lucy

Meet my cat. Lucy. The first pet I've had on my own.



She'll be 2 years old this summer. Although she still has kittenish moments, she has matured since I got her in August. She's also grown from petite kitten to fatty mcfatterson, but now she's just comfortably chubby. I had to adjust her eating regime in order not to induce a premature heart attack. She's just as content in her plain old chubby state.

She has a foot fetish. This ranges from her attacking your feet during the middle of the night to her licking/biting them during your nightly TV rituals. Sometimes she just likes to sit next to your feet. She just likes feet. I don't ask questions.

She likes bleach. I've grown up owning cats and this was a new one for even me, but apparently a lot of cats are attracted to the ammonia as if it were catnip (which, by the way, she couldn't care less about). If I am cleaning the kitchen or bathroom I have to keep an eye on her. She'll come snooping around. Once I deter her, she'll proceed to roll around the floor in pure pleasure like a shameless hussy. Whore.

She's a piggy. I love her for it. Her favorite is beef in gravy. Or anything in gravy, for that matter.

She is not declawed, which is a new one for me. I have perfected the art of cutting her nails. I like to look at it as a bonding experience. She's definitely more trusting than when I first attempted. We have a cheap armchair (bought it off a friend for $25) that holds our mail and miscellaneous crap. She has clawed it to shreds, but the rest of the furniture has been saved, for the most part. A little squirt from the spray bottle deters her from the rest.

She likes open windows and cool tile, pony tails and twist ties.

She's also racist. She has had a minor peeing problem in the past (*crosses fingers*), but this only pertained to black items (i.e. black laptop bag, black duffel bag, black backpack, black t-shirt). I'm hoping it was only due to her nerves after the move from the humane society to the apartment, a whopping two miles, but I immediately noticed her discretion when it came to my more racially diverse belongings. Perhaps I shall have to educate her on the finer points of acceptance and civil rights?

the list

Must Haves
He must chew with his mouth closed. I should not have to be disgusted when watching you eat. I should be able to take you out in public. I learned manners. So should you.

He has to have comparable drinking habits. I'm Irish. I like my drinking, most of the time. I love red wine. So if I'm saying you drink too much, then you drink too much. And alcoholism holds a part in my family's history, so I'm not fucking around.

He has to want kids.

He has to like pets.

He has to be taller than me, preferably above 6 foot. Sorry, I'm a woman. And a woman should be able to wear heels and not have to slouch.

He has to have personal hygiene. You're a grown ass man, so if you don't shower you smell like....well, ass. Accept this. Brush your teeth or I won't kiss you. Wear deodorant or I won't want to be around you. Is this too much to ask?

He has to have a college education. And I'm not talking about an online degree. It doesn't matter who is smarter, but I need you to at least be on the same playing field.

He has to have passion. About something...anything.

He has to be financially responsible. I'm not asking that you have college funds for your nonexistent children, but I shouldn't have to balance your checkbook for you.

He preferably has some Irish and/or Scottish blood, but it is not required. If you have an accent I will remove my clothes immediately. Take me, I am yours.

He's adventurous and open. No, I'm not just addressing the bedroom. That just goes without saying. Who cares if you've never eaten Greek food before or you haven't ice skated since you were in grade school? Being in a long term relationship means spicing it up now and then. This includes new activities and hobbies. There is more to life than sitting in front of the TV.

He likes to do anything. I can have fun doing pretty much anything, except when I'm paired with the world's most snore worthy person. Having fun is easy. I shouldn't have to teach you how.

He has to enjoy cooking to some degree, or at least be open to being my sous chef. You don't have to be a top chef contender, but occasional assistance in the kitchen is needed.

He has to be able to locate Libya on a map. I'm sick of explaining every current event and pop culture reference. I don't expect a genius. I don't want to debate every last detail of politics. However, if we're bombing a country and it's been in the news for months, I shouldn't have to direct you to what continent you can find it in. I shouldn't have to explain half of the jokes in a Family Guy episode for God's sake.

He cleans up after himself. I am not your mother. You don't have to be an anal retentive clean freak. That's a bit much. If you use something, put it back when you're done. If you get something dirty, clean it up. Simple rules.

He has to be approximately the same age as me, or possibly older.

