Home again today

...and I still hear snowblowers around my condo complex, next door, and plows on the roads. Apparently they're still getting rid of the snow at work, which is why I'm home again today.

It's nice to know, though, that the main roads are clear again, so I can at least leave the house if I wanted to.

But those huge piles of laundry aren't going away any time soon...hmmm...

Soul Pancake

I recently set up an account on Soul Pancake. It's a website founded by actor Rainn Wilson, and several of his buddies, that serves as a forum about philosophy, religion, and is a place to "chew on life's big questions."

A friend of mine off-blog posted several links to Soul Pancake articles on her Facebook, and that got me intrigued. Users from around the world post some of their own philosophical questions, and other users chime in with their answers. Here's an example of one of those big questions:

"What should be on your warning label?"

For me, that's easy: "Irish-Sicilian temper. Prone to sudden mood swings."

Another question: "What causes you to run late?"

I'm not one who normally runs late, but I found the responses to this question to be quite intriguing. I have friends who are notoriously tardy, and that annoys me to no end. Click here if you want to read the entire thread.

And then there's this post.

Mike Mitchell, the artist behind the "I'm With Coco" poster that has helped spawn a pop culture revolution, wrote this unique article following Conan's last speech on the Tonight Show. He wrote about the impact that Conan's speech left on him, particularly what he said in its last moment:

“All I ask is one thing and this is… I’m asking particularly of young people… Please do not be cynical… It doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen. I’m telling you, amazing things will happen. It’s just true.”

That last moment left an impact on me, too, kittens, for I can be extremely cynical. Conan's speech was certainly an eye-opener for me. It got me to thinking: I'm 34 years old. I have a pretty good life. So why do I feel so damn jaded at times? Why do I always assume the worst in people, that people always have ulterior motives in store?

Needless to say, Mike Mitchell's article is what led me to become a regular visitor to Soul Pancake. And yesterday, I finally set up an account, so I could chime in.

If you haven't visited Soul Pancake yet, you really should. You'll feel uplifted, but also be questioning lots of things at the same time.

State of the Kitten Address

Well kittens, as you may have noticed, I haven't been as prolific a poster as I once was. There are several reasons for this. One, I have been really busy with work. Really busy. Secondly, I'm one of the lay leaders at my church, and we're currently undergoing the process to find an interim minister. That has taken up a lot of my time as well. Then there are the regular stops on the weekends to see family and friends, in order to maintain those relationships.

And sadly, my bloggy relationships have fallen by the wayside.

I just haven't had the time to post. After posting so much, and so intensely, over a period of time (sometimes 4-5 posts in a day, at my peak), blogging was becoming a job for me. It was becoming too much. So I have given myself a break: I only post when the spirit moves me. Sometimes it moves me to post quite often. Other times I don't post for days, even weeks.

I've been going to bed lately between 8-9 PM. I try to get my eight hours, but have only been able to squeeze out a solid 6.5 or 7.

I haven't slept in for...well, I can't remember the last time I slept in!

But I intend to tomorrow. I can't frakkin' wait.

And one more thing before I go for now: A lot of you have asked for reports on my Carol and Conan adventures. Trust me, you WILL receive full accounts--and hopefully, fuzzy photos--of the events. I will NOT let you down, kittens.

But now, it's time for bed. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppp....

An afternoon rendez-vous at AAA

Last month I got a letter from the Department of Motor Vehicles, aka the DMV, aka the Happiest Place on Earth. Disneyland doesn't even come close to the wonder, beauty, and enjoyment that is this lovely state agency. The lines are just as long, and the employees are oh-so-friendly. And if you call them, they answer your call promptly--after twenty-plus minutes of hold time, three transfers to voice mail, and being put on hold a few times while the newbee searches endlessly for his supervisor.

Yeah, I frakkin' heart the DMV to pieces.

Fortunately, I don't have to go there anymore. Here in Connecticut, one can renew one's vehicle registration online, and get the registration sticker in the mail two days later. That's about as long as you wait for same sticker at a DMV branch, but at least you don't have to waste the gas to get there. And even better, with a AAA membership, one can go to AAA for license renewal.

Wait time at AAA? Ten minutes or less.

So my lovely letter from the CT-DMV said that my license was up for renewal on March 3rd--my birthday. I last had my license renewed in 2004, shortly after I returned home from a cruise. I went to AAA for that one, and I remember primping endlessly that day, fixing my hair and makeup just so, so I could get a halfway decent picture. I chose my outfit very carefully. When you have a picture taken that has to last you the next six years, you gotta look good.

Anyhoo, I went to AAA today to pick up the tickets for my upcoming cruise. I haven't told you kittens about that yet. My friend Chantal and I are leaving February 13th for a week-long southern Caribbean cruise. I can't frakkin' wait! But I digress...

So I went to AAA and checked in at the reception. In order for me to pick up the tickets, I had to hand the receptionist either my AAA card or my driver's license.

I handed her my driver's license, and told her I needed to have it renewed. I asked her when the best time was for me to come in.

