Professional pretty, my ass

Well, I was all not going to post, and leave work like now, but the stupid Verizon guy is here and I can't leave until he does. And he's here fixing my SUPERVISOR's phone, and he left an hour ago. Totally not fair. Makes more money and gets to make the rules (when Pres isn't here). So here I am.

Isn't it strange how something someone said years ago can still either make you feel good or make you feel like crap? Like this guy in high school. He told me and my friend that we were "professionally pretty." At the time, I was all like, "I know." Now, though, it kind of pisses me off. Who the hell says something like that? First of all, I know that it is really hard for me to look slutty. It's a bit of an annoyance, but has its merits, too. Primarily that people always think they know me and that I'm a good girl and it means I can get away with lots of crap. And it's funnier when I say dirty things because it shocks people more. Though the sheer number of people who claim to have corrupted me is getting ridiculous. We all know I was slightly corrupted and then Whitney finished the job. Second of all, he's a teenage boy. A sock with boobs would turn him on and he's judging me? Yeah, right. He couldn't get with me if he wanted. So it hurt my feelings at the time, now I could care less except that I wish I'd slapped him at the time. Oh well. He did get told he was too fat to be on his college soccer team. That's vidication enough. It shouldn't make me laugh... but it does.

Ooohhh.. the Verizon guy is gone. Which means that I am outta here.

Cravings

This article highly entertained me. Why is it that guys, no matter how often we try and explain ourselves, can't get us? Like number 6: No matter how much your woman loves you, there are going to be three to seven days each month when she wants you dead. No matter HOW often I tell Spyboy that it's not really him and if he doesn't want to deal with it, just. go. away. he still insists that I am obviously mad at him and then tries to make me be in a better mood. Which annoys me, because he usually tries to cheer me up by being stupidly funny and it's just not funny. Okay, OCCASIONALLY it is. But most of the time, and definitely when I want to kill him, not so funny. And then I am simultaneously annoyed with him for being annoying and guilty for being annoyed with him when he's trying to make things better. But if I tell him he should just go away for his own sake, he gets all offended.

Also, Jordan Baker just posted about making a cake. Now I REALLY want cake. Hmm... Also, I found the recipe online for Cappuccino Blasts! I may gain 18,039 zillion pounds if I can make them at home. Right now, it's mainly the expense and the embarrassment of my addiction that prevents me from eating them all the time. I'm going to go buy a better blender this weekend. Whee!

Me? High Maintenance? Nah...

Sometimes I feel sorry for Spyboy. Dating me is not the easiest thing in the world to do. I do admit, though, that I am sometimes irrational. Last night was one of those times. Poor guy. He's been workign really hard this week, getting off close to 6. And, since I am basically refusing to leave my apartment after I get home because I want to stay with Cassy, it is up to him to come up with dinner. Or at least, pick it up. I know it's not fair, but I can't exactly stop at the grocery store on my way home from work. He drives, I don't. He gets the freedom of having a car and the lack of annoying people actually in your personal space, but he also gets the responsibility of picking up food. Anyways, so last night, he gets over to my apartment about 8, groceries in hand for french toast. He cooks (Hey, he likes to cook! So that's not me making him...) and gives me my french toast. which was nearly raw. I was honestly a little worried about getting salmonella. I mean, the bread wasn't heated all the way through. But he had tried to be sweet and buttered and put syrup on it for me (even though I'd have rather done it myself), so you couldn't really put it back in the pan to cook it more. So I ate it. And then, since I was already cranky and hungry and looking forward to good french toast, I kind of ambushed him with it. I kept my mouth closed until he asked me how it was. I wasn't hugely nice. Not completely awful, not like "It was crap!" But still. Not nice. Then I snipped at him for trying to get Cassy to attack his feet and fingers. But I read that that's a bad idea because it teaches your cats bad habits and I don't want her biting or clawing MY hands and feet. Then he won't stop fidgeting. He got a lot of snark last night. Of course, I never denied it when my mom told me that he has to put up with a lot. And I'll try and make up for it by being sweet. Probably not tonight, but maybe this weekend.

