Dear Snow: What. dafuq. already.

Saturday, I went for a walk.  We had had a warm (HA!  Mid-forties. WARM. Sh*t.) few days, so I figured that most of the snow would be off the trails.

Yeah.

My boots were so wet I was sloshing by the time I got back to the car.  Good times.

But!  Saturday night was the trivia fundraiser, and that WAS fun.  One lucky member of our group won the best prize of the night, hands down:

Screw the cash, give us the booze.

After the first round, we were in third.  After the second round, we were in eighth (out of twenty teams) with no statistical chance of winning, so we bet it all and lost on a stupid, STUPID question about playing cards.

Sunday I took Sodapop to the vet for his annual checkup, and I really timed this whole cat-vet thing wrong, because having THREE cats who are ALL due for their annual vaccinations at the SAME time of year is a massive pain in the a**. 

And then I made sausage with peppers and onions for dinner and now my whole house reeks of onions, and tell me, is this an aging thing?  This whole sensitivity-to-smells thing?  Because I don't LIKE it.

And then?  And then?  Just for a change of pace?  It SNOWED.

You're shocked, I know.  Tell me that it's nice and warm where you are.  Please?

Gowanus

Okay, so, let's go back to the Johnson Museum.  Heh.

Here's a painting named Gowanus, after the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn.  I dunno - if I was Brooklyn I'd be kind of pissed.  Can you spot the cat?

Here's a close-up:

Here - have a statue:

This is a carved oil lamp:

I always wonder how they had the time to make stuff like this, in between trying to find food and avoid plagues and fight their enemies and stuff.  I guess they had people who were assigned to create the art?  Pretty sweet job.  Unless you, like, pissed off your benefactor and got beheaded or something.  "That sculpture looks NOTHING like my concubine!  Off with your head!"

 In one room of the museum, there was an interactive exhibit where you held clear plates over openings of light to watch movies about endangered species.  And there was another exhibit where they were showing a short film about sulfur miners in ... Peru, I think.  These dudes would go down INTO a volcano to scrape the sulfur off the walls. 

Part of the museum was closed off for construction, so I'll have to head back in a couple of months to see what I missed.

And the soft-serve stands along the route ought to be open by then.  That'll justify a trip, right there.

I broke up with my insurance agent, and it kind of sucked, but not really

While we're on the subject of all things automotive, my car insurance policy was coming up for renewal at the end of the month.  It had been a couple of years since I comparison-shopped, so I called the agency that handles my work's insurance, and asked them to quote me on auto/homeowner's.

Lo and behold, they could save me a hundred bucks a year.

Hmmmmf, I thought.  Is it really worth the hassle of switching over for a lousy hundred bucks?

HELL YEAH.

And you know, I probably wouldn't have, even so, except, well, the last time I had to deal with my current insurance agent, his office f*cked up a very simple transaction involving a vehicle identification number. 

And I still had lingering resentment from back in 09, when I bought the house, and found out that the flood insurance was going to be astroNOMical, except then I started doing some research into flood vents and elevation certificates and blahblahblah, and when I called the agent, instead of being all, "Let me get right on that for you!," he was all, "Well, go ahead and look into that, and let me know what you find out."  As in, "Do my job FOR me, little girl." 

And THEN, after I DID all the research and the work and got my flood rate cut in HALF, he was all, "Wow!  Next time I have a client with a similar situation, I'm gonna use all your research!"

Yeah.

So a couple of weeks ago, I went ahead and signed up with the new agency, who thankfully offered to send my current agent a "Dear John" letter.  Whew!  No nasty break-up call necessary!

And then, I got home from work last night, and there was a message on my voicemail from the old agent.  A LONG message.  A reaaaaalllllly long message.  And I swear, the dude sounded almost tearful.  And he's all, "You know, you were with us for almost twenty years!  Wow!  That's a long time!" and "I'm sorry that my agency was no longer to meet your needs."  and "If you need anything, anything at all, please give me a call, any time ..."

And all I could think was, "Where were you when I was researching FLOOD VENTS, motherf*cker.?"

So yeah.  It was kind of hard.  But not really.  And hopefully, the next time his office has to enter someone's VIN  into a computer, they'll manage to input all 17 digits.

Christ.

Where the hell do they have to send it to - Korea?!

So, I bought my little Hyundai Elantra back in October, and it's been a fine car, except for one annoying thing:  The odometer display would fade out as I was driving.

It would start out nice and bright, and then start to dim, and after about a half an hour, I had no display at all.  Not really a problem, unless you need to know, oh, how FAR it is to someplace, and then you're SOL.

Because the car is still under warranty (thank GOD), I took it to the dealership this morning to have the problem looked at.

Well, it's the speedometer cluster, whatever that is.  They'll have to replace it.  They have the part right there on the shelf!

But.

There's always a "but", isn't there.

Because the odometer is involved, the new part has to be calibrated to the old part.  And they can't do that at the dealership.  Both the new part and the old part have to go ... someplace, where the new one will be calibrated to the old one, and then the new one will be shipped back to the dealership.

In two-and-a-half to three WEEKS.

Dudes. Duuuuuuudes.  What the F*CK?!

The dealership dude talked me down off the ledge.  It's under warranty!  They will give me a loaner, free of charge, to use while my car parts are in Korea!  All is well!

Except.

There's always an "except", isn't there.

They don't have any long-term loaners available right now.  They won't, until probably ... APRIL.

Repeat:  What the F*CK?!

But!  The dealership dude reminded me that, well, April is really only a week away, and why don't we set up a date when you can bring the car back in then, and in the meantime it's a good thing you brought it in today, because it just happens to need an alignment and some brake work and ...

*sigh*

If it ain't one thing, it's another.  Holy cow.

I'll have you know that it's the HERBERT F. Johnson Museum. Sheesh.

I trekked up to Ithaca Saturday - I was jonesing for a visit to the Johnson Museum (heh).

Some of the classical exhibits were under renovation, so I hit up some of the newer stuff.

