Xanax? If I'm ever going to be a parent--YES PLEASE!

Sadly, the drugs are not for me.

No..the xanax is for Yogi.

Let that sink in for a moment. My 2 year old CAT needs downers to go to the vet. Just for giggles--I asked them to throw in an extra for me.

They didn't do it. Bastards.

Let me explain to you perhaps, why I thinking shouldn't have children. (And yes--it has to do with fur balls and what comes out of them, so if you are squeamish--stop here. Trust me.)

I had an appointment to take the boys to the vet on Wednesday for distemper vaccines and routine health checks. I got Yogi in his crate and took him and Jeter (who rides sans crate) down to the car. My vet is less than five minutes from my house.

And yes--Jeter pissed in the car. Sigh. He hopped down from his perch in my back window and just let loose all over my backseat. Needless to say, I've cleaned the back seat of my car about a million times since Wednesday. (It sucks having such a sensitive nose! And if this was all that had happened, I would say that all in all, it was a good trip).

So we get to the vet. I pull in, get them out, put the towel in the backseat to take care of the mess. We go in..and they tell me all the stuff they are going to do (fine), they take Yogi into the back and I'm talking to a girl I went to high school with who runs the office and we hear this blood curdling scream from the back: Yogi.

(If you know Yogs..you know he is a sweet, but dim, cat. He likes people, he plays and romps, likes a good snuggle before he goes to sleep and LOVES cat treats.

And apparently, he becomes the anti-christ when we leave the house. It's like I have the only cat in the world with agoraphobia.)

And it just gets worse. They had to bring him back to me in another, bigger crate. And he's growling and screaming...people in the waiting room where talking amongst themselves about what in the HELL is going on in there?!?! So yes, it was pretty awful.

Oh. The whole time they are working on getting a blood draw from Jeter (I loved the vet's reaction when she brought Yogi in..."Yea--that's a NO on the blood draw"), Yogi crouched under a chair and growled and hissed. At no one. It was just nuts. So I get to take the little booger back next Sunday--but only after I give him some kitty Xanax. And cat nip. Ah...my little junkie.

So after all the hoopla, I get Yogi back in his crate, leave the two of them in the room together so I can go pay the bill (yikes!). When I come back in, it is eerily quiet. (I should have known what was coming) A tech helps me take them both out to the car. I get them settled in, Jeter on my lap (no peeing this time, mister!), Yogi next to me in his crate.

I am literally two minutes from my front door when I hear this really weird high pitched sound...like air coming out of a balloon. Or in this case, poo coming out of a cat. The cat on my lap.

That's right. Jeter crapped all over me. I had to stop on the turn in to my neighborhood to gingerly get out of the car to remove all the cat turds from my person. And shake them loose of said cat's behind.

So, I spent my Wednesday night doing a giant load of laundry, practically detailing my car, and receiving death stares from two small mammals. I get this scary feeling that this is what parenthood is like on a daily basis...and I'm thinking I might just have to pass--because I can take a lot of things, but please--please?

Don't shit on me!

Christmas Trees? In September?? Getting ready for holiday shopping (blech).

Okay. So on Wednesday night after we closed at Retail Hell, my part time job from Hades, I noticed that they were cleaning out all the items in the back to school area (you know, clip lamps, disco balls, and those half chair/pillow thingies) and putting up a new display.

What ever could it be?

Christmas Trees.

Are you freaking kidding me? It's not even Thanksgiving yet! And then on Thursday--they were decorated. With the most god-awful looking shit. Whoever came up with the fake white tree needs to be killed. It's just tacky.

Yes. Tacky. And if you like them..well. I think you know my feelings on this matter.

This. This IS the reason I don't like Christmas. In fact, I would say it is my all time LEAST favorite holiday. Why? It's involves too much money, too much stress--and really, no one's happy when it's finished. It's "work". And it's not that I have anything against Christmas trees and twinkle lights..I don't per se...but is it December? Then WALK AWAY FROM THE EVERGREEN. There is only one exception to this rule--and that is Carmen's tree. One, because it is so pretty and Two, because she enjoys it so much. This isn't cheap wal-mart ornaments thrown up just so you can say the tree is done...it's the real deal. Fancy enough for a magazine and doesn't lose it's charm? Now that's what I call a Christmas tree!

But I digress.

What the monster trees signify is the beginning of the Holiday Shopping Season. (Dear whoever may be listening..I re-vamped my resume...please, please, please make it that I'm not working at Retail Hell during the Holidays. I already have issues pretending to be nice to these pigs we call customers.) So, here are some helpful tips to keep yourself from being beaten to death by a retail minion such as yours truly:

1) This is NOT an option. Are you checking out? Then get off the effing phone. We need to share information with you..like your credit card has been declined. Which is hard to do if you are yakking to your buddy about your raging yeast infection (welcome to my Wednesday night of fun this week--I'm not even joking) that just won't clear up. Maybe if you didn't talk on the phone so much, you would have money to pay your bill? Just a thought. Oh..and for the record--if it's been more than two weeks and it burns when you pee? It's sooo not a yeast infection.