She told me I could renew it on the spot.

GASP!!!

I rapidly searched through my purse for my compact. I had to make sure I didn't look shiny. I powdered my nose, put on some lipstick, and thanked the Lord I was having a good hair day. I also thanked the Lord that I had my biannual dental checkup the day before; I felt good knowing my pearly whites were their whitest.

Soon enough, I found myself in front of the camera and smiled.

Less than five minutes later, I had my license.

And...

Best frakkin' photo of me ever taken.

I wish I could post it online for all of you to see, but that would be illegal. But my point is this: Six years ago I agonized over my license photo, only to get a somewhat decent result. I hardly prepped for this one and my photo looks damn good.

And I'm really glad, because the next time it's up for renewal, I'll be forty.

Yep, the big four-oh.

I hope I look that good in six years...

Laryngitis

This afternoon I went to the clinic to find out what has been wrong with me. I've been battling a rawther nasty dry cough since the first week of the month, and recently, stuff has been settling in my chest. Today it got really bad at work. I had such a bad coughing attack that I had to use my rescue inhaler--and after holding my breath for about three seconds, the room started to spin, and I nearly passed out.

I went to the clinic and brought my Internet-capable cell phone, my iPod, and my book. I was fully prepared to spend the minimum two-hour wait that I usually have when I'm forced to go to the clinic.

(Now, I prefer to go to my regular physician, but the latest appointment I could get was 2:30 PM--too early for me to leave work).

So I get to the clinic, and I'm in and out in twenty minutes--a frakkin' record.

The doctor who saw me was also asthmatic, and had the same dry cough that I did. She listened to my lungs, and concluded that, while there was some wheezing going on, it wasn't severe enough to merit a Z-pack. In other words, no antibiotics for moi.

She told me to take Mucinex twice a day, as well as two tablespoons of Robitussin twice a day. Both of which I have in my medicine chest. However, she used the lengthy chemical, pharmaceutical, technical names, which I didn't understand at first. But now I do.

The Good Doc was impressed with my Peak Flow, especially considering that I had a tight chest at the time of the visit, and because I'm barely five feet tall.

She did, however, write me a prescription for Prednizone--just in case.

Here's hoping I don't get to the "just in case." Prednizone is an AWFUL drug. Yes, I know it works miracles for some people, but the side effects are terrible.

Sooo...I'm on a diet of over the counter meds, lots of tea, and rest. Oh...and I can't talk for 24 hours. That's not per doctor's orders; that's MY decision. By the end of the work day I barely had a voice. So I'm not going to talk--not even to my cats--until Friday morning.

Yes, I am taking a sick day tomorrow.

And this silent period is killing me already.

I can't wait to talk again.

2010: three weeks in...

• I can't stop thinking about the earthquake in Haiti, and its aftershocks. I know I need to stop watching CNN 24/7, but I can't. The stories are so compelling: stories of trying to find relatives, of rescuing victims, and attempts to get out of the country. The more I watch, the sadder I get, but like I said, I can't turn the TV off.
• I have a friend whose mother just had a brain tumor removed. It was a tricky surgery; the tumor was wrapped around her optic nerve. Yesterday, the doctors thought things were okay. Today, I receive an E-mail from my friend, saying that the vision in her mom's eye is gone. They don't know if it's permanent.
• I received a letter in the mail from my minister. She sent it to all of the members of our church. It was the announcement that she is leaving at the end of March. She really helped me through a difficult period of my life, and the feelings of loss started to creep in.
• I'm not happy about the results of the Massachusetts senate race. And that's all I'm saying about that.
• Friday night I'm singing at a memorial service. Even though my friend is viewing his sister's death as a blessing (she had numerous health problems during her final years), it doesn't make it any easier.
• I have a friend whose husband totaled his truck the other day. Good news: He escaped with only cuts and bruises. Bad news: They have no health insurance. They have to pay for the emergency room, cat scan, and other fees associated with the accident. They DO, however, have auto insurance.

I'm sorry that my posts have been more or less on the downside lately. I posted in my Facebook status the other day that 2010 is shaping up to be "one of those years." Lately my friends, loved ones, and I have been facing a lot of challenges, good and bad. The first two weeks were difficult for me, both at work and at home (more at work, though), and I was prepared to hide in a tent throughout the three-day weekend.

Yet...why is it that it takes events such as the ones I've listed above for me to gain perspective, and realize that I have a pretty good life as it is? I mean, I have a job, a house, insurance of all kinds, and my health. I can fulfill my basic human needs. Yet the people in Haiti were struggling well before the quake to get those needs taken care of. And far too many Americans don't have health care. (Again, do NOT get me started on the Massachusetts senate race...)

So that's where I am right now...wrestling to find perspective on various things, trying to find answers, and becoming impatient when I can't find them immediately.

Again, sorry for being a downer lately. I promise we'll be back to humorous, lighthearted Bookkitten programming soon.

I don't like spam!

