Little Dude, Litter Eater

We had a quasi-emergency last night. We're going out of town tonight, and I'd planned on a nice, calm Tuesday night filled with packing, making soup from my William-Sonoma cookbook, watching House and making some jewelry. I got most of those things done, but I was up until 1:00am. Why? Well, there was an emergency vet visit thrown in there.

We had my mom over for dinner and she brought the little dude. He was sitting on my lap while we were eating dinner, and despite my best efforts to keep him on my lap, he took a plunge. FACT: 4 week old kittens do not "land on their feet" like normal cats. They kind of fall into a heap and then walk in circles and limp off, clearly wounded.

Feeling like the most horrible person alive, I quickly realized little dude might be seriously hurt. We rushed him into the emergency vet where he was diagnosed with a "soft tissue injury to his left front leg" and a scrotum. That's right, ladies and gents, we have ourselves a boy. He's going to be okay but I'm horrified. If you knew the care I take with my animals, you'd understand. I'm so careful and protective, and then this happens. I felt awful. But, $130 later and after fearing for his little life, I think little dude is officially ours.

To celebrate, he came home and ate some litter. He's kind of retarded that way, but hopefully he'll grow out of it.



I've also posted a picture of my other cat, Princess Sassy Pants (not her real name, but it should be), just for good measure.



FACT: did you know only 1 in 3,000 orange cats are female?

Rambles

I can't find the patience to sit down and write an in-depth blog, so this little post may be all over the board.

First, regarding le chat. No firm decision yet, but I think we're going to take him. I've convinced the Italian with a three-pronged offense: 1. He gets to name the cat (poor thing); 2. The cat gets declawed; and 3. We won't take him until he is house-broken. My mom is keeping him for now because she doesn't work, and the cat is just too little to be left alone alone all day. He needs monitored feeding and he's not fully litter box trained, which we just can't have. The little guy eats litter. Oh, god, what have I gotten myself into?

Second, I'm kind of sad my mom won't take him for her own. As much I want want the little orange fluffball, my mom is all by herself and has been for a while now. She's had death after death hit her hard. First was my dad five years ago, then a close family friend who she relied on after my dad died, then her cat of 19 years. She just doesn't have it in her to get attached to another living thing, which is so pitifully sad and defeatest I can't even properly articulate my feelings about the matter. She's given up on life, and I've run out of ways to help her or encouraging words to say. I'm exhausted on that front, and feel like a bad daughter into the bargain.

Third, I'm really sad about this beach house fire in Ocean Isle, North Carolina. If you live in the US, you've probably read about it. Thirteen college students were staying at a beach house for a weekend of fun, a fire broke out and over half of them died. When I was in college, a fraternity house on my campus burned to the ground and killed six or so kids. One of them was a sorority sister of mine. This fire brings back such vivid memories, as the circumstances, time of day, and survivor recounts are so similar to what happened at UNC while I was there. Ugh, it just makes me shudder. I so remember that charred out frat house that just sat there for months, a blackened reminder of how fleeting and cruel life can be.

Fourth, and I'm totally switching gears here, I feel like I'm getting fat. I swear my butt has grown this week. Is it the Nutella is bought? Could it be the taqueria food I had last night? I need to stop eating out.

Fifth, we're ending our "month-long festival of travel" this weekened with a trip to Hilton Head for a wedding. One of my best friends (we'll call her Design Goddess as she is a fabulous graphic designer) is finally getting married to her boyfriend of eight years, and I'm so happy for her. I really never thought this would happen. Design Goddess did so much to help me when I married the Italian, more than any of my family. I'm excited to go down on Wednesday night to help her in any way I can, though I can never repay her for all the things she did for me.

Sixth, the Italian's college friend, who we'll call Fuckface, is still a fuckface. We saw him two weeks ago and Dave encouraged me to have an open mind. "Fuckface has changed," the Italian said, "he's got a fiance now, and she has a daughter he's taking care of, and he's really changed." I called bullshit, and - dare I say it - I was RIGHT. R-I-G-H-T. His fiance is awesome, he still sucks. As a small bit of background, this dude has screwed up the mind of every girl he's ever dated. I personally know two girls he's made certifiably insane, one of them being my bestest friend in the whole wide world, who we'll call Big-Eyed Randy Moss Fan (weird name, but trust me, it makes sense).

