Being loved by a cat is complicated. It’s not a healthy relationship, to say the least. You are at their quirky mercy.Tonight I was woken up in the middle of the night by my kitten’s purring. He was giving me butterfly kisses with his whiskers. As soon as he realized that I was semi-conscious he started tapping on my eye lids with his paws. The purring was getting louder and louder. It felt like I was trying to sleep next to a little snoring man. Then the claws came out and the kneading began. More tapping on the lids with paws, except now the claws are involved too. Fuzzy love hurts.
Sensory Overload
I’m back in North Carolina. And North Carolina is still beautiful. More pristine than ever, polished, and intellectual. The colors of October are magnificent. The smell of wild flowers and dying grass overwhelming. I don’t remember Banner Elk smelling like this before. But, I think that I’ve spent only one summer here. These are the left over smells of summer. The only new smell is of the leaves that had fallen to the ground, drenched by rain.I have been smoking. Everybody smokes in North Carolina.I am finding lots of new, and not too much of old Banner Elk energy. I am amazed at the beauty of open green meadows framed by tricolor foliage. I am amazed by the old friends. We are in step, in the same frame of mind. Happy, kind, funny, generous. Beauty is truly all around me. I am so happy.
Candy Barrel, How I Love Thee
We all have our vices and all of mine involve food. I like ice cream, chocolate, potato chips, and candy. There are many types of candy that are essential to my existence. Gummy bears are at the top of the list. Recently I took a trip to North Carolina. I drove, so naturally I needed a lot of snacks for the 12 hour drive. Gummy bears were well represented in the mix. Once in North Carolina, while hangign out with my friends and their children, I heard about a recent visit to The Candy Barrel. They talked about peach NEHI soda and candy buttons. Nice. Of course I demanded to be taken there immediatelly, nicely at first, but then I had to get serious about it. I imagine no parents are too keen on taking their children to a candy store twice in one week. But, soon the parental figures relented and we were on our way down a very curvy road to a tiny village of Valle Crucis.The Candy Barrel is annexed to Mast General Store which was established in 1883. Of course as far as I am concerned, Mast General Store in the Candy Barrel’s Annex. It is a magical, colorful, owe inspiring place. I walked in and picked up the small hand-basket, looked around and thought to myself “I am as happy as a kid in a candy store.” I truly was. I bought everything gummy that they had – bears, butterflies, worms, and toy soldiers. I bought old-timey candy that I have never had, or have never even heard of before. Gourmet strawberry licorice, peanut chews of all sizes and shapes, pink grapefruit slices, Swedish fish, chocolate covered sunflower seeds … All in all about $38.00 worth of candy. I haven’t spent $38.00 on anything lately … I need a pair of new shoes, but that will have to wait until next month.I was planning on savouring my candy for a long time. I had the hardest time deciding what to eat first. My friend said that I should just stick my hand in the bag and eat the first thing that I pull out. I was running a risk of putting my hand in the bag and pulling out something trivial, like a sesame chew or a chicko stick. I dug deep to the bottom of the bag where I knew I would find gummy bears. Yeah, I cheated.Since then the gummy bears, gummy butterflies and gummy worms have been exterminated. Strawberry licorice decimated, and pink grapefruit slices relished till gone. I need to slow down … what if I run out of stuff??Now I found a cure for that too … Mast General Store (along with it’s Annex) is online!
Waking Up
This morning I was pleasantly woken up by my alarm clock. Seriously. I usually slap the snooze button and roll away from my clock to that fresh, beautifully cool pillow on the other side of the bed. There I continue to lull, and fall away back to the dreamy bliss … I get up only when I am forced to. When my dog and my cat jump off the bed and start shuffling and tip-tapping down the hallway. The dog demanding to be walked, the cat just demanding. This morning I woke up before them to a sweet tune by Old Crow Medicine Show. It was like magic. At first I couldn’t figure out where the music was coming from. I thought that I was still dreaming. Old Crow Medicine Show always puts me in a North Carolina state of mind. Was I dreaming that I am back in North Carolina? So I was laying there listening to the words of the song, making mental notes of all the places that one has to travel through on the way from Wilmington, North Carolina to Johnson City, Tennessee. Then I got up and nuzzled Toby and Quinn much to their surprise, mostly vocalized through a short “mew!”. I don’t know how the alarm sound changed from the offensive, soul crushing buzzer to the radio, but I am glad that it did. Are there such creatures as alarm-clock fairies? Was someone monitoring my waking activity and determined that the buzzer was just not working, that I am just SO against getting out of bed in the morning that something had to be done as soon as possible? I don’t know who it was, but I am glad that someone slipped.
John Potter, Postmaster General
I don’t have a lot of experience with men. It turns out that I just don’t know how they operate on a cognitive level, so to speak.
