Saturday, November 30, 2013

Back on the wagon

Welp, it happened.  I outfatted all my pants.

So many things converged all at once to make this happen.  A year of living with a dude who ate like a frat boy, and the stress of that dude and his disorder, and the stress of having my work life fall apart due to the stress of that dude and his disorder, and the evicting of the dude and his unfathomable mess, and the cat dying, and my house in shambles.... yeah, I decided to eat whatever the hell I wanted as a band-aid.  Boy, it shows.  I'm back up around 190 pounds.  25 pounds!  BOOOOO.

Don't get me wrong, kids, I am not about the body-shaming here.  I like the skinny, I like the chub, I like the pear shaped and apple shaped and hourglass shaped and the ruler shaped.  I like all y'all.  I'm not even particularly unhappy with the shape of me right now.  I'm just 10 pounds over the weight limit of any of my pants.

I hate pants shopping.  I hate it with the heat of a thousand dying suns (thanks, The Oatmeal).  I am just shy of six feet tall, and weirdly proportioned.  Big ole ironing board ass, no waist to speak of, beer gut, disproportionately long legs....

The pain of changing my eating habits (which is a substantial amount of pain) is less than the pain of trying to find pants that fit.

I gaze into a bowl of kale and spaghetti squash covered in marinara, instead of glorious pasta covered in something involving cheese.  I gaze at the pile of dishes in the kitchen that has been created from cooking all this vegetable shit.

Oh well.  I like vegetables.  Not super fond of maintenance cooking, but what the hell.

It beats buying pants.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Things I Have Not Gotten Used To Yet

It is very quiet in my home.

I go to bed very early.

I can keep the door into the garage closed.

I have a dining table.

I can wander around naked if I want to.

I don't have to bleach the garage floor twice a day.

I don't have to wear slippers in the house for fear of stepping in something unpleasant.

I can sleep past 5, and do not have to be home at 5 and 9 on the dot.

I can sleep with my bedroom door open, allowing the dog to move about freely.

The porch is very empty.

I can park in the dead center of the driveway.

The sponge in the kitchen sink is never mildewy from not being wrung out.

The dishwasher is properly loaded.

The cabinets are arranged with military precision.

I have several swaths of floor to lay out large bits of fabric for elaborate folding and tying.

I do not worry about things on the floor getting peed on.

My house has no discernible smell, unless I am burning a candle with a smell or cooking something.

There are not syringes strewn about my home.

I could go on a vacation if I wanted.

The rats have their own room and several cages to choose from (they only utilize one, but they have options).

I worry that I will get used to all these things, and then I will never again be able to tolerate another human in my living space again.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Life goes on

- Picked up Old Man's cremains yesterday.  He's about the size of a rolled-up pair of socks.  Didn't expect to cry when the lady handed me the paper bag full of my old friend, but I did.  Didn't realize I had any tears left.

-Coworker ML (who is-was?- technically my supervisor) is moving back to the PacNW.  Coworker AL is taking her place, which makes me happy.  Coworker AL is a smart dude and almost impossibly amiable.  You just can't get mad at the guy, which is a good thing when you're receiving your teaching evaluations, I imagine.  I'm also glad that we're not hiring some outsider, as I don't like having to decode new people very often.  It will be very different from Coworker ML's tenure, but at least I feel like I can predict how AL will tick.

-As a farewell gift to Coworker ML, I am tie-dying a set of bedsheets.  Her husband is eighty three feet tall, so they're California King sheets, which is a difficult thing to hang on the line to dry.  It's like trying to fold a wet sail by yourself.  ML likes octopussessesseses, and teal, so I'm going to do the fitted sheet with a big smoke-ring pattern (like suckers on tentacles), the top sheet with waves, and a combo of both on the pillowcases, all in watery teal shades.  I have also sort of figured out how to tie an octopus, so I need to make a big square scarf with an octopus to serve as wrapping paper (furoshiki or nothing, I say).  I have figured out how to do butterflies and flowers and mandalas and octopusseseeses, but I still can't figure out how to do a bat.  Alas.