Ummmm ... okay?  That thing hanging in the middle there is supposed to represent the Everglades, all burnt out.  Got it. 

This next painting was actually created in the 1800s (if I remember correctly), but it's pretty creepy all the same:

No, I wasn't drunk.  I have no idea why half these shots are so skewed.  It's probably because even though photography is allowed in most of the museum, I always get nervous that a guard is going to come yell at me, so I try to be quick with the pics.

Of course, I had to go up to the fifth floor for the view.

Can you spot the student tour group in this next pic?  Ah, to be young and smart and have parents who can afford to send you to Cornell:

Finally, this one has to go in the "But is it art?" category:

It's the trunk and roots of a giant tree.  The artist made his student interns spend months cleaning all the dirt and crap out of it, then he shellacked the whole thing - voila! - and probably sold it to the museum for a boatload of bucks.  Smart guy.

I've gotta figure out how to get in on that action.

We just got back from the vet ...

... and Ponyboy would like you to know that he is exHAUSted.

(Don't worry - he's fine.  Just routine vaccinations and a re-check on the pinkeye.  It takes a lot out of him, poor boy.)

Ballpark Geese

I know it's Spring when the geese are back on the ballfield next door.

I like to think it's the same pair each year.  As soon as the ice on the creek breaks up, the first two come.  Soon they'll be joined by others, and then my cats will start indulging in wild goose chases, and then Little League will start up and the geese will move on, closer to the river.

But for now, they're here.  Spring has sprung.  Halle-freakin'-lujah.

A little help, here

I'm getting together with some people from some other local rescues to enter another rescue's bar trivia night contest.  Any ideas for a group name?

The best we've come up with so far is Altered All Stars.  Got anything better?

The Onion's behind this, right? It's gotta be The Onion

So, after The Voice last night, I'm reading a book, with the TV still on, when an ad for a trade school comes on.

And I'm really, really not paying attention, except I kept hearing "UTI!" "UTI!" 

Okay, they got me.  I looked up to watch the ad.  and found that there's a trade school called UTI.  No, I'm not kidding.

I ... I don't know what to say.  Except .... HAAAAAAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA

"UTI gives real-world, hands-on training."

"The best brands in the industry partner with UTI."

"UTI grads get jobs in their field of study."



FINALLY.  A laughable UTI.

It ain't what you know ...

Okay, so,  I'm watching The Voice tonight, and two things strike me about this competition.

a.  Already, this early on, some really talented singers are getting eliminated.  Unlike on American Idol, where most of the season is spent weeding out the chaff,  The Voice has an advantage , talent-wise, because the show allows in the pros.

b.  It really is "who you know".  Why some of these contestants, who are spectacularly talented, toil in the shadows while auto-tuned dipsh*ts like Miley Cyrus rake in the bucks, is proof that the world is not fair.

Gotta go - They're about to do "Cold as Ice", which is evoking MASSIVE teenage memories.  (you know that you are ... cold ... as ... ice... AS COLD AS ICE TO MEEEEEEEEEE)

Courtesy of Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal (smbc-comics.com)

Too funny not to share. 

Survey SAYS ...

Okay, first off, scroll down to the leggings post so you have some idea what I'm talking about.



Now!  Here is something that never even occurred to me until this afternoon:  Am I too old for leggings?

Here's why I ask.  I had some errands to run for work this afternoon, errands that took me downtown.  Me and my leggings.  Me and my legggggggings, strolling down the avenue ...

Okay, THAT little reference just dated me, didn't it?

So!  I'm downtown.  First off, a young woman yells across the street to me, "I love your outfit!"

Was I pleased?  Why yes, yes I was.  Validation!

But then, I had to go into a meeting with my company's insurance broker, who said, "My daughter would love those leggings!"

Um ... this insurance broker is a woman of approximately my age.  While the comment didn't seem snarky, did it imply that there is some unwritten fashion rule of which I am in violation, wearing leggings after fifty?  Like, they would be fine for her daughter, but not for ancient me?

I mean, frankly,  I don't really care.  I loooove those leggings.  I don't care if it's forbidden, I'm going to keep wearing them.  (UNDER skirts. or dresses.)  I may even ... gasp ... go buy more.  And it's not like I'm going to start wearing Hello Kitty pants or something.

But if I'm violating some Fashion Law, here, I'd appreciate it if someone would fill me in.

And!  After that last post and the comments, I've done some thinking, and I think that leggings pass muster if they are worn UNDER something that covers up (a) your butt, and (b) your ... frontal area. ( I mean, OBVIOUSLY I'm going to be covering up much MORE than that, but I can safely say that butt/front is a minimum for appropriate coverage.  In The World According To Me.)

Oh, but wait ... I just saw a pic on line of a girl wearing leggings under short-shorts.

NONONONONONO

I'm never gonna understand leggings, am I?

Leggings are not PANTS

I wear tights to work pretty much all winter long, in an effort to keep from freezing to death.  I work with men, whom I am convinced would b*tch about it being too hot if we were all working in an igloo.  Thus?  I bundle up.

I've never worn leggings, though.  I actually kind of have a thing against leggings, because of all the women I see out and about wearing them in lieu of pants.

LEGGINGS ARE NOT AN ACCEPTABLE SUBSTITUTE FOR PANTS.

I saw a lot, a LOT of this when I volunteered at Petsmart - Women strolling in with a winter parka, ugg boots and leggings.

NO.

Leggings are supposed to go UNDER something, like a dress or a damn SKIRT.  UNDER.  Not INSTEAD OF.

Wow.  Can you tell I feel strongly about this?

So no.  No leggings for me.

And then.  I was in the Coat Factory the other day, and I saw a rack of leggings.

Pretty leggings.  Leggings with floral patterns, and oh, they were cuuuuuuuute.

Yes.  I succumbed.  I succumbed to the Call of the Leggings.

But!  Please see that I am wearing them WITH a skirt.  The way God intended.  (And no, that skirt is not anywhere NEAR as short as it appears in that pic.  It was the photo angle that makes it look like I'm wearing a miniskirt.  I am not.)

