We watched a movie this weekend called The Ugly Dachshund; okay, we started watching it and then i fell asleep and Kevin decided to play a video game but anyway, it was a lovely little movie starring a lovely young Suzanne Pleshette about a Great Dane who was having an identity crisis thanks to having been raised with Suzanne's prissy little Dachshund puppies. I felt for that Great Dane, because we have a little identity crisis going on in our own home.
See, Vivi seems to think she is a dog. Strange cat comes near the house? War cry, growling and general house guarding. She runs to the door to see you when you come home, she refuses to sleep during the day if you are home, and she loves cheese. Well, she loves everything really; if you drop something, she'll eat it.
But here's the kicker: Vivianne the Cat likes to play fetch. She has a toy that is her baby, which she will lovingly take into her bed at night or bring to us in the morning, begging us to play with her. It's the absolute only one she will fetch with, but she'll fetch for 20 minutes at a time when she's in the right mood. She broke her original one a couple months ago and we had to replace it (it's a Panic Mouse attachment) and we figured that she would have forgotten the whole fetching thing by now. It arrived this weekend and within 24 hours, she was dragging it up onto the bed to wake us up and ask for us to throw it.
As proof, I offer this video. I showed it to my friend Leslie and she immediately said "Well, she fetches better than Latte does!" (Latte being her 6 month old puppy) It's kind of dark since for some reason it gets darker when you upload it anywhere, but you can see what's going on there.
Remember that story that was in all the papers a few years back, the one about the woman who got the kidney from her barista at Starbucks? It sounded kind of crazy at the time; it was basically handing over an organ to a stranger, right? I mean, you have to be some kind of hero to want to do that.
But then a Starbucks opened up near my apartment, a Starbucks that was within walking distance and kind of on my way to work. So I started going there a little more often. I went there often enough that one of the baristas noticed that I was losing weight after my surgery, and a couple of them started recognizing my pink travel cup and remembering what I drink. But I had a job that demanded that I be there on time and usually I preferred to sleep in rather than get up early enough to stop and get some coffee so I was an occasional visitor rather than a regular.
Until this summer.
Because this summer I got a job with a new company and this new job? Doesn't have a set start time. I tend to get there sometime between 8:30 and 9 and still beat most everyone in; I do love a relaxed office environment. Of course, I also have a longer commute so I started stopping to grab some coffee at that Starbucks on the corner a little more often. And then a little more often became pretty much almost every day. Next thing I know, the baristas all know my name, one of them starts calling me Mel, and then whammo, I know all of their names too.
There's tall Cindy, who's always smily and never messes up my drink. And short Cindy, who doesn't work very often at that store and is pregnant. There's Megan and Amanda and Josh and Adam, and adorably young and chipper Sofia with the curly, curly hair who sings along with the Motown songs and talks with me about crafty stuff. And that's just my morning crew.
My afternoon/night time crew (who I see when I need a tea latte) is Devin and Dan and Mike the crazy musician dude and Gavin with the crazy hair, who is nice and a little wacky and who told me the other night that apparently, the baristas talk about me with each other. Now, I knew I had a little Starbucks addiction problem when they sent me a free Starbucks Gold card, but this? This is a sign of a true Problem.
I am at My Starbucks often enough that the baristas have been known to discuss me and how nice I am when I come in (at least according to Gavin, who thanked me for helping him fix my drink the other night). I have to wonder how horrible other customers must be to them when a customer who shows them some common courtesy and a smile makes an impression. But I have to admit I kind of love the fact that 75% of the time I don't need to tell them my drink order because they all know it.
And now I understand how that barista was able to give up her kidney to a customer, because they weren't strangers after all. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go grab a latte.
When Kevin and I got married back in 2006, the part we looked forward to most (other than the presents) (HA I AM JOKING) was our honeymoon. A week away from everyone and everything, ensconced in a resort next to the Pacific in Costa Rica; it was exactly what we needed after all the stress and family drama and general craziness that accompanies planning a wedding.
And it was everything we could have possibly wanted. Sleep in, have a late breakfast, go for a swim, have a nap, have lunch, go for a swim, have a nap, have a romantic dinner next to the ocean. Lather, rinse, repeat. Amazingly, I still managed to take about 120 pictures despite all the napping and relaxing. I came home, downloaded them to our computer with the intention of printing them for an album that summer, and then went about my business.
And then we got robbed (sidenote: please notice we are STILL HERE in the same apartment). But the pictures hadn't been printed so they were gone, along with the rest of the pictures I'd downloaded over the past two years (Because WE ARE DUMB and do not have an external hard drive to back things up to. Yet. Still. See? DUMB.) Luckily I had uploaded a few to Flickr, so I consoled myself with those and made a small album out of them.
Fast forward to a couple weeks ago. Mom calls, and asks about my honeymoon pictures and what they might look like because she just found a mystery folder of pictures that looked like they might be our honeymoon pictures....on her computer. At her house. Far away from my cameras or our burglers. And as we talked, the two of us suddenly remembered that when we got home from the honeymoon, I had downloaded the pictures to her computer to make it easier to show them to everyone that was at the house! And they were all still there!