- I have been cleaning and puttering around the house.  This house is a rabbit warren of small rooms, and I inherited a ton of antique furniture.  Most of the furniture is too big for the rooms.  As such, my dining room has been home to a roll-top desk, two nightstands, a vanity, and a large dresser for 3 years.  The tiny tiny kitchen has had a small dining set, but you can't use it because of the location.  Nobody has any idea why my grandmother felt the need to obstruct doorways with a dining set in the kitchen.  On Thursday, I moved the desk to the office, the dining set to the dining room, and the vanity to the kitchen to serve as a non-doorway-blocking shelf.  The dresser remains in the dining room, doing a rather good impersonation of a liquor cabinet.  I have yet to train myself to eat at the table, though.

-The rats have colds, so I have to give them both oral meds twice a day until they stop sneezing.  The only reason I have been successful is because I am in possession of coconut pecan cookies, which are apparently rat currency.  I bet they'd let me shave them for a cookie.  I bet they'd ride the dog for a cookie.  These cookies are very very important to the rats.  They are less sneezy.

-My guest room needs a paint job.  First Roommate painted the lower half of the walls dark chocolate brown, into which she scraped a roughly woodlike pattern, and the upper half dark olive with a weird crinkly texture, separating the two bits with a white chair rail.  I'm not super into olive.  I have many cool-toned objects that do not match the rest of my pinkredburgundy decor, and those objects can live in the guest room, but I gotta switch it up.  I'm thinking peacock blue.  There are swatches on my wall.  I also plan to loft the little twin bed, so as to be able to hide objects underneath.  I had a lofted bed all through college, I have never gotten over the happy nestlike feeling of being "up."  I'd loft my bed in my bedroom, if I thought the dog would be able to get up there.

-Thanksgiving is coming, which means I need to come up with a suitable cocktail to take to the family dinner, and I also need to go to Ikea to buy a bag of meatballs.  Yes, I bring Ikea meatballs to Thanksgiving.  I feel no shame about this.  This also means that "The Loop" is coming up.  "The Loop" is a yearly tradition- my sister-in-law's brother started organizing a pub crawl at the local high-end shopping center on Black Friday, and it's gotten more ridiculous as the years have gone on.  One year they made tee-shirts, another year they were escorted out by mall security.... It costs $50 to buy in, the Chairman holds the cash, places the orders, and tips the staff, and we swim among the throng of shoppers getting ever more inebriated.  I highly recommend you start a spinoff in your town.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

End of an era

On Saturday, I said goodbye to my decrepit old cat, Gypsy Boots.

In his younger and more gloriously fuzzy days.
His body just gave up on him.  Between the wildly fluctuating blood sugar, and the neuropathy making his ass end unreliable, and the food allergies, and the kidney problems, he was ready to go.  I spent the night in the living room with him on Thursday, helping him walk when his butt decided not to work. Friday afternoon I came home from work for a few hours at lunch to sit with him in the sun on the front porch.  Friday night my mother took the jealous jealous dog, and the Old Man and I had one last sleepover.  We hung out in the living room and ate whatever the hell we wanted, and watched a Phyllis Diller special, and slept in a basket on the floor, and enjoyed each other's company in a bittersweet sort of way.  On Saturday we took one last car ride.  Everyone, including the vet and the techs, cried.  He was surrounded by people who cared for him when he died.

If there is a Cat Valhalla, he definitely sauntered in, probably uninvited.
Gypsy wandered into the house in 2002.  When I say "wandered in," I really do mean that.  He waltzed into the house from goodness knows where and just stayed.  We thought he was a girl, because whoever neutered the guy left him nothing :::ahem::: to indicate his dudeness.  I asked her what her name was.... "Sonja?" >ignore<  "Ursula?"  >ignore<  "Gypsy Rose Lee?"  >coy meow< "Your name is Gypsy?"  >another coy meow<  It was only later that I learned that she was a he and that "gypsy" is a terrible racist slur.  By then, I was calling him "Asshole" almost exclusively, though, so it worked out.

With Turbo, who formed the rest of his motorcycle gang.
Gypsy hated Trixie.  A lot.  A LOT a lot.  Trixie was incredibly jealous of Gypsy (and anything I pay attention to that isn't her).  Gypsy tolerated my mother's cat Simon, and didn't care about the Nephews one way or the other.  On his last visit, the Heir delighted in saying "Gypsy is OOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLD" over and over and over.

