Where's Paula Deen when you need her?

This picture makes me smile every time I look at it. I love my kitty, who is the sweetest, cutest kitty in the world. If only she would cuddle more... I shall just have to teach her.

So, SB (Spyboy) and I went to a new restaurant last night for Restaurant Week. We were both... rather disappointed, although the sweet tea was splendid. We went to Indigo Landing, a Southern restaurant right on the Potomac near National Airport. The view was great, though the restaurant itself didn't foster the peaceful feeling the view produced. Inside, it was loud and echoed like mad. The staff was very friendly, although SB's drink frequently went unfilled. That's not THAT uncommon, since he drinks like a camel. The food was just okay. I mean, for $60 I expect pretty good. It was plentiful and I definitely left full, but... I had the chicken. It was supposed to be stuffed with a cheese fondue. It wasn't. It was barbequed, on the bone, and sitting on a mixture of overly small pieces of dark meat, vegetables, and frankly what tasted like Velveeta. SB got roast pork which he said was too dry, though the cornbread mixture that came with it was really good. Then I got pecan pie (or tart, rather) for dessert. It came with mint julep ice cream which was amazingly good. If you could freeze the essence of biting into a mint leave, that would pretty much be this ice cream. The pecan tart, though, was crap. The crust was dry and crumbly, and the filling was basically pecans with caramel so stiff, it made my jaw and teeth hurt. It just was not that good. So we've decided that next time we want to splurge on a meal, we'll just go all the way and go to 2941. Which honestly was one of the best meals I've had. EVER. With great atmosphere. So much more worth the money.

It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that I need to leave. Not the city, just the organization. And it's not even that I hate this organization. It's more that I don't feel as though it is advancing me at all toward something that will make me happy. I think about getting a raise or more responsibility and both would alleviate the situation, but it wouldn't be fixed. The fact is I'm ready to move on. The only real question now is how and to where.

Oh, the joys of the gym

Yesterday I returned to my gym after a three-week hiatus. It was a legitimate absence; I had to bond with Cassie her first week in my apartment, I then was in Boston or with my mom, and then Spyboy was out of town and I had no way to get from the gym to my apartment. Yes, I could go to my apartment and get my car, then head to the gym, but I won't leave my apartment after I get there and I know that. But yes. I returned, while still fighting illness and with a hurt back. I feel that deserves commendation. Anyways, after a short while of being there working out, I remembered why I hate people. And the gym. And people at the gym. First of all, I was annoyed to begin with. This jerk on the metro refused to move half an inch so that I could be more comfortable, THEN he quickly stole the only seat that opened up. Not that I needed to sit, but there were other people who were around who could have used that seat. It just wasn't gentlemanly. Then I get to the gym, quickly change, and get on my ellipse machine. Only to find out my battery has died in my gym mp3 player. (I use my pre-ipod player at the gym so I don't get my ipod all nasty.) Then this rather large man gets on the machine next to me. I don't mind because the gym is crowded and there are few open machines. What I do mind is him sticking his elbow out far enough that his sweaty elbow rubs mine. I don't know whether to be annoyed with him for taking up more than his allotted space (my elbow was carefully kept inside my space) or annoyed with the gym for only having like 6 inches between ellipse machines. It really is a bit precarious. I get a little worried everytime I get off that I'm going to be hit by a part of someone else's machine. I quickly shake this off, go stretch because my back hurts more, and then go to do weight machines. Now I only do three or four machines for my arms. There are two in particular that I like best. Both were taken so I wandered around, then hurried back when one opened up. While I was on that one, the other opened up and then was taken by this woman who did the slowest reps ever. So I wander around, do another machine, wander back to see a guy take over that machine. At this point, I'm a little weary of the wandering, so I plant myself firmly in front of the machine and stretch until he finishes his reps. As he starts to get up, this other large man starts hovering, clearly watching me out of the corner of his eye. I start to walk over to the machine, crossing the three feet between me and it and this sweaty, hovering, clearly has not been waiting because I just saw him get off the treadmill MAN slides in and takes the machines. At this point, I got pissed off and just left, calling him all sorts of rude names in my head (focusing on "asshat" for some reason), and declaring to myself that chivalry and courtesy is dead.*