And rest assured, I will never, ever wear leggings INSTEAD of a skirt. or a dress. or pants.

'Cause that sh*t just ain't right.

Maybe it's just me, but ...

... any time I see an article about Neil Young's new music system, PonoMusic, I read it wrong, and think, "PornoMusic?  Why on earth did he name it PornoMusic?"

Bow chicka wow wow, baby.

Similarly, I kept hearing ads for something called "Salonpas" on the radio, and assumed it was some kind of mani/pedi treatment for pets - Salon PAWS.  Durrrrr.

And now that I think about it, I actually have a long history of these kinds of  f*ckups.  I remember when I was a little kid, and learned (God only knows where) the term pubic hair, except I read it as "public hair", and I was actually indignant, all, "Why on earth do they call it PUBLIC hair?  It's anything BUT public!"

Yeah, I am not making these up.  All those years I laughed at the Roseanne Roseannadanna skits on SNL, never realizing that I *was* Roseanne Roseannadanna.

*sigh*

Dearly Departed

Okay, first off, this post is going to refer to the fact that cats, left to their own devices, will hunt and kill small animals.  If you are squicked out or angered by that, feel free to skip this.



Enough of the snow has melted so that I was able to deer-net some of the front gardens last night.  Every year I put it off, and every year, by the time I get around to it, perennials have already come up and been chowed down by the deer.  This year, I vowed, would be different.  This year I was going to net the gardens before stuff started coming up.

First I had to wait for the foot of snow that's been on the damn ground since JANUARY to thaw.  There's still a few inches left, but most of the gardens were clear, and we're supposed to get MORE snow tonight, f*ckyouverymuch, so I had to act fast.

And you know ... I had forgotten about the corpses.

Whenever the cats bring in a mouse or a mole or a bird or whatever that doesn't ... make it, I pick up the remains, take it and/or them out back and down along the brush line, tell it and/or them to Rest in Pieces, and give it and/or them a little fling into the brush.  Not as festive as it sounds, really, but somehow I can't quite bring myself to put bodies in the trash with the coffee grounds and the pizza crusts, and it would be impossible to dig a damn grave if I wanted to, this time of year.  Yeah, I could store the bodies in the shed until the weather warms up, but ... no.  Not even I'm that damn crazy.  I don't want to make the local news broadcast.  "Woman found with nine million corpses in shed" ... NO.  And then, come spring, I'd need a frickin' excavator to dig a big enough hole, so no.

But!  Sometimes, when it's brutal cold and dark out and there is no way in HELL I'm going out in my PJs with a flashlight to the brush line, I just ... open up the front door and do the fling.  Into the front gardens.

And by the time I actually start working in the gardens come spring, everything has decomposed and Circle of Life and Elton John and blahblahblah, so we're all good.

Except ... for this year.  When I decided to up my game and actually net off the gardens before anything could start gnawing on the daylilies.  So I was giving the gardens scrutiny they usually would not get for another month or so.  Add to that an exceptionally cold winter, which is not conducive to decomposition, and ... well ...

That little shoot of red plant I excitedly saw poking up?  Was, in fact, a cardinal's beak.  Attached to its head.  But that was it.  Just ... the head.

A few feet away?  A mouse.  Or, you know, what remains of a mouse after the spirit has departed but the flesh has been left behind.  Weathering, so to speak.

You guys, my front gardens are like something out of a Stephen King novel right now.  I laid out the netting as fast as possible and beat feet out of there.  Thank goodness for that fresh layer of snow we're about to get tonight.  Funny how that goes, isn't it?  When I first heard the weather forecast, I was all, "Oh no, NOOOOOOO, no more snoooooowwwwwww,"  and then I made some, um, discoveries, and I'm all, like, "Please snow please snow please snow."

I need something to cover up the remains, after all.

Sunday afternoon, Part II

Yeah, we're just regular balls of fire around here ...

It's a party a minute ...

Hang on, hang on, things are about to get busy around here ...

zzzzzz .... wake us up when The Amazing Race comes on, okay?

Sunday afternoon

Four Have Homes

Another Saturday, another adoption event at Tractor Supply.  Gotta keep those cats movin'!  As has become the custom,  potential adopters were waiting for us when we got there.  It's amazing when the crates of cats come through the doors and people start oohing and aahing and I swear they'd rush the gates if the store had them.  It's like I'm escorting a rock band.  I cannot even  imagine what the upcoming kitten season will be like - we'll probably have to sell tickets or something.

Sammy and Mr. Cuddles (two adult cats who were adopted together!), and Gucci and Angel now have homes.

Yippee!

Th'ufferin' Th'uccotash!

Okay, first off, when I left the house this morning, it was five below.  Tuesday?  Seven below.

Dear Mother Nature:  CUT THE SH*T.  It's March, for Pete's sake.

You know, I consider myself tough, but this weather is going to break me.  I didn't sign up for this.

Oh, and speaking of tough, is anybody else watching that Nat Geo show, "Life Below Zero"?  There's this woman on there, Sue, who lives, like, two hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle.  Alone.  She once lay injured after a grizzly attack for ten days before somebody found her.  She swears like a sailor and drinks scotch and smokes cigars and I'm pretty sure I want to marry her, except then I'd have to move north of the Arctic Circle, so f*ck that sh*t.


Anyway! When I was grocery shopping last weekend, I saw bags of succotash in the frozen veggie section.  The pic on the package showed lima beans and corn.

Really?  I thought.  I'd never actually given succotash much thought, but I thought it was like ... grits?  Or hash browns made of vegetables?

Yeah, I don't get out much.

Anyway, I bought a package of succotash, took it home, opened it up, and

yep.

Lima beans and corn.

Tasty enough, but somehow not as exotic as I'd always pictured it.

If you guys know of any foods that I may have missed and should give a try, please let me know.  I'll consider it my Endless Winter of 2014 Culinary Enlightenment Project.

Butter Update!