Sadly, I am not talking about the variety that Graham Chapman and company are speaking of. I'm talking about the crap that clutters up our inboxes.

Lately, my darling kittens, I have been getting anonymous comments promising me that I can earn $2,000 a day if I just invested in this online program. They have been so frequent that I have no choice but to establish the following policy:

Anonymous comments will NOT be published.

This is especially true if you promise me that my short dark brown hair will turn a lovely shade of blonde if I take 30 of your Insta-Blonde pills three times a day. It is also true if you say I can make $10,000 a day if I whore myself by using your website.

Have y'all been receiving such comments in higher frequency these days, kittens? Or is it just me? Fortunately I moderate my comments, so I can weed out the ones by this "anonymous" fellow. But if you are new to the blog, please make a note of this.

Merci beaucoup, mes amis.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

If there is one thing worse than teenage acne...

...it's adult acne.

Aside from the occasional zit or two, I've never had severe acne in my adult life.

Until now.

And I don't know why.

I checked all of my cosmetics, and they're all supposedly non-comedogenic. My diet's been OK; not great, but OK. I'm not taking any meds that would supposedly lead to breakouts. I've been using Proactiv, but not as much as I should.

And then--and I know I shouldn't do this--I squeeze. Yes, I know it's a rawther nasty habit that can only make breakouts worse. It's also a rawther difficult habit to break.

So here I am, my 33-year-old face looking like a pizza pie, and my regular mineral foundation isn't doing the job of covering up my zits. So I've had to go to a liquid foundation--one with "skin-clearing properties."

I'd just like to go to the grocery store without having to put a full face on.

Is that too much to ask?

Meh.

Today was a day when I felt emotionally void--dull, empty, blah. That's what I said on my Facebook status.

I didn't feel great, but I didn't feel horrible, either. There are many reasons why I felt this way:

• I've been to four wakes/funerals since the end of September, and I have another one to attend this coming Sunday. Two of those wakes have involved former colleagues and friends of mine.
• One wake involved a colleague/friend who was also a member of my book club. I am hosting book club Wednesday night. It is our first meeting since our friend died. I'm not looking forward to the emotion that is going to come out of it, as necessary as it is. I hate crying in front of people.
• I haven't had time/felt like reading or doing any of my hobbies lately. I just want a day to do nothing at all, and not feel guilty about it.
• My car went in for emergency service this afternoon. The engine light came on, and they're doing a coolant flush and something with the temperature gauge. Nothing serious, thank goodness, but still, it's another car repair.
• My coworkers are starting to drop like flies due to H1N1/norovirus/strep throat/whatever other bug is going around. I am grateful, however, to still be healthy.
• My BFF and I are going on our fourth month without speaking to one another. I've been somewhat okay with our quasi-estrangement, but this morning, I woke up really missing him. As much as I want to reach out and pick up the phone, I really think he needs to contact me first--and not just via a forwarded E-mail.
• I had to cancel dinner plans with Mama and Papa Cat Sunday night because of the aforementioned wake.

And just as I was moaning about my fate, this song popped into my head:



Thank you, Eric Idle, for helping me put things into perspective and making me laugh at the same time. For this is what I've realized:

• Meeting with my book club will help me--and everyone else--grieve our loss, but remember our friend in a special way.
• I have a job where I can afford to repair my vehicle. I am also lucky to have such a reliable form of transportation.
• I have not succumbed to illness, and I was one of the lucky few at work to receive an H1N1 shot.
• I am going to see the whole Cat Family in two weeks, on Thanksgiving day. My absolute favorite holiday.
• And as for me and BFF...I think we'll eventually be OK. We have a lot of mutual friends, and we both don't want to put anyone in the middle of our squabble, which is ours and ours alone. It's just going to take some time to heal...but I'm not going to lie, kittens, it's been very painful for me. I don't know how he's felt about it, but it's hurt like mad on my end. I'll blog more about it at some point.

But right now, I need to listen to Eric Idle again...and find my copy of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Migraines

I got my first migraine two years ago--two days before Thanksgiving. Don't ask me how I remember that day; I have a freakish memory about these things.

I had never had a migraine before that. At the time I was going through the most incredibly stressful period of my life, and I'm amazed that my physical health didn't start falling apart before that. But it had come out of the blue, and quite frankly, it terrified me. I remember the front of my head being in pain, as if someone was squeezing my brain tightly, then releasing it slowly, only to quickly squeeze it again. And I remember the nausea. I kept leaning over the toilet, wanting to vomit, but it never came.

I was so scared by the intensity of the pain and nausea that I nearly drove myself to the hospital. Or rather, called 911. But I decided to lay on the couch and see how things were.

It was 6:30 PM. One minute, I was listening to Brian Williams deliver the news, the next moment it was 5:30 AM, and time for me to go to work. I had slept eleven hours straight.

I remember waking up, getting up off the couch, and feeling bewildered. My headache was gone, but I kept waiting for it to come back.

