. And, like the neighbor I accidentally stalk, we gave birth in the same hospital (despite living practically next door to a less-nice hospital) and had the same OB. The other mom and I are both also originally from Southern California. They were extremely nice and easy to talk to and normal (a mix that is apparently very hard to find if you're me). My mind immediately began flinging up fireworks "Another mom like me! She seems so nice! We will be best friends!"
Then I remembered we brought our cat. Which I'm pretty sure the weirdness factor overrides any other friendly-vibe I might have had going on. A dog came to the park and we had to vamoose pretty quick, as Sylvester's freak-out meter goes haywire at the sight of any canine. McKay didn't want to go home just yet, though, so we kept walking. Naturally, we spied the other couple walking on the other side of the street after a ways.
Who quickly changed directions.
Stupid cat.
Anyone else too weird to make friends?
P.S. Blog format is still a work in process!
The park was surprisingly empty for a holiday, but there was one other couple there with a stroller. I insisted we walk to the opposite end, for fear it was the neighbors we accidentally stalk. But those fears proved ungrounded, thankfully.
We commenced taking a zillion pictures of things like "Lincoln's first trip down a slide!" because we're new parents and have energy to do things that we will never do for our future children. The other couple quickly approached us, and started chatting, making my blood pressure go up at the thought of (oy) socializing.
Turns out, their baby is almost exactly the same age as Lincoln. And, like the neighbor I accidentally stalk, we gave birth in the same hospital (despite living practically next door to a less-nice hospital) and had the same OB. The other mom and I are both also originally from Southern California. They were extremely nice and easy to talk to and normal (a mix that is apparently very hard to find if you're me). My mind immediately began flinging up fireworks "Another mom like me! She seems so nice! We will be best friends!"
Then I remembered we brought our cat. Which I'm pretty sure the weirdness factor overrides any other friendly-vibe I might have had going on. A dog came to the park and we had to vamoose pretty quick, as Sylvester's freak-out meter goes haywire at the sight of any canine. McKay didn't want to go home just yet, though, so we kept walking. Naturally, we spied the other couple walking on the other side of the street after a ways.
Who quickly changed directions.
Stupid cat.
Anyone else too weird to make friends?
P.S. Blog format is still a work in process!
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Christmaspalooza
Welp, now that I've finished Dragon Age 2 (what the what, Anders?! Why you be so crazy??), and have eleven or so hours to kill before Mass Effect is downloaded on my computer, I can finally tell you all about my Christmas. I know, you're all, "Yayyyy! I get to hear about someone else's Christmas! I'm totally enthralled!" But this is my blog, and you are my reading minions (or so I like to imagine), so you WILL put up with it.
It was surprisingly nice, actually. I didn't even cry once, which is quite the accomplishment, considering. It started out with the traditional cinnamon roll Christmas tree that I grew up with for breakfast:
Yeah, it tasted about as good as it looks in the pictures. Meaning, not that great. I've been spoiled with homemade goodies my whole life, and this from-a-can stuff just doesn't cut it for me. But I'm very, very pregnant, and the thought of making them from scratch was just too daunting. Thank goodness for icing, that's all I can say.
Then began the present extravaganza.
Included in our pile of awesomeness: a sewing machine, multiple video games (which is why I have been neglecting my blog/everything. Yeah, my priorities aren't screwed up at ALL), a year-long membership to the local pool to me from McKay (he knows how much I miss swimming), a plethora of emergency preparedness equipment from my parents ("Do you know what a 'plethora' is, Jefe?"), TWO boxes of my favorite Sees chocolates (which may or may not all be gone now), and on and on. We're very spoiled, we know.
We then rushed late to church, which was an hour-long service that mostly consisted of Christmas music (love it). We spent the rest of the day chillaxing and eating leftovers.
A good Christmas in my book.
P.S. Yes, it's my due date. No, I'm not in labor. I had a doctor's appointment today, and I am next to zero in dilation. But that's okay, I'll savor these last few days of sleep/being able to shower whenever I feel like.
It was surprisingly nice, actually. I didn't even cry once, which is quite the accomplishment, considering. It started out with the traditional cinnamon roll Christmas tree that I grew up with for breakfast:
Then began the present extravaganza.
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| It's raining Snickers! Hallelujah |
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| This is my happy face. |
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| SEWING MACHINE! |
We then rushed late to church, which was an hour-long service that mostly consisted of Christmas music (love it). We spent the rest of the day chillaxing and eating leftovers.
A good Christmas in my book.
P.S. Yes, it's my due date. No, I'm not in labor. I had a doctor's appointment today, and I am next to zero in dilation. But that's okay, I'll savor these last few days of sleep/being able to shower whenever I feel like.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
It's Beginning to Look Something Like Christmas
I haven't posted much Christmas-related stuff due to my being slightly majorly bummed that we can't go to California this year (bad timing, Lincoln. But I forgive you). But with some Christmas-y touches, I'm starting to get into the holiday spirit.