Butter, that ungrateful wretch, is currently not happy with life on the Inside.  He is spraying (yes, even neutered cats can still spray), and flinging litter all over the place, and talking angrily non-stop about "let me OUT of here dam it right now!  RIGHT NOW!  There are ladyfriends I need to see!  I want a lawyer!"

Poor Butter.  He doesn't understand that the ladyfriend thing?  Yeah, not so much anymore.

But!  His foster mom, who is displaying much more equanimity and patience than I ever could, says simply, "No worries!"  Bless her.

Needless to say, the rescue will be waiting for Butter to calm down before contacting any of the wait-listers.

Get it together, Butter-boy.  Your audience awaits you.

That's one life-like looking stuffed bird

Except, of course, it wasn't stuffed.

I thought it was, at first.  I do have some fake stuffed birds around the house, the ones you buy at A.C. Moore to decorate wreaths and things with.  And when I got home from Saturday's adoption event, I didn't even notice it.  I took off my coat and my shoes, fed and played with the cats, then sat down in the living room and fired up the laptop, when I noticed that Bindi kept staring up toward the ceiling.  Turning around to see what she was gazing at, I saw the bird, and thought, "Gee, that's really realistic looking."  Then I thought, "I don't remember buying a fake bluejay, though."  THEN I thought, "Oh, sh*t."

(a) I have no idea how one of the cats managed to wrassle a large, live, uninjured blue jay through the pet door.  (b) I knew that butterfly net I bought at the dollar store would come in handy.

The Ballad of Butter

So, I mentioned the other day that I was on Butter Watch at work.

Meet Butter:

Butter is a stray in my office building's neighborhood.  Butter is not fixed, and would come around anytime one of the other local strays came into heat.  For a while it was thought that the crazy cat hoarder lady in the house on the corner owned him, but she denied it.  Butter was a friendly dude, more than willing to come into the office for some petting and cat food.

I tried to get him into rescue care last summer, but the group for whom I was volunteering at the time said "no".  Which is one of the reasons I no longer volunteer for that group. *cough*.  Last fall, a different group told me that they would take him into the fold as long as I was willing to foster him, which I couldn't do at the time because my foster room was full.

Complicating the matter was the fact that Butter would often disappear for months at a time, show up for a day or two, and then disappear again.

Last Monday, Butter started hanging around the office again.  I talked to my vet about making arrangements for an "emergency neuter", so that I could take him in as soon as he showed up, as opposed to trying to make an appointment for days ahead and then hoping he'd show up on the assigned date.  The rescue group for whom I am now volunteering offered to take him into foster care (YAY) as long as he was neutered, and *I* agreed to pony up the money for the neuter, vaccinations, etc.

And then Butter disappeared again.  Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ... no Butter.  Was he off on one of his jaunts?  Would he spend the next couple of months impregnating half the cats on the East side before I could get him vetted?

And then, on Friday ...

I grabbed that cat.  I set him up with a pet bed, fed him, gave him catnip, called the rescue to alert them to clean out a room for him for the weekend, and tried to teach him the rudimentaries of the file system:

(The first two pics were taken last summer.  The bottom pic was taken last Friday.  You can see what a winter on the streets did to that poor cat.)

Butter went into temporary foster care Friday afternoon.  I picked him up this morning and got his wormy, flea-ridden, ear-mite-ridden, scrawny butt to the vet, who pronounced him "adorable".

Providing all goes well at the vet's, Butter will go back into foster care this afternoon.  He will be loved and cared for and petted and belly-rubbed (he LOVES it), until we are able to find him his Home That Is Meant To Be.

And that is the Ballad of Butter.

Six have homes

Well, today was another adoption event for our rescue group at the local Tractor Supply.

Emma Sassy-Pants, Janie, Armani and Bobby Faye are now settling into their new homes!

Evan and Winter will be going to their new homes tomorrow.

Six cats.  Six adult cats.  Six adult cats who, not very long ago, were struggling on the streets.

Hot damn, I love this volunteering stuff.

My neck of the woods

I guess I'm the only one who wasn't amused by that viral video of middle-school kids wiping out on an icy sidewalk.  All I could think was, "Why isn't the guy filming this helping those kids?"

Similarly, there are currently several local Craigslist postings from people seeking to rehome their pets because their kids "play too rough" with them.  Why don't they teach their kids how to be kind to animals?

Churlish.  Churlish is what I'm feeling.  Must be the weather.  Seven below this morning.  Can't I just fast-forward through the next couple of weeks?  I swear, if I had someone to watch the cats, I'd be hopping on a plane and heading South RIGHT NOW.  It's been a few days since the local airports have been closed due to blizzards, so I'd actually have a chance of making it.

Every time I see a pair of shoes in a store ad and think, "OooOOOoooh, cuuuuute!," it turns out they're kids' shoes.  *I* want a pair of Mary Janes with rainbow sequins, dammit.

I am on Butter Watch at work.  I can't say anything more about it right now, but I'll let you know how it turns out.

Foster Bindi is starting to come around.  She is definitely a tortie, in that she can only handle so much attention before she flips out, but her "flip-outs" consist of yelping and running away. I've fostered torties in the past whose "flip-outs" involved teeth and claws, so Bindi is doing fine by me.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss my Jillian workouts.  I really need to get back into that.  And no, it doesn't have anything to do with Butter Watch.

Why is the buffest guy on Survivor on the "Brains" team?  Is he an astronaut or something?  I don't get it.

I'm betting that the daffodils are starting to poke up through the garden soil right now.  I just don't feel like shoveling the snow off to find out.

How about you?  What's going on in your neck of the woods?

TINKS!!

Tinks, Destroyer of Worlds, Shredder of Toilet Paper.  (You can see Bindi slinking out of the room in the lower right corner of the pic above, all, "I didn't see NUTHIN.")

Yes, cabin fever has set in.

Chocolate Raspberry Cake

So, I went to the bakery outlet yesterday to pick up some bagels and walked out with a chocolate raspberry cake.  I don't know why Entenmann's has it in for me.  I actually had a dream last night (I know, I KNOW) that all of my jeans fit really, really tight, which will come true shortly if I don't lay off the cake.