That morning, my car got a flat on the way to work. Later that day I took it to the dealer to have the tire patched (and ended up needing four new tires...but that's another story), and while I was waiting for my car to get fixed, I started chatting with another woman in the waiting room. It turns out that this woman was a medical assistant. I told her my story of what happened the night before, and her eyes widened. She knew exactly what I had--a frontal lobe migraine, and my symptoms were "classic."

Since then I've had several migraines, but not a lot--one or two a year, at most. Thank God! I have friends who have had to go on Imitrex and other migraine meds on a daily basis. I have been fortunate not to have had to walk that path.

I've found that my migraines are usually tension-related, sinus-related, or both. 98% of the time they're sinus related. 2% of the time it's stress. Today, it was both. I had a rough week at work, and even though I had to run some errands on the way home, I drove straight home today. No sooner did I walk in the door than I removed my coat, took the blanket off the couch, and laid down. It was 3:15 PM, and I slept till 5.

I woke up, and about a half hour later, started blowing my nose like mad.

I'm feeling better now. The pressure behind my eye sockets still remains, but will be gone by tomorrow morning. All I need is a good night's sleep. The only way I can personally get rid of a migraine is to sleep. Tylenol just doesn't do it for me.

And sleeping is not such a bad thing. At all.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

In praise of coffee

Let's talk about coffee and how I am in love with it.

I have not always been a java fan, though. I am, and always will be, a tea person first and foremost. I love tea. So much so that, one Christmas, between my family and friends, I received eleven boxes of tea as gifts. There is nothing more relaxing to me than heating up my kettle, listening for the whistle, and pouring myself a cup of bliss. I sit at my chair, hands curled around the mug of happiness, inhaling the vapor of my Celestial Seasonings and just feeling content--and that's all before the first sip.

I used to drink tea first thing in the morning before I went to work, and would have a mug full of it to drink during my commute. However, as the years have gone by, I have found that this just doesn't cut it for me any more. I needed something stronger. That's when I started buying coffee, and drinking it on a regular basis.

For many years I used Old Bessie, the coffee maker that I had since college. However, Old Bessie wore out, and I had to replace her. That's when Keurig entered my life. For those of you who are fans of the machine (I'm talking to you, Jodi and Missy!), Keurig = LOVE. Now that I've joined Green Mountain Coffee's Cafe Express Program, which automatically ships K-Cups to my door on a monthly basis, I've been able to sample many varieties of java. Here are my favorites:

(First, though, I must say that I'm not being paid to talk about these flavors or Green Mountain Coffee in general.)

Heifer Hope Blend: This is a medium roast coffee. It claims to have a bit of chocolate in it, but I have been unable to taste it. I find it somewhat mild, but it is rawther tasty. As you will soon learn, I really like STRONG coffee. The coffee I like is so strong, I think it's what keeps my hair dark brown.

PBS Blend: This is another good coffee. It's a little stronger than the Heifer Hope Blend. Proceeds from the sale of this coffee support PBS, which is one of the reasons why I purchase it. PBS is one of my favorite channels. Yes, I know by saying that I've aged myself about 20 years, but I don't care.

10% Kona Blend: Full-strength Kona coffee is rawther expensive, so I get this stuff. This is probably my favorite coffee ever. It is soooooo smoooooooth going down. And tasty. This is what I mean when I say that coffee helps maintain my hair color.

So right now I'm savoring my Kona coffee and contemplating my next move for the day. I've already used the hour I gained for sleeping purposes, so maybe I'll contemplate my dinner options.

Or maybe I'll make another cup of coffee.

PBS Blend, anyone?

The fly

It happens every afternoon.

I'm sitting quietly at my desk at work, blissfully listening to NPR, being happily productive. I'm really, deeply involved in my tasks. So involved that the smallest interruption completely shatters my concentration.

It's moments like that when he arrives.

He comes like clockwork, every afternoon around 3:30, and starts swarming around my workspace with the loudest buzzing sound you've ever heard. And he doesn't stop for about twenty minutes. I shoo him away, again and again. And then he leaves--for five minutes. Then he returns.

I have attempted to kill this sucker many times, but he just won't die.

And this has been going on for about two years now.

Now kittens, I realize that flies have the life span of a gnat, but seriously, I think this has been the same fly. Either that or the original one passed on his DNA to his offspring. After all, how else would a family of flies behave the same way?

I have told this story to several people, who have all looked at me funny. They're amazed at how much a fly can bother me. But when I'm working, I'm working. I loathe any and all interruptions, including bathroom breaks. I'm pretty focused when I have a task that engulfs me.

And here's the worst part...I really think this fly lives to annoy me. Just me and me alone. How else would he only come to my room, at the same time every day, for two years?!?!

At least he hasn't followed me home.

Yet.

Cats

Last week, I wrote a post about the peculiar habits of our canine friends. Since we here at The Bookkitten are equal opportunity bloggers, it's only fair that I compose a little something about our feline companions.