I really wish our apartment had a good space available for a Christmas tree because they are DIRT CHEAP here in Oregon. But, on the bright side, I'm finally making good use of the mini Christmas tree I've had since I was ten.
McKay and I try to get ornaments from everyplace that has significance for us--see if you can spot the lucky Chinese cat (authentically from China! Unlike everything else here in the US!) and wiggly octopus from our honeymoon in Hawaii. There's also a teenage mutant ninja turtle wearing a Santa hat in there because, um, it's awesome. Doy.
I also spotted an ugly Christmas sweater in the dollar section of Target that was technically meant for a shivering chihuahua or something, but come on. How could I pass up an opportunity like this?
McKay keeps saying I'm torturing our cat, but I think McKay is just projecting his own feelings about the sweater. Sylvester really doesn't seem to mind it at all. A Christmas miracle! Plus it makes me giggle every time I look at Sylvester, and McKay knows better than to cross a 37 week pregnant woman by insisting I take it off. Yay for Christmas! And for small fuzzy animals!
What's helping you get into the Christmas spirit this year?
I really wish our apartment had a good space available for a Christmas tree because they are DIRT CHEAP here in Oregon. But, on the bright side, I'm finally making good use of the mini Christmas tree I've had since I was ten.
I also spotted an ugly Christmas sweater in the dollar section of Target that was technically meant for a shivering chihuahua or something, but come on. How could I pass up an opportunity like this?
What's helping you get into the Christmas spirit this year?
Thursday, November 17, 2011
One Year Ago Today
A couple months after settling into Oregon, McKay and I decided to get a dog. After the whole Lola fiasco (demon cats originate in China, if you were wondering), even I, who have always been a crazy cat lady at heart, was wary of adopting a pet of the feline variety. But I was lonely, spending roughly 10-12 hours alone each day, and I needed something to coddle and love while McKay was off blowing stuff up, or whatever chemists do. So, dog it was.
We had planned on adopting a small dog from my hometown in California. Small dog purely because of apartment restrictions, and from California because one of my favorite hobbies was to cry while looking through the LA Craigslist pet section, where just about every other entry said, "HELP PLEASE!! WILL BE PUT DOWN TOMORROW!!" I'm not sure why I liked to torture myself like this. Anyway, I wanted to save one of the impending-doom doggies, and I figured we could visit all the local shelters at Thanksgiving while visiting my parents, and find our perfect canine companion and pat ourselves on the back for being awesome. I'm not sure why I insisted we check out the animal shelters in Oregon. Impatience, most likely. But one night I dragged McKay to the local Safe Haven (a no-kill shelter) to look at their small dogs.
First we looked over the cats section, just because systematically they were the first thing you'd look at if you're going to be thorough. The kittens melted my heart a tiny bit, but the thought of how freaking adorable Lola was at that age as well stopped me from insisting we go the kitten-route instead. There were lots of adult cats, too. Some were on sale, from the usual $40 to $15 because they'd been there for so long. McKay checked these out especially since he always likes a good deal, and I rolled my eyes. One in particular caught my eye, in a not-good way. He was a fat ginger cat, with freaky yellow eyes and ears that had been practically shredded towards the top. I did not want that cat. He was ugly, and I told myself he was probably mean. Plus, he had FIV and he was seven years old, a ticking time bomb. His tag said he had been in that cage for nine months. I figured there was probably a reason for that and moved on.
Then we looked at their small dogs. We even took one or two out to the play yard to see if we had any connection with them. Honestly, though, those tiny buggers were more interested in smelling the last dog's urine than in us, and I shrugged when McKay asked what I thought. I figured the volunteers would know the dogs better than we would after five minutes of looking stupid trying to play fetch, so I asked a girl walking by if she would recommend any of the small dogs.
"I'm not really into small dogs." She said, crinkling her nose. "But if you want a CAT, Sylvester here is a pretty awesome dude. And I don't really like cats, either." While I was wondering why she volunteered at an animal shelter if she apparently hated animals, she led us back to the cat section. Particularly to the beaten-up ginger I'd already decided I did not want. Before I could think of an excuse, she opened Sylvester's cage, and he obligingly jumped out. We stood staring at one another for a minute before the volunteer said, "You should sit down. He'll probably curl right up on your lap." I was skeptical of this, but I crouched down.
Sylvester immediately climbed up on my lap, purring, and commenced kneading my jeans to shreds. I pet him hesitantly, and he lapped up the attention. After a few minutes of this, I thanked the volunteer and said we'd think about it.
I didn't think I would. I did not want that ugly cat, even if he was surprisingly friendly.
