Archive for » February, 2008 «

Double Trouble
27
February
by TouchedByMadness

Back in November my impulsive inner child decided she wanted a kitten. The Captain came home that night to be greeted by this face -

Bella

He instantly fell in love with her, of course, (who wouldn’t?) and all was happy at our little house.

For a short time.

A few weeks ago I decided that Bella was lonely. Realizing that I had already pushed my luck enough when I brought her home, I figured I’d better get permission this time and set to work trying to convince the Captain that he wanted nothing more in the world than another cat. Fortunately he gave in before I decided to ignore him and do what I wanted anyway.

It’s amazing how difficult it is to find a cat when you actually want one. If I hadn’t desperately desired a companion for Bella, some neighborhood tabby’s womb would have likely exploded on my doorstep, providing me with a whole litter to choose from. But because I was determined to bring home another feline friend, all the people with ads in the paper had found homes for their unwanted furballs, the rescue bus lady required folks to be canonized by the pope before we could adopt an animal, and the local humane society disappeared without a trace.

Finally we turned up at a shelter that still existed, and, even better, had cats.

Because Bella seems to truly believe that she is a baby puma, the tiny kittens were out. (Plus lack of litter training mitigated the effects of their cuteness.) The six-month old cat looked considerably more sturdy and was relative in age to Bella. As she was given the uncreative name Cat (maybe Kat?), she clearly needed a good home.

As I filled out the application for Cat, I began idly chatting about our little rascal. That was probably my undoing.

Suddenly the woman behind the desk started asking me if I had seen Arlene. Arlene seemed so similar to Bella, they would make great companions, she insisted. Although I was initially skeptical, eventually she swayed me into adopting Arlene (mostly because she wouldn’t let me take Cat home).

“And I haven’t even told you the best part!” the woman said just as I finished signing all the paperwork. “I told you Cat would cost $80, but Arlene is only $5!”

I froze. Not in “What a bargain!” shock. In “Oh crap! What’s wrong with her?!” terror.

Shelley

I don’t know that anything is actually wrong with her (besides the name Arlene, which was changed to Shelley that same day), but I wish someone had explained to me the fuzzy math that makes two cats about ten times more cats than just one.

When it was just Bella, we had this shadow of a pet that had to be sought out to be snuggled half the time. With two cats it’s more like, “Where the hell did all these cats come from?!”

With one cat, the newspapers from the kitchen table might be on the floor by the time we got home from work. With two cats, we come home and yell, “How in the world did you manage to break the bathroom vanity?”

With one cat, I had a desk and an occasional kitty paperweight. With two cats, I no longer have a work station and must constantly scold, “The laptop is not approved additional seating!”

So I think we have just enough cats right now.

Dogs, on the other hand . . .

Category: Adventures in Adulthood, Fur Babies, Memoir, Random  4 Comments
Diary of a Novice Web Designer
26
February
by TouchedByMadness

Day 1: Attend my first Intermediate HTML class. Discover that the final project is building a web site with requirements such as “Must have at least one use of event-based ‘feature’ javascript,” “Must have at least 8 examples of ‘SEOed’ text / markup,” and “Must work in both Internet Explorer 6/7 and Firefox with AND without javascript.” Hyperventilate and consider dropping class.

Day 8: Attend second class. Still in state of shock from reading syllabus. Come out of coma long enough to realize I haven’t done much of anything yet and I’m probably in over my head. Decide to wing it.

Day 13: Build much of my site for the class. An elating sense of competency washes over me.

Day 14: Confident that if I can build a site for my class, I can reproduce it for the Web, I register a domain and find a hosting provider. Minutes later remember that I have no idea how to set up either.

Day 15 – 24: Procrastinate.

Day 25: Read “Getting Started” guides multiple times. Successfully set up hosting, database, and WordPress content management system. Begin to believe I can actually pull this off. Tinker around with CSS. Decide there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of me customizing a WordPress template to the look and feel of my site for class. Sigh and despair.

Day 26: Take little sister to New York City to see Lion King for her birthday. Decide it was a stupid idea to begin site the afternoon before this trip.

Day 27: Suffer repeated failed attempts to create something like my project site. Give up on trying to build my own theme. Download one instead. Fight the urge to weep. Begin to make “minor” modifications.

Day 28: Obsess over site for hours.

Day 29: Obsess over site for hours.

Day 30: Begin to understand how templates work. Realize I might be able to reproduce project site after all.

Day 31: The Captain pops into my office to see how I’m doing. Greeted with “Internet Explorer is the devil!” Stops checking on my progress.

Day 32: Finally get site to work in Firefox and IE. Refuse to acknowledge other browsers exist.

Day 33: Obsess over site for hours.

Day 34: Direct blog buddies to hot new site and take a much needed break.