THEN I get into the locker room. And there is annoying cell phone woman sitting across from my locker. Why is annoying cell phone woman annoying? Primarily because I don't like someone getting to the gym, immediately planting themself in front of a locker, and then conducting a really long, ridiculously personal conversation as if there is no better place to do such a thing. Meanwhile, I put away my stuff, go take a shower, and come back. She's still talking on the cell phone. So I get to be regaled by a description of her cell phone experiences (apparently she doesn't use enough minutes to justify her plan, but her cell phone carrier doesn't allow you to downgrade your plan without sending something in in writing) while dressing. It's not that big a deal... it's just irksome. Then Spyboy, who runs on SCT (Spyboy Central Time), was 20 minutes late. It did make me feel slightly better to hear that other people had declared that he had his own time zone (10-15 mins behind normal people). Which means, when he lived at home in Indiana, Indiana had 4 time zones. Which is just ridiculous.

Also this entertains me. Maybe I should get my mom to vote for him instead...

Lynn Truss would totally support me.

Here begins the series of Cassie pictures, in order to honor my coworker's request.

This weekend... well, this weekend kind of sucked, though my dinner on Friday was amazing. Sauteed asparagus with lemon and goat cheese has to be the best combination EVER. So easy and so delightful. Sigh. I wish I had some now... The rest of the weekend was spent, for the most part, sleeping. I had a relapse (or maybe a delayed reaction) to whatever I had earlier last week. It sucked. I got up both days, felt not great, but not horrible, and then after a few hours, I was about to die. Cassie was tolerant of it. She didn't like me sleeping in (she tends to meow to try and wake me up in the morning), but she napped when I napped and it all worked out. Saturday I did check out the neighborhood coffee shop, with their complementary wireless. Which is why you get updated pictures of Cassie. And soon of me as a child. I had forgotten how much being in a coffee shop relaxes me. Strange how that works. It was like as soon as I got there, I could just let go of some of the tension I was holding. There was a musician. He was... interesting. Not bad, but he talked a lot and that bothered me in the beginning.

Spyboy and I got into a spat (meaning I got annoyed and he pretended to be sorry while really feeling that I was annoyed over nothing but too afraid to actually tell me that) on Saturday. I still feel completely justified. He was just discourteous. See, I had called him on Friday night; he was out with his friends. So I told him to call me back whenever they got done and to have fun and we could chat later. He never calls that night. I sigh, but realize that communication is not his strong point and he probably got in late and figured I was already in bed. I also figured that he would at least call at some point in the day on Saturday. I'm not talking about a big phone call. I'm talking a three-minute, "I was thinking of you and wanted you to know I was okay, and I'll chat with you tonight" phone call. Nope. Nothing. I was starting to get worried. He called almost 24 hours to the minute after I had called him. I was a little annoyed. I also felt like crap. I was more annoyed when I realized that part of his day consisted of a 20-minute cell phone shenanegan to track down a friend he'd seen a few days earlier. He also had to drive all the way home from where he was visiting friends. I'm just saying these things to point out that he obviously could have spared me 3 minutes. So I told him I was flirting with the barista at the coffee shop. I know I'm mean, but I was cranky and sick and a bit hurt and recovering from slight worry and annoyance tied in with the worry, because nothing is more annoying than not knowing whether or not you have any reason to worry because your boyfriend could just not have called you back ever or he could be lying in a ditch or hospital somewhere and how would I know? Sigh. I would get annoyed again but I still don't feel well, he's been punished enough, and I have a Potbelly cookie to keep me happy. Seriously, their chocolate chip cookies are like the best.

ps. I'm not really insane, I just act like it occasionally.
pps. I'm lying, I am insane. Spyboy should know that by now, though, and compensate accordingly.