I had been praying that we'd find the right animal companion. Maybe that sounds stupid, but if you had lived with Lola for three months, you would understand. Anyway, every time I prayed I couldn't get Sylvester out of my head. But I brushed it away--I did NOT want that cat, we were getting a SMALL DOG, dang it! But Sylvester haunted me.
Two weeks after the Safe Haven visit, I told McKay we were adopting Sylvester. McKay had liked Sylvester (plus he was ON SALE), so he was happy enough to go along with it. It was a stormy night, but I wasn't waiting any more. I knew I wanted Sylvester, and I had a sense of dread that if we waited, he wouldn't be there anymore. So I sent McKay to buy a litter box and cat food, and I went alone to Safe Haven.
"I came to get Sylvester!" I proclaimed as I banged the door open in the midst of a storm (it might have flashed lightning behind me. That would've been dramatic). ". . . If he's still available." I added lamely.
The woman at the desk clasped her hands at her chest and exclaimed, "God bless you!" (that is not a dramatization, that really happened). I then awkwardly took a seat while she finished up another family's paperwork and a volunteer went to get Sylvester.
When the volunteer handed Sylvester to me (in a carrying box, so it could have been any cat in there, really), she said solemnly, "You will not be forgotten for this."
"Oh! Um, okay." I said. Apparently, I was a freaking HERO for adopting this cat. All in a day's work.
After nearly crashing about a thousand times on the way home because I don't drive well at night/in storms (and getting lost for a half hour), I finally made it back to our duplex. I opened Sylvester's carrying case and stepped back, prepared to give him space, though my tendency is to smother. Sylvester looked around him briefly, then stared up at me. So I sat next to him on the couch, and he curled up on my lap.
He's hardly left it since.
We had planned on adopting a small dog from my hometown in California. Small dog purely because of apartment restrictions, and from California because one of my favorite hobbies was to cry while looking through the LA Craigslist pet section, where just about every other entry said, "HELP PLEASE!! WILL BE PUT DOWN TOMORROW!!" I'm not sure why I liked to torture myself like this. Anyway, I wanted to save one of the impending-doom doggies, and I figured we could visit all the local shelters at Thanksgiving while visiting my parents, and find our perfect canine companion and pat ourselves on the back for being awesome. I'm not sure why I insisted we check out the animal shelters in Oregon. Impatience, most likely. But one night I dragged McKay to the local Safe Haven (a no-kill shelter) to look at their small dogs.
First we looked over the cats section, just because systematically they were the first thing you'd look at if you're going to be thorough. The kittens melted my heart a tiny bit, but the thought of how freaking adorable Lola was at that age as well stopped me from insisting we go the kitten-route instead. There were lots of adult cats, too. Some were on sale, from the usual $40 to $15 because they'd been there for so long. McKay checked these out especially since he always likes a good deal, and I rolled my eyes. One in particular caught my eye, in a not-good way. He was a fat ginger cat, with freaky yellow eyes and ears that had been practically shredded towards the top. I did not want that cat. He was ugly, and I told myself he was probably mean. Plus, he had FIV and he was seven years old, a ticking time bomb. His tag said he had been in that cage for nine months. I figured there was probably a reason for that and moved on.
Then we looked at their small dogs. We even took one or two out to the play yard to see if we had any connection with them. Honestly, though, those tiny buggers were more interested in smelling the last dog's urine than in us, and I shrugged when McKay asked what I thought. I figured the volunteers would know the dogs better than we would after five minutes of looking stupid trying to play fetch, so I asked a girl walking by if she would recommend any of the small dogs.
"I'm not really into small dogs." She said, crinkling her nose. "But if you want a CAT, Sylvester here is a pretty awesome dude. And I don't really like cats, either." While I was wondering why she volunteered at an animal shelter if she apparently hated animals, she led us back to the cat section. Particularly to the beaten-up ginger I'd already decided I did not want. Before I could think of an excuse, she opened Sylvester's cage, and he obligingly jumped out. We stood staring at one another for a minute before the volunteer said, "You should sit down. He'll probably curl right up on your lap." I was skeptical of this, but I crouched down.
Sylvester immediately climbed up on my lap, purring, and commenced kneading my jeans to shreds. I pet him hesitantly, and he lapped up the attention. After a few minutes of this, I thanked the volunteer and said we'd think about it.
I didn't think I would. I did not want that ugly cat, even if he was surprisingly friendly.
I had been praying that we'd find the right animal companion. Maybe that sounds stupid, but if you had lived with Lola for three months, you would understand. Anyway, every time I prayed I couldn't get Sylvester out of my head. But I brushed it away--I did NOT want that cat, we were getting a SMALL DOG, dang it! But Sylvester haunted me.