And in other Sunday news, I was lying in bed yesterday morning, looking out the window and contemplating maybe sort of rolling out of bed, when I saw Soda go darting past the bedroom door with something rather ... large ... hanging of his mouth.

Yes, I'm out of bed NOW, Soda, thankyouverymuch.

It was a mole.  A BIG mole, and still very much alive, which was proven when Soda promptly dropped it and it went scurrying off, causing a mad dash as the cats went after the mole and I went after the critter container so I could scoop it up.

(The critter container is just a Cool Whip tub with a piece of cardboard to put on the top.  I keep it in an easy-to-reach spot in the kitchen to deal with the unending number of small animals that my cats insist on bringing in through the pet door.)

So!  I went from lazily dozing to full-on animal control mode in about thirty seconds.  *sigh*  But the mole was captured, and appeared to be in fine spirits, considering, so I took him out back and released him into the brush.

And in other cat news, I was gifted a giant lion statue (by someone who couldn't bear to put it out to the curb.  Yeah, my home is decorated in Early American Curb.).

Cats, meet your new overlord:

I'm thinking that I'll put him out in the garden with Mr. Z. come spring, and then all I'll need is a statue of Marlon Perkins and I can recreate classic Wild Kingdom episodes right in the front yard.

Yeah, my neighbors love me.

Oh, and I have to admit to being a little befuddled by the Amazing Race last night, when one of the contestants had to drop out due to illness, and they pulled another contestant out of thin air to replace him.  I don't know if she was, like, literally waiting in the wings, or if she got a phone call from the producers along the lines of "Get your butt out to L.A. right now and you can be on the show!", but, well ... don't any of these people have jobs?  How are all of these people available to just drop everything and go fly around the world?

I guess I'm just jealous.


Although, I don't know.  I'd only do the show if they skipped all the tightrope-walking and eating-five-pounds-of-haggis stunts, so I don't guess I'll be on there any time soon.

Me and Dad

When I was going through my photos for the memory board for Mom's funeral, I found this Polaroid of me and my Dad, dated July 1969.

Looks like we were both a little fashion-challenged.

The boat to the right is the Wanderer.  It was a big old fiberglass tank that was always full of spiders.  That's the boat we took up the Saint Lawrence Seaway and through the Rideau Canal one summer.   To the left is the Lovely Lady, the boat my Dad bought after he sold the Wanderer (and its spider population).  The Lovely Lady was built before WWII and was all teak and mahogany - a beautiful boat. 

Oh, and now you can see why my nickname was "Bowl Bean" as a kid.

Always, always, always ... and then never again.

I always put collars on my cats.  Because they are indoor/outdoor, I just feel like it's a smart move.  People will see a cat with a collar and know it's not a stray, and they will check a collar for ID.  I buy stretchy, breakaway collars, so that should one of the cats get "hung up", the collar will either stretch enough to pull over their head, or snap apart.  I print my phone number on the collars, so that should they wander, there is an easy way for whoever finds them to contact me.

Until tonight.

Tonight,  I got home from work, and discovered that Pony had somehow gotten "hung up"  on his own collar.  He  had gotten his collar caught in his mouth, so that it was in effect acting like a horse bridle with a too-tight bit.  I don't know how long it had been that way, but at that point I had been away from home for nine hours, and he had drooled and slobbered and at some point vomited and generally worked himself into a panic, trying to get that collar off.

I will tell you right now, this house smelled like cat fear.

As soon as I saw what had happened, I bent down and unsnapped  the collar.  I have no idea why it hadn't come off during his struggles; the elastic portion was still stretching, and the breakaway function was working as designed; it must have been something about the angle of the collar that prevented it from releasing.

That poor cat.

Of course,  all of the other cats were upset, too, from watching  Pony struggle.

Thankfully, Pony is alright.  As soon as I got that got-dam collar off, he started to groom himself.  Then he got himself a big old drink of water, and ate plenty of food, and just in general decompressed.  Everybody decompressed; there's some heavy-duty cat-napping going on right now.

And I will never collar a cat again.  After I made sure that Pony was okay, I took off Soda's collar.  And then Tinks'.  They are microchipped,  so there is still a way to ID them.  I simply can't take the risk of what happened today ever happening again.

Pony, I am so, so sorry for what  happened today.  You and your brudders are nudists now; try not to end up on any sketchy cat-porn websites, okay?

Random

So, I know I talked the other day about being happy despite the cold, but you know what?  I've discovered that it's a whole lot easier to be happy when it's not below zero outside.  When I got up this morning, it was 18 degrees outside, positive eighteen degrees, and I was practically grinning.

Pony had to go to the vet last night for a recheck on his pinkeye, and at this point it's amusing me to call him Bob Costas, although I don't think that he's amused, and I doubt that Bob would be amused if he knew.  The vet says things are looking better, although I have to continue with the pinkeye drops until they run out, which, judging by the amount left in the bottle after the first two weeks of treatment, ought to happen around May or so.  But!  Pony is a trouper, even though he does tend to run and hide when he sees me coming lately, which is not exactly an ego booster, although the two ferals have been running away from me for months, so I really should have a thicker skin by now. 

Olympics!  Is anyone watching them?  I try to get interested, I really do, but it's just ... like ... take ski jumping, for example.  A dude comes down the hill, flies off the ramp, goes really far in the air, and lands.  Then another guy comes down the hill, flies off the ramp, goes really far in the air, and lands.  Then another guy ... you get my point.  Oh, sure, there's the occasional wipeout thrown in, but isn't that like watching NASCAR for the crashes?  I mean, a lot of people do that, too, but it's just not my thing, is all.

I finally got around to watching Les Miserables, the 2012 version, and all I can say is, couldn't they have given poor Jean ValJean a girlfriend?  I mean, the dude never caught a damn break his entire life - did Mr. Hugo really have to make him celibate, too?  It just seems a little much.  And yeah, Anne Hathaway or whatever her name is acted her little heart out, and I actually cried through more of the movie than I would care to admit, which ... I thought musicals were supposed to make you happy.  But!  I enjoyed it, and I'll probably watch it again to catch the stuff I missed, because two-and-a-half hours of anything is hard for me to pay attention through, so I'll hang onto the Netflix for a while.