TMI, or why I don't want to know anything about "man juice"

So remember the wedding which I refused to call tacky, but plainly was? Apparently things have not stopped there. Now this is a couple who want to have kids like yesterday. And the groom at least was a virgin. I knew way too much about his sex life before he got married (non-existent for all real purposes) and about how he managed this (he didn't do ANYTHING). I could handle this knowledge. Really, I could. However. Spyboy saw them last weekend. Apparently a discussion was held on how the groom is not producing much during sex. Yes, that's right. They had a discussion on the volume of "man juice," as Spyboy and possible the lovely couple called it, the groom produces. It is a source of worry with them, what with the whole wanting to get knocked up asap. When Spyboy told me this? First word (and several words after) was Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww... Not something that really should be shared. Which, of course, is why I'm posting about it in a public forum. Then I came up with funny things to do about it. Like next time I see the groom, give him some apple juice, with the comment "I heard you were having a hard time creating your own juice, so here's some manufactored." It entertained me.

I also was reminded last night of how sweet Spyboy really can be (MUCH later, after the "man juice" comments). I was talking about Oxford and my doubts about being a Rhodes Scholar and whatnot and what kind of effect it would have on our relationship. He was quiet for a minute and then said, "hey, I'll just go over there and work in a pub." Actually, he pronounced it "poooob," thinking he was funny, but we'll overlook that. And later told me to go ahead and apply for it and we'll worry about all that stuff when I get it. It was just really sweet and reassuring. Sigh. Now if only I could get him to buy me flowers, I'd be set.

Oh, and my coworker has been nagging me to post more pictures of Cassie. So be prepared and don't blame me...

Working hard or hardly working

I feel like crap. I know, that's what my last post was on. But I feel even more like crap than before. And apparently my boss either doesn't believe that I or my coworker is actually sick or she doesn't care and wants us both here no matter what. If we are sick, it inconvienences her and that's all that really matters. Luckily, I look like crap, so I think it convinced her that the illness is real. Not that it matters. Yes, my coworker was out Monday and I was out yesterday. We probably got each other sick since our symptoms are the same. It's not like we were out partying or recovering from a hangover or anything. I, personally, spent most of the day yesterday either sleeping or sitting on the couch watching tv. I came into work today because I had stuff to do and I was sick of my apartment. Sigh.

Cassie has officially gone crazy. Either that, or she's a kitten. But man, she's nuts. I can't open the fridge now without her running inside. And it's not that she's interested. It's that she is bound and determined to get in there. She's started jumping in garbage cans. If I go in the kitchen, she's going to follow me and try and jump in the trash in there. She also tried to climb inside the dishwasher, an impressive feat since it was barely open and she had to hook her claws onto the wire rack and pull. This morning, she fell into the trash can beside my bed. She was playing on my night stand and I heard a thump, and there she was. Sitting inside the trash. I did get a box for her. She really likes the box. She carries around some of those little fake mice and throws them inside the box... it's a good time. I wish I were so easily amused... :-)

I wish I'd hurry up and get well. I have stuff to think about, decisions to make. And it's hard to do that when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep forever. For instance, do I really want to apply to be a Rhodes Scholar? I mean, I loved Oxford, but it'd probably mean leaving Spyboy for two years. And we've done teh long-distance thing to death. Would we even last if I went over there? And should I stay in the States for health reasons? Because I obviously don't deal well with stress and, while my term there was lovely, stress-free it was not. In fact, that was when the stabbing pain got to be the worst. If I don't go, where should I go to grad school? Do I want to go to grad school? What should I do for a career when I get out? I had the thought the other day that the last time I was happy, I mean for a while and consistently, was in college. Which was a couple of years ago. That's not to say that I'm unhappy now. I'm just... getting by, I guess. And that's not the way I want to live. What do I need to do to make myself happy?

family of family of family

My coworker is supposedly under the weather today as she is staying home. I would think she was making it up (she just got back from Italy, her boyfriend just moved in with her, she's not thrilled with her job, I can see a few good reasons to stay home), but I don't feel so hot either, so there very well could be something going around the office. What this means for me, though, is a very quiet day. It's just me and my supervisor in the office, plus Spyboy is at home in Indiana, so not much conversation will occur. Oh well.

