Kitty update

Well my little fuzzball is staying over at the vet's tonight and has been there most of the day. I brought her back this morning after being up until 2 in the morning worrying and fretting over her while cuddling and snorfling her as she lay in bed with me. She was trembling with fear in the office, but honestly that's because I made her the spoiled princess she is. The vet is wonderful.

But still, when I came home, I did some work, then lay in my bed and cried.

The vet just called and said her bloodwork looks good, and they were able to syringe-feed her twice and she's bright and alert. It may be a case of just needing to jump-start her appetite, as when kitties get nauseous they will sometimes stop eating all together and get into a downward spiral unless you intervene.

I feel relieved and hopeful.

Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks

My kitty is still not feeling good, despite a trip to the vet where they poked and prodded her and gave her fluids. And in case anyone was wondering where all your mothering instincts go when you're 36 and single and childless, well, they go to your kitty. I just want her to get better, now. She's not feeling totally miserable but she's been throwing up and having diarrhea for two and a half days straight.:(

It might even be that I am more miserable than she is.

But at least I have work. Transcribing interviews with Rwandans, plus editing. But I'm slow at it due to cat anxiety.

Get well soon, bunny!

Could Martha Stewart be reading my blog?

Well, probably not, because the show that's on today was probably in the works for a long time while I just wrote about animal alternative therapy last week.

But still! Finger on the pulse, people, finger on the pulse.

Kitty witty

My little fur girl was sick this morning; she threw up a gigunda hairball and then had diarrhea and then threw up some more. I called the vet; they said this can happen with hairballs. I of course am watching her like a hawk. An anxious crazy cat lady hawk. She's been extra-needy today, wanting to be on me, physically on me and I have been obliging her. Although right now she's on my mind, since corporeally she is sitting on my sofa, licking her butt.

Blurgh

My work situation continues to be frighteningly lean. I am working on finding work, but I clearly must work harder.

On the yoga front, though, things are going swimmingly. As I've been branching out into other classes at the fancy lady gym I can really see how it's improved my balance and coordination and stamina.

I'm applying that attitude to other areas of my life: small steps, taken regularly, lead to great change.

On how things change

I was a bit too old for the first incarnation of Polly Pocket. And now she's back. And she's a hobag. I can't find any decent links, so you'll just have to trust me. My five-year-old friend and I were playing with a set she got for her birthday. The dolls are skinny, leggy, and have a multitude of skintight rubber mix-n-match outfits.

You could, if you were so inclined, put your PP in a pair of pink high-heeled knee boots, a short pink skirt, a pink bikini top, and a black pleather jacket. There are some more conservative options, of course. A pair of binoculars and a backpack have been thrown in as a cursory nod to girls who might be interested in activities other than hooking but let's be honest -- Polly's just going to carry her "toys" in that backpack and use the binoculars to spy on her pimp.

Running

I've had hardly any work this week yet have somehow managed to overfill my days. I took the census exam this morning; it was about what I expected. It's government work, and therefore very form-y. The test was a lot about filling in forms and following rules. Plus it asked interesting questions about managerial styles and I (hopefully) was able to guess the managerial style the government is looking for.

I'm headed off now for a surprise babysitting assignment, so a friend's husband can take her out on a mystery date. I am hoping to eat takeout pizza and watch Arrested Development once the kiddo goes to bed.

Moo juice

So Dr. Moo called tonight needing to vent about her busy day. Normally this means I'll be listening to words like "pus" and "gushing" and "stinky."

But not today! Today Dr. Moo was late to a herd check because she got called to a calving and had to perform a C-section. After the C-section, which like in women had to be performed because the momma cow's hips were too small for the calf to fit through, the momma cow couldn't get up. So Dr. Moo stuck tiny electrified needles at various points on the momma cow, then turned up the juice until the cow jumped. But only a little! You have to make sure the cow is getting enough electricity, and this is the only way to tell. (Also, while the cow is being treated her tail pulses.)

The farmer called Dr. Moo later in the day to say the downed cow had gotten up.

I went ahead and did a little Interwebs research just to be sure that bovine electroacupuncture is for reals; Dr. Moo has lied to me before. Because if you tell me things in a sincere voice, I tend to believe them, even if they are very, very ridiculous.

Well I can assure you, world, that it is for reals. You can even buy yourself a desktop cow to practice on.

