I was a bad girl the other night.
That’s actually not entirely accurate.
I was a perfectly well-behaved girl the other night in the company of a very attractive young man with whom I talked until nearly 1:30 in the morning.
That’s the bad part because, as you know, I need my beauty sleep.
As a result of my late, late night of conversation, I was in desperate need of artificial energy yesterday. I started out with a cup of coffee at work which, if you’ve ever worked in an office environment, is pretty terrible. To compensate, I like to add two packets of hot cocoa mix to the coffee and make my own not-all-that-great-tasting-but-more-or-less-passable cup of mocha-like java.
Despite the added sugar, my cup of coffee did little to dispel the fog that surrounded my brain and I asked one of my coworkers to pick me up a tall flavored coffee with an extra shot of espresso on her way into the office. Though aware of the danger of giving that much caffeine to everyone’s favorite webmistress, she complied — for which I am oh so grateful — and I was flying high for the next several hours.
Then came the crash. And, goodness, was it unpleasant.
I’m sure it was amusing for anyone paying attention as I went from speaking 7-times faster than usual (which is already pretty fast, by the way) to barely being able to choke out a coherent sentence by mid-afternoon. This was, of course, no good as I still had a board meeting to get through after work for the nature center with which I am associated.
Already feeling kind of sick from the sugar and caffeine running through my system for most of the day, I had to face the fact that there was no way I was going to make it through my evening without a double shot of my baby’s love...or four more shots of espresso as it turned out (something about the espresso machine delivering its shots in batches of two so I might as well take the fourth as a freebie). It took a bit of time to kick in but by the time the caffeine was raging through my system I was barely able to sit still during my meeting (to which one of my fellow board members kindly pointed out where the Ladies Room was).
By the time I finally got home, exhausted but still wired, I wanted nothing more than to sleep. Too bad I couldn’t really as I was still hopped up from the seven espresso shots. Needless to say, I didn’t get the best night’s rest and am already dreading that I’m going to need caffeine to get through the morning.
If you see me today, you may want to take note and use appropriate caution.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
An Irrational Fear of Hygiene Products
No, not me. I happen to be a big fan of being clean and sweet-smelling.
The one with the irrational fear of hygiene products is my cat.
As many of you know, I can only guess what Rebecca’s existence consisted of before she wondered into my life. While on the thin side, she was obviously a healthy cat who had been spade and de-clawed. Thinking that she must belong to someone, I waited for two months until my landlady convinced me that I should take this affectionate black cat in and make her my own.
When I adopted Rebecca, I discovered that she had a few quirks — some of which could be preludes to a less-than-solid previous home life.
For one thing, Rebecca is, as discussed before, a giant chicken. She is always hesitant of new visitors and is especially cautious of men. I have some friends who think the stories and pictures of my cat are fabricated as they’ve never seen her.
Rebecca also has, what I can only label as, mildly psychotic episodes. Though I’ve never truly felt my life has been in danger living with her, there have been peeks into a not-entirely-stable mind. I can be stretched out on the couch with her, happily stroking her soft fur, only to have her suddenly attack with sharp teeth and back claws for some imaginary offense I’ve made. She’s also been known, while I’ve been bent over to pick something up or whatnot, to jump on my back and stay there for as long as she can hold on.
I can’t really judge these quirks. I myself have a few idiosyncrasies that many believe to be hints of a not completely sane individual and I can’t fault my cat for the same. But she does have one peculiarity in particular that I just can’t fathom.
She’s afraid of hygiene products.
Maybe calling her “afraid” is a bit harsh. Wary may be the more apt description. When I’m getting ready in the morning, Rebecca usually follows me around while I take my first set of medications, feed the rabbits and brush my teeth. Once I get in the shower, she usually retires back to bed and will merely stare at me with one bleary green eye when I return to the bedroom to dress. I haven’t figured out the specific trigger yet and it doesn’t always happen as Rebecca may be closer to sleep at some times than others, but somewhere between the antiperspirant, body lotion and perfume (as I said, I like to be sweet-smelling), she will take off in a streak of black fur not to be seen for the next ten to fifteen minutes.
I can’t imagine what her previous owners could have done to make Rebecca so afraid of a bottle of Strawberry Fizz glimmering body lotion but there must have been something to get such a consistent and conditioned response from my otherwise sedate companion. If I were truly a loving parent, I would perform my morning ritual elsewhere so as not trigger the slumbering psychosis with a bottle of Very Sexy perfume.
