Outgrown

If you think about it, we spend our entire lives outgrowing things. Becoming too old for things. Clothes, trends and habits are some of the more obvious ones.

But then there are some devastating or life-changing ones.

Like when I realized that I was too old for trick-or-treating. That was a tough one. What was once one of the best, most fun nights of my life became a tedious and LONG walk in the cold for candy that I wouldn't even eat half of, and long night of complaining about how long it took to get the shaving cream and raw egg out of my hair.

Christmas and Easter quickly followed suit. Being the baby of the family, I think my parents were devastated the first Christmas morning they had to wake me up and ask if I wanted to open my presents, to which I believe I responded, "Can you give me an hour?"

Outgrowing holding my father's hand in public is one that I know traumatized my dad. The funny thing is that I grew back into that one. There was short fifteen year gap when holding my dad's hand was not cool, but I'll take any chance I get to do it now.

Then there's the list of things that I haven't outgrown that I was supposed to, according to my parents, science and the laws of physics: That awkward stage (I still walk into walls and trip over my own feet), my hatred of green vegetables, my irrational fear of scary movies and all things supernatural, my ability to sleep for 18 hours straight while I'm perfectly healthy and not feel like I've wasted my day.

And I bring all this up because I have recently discovered two more things that I have outgrown, one being the metabolism that simply decided to stop working once I turned thirty.

The other is the ability to consume alcohol and still be a human being the next day.

Last night I went to a bar with some friends to watch a co-worker's band perform. I had exactly two drinks and two shots - child's play in my younger years! I stayed out until 2:30AM - again, an early hour compared to my heyday! I proceeded to spend the night in the bathroom and the entire day in bed. To my credit, I did drag myself out of bed, moaning and groaning the whole way, to feed my babies. And I only got snippy once when they meowed and skunked (there's no other word for it, it's a very distinctive skunk noise) at me by telling them to shut up because mommy was dying, their yowling and carrying on was only going to make mommy die quicker, and if mommy died there would be no one to feed them.

The lesson I have learned from this? I'm too old to do this shit anymore.

Fat Cat Growth Chart

This time, I'm the control factor. And Hades hasn't been a kitten for a long time, but I still think this is pretty funny. FAT CAT!

(I can't do a growth chart for Azrael, because he was the second child we don't have any baby pictures of him. Bad mommy.)

Skunk Growth Chart

Using Tim as the "control" factor for growth, since he hasn't grown at all in the past year.

Loki, 3 months, June 2009:

Loki, 1 year, March 2010:

More Skunk Video

Decided to drive him crazy by putting treats in tupperware. Mean mommy.

Extreme Skunk Close Up

Very hard to video a skunk - but I think you can get the gist of why I love him so.

Why It's Been Quiet

Tim and I had to say goodbye to our baby girl last Thursday, which is why this space has been so quiet.

Styx joined our family in February of 2007, and added a great deal of fun and joy to the house. Watching her run, chase worms, wrestle with bathmats and sass the cats were the highlights of every day.

In July of 2009, she underwent surgery to remove two cancerous tumors and recovered beautifully, but last month I started to notice a slight wobble in her walk. Within a week she was unable to walk more than a few steps without falling to her side and struggling to get up, and by last week she couldn't walk at all.

Below is a picture of her on her last night with us; so frustrated and tired, she didn't even want to eat. We knew it was time to say goodbye.

I held her and kissed her and told her what a good girl she was, and how much I loved her.

She is now resting in what is soon to be a beautiful flower bed right outside our front door.

We miss you, Styxie. You are loved.

Product Recommendation

Three weeks ago I looked like a teenager who had been eating too much chocolate. There was a battalion of small countries forming on my face, which could not even be covered by makeup.

I took a chance and bought Neutrogena Advanced Solutions, because it is available in Target and claims to work faster that Proactiv.

I now look like the acne-free adult I was meant to be. I highly recommend it.

Gotta Love The Redhead

I was discussing Lost theories via text message with my friend Tracy the other day. I expressed a theory that she decided was completely inaccurate and attempted to prove as much by citing a quote from the show. My response was "I can interpret that differently." Hers? "Sure, if you want to be wrong."

Gotta love her.

Things I Said I Would Never Do

But yeah, I'm doing them:

• Become one of those annoying Florida drivers who does not use turn signals. I'm in the turning lane, you should know where I'm going.
• Become one of those annoying people who talks about their pets like they're my kids.
  
• Become one of those crazy Floridians who goes into hypothermic shock when the temperature drops below 50 degrees.
  
