Screw you, 1, 2 and 3.

So after having a mid-life, what not to wear, fitting-room melt-down in a few stores yesterday, I went to Old Navy today, and found salvation. I honestly should go there more often because every time I do I have a new lease on life in my closet. Why the hell aren't there more stores where the sizes are simply S, M, L, XL and thank you: XXL? I mean, the XL is just a little larger than the L. What if you're a little larger than the XL in spots? Okay, everywhere. Do I have to wear something that is sized 1, 2 or 3? It makes me feel like the sizes had to start all over again because I didn't fit into any of the REAL ones. It's like getting on a scale that only goes up to 200 and weighing 3 lbs on it. YAY! I weigh 3 pounds! Am I supposed to celebrate beign a size "1" when I know that "1" comes after all of the other sizes. Yeah, we just stopped counting and started over.

So back to OLD NAVY. Not only are their sizes normal and kind, but their prices are, too. I bought a gillion things today and got 20% off, plus, they don't get rid of things super fast in the season. Like, they had sweaters, but they also still had all the basics for summer out. I bought a coat AND flip flops today. Sweet. I dunno, maybe I just don't shop enough, but I was super happy I went in there. And I didn't see a skinny jean anywhere or a legging for a 6 foot tall drag queen, either. Dude, I am short and chunky. I am not subjecting people to a skinny jean and getting away with it. Give me my capris and a t-shirt and leave me alone. Thank you, OLD NAVY, for making girls my size feel like part of the world again. Screw you, 1, 2 and 3.

I'm not a lamp, I'm a cat.

The cone of shame. My poor baby boy has to wear a cone on his head for two weeks to prevent him from licking what the doctor thinks is a bacterial infection he made worse by his licking it incessantly. He got to the point where the spot had no hair at all- only red bumps. I love though, despite the evil head-gear, how he insists on basking in the sun coming in through a window. He may be miserable, but he's not going to waste a beautiful day. I love this picture.

I can't tell you how many bowls of food he's just tipped over because he's leaned on them with the cone. It's hysterical, but also pathetic. I cannot believe the change in expression on his face once I take the thing off for a few minutes. Buddy drinks from the sink, not so much from a bowl, so we have to give him a daily break from the mask/ lampshade/ Queen Elizabeth collar in order to drink a little bit.
Can you imagine? He's already irked that he has to live with other cats around and now we make him wear this ridiculous thing? He looks worse than My Cousin Vinny did when he went to the thrift shop for a suit for court. Remember? "So now, I'm wearing this ridiculous thing, for you."

The other day he scooped up kitty litter with it as he was sniffing out a clean spot to "go", and when he lifted his head higher, I could hear it skittle down to his neckline. Uggh. Sick. Today he managed to knock the food bowl into the water bowl. It was like cat food cereal. I'm not even mad- I'm impressed. My special boy has a helmet. My "booboo" has a boo-boo. Alright, I'll stop. He really does look like Queen Elizabeth, though.

Jolie

The most uber-adorable thing in my life is my cousin's baby, Jolie. She's cute, smart, charming, friendly, polite, entertaining, and loving. She is 2 years old and she loves to play and explore. I can't even stand how much I love her sometimes. She enjoys my pool in the summer and loves to splash and play. She has the sweetest little girl voice and she says the cutest things. She's actually fun for adults because she repeats everything we say and enjoys our company as much as we enjoy hers. She purposely tilts her head in photos to make herself look cuter. Sick.

I love that she has pets- both a dog and a cat- from such a young age so she doesn't grow up afraid of animals, but develops a love for them. I also like the idea of children learning compassion and how to care for something through having animals in the house as they grow up.

She loves to pet her cat, which she named "kitty" of course. Yesterday was scary because she was playing with her new Thomas the truck, which she LOVES, and she got the moving wheels stuck in her hair and she started to cry. I've never seen her get this upset!

And that's exactly what she cried out to us. Her parents managed to get the truck untangled from her hair, but she was still crying hard. Through the running tears and reddening eyes of a hurting two year old, she said the most mature thing: "I'm very upset! That was scary!" I couldn't even stand how freaking cute THAT was! Here I am trying to be compassionate and helpful, and I'm doing everything I can not to reveal that I even find her tantrum entertaining and adorable. What a lovable little munchkin she is.