He is a man, not a boy. You'd think I would have covered this in the previous note. Alas, men's age does not directly correlate with their maturity level.

He knows that chivalry is not dead, but acknowledges that I can take care of myself.



Have Nots
No smoking. EVER. This is first and foremost, kinda like a cardinal rule. Let's just say I learned my lesson. No more compromising.

No hard drugs. Yes, I bent the rules a little here in Hawaii with the happy grass. I don't regret it and I'm certainly no hypocrite, but I have my standards goddamn it.

No earrings, plugs or otherwise. Stop trying to be cool. You're not impressing anyone.

No homophobes. My best friend just came out, or at least 60% of him did. I have two other gay best friends, all three from different times in my life. You can argue the finer points of the pros and cons of gay marriage, but you can't be a hater. And you may have to hang out with them.

No skeet shooting mothers. If I'm attending Christmas at your house and your mom receives a skeet shooting rifle, I am so gone.

No whining. I'm afraid this may eliminate the entire male species, but I'm going out on a limb here. Change your tampon and grow a pair! No one likes a whiner. It's unattractive and emasculating.

No hocking loogies. It's gross and uncouth.

No mama's boys.

No singing Bohemian Rhapsody (or any other nearly 8 minute long songs) at karaoke.

No skull t-shirts.

No Ed Hardy anything.

No small penises.

No flashing your goods around like a gay prostitute. Women do not find this enticing. Really unattractive.

me single; you confused

Guess what came in my mailbox today???????? A package.

Guess what was in the package???? The power cord for my laptop, thank the Lord. That was a looooooong two weeks without technology. But alas, sanity has been restored.

Remember the time I thought I was single? Apparently my life can't be that simple. A conversation in which we establish that I no longer have feelings for him only leads to him (desperately) inviting me to join him in the shower over a week later. When you're occupying the same tiny one bedroom apartment and you work together, it's hard to establish boundaries. Yet I still find myself left to establish the obvious. Like the fact that he won't be moving back to Michigan with me. Silly me, I thought that one was beyond explanation.

Me moving. You stay.

Perhaps speaking like Tanto would help me in this situation?

sparks may fly

So the power cord for my laptop is broken, hence my absence of late. I just ordered a new one off of ebay.

Oh, and I think I'm finally single? More on that later.

daddy dearest

Every Valentine's Day I receive a package from my Dad. Every year since I can remember, even stuck out here in the middle of the Pacific, it arrives around the 14th. He made it very clear to my sister and I, when we were too young to yet understand the trials and troubles of life and love, that he would always be our valentine...no matter what. Yes, she gets a box of treats as well, even though she's long married. I suppose the whole mentality is that a father's love can never disappear or dull like romance. My Dad's a very sweet man.

He's gotten better throughout the years. My Mom claims that, although she may occasionally see these packages, she does not play a role in the choosing or purchasing. I've never really interrogated my sister on the contents of her package, but I'd have to assume it's as personalized as mine. Being aware of our shared affinity for dark chocolate, he's always sure to include something sweet in this category. This year it was a little miracle from one of my favorites, Ghirardelli:



Normally I don't like anything contaminating my pure dark chocolate, but these two flavors are so harmonious I can't help myself. When you add in my requisite glass of Cabernet, it's a trifecta of flavor.

glassworts and such

Top Chef: All Stars has officially got me entirely too personally invested in a reality TV show. Dude, Dale got eliminated last week and it killed me! I mean, more than it should. Obviously I'm attached to some of the contestants already since they're all from previous seasons. I can't help be biased based on former performances, but some of my opinions have altered throughout the season. Still love Dale though! Even more so since he's got his anger at least somewhat under control, although he wouldn't be Dale unless he lost it once in a while.

So stunned by this weeks decision, even more than last week. No one got eliminated!!! We're all fucking going to the Bahamas! Colicchio does have a heart after all. How could they after absolutely raving about all five dishes? I mean, I was really racking my brains trying to figure it out, but there was not even a hint of negativity about anything that was served. You can't eliminate merely because your sentimental family recipe was only awesome instead of spectacular. So dick how they faked poor Richard out though. His face was ashen. It's all so life and death for him. I thought he was going to poop himself on national TV when Padma started telling him to pack his knives.

I think he hated her for a split second before it sunk in that he wasn't going home.