This weekend was a good time, minus the not feeling great. My sister-in-law's brother lives in the area and he had an engagement party. So his family, whom I LOVE, and my brother and sister-in-law came into town for the party. I hadn't met his fiancee, so that was fun, too. I approve, not that my approval matters much. And my mom was here for other reasons (she was here taking craft classes), so she got to go, too. Which was nice for her since she might not get to go to the wedding. It's in December, she's a church organist, it can be hard to leave town then. But yes. The party was fun, although it ended with about an hour and a half of singing. Cheesy, I know, but it fits both families pretty well. And then they made me sing a solo. It was a bit ridiculous, but I couldn't refuse my brother's grandmother-in-law (she's like 80-something, going blind, and a really sweet woman) and the aunt of the bride. Who is Lebanese. This aunt is going to teach me how to Arabic dance at the wedding. I am SO excited. And she cracks me up. Like a combination of a character from My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Paula Deen. She is one reason I always wanted to marry someone ethnic. I know that sounds strange, but my family is pretty traditional American. I would love to be a part of a family with a different culture.

In other news, I'm trying to decide what I want to do with my life. It's not going well...

Damn fairies

I had the most bizarre dream last night. In it, I was in some kind of competition. Whitney was running it, and she told me that I was currently favored to win. The first part of the competition was fighting fairies. With a magic wand. I remember trying to recall the phrases from the Harry Potter series, and coming up with some Latin. The first few times, the fairies did not fall. I tried again; was barely successful, but only managed to hold them off for a few short minutes. They were getting closer and closer... and I froze them and finished my first trial. Only got like an 84 out of 100, though. Then I had to win in a game that combined hide and seek with hunting zombies. It was very odd. And the siblings of my best friend from high school were there... Sadly, I never found out whether or not I won. I do remember that the prize had something to do with Spyboy riding in on a white horse as Prince Charming and sweeping me away somewhere. Like I said, though, I didn't dream the rest of the competition so no winningness and no white horse.

I blame the heat for that one. I was SO cranky last night, it was ridiculous. Though I blame my commute. Because it was like 100 degrees here and I had to wait for ten minutes at rush hour for my train. I finally got on it and... THERE WAS NO AIR CONDITIONING. I've never been so hot. Well, that's not true. But it was pretty gross. I was actually a little worried that if the train got too crowded, I'd pass out. Then I get to Pentagon, run up the stairs, hurry as fast as I can to get to my bus stop (trying again not to pass out), only to get there just in time to see the bus pulling away. So I had to wait for a full 20 minutes until the next bus. Luckily, that bus driver got there 10 minutes early and let us get on, so I could at least sit in the air conditioning. Got home, watched tv, tried not to move. I felt pretty crappy, due to the excessive heat and the dehydration due to sweating. And I was starving. Spyboy had to work late, meaning I didn't get food for forever. Then he got there with Boston Market and my turkey was all disgusting. So I could only eat like three bites of it. Then, and this is the real kicker, I tried to make homemade Cappuccino Blasts. They were a complete and utter failure. Just not good. I didn't have the right coffee and everything was too warm and it just wound up being this weird coffee slushy thing. And that was when I had my adolescent break-down hissy fit. Which basically consisted of me sulking and huffing and then getting mad at Spyboy for falling asleep and not paying attention to me. And kind of throwing things when I got mad. It was very much a regression to teenage years. Kind of entertaining, looking back on it, though nto so much for Spyboy. Let's just say that both of us will be glad when it's fall. Oh, I shouldn't have said that. Now I'm dreaming of fall... I love fall...

Strangled... with love

I woke up this morning to a pressure on my throat. Across it, actually. Cassie apparently decided that the best place to sleep was sprawled with her front feet beside my one ear, her back feet beside my other, and all her weight on my trachea. I call it kitty necklace. Luckily she only weighs like 2-3 pounds, so it didn't really bother me. The strange thing, though, is that I don't really remember how she got there adn I don't really remember her leaving.