Anyway, so while together a couple of weekend's ago, all of the Italian's college buddies started talking about doing a Vegas trip with the guys and all wives. Everyone was on board. Then, after we all returned home, Fuckface sent an email out to the guys, saying something along the lines of "I've been to Vegas with my fiance, and it sucked. She was over my shoulder the whole time, freaking out about money and how late we were staying out. Wouldn't everything be more fun if it was just guys?" Now, I'm not opposed to a guy's weekend here and there, they just did one last month in Key West. I do girl's weekends with my friends. But, this trip was decided on as a couple's thing, and now he wants to switch up the plans because he wants to relive his college-boy days. Also, I think I'm offended because, when it comes to Vegas, I'm pretty much a dude. I don't want to shop (okay, a little but not much), I don't want to spend hours eating at some over-priced restaurant or standing in line for some chi-chi look-at-me club. I want to gamble. Period. Fuckface hasn't changed, he doesn't respect women or relationships, and he never will.

Seventh, and lastly (thank god!), I'm on a jewelry bender. I make jewelry, and it's not something I talk about a lot. I'm kind of sensitive because I'm not sure my stuff is any good. I secretly want to make a business out of it, but I'm scared no one would buy my stuff. I've never thought of myself as a creative person, and so I'm surprised when I sit down to do jewelry and get so into it that three hours have passed. Nothing else in my life distracts me to the extent that I forget about time, my neuroses, or the size of my ass. Well, maybe writing, but that's about it. Writing and jewelry maker... can I craft a career out of that?

Looky here

So, my mom stops by tonight. Normally it's a rather bleak occasion when she happens by, because she's a rather toxic person at times. This time, though, she brought a visitor by. A furry one, as you can see by the picture I've posted (it's worth noting that those are my mother's yellowing fingernails, not mine, thank you very much). She found him behind her house, and his mama has no more milk left to feed him. So, my mom has taken him in. Problem is, she doesn't want the little guy permanently. This, apparently, is where we come in.

The Italian and I have two cats now, but I've really been wanting a male orange marmalade for some time now. It's a bit early to tell yet, but it appears to be a boy. Oh brother. Sounds like I've got some convincing to do...

Baby gots some new shoes

You like? I said I needed to change some things, and The Billing Room is no exception. She's outfitted for fall, with a nice optimistic touch of rainbows and hearts. A little girlier than I would usually opt for, but what the hell.

Images

Celebrity Rundown

I've been too serious lately. What you people don't know is that one of my compulsions is reading celebrity gossip blogs. Rather lowbrow, I admit, but one needs a distraction and I can't take my cats to work.

In a hurry, all the time

One of the things I really hate about working is the pace. Everything is so fast, all the time. With scanning and email being the primary way of communicating, people get frustrated if their requests are not immediately answered. I get it, I just don't like it.

The fast pace of my work life means that I'm often impatient. Because I move so fast most of the time, I have a hard time slowing down. When a line takes a minute too long at the grocery or a person won't turn on yellow at a stoplight, I get angry. I think it's also a function of living in a big city.

I've often wanted to have the chance to slow down, move to a small town and just live life. It's difficult because that thought is at odds with my desire to have enough money to make me independent. I guess I've gotten caught up in the "I'll kill myself for ten years, THEN I'll rest" phenomenon. Problem is, in the US, people tend to increase their standard of living when their salary increases. The Italian and I are guilty as charged, so it makes saving a ton of money more difficult.

What I really want to do is take a few months off and travel. I've always wanted to do this, but I don't think my husband is so keen on the idea. He doesn't want to give up the salary, and it's more difficult when you owns houses like we do, because then you have the mortgage too...

I missed the boat on studying abroad in high school and college. I don't even think I took three months off between college and working, and I took about four weeks between law school and working. I've never been able to afford travel time before now, and now I could theoretically do it. Part of me is afraid I could never return to "normal" life if I spent 3-6 months traveling... how could you?

My dream places to go... Botswana on safari, Tokyo, the Amazon, coastal Thailand, the Amalfi Coast in Italy (overdone? Yes, but I still want to see it), Paris, Turkey, and, oddly enough a place in the US, Kauai. Anyone know a lonely millionaire who's on his sickbed and wants to adopt me?

Rise Above or Sink Below?

I'll just say it: people are assholes. No matter how much we like to think that we're all grown up, most people have a little of that high school gossip in them. I am no exception. In general, I try to do it when the person I'm talking about isn't there, but everyone has a different tactic. Today, someone gossiped about me right in front of me, using code and thinly veiled innuendo. Bitches.