Recently I realized that I have been in one relationship or another for the past 10 years without any time to myself. I’ve never been “out there” for a long time. I can’t believe that I am just realizing this. I knew that a few of my relationships have been classic rebounds. Rebounding from a long, lonely relationship or rebounding from a crazy sex based relationship with a complete moron. One of my rebounds lasted for two years! That’s a really long time. So, having finally realized this, I have decided that my recent break up is a good opportunity to stay single for a while. I decided that it’s time for me to put myself out there and engage in getting to know who people really are before I get involved. Not dream that people are who I want them to be. (See “Love Stories at Holidays”) So I met a fellow named John Potter and all of these decisions went right out the window.
I met John and chatted with him for approximately 20 minutes. I liked his eyes. They were small, smiling, and kind. He seemed intelligent, humble and funny. He touched my hand accidentally and I felt the softness of his skin. I decided that he was perfect. I would take my dog for a walk, stand under a huge, pink bougainvillea and imagine kissing John Potter under this blooming tree canopy. I procured his telephone number from an acquaintance and inquired about his status. Single. Great. I called him and left a message, gushing with shyness and sweetness. How exciting. He is going to be so glad that I called! What a fabulous story, how romantic. He called back. We talked for an hour and a half about everything, art, literature, work, pets, pet allergies, parents, college years … We chuckled, we yelled in agreement, we opened up to each other. After an hour and a half of “getting to know you” John mentioned that he has a girlfriend. I said “no?”. He said “yes”. I said “nooo”, he said “yess”. I said “we have been on the phone for an hour!” He didn’t say anything. Then he said that he wanted to keep in touch. I said “no”, he said “noo?!” I held my tongue and said my good byes and that I’ll see him around. I was amazed and appalled for about half an hour. Why did this guy talk to me for an hour and a half if he is already in a relationship? Wow. I felt sorry for his girlfriend and I felt sorry for him. I felt sorry that I’ll never get that hour and a half of my life back.
Moral of the story: don’t make eye contact with any men. Don’t talk to strangers in bars. Don’t procure any more telephone numbers. Don’t dream of kissing kind eyed men under pink trees. And finally, ask the question “do you have a girlfriend?” as soon as possible, because the schmucks will chat you up for as long as possible just to stroke their ego.
Poopy Paws
Ok, squeamish people – do not read this post. You will gag, you will possibly even heave. This is worst than The Cat Hair Tumbleweeds. And, yes, it involves Quinn. My red headed step-child. Sooo … here is what happened. Quinny had a bit of diarrhea … He never has diarrhea, so naturally, he didn’t know how to handle the runny poop. I suppose he was in for a surprise when he stepped in it. And, unbeknown to him, he dipped his plumy tail in it too … Yeey! But I was in for a worse surprise upon arriving home from work. There was a poopy trail of paw prints leading to my bedroom. Oh God no. Please don’t let there be cat crap in my bedroom. Please. Oh, look at that – a paw print that looks a little smudged – he must have slipped a little …
Sure enough, he was lying on my bed in his usual, regal pose, his back straight, fanning himself with his tail. Miraculously there was no poop anywhere on my bed. I gently picked him up and took him to the bathroom. Of course he didn’t like this. The tub was cold to his little paws. But as soon as I opened the faucet all was well. While he was distracted by the running water, I cleaned his poopy paws and his poopy tai. He jumped out of the tub and curled back up on my bed looking like a plump little shrimp. Ahhwww. He is so cute. Ok, I am going to clean up the paw prints now. After some spraying and scrubbing I was satisfied with the outcome. It was all gone and the floor was disinfected.
Later that evening I was sitting on my couch looking for an episode of House to soothe my TV addiction. And there it was, one among a list of recorded episodes, one I haven’t seen before. I turned it on and relaxed back into the cushy pillows. Something caught my eye – I looked to the left … what is that? Mustard? How the hell did mustard get on my window sill?? I don’t think I even have any mustard … Wait a minute … I got up fast, yes you can say I jumped up. I realized what it was. It was a smudged paw print. I looked at the top of the couch. More smudges. Then I realized that you cannot escape the wrath of poopy paws. They will get you no matter what, and when you least expect it ….
Cat Hair Tumbleweeds
I swore that I will never ever again live in a place with hard wood floors. Why? Because I have a cat. His name is Quinn. He is a medium-hair domestic cat. That’s what it says in vet’s chart, but there is nothing medium about his hair … It’s everywhere in all it’s fluffy, orange, and white glory. Sailing through the air, clinging to the couch, and tumbling … Freely tumbling all over the hard wood floors … So I run around my apartment with a handy-vac, sucking up miniature remnants of Quinn’s tumbling softness. I do love him, but am looking for a groomer brave enough to give him a new look … he will look grrrreat as a little lion.
Fight Club
I wish there was a fight club for women. I would join. I would get my ass kicked but at least I would feel something.
I am not unhappy, I am not sad, I am simply bored. I need to fall off the deep end. I need to get into a bar fight. I need to jump off a cliff. I want to feel scared, I want to feel pain. I want to feel something – good or bad.