Two weeks after the Safe Haven visit, I told McKay we were adopting Sylvester. McKay had liked Sylvester (plus he was ON SALE), so he was happy enough to go along with it. It was a stormy night, but I wasn't waiting any more. I knew I wanted Sylvester, and I had a sense of dread that if we waited, he wouldn't be there anymore. So I sent McKay to buy a litter box and cat food, and I went alone to Safe Haven.
"I came to get Sylvester!" I proclaimed as I banged the door open in the midst of a storm (it might have flashed lightning behind me. That would've been dramatic). ". . . If he's still available." I added lamely.
The woman at the desk clasped her hands at her chest and exclaimed, "God bless you!" (that is not a dramatization, that really happened). I then awkwardly took a seat while she finished up another family's paperwork and a volunteer went to get Sylvester.
When the volunteer handed Sylvester to me (in a carrying box, so it could have been any cat in there, really), she said solemnly, "You will not be forgotten for this."
"Oh! Um, okay." I said. Apparently, I was a freaking HERO for adopting this cat. All in a day's work.
After nearly crashing about a thousand times on the way home because I don't drive well at night/in storms (and getting lost for a half hour), I finally made it back to our duplex. I opened Sylvester's carrying case and stepped back, prepared to give him space, though my tendency is to smother. Sylvester looked around him briefly, then stared up at me. So I sat next to him on the couch, and he curled up on my lap.
He's hardly left it since.
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| We love you, buddy. Happy one year anniversary. |
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Fighting Depression with a Few of My Favorite Things
The other day, I read this story of depression, which is probably the funniest thing I have ever read in my life. Usually the two do not go hand in hand, but that is the beauty of Hyperbole and a Half and those simple, often disturbing, yet adorable pictures (strong language warning). Despite the fact that it is SUPPOSED to be funny, I think I'm still getting some bad karma from my depression-giddiness, and I'm paying for it today with another of those nothing-except-everything-is-wrong kind of days where I cry intermittently. Maybe it's the fact that my family hates me. Or maybe it's because I realized today that I'm 30 and a half weeks pregnant, and I'm terrified out of my freaking mind. Or the fact that none of the OTHER million and a half pregnant people I know seem to be freaking out, so I'm not sure if everyone is lying when they talk about how over-the-flippin-moon-excited they are or if I'm just a mutant. Probably the latter. Or maybe it was that I prepared a lesson for CTR 4s, only to realize about five minutes before the lesson that it was actually my co-teacher's turn, making me look about as put-together as I felt. Or maybe it's that McKay told me today that he was going to invite people over for dinner sometime, and I hate/fear people coming over. Or maybe it's the fact that I hate people coming over because I'm incredibly socially awkward. Or, heck, maybe it's because Jupiter is in full alignment with Mars, or whatever the crap is actually happening with astrology right now. Whatever the reason (or lack of reason), I'm not feeling too hot.
So, I'm combining this initially-depressing post with another happier post I started a while back but never finished. It's just a small list of random things that always make me happy without fail. Everyone needs a happy place, and these things help me get there. And today I needed some reminding.
#1 My wedding ring.
Every time I look at my ring it makes me giddy, particularly if it's just been cleaned and it's all sparkly and what-not. I've received lots of compliments on it, as well as some worried looks from people who think the large aquamarine is actually a diamond, which makes me laugh. This ring makes me feel like I did when I was seven and would put on dress-ups and a plastic tiara and suddenly I was the most beautiful princess-fairy-mermaid-whatever in all the land.
#2 Sylvester.
How can you not love a living, breathing fur rug? He makes me laugh even when he's doing nothing at all. Which may just be an indication that I'm insane.
#3 A Very Potter Musical (I promise I made this list months ago, I'm not trying to guilt-trip my family further). Cara sent me the link to this around midnight two years ago, and I stayed up til four AM watching it. On a SCHOOL night. So, yeah. It's pretty rad. Darren Criss is pretty much the only reason I watch Glee anymore, and he makes one freaking awesome Harry Potter. Seriously, when I think "Harry Potter", Daniel Radcliffe is not what pops into mind--it's Darren Criss. (WARNING: this show would be rated PG-13 if in theaters)
Also, am I the only one on some excruciating pins and needles waiting for POTTERMORE OPEN REGISTRATION??!
#4 Seasonal candy/goods. I'm working my way through a bag of candy corn as we speak (I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in the world who eats candy corn, but it brings back happy memories of Halloween at my parents'). Also love Cadburry Mini Eggs, Girl's Scout cookies (they're only sold at one time of the year, so they count), candy canes, and those Reece's that are shaped like eggs, pumpkins, or Christmas trees, depending on the season. I swear, they taste better when they're shaped like something generically seasonal. Also, one of my favorite parts of Christmas growing up was all the delicious goodies my mom made constantly. Homemade caramels, Hersheys kisses on top of sugar cookies (can't remember the official name of it), sugar cookies shaped like reindeer and Santa that we'd get to help ice. Good times. Good, delicious times.