When I returned home from housesitting last Saturday night, I was welcomed with open arms--er, paws. I unloaded the car, poured a glass of wine, and settled in to watch some DVR shows. No sooner did I sit on the couch than Maggie jumped into my lap and settled in. A minute later, Gabby settled right next to us. And so the three of us stayed, for a solid hour. I wanted to get up and move around occasionally, but I couldn't; I didn't want to disturb my babies, especially since I hadn't been home in so long.

Say what you will about cats and how they can be stuck-up and blow certain people off, but when they love their human friends, they adore them. My gals have been my little shadows ever since I returned home. Every night, when I go to bed, they plaster themselves against my body and won't leave. It makes it difficult to toss and turn at night, especially if you're a blanket hog, like me, who also likes the sheets so tightly tucked in the bed is practically short-sheeted.

Which leads to my next point...how do cats instinctively know when you're making the bed? Mine don't even have to see me take the sheets out of the linen closet; they just show up whenever I make the bed. One gets on the mattress pad and refuses to leave. Rather than shoo her off, I just make the bed over her. I put the fitted sheet on, then the flat sheet. By the time I tuck the sheets in, the other cat decides to join the fun. When it gets to the point where I spread the blanket over the sheets, they engage in a turf war. By the time I put the duvet cover on, both cats have escaped from the sheets, and now I have to tuck everything back in.

And how do cats instinctively know when you're on vacation? Or when it's the weekend? Or when your alarm goes off? Mine seem to know whenever I set the clocks ahead for Daylight Savings or backwards when it's over. They always wake me up about fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off, just to make sure I don't sleep in. And when it's the weekend, they leave me alone and let me sleep in. Weird.

But when cats are hungry...watch. Out.

Cats will let you know when they want food, and when they want food, they want it yesterday. Mine have chewed holes in the bags of dry food on quite a few occasions whenever I've come home from the grocery store. It's especially dangerous when I eat tuna or salmon; they are in my face, begging, begging, begging, for just a wee little taste of fishy goodness.

However, I have animals who will eat anything. And I do mean, everything.

I don't deliberately feed her this, but Gabs loves tortellini. She's taken a little nugget out of the bowl before and eats just a little bit of it at a time before deciding she doesn't want any more. She also loves pizza crust. Mags is partial to broccoli florets, and will jump on the counter and steal one whenever I cut up the crown. She also likes to drink the leftover sludge at the bottom of a coffee cup. I stop her immediately when I catch her doing this, since caffeine isn't good for cats.

Which reminds me...I have to make dinner. And ironically enough, tortellini was on sale at Stop and Shop this week.

Excuse me, I have to go feed myself...and the Gabster.

There's no place like home!

Well, kittens, I have now been home for thirteen hours. I got home at 7 PM last night, and it took me fifteen minutes to unload my car. Keep in mind that I was away for two and a half weeks and I had two and a half weeks of clothes and such with me. Hell, I even brought my Keurig with me while I was gone. Mama needs her coffee!

Anyhoo, I'm adjusting to being home in the same way that someone who has been in a foreign country for a while adjusts to being back in their native land. It feels weird, yet pretty good. The cats slept with me last night, clinging to my body so tightly that they pretty much trapped me. I couldn't move, no matter how much I tried.

After I got all of the stuff unloaded, I sat down, poured myself a glass of wine, and caught up on three episodes of Conan on the DVR. I'm still behind on him and on Glee. Which reminds me, I have to write a post about my life after DVR...

Today, I further integrate myself in the readjustment process. I have to go grocery shopping. There is no food in the house, except for breadcrumbs, apples, pasta, and stale milk. Maybe I could make myself a breadcrumbed apple...mmm...or, dice an apple and toss it with the pasta...

And if you think I'm serious, then you need an extra shot of espresso.

Which reminds me, time to make some coffee of my own.

Dogs

As you all know, I am a housesitter. I stay overnight at my friends' houses whenever they go away. Usually I do this if they are dog owners. Now, as you also know, I am a cat person. I love dogs, but due to my lifestyle, I can't take care of one. I work about a half hour from home, and am often gone for twelve hours at a time. Most of the friends for whom I housesit are a five minute drive from work, or less, enabling me to let them out according to their needs.

Now, with the five minute commute, one might think, "Lovely! You can sleep in and hit the snooze button several times, right?" WRONG. Dogs operate on their own schedule. They don't care whether they wake you up at 6:30 am or 2:30 am. Most of the time the dogs I watch will let me sleep for fifteen extra minutes when I tell them to go away for a bit. But when dogs gotta go, they gotta go.

Tonight I let the dogs out after their supper, and I made some observations:

1. They insist on peeing in the exact same spot. Where one goes, the other must go as well.

2. Why is it that dogs insist on turning two or three times before laying down?

3. You know the movie 101 Dalmatians? That part about the "Twilight Bark"? So true. When one dog in the neighborhood barks, even if it's twenty houses down, all of the dogs in the neighborhood join in.