But, like the rest of us who harbor mild and relatively harmless mental conditions, she’s just going to have to deal with it.
The one with the irrational fear of hygiene products is my cat.
As many of you know, I can only guess what Rebecca’s existence consisted of before she wondered into my life. While on the thin side, she was obviously a healthy cat who had been spade and de-clawed. Thinking that she must belong to someone, I waited for two months until my landlady convinced me that I should take this affectionate black cat in and make her my own.
When I adopted Rebecca, I discovered that she had a few quirks — some of which could be preludes to a less-than-solid previous home life.
For one thing, Rebecca is, as discussed before, a giant chicken. She is always hesitant of new visitors and is especially cautious of men. I have some friends who think the stories and pictures of my cat are fabricated as they’ve never seen her.
Rebecca also has, what I can only label as, mildly psychotic episodes. Though I’ve never truly felt my life has been in danger living with her, there have been peeks into a not-entirely-stable mind. I can be stretched out on the couch with her, happily stroking her soft fur, only to have her suddenly attack with sharp teeth and back claws for some imaginary offense I’ve made. She’s also been known, while I’ve been bent over to pick something up or whatnot, to jump on my back and stay there for as long as she can hold on.
I can’t really judge these quirks. I myself have a few idiosyncrasies that many believe to be hints of a not completely sane individual and I can’t fault my cat for the same. But she does have one peculiarity in particular that I just can’t fathom.
She’s afraid of hygiene products.
Maybe calling her “afraid” is a bit harsh. Wary may be the more apt description. When I’m getting ready in the morning, Rebecca usually follows me around while I take my first set of medications, feed the rabbits and brush my teeth. Once I get in the shower, she usually retires back to bed and will merely stare at me with one bleary green eye when I return to the bedroom to dress. I haven’t figured out the specific trigger yet and it doesn’t always happen as Rebecca may be closer to sleep at some times than others, but somewhere between the antiperspirant, body lotion and perfume (as I said, I like to be sweet-smelling), she will take off in a streak of black fur not to be seen for the next ten to fifteen minutes.
I can’t imagine what her previous owners could have done to make Rebecca so afraid of a bottle of Strawberry Fizz glimmering body lotion but there must have been something to get such a consistent and conditioned response from my otherwise sedate companion. If I were truly a loving parent, I would perform my morning ritual elsewhere so as not trigger the slumbering psychosis with a bottle of Very Sexy perfume.
But, like the rest of us who harbor mild and relatively harmless mental conditions, she’s just going to have to deal with it.
Monday, May 12, 2008
A Night With Murphy
Have you ever had one of those nights when everything that can goes wrong?
Well, there were probably a couple more things that could have gone wrong for me the other night, but I have a hard time thinking of what else it could have been.
The evening had started well. I’d just gotten home from seeing “Iron Man” with a friend (a great, great film even if you’re not a comic fan — though that is coming from a comic book fan so maybe you want to get someone else’s opinion) and had just enough daylight to mow my front lawn so the neighbors wouldn’t think less of me for it being overgrown and overrun with weeds.
Rocking out to a loud mix from several System of a Down albums, I cut the grass in the front yard with not quite enough sunlight left to also mow the backyard. Only mildly disappointed, I wanted to go get a drink of water before putting the mower away.
Only to discover that I’d locked myself out of the house.
Annoyed with myself and the situation, I was fortunate that a) my neighbor was home so that I could use her phone and b) my friend with the backup key was available to bring it to me. Knowing it would take her 10-15 minutes to bring my keys to me, I decided to kill the time by cutting the grass in the backyard (thank goodness for floodlights).
When my friend arrived I was, understandably, overjoyed. Using her key, we opened the door — only to have my cat Rebecca bolt past us. I usually allow Rebecca a little bit of outside time whenever I can but I don’t like to let her out too near dusk as she gets it into her little furry head that she doesn’t have to come inside within a reasonable amount of time. Not wanting her to run off, we tried to corner and catch my insolent child only to give up and yell after her that I wasn’t waiting up to let her in.
After this embarassing outburst, my friend left and I went inside. I took one look at the dishes piled in the sink and the laundry still waiting to be folded and decided I couldn’t be bothered with any of it until after I’d had a shower.
I thoroughly enjoyed my shower, using the very relaxing and refreshing Eucalyptus Spearmint sugar scrub I got for Christmas. By the time I was done I felt all the better about my misadventures and was ready to tackle household chores before retiring to bed.