It's a short list, but this post is getting far too long as it is, and I probably lost you guys at the Hyperbole and a Half link (it IS pretty hard to tear yourself away once you're introduced, I know), so I'm-a stop now (Oh, and just a note, McKay should definitely be on this list, but I figured that goes without saying. Except that I'm saying it now. Suck).
Anyway, what does YOUR happy place consist of?
So, I'm combining this initially-depressing post with another happier post I started a while back but never finished. It's just a small list of random things that always make me happy without fail. Everyone needs a happy place, and these things help me get there. And today I needed some reminding.
#1 My wedding ring.
#2 Sylvester.
#3 A Very Potter Musical (I promise I made this list months ago, I'm not trying to guilt-trip my family further). Cara sent me the link to this around midnight two years ago, and I stayed up til four AM watching it. On a SCHOOL night. So, yeah. It's pretty rad. Darren Criss is pretty much the only reason I watch Glee anymore, and he makes one freaking awesome Harry Potter. Seriously, when I think "Harry Potter", Daniel Radcliffe is not what pops into mind--it's Darren Criss. (WARNING: this show would be rated PG-13 if in theaters)
#4 Seasonal candy/goods. I'm working my way through a bag of candy corn as we speak (I'm pretty sure I'm the only person in the world who eats candy corn, but it brings back happy memories of Halloween at my parents'). Also love Cadburry Mini Eggs, Girl's Scout cookies (they're only sold at one time of the year, so they count), candy canes, and those Reece's that are shaped like eggs, pumpkins, or Christmas trees, depending on the season. I swear, they taste better when they're shaped like something generically seasonal. Also, one of my favorite parts of Christmas growing up was all the delicious goodies my mom made constantly. Homemade caramels, Hersheys kisses on top of sugar cookies (can't remember the official name of it), sugar cookies shaped like reindeer and Santa that we'd get to help ice. Good times. Good, delicious times.
It's a short list, but this post is getting far too long as it is, and I probably lost you guys at the Hyperbole and a Half link (it IS pretty hard to tear yourself away once you're introduced, I know), so I'm-a stop now (Oh, and just a note, McKay should definitely be on this list, but I figured that goes without saying. Except that I'm saying it now. Suck).
Anyway, what does YOUR happy place consist of?
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Restless
Today I feel like going out and DOING something, you know? Unfortunately, the things I most feel like doing are 1.) Going to Disneyland 2.) Going to IKEA in Portland and buying everything in the baby department (and then some) and 3.) Decorating a Christmas tree. Sadly, I am too far away for Disneyland, too poor for even IKEA's cheapy goodness, and in the wrong season for a Christmas tree. I think it was the sudden change in seasons that got to me.
Anyway, it's a restless kind of day with no appealing outlet. Most likely it will be spent on the internet, trying desperately to find a cheap craft, and putting off doing the dishes (not having a dishwasher is really starting to get to me. It's been a month and a half.)
I really have no way to wrap this up (other than to beg you, GIVE ME SOME IDEAS SO I DON'T DRIVE MYSELF CRAZY!), so here's a picture of a game night--fun for the whole family! By the way, trivial pursuit has shown that McKay knows nothing of pop culture, my geography skills are somewhere in the negatives, and we BOTH suck at sports trivia.
Anyway, it's a restless kind of day with no appealing outlet. Most likely it will be spent on the internet, trying desperately to find a cheap craft, and putting off doing the dishes (not having a dishwasher is really starting to get to me. It's been a month and a half.)
I really have no way to wrap this up (other than to beg you, GIVE ME SOME IDEAS SO I DON'T DRIVE MYSELF CRAZY!), so here's a picture of a game night--fun for the whole family! By the way, trivial pursuit has shown that McKay knows nothing of pop culture, my geography skills are somewhere in the negatives, and we BOTH suck at sports trivia.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Reason #8732 That I Love McKay
McKay spent his three-day weekend on a new project:
Sadly, this is as far as Sylvester got on this adventure. He remained frozen in that one position for about ten minutes before we finally got tired of laughing at him and took him back inside.
Later today I noticed he had licked off all the hair off the inside of his two back legs. Again. Meaning my husband's awesome project may lead to Sylvester's return to kitty Prozac.
Man, I love my husband. Even if he unwittingly causes feline drug dependencies.
Later today I noticed he had licked off all the hair off the inside of his two back legs. Again. Meaning my husband's awesome project may lead to Sylvester's return to kitty Prozac.
Man, I love my husband. Even if he unwittingly causes feline drug dependencies.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Dreams
I remember hearing about how crazy dreams got when you're preggo and being terrified. My dreams were insane enough pre-pregnancy, and I wasn't keen on the idea of making them weirder/more vivid. It turns out, I was right to be afraid.