Anyways, I was highly entertained to read about Bob Corker in the Washington Post. Why would this entertain me? Well, besides being from Tennessee, I actually have spoken one-to-one with the former Mayor Corker. It makes me feel special. He called me up one day, out of the blue, just to chat about life and whatnot. Or maybe to discuss him supporting an initiative I was working on. Whatever. Either way. The more entertaining thing is that apparently his campaign is so freaking annoying, it pushed my mom over the edge to reregister herself as a Democrat. Yes, my mother was a Republican, a fact that my brother and I learned for the first time this weekend. She doesn't ACT or have opinions like many a Republican. I mean, she's too liberal even for a moderate Republican. It does make me wonder, though, if this means that she (horror of horrors) voted for Bush in '04. I don't know if I could stand to know that she did... Now, I know my dad did. He would have even if he were a Democrat, which he's not. He hates John Edwards with a passion, so the Democratic ticket was never an option for him. Even my mom, though, doesn't understand his voting. As she put it, "I don't know how he can believe what he believes and vote the way he votes." But anyways. Mr. Corker, while a good mayor in Chattanooga, apparently has decided to emphasize his family values. Over and over again until his commercials leave you feeling as though you've lost something. Such as your mind. Of course, he is Republican, so that really shouldn't be any surprise.

On a completely other note, I was a little freaked out this weekend by my mom and brother's bringing up with me future plans with Spyboy. I mean, way future. Like "will you guys ever move to another country to follow a job" type future. I know that we've been dating like forever. But still. A bit weird. I remember before my brother got engaged saying things like, "we all know they are going to get married. Why don't they just go ahead and do it?!" Now the shoe is on the other foot.

Museums as Morgues

Well, I am back from Boston. I know, you didn't know I was going to Boston. Well, I did, and let me tell you, it was crazy. If by crazy, you mean a calm trip to visit my brother and sister-in-law with my mom. It actually was pretty pleasant. We had the most gorgeous weather. And, due to a fortuitous change in plans, Spyboy was in DC to watch Cassie. Only it wasn't so much a change in plans as me realizing that I had the date wrong in my head for the past three months. But yes. I'd only been to Boston twice in the four years since my brother moved there and I hadn't done too many tourist things those times. So this time, I went on a duck tour. Sadly my brother and his wife had to work. The tour guide kept calling me "DC" and decided I secretly worked for Greenpeace, but didn't want to admit it because there were French on the boat. But there really weren't French on the boat; I think he just got confused.

We also went to the Science Museum because a.it was on my brother's way in to work, so it was easy to get to and b. my mom wanted to see this gross body exhibit. She thought it was cool. I think it is gross and freaky and repulsive. (I went and saw butterflies while she was in it.) See, the exhibit is an exhibit of cadavers. Some artist figured out how to preserve bodies by putting some kind of plastic coating on them. So he takes skin off of most of them, puts them in to strange positions (like skiing or yoga), and coats them. It enables you to see how the muscles work in the body. There were also organs and skeletons and fetuses. The pictures made me a little sick. Otherwise I'd link to the website. But I'd have to look at it and that I just don't want to do. And my mom kept talking about it which made me a little sick. And sad. Because while the adults signed a form and said it was okay. But the kids? And it means the kids had to die. And they had a five-month pregnant woman. It just makes me sad.

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...

Kitten Countdown

Okay, the kitten countdown begins. We are prepped and ready.

One thing. Any ideas for names?

Spying on myself

Ha. I'd been wondering who in McLean read my blog (maybe real spies or something), but I just realized that our provider must be in McLean. I, therefore, am my own spy. Sigh. Well, I guess I can be relieved, since I don't REALLY want the government watching what I write.

Though, speaking of government, Bush's speech to the NAACP seemed like canned crap. Full of warm fuzzies and no real substance. Anyways.