• Become the married woman who stops working out. I'm married, he's stuck with me no matter what I look like.
  
• Become one of those losers who discusses Lost theories with anyone who will listen.
  

Confusing Morning

I was very confused this morning, because I woke up to my alarm going off. Why is this confusing? Because it never happens.
My alarm is set for 7:30AM, but Tim leaves at 7:00AM, and the instant he shuts the front door, the cats are yowling to be fed. (The know better than to do this to him. He will lock them in the bathroom or chase them around the house until they find cover and shut up. Apparently he is the alpha male, and they have no respect for me.)
But this morning my alarm went off.
I opened the bedroom door to find Azrael just staring at me longingly, and Hades lounging on the couch.
I called Tim at work.
"Did you feed them?"
"No. But someone got into the closet and they fed themselves. Do not feed them."
At this point Azrael has take up his usual yowling, but Hades is still lounging.
"Azrael seems hungry."
"He's trying to trick you. Do not be fooled!"

Jumping Candy

So I'm watching TV, and suddenly I hear the dreaded, "Baby!" which means that Loki is eating something he's not supposed to.

Tim comes running into the bedroom, holding Loki at shoulder height, and gently tap, tap, tapping the top of his head. Yeah, that's going to make him give up what he's got.

"He's got an M&M."

"Give him to me."

So Tim passes me Loki, and I'm prepared to stick my fingers into his jaws, rescue the M&M and possibly lose a finger, but when I hold him to my face he is already licking his lips and looking at me as if to say, "Oh, did you want one?"

At which point I realize, yes, I do want some M&M's so I head for the bag in the kitchen.

"Be careful," my darling husband says.

"Yeah, those M&M's are tricky. They'll jump right out of your hand if you're not careful."

Dumb ass.

P.S. The next morning, Loki ate breakfast and then did his usual bounding into the bedroom routine, at which point he promptly yakked up all the broccoli, cauliflower, fruit, and yogurt he had just eaten. And I looked at Tim and asked, "By chance did Loki eat a RED M&M last night?" And before I could do anything about it, Loki - not one to readily give up food - had already re-eaten his red M&M stained breakfast.

Why I Love My Husband

Which I suppose is a variation of "Why My Marriage Works"

Because when he comes bursting into the bedroom to find out what I am watching on TV that is causing me to have spontaneous fits of laughter, because if it is that damn funny he wants to be watching it too, he gets this confused look on his face when he sees me sitting in bed reading a book.

"You're laughing at a book? You're weird."

Which calls to mind another time he questioned my sanity while I was reading. I stayed up all night to finish Marley and Me because I was riveted, and in the wee hours of the night when he woke up to me sobbing uncontrollably at the last five pages he said, "Seriously? You had no idea the dog was going to die? You thought this was a book about the world's first immortal dog?"

Why My Marriage Works

Because when I come home from a hard day's work and am greeted by the phrase, "Hi. I'm really hungry," I don't kill him.

Check This Out

So I'm typing my novel outline into Word this afternoon and I type the word "snarky", because it is a word I use with great frequency, and GET THIS: Word does not give it an obnoxious red underline to call attention to the fact that IT'S NOT A REAL WORD.

I am left with conflicting emotions on this subject.

One one hand, it is awesome that "snarky" is now recognized as a real word. (Even though the Blogger editor is giving it the annoying red underline as I type. Apparently Blogger is not as advanced in their "real world dictionary" as Microsoft. Sorry, Blogger.) Look, here's the MS Word definition of "snarky": sarcastically critical or mocking and malicious. Totally spot on.

On the other hand, I was completely convinced that I had invented the word "snarky". This is either not at all true, or I am receiving absolutely no credit for my part in adding to the English language.

I continue to push aside the debris of broken dreams as I make my way through this lonely life.

Sigh.

Who Knew Hedgehogs Were So Damn Vicious?

So, we thought Loki held the household title for "Most Vicious Biter". See what happens when you get in between Loki and Twix bar if you don't believe me.

Bud sadly, Loki lost his title tonight. Here's how:

At about nine o'clock, Styx I and enjoyed our evening romp around the spare room, worm-hunting. While she was hunting one worm, she got particularly frustrated that it kept getting away, twisted herself into a very un-hedgehog like position, and fell over. It was kind of funny, but it also made me realize holy crap, my tiny little hedgehog has gotten FAT.