And in other waking life news...

...my passport arrived on Saturday. My first ever. It is SO NEAT. It came with a brochure titled "With Your U.S. Passport, the World is Yours!"

Couldn't have said it better myself. Oh United States of America, I heart you.

Dream vacation

Last night I had an anxiety dream about my trip to Europe; in it, I forgot that you need to get to the airport extra-early when you're flying out of the country, and did my usual waffling I do in waking life before I have to go out. Then I tried to get a train but when I took the elevator down to the train platform it had been turned into a storage unit. Then I tried and failed to get a cab. And realized I couldn't call my cousin to tell him where I was because I didn't have a cell phone (no cp in waking life either).

I felt terrible. Just awful, awful regret and shame. Also? A shriveled up old nasty former boss of mine was trying to get to the airport, too. I could feel her silently judging me.

Anyhoo, when I got back from a last-minute trip to the Monadnock region with my food writer friend and her utterly delicious son, who toddles about so fetchingly that it makes me want to get octoknocked up, there was an email from cousin B. I wrote and told him of my dream. He immediately called and said not to worry. He can have his mom drive him to the airport and they will pick me up on the way.

Nudie Kaboodie

I made a return visit to the fancy lady gym today. I really work best when I exercise first thing in the morning but I do yoga better (and run better) later in the day. I had some editorial work, which helped. It's much better when I have an actual task, as opposed to having to seek out tasks. And by task I mean something for which I am paid.

(I did apply for a couple of PT jobs today and a couple more yesterday. And my old birth certificate came in the mail! And my passport has been approved! So perhaps I did not need to spend that 35 dollars after all. But still, Ihugme for getting things done.)

Anyhoo, I was able to get into some wackadoo arm balances. I really worked at my edge, as they say-which is when I find yoga most satisfying. I don't know if it's part of my addictive personality, but I like things extreme, yoga-wise.

After class I took a spin through the hot trifecta. I extra-loved the whirlpool. It feels like a big happy naked lady Garden of Eden. I really enjoy the breasts. Not in a lesbian fashion-and not that there's anything wrong with that-but more that you just don't see normal breasts these days. TV is full of boob jobs, and that's where, if you live in the Northeast, you're going to see the most skin in winter. When you sit in a big bubbly bathtub full of naked ladies and your body, flaws and all, looks pretty similar to those other naked bodies, you feel really OK with yourself.

And as someone who spent many years feeling not OK with her body, it's a revelation.

Three new nicknames for my kitteh

Furducken
Fur-de-lis
Kisses McFace

In other McPolack news, I signed up to take the Census employment test. The woman who took my call said I have excellent diction. She is an out-of-work bilingual editor.

Hopefully I won't need to reschedule the test. You need to bring id with you and my birth certificate is in the hands of the United States government at the moment. They needed it to issue me a passport. So I went and ordered a copy of my bc online. I paid for two-day service but apparently it still takes more than two days.

I was wondering just how they were going to verify my identity-I mean, anyone could if they tried hard enough find out when I was born and who my parents are. Turns out they ask you a bunch of different questions. With multiple-choice answers. It is a little freaky.

Anyhoo, here's to getting a well-paying part-time Census job that does not involve getting shot at!

I feel boring lately

At least in terms of this blog. I did go on a blind date a couple of weeks ago, a setup. Didn't feel any sparks but the man was nice and attractive. So at least the quality of the dates is improving. Of course what I really liked about the date was that we went to the Audubon Center and they had birds! Like a barred owl, who was gorgeous. I just stood and stared at her. So neat! There was also a raven and we caught him at feeding time. Apparently you can buy whole feathered frozen quail, along with frozen rats and other small animalsicles. The raven ate his defrosted.

I noticed a defrosted ratty-rat stuck in the links of the raven's cage. The raven has a band of wild raven buddies. When it's time to eat he calls out to them; they fly in and he shares his meal.

Hills

Spent Saturday night in the Monadnock region with OSB and her family. And holy moly am I glad I don't have small children. Not that I don't find her girls, who are 20 months and 4 years old, adorable and fun. But I also find them LOUD. And full of crazy frenetic energy. The running around and screaming just does not stop. The only way to get them out of your hair is, you guessed it, television. And that doesn't really work on the younger one.

People say when they're yours, it's different. Man, I don't know.