During a rare truce.  It was hot, and this is where the breeze was blowing.
Generously sharing his chaise with Simon.
Being tolerant of The Heir.
In his younger days, Gypsy was a vicious predator who preferred to consume his victims rather than leave them as gifts for his humans.  The only evidence he left of his killings was feet.  I have a rather macabre little collection of bird feet because of this awful hobby.  His last confirmed kill was two years ago, when he managed to drag a large dove into the house and proceeded to murder it in front of horrified houseguests.  I do not know how many victims he claimed over the years.

I am Death.  Merry Christmas.
Gypsy's other awful hobby was sexually abusing inanimate objects, usually blankets and shoes.  He liked to do this in front of people, and occasionally in front of Simon.  The rhythmic thud of a shoe being dragged down the stairs by a feline pervert will always be one of my cherished memories, and one that the rest of my family will desperately try to forget.

Heeeey, is that a shoe?
Gypsy required two insulin shots a day for the last several years of his life.  It was inconvenient at best, and a burden at worst.  He was also unable to climb into the litterbox for the last few years. He destroyed every flooring surface he came into contact with.  I have become friends with the guy who sells 123-Odor-Free carpet cleaner as a result.  Got a urine problem?  That product is legit.

I got you a present.  Here's a hint- it's not in the litterbox.  Happy Holidays.
He actively hated every man I ever dated.  

He gave up grooming himself in the last two years, preferring to become a matted, sticky, dandruff-covered mess.  I finally gave up this year and started shaving him.  His last few months were very goofy looking, but much more comfortable.

Why have you stolen my dignity?  And where is my rubber ducky?
Aint nobody dope as me, I'm just so fresh so clean.
I loved him dearly, every horrid filthy perverse jealous stinky repulsive inch of him.  Even when he was pissing in every corner of my house.  Even when he was being rushed to the emergency vet to the tune of thousands of dollars.  Even when he could only eat expensive prescription food.  Even when he bit me for trying to comb out his fur.  Even when he could no longer make his legs work and had to have his food dish pushed under his nose to eat.

Gettin old aint for sissies.
Gypsy Boots was my boy.  I loved him.

People used to ask me why I put up with all his foolishness, why I let his ailments and faults destroy my property and my social life and my sanity.  I always replied the same way.

"I will be old and inconvenient someday, too, and I hope someone will put up with me."  

It remains true.
Goodbye, Old Man.  I love you.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Train wreck

Anyone else finding 2013 to just be a train wreck?

I cannot remember being this mentally fucked up.  I'm a mess.  It's not Mercury retrograde, either, it's just across-the-board, total life system failure.

I have no idea how to appropriately respond to ANYTHING anymore.  Everything is red alert, all the time.

Getting the toxic roommate out of the house helped, but that's a single snowflake in the avalanche.  I don't even know how to start digging out.

I am in that Catch-22 situation of probably needing therapy, but not being able to afford it.

Maybe admitting that it's out of control is good enough for today.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013


I'm terrified that there are nothing but forests.

I still have fins.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Spoke too soon

All the leftover shit that someone didn't move when he had the truck?

That was supposed to be out on Thursday?

That I spent all day Friday hoping someone would retrieve?

That my mother and I had to spend all day Saturday cleaning up?

That has been sitting in my driveway since Saturday afternoon?

That my neighbors have been bitching about since Sunday morning?

It's still there.

Things in the pile:

random garbage
parts of broken toys
phone bills
brokedown furniture
things from trash piles that "might be useful someday"
spray paints
large bits of plastic
things that smell terrible
a bigass heavy TV that may or may not work
car insurance bills
collectibles still in their boxes
a grill that may or may not work
a bag of clay
resins (I'm presuming they're resins)
a BB gun that looks very much like a handgun
his favorite hat
more random trash
art supplies
a toaster
a hibachi that doesn't work

Things in the pile that I want to remain on the property:

I had such high hopes.  I am so unbelievably angry that this mess continues to be MY problem.

I have to shake off the rage before my performance evaluation at work tomorrow.