Here's the deal: I had to fire my assistant earlier this year. It wasn't easy, and I felt bad because this girl had so many personal problems. She had two babies, a husband who didn't help much, a teenage stepdaughter who gave birth to a premature baby, etc, etc. She missed a ton of work and had a bad attitude. She spent her days gossiping and just wasn't cut out for the job. My boss hated her, and eventually she got caught falsifying her time sheets. She was out.

Not surprisingly, her little gossip friends think I am a Class-A bitch. They don't believe she did anything wrong, and accuse me of firing her "because I didn't like her." They're right, she wasn't my favorite person, but I fired her because she sucked at her job. End of story.

Anyway, I'm eating in the kitchen today and her little friends come in and sit down to have lunch. We're the only three people in the room. I'll call these ladies I.B. (standing for "Immature Bitch") #1 and I.B. #2. I'll call my fired assistant "Susan."

I.B. #1: So, did you hear that Susan's son has to have tubes in his ears? She started crying when I talked to her. I mean, what with moving, and her new job, to have THIS on top of her too?

I.B. #2: Yeah, well how is her work handling it? Are they giving her time off or what?

I.B. #1: They'd have to, right?

I.B. #2: We'll, stranger things have happened, haven't they? But I guess some workplaces have compassion (said in a very pointed, meaningful tone in my direction, implying that I have NONE.)

The I.B.'s went on right in front of me, basically calling me a bitch as I sat there and read the Local section of my newspaper. Why they're so emboldened and angry seven months after her firing is my question.

I just sat there and pretended to read the paper, as if I didn't hear a word they said. I wanted to turn to them and say something really catty in return, but I bit my tongue (so hard it almost fell off, I swear).

I decided, this time, to rise above the situation. I'll never change their minds, these women (girls?) will always hate me. I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is some disrespecting me to my face. So, what to do? Do I just mentally file this away and interject next time, saying "Enough. I know you're talking about me, and you need to stop." Or, do I go and talk to HR, letting them know that I'm receiving some degree of harrassment? It's so tempting to sink below and do something very high school-ish, but that's not me. At least, it's not who I want to be.

Twelve things on my mind this Tuesday

1. I'm worried my house will get broken into. Our neighborhood has had 6 break-ins in two weeks. We're getting an alarm installed in tomorrow morning.

2. I still haven't gotten my sister's birthday present. I'm not sure why.

3. I think I'm getting a cold.

4. I'm concerned because I haven't seen the spider that lives outside my office window catch anything in the her web in at least two weeks. She's gotta eat sometime, right?

5. I want another cat.

6. I had this messed up dream last night in which my pregnant friend the Yogi gave birth. After the baby popped out, we consulted a POTATO... yes, a potato, to find out what the gender was. Apparently, sweet potato = boy and white potato = girl in my subconcious. How fucked up is that?

7. I wish I were a better writer and could make it my career.

8. I want to take six months and travel the world... well, some of it anyway.

9. I think law is boring.

10. I don't like how the world sees Americans... not even politically, but socially and culturally. We're known for being loud, rude, fat and driving everywhere. Like our Russian tenant said to me recently: "I need to get outside and walk. I'm not like these Americans who get in the car and want to drive everywhere." Here's a shocker for you Tatiana: I'm American and I don't want to drive everywhere. I just have to because my city has a shitty public transportation system.

11. Related to Item 10: Perhaps I should live abroad.

12. I don't like Broccoli Rabe. We made it last night and I thought it tasted like Italian collard greens. Too bitter and expensive for what you get. Give me plan 'ol broccoli anyday.

Negativity

Before I start this post, I'd like to apologize to the person who commented on my last entry. Sorry if I hit something too close to home.

Vulnerable

When I was 17, someone tried to abduct me. It's a story people close to me know pretty well. I was working in a restaurant located in an office building, and went down to the parking garage about 9:30 PM when I got off work. I went to the wrong level, and as I was trying to get my bearings, a man jumped out of his car and ran towards me. As soon as I could react (and it took a few seconds), I ran towards the road. He chased me for a bit, but eventually ducked back and took off in his car. I don't know what you think, but something tells me he wasn't trying to say hello. If I hadn't ran or had waited a second or two longer, I would certainly have been raped, and, possibly, killed. I've mostly pushed the event out of my head, but every now and again I think about other girls... has he tried to attack someone else? Has he been successful?

About two years later, a classmate from high school disappeared in San Francisco. She's never been found. She was close to her family, so just hauling off and disappearing is unlikely. The general consensus is that she's long dead. I don't think we'll ever know.