I did appreciate the spontaneous hug the 4-year-old gave me when I came back from a 7-mile walk. I also appreciated the hand sanitizer, as one of the girlies had a near-constant blob of yellow snot hanging out of her nose. (FYI, if these were my kids, things would be worse. I think OSB is a very able mommy.)

Swell

Today I took a yoga class at the fancy lady gym with an instructor who used to teach at my regular studio. I really like her. She has hips. And babies. And a hot, gaseous husband. The class was only an hour, which isn't enough for me normally, but I had some stuff due this morning and something else to do this afternoon and it was the only time I could go.

Tomorrow I'm taking a 90-minute power class and when I asked the instructor if she thought I could keep up, she told me the place I normally practice is the hardest place she's ever practiced-and she's practiced a lot of places, including India. "Trust me," she said, "you can keep up with any yoga class."

I am awesome, I am awesome, I am awesome.

Bush League

I tried out the extra-fancy lady gym near my extra-unfancy unisex gym today, thanks to a special deal my sister-in-law forwarded along to me. I get to go back 23 more times! And I am excited! Here is why:

1. Cleanliness
2. Cleanliness
3. Hot trifecta

The gym is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much cleaner than skank-ass Ballys, where sometimes flies land on you. The showers are cleaner. They have three-foot-high dispensers filled with perforated disposable sanitizing wipes. Plus hand sanitizer dispensers. Plus free workout towels. There's shampoo and conditioner and soap and lotion, all free!

And then there's the hot trifecta: sauna, whirlpool, and eucalyptus steam room. I went in all three. Bare-ass naked. Let me tell you a little something about Cambridge: it is FULL OF HIPPIES. What do you get when you add a ladies-only gym to a town full of hippies? Naked is what you get. And disco bush. And floppy boobies.

I found it really freeing. I tend to base my own comfort level with nakedness on the comfort level of those around me, and these ladies were acting like they were in sweatpants. I didn't worry about where to look or how I looked. I was just another sweaty naked gal enjoying the good life. Man did it make me want to be rich. Because normally this gym is 100 bucks a month.

Anachronism

Finally managed to do a birthday dinner for Walnut tonight. Also finally learning it is better to do a thing but not say you are before, in case you are unable to do the thing you said you were going to do until much later.

I am tired. Can you tell?

Anyhoo, I baked a great big chocolate cake with three-sticks-of-buttercream frosting. And made spinach with lemon and garlic. And french lentils with mirepoix and sausages. And we ate almost all the rest of the French Laundry butter, on yummy bread Walnut brought. It was good.

Walnut noted something I've always secretly thought-that I'd make a perfect '50's housewife. It's true. I make a sweet, mean layer cake and serve it on cupcake-shaped dessert plates. I buy meat in bulk and freeze it. I preserve raspberries. I wear flowery aprons.

The only problem is that I am pretty much the opposite of submissive. But other than that it's June Cleaver all the way, baby!

Paper pusher

Yesterday at the McPolack homestead I clipped coupons, folded laundry, and lost my sh*&%t. It was, in other words, a typical visit.

I had my coupons in a business-sized envelope and had grabbed a few more from PolackPappy's desk. He saw what I had and asked "Do you need any more envelopes, kid?" I said yes. Hence the freezer bag pictured above.

I had my (metaphorical) sh*&t sprayed out all over the dining room table. And got some good advice. Tonight, I tried another 12-step meeting and it's one I'd actually go back to, and intend to, next week. So that was a good thing.

After handing over the envelopes, Pp asked if I needed any notepads. I said no, as I happen to have about fifty zillion of them in various states of use. Apparently Pp has a kazillion jillion of them, owing to GrandPp's tendency to, when drunk, which was often, write something in the page of one notebook, put it down, forget about it, then go out and buy another notebook the next time around. And also owing to that side of the family's inability to throw things of (sometimes questionable) value away. I regret a little bit not asking for some notepads because at this point they've probably gone from old to old enough to be cool, but I digress.

And here I digress a second time. When I was working at an alt weekly paper right out of college the Babcia sent me a bunch of old office supplies, as we were in startup mode. She included a note that read in part "Remember, kid, it ain't da education, it's da polish." At the time I took it to mean pole-ish, not paul-ish. It was many years before I realized she probably meant the latter.