I got in a rather heated argument with a co-worker the other day, which, all I can say is, the entitled little sh*t had it coming, but still, the f-bomb was probably not my wisest choice of words, although my boss did everything short of shake my hand afterward, so I think my job is secure.

And!  My boss, who is a conservative white old man, has been taken great pleasure in telling the employees that thanks to Obamacare (spoken with a sneer), we would have to start reporting our employer-paid insurance premiums as taxable income, so it I was glad to be able to find the time to do a little actual, you know, research the other day and prove him wrong.  Stop listening to your conservative white old man friends, Mr. Bossman.  They don't know jack.

So!  That's what I've been doing.  How about you?

Oh, and I forgot to tell you ... Pony has pinkeye

Yeah.  I didn't even know cats could  get pinkeye, but there ya go.

And it's contagious, and I currently have FOUR other cats in the house, two of whom are feral and therefore not treatable should the need arise.  

And poor Pony (we're all about the alliteration around here) is now on two different kinds of eyedrops - the pinkeye drops, and the drops he was already on for the lingering effects of kittenhood herpes.

You know what?  Sometimes I look at my life, and I don't know how I ended up here.  And I'm sure that if my cats could do that, they'd think the same.

And yet here we are.  Kittenhood herpes and ferals and below-zero temps and all. And happy as clams.  Go figure.

Three! Three! Three cats in one!

First off, happy Valentine's Day, for those who celebrate it.  Personally, I bought myself a heart-shaped box of chocolates, which I plan on enjoying all by myself.  Eff that boyfriend sh*t.  But!  If you are planning on being on the receiving end of some Valentine's swag today, congrats!

Okay, so I talked the other day about how the person who adopts Bindi will actually be getting three cats, because of her multi-colored coat.  Here's proof:

Bindi's been quite the gal about town lately.  Here she is, tormenting her sister and Pony on the cat condo complex:

I love how Callie's got her paw on her head in that pic, like, "D'OH!  Will you stop BUGGING me?!"

Here's Bindi with Tinks:

And of course, bird-watching is a big hit this time of year:

I love how Callie plopped down on top of Pony's tail in that pic, all, "Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, PLOP."  Good-natured Pony don't care.

So!  Bindi and Callie.  Available for adoption. Call me!

Doo, doo, doo, lookin' out my front door

I do love that door.  The snow can go ... well, you know what the snow can do.



(p.s. That's Mini-Z, a plastic kids'  ride-on horse, on the porch, in case anyone's wondering. He's wearing a snow crown.  And probably wishing he was in Florida right now.)

If I wanted to live in Siberia, I'd f*cking well move there.

Dudes.  Duuuuudes.  I just can't with this weather anymore.

When I got up at six this morning, it was eighteen below in my backyard.

I actually woke up at five, and listened to my furnace running for an hour, because I wasn't sure if it could handle the predicted cold.  When I bought the house, almost five years ago, I soon discovered that the super-duper, high-efficiency, gigantic furnace was actually too big for the house, and thus incapable of running for more than about thirty seconds before choking itself off.  (Insert *choking itself off* jokes here.  Go ahead.  Is fun.)

Five years, three HVAC techs, and many dollars in repairs later, the furnace still struggles to keep up on cold days.  Throw in eighteen below, and you've got one furnace, three space heaters (including one in the marginally-heated garage to keep the pipes from freezing), and one knock-off Edenpure all going full blast, along with one anxious homeowner who wakes up every time the furnace kicks on, i.e., every thirty seconds.

And by the time I left for work?  It had dropped to twenty below.

Let's see.  In the last five days, we have had morning lows of minus 10 (Saturday), minus 3 (Sunday) minus 4 (Monday), minus fourteen (yesterday), and the ding-dong bell ringer of twenty f*cking below, this morning.

Will someone send me a plane ticket, please?  I would gladly go to HELL right now, if it was warmer.

*sob*

Recently Read

As usual, skip it if you wanna.

1.  A Friend  of the Flock by John McCormack - Memoirs  of a country vet.  I read his book "Fields and Pastures New" and enjoyed it, and  this one was good as well.

2.  The Maid's Version by Daniel Woodrell - Novel based on a true incident of a southern dance hall burning down  in the twenties.  This book got great reviews, but I couldn't really get into it, and I didn't finish it.

3.  Movie review!  The Sapphires is a movie "based on a true story" (meaning, "Well, it COULD have happened") about a girl-singing-group in 60s Australia.  It was enjoyable enough, but I tried to get all the way through and never quite made it.  I think that when you're going through tough times personally, it's just hard to get into any kind of pass-the-time recreation.  I'll have to give The Maid's Version, and this movie, another shot down the line.

4.  Back to books.  The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult is a novel about a high school girl who says she was raped, and the boy who says it was consensual.  Jodi Picoult sells a ton of books, so I thought I'd give one a try, but I was not impressed by The Tenth Circle.  None of the characters were particularly likeable, the plot was one we've all seen before, and the writing was not particularly memorable or smooth.  I didn't finish it.

5.  The Silver Star by Jeannette Walls - Novel about a pair of young sisters who go to live with their uncle when their mom flakes out.  I LOVED this author's memoir,  The Glass Castle, but this book just rang false to me.  Told from the viewpoint of the younger sister, it almost seemed like it was written by a twelve-year-old, and not in a good way.  Meh.

6.   The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon - I know, I know, I'm late to the party on this one. This is a sprawler of a novel about comic-book writers in the thirties, also including subplots about WWII, the Golem of Prague, and tons of other interesting stuff.  Very good.  It's a "guy book", in that I'm thinking that men would really enjoy it, but I liked it, too.