Today has not gotten off to a great start. Not a bad start. But not a great one. First of all, my shoes. I bought three pairs of comfortable shoes, for the sole (!) purpose of looking professional while not dying. I've worn two of the three pairs this week. And I have blisters. But, see, I don't really blame the shoes. I blame my skin. I have had ridiculously sensitive skin. The other day I was holding bottles while shopping at CVS. Held the bottles for a few minutes, and a few minutes only. I had little red dents on my arms for HOURS. The shoes? don't even hurt. I don't even feel them rub until the blisters pop out. It's just annoying. Then, some jerk on the metro shoved her way on. It wasn't even crowded. Everyone was going to be able to get on the train. And she just pushed her way past everyone, squeezing by some poor old woman to steal her seat. It was mean. Then this tourist starts chatting with a commuter. I have no respect for this commuter. None at all. And here is why. First, she keeps telling this guy that he should go to the Newseum. Which might be great. IF IT WERE OPEN. And, even if it were open, he wouldn't be able to find it since she said it was still in Arlington. Now that was not so bad. Uninformed, yes, old news, yes, but not that bad. The thing that made me lose the most respect for her? The tourist asks her where she works. She replies, "The IMF." Seeing his blank look, she tries to say what IMF stands for. AND CANNOT. She gets as far as "international" and then ends with, "I dunno, something to do with money." I mean, honestly. I would be mildly suprised if someone around here didn't know what the IMF was, just due to the protests and politics here. But for someone working there to not know what the anagram is for? And it's not like it's hard... IMF=International Monetary Fund. I kind of wanted to smack her. Then she was all like, "I just got married, so I'm not thinking too well." Yeah, did all the sex destroy your brain?! Because we might want to have scientists look into that. I mean, if too much sex kills brain cells, the religious right might have a point they could use. I could understand if she was distracted during an intellectual discussion by thoughts of her new marriedness. But give me a break.

Would you like a mint to get rid of the taste of foot?

I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. I blame the heat. I always blame the heat. I hate hot weather.

Anyways, I've decided that Site Meter is a bad, bad thing. I've become obsessed with it. Not really obsessed so much as... no, it really is obsessed. I must know how many hits I get! Then I try and think of ways to get more. I mean, most of my friends already know about this blog. I'm not telling my family, which means I can't put it in my email signature. I don't really get on instant messenger anymore, so I can't put it there... the funny thing is while I care about the numbers, I don't really care. Not enough to do more than I want to.

It always surprises me that, even though Spyboy and I have been together for nearly four years, he can still stick his foot so far in his mouth, he gags. He did that last night. One of the main things I've had to get over during our relationship is his history. He was a bit slutty before he met me. Not horribly slutty, but compared to me. I mean, he got to be nearly my first everything. And him? Oh, he was definitely used goods. Combine the inequalities with my own insecurities, and you've got a storm brewing. It all blew up our first summer together and created a lot of the problems we are still working out. I got depressed and starting comparing myself to them, or what I thought they were like. I didn't help that I knew one was a quasi-anorectic who liked to participate in wet tee-shirt contests. But I've been good lately! And by lately, I mean the past couple of years. Every once in a while, I have a short resurgence, but it goes away. So last night, I was trying to be sweet. Because, while he was slutty, Spyboy was not very well-trained in some ways. So I like to offer encouragement, which I was doing, and all of a sudden, he comes out with, "Yeah, well, it's not like I hadn't had anyone to learn with before." Which I know doesn't sound that bad. It's not so much what he said, but that he said it. I'm not mad or anything, more flabbergasted at his own lack of thinking. Almost as soon as he said it, too, he felt bad. You could kind of watch him realizing that he had gone into forbidden territory. Which means something. It'd mean more if I didn't have to listen to him put himself down for the rest of the week because of it. Why can he not translate guilt into presents? Like flowers.

Demon Duck of Doom

MSN amused me greatly today. I read MSN mainly for the weird news. Then I get to turn to my coworkers, or, since one is only a wall away, I just yell and say, "Hey, did you know..." They don't read MSN, so the answer is usually "no" and I feel smart. Since my coworker a wall away is out of the country (stupid girl gets to go to Italy for two weeks...), I shall snicker online.

First of all is this. I mean, the title of the article is "When killer kangaroos roamed the earth," and it has the phrase "demon duck of doom" in the first paragraph. This proves my theory that at least some scientists have a weird and quirky sense of humor. You know they all say it "demon duck of dooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmm." Because how else could you say that? I mean really? So now I get the funny mental picture of a stuffy-looking man in tweed reporting to a class, going through his slides. "And here, students, is the skeleton of a killer kangaroo, also known in the science community as the "demon duck of doooooooooooooooooooooooommmmm..." THey should make movie or a comic strip or something off of this.