This in mind, I reached for the towel — only to have the towel bar fly off the wall at me and land with a resounding clang on the ceramic tile floor. I stared dumbly at the bar for a moment before catching sight of myself in the mirror and laughing, I hate to admit, a mite hysterically over everything.
Considering this the last that I could handle, I put on my jimjams, let the cat in, and went to bed.
It wasn’t until I was regaling anyone who would listen with my not-so-fun-filled evening that I realized that I’d had quite the encounter with The Law that night: Murphy’s Law.
Well, there were probably a couple more things that could have gone wrong for me the other night, but I have a hard time thinking of what else it could have been.
The evening had started well. I’d just gotten home from seeing “Iron Man” with a friend (a great, great film even if you’re not a comic fan — though that is coming from a comic book fan so maybe you want to get someone else’s opinion) and had just enough daylight to mow my front lawn so the neighbors wouldn’t think less of me for it being overgrown and overrun with weeds.
Rocking out to a loud mix from several System of a Down albums, I cut the grass in the front yard with not quite enough sunlight left to also mow the backyard. Only mildly disappointed, I wanted to go get a drink of water before putting the mower away.
Only to discover that I’d locked myself out of the house.
Annoyed with myself and the situation, I was fortunate that a) my neighbor was home so that I could use her phone and b) my friend with the backup key was available to bring it to me. Knowing it would take her 10-15 minutes to bring my keys to me, I decided to kill the time by cutting the grass in the backyard (thank goodness for floodlights).
When my friend arrived I was, understandably, overjoyed. Using her key, we opened the door — only to have my cat Rebecca bolt past us. I usually allow Rebecca a little bit of outside time whenever I can but I don’t like to let her out too near dusk as she gets it into her little furry head that she doesn’t have to come inside within a reasonable amount of time. Not wanting her to run off, we tried to corner and catch my insolent child only to give up and yell after her that I wasn’t waiting up to let her in.
After this embarassing outburst, my friend left and I went inside. I took one look at the dishes piled in the sink and the laundry still waiting to be folded and decided I couldn’t be bothered with any of it until after I’d had a shower.
I thoroughly enjoyed my shower, using the very relaxing and refreshing Eucalyptus Spearmint sugar scrub I got for Christmas. By the time I was done I felt all the better about my misadventures and was ready to tackle household chores before retiring to bed.
This in mind, I reached for the towel — only to have the towel bar fly off the wall at me and land with a resounding clang on the ceramic tile floor. I stared dumbly at the bar for a moment before catching sight of myself in the mirror and laughing, I hate to admit, a mite hysterically over everything.
Considering this the last that I could handle, I put on my jimjams, let the cat in, and went to bed.
It wasn’t until I was regaling anyone who would listen with my not-so-fun-filled evening that I realized that I’d had quite the encounter with The Law that night: Murphy’s Law.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Everybody's Friendly at Dawn
I’m an early riser, not entirely by choice (as discussed in previous posts and evident by the time stamps of my various ramblings), and I’ve noticed something interesting about the world that early in the morning.
Everybody’s friendly.
Well, alright, it might be a bit much to say that “everybody” is friendly that early in the morning but if you happen to be out and about in the wee, small hours of the morning, there’s a certain camaraderie shared with most everyone else you meet at that time. I specifically noticed this yesterday morning on my way to my hair appointment (thanks for noticing, by the way).
As I was leaving my neighborhood, there were mutual head nods and smiles exchanged with a friendly bicycler and “good mornings” shared with random folk milling about East Lansing taking care of their early errands.
Then, of course, there was the one stiff “hello” from one woman out walking her dog on campus who looked rather like she’d stepped in something her canine had just done. She’s the exception to the “everybody,” I suppose. Not everyone’s naturally friendly, not even at dawn.
Everybody’s friendly.
Well, alright, it might be a bit much to say that “everybody” is friendly that early in the morning but if you happen to be out and about in the wee, small hours of the morning, there’s a certain camaraderie shared with most everyone else you meet at that time. I specifically noticed this yesterday morning on my way to my hair appointment (thanks for noticing, by the way).
As I was leaving my neighborhood, there were mutual head nods and smiles exchanged with a friendly bicycler and “good mornings” shared with random folk milling about East Lansing taking care of their early errands.
Then, of course, there was the one stiff “hello” from one woman out walking her dog on campus who looked rather like she’d stepped in something her canine had just done. She’s the exception to the “everybody,” I suppose. Not everyone’s naturally friendly, not even at dawn.
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