7.  The Egg and I by Betty MacDonald - This 1945 memoir, about a sophisticated woman who finds herself on a chicken farm in the Pacific Northwest, was made into a movie starring Claudette Colbert back in the day.  While the book was funny, I found the author's attitude toward some of her "lesser" neighbors mean-spirited, although I shouldn't be one to talk when it comes to dissing one's neighbors.  *cough*

8.  Movie review!  I had to Netflix "Phantasm", a low-budget indie horror film from the seventies, to confirm my suspicion that one of the employee's at my mom's nursing home looked just like the funeral home dude from the movie.  Survey says?  Dingdingding we have a winner!  Anyway, the movie is really pretty good, horror film-wise,  with some good special effects for its time/budget, most noticeably the flying spheres.  I liked it, and I don't generally go for the genre.  And holy sh*t, that guy who played the funeral home dude is now working in a local nursing home, I'm convinced of it.

So!  That's what I've been reading, and watching, lately.  How about you?

One big-ass dog

On Saturday, we had an adoption event.  The most notable part had to be this visitor to the store:

That, my friend, is one giant dog.  The pic really doesn't do him justice; he had to go about two hundred pounds.  My boss used to have a lab who weighed one-thirty, and this dog was WAY bigger than him.

Sunday I did a local home visit for a far-off dog rescue, and the cats did this:

They were watching the birds at the feeder, which is hung right outside the window.

And see all the snow on top of the shed?  Yeah, that just keeps happening.  Come soon, Spring.  We're waiting for you.

Foster update

Now that the fosters are out and about, they've decided that the new cat condo is the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Pretty Callie:

And Bindi, giving me the ol' side-eye:

While Bindi does have some tortie-tude going on, she is absolutely the more tolerant of people of the two of them.  I'll have to get some better shots of her coat; if you adopted her, you'd be getting an orange tabby, a black cat, AND a white cat, all in one compact package.

The permacats are fine with the fosters; they're used to having other cats in the house.  Five cats IS an awful lot of cats, though, and I AM rather badly outnumbered should a mutiny occur.  Fortunately, as the only one in the household with opposable thumbs, they need me to open the cat food cans, so I think I'm safe for now.

Even the deer are like, "yeah, eff this sh*t"

We've got about nine inches so far, with more to come.

Back to shoveling ...

What it feels like.

Ever been stone in love?  Head-over-heels, breathtakingly, hopelessly in love?

Maybe it was your first high school crush.  You couldn't wait to see him; everything came to life when the two of you were together.  Oh, sure, you had your family and friends, but nothing, nothing, came close to the feeling of being with that guy.

The absolute head rush of just the thought of him was incredible.  The giddy, dizzy feeling of actually spending time with him.  That stomach roll when you'd see him.  The idea that you'd do anything, anything to see him again, as soon as possible.  Because life was just plain old, boring life, but time spent with him?  Was incredible.  Technicolor.  The best thing ever.

That's what an opiate addiction feels like.

I wasn't going to add my two cents to the whole Philip Seymour Hoffman thing, but then people started talking about how he threw his life away.  How he had everything to live for; a family, money, fame, a career doing what he loved; and he just tossed it away for heroin.  Hell,  *I* was thinking that.

But when you are addicted, when you are in the grip of a drug, nothing feels as good as doing that drug does.  Nothing ever could.  And sure, you've got your wife and your kids and your fabulous job and your famous friends, but unless you can break the grip of the addiction, and stay that way, you will always throw it all away in a second for your true love.  

Even if you don't want to.  Even if you hate doing it.  Even if it's been twenty damn years. You can't help it.  Because nothing feels as good as doing that drug does.

So as much as I hate what happened, I do understand it.  Some people just aren't strong enough to beat it.  Sad, but true. 

Just say no, kids.  Just say no.

Fun with schematics

I bought a cat condo on ebay.

I never learn.

Much, much later ...

Yes, that is Tinks,  in the old condo back in the corner, there, ignoring the new one.

Figures.

But!  I moved the new condo closer to the old one, in preparation for moving the old condo into the foster room, and as of this morning, all five cats were exploring various aspects of their new climbing apparatus.

Success!

And if anybody's got some cat furniture they need to have assembled, I'm available. 

And yes, I did say "all five cats".  My three, plus the two fosters, who are now fully integrated into the house, and who will be here until they are ready for adoption, which, at the rate we are going, ought to be oh ... five years or so from now.  Send help.

Science-Like Tip!

So, I take probiotics in a possibly vain attempt to keep my guts from going berserker on me again.  Probiotics may indeed be this generation's version of snake oil, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so I take a nifty little med called Accuflora.

And each bottle of Accuflora comes with a little informational pamphlet, extolling (natch) the benefits of probiotics, and explaining how Accuflora (supposedly) works, complete with a vastly simplified diagram of the human digestive system, which frankly I could have done without.

And plopped down in the middle of all this nifty info is this little tidbit:

"Science-like tip!  You can also try the gel matrix at home by placing a caplet in a glass of water and watching the gel matrix form on the caplet!"

Okay, (a) I do not know what a "gel matrix" is and I do not care, (b) this smacks of the talking Barbie that said "Math is hard!", (c) what the hell is that section of the Sunday comics where the kids write in their science questions called, because I think somehow this segment of print wandered over from there, (d) what the F*CK is "science-like", and (e) why does this whole thing make me think of Sea Monkeys?

"Science-like", indeed. 

Twelve Below

What. The. Actual. F*CK.

I am SICK of this weather.  I have HAD it. 

Last Wednesday morning, it was thirteen below.  This morning?  Twelve below.

STOP IT, WEDNESDAY.

I know, I know, it could be worse, I could be in Duluth or something, but as far as I'm concerned, anyone who would volunteer to live in Minne-godforsaken-sota is out of their damn mind to begin with. Oh, and if you visit the Duluth website?  They conveniently LEAVE OFF the little weather icon from the homepage.  Maybe they're not so dumb after all.  "If we just don't mention it, maybe no one will notice!"

My utility bill for last month was $330.00.  Let's see if we can DOUBLE that for this month!

Sh*t.