Second was this proposal, highly pertinent after the Daily Dump's discussion of proposals recently. And highly entertaining. I mean, the guy had his girlfriend kidnapped by fake aliens before he proposed to her. And her family was there, hiding, stalking her throughout the museum. How is any part of this not hilarious? And the guy's main reasoning is that the girl calls him "her alien man." Does this mean that Spyboy will propose by darting me, having people kidnap me to some unknown location, and then torturing me until I say yes? I hope not... I'm not that kinky...

Anyways, we are now counting down to kitten ownership. I have to admit, I'm kind of tempted to take both available kittens. I don't want my kitten to get lonely by itself. But then again. I live in a studio. Two kittens could go insane and completely destroy everything in my apartment in like five minutes. We'll see. I'm only going to prepare for one, but if I go to get that one and completely fall in love with both... well, let's just say I'm not ruling it out.

Interesting day of comments

I may or may not have just pimped myself out for a sugar daddy on The Daily Dump. I also have been called weak for complaining about the heat. I still say I'm going to complain about the heat. If I'm hot and sweaty and the air is toxic (which it is right now), I have the right to whine about it. It's more the air that bothers me right now than anything else. And yes, I did do some work today. I am currently waiting for Adobe to load a document I had to find online. It's taking forever, so here I am.

Sidenote: Why would you take work into the bathroom with you? I was just in there and a girl was rustling papers and THEN she took a work call. Hello? That's what offices are for... I pity the people who have to work with those papers. Ew.

Anyways, the main news is that I might be getting a kitten. Spyboy's coworker found some absolutely adorable kittens and needs to give them away. I mean, SO cute. Big blue eyes, gray and white fur. Absolutely adorable. And Spyboy has promised to pay for the shots and I found a place in DC that will spay/neuter cats for free. The only foreseeable problem is having a kitten in a studio. That and I looked on a website for how to kitten-proof your apartment and there is SO much I hadn't thought about. Like floss being dangerous. Or cats apparently being deathly allergic to like 18 common plants, including most lillies. Or cats being able to fit into tiny spaces and get stuck. What can I do to keep my kitten from climbing behind my stove?! I can't keep it out of the kitchen; I have no door... I have the feeling that I may be overthinking these things. Afterall, many people have managed to have a kitten and not kill it accidentally. and then I would have a kitten to snuggle with... Though I've already warned Spyboy that he might get jealous of a kitten. I mean, he already claims to be jealous of my teddy bear and body pillow...

New depths: The Condom in the Urinal Story

Well, yesterday the 20's and 30's group at church reached a new low. See, every Sunday we all go to lunch after the service. It's a fun group, nobody's too uptight. In the past, we have had some racy discussions. The discussion about the stretch hummer, for example, and other ways one might interpret that phrase. Yesterday, though, we declared a new low. See, one of the guys decided to bring up a story from his latest trip to Russia. It wasn't the greatest story, or the dirtiest. Basically what happened was that he went to Russia and was in a busy restroom. I mean, line-out-the-door busy. He looks down, there is a condom in the urinal. Basically, end of story. But no. Our group decides to discuss the story. To think about various possible scenarios. The storyteller's favorite option was stockroom action. One girl mentioned that maybe the guy had just forgotten to take it off "at the appropriate moment," so he went to go to the bathroom, pulled it out, and pulled the condom off. We all got a chuckle off of that one. We talked about the gay scenarios (if it was a bathroom hook-up, why wasn't it in a stall?), the busy-ness of the bathroom was mentioned several times, the conversation basically went on for way too long. My favorite moment, though, was when one girl was trying to think of innocent, non-dirty ways the condom got there. She got as far as, "See, maybe this guy was making balloon animals," before I started snickering. "And he just wanted to show off his talent and no one really carries around balloons with them in their back pocket..." It was a valient effort. And it failed miserably.

She also talked about using condoms as water balloons, which of course reminded me of the time Peggy, Emily, me, and Whitney filled condoms with water and then walked around like we had penises. It was strange, but entertaining. Which basically sums up my dorm in college.