Category: Adventures in Adulthood, Geek Stuff, Memoir  2 Comments
Fact: Black Cats Prefer Anne Rice
25
February
by TouchedByMadness

Bella loves Anne Rice

Category: Random  One Comment
Biceps Not Included
23
February
by TouchedByMadness

To anyone who’s ever said, “I’ll do it myself!” I salute you . . . you crazy son of a bitch.

Long ago I determined that a childhood love of Legos means that I have the makings of a mechanical engineer and can therefore build anything. In my defense, given enough time and an instruction booklet in English, Spanish, French, and Dutch, I usually am able to construct something like the picture on the box. That doesn’t mean I have an easy go at it, of course, as I was reminded when I dug up this journal entry this afternoon:

My new bed finally arrived today. I was tingling with anticipation all morning, knowing it was scheduled to be delivered that afternoon. The window they gave me was “between noon and five,” so I expected my shipment to show up shortly after seven. The truck pulled up at 11:45am.

I dragged my three heavy boxes down to my bedroom and dug out my tools. I wondered if I should call my father and ask him to help me assemble the bed. “No, he’ll think I can’t figure it out on my own,” I thought. I rolled up my sleeves. “I’m a competent adult, I can do this myself.” (Nevermind that something as large and unwieldy as a bed is infinitely easier to put together if you have two people.)

So I tore into the cardboard, emptied the contents, and perused the instructions. The three main pieces of the bedframe went together without a hitch. “Ha! Too easy!” I gloated. With the frame in place and my confidence high, I tackled the link spring.

Two and a half hours later . . .

Yes, people, the link spring and my self esteem were in pieces. All that work, and I clearly wasn’t strong enough to put the bed together. I needed a break. I was sore and exhausted. I kicked the box that bore the warning: Adult Assembly Required. “Yeah, just how many adults?” I complained bitterly.

“Just one. Well . . . unless you’re a pathetic, petite little weenie like yourself,” the box mocked.

I tossed a wrench across the room and pouted.

Once I thought I had sulked enough, I dragged the link spring into the kitchen (where I had minimally more room) and wrestled with it some more. Persistence paid off. Eventually one of the do-it-yourselfer patron gods elbowed another in the ribs and said, “Ok, let’s stop messing with her. Let the pieces match up.”

Two hours (almost five hours total), four tantrums, three strategies, one Cherry Coke, and 5,643 curse words later, I finally finished assembling my bed.

Which is fortunate, because now I need a nap.

Category: Adventures in Adulthood, Crash & Burn, Memoir  2 Comments
Desperate to Be on TV?
19
February
by TouchedByMadness

I remember that as a teenager I thought the lowest form of self-debasement was putting on a chicken suit and dancing outside a dry cleaners to help increase business. (It wasn’t until I became a school mascot for a night that I realized that no one knows who’s actually in the costume, so your dignity isn’t really compromised.)

Nowadays, I flinch the same way whenever I see the Valtrex chick. I couldn’t say how lucrative a business starring in those commercials might be, but I doubt it’s enough money to be forever thereafter known as the “herpes girl.” I mean, even if you actually HAVE herpes, do you really want the whole world to know about it?

Remember the Noxema girl? Me neither. But I heard that she was insanely popular after she did those commercials. People would recognize her everywhere. I don’t think I’d want to be recognized if I were the Valtrex chick. Can you imagine trying to eat at a nice restaurant when all of a sudden someone says (much too loudly), “Oh my God! It’s the Valtrex girl!” And then some guy runs over to tell you how much your product has changed his life and how he hasn’t had an outbreak in ages and how his genitals thank you, and could you maybe autograph his wanker?

Yeah, I don’t need that.

And I imagine dating might be awkward . . .

Anyway, what if the people that star in these commercials are trying to become serious actors in big blockbuster films? Don’t they ever wonder if their participation in those ad campaigns could hurt their chances of getting a much coveted role later?

Well, thank you very much for coming in today. We’ll call you.

Wait a minute, that’s it? I’m perfect for this role! Perfect!

Yes, you did read very well for it, it’s just that –

What?

You see, 007 does not have ED.

Neither do I! It was just a commercial I did to keep from starving when I came out to this town. Surely you can understand that.

No. Now, if it were syphilis or gonorrhea, we might be able to work with you . . .

I do not have erectile dysfunction!

Great. That’s great. Er . . . thanks for coming in. We’ll call you.

Why don’t these companies spare desperate souls the aftermath of being the Enzyte spokesperson and use animated characters instead? Look at Zoloft. With all the depressed people in the world, Zoloft chose to use those rocks or circles or whatever they’re supposed to be. Why can’t other companies use sad little shapes too? Levitra or Viagra or Cialis could, of course, use squares (wouldn’t YOU buy their medication if you thought you were a square?) And Valtrex commercials could be populated by . . . maybe trapezoids. No, a rhombus. Yes, a rhombus sounds like a shape that might have an STD.

That’s right, poor budding actors with no judgment or vision — just say NO to pharmaceuticals.

You can thank me later.

Category: Random, Rants  Leave a Comment