I think the worst part is the vividness. With my current pregnant brain (which can't remember words I've known since grade school--yesterday I sat for ten minutes trying to remember the phrase "open hours"), the mix of vivid dreams is particularly unpleasant because they don't feel like dreams, they feel like memories. This becomes extremely confusing when I have non-weird dreams, because I think the commonplace things I did in my dreams actually took place. I've dug in my purse for tic tacs that had never been purchased, worried about events coming up that don't exist, and have been extremely vexed to find that I had NOT already gone grocery shopping like I thought.
The worst, though, is the nightmares. I cried just mentioning one to McKay, and could only tell him the gist because it upset me too much. Of course, it involves my cat. In the dream, I had accidentally left the front door open a crack, and Sylvester snuck out, like the devil child he is. I noticed the open door while walking up to the house, and looked around and immediately spotted a ragged fox sitting on a wall. A piece of Sylvester's tail was dangling out of its mouth. I couldn't even scream, I ran over, peered over the fence, and saw Sylvester lying on the ground, eyes open and searching, though obviously in a bad state. I'm not sure which was the most crushing part--the fact that my favorite animal was the culprit, the fact that it was my fault, or the realization that, though Sylvester was alive, there was no way we could afford to have him operated on, and the kindest thing we could do in that situation would be to put him to sleep. I honestly was more upset by this dream than the one where McKay was cheating on me. Though that's probably because that fear was more easily put to rest for me when I woke.
Anyway, now I'm upset again. Probably because Sylvester knocked through a window screen last night and briefly escaped into the neighbor's yard last night--the neighbor with an extremely large and protective dog. Luckily, the dog was inside and Sylvester was too shocked by his sudden freedom to do anything but crouch under a nearby lounge chair, but still. I was freaked. To cheer myself up, I will now post "Sylvester Sleeping in Random Things".
Now all is well again.
P.S. Sorry this post is kind of weird/heavy on the crazy cat lady-ness, I just woke up from a nap, and I'm still trying to figure out if anything important involving Poptarts has happened recently, if my parent's house is magic like in Howl's Moving Castle and is simultaneously situated in America, England, and France, and if my cousin really just got engaged. I'll figure it all out eventually.
I think the worst part is the vividness. With my current pregnant brain (which can't remember words I've known since grade school--yesterday I sat for ten minutes trying to remember the phrase "open hours"), the mix of vivid dreams is particularly unpleasant because they don't feel like dreams, they feel like memories. This becomes extremely confusing when I have non-weird dreams, because I think the commonplace things I did in my dreams actually took place. I've dug in my purse for tic tacs that had never been purchased, worried about events coming up that don't exist, and have been extremely vexed to find that I had NOT already gone grocery shopping like I thought.
The worst, though, is the nightmares. I cried just mentioning one to McKay, and could only tell him the gist because it upset me too much. Of course, it involves my cat. In the dream, I had accidentally left the front door open a crack, and Sylvester snuck out, like the devil child he is. I noticed the open door while walking up to the house, and looked around and immediately spotted a ragged fox sitting on a wall. A piece of Sylvester's tail was dangling out of its mouth. I couldn't even scream, I ran over, peered over the fence, and saw Sylvester lying on the ground, eyes open and searching, though obviously in a bad state. I'm not sure which was the most crushing part--the fact that my favorite animal was the culprit, the fact that it was my fault, or the realization that, though Sylvester was alive, there was no way we could afford to have him operated on, and the kindest thing we could do in that situation would be to put him to sleep. I honestly was more upset by this dream than the one where McKay was cheating on me. Though that's probably because that fear was more easily put to rest for me when I woke.
Anyway, now I'm upset again. Probably because Sylvester knocked through a window screen last night and briefly escaped into the neighbor's yard last night--the neighbor with an extremely large and protective dog. Luckily, the dog was inside and Sylvester was too shocked by his sudden freedom to do anything but crouch under a nearby lounge chair, but still. I was freaked. To cheer myself up, I will now post "Sylvester Sleeping in Random Things".
P.S. Sorry this post is kind of weird/heavy on the crazy cat lady-ness, I just woke up from a nap, and I'm still trying to figure out if anything important involving Poptarts has happened recently, if my parent's house is magic like in Howl's Moving Castle and is simultaneously situated in America, England, and France, and if my cousin really just got engaged. I'll figure it all out eventually.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
McKay's Birthday!
