The joy of parenthood

So everyone once in awhile I foster kittens for two reasons: 

1. It keeps Serafina on her toes. That tubby cat gets really full of herself if left to her own devices. Observe:

Serafina is the fat gray one in the back and Dante is the fat brown one in the foreground. As you can see, they lead terribly taxing lives. I think this was taken around 1 pmish.

and 2. HelLO! Kittens!! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee KITTENS!!!!!!1111 They come from the SPCA and usually are just too tiny to get spayed or neutered, so I fatten them up for a month or so to help the SPCA with space and then give them back to be adopted by families who hopefully aren't as psychotic as I am. Or are they? 

Anyway, my latest batch has been sort of... stand offish. Not that it's particularly a good idea for them to love me FOREVER like they SHOULD. Pre complete fattitude: 

That's Jada, Nile, and Nathan. Not my names but I probably couldn't do better. You also get a bonus of a pic of my puppily Nutmeg in the background. Precious! She's a runner. Seriously, they should have named her Houdini. 

So my friend Em was visiting this past weekend (Best. Weekend. EVER.) and, as luck would have it, I came down with some sort of debilitating virus on Sunday. Sweet little Emily spent about 12 hours watching movies while I drifted in and out of consciousness on the couch a mere three feet away from her (tragically, I remember most of Sydney White). That's a ballsy woman. When I hugged her goodbye on Monday, my mom said, "Wow you touched Typhoid Mary." Thanks, Mom. 

Anywhom, through the haze I could hear this running commentary on the kittens' "goings-on" from Em. I didn't really know what she was talking about until I woke up later on Monday to see this:

Incidentally, all three are covered in glitter. 

Because I'm feeling competitive

I don't personally believe that directional comments are appropriate on a blog because it's really an online diary meant to convince myself that people care what I think. However, I've also always been subject to the whims of others and I think a tacit understanding of online forums is no reason to let that go. To whit, Matt:

1. Ah, sports. Where they throw the ...ball into the hoop and get a touchdown while scissor kicking with the thingy. Go team! Which team? I dunno. Which ones like kittens? Wait, he looks like he loves his mother. And I sort of do like blue better green. Sometimes. I suppose it depends on the shade. Like, I like kelly green more than forest green, but I like both of those way more than olive. Unless it's paired with a nice muted yellow. Do we have any more chips? I'm hungry again. Wait, why are they yelling? Did we get something? A point? Ah screw it I'm just going to go get hammered and watch hockey.

2. If you don't think this is funny, then I have no remedy for whatever ails you. And it just so happens to be the best song of all time.

3. Cashmere lounge pants are exactly what they sound like. Lounge pants made out of luxurious cashmere. I like the concept because it implies both unnecessary luxury and an impressive degree of laziness I regularly exhibit on Saturday mornings. Although now that I've discovered that play Saved by the Bell on Fox at 11 am, I have a raison d'etre again.

4. Wes does not, in fact, cheat in class. He sells his body for better grades. I'm not going to go into specifics, but if our ITOM teacher leers at him anymore while caressing his pocket protector, I'm going to say something.

5. As for the ladies, Wes and I came up with a brilliant scheme just today of how he could effectively pick up whatever teenagers happened to wander through the museum. In the meantime I'll start taking Krav Maga classes or something and give his number to whichever girl kicks my ass first. For that matter, I could probably choose one of the hotties that most recently jacked me in the face in soccer. The opportunities abound in the injury rife existence I lead.

Another classy moment

So the museum I'm interning at has an upcoming permanent exhibit opening this Fall called Your Incredible Body. To prepare for this momentous occasion, I am directed to write an article for the newsletter on the subject, which I naturally know nothing about really. Anyway, it prompted me to leave this gem of a voicemail with the Director of Exhibits:

"Hey there, it's Meg from marketing. I'm trying to pin down this article and sort of realized that I didn't really know what the exhibit was going to look like. I was just curious about who it's sort of directed at, what kind of activities there will be, etc. If you can just call me back, I'd love to get a feel for Your Incredible Body."

*pause*

Sigh.

Conversations with Mom

I suppose I got the inspiration from Leesie (shoutout!), but I can't help but recount a phone call I had with my sainted mother earlier today. If you don't know my mother, she's kind of the Master of Random, which explains a lot about my personality.

phone rings

Mom: "I'm going to see Sex and the City!"
Me: "That movie came out 2 months ago."
Mom: "I don't like to do things quickly."
Me: "Fine, but don't have a diet coke."
Mom: "I'm totally going to have a diet coke."
Me: "You'll stay up all night."
Mom: "I'm hip."
Me: "If you call me at 9 pm looking to go to Martini Park, you can forget it."
Mom: "Martini Park!"
Me: "No, Mom, I'm going out with friends tonight."
Mom: "Well, you have to go somewhere afterwards."
*awkward silence*
Mom: "I'm going to Sex and the City!"