The only thrill that I find lately is driving too fast with music turned up loud. Sometimes I can actually feel the sound waves bouncing off my ear lobes. I can feel the waves vibrating off my forearms giving me goosebumps. Sometimes I just wish I would crash. Why? Why, do I feel this way? I used to be such a good girl.
It’s like I caught some disease. An infection of eeevil. It has attacked my heart first. It turned it to stone. Now it’s spreading through my body, numbing me north, south, east, and west. This would be a good time to get a tattoo. I probably wouldn’t feel a thing.
I now understand why men get into fights. I understand the feeling of boredom and numbness that comes with the burden of living a privileged life (ha!). I have everything I need and I am content, complacent, and bored out of my fucking mind.
The Good Doctor
We meet people and we make assumptions about them before we really get to know them. I always make positive assumptions. Why not? I will always give a benefit of the doubt to a cute, single, 37 year old doctor. So the good doctor and I were thrilled when we found each other. Oh, the excitement of meeting someone new! We couldn’t wait to go out on our first date! I finally found someone who is intelligent, accomplished and ambitious. Someone who knows what they want. I am going to respect this guy, I can already tell. We were both beside ourselves with joy. We fell for each other pretty much on our first date. Boom, crash, we were perfect together. And then I started to get to know him … I started to hear things that were coming out of his mouth. I was aghast when I heard him speak of his patients, who are women. This guy turned out to be the biggest misogynistic slime ball I have ever met. How is it possible that someone who is so intelligent can be so stupid? A doctor who refers to women as fat, skanks, and stupid bitches. It was so bad that I couldn’t believe that he was being sincere. Is he putting on an act, is he testing me? I can’t just sit here and let him call our waitress a stupid bitch because she didn’t bring him a pen. I had to let him have it … I did. It was fun, and then I ran for the hills. I’m still in hiding.What did I learn from this exercise? Just because someone is a doctor it doesn’t mean that he will be a well adjusted, decent human being. Just beacuse someone is a doctor it doesn’t mean that he will speak of his patients with respect and concern. I guess med school doesn’t weed out creeps. Just because someone is your intellectual equal it doesn’t mean that you will respect them, or that they deserve your respect. Also, falling for someone because of who you THINK they are makes you realize a few things about yourself. I am gullible, naive and way too trusting … Did this guy have some admirable qualities? Sure. He was incredibly sweet and caring to me. He cooked “with love” for me. He was very funny and smart. He didn’t understand why I concerned myself with his lack of respect for others. He liked me, why do I care what he thinks of the rest of the world? I am thinking too much he said. I am thinking too much with that beautiful, big head of mine. Those were his parting words to me …Yeah, I am thinking with my head, that’s why I’m outta here!
Half Eaten
The other day my boyfriend came to a conclusion with a fair amount of glee. “You empathize with zombies!” This, of course amused him to no end. I guess I have to agree with him to a certain point. But I didn’t really start empathizing with zombies until I started watching The Walking Dead. It was frightening and gory, but also unsettling. I would get totally psyched out after the show almost every single Sunday. All of a sudden running into a zombie became a real possibility. Someone is walking by my house … Who is that? What if it’s a zombie!?
Silly, I know.
One scene from the first episode stuck with me for the rest of the show. In this scene the main protagonist is running through a park when he trips an falls over something. An emaciated, putrid arm rises up and a bony hand grabs him by the ankle. We hear the blood curdling AAARRGHHH. Camera pans to the face. It is a woman with stingy blond hair, still wearing her pretty summer dress with small blue flowers. The dress is dirty, ripped, and faded. It is obvious that she has been a zombie for a long time. Part of her face is missing. Her hair is matted with dry blood. Still, you can tell that she was beautiful once. Her body is severed below the waist. She has no hips, no legs. She has been dragging herself across the grassy knoll on her elbows and forearms looking for something, anything, to sink her teeth into. The guy jumps up, shocked and horrified. This is the first zombie that he encounters face to face. After he gets over his initial shock of what is staring him in the face, he gains his composure and draws the gun. The half eaten zombie is flailing her arms at him, bearing her teeth. AAARRGHHHH! He takes an aim at her head, then lowers his gun, takes a step back, bends down towards her face and says “Maam, I am sorry this happened to you.” Then he shoots her in the head and walks away.
“Maam, sorry this happened to you” … Sorry this happened to you … Who was she? What was her story? Did they eat her entire family right before her eyes? Where was she going the day they attacked her? Why did they eat only half of her body leaving her to wake up in hell? Maybe they got distracted by someone else? Zombies do have short attention spans.
It bothers me that they didn’t even have the decency to consume her entire body and put her out of her misery permanently. I guess there is no honor among zombies. There is no honor among people either. How many times did we leave someone half eaten because we got distracted by something or someone else?
I am half eaten …
The Satori Story 