In other news, is anyone else watching 90-Day Fiance?  Oh lord, there is some trash TV at its finest, right there.  I have several questions, including, what the hell is a Mormon doing on there?  And, okay, that one woman is from Brazil, not, I don't know, the Stone Age or something.  Are we really supposed to believe that she has never been exposed to things like ,,, packaged food?  And supermarket scanners?  I'm not buyin' it.

Just in case you missed it ...

So inappropriate, and hilarious, in so many ways.

Like herding ... yeah, you know

So, Operation Integration has begun.

I originally had planned to let them stay out of the foster room for as long as they want, and go outside when they eventually discover the cat door, but when I checked the forecast Saturday night and found out that it was supposed to go back down below zero this week (DAMN YOU, Polar Vortex), I decided that things would have to wait for a bit.

Even though these guys went in and out at their last foster home, they haven't been outside in months.  And seeing as how they were born last Spring and were taken into rescue in August, they have never been exposed to really cold weather.  I don't want to chance them getting outdoors right now.

So!  Saturday went great.  They romped around the house for a few hours, while the permacats alternately ignored them, played with them, and swatted them for their young-cat insolence, and by evening they wandered back into the foster room, and I closed the door for the night.  Yesterday, same story - Out playing and exploring the house (and digging in the houseplants GOT-DAM IT), and then back into the foster room for the night. 

This morning?  Six a.m., and I went in to feed them, with the intention of keeping them in their room while I was at work, and as soon as I eased open the screen door, Bindi squirted out between my feet.  Freeeeedom!  I turned around to try and scoop her up (HA) and Callie was right behind her. 

And of course, the problem with ferals is that you can't just pick them up and put them back in their room, unless you want to lose an arm or something, which I have learned from hard experience (Thanks, PETEY.).  No, you have to WAIT for them to DECIDE to go back into their room, which, thankfully, they did after about half an hour of screwing around.

I will tell you what, you guys, my nerves are SHOT.  The weather is supposed to warm up by this weekend, and we will start the whole thing over again.   Hopefully I can avoid having a nervous breakdown between now and then.

Anybody got any Zanax?

Liberation Day

Whoa ... the door is open.

Whaaaa?  I'm going out there.

I dunno ... it's kind of scary ... I'd better put my ears back ...

CHECK IT OUT!  THERE'S FOOD  IN THESE OTHER ROOMS!1!!

And we're off to the races.

Man, I hate January

Last Sunday, I took a ride up to State Park and froze my  butt off.

The picnic tables patiently wait for Spring:

While the streams flow past the snow:

In other news, I evidently have the dumbest birds in the world in my neighborhood.  Ponyboy got TWO last weekend by simply running up and plucking them out of a flock on the ground.

I hope they're not slow because they're zombie birds or something.  I could be in trouble in that case.

Oh, and in There-Is-Someone-In-This-Neighborhood-Dumber-Than-The Birds news, I somehow sat myself down and watched the entire two hours of  Lifetime's presentation of Flowers in the Attic last Saturday night.  I told myself it was so that I could enjoy watching Heather Graham and Ellen Burstyn chew the scenery, but ... yeah.  I have no excuse.

 I just wish it would warm up outside.

Yeah, that'd be me ... the guy on the right ...

 

Heh.

 

Thirteen below

... That was the temp in my back yard when I left for work this morning.

What's it like at your place?

And in neighborhood news ...

My crazy-a** neighbors evidently got themselves a dog.  A small, terrier-like dog, whom they have been tying to the fire hydrant out by the road.

It's twenty degrees outside, and about to get much colder.

No, they never leave it out there for very long.  And yes, if they DID, I would be over there like flies on sh*t.

But why tie a dog to a fire hydrant out by the road at all?  The poor thing sits out there and barks and barks and BARKS.

Are they dog-sitting?  I don't know.  I don't want to get any more involved in this than I have to, and thankfully I might not have to at all, because last night when I got home from work, there was a cop car out in front of their house.  Maybe somebody ratted them out on their twisted idea of animal care.  Thank goodness.  The dog was not out there this morning.

I'll tell you what, I'll bet this town's cops are as sick of these two as I am at this point.

Sheesh.

 

Oh, and scroll down to my last post, would ya?  I'm looking for somebody to tell me what to doooooooo.

And in foster room news ...

... Remember these guys?  Bindi and Callie?

Yeah, they're still here.  Substantially bigger now, seeing as how they've been my houseguests for FIVE MONTHS.

My, time does fly, doesn't it?

And while Bindi is starting to come around, Callie still shows no signs of friendly-ing up.  Which means that they are currently unadoptable, and may be that way for some time to come. Which means I have a decision to make.

I can't keep them in the foster room anymore.  That isn't fair to them.  So I can either (a) integrate them into my household as fosters-in-residence, or (b) return them to the rescue, where they will stay in the rescue leader's home. 

Normally, it would be a no-brainer, i.e., return them (because I don't DO long-term fosters), but there are some things complicating the decision.  The rescue leader is currently overloaded on fosters, meaning they would be going into a house with many, many other cats (like, over TWENTY), which is not a good thing, health-wise. They would be allowed to go in and out (as they would at my house if they became perma-fosters), which is fine, except the rescue leader's house is situated in a very busy, very sketchy neighborhood.  Indoor-outdoor cats in that area can have a pretty short shelf life, is what I'm trying to say. 

So, you say, what's the problem?  Keep them for a bit longer!

Well, over the weekend, I learned that the rescue leader has put herself in a pretty precarious situation, financial-wise.  She came close to losing her housing, which ... yeah.  If she goes belly-up, as rescues around here tend to do with alarming regularity, I may end up with two more permanent members of my household.

So, you say, what's the problem?  Return them, quick, while you still can!  Wash your hands of the whole thing!

Annnnnnd I was all ready to do that. 

And then got-dam Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Day rolled around, and THIS quote started popping up all over social media:

"Never, never be afraid to do what's right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake.  Society's punishments are small compared to the wound we inflict on our soul when we look the other way."


Oh, f*ck.  NOW what do I do?

Call me Red

Oh yeah.