In general, I like being a woman, but I dislike how vulnerable a woman is in today's world. It hits me everytime I want to go for a run on a local trail, but my husband isn't home. Is it really safe to run through a public trail in the woods by myself? Probably not.

What about going to the mall at night? Walking between my car and the building is always a bit tense, because I have to be on alert. Same with the grocery store, the gas station, and basically anywhere else one would need to go.

Maybe I'm a bit paranoid. Fair enough, it's a character-flaw I've been informed of on more than one occasion. But it's not as if I don't have good reason to be paranoid. To me, random violent crime against women is not an abstract concept, it's an experience I've had firsthand.

Being relatively young and attractive enough to rate stares from the occasional stranger, I often feel as if I'm being violated just by a look. It's something I've experienced both here in the US and abroad (particuarly in Mexico, where my quasi-blond hair draws intense stares from groups of men that seem like just a hop, skip and a jump from gang rape).

So why even mention all of this? I don't know, I just think it's a disheartening truth of the modern world. Women can do all sorts of things: become cops, attorneys, maybe even the President, but the truth is we're still susceptible to violent attacks, particularly those of a sexual nature.

I was recently reminded of the murder of a female resident of French St. Martin that occurred a couple of years back. She was brutally murdered and sexually assaulted, her body dumped and mutilated. I don't think her killers were ever found. The weird thing was I completely remembered her from my 2005 trip with our group of friends. We sat near her at a beach bar one afternoon, browsed in the shop where she was a clerk, and saw her on the beach all week. Not sure why she stuck in my head, but she did. I used to think how carefree and lovely it would be to move to an island as a woman, but that made me re-think things. One misstep, one instance of getting involved with the wrong guy or turning down the wrong man's advances, and that could be it.

I guess those sorts of stories always stick with me, because I'm reminded of how close I came to being a headline.

The Never-Ending Candy Bowl

I think I've made a mistake. I've been craving candy lately (I'm blaming Halloween marketing) so I went to Target last night and bought a giant "Child's Play" mix containing every type of Tootsie Roll or Tootsie Pop known to man, including the flavored kind. A bizarre choice, yes, but I like Tootsie Rolls, so back off.

Trouble is, I think I have too much of a good thing. I'm on my fifth mini Tootsie Roll of the day, and it's just 1:00pm. I'm so gonna crash and burn come 3:30 today, it's not even funny.

Hey, there's a new Dunkin' Donuts down the road, maybe I can just run down there and get a caffeine pick-me-up once the sugar high wears off. I sound like a drug addict, only with food. Anything to get me through the work week, right?

Something meaningful to say?

I often use the word "meaningful" when I think about a life well-lived. I've never thought much about the word itself much. What does "meaningful" actually mean? The dictionary definition is "–adjective: full of meaning, significance, purpose, or value; purposeful; significant."

So, what is a life that is "significant" or "purposeful" or "of value?" Is it helping others, having children, being religious, being rich? I guess the definition is different for everyone. Which has me thinking: what does a meaningful life mean to me?

I'm not sure I really have the answer to that question. I think it's my age that has me thinking about such things. In your 20s, one is free to be as flippant, stupid and wasteful as one wants. After all, time is on your side. It's not as if I'm suddenly old, but I am older. If I'm going to make my mark, don't I have to get started eventually? Why not now?

I think for me, a good life is one in which a person is patient, kind and loving to their friends and family. I didn't grow up in a household where those were the virtues. It makes it tough for me to adopt those virtues for myself, but I'm trying.

Another thing that's important to me is a life with adventure. I have a strong case of wanderlust, so traveling and experiencing are part of my DNA. I often look at people who give it all up to travel for a year, or teach abroad in some extremely far-flung, foreign nation, or seek out a place overseas to live, with a sense of envy and awe. Why not ME? Where was my sense of adventure back in my 20s, before I had a mortgage and student loans? Did I waste my opportunity?

In the end, do we all feel like we could have lived our lives better? Is that part of the human condition? I'm afraid I have lots of questions today, and very few answers, at least for myself.

Window to the World

I changed offices recently. I now have a great office on the first floor that overlooks bushes, trees, and a very rarely used asphalt drive. You can't really see much of the drive over the top of the bushes, so all in all this is a very peaceful setting. My workday is much more productive now, and I honestly feel less stressed because I can see the sky, the clouds (there are none today), trees and, to my extreme pleasure, animals.