20 minutes later, the phone rings.

Mom: "It's not playing!"
Me: "Shocking."
Mom: "Well, Dillard's is having a clearance or I GUESS I could go see Wall-E."
Me: "It seems like a movie you'd like."
*click*
Me: "Right."

Reeeeeeeeeeebouuuuuuuund

I have this theory. It is the God given right of every woman to have a hot European rebound within 6 months of breaking up with their significant other. I have been mulling this over, in three different countries no less. First of all, sometime in the near future will mark my 4 month singleversary. That leaves a scant 2 months until I have to start acting like an adult and stop trying to have a torrid affair with preferrably a person of Mediterranean descent, but I'd settle for British. Secondly, I have spent about 2-3 weeks surrounded by muscley masogynistic men who want nothing more than for me to embody their perception of a typical American slut. It was not to be, but I managed to a) pick up a Turkish boyfriend for the duration of my friend's wedding and b) have upwards of 5 Greek men stop in their vehicles, back up, and ask me if I need a ride into town on a 10 minute walk. I am so moving to that country.

Like some raging pansy, I never take these people up on their offer, but it doesn't mean that I don't think I deserve it. I think of it as a party favor of sorts. You put up with all of horomonal crap and BMS (Boy Menstrual Syndrome) that comes with dating a perfectly lovely person and in return you get to be massaged with exotic oils by an older man who wants to make you his mistress. Anyway, I imagine most of my conversations for the 8 or so weeks that we'd be together would go something like this:

Friend: "Oh, hey, Meg. How was your summer?"
Me: *removes large and expensive sunglasses* "Era un po lungho ma - oh I'm so sorry. Emilio and I have been speaking exclusively Italian together."
Friend: "It smells like olive oil and sex in here."
Me: "And eggplant."

Uhhh what?

Honestly, I can't tell if I'm so excited that I'm fair about to pee myself or if this makes me hate humanity: http://www.metacritic.com/film/titles/zombiestrippers

Pretty sure it's the former.

"The Luxe Life" or "I'm not kidding, get your hands off my waist"

I finally got to experience super sheik Dallas this past weekend. A friend of mine had her bday at a club downtown called "Dolce". I love foreign names for clubs. It's so "screw you, I'm cultured but seriously I've never left Texas before". After paying $8 for the valet to park my car and watching my friend try to bribe him with $10 to keep her car out front (he was so flabbergasted that he actually told me about it in an incredulous tone), we entered Dolce through a long industrial looking hallway with oodles of mirrors so that I could admire my awesome outfit (helLO YSL shoes) before entering the dregs of Dallas society.

Big D is an interesting place insofar in that it is a huge and amazing city with tons to do. On the flip side of the coin, we have a very active and very visible young 30-somethings community that consists of lonely 40-something men trying to sleep with ambitious 20-something girls. How, then, does one tell the difference between the cream of the crop and the knobby kernels that get stuck in your teeth? Why, income of course! For example, the table we were at was home to about 10 bottles of liquor bought by some random guy who doesn't have anything better to do with his money. He was actually very nice, not that I got to test the theory much due to some pretty impressive techno. Also, I didn't know that "Thanks for the party!" could be construed as a proposition, but I'm not a doctor. Or prostitute.

Several things noted whilst "partying".

1. There was a woman in the bathroom whose primary purpose I have to assume was to stop people from doing coke. I can see why since 2 out of 3 stalls were not vacated in the 20 minutes I spent in line.

2. The ratio of men to women was roughly 5 to 1. All looking to get laid. None doing anything more than bobbing slightly to the techno while leering at passersby.

3. Guidos come from all cultures, not just Italian. I walked into what I thought was a tight t-shirt/spiked hair contest. I lost.

Also, I waited 20 f'ing minutes for the valet to bring me my car. Best of all, I saw them drive by with it TWICE before I grabbed a pimply faced youth and said "For serial, get me my damn car." *points at car whizzing past*

Go fudge yourself, Spring 08. Seriously.

I think I am officially tired of the waffling going on in my personal life. I'm the kind of person who likes concrete answers. It's what makes me giggle with girlish enthusiasm when I get to do accounting, even though ironically I'm majoring in marketing, the least "certain" business discipline. Nothing like guessing after hours of research to really complete one's day.

The best part is that right when I've come around to the point of really beginning to believe that my realigned perceptions of the situation are correct, someone always skips right in and kicks the crap out of my sand castle.