Carbohydrates

The enemy of the people: the good tasting, soul satisfying, comfort food known as carbs. They are everywhere these buggers! They are in your bread, your pasta, your cracker, your cereal, your yogurt, your milk, your carrot. They are in your fruit. They are in your raisins. They are in my hummus. You can't even eat a grape anymore without counting the flipping things out first. So, what do we do? We said we'd avoid them. And we did- for half a day. Get in the zone, my ass. Dr. Atkins is dead. I'm sorry, I can't live with a side of bacon being better for you than a crouton or a peach. My brain just doesn't compute that way. But I do see that society seems to consume way too many carbs- not realizing where they are coming from. A sandwich is always served - anywhere- with a side of carbs in addition to the bread the sandwich is on. Why did we ever start that? Even in schools- the side is french fries! It's completely sick. More later...

Tula!

Teenie, tiny Tula. We found her at PetSMART and actually wanted the kitty next to her- believe it or not! (that's so mean!) But once I played with them I knew that she was the one. She's easy with her affection and wants to get closer to people.

However, I learned the hard way that she is not fond of grooming done by humans. Those claws will just have to stay long, then. OUCH.

Rescued from a house in Bellmore with 40 other cats., she's a playful little thing despite the fact that she was malnourished and has had babies of her own. Poor baby, girl. Well, don't pity her too much cause since then she's hit the kitty cat jackpot.

Before we actually knew her name was going to be Tula, "Patty" from PetSMART lived upstairs in our house with freedom to do as she pleased while my other darlings wondered what the deal was. Who's up there? Why can't we go up there anymore? Hey, what's the big idea? Once they all met her, everyone fell into place pretty predictably. The only surprise was a nasty hiss from PHILLIP of all kitties. He expressed utter disgust that one time, and ever since he's been only curious and loving toward her. Maggie runs away from her own shadow, and Buddy, well...Buddy's hatred for all things that detract from his every need being met is growing like wildfire. He's just a big softy at heart who wants to be the only one that matters! He's so much like me it's no longer funny....

Plus, it doesn't help that while getting used to a new cat, Buddy has a skin infection making him look like Wiggy in "There's Something About Mary." So he's got a white head on his eyeball and a shoe fetish and a new cat eating better tasting food than he does. "DAMNIT!"

Share the love, Buddy. Share the love.

UPDATE: Tula is a lunatic at night. She waits all day to torture us. Then, when we're snug in bed, she climbs, jumps, skitters, plays hockey with a hair clip, anything she can to drive the house crazy.
In other words? WE LOVE HER!

House

If I knew medical jargon I could practically write an episode of "House." I love the show, but it does follow a certain formula, doesn't it? I mean, even more closely than most shows. Here's a rough sketch of that formula as I see it:

1. Someone is dying of a mysterious illness, desperate for a correct diagnosis.
2. Dr. House is popping vicodin.
3. His sexy boss yells at him for something- possibly for the vicodin.
4. His friend Wilson yells at him for something- possibly for the vicodin.
5. Lots of meetings which include writing medical terms and symptoms on dry erase boards and the witty derision of colleagues.
6. House suggests something ridiculous as treatment.
7. House is ridiculed for his ridiculous suggestion to cure the patient, like drill a hole in his skull while he's listening to techno.
8. repeat steps 2, 6 and 7 ...
9. House flirts with a sexy doctor.
10. House saves the day! It just wasn't techno- it was ska!

This formula is almost perfect, however, I just saw an episode that strayed from it. Wilson's girlfriend Amber dies! House figured it out, yes, but he couldn't save her! I was left completely distraught in my living room! I'm talking real tears and sobbing! Amber went to pick House up at a bar because he was to drunk to drive, follows him onto a bus which gets into an accident! And the weird complication has something to do with flu medication whe was taking. It ended up poisoning her somehow because the accident cause her kidney failure? Who the hell knows- but what great television! I love him and hate him- he's the hot, nasty, obnoxious hero. Is that a type of hero? Whatever.

House, keep it up - you brilliant jackass.

Summertime

As a teacher, I have a love-hate relationship with SUMMER.

As a gemini, I suppose I have a love-hate relationship with everything. Including myself.

But summer, in particular, is something I long for like the thirsty longs for a drink. All year, I have my eye on the prize- through the endless hours of grading writing assignments, the pointless minutia of faculty meetings, the daily grind of working "full time" or what seems like "all the time." I just need a rest after a while- a rest longer than two days; longer than a week.