Now to complicate matters, there is a cat living in this house as well. He is clearly the alpha male, and is not afraid to swipe either pup if he gets pissed off. After all, this is his house. The dogs are so afraid of him, they will freeze in their tracks when they come in from the backyard and they see him in the kitchen. I never saw a dog fear a cat before. It's really remarkable how terrified these big dogs (they're Labs) are of this feline.

And what is it with dogs and shoes?!?!?! One of the dogs likes to hold shoes in its mouth. Fortunately, they don't get chewed up--well, actually, I lost a wee part of my heel the other day, to my good pair of brown shoes. Plus side? I took advantage of the BOGO sale at Payless and got some new ones. But I digress.

Oh, and the shoe-loving dog also loves to drag clothes around the house. The other day I stacked my laundry way up high, high enough that I felt that she couldn't get a hold of it. The next morning, when I woke up--clean laundry, all over the first floor of the house.

Now, I get annoyed when my kitties fall asleep on my laundry, but I'd take their fur all over my clean sweaters over seeing my laundry dragged across the living room any day.

I'm here till Saturday afternoon. It's going to feel really weird sleeping in my own house after being away for so long. But at the same time, it's gonna feel soooo good.

P.S. For those of you who have asked why I don't have my cats here, it's pretty simple. They don't get along with dogs. Plus, the alpha male cat is known as the neighborhood bully, even though he's pretty sweet with me. With the two dogs and the cat here, I'd have to keep my girls cooped up in one of the bedrooms all day long. It really wouldn't be fair for me to do that to them. Fortunately I get to go home and spend time with them each day for a couple of hours, so they don't feel neglected.

The joys of being a homeowner

Last night I went to sit shiva with the family of my friend who passed away last week. Not only did she work with me, she was my neighbor. So I took the opportunity to swing by the house for a couple of hours, before the services started. I fed the cats, gave them water, and then went on my way.

However, it's gotten tres cold here in the Nutmeg State, and I forgot to turn on the heat before I left. So I made another trip up today for the sole purpose of turning the heat on.

When I went to turn the heat on in the back of the house, where my office is, I was greeted by a not-so-nice surprise: my patio umbrella had blown over and shattered the glass top to my patio table, leaving it in hundreds upon hundreds of itty bitty shards, some scattered on the deck, others hanging by a thread off of the edge of the table.

For the next two and a half hours, I gingerly cleaned the whole mess up. I used my vacuum, a broom, some trash bags, and a couple of grocery bags. I took the table apart and disposed of it in the dumpster. I went downstairs to my neighbor's and cleaned off his patio. I live in a loft, so some of the shards fell in between the boards of my deck and down onto his space.

I still have some glass shards in the cracks that I have to clean up. That will have to wait until I return home Saturday--for good.

I can't wait to go home. I've forgotten what it's like to be there.

An afternoon rendez-vous chez la coiffeuse, part two: Intervention

You can read part one of my tale here.

Curly-haired women have an automatic bond. You may not always form deep friendships, but they always have a bond over the triumphs and tragedies of having spiraly hair texture.

My friend Chantal (not her real name) and I bonded during our college choir days, not just because of the choir itself, but because we both had curly hair and could never figure out what the hell to do with it. We always traded stories of new product trials, haircutting woes, and general frustration with our textures. We wore a lot of ponytails in college.

So two years ago, Chantal and I were on a cruise, and we were putting our respective toiletries in our cramped cabin bathroom. I noticed that she put these ginormous, liter-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower. This was very atypical of Chantal, who is the most practical traveler I know and always travels with the petite-sized products.

Not only that, but she placed a ginormous, liter-sized bottle of hair gel by the sink. It was from the same line as the shampoo and conditioner.

When Chantal wasn't looking, I picked up the bottle of hair gel (which really was liter-sized) and checked out the price.

$45.

For hair gel.

This definitely was atypical of Chantal, who never, ever, ever paid full price for anything.

I resolved to ask her about the situation later.

(NOTE: I'm not being paid to endorse the following products, I'm just telling a story).

So later that day, we went out for tea and sat by the pool and the conversation turned to shopping. That's when I asked the question:

"Why the hell did you spend $45 on hair gel?"

She started laughing. "Because it's a good hair gel!" she replied.

"But what makes it so good? I mean, your hair looks good, but...c'mon, $45?!?!"

She laughed again. Chantal told me about this product line for curly hair called Deva Curl. Her salon had just started buying the products and, for shits and giggles, decided to try it on her hair. Pretty soon, Chantal had a small crowd of hairdressers around her, admiring the products' affects on her spirals. Well, that was enough to convince Chantal to buy the entire product line--shampoo, conditioner, and all.

"YOU should try this stuff, Kitten! It would look great on your hair!"

I rolled my eyes. $45 for a liter of hair gel? No thank you, even if it lasted me for two years.

Fast forward two years. Chantal forwards me an e-mail from her salon. They were hosting a "curly girl makeover" one Tuesday night. They were offering 25% off all services and products, and as a bonus, the Italian restaurant next door was offering a free happy hour to all of its salon's customers, antipasti, wine, and all.