Battle Royale

So it begins again. Spring is in full force, but in reality, Dallas simply cavorts blithely into summer as soon as possible. It was 84 degrees here today and could be called "moist". I stepped outside of my apartment this eve to go to a 10:30 pm soccer game (Lord knows why it's that late at night) and what do I find but *gasp* a spiderweb DIRECTLY ACROSS MY DOOR. I remember you, Spider (of DOOM!!), oh yes. Last year when it got warm, he was out there everyday, efficiently building his web across my pathway in what I can only assume is an homage to Arachnophobia. And not just that, but he had one of his little "friends" move into my car and BUILD A WEB IN MY CAR. I don' t know what I have to do to get this little bastard to stop creating some sort of web obstacle course that inevitably ends with me flailing my arms madly trying to remove what I'm positive is a spider the size of a burly kitten from my hair, but, by George, THIS is the spring where I figure out his weakness. It's on, Professor Spider of Doom. It's on like Donkey Kong.

Possible weaknesses:

1. Beer
2. Damsels
3. Kryptonite
4. Veganism
5. Puppies
6. Shoe sales
7. Unicorns
8. Vegan unicorn puppies
9. Windex

Other suggestions are welcome.

"That" Guy

Blogging for me is not what I would term a "regular" activity. However, sometimes a girl's just gotta write. Or dance. Whichever. The past few months have been fairly standard. IE full of classes and the occasional life-related snafu, but good nonetheless and no complaints truly. I did learn today that I need to buy smaller tomatoes, but that is more of a life lesson than snafu. Ironically, the last week has been full of drama, but I don't think a blog posted on Facebook is truly the forum in which I want to share these details. Suffice to say I've lost 2 lbs (yay!) from not eating due to stress (boo!), and thus a giant tomato is a little daunting from a culinary execution standpoint. But I've always enjoyed a challenge.

Anyway, this leads me to tonight. Shortly after being viciously attacked by a bee that my mother attempted to kill in my apartment but ultimately just royally pissed off, I headed off to a Harvard Club of Dallas Happy Hour that featured a discussion on the Psychology of Happiness. I didn't know quite what to expect, but apparently a similarly titled course has become one of the most popular in Harvard's history, massing an average of 900 students per class. Wowzers. The discussion was fairly interesting and basically talked about the concept of Optimism, or "Resilience" as the psychologist who pioneered the concept called it (Seligman). Basically, it entails "expressed gratitude". There have been studies that prove that description of a memory overrides the actual memory. So, in essence, you can make yourself happy by literally just saying positive things. Other similar studies including the effects of smiling on a chemical level have been done, so though not exact, it is an explored topic. At its core, the idea is your attitude toward both positive and negative things. A positive response to a positive event the implies permanence is optimistic (or "resilient"). A positive response to a negative event implies a unique, transitory event.

Positive example:
You receive a rose from a "secret admirer" (read: hobo)
Permanent/optimistic response: "I am the SHIT!!! EVERYONE WHO EVER LIVED LOVES ME UNCONDITIONALLY!!!"
Transitory/pessimistic response: "Woah. Someone has clearly drunk a LOT of Nyquil. Hope it doesn't wear off before we 'accidentally' hook-up."

Negative Example:
You lose a soccer match. (read: my Sunday afternoon)
Permanent/pessimistic response: "Holy crap I suck at sports."
Transitory/optimistic response: "I wonder if Jeopardy is on right now."

So the question becomes not "Are you happy?" which is both black and white as well as permanent, but rather "Do you want to be happier?" And mind you, they aren't referring to rosy, all-is-right-with-the-world attitudes. It's a person's ability to bounce back and think positively that drives both optimism, as well as performance. Because you do better when you think bad performance is a one time deal. Likewise, it's better to focus on strengths rather than weaknesses. Find a new way to be courageous or generous as opposed to wonder why you were never good at them in the first place, which can be frustrating to say the least.

On a final note, tonight was also a delicious throw-back to college because of, yes, "that" guy. You know, the one in section that always makes the most ridiculous arguments and then sits back in a satisfied way while you contemplate whether the right response is to actually point out the obvious fallacies in their argument or just throw your reading material at their face. Some 50 year old man decided to refute the argument by saying "Well what does this mean anyway? Just because they say they're happy doesn't MEAN they're happy!" and then leaned back to confirm his victory. Okay, here's the deal, yes that's true but we're making the assumption that the test subjects are telling the truth. It is not an exact science. That's why all the psychologists get swirlies and wedgies in science high school. But it doesn't make the ENTIRE argument invalid. I chose to simply say "Wow that's retarded," because I'm professional now. Professional like a CAT.