The reason McKay is giving me this look is because he just blew this candle out. Though, honestly, he had no reason to be upset, as he bought those trick candles for MY birthday, but never got the chance to use them because we didn't have cake. I still think this look of mistrust is adorable, though. (And the reason there are boxes everywhere in the background of all these photos is because we were still in the middle of unpacking)
I love you, my McKay!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Cats Make the Ickiness Go Away
I have seen more spiders than I can even begin to count in the last 24 hours (I'm sure it's because they want to say goodbye while I'm packing and NOT because they want to kill me and lay eggs in my eyeballs), so this morning I needed some time to rejuvenate before I got back in the groove of screaming so loud that my neighbors suspect I've been hacked into pieces. This video has helped more than I can express.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Real Cats Wear Pink
I know, I know, I've been terrible. A whole MONTH?? How did I let that happen? But, I promise, I'm getting back in the groove of things, and I'll try to whip up some more to share with you real soon.
This is another one inspired from my cat (I sound really obsessed, don't I?). Have you ever watched a cat lick its legs clean? It's amazing, they have the best flexibility EVER. Anyway, I often make the comment that Sylvester should take up a new hobby.
This is another one inspired from my cat (I sound really obsessed, don't I?). Have you ever watched a cat lick its legs clean? It's amazing, they have the best flexibility EVER. Anyway, I often make the comment that Sylvester should take up a new hobby.
The ballet instructor made Janelle do one hundred plies. Discipline is everything, but unfortunately . . . they were cats.
I tried a new stitching style for this one, but I'm not sure I'm too keen on it. It took a lot longer, and I think it looks a little less "clean". Any opinions?
Monday, May 23, 2011
Strange Things Are Happenin'
Ain't no doubt about it.
Over the past week, this has become Sylvester's new favorite cuddle spot at night. McKay doesn't allow Sylvester to sleep on his stomach, so Sylvester had to find a new way to show his devotion to his hero. He was also flicking his tail in McKay's face in a way that is reminiscent of a slinky dancing girl with a feather boa.
I'm a little worried about Sylvester's designs on my husband.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Sylvester's Revenge
McKay and I never bother to completely shut doors anymore. Nothing drives Sylvester more insane than a closed door. Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to GET IN THAT ROOM, and if you're slow-witted enough not to follow his every whim, he scratches at the door and meows (and his is not an attractive meow) until McKay hisses at him, or we just open the door. This includes our bedroom at night. We used to go long nights being woken up by Sylvester's NEED to be close to us and McKay's resistance to having our pet sleep in our bed, until I finally put my foot down and said Sylvester could do whatever he dang well pleased because I love sleep too much. So now he spends most nights curled up peacefully at the foot of the bed.
Until recently, that is. Lately he likes to go into the living room, meow his nails-on-the-chalkboard-meow for no apparent reason until we wake up and I walk out and say, "Sylvester, what are you doing?". Then he runs up to me like we've been separated for years, is reassured by pets for a few minutes, then sleeps next to me. Until I turn over (which happens a lot, as I'm not a peaceful sleeper), then he repeats the whole process.
He did this THREE NIGHTS IN A ROW, and I was getting ticked, so I decided we would not let him sleep after 5:00 PM until bedtime so he would sleep the night through. This was a lot of work, if you know how much cats sleep. But it was worth it, he slept the whole night and I got some much needed rest. So I repeated the process yesterday.
Guess I should've known that trick wouldn't work too long.
Out of pure spite I'm sure, Sylvester got up four times more than usual last night, and by the tenth time, it was 4 in the morning and I could not go back to sleep. I lay there praying that I could drift off again until God finally had pity on me sometime around 7. Needless to say (at least for me), I did not make my 9:30 class.
Today I'm letting him do whatever the heck he wants and stealing a pair of McKay's earplugs (which he buys in bulk for car trips because I can't stand not having music and he gets headaches. Though probably he just really hates my music).
Sylvester: 2. Us: 0
Anyone else have a pet they have to cater to?
Until recently, that is. Lately he likes to go into the living room, meow his nails-on-the-chalkboard-meow for no apparent reason until we wake up and I walk out and say, "Sylvester, what are you doing?". Then he runs up to me like we've been separated for years, is reassured by pets for a few minutes, then sleeps next to me. Until I turn over (which happens a lot, as I'm not a peaceful sleeper), then he repeats the whole process.
He did this THREE NIGHTS IN A ROW, and I was getting ticked, so I decided we would not let him sleep after 5:00 PM until bedtime so he would sleep the night through. This was a lot of work, if you know how much cats sleep. But it was worth it, he slept the whole night and I got some much needed rest. So I repeated the process yesterday.
Guess I should've known that trick wouldn't work too long.
Out of pure spite I'm sure, Sylvester got up four times more than usual last night, and by the tenth time, it was 4 in the morning and I could not go back to sleep. I lay there praying that I could drift off again until God finally had pity on me sometime around 7. Needless to say (at least for me), I did not make my 9:30 class.