And the end of June is wonderful. So is the beginning of July, as I enjoy soaking in the vitamin D. It's the end of July and the dreaded, God-awful, gut-wrenching beginning of August that I despise. August is one long drawn-out Sunday of gut-rot and nerves. July is our month-long Saturday, because we know we always have August, too. But what happens when August ARRIVES? Like Lois Lane said to Superman, "You've got ME? Who's got YOU?"

I don't mean to sound spoiled or lazy. People not involved in education who overhear teachers complaining about the summer drawing to a close have every right to think we're brats. I understand what we sound like. My own husband reminds me that his vacation FOR THE YEAR is over, and I still have weeks off until I begin working, only to have 28 holidays throughout the school year. I know, I know. But, and this is a big but: when you come home from work, you flop onto the couch. You don't even think of your job on the weekends. And really, (no offense) you're not IN CHARGE of anything. No buck stops with you. There's no end to what a teacher does and can do to become better. I think it's one of the many Catch 22s of our lives: to be a good teacher means to drive yourself crazy with work.

And another Catch 22: my growing resentment for summer! As much as I long for the absence of responsibility, I get bored just as fast! Hence this newly generated blog so that I can have an outlet for my thoughts that doesn't feel like work. Here goes nothin'.

Sleeping softly. Waking slowly.
The standing fan hums;
Last night's lullaby barely lingers;
Sun beams bake beyond the window;
Angry mowers chomp grass in the distance;
A hedge somewhere gets a haircut.
The clock says 9, but
The July page of the calendar screams freedom.
The white lace curtains
I washed and hung up wet last night
Do a little dance in the breeze.
Scrawling a "To -Do" list in my mind,
I massage my pillow and flip it over, checking off "nap."

cat lover

It all started with Buddy.

My cousin Melissa had a kitten she couldn't keep because of a landlord and the minute I'd heard that, I rushed over to her mom's house to see it. He was the sleepiest, cutest, mildest little baby thing- only about 10 weeks old. I didn't have a cat carrier for I'd never had a cat before; all I knew was that I wanted one and this was too much of a coincidence. I took the little sleepy tabby in my hands and placed him in the car. He spent the entire ride from Bellmore to Farmingdale - on the southern state- clutched to the headrest of the passenger seat! (I realize now- not the safest mode of transportation!!!) When I got home I called my soon to be husband to come see her. And that's when it started: we were both hooked on loving cats. That was 8 years ago. Look at our plump, good boy!

Soon after Buddy came Holly- the names together were another amazing coincidence. I was wandering through PetCo and just caught a glimpse of her eyes. I always compare them to a lighthouse- they were like two beams of light. I had to have her. She was destined to be Buddy's sister. Even though she came after Buddy, she was 3 when we adopted her, so we always referred to her as his little-big sister. Also, she was a bit of a runt. She was always teeny-tiny and petite. And, not an easy adoption. That could be it's own entry altogether. She was quite a handful at first. I thought I'd adopted the Tazmanian Devil. Or a terrorist.

Once we gained her trust -and she gained a personality- we enjoyed Holly for 12 healthy years until this February when she mysteriously developed liver disease and lymphoma at the same time. It was sadly too much, too soon, without any telling symptoms, until I noticed that she refused to eat a pounce treat. This was unheard of, so I knew something was wrong. Look at my sweet little day sleeper. She's the prettiest pillow on the couch. Now she's buried in our yard- forever sleeping at home where she belongs.

For my husband's birthday two years ago, he wanted another boy cat to add to Buddy and Holly. We knew we'd be in for a challenge adding a boy to Buddy's house- Holly could handle Buddy's moods; she was a pretty strong fighter.

Buddy is more or less a wimp who wishes he was the only cat here. He's be over the moon if there were no other cats but him, and he'd have happy paws 24-7. Sorry, pal. Suck it up!

So, in a local pet store we met Philly: the cutest, most perfect kitty you've ever seen. And along with him came one of his siblings, Maggie. The store manager suggested we keep some of the litter together. We named them both in the car ride home- Phillip and Maggie- brother and sister tabby kittens. Phil looks like an Entenmann's marble pound cake and Maggie is just the fluffiest, softest ball of fuzz you'll ever see. You can comb her with a grooming comb for an entire weekend and not come to the end of her excess fur. I say she's our living roll of Charmin toilet paper, cause you just want to squeeze her! And, as the picture indicates, they watch TV.

Coming soon: Our newest addition, Tula.