So I brought her out to see Tim, and I put her butt in the palm of my hand, which causes her to do this really cute "let me up" leg flailing thing, and you can really see the Buddha belly she has grown. And I look at Tim and I say, "Look, Daddy! Look how fat I am!"

At which point Styx shuffled herself into a sitting position and viciously bit down on my index finger. Now, I remember reading something when we first got her about hedgehog bites. Something about the fact that they won't let go until what they are biting is eaten. I had never again given this a thought, because in the three years we have had her she has never bitten anyone. But the tidbit ran through my head after she latched on, and suddenly I'm whimpering like a three-year-old kid, and Tim is all, "what do you want me to do?!" because she's not letting go. "Go get more worms! Maybe she'll give up my finger and go for the actual food!"

So Tim runs to get more worms, and I'm still whimpering, hedgehog with a death-bite attached to my finger, and I'm trying not to move, hoping she'll get the point that I am not food, but every time I breathe she chews a little harder. When Tim gets back with the worm, puts it right in front of her face and she gets a whiff, she must decide that yes, this definitely is a worm, and bites down with all the strength her little hedgehog jaws have which, believe me, is A LOT.

So here I am, still whimpering, thoughts of having to have a hedgehog surgically removed from my finger dancing in my head, with Tim frantically waving a worm at my finger. Finally I decide to pull real hard, my finger in one direction, her in the other, and as she senses her prey getting away, she opens her mouth to readjust her grip and I get free.

I marched her back to her cage, muttering bitch this and bitch that under my breath, and when I get back to the living room Tim is laughing hysterically, and all he says is, "That'll teach you to call her fat."

Rebel

You think people texting while they're driving is annoying? Just wait until I attach my laptop to my dashboard with Velcro because the only time I can put together a novel-worthy sentence is while I am driving.

So, texting? No biggie. Crazy chick writing her manuscript while also attempting to apply mascara and change lanes? Watch out.

Bow Chick-A Bow Bow

So we figured it out.

There are two stray cats that consistently lurk around the patio and antagonize Hades and Azrael. One looks like a Maine Coon - you know, one of those stripy cats with the big, bushy raccoon looking tail? - and the other one is a fluffy orange and white stripy cat.

When the Coon comes around, Hades and Azrael get all freaked out; tails fluffed, backs arched, hissing and growling and the whole bit.

When the fluffy orange kitty comes around, Hades' entire attitude changes. Suddenly he's Casanova kitty, rolling around on his back, purring and doing that annoying "I can meow like a pterodactyl" thing. I think it might be his mating call.

So yesterday, Tim and I are all, "Eureka! We've got it!" The Coon is a male, and fluffy orange is a female, and the lack of testicles has not affected Hades' libido or his territorial instincts in the least.

Azrael, on the other hand, could care less about fluffy orange. He lets Hades make a fool of himself while he walks around the patio staring at things like he's never seen them before. "A shovel? When did you guys get a shovel? This shovel is really cool. I'm going to sit here and stare at this shovel because it is the coolest shovel I've ever seen and I can't bear to watch my brother make a complete ass out himself through the screen door."

Shattered Dreams

You know what sucks? When you wake up on a Friday and think it is Saturday. That really sucks.

Natural Instincts

After 16 years of coloring my hair, I have finally decided to let it grow out to its natural color.

Only problem is that it will probably turn out that its natural color is gray, and then I'll have to start all over again.

Punishment vs. Reward

I think cops should randomly start pulling people over in order to commend them for doing something right.

Like the other day. I stopped at a yellow light when I had more than enough time to make it through before it turned red. I was feeling very self-satisfied, but was then quite disappointed when I scanned the intersection to discover that there was not a cop to be found. But you know had I run that yellow light, one would have appeared like he had been beamed there by Scotty himself.

So I for one wouldn't mind being pulled over and congratulated for stopping at the yellow light. Especially if I got a lollipop instead of a ticket.

Why My Marriage Works

Because even though I detest the incessant drumming with every fiber of my being, I not only bought him a drum set, but I continually resist the urge to barge in while he is playing and shove a drumstick up his nostril until it penetrates his brain.

Sore Loser

Loki refuses to play sock with me anymore because when he attacks and then "death rolls" onto his back, I pin him to the floor so his little skunky head thrashes back and forth in frustration. I mean, I try to be fair about it. I count to ten and give him a chance to get up, but he's usually so frustrated by then that he stomps away and proceeds to pee in my shoes.

Sore loser.

So Excited I Could Spit

It's LOST day!

If you don't know what I'm referring to then I don't want to talk to you ever again. Ever.