Today I'm letting him do whatever the heck he wants and stealing a pair of McKay's earplugs (which he buys in bulk for car trips because I can't stand not having music and he gets headaches. Though probably he just really hates my music).
Sylvester: 2. Us: 0
Anyone else have a pet they have to cater to?
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Easter or Diabetes Day
For our first (married) Easter together, I wanted to give McKay the experience I had growing up. I spent more money on chocolate and plastic eggs than I did on groceries this week, and hid them all over the house.
Yeah, we're pretty cute.
If you can't tell, he is handing me two jelly beans.
Sylvester also likes hunting eggs, but he's more into intimidation. He shows those eggs whose BOSS around here. (sorry it's sideways, it goes right side up at the end)
Yeah, we're pretty cute.
McKay had a fun time looking in places I hadn't even thought of, and I was gleeful every time I stumped him.
Sylvester stood in as the traditional Easter Cat in Bag.
When it was all said and done, and McKay was surrounded by enough loot to ensure we both inevitably get diabetes, he looked up at me. "This is all for me." he said, like a wondrous six year old. "And here's your share."
Sylvester also likes hunting eggs, but he's more into intimidation. He shows those eggs whose BOSS around here. (sorry it's sideways, it goes right side up at the end)
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Things My New Project Could Be Used For
Yes, it could be pretty much anything. . .
. . . Jank monkey.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Because I Am a Crazy Cat Lady
If you have a cat, you know that slavery is alive and well. And you are the slave. At least, to them. I know for a fact that my sweet Sylvester privately thinks of himself as an aristocratic millionaire, and McKay and I exist to serve him on bended knee.
So, I give you: Sylvester as he sees himself.
So, I give you: Sylvester as he sees himself.
You gotta love a monocle/mustache combo.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sylvester
My favorite part about coming home is always Sylvester. He cuddles us and follows us around until he collapses from exhaustion because he misses the constant attention while we're away. It's funny, I always said I would be a crazy cat lady if I didn't get married. I think it happened anyway. I have proof in the form of the zillion photos I have of Sylvester.
Sylvester cuddling me for once because I've been gone. I made McKay take a picture because I was so excited (as soon as McKay sat down, however, Sylvester upgraded to his lap. Hmph.) Here's some more photos from the Sylvester Gallery.
Sylvester has a love/hate relationship with pens and pencils. It makes it very difficult when trying to write anything by hand.
In my defense, Sylvester is pretty much the most patient, adorable, sweet, amazing creature to ever walk the earth. Besides McKay.
Please don't get me committed.
My two favorite men.
Please don't get me committed.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Day 29: What I Live For
Like Hank Scorpio, the evil/best boss ever on The Simpsons, I think it's the little things that make up life. Here's a list of some examples of little things that I live for:
- After our shows, we go out to greet the children. One of the little girls yesterday gasped when she saw me and said, "GOLDY!" She ran up and gave me a hug and her teacher took a picture of us together.
- I was wiped out last night and McKay carried me to bed (I made it to 9:00) and cuddled me while we read Far Side cartoons together.
- I know that, any day now, Cadburry Mini Eggs will be stocked.
- Every time Kyle, who plays Hansel/Baby Bear, gets his Baby Bear fat suit on, we chest bump. It's soft.
- When Sylvester gets needy (which is 90% of the time) and follows me around the apartment, jumping into my lap anytime I sit for 20 seconds.
- Baking a truly excellent batch of brownies.
- Discovering an excellent new book/play/movie/show.
- Getting a stroke of genius while doodling for my felt-stitch thingies.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Happy Birthday, Brookie!
For my best friend Brooke's birthday, I decided to whip her up a little something. I will also explain the ultra-complicated way in which I make these.
First, I start out in my work area on the couch. It's very official.
Sylvester likes to help me.
Then, I look through that pink book he's lying on that is full of doodles. If one catches my eye, I go from there.
Obviously, I'm not going to be an illustrator anytime soon. For some reason cutting shapes out of felt is easier for me.
I then cut the pieces out free-hand. I don't use any patterns because that makes me mess up more for some reason. Then I arrange them about where I want them to go, decide what works and what needs to go. I sew it all bottom layer on up, and voila!
First, I start out in my work area on the couch. It's very official.
Sylvester likes to help me.
Then, I look through that pink book he's lying on that is full of doodles. If one catches my eye, I go from there.
Obviously, I'm not going to be an illustrator anytime soon. For some reason cutting shapes out of felt is easier for me.
I then cut the pieces out free-hand. I don't use any patterns because that makes me mess up more for some reason. Then I arrange them about where I want them to go, decide what works and what needs to go. I sew it all bottom layer on up, and voila!
"Bobby Bibby's Blowing Bubbles"
That title comes from a tongue-twister we have to do every day in rehearsals, and I think it inspired this piece. Anyway. . .
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BROOKIE!
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