I thought, "What the hell?" It would be a chance to spend time with Chantal, whom I hardly see during the work year. That, and anytime you offer me free wine, I'm there.

So I met Chantal at her salon, and I felt this awesome, friendly, fun vibe. It was a party in there. A real fiesta! Chantal sat down with her manicurist for a polish change and they started chatting away. While she was getting her nails done, I was summoned to a chair where the hairdresser started asking me questions.

"How often do you wash your hair?"

"Every other day."

She shook her head. "Curly girls should only wash their hair once a week," she explained. "If you wash it too often it will encourage frizz. You don't want to do that. But we're going to wash your hair today anyway."

I leaned back and she got to work. She explained which products she was using on my hair. She started with the Deva Curl Lo Poo, which is low-sudsing because it doesn't contain any sodium laureth sulfate, which is alleged to be a carcinogen and also can irritate skin for those who have sensitive skin problems. Then she applied conditioner, and as she was rinsing it out, she called another hairdresser to my sink. She looked at the other hairdresser, who looked at my hair, and nodded.

"She needs a clarifying treatment."

"Yeah, you see all the white flakes coming out of her hair?"

I looked at my shampoo girl. "But isn't that supposed to be dandruff?" I asked.

"Oh no," she replied, "what you have is build up. Lots of it. What do you use in your hair?"

I told her about my rawther unorthodox styling routine. She started laughing.

"Well, your cocktail certainly explains why you have build-up," she explained as she put the clarifying shampoo in my hair. "And you shouldn't blow your hair around too much because it will promote frizz, and the curl will lose hydration."

So I got my clarifying treatment and went to the hairdresser's chair, where she put some of the aforementioned $45 gel in my hair. Then she took a blow dryer, put a blow-drying sock on it, and let it go.

And...

That $45 gel was worth every frakkin' penny.

My hair never looked so good.

I left the salon with the entire product line, not with the liter-sized bottles, but the more conventional 12-ounce bottles, because I wasn't fully sold. I wanted to make sure I could do my hair at home. And if I didn't like the products, I could always sell them on eBay.

The next morning, I washed my hair. Yeah, I know I wasn't supposed to, but I did it anyway. I wanted to try the Lo Poo for myself. It was weird having so few suds in my hair during its wash. Then I put the One Condition in my hair, and rinsed it out. I could tell, just from that one wash, that my hair had retained a lot of moisture. I felt a difference immediately.

I got out of the shower and towel dried my hair with a microfiber towel, a free gift from the salon. Curly girls, I learned, shouldn't put their hair in a turban, because it will flatten the curl. I then put some of the leave in conditioner, the B'Leave In, through my locks, and got dressed. I went back to the bathroom and put some of the AnGEL in my hair, put my face on, brushed my teeth, and sprayed my hair with the Set It Free, the moisture lock that prevents frizz.

Not to brag, but my hair looked awesome.

I could do this.

Since then I have received more compliments on my hair than I ever heard in my entire life. People asked me what I was doing. Was it a new cut? New style? New product? I told them all about Deva Curl and started raving the same way Chantal did. I was sold!

The next step, for me, was to find a salon in the M-town that sold the Deva products.

That's when I got lucky...really, really lucky...

TOMORROW: Part three of my story...

An afternoon rendez-vous chez la coiffeuse, part one: The story of my locks

I have naturally curly, dark brown hair.

My hair has posed me much drama and trauma throughout my life. Mama Cat used to blow dry it straight, right after my shower and immediately after she doused it with Johnson's No More Tangles. When I was nine years old, I got my first major haircut. It was Mama Cat's hairdresser, and Mama Cat was tired of having to deal with my locks, so out came the scissors and CHOP CHOP!!

Mama Cat's hairdresser chopped it from waist- to shoulder-length, and put layers in. Lots of 'em. Mama Cat had no idea what to do, so she put my hair in those Goody pink sponge rollers before I was sent off to bed.

Did I mention that Mama Cat didn't believe in mousse, gel, or any styling products?

It didn't help that I was the only girl in my class who had hair like I did. I longed, I mean longed for straight blonde hair like my friend Beth's. Or baby-fine hair like my friend Bethany's. Anything but my untamed mess of a 'do.

When I got to high school I did my hair on my own, but I was just as frustrated as Mama Cat was. My hair had absolutely no style. I'd wash it in the morning, and put up the top layers with a barrette, and let it air dry. My hair had grown long again, and it would try in little banana curls all around my neck. People loved to tug at my curls and watch them spring up once they released them.

In college, the situation got worse. I wasn't able to get off campus much; the town bus never went in the area of a hair salon. Hell, I could barely afford a haircut to begin with. The one time I got a mall haircut in college, during my sophomore year, it was...well, awful. Horrendous. Ug-lee.

Following graduation I went to Mama Cat's new hairdresser, who was a personal friend of ours. She understood my hair, and never failed to give me a bad cut. That, and I babysat her grandchildren, so we got along famously.