Yep, that's right. When I first moved in, I had a large spider that had taken up residence just outside my window. She's gone now, relocated by the very large thunderstorm that swept through yesterday. She was safe during the storm because I saw her pull up tightly under a overhang just as the weather got really nasty. But today, her web is gone, and so is she.

Surprisingly, I saw a cat trot right on by my window this morning. A large, grey and black tabby with a very bouncy step bounded right on by, jumped up on a concrete jut-out and took off. I wish he would come back.

Maybe I'll get a rooster. We used to have one at our office, he just appeared one day until we found him a home (yes, we really did, and no, he didn't get eaten). It probably sounds like I work in some podunk area, right? Nope, I work in a normal, suburban office building. We have a residential neighborhood behind us, so I think that's where the animals are coming from. I don't care, keep 'em coming. It makes me happy.

Oh, to be elsewhere today

Yesterday was a bad Monday. However, I did leave work at a reasonable hour and get the chance to go running at a trail near our house. That always relieves the stress a bit. Today I'm just wishing I were somewhere else. Preferably, the Caribbean.

It's going to be awhile before I get to my favorite region again. Not having any plans to visit an island in the future is a tough pill to swallow. We do have Costa Rica planned for next May, but I tend to long for what's familiar, not the unknown. I'm dreaming of laying on a quiet stretch of sand, under a sea grape tree on St. John. Or, maybe, sharing a glass of wine with The Italian on Petit Plage in Grand Case while the sun sets.

The next time I venture to the Caribbean, I should go further afield. I've never been to the Leeward Islands. Grenada, St. Lucia and St. Vincent in particular have always appealed, but the remoteness and travel difficulties have always kept me from going for it. As an American and a lawyer, vacation weeks are few and far between (which is quite sad).

I'm just feeling pensive right now, having dreams of blue water, a cold beer, and a vibe so laid back that I can feel my perpetually-tense shoulders relaxing.

The picture above is St. Martin, Pinel Island to be exact. This was taken during our January 2007 trip. Wish I were there, or anywhere but here today.

Sounds like someone has a case of the Monday's!

That someone is me.

It's Monday. I just got back from a long weekend in Charleston. The Italian is at home, enjoying Columbus Day off (Seriously?!!!). I, however, am at work. And it really sucks.

So, instead of putting my nose to the grindstone, I've opted to take a few minutes to blog.

My weekend in Charleston was intersting. I was there for a girl's weekend, and as evidenced by our definite lack of partying and our culinary gluttony, we're not exactly girls anymore. Charleston was beautiful as always. The service in the restaurants was astonishingly bad. We didn't get service for 15 minutes in one place (and left), had terrible food at an Italian restaurant, had the wheels come off the service partway through dinner another night, and got served faux bloody mary's.

For a town that prides itself on its tourist trade, it was just plain weird. We did have fun though.

Yeah, this is a boring post. But at least it killed 10 minutes.

Positive News...

Gladly, my mammogram came back clear. I am definitely "lumpy," but nothing to worry about. They do want me to get regular mammo's starting at 35 instead of 40, but that's a small matter.

Now all I've gotta do is get through the afternoon and I'm off to Charleston for the weekend.

Avoiding Exercise

I bought a treadmill a few weeks ago. I've been wanting one for a long time and I really do love it. Problem is, I told myself I'd use it at least five times a week if I made the investment. So far, so good, but now it's 8:24 pm and I'm supposed to get on the damn thing in 6 minutes (self-imposed deadline). I don't wanna. Instead, I want to drive to the grocery, get a bottle of red wine and some ice cream, and drown my oh-my-god-I-have-to-have-a-mammogram-at-age-30 sorrows.

It's been a while since I've blogged about work. Work has actually been going pretty well lately. I changed office and now have an awesome window with a view of actual trees, plants, and outdoor creatures instead of a parking lot. Score. The only problem is that I have two days off scheduled for November to be in a friend's wedding. The Italian and I were going to take an extra day and enjoy Hilton Head. This time off has been on the calendar for a while now. One of the partners I work for has decided that he and his wife are going on a romantic getaway the same weekend. Looks like I am going to have to cancel one of the days, because, in the words of my boss "you're killing me with this."

I might go anyway just to spite his ass.

Flat Like a Pancake

I went in this morning for my annual gyno visit. TMI, I know. Turns out I have to have a mammogram this week. I've got some fibroids (I hope) in my boobs. Who knew? Anyway, I'm a bit scared right now. Not too much so, since my doc seems to think these are merely fibroids, but this is a "let's be sure" kind of check. Damn.