Elevator Etiquette, Part III

Just because I happen to get into the elevator first does not automatically make me the "elevator operator."

So don't huff and puff and look all self-righteous when you have to push the button for your floor.

Unless I am physically blocking the elevator button panel, it is not my responsibility to ask you what floor you are going to and then push the button for you.

Self-absorbed ego-maniacal lazy pigs.

Why My Marriage Works

Because after a month of consistent Mario Kart playing, when I finally achieve the coveted three stars and start jumping up and down in excitement, he doesn't look at me like I'm insane. What he does instead is join me in the jumping up and down excitement, and then adds a high five and a hug to the mix.

Why My Marriage Works

Because we make all major decisions based on the outcome of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

Elevator Etiquette Continued

What you say when you exit an elevator to find someone directly in front of you, already attempting to shove their way inside: Excuse me.

What you want to say when you exit an elevator to find someone directly in front of you, already attempting to shove their way inside: Get the hell out of the way, you self-absorbed ego-maniacal pig.

A Word About Mice

I forgot to bring my wireless mouse to work today, and the only other mouse at my disposal is an Apple mouse, which has left me with the crippling inability to right-click. Has Apple since rectified this problem, or is Bill Gates the wonder-God that I truly believe him to be?

A Note About Lit Elevator Buttons

I pushed it.

Seriously, I pushed it. Trust me, you do not have magic fingers that make the elevator appear or descend faster simply because you pushed it.

And another thing? Pushing the button 37 times in rapid succession does not activate the elevator's "turbo" function.

Self absorbed ego-maniacal pigs.

Why My Marriage Works

Because when I catch him staring at the small country on my chin and attempt to call him on it, he says, "I was not. I was admiring how beautiful your eyes look in this light."

Dear Darling Brother,

I suspect that you don't let your children read my blog. The reason I suspect this is because they have not once made comments about the blog, and those children do not keep their opinions about anything to themselves.

I am under the impression that Aunt Nanci's blog is banned because I occasionally use the work "fuck" and you are under the impression they have never heard this word before.

Either that, or because I have been known to refer to sex, and you think they don't know what that is either.

The only other reason I can think of is that it is because you don't want me to form a deep, meaningful and lasting relationship with my nieces. To which I argue that they could learn an awful lot of valuable lessons from me, and beg you to allow me to mold their young minds.

The world could totally use another me, and sadly, I do not plan to procreate.

Lovingly,

Your Favorite Sister
(oh don't deny it, the other one doesn't read this blog either.)

Intruder!

One of the fun things about letting the cats lounge in the screened-in patio is discovering all the things that freak their pansy-asses out:

1. The neighbors
2. The sprinklers
3. The random iguanas
3. The wind
4. The stray cats that meander up to the screen and cause Hades to make a howling noise low in his chest, very similar to what I think a coyote sounds like, and causes both their tails to fan out in a manner that rivals Loki's. Yes, Hades, it is very intimidating and I feel much better about not spending the extra $12 a month to activate the alarm system.

Revolution!

I promised Tim that I would stop picking at my face, lest he call the producers of "Obsessed" and submit my profile as a compulsive zit-popper.

However, a small mountain has been forming on my chin for the past three days, and this afternoon it began a colonization uprising, and I'm afraid that soon it will attempt to procreate, and must be stopped. Evacuation to commence at eighteen hundred!

Yeah, it's been a while. So the three people who read this blog can sue me.

Last night I took Advil PM because I'm tired of falling asleep with random parts of my unwritten novel swimming around in my head, causing me to want to nap at work instead of work at work. For comfort, I took the Punky Skunky to bed with me and let him sleep with his nose in my crotch, one of his favorite snoozing activities. The following conversation took place sometime between 10:30 PM and 5:00 AM, long after I was in a drug-induced coma and the Punky Skunky decided he needed to be awake, out of my crotch, and biting Tim's nose:

T: Can you put him in his room, for fuck's sake?

N: No, I'm sleeping. You put him in his room.

T: No, I'm sleeping!

N: Awfully talkative for a sleeping man.

T: Put him in his room!

N: You want him in his room, you go put him in his room. You know what? I don't think I can have kids with you if you are not going to accept the duties of a responsible father and put your kids in their room.

T: Oh, yeah, it's real responsible parenting to bring your kids to bed with you after you take Advil PM.

N: Shut up.

T: And how are you ever going to be a parent if you can't put your kids in their room because it is dark and scary and lonely.

N: Shut up.

T: Put him in his room!