Then I moved out of the house. I found a hairdresser in New London whom I adored. I mean, adored. Not only did he understand my hair, but he was just an amazing person. We clicked on the first appointment. He and his partner were renovating a house when I went to see him, and he always showed me pictures of the latest updates. He also showed me many pictures of his little dachshund. I was absolutely heartbroken when I moved and had to leave him.

I moved to the M-town and it took me forever to find a new hairdresser. I found one, and stayed with her for three years, but after that time, I needed a change. So I went from hairdresser to hairdresser for about a year or two, never really...well, "feeling it." Ladies, you know what I'm talking about, n'est-ce pas?

Not to mention, I couldn't find a hairdresser who understood curly hair. I met many people who would not only cut my hair as if it were straight, but they'd blow dry it straight every time I got it cut. Then I'd go home, and wash my hair the next day, and of course, I would not know what to do with it because it had been cut as if it were straight.

I finally learned to accept my curls about three or four years ago. I also adopted a rawther unorthodox process of styling my hair:

• I usually washed it the night before. I'd go to bed with a wet head, but the curls would be about 75% dry by the time I woke up the next morning.
• In the morning, I used a spray bottle to mist my curls and prepare them for styling. I then used a combination of three products: leave-in conditioner, serum, and hair gel. All of these products were combined in the palm of my hand. I'd rub my hands together, flip my hair over, and distribute the cocktail throughout my strands.
• I'd get in the car, and, depending on the weather, either turn the heat all the way up, vents at full blast, or roll the windows down. During my commute, I'd use this air to dry my hair. I'd finger comb my hair at stop lights.
• Finally, I got to work and got out of the car. I'd look at my reflection in the driver's side window, flip my hair over, and shake my hair one more time before entering the building.

So that's how I used to do my hair in the morning. Note that I said used to. Because a friend of mine decided that it was time for an intervention...

TOMORROW: Part two of my story...

Workin' 9 to 5...

I'm going on temporary hiatus in the coming days. I'm returning to work on Tuesday, and don't know how much time I'll have to blog as I get back into the routine. Hell, I haven't had much time to read or post reviews lately.

I should be back for Book Blogger Appreciation Week, but for now, I'm just taking it one day at a time.

I hope the end of summer treats all of you well. I'll be back soon!

Zen and the art of automotive maintenance

This is my car.

It is a 2002 Kia Spectra, and a damn good car it is. I love, love, LOVE my car. It has never let me down. I take excellent care of it. (NOTE: Not my ACTUAL car, but it looks EXACTLY like it, color, model, and all).

It also has over 134,000 miles on it. Yes, I know it's up there in mileage, but it still runs very, very well. I took it to my mechanic for a tune up a few weeks back and he said that it looked really good under the hood.

That having been said, when you have a car with as much mileage as mine, repair bills can be expensive.

Take this year, for instance. Back in March, I had to have the rear struts replaced. The weakness from the struts was causing the left rear tire to cup, and I had to get a new tire. That was a $450 bill.

Then at the end of last month I went in for an oil change and came out with a new alternator belt and a transmission flush--all on top of the new oil. That was a $350 bill.

Then three weeks ago I went in because my car was having trouble starting first thing in the morning. That, and the alternator belt kept squeaking. They readjusted the belt and then saw that my spark plugs were on the fritz. They replaced the spark plugs and did a fuel injection clean-out. That was a $225 bill. (Fortunately, the alternator belt was still under warranty, so that was free).

Two weeks ago, I went in because the belt was still squealing. They gave me a new one, tightened it up, and there's no more noise. Fortunately, it was under warranty, so it didn't cost me anything to fix.

And just today, I went to the dealer because, five weeks after the belt replacement, there was still chirping and the occasional screech. I called this morning, and he told me to bring it in today.

It was my first time at this particular dealership. I usually go to the one right by where I work, but it was more convenient for me to go to the one closer to my home for this appointment. He told me he'd check the belt, examine the alternator, and, because it was my first appointment there, give me a free 27-point safety inspection.

I arrived at 12:45. At 2:00, inspection completed, I was informed that the car was in great shape. The belts were tightened, and they found that a bolt was bent, which was what was likely causing the tweeting and squeaking.

However...

My front brakes were on the fritz. They said I only had about ten percent of them left. I gave them the OK to fix them. They added that I needed new wipers. I told them to put them on as well.

Soooo...$340 later, I have new brakes, new wipers, and a new customer loyalty card. I earn $1 for every $20 I spend. I can use the money towards future repairs.

AND...I also got a coupon for a FREE car wash. :)

So, brakes and belts tightened, and wallet MUCH lighter, I took my car to the spa for a nice, soapy bath. So now it looks good and feels good.

Yes, the car is costing me beaucoup bucks lately, and the money I've spent on repair would have contributed nicely to a down payment, but I'd rather make the necessary repairs into my investment than deal with a car payment right now. Besides, I have no choice. Car loans are hard for a lot of people to obtain now.

I will admit that I am attached to my wheels. Kia and I have never been on major road trips, but she has served me well over the years and has been a good little car. I can't ask for more than that.