So 2 1/2 years after they disappeared, our honeymoon pictures have come home, all 120 of them Who says there's no such thing as miracles?
I've written about the Freeway Lights before. They're back, again, so the holiday season is really, truly here. And this year's display is much better than last year's. last year there was a ton of missing lights and the strings were never all on at the same time. But this year only one light string seems to be malfunctioning, so I took a couple of videos to show them off to you. (Never mind the fact that I was driving and it was raining when I took the videos, mmkay?)
And after this I took a video of my cat falling off the top of the shower door but managed to not save it so...enjoy the lights!
How many days behind am I on Holidailies? SO MANY. So many that I could very well give up but I am refusing! I will persevere! Or something.
I spent my entire weekend baking and not really eating. Seriously, yesterday I had coffee and three Candy Cane Joe-Joe's for breakfast, some cheese and crackers (and bits of cookie dough) for lunch, and then I went to my company holiday party and downed a couple martinis. Thank goodness for the awesome appetizers I picked out is all I have to say about that. Otherwise, I would have ended up drunk and embarrassing before the first course.
Speaking of drunk and embarrassing, there's these two coworkers of mine that I call The Kids. I call them The Kids because they are 10 years younger than me and their lives are still about roommates and parties and dating a lot of people at once and finding free food and free drinks because they are broke. So imagine how excited they were when they found out that I convinced the CEO that we should have a martini bar during the cocktail hour last night, in addition to the beer and wine that we were serving. Now imagine them asking me if they could leave their cars at the resort the party was happening at.
"First off, a cab ride from there will probably cost you close to $100 considering where you live," I told them. "And second of all, it's a company Christmas party. You should not get drunk enough at this party to need a cab, free martinis or not."
And then I shook my cane at them and told them to get off my lawn.
Seriously, when did I turn into the resident old lady wisewoman giving advice to the young 'uns? I suppose it was right after I gave in and started watching NCIS reruns on the weekends. Meh.
In case I never mentioned it, we now have three medically odd cats.
Abbie has an overactive thyroid, whicch means pills twice a day and quarterly bloodwork that costs $150. And also, she is totally uninsurable because of it. Oh, and she's got allergies that lead to her pulling out the fur on her back, which needs another pill to stop her from looking mangy.
Vivianne? Oh, she's a bleeder. When we tried to get her fixed this summer, we discovered that her blood clots slower than average...slow enough that we had to consult a specialist and run a bunch of bloodwork to make sure she didn't have some strange and deadly syndrome. Eventually we got her fixed and the vet said it should never be a problem again since she shouldn't ever need surgery again. (Which of course means she will need at least 3 more surgeries over her lifetime, right?)
And then there's Riley. Sweet, emo Rilley Boobutt McGee. Kevin added Mr. Boobers to Riley's nickname list recently; it stuck, unfortunately for my little mama's boy of a kitty. Anyway, first there was the undescended testicle that necessitated major surgery for his neutering. And then there was his $1000 ear infection brought on by odd ear canals and overachieving ear wax. and now? Now he has managed to almost declaw himself.
We're not sure how and we'e not sure when but he tore most of one of his back claws off. We pinned him down to do some cleaning and matted fur removal on it and oh, the howling. The neighbors must think we have a mountain lion living with us now. And then it was bleeding EVERYWHERE, which worried Kevin until he consulted Dr. Google DVM and found out that hey, claw injuries bleed a lot and we do not need tot ake him to the vet, just keep an eye on it.
Of course, now he won't let anyone near his foot so we're just assuming it is healing the way it is supposed to.
(On a side note, someone found the above picture searching for "scurvy in cats". Now there's a cat with Issues.)
Dude. I have not done ANY of my Christmas shopping yet. Part of this is because duh, we're broke just like the rest of the country. But mostly its because I have been all full of ennui and SAD and stress about class and thus, totally bah humbug on the whole HOLIDAY FUN thing. I didn't even make Kevin go get the decorations out of storage this year because I just couldn't be faced with the whole "unpack everything, put everything up, pack everything up again" sequence of events. Plus, can you imagine the havoc that could be caused by Hurricane Vivi? Ugh. Instead, I bought a little prelit silver tree, stuck some tiny plastic balls on it and called it a day. oh, and I hung up a gigantic fresh evergreen wreath so at least it smells like Christmas around the apartment.
My lack of Christmas shopping has led to me sitting and staring at Woot.com, refreshing madly through the Woot-offs that have been happening this week, hoping desperately for the perfect Christmas presents to appear. presents for who, I have not determined. I guess I'm just hoping that something will appear for $5 that just screams Leslie/Laura/Mom/Tracee/SOMEONE. Unfortunately, none of them are the type to be excited by cheap hard drives and I'm sorry, but they are not getting a Roomba from me. And in the meantime, I looked at Shirt.Woot.com and found this shirt and had to remind myself that no, I am not shopping for me.
So to sum up: no shopping, slightly manic, addicted to Woot.com and not getting much done today. (Also, may be slightly overcaffeinated.) (WHEE)