2) They are called Dressing Rooms not Restrooms and it's only legal to drop trou in one of them. Do you know which one?? Let me help: If you open up a door to go in--and there's not a white porcelain seat waiting for you--then keep your pants up and move on. There are lots of loverly sales associates such as myself that would be glad to point you in the right direction.

3) Speaking of dressing rooms....did you take those clothes in there wadded up, inside out, and in a giant pile? No? Gosh, I thought that's how we kept them on the sales floor! Kidding aside--we keep a fricking cart right by the door. That you have to walk by. To leave the dressing room. It's there for you to hang your unwanted items on. It's not like we ask you to put them back where you got them...god forbid you have to walk an extra two feet! You can be as nasty as you want in your own home, but for the love of my sanity--these ARE NOT YOUR CLOTHES SO PICK THEM UP YOU LAZY PIGS.

4)I'm sorry, but your table's not ready...because you're in a department store. Look..I don't care if you have a quick nibble of a snack when you are walking around. I understand some people are professionals--prepared with energy bars, bottles of water, etc in their bags to get them through a long day of shopping. That said, this is not the place for your nine year old to eat out of a bucket of chicken. Or thrown the bones on the floor. Or smear mashed potatoes and gravy all over my freshly folded jean table. Yes--please use four hundred dollars worth of denim as a napkin...I mean--what else could it possibly be there for?

5)Did you walk in with that stuffed Tigger? No? Then it's not yours? Could you please explain to me then why you are blowing your nose on it? Not only is this stealing--it's just nasty. But not as nasty as THROWING SNOT COVERED TIGGER BACK UP ON A DISPLAY BED! Seriously y'all. You can by a travel pack of Kleenex for something like $0.50--not exactly breaking the bank. And--they will fit in daddy's pocket! See? Snot problem solved. We even have trash cans we will gladly let you throw the used ones away in. We're givers that way.

6) Is that child who blew it's nose on Tigger yours? So you're the idiot who thinks I have nothing else to do besides baby-sit your kids? Interesting. And when you laugh when they do things like tear up displays, blow their nose on things, pee in dressing rooms, and run around like little animals--it makes us want to kill you slowly in front of your children just to see them cry. I have never been so grateful for my own birth control in my entire life. This place may just render me completely sterile. Bratty kids are all I see. I've been kicked, screamed at, things thrown at me, and knocked down all while the little bastard's parents watched. It's not funny, it's not okay--and the next time a six year old kicks me--I'm filing assault charges. Hope you like jail you little shit..I have a feeling you'll be spending lots and lots of time there.

So please--take these things into consideration next time you're out and about gearing up for the upcoming onslaught of retail mayhem. Trust me--it will make all of us much happier when it's all said and done!

Happy Friday!!

This too shall pass...

Okay.

So let me just start by saying working two jobs---sucks.

But I figure that I have to at least make it until February, and I think I can do it. Well, it would be best if I could do it, let's just put it that way. And I couldn't do it without the support of my stand up guy--even if he is barely one foot tall on his four feet and covered with fur. He's sitting on my lap right now, purring his head off while we watch Lewis scramble to the top of the rankings in F1 (probably because I'm home and it's daylight..a rare treat these days--or maybe because it's pretty kick ass race today?): Jeter--my fuzzy fella.Yogi's pretty cute, but mostly just screams to be fed whenever I walk in the door. It's very clear most days where I rank with that one. So...guess who doesn't feel bad about taking the little booger to the vet next week??

So seven months of folding t-shirts, cleaning out dressing rooms, selling store credit, and dealing with full on crazies.

Yea..I think I can manage.

Other that working, not a whole lot has been going on. Same old same old--doing some digging through paper at the IMHM (Why can't I find someone to pay me to do that? I'm super awesome at combing through old stuff...), trying to keep up with the house hold necessities--and trying to eat better (I blame Barbara Kingsolver...damn you and your fabulous book!! Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life (P.S.) It made me want to have chickens and rows of green beans, corn, and tomatoes. Crazy, huh? Maybe not.). So pretty much for the last week, all I've been eating is locally grown produce (procured from Waterman's. OMG the tomatoes are fantastic!!) Today the kids at work begged for KFC, and I, sucker that I am, broke down and got it for them....and felt the entire time that my homemade version is SO much better.

Now that the school year has begun at good old FC, maybe I can make myself get back on the horse that is the gym. I have a feeling I'm going to need it. What's one or two days a week?

Turns out right now--it's A LOT. But...a necessary evil.

Hopefully this month I won't be such a slacker with the posting--but seriously, pick up a copy of Kingsovler's book. It will make you rethink some pretty fundamental things.

Chelsea Clinton...my nemesis

So. Every girl needs a nemesis, right? Right.

Mine is Chelsea Clinton.

"Why is that?" you ask? Let me tell you. It began at birth.

She was born Feb 12th, 1980. Me? Feb 13th of the same year, so it's be destined that I will always be playing catch up (Granted, I don't have to spend hours a day taming tragic poofy hair, so she might argue "hey bitch--we're totally even", but I really don't think that gives me a real edge.).

She has her undergrad degree in History, as do I. Little known fact: we both started college pre-med.

See? It's scary.