Though I'm not as mean as some people are on the metro. I swear I saw two people nearly get in a fight the other day. One woman was all like "Never treat me like that again," and the guy was all "then get out of the way!" In the guy's defense, this woman was standing squarely in front of one gate in, resting her bag on the reader for another gate while she looked for her pass. So she was REALLY in the way. And it was rushhour. I don't know WHAT he said, though, because she was really pissed off. Kept yelling at him until the train got there. It was kind of exciting, in a "I don't really want to deal with this right now" sort of way.

I just got off the phone with our press consultant about our newsletter. And man. My mind is about to implode or collapse or something. I have the feeling that she is all like, "Crap, this girl doesn't know what she's doing." Which is true. I've never taken an extremely basic, undefined newsletter and turned it into something of more worth. And no one here really knows what they are doing, either. Besides the press consultant. I talked to my supervisor about it. The conversation went something like this:
Me: We should really have more of a format for the newsletter, especially if boss-lady wants to have outside writers, which she does. That is going to take a lot more (any) organization.
Him: How so?
Me: Well, we might want some kind of timeline, first of all, so we can give them deadlines.
Him: Write one, then.
And now, I have four pages of notes on post-its (the big ones, with the lines) and my head hurts slightly. Sigh. And my supervisor actually referenced Vanilla Ice in reference to my coffee. I'm beginning to think he's hopeless.

On to happier thoughts, the pet people on livejournal are much nicer than the general livejournal population. I asked them for vet recommendations and the responses just poured in. I think I might actually go with the vets at PetSmart. I'm tempted by the Alexandria Veterinary Hospital which has gotten rave reviews, but they are more expensive. And with PetSmart, which got pretty good reviews, you can buy a whole care package on a monthly payment plan. And it's ridiculously close to my apartment, which is really good, since Cassy does not seem to enjoy car rides. I did realize why the names Cassy and Callie have been floating in my head lately. I've been reading Middlesex and the main character is named Cal/Callie. Which is quite close to Cassy, so... Cassy did cry this morning when I left. It was very sad. I closed the door behind me and was waiting for the elevator and I heard these little meows. She is such a goof, though. Frantically dashing all around my apartment before collapsing for a few minutes and then starting again. And she begs for food. I have to feed her right before we eat, because otherwise, she climbs all over and yowls. I think she just rests up during the day so she can go nuts when I get home. Sigh. I wish I were home right now.

I did get thanked by a woman for helping set up a meeting. That was nice. People usually gloss over me, since they don't really interact wiht me beyond the scheduling. So I appreciated the attention.

KITTY

This is my kitty. I love my kitty. She is strange and wonderful and a little whiney, actually, in that she enjoys meowing. A lot. In a high pitch tone. For no good reason. She also enjoys frantically running around my studio, so you'll be sitting there, watching tv and see something gray and white dart across the room and dive under the bed. Then she peeks out to see if it's safe and then darts behind the chair or into the closet. It's highly entertaining. She has a little bit of a hurt leg (no, she didn't get hurt with me! It was her previous caretakers.) Apparently, she pulled a muscle when she got her claw stuck in something and couldn't get it out. Which I can understand. Those claws are freakishly prickly and I am going to cut them as soon as I get some cat-nail clippers. She also completely passes out when she's sleeping, enough so that Spyboy and I can transfer her from lap to lap with her hardly noticing. I have named her (I think. I'm still not 100% settled on it.) Cassie, short for Cassiopeia. Sorry, Michelle. Spyboy wanted to name her after an actual person, too, but I couldn't think of anyone I'd want to name my kitten after. He was all, "Be like Lorelai and Paul Anka and you have to use teh full name." When I asked him for suggestions of a person, he kept coming out with people like Jessica Simpson or Britney Spears. I am NOT naming an animal after people like them. Plus, with Cassy, if I get another cat in the future, I can name her Andromeda and call her Andy. Sigh. I wish I were at home with my kitty right now. Though she is probably tearing up the apartment. When I left, she was doing that weird little hoppy thing that cats do when they are curious about something, but afraid of it at the same time. She also tried to climb my fridge. The sadest thing, though, is that she keeps looking for her siblings to play with. She sees reflections of herself in the tv, then goes behind the tv to find the cat back there. And she runs around mewling. It breaks my heart. I know she'll get over it soon, but still. I just want her to be happy...