She has her Master's from Oxford...mine is not quite so prestigious, but hey--I don't see too many people thumbing their nose saying my MBA was a total waste (even though most days I kind of feel that it was...corner office my ass). She is pursuing a doctorate at NYU. I totally plan on getting another degree at some point in time--but mine will be a PhD for sure. (Then my parents, god love them, can say "Our daughter--the doctor. Mom will be so proud.) I just haven't figured out the when/where..and some days--the what. I would love to return to my first love, twentieth century American History, but I still feel the need to help people, too. I've been thinking more and more about therapy.

No...not for me (thanks guys), but I would love to actually help people. Some may think that lame, but whatever. My life, right?

I digress--back to Chelsea. If you have been living under a rock, you may not have heard that she was married a few weeks ago.

In a custom made Vera Wang.

I wanted to be married in a pretty Vera Wang dress. Whore. (Chelsea, not Vera--never Vera).

So you stole my academic career, my job path (working in a large global not for profit that attempts to make the lives of the world's impoverished better a little bit at a time), and now my wedding dress?!?

I could live with the first part--but not the last.

This isn't over Chelsea Clinton--just you wait and see!

I am a power washing GODDESS!

Okay...so last week I got a bug up my butt about cleaning up the outside of my condo. We are supposed to be power washed every year, but that hasn't happened in the last three. "Why is that?" you ask? Because there are a bunch of idiots who live here who don't realize that it actually is important to pay your association fees on time. Like every month. Duh.

I am also on the hunt for matching paint to touch up the outside trim--but have not had much luck with one exception...and it even has a fun name: Route 66. If it's not the same color it's pretty damn close, so that's what I'm going with, but have been told I need to wait to do this until Fall. Argh. Oh well..guess that at least gives me time to get everything scraped and ready.

But I digress-- back to the power washing.

I bought a hose (on sale for only $4.97!!!), deck cleaner, and house cleaning stuff and a hose to sink attachment. I was all set to go, tried to attach the hose to the sink and...

No dice.

Are you serious? Freaking A.

So what's a girl to do?

Steal the neighbor's hose, that's what. And proceed to spend an hour outside hosing down the stairs, the decking, and the siding of the condo.

And it was glorious...

I smell slightly of chlorine and have the happiness that comes with starting a project--and then finishing it (something that seems to be a rarity in my family).

Oh--and I sort of did the whole building. Once got started I couldn't seem to stop.

You're welcome people in A and B...you so owe me.

Dream Therapy?

More like a freaking nightmare.

I'll leave it to you to figure out what in the freak the following means (and note to self: No more late night chili dinners!)

So I'm driving in my car (my new car), and suddenly it just won't go. Or will only sort of go. And this big scary light with a mocking frowny face pops up on the dash telling me the transmission is dead.

(Trust me--this is nightmare enough for me...super duper scary all by itself.)

So I have to walk to my doctor's appointment (I have no idea where this takes place, by the way), and when I look down, I notice that I'm pregnant.

Very, very pregnant.

Apparently--with twins.

Guess who the babies daddy is? Jonah Hill.

Not even kidding. And not the "real" Jonah Hill. More like it looked like Jonah Hill, sounded like Jonah Hill, but was most likely more like a character he's played in a movie or something.

Oh dear lord...this was the scariest thing ever. I woke up in a panic almost screaming. Really universe? This is what you are throwing at my subconscious? Why? Don't I deserve better than a broken down car and babies I probably couldn't afford to feed and FREAKING JONAH HILL?!?

On a happier note, I just finished an awesome book--Mennonite in a Little Black Dress. People should totally check it out...as Rhoda Janzen is quirky, smart, and really funny. (Hopefully I can still say the same for me when I'm 43, but without having a husband who leaves me for a guy named Bob that he met on gay.com. Intrigued? Seriously--pick this puppy up!)

So hopefully tonight I will have sweet dreams that do not involve car repairs or being knocked up. Honestly? I would prefer pure blank, bliss.

So wake up noggin and take note: only good things, please? Thanks!

They're here! They are finally here!!

You can mock me, but today is a happy day for this patio gardener: I have tomatoes!

Yes--that is plural.

And yes, they are tiny and green and not all that impressive, and you can mock or make fun, but I am most impressed with myself. So let me tell you why:

1) The plant is not only still alive, but obviously well taken care of. (Sort of. I think the cage I bought is too small so I will have to tie my plant to my patio. Yes, I'm aware of how jank tastic this will look. Suck it.)

2) Did I mention that the plant is still alive?

3) This is the first time in six years that my plan for edible plants on my back patio has worked!! I'd probably have bumper crops if I had a real plot of land to plant. (Ummm. Apparently someone wants to be a farmer now. And yes--this getting close to nature frightens me a bit. Maybe that desire for a shaggy pony when I was a kid was foreshadowing a love of a more rural landscape. Okay, who am I fooling? I STILL want a pony. And a beagle. Named Whitey Ford.)

4) Again--the plant is still alive!

Now before I get too vainglorious, I should note that my cilantro died and I have yet to have a pepper, but who cares?

I've got tomatoes!!

And I'm a big dork for being so happy about it.