Only Nola

When It Rains…

I know, I just posted a couple of days ago (locusts and famine are next, people. Trust.), so those of you who are just joining us, don't forget to read back a post if you haven't already (you wouldn't want to miss out on any of the festivity. Seriously.), but in the meantime I had something I had to share, even though I wish I didn't have to.

Some of you may want to grab tissue... you know who you are.

Remember the mama cat and three kittens?

(...)

You can feel where this is going, right? *sighs*

I went out on the back deck Tuesday morning to have a cigarette (Yeah, yeah, nasty habit, blah blah blah), and noticed two of the kittens all bowed up and hissing at each other on the top step. This was only of minor interest, as they're at that age where they do that sometimes, playing and all. I sat on the top step and tried to pet one, which usually works no matter what. They were having no part of it. I was starting to get a bit 'wtf?' around the edges, and was reaching for one again when I noticed the steps had water on them. (...) Water? How the fuck did water get on the deck steps? The deck is covered, and it hadn't rained... their water bowl was nowhere near the... I looked again... was that... no, that can't be... ohmygod...

Giant paw print.

ON. MY. DECK.

I looked up about then (and bear in mind, writing it out it all seems to be dragging, but in actuality it was all happening in seconds) and saw the mama kitty in the middle of my back yard... facing a giant black dog. Now, again, this is all happening lightning fast, I know it, but it still felt like I had HOURS to get up and do something, and... no. Part of me, in that split second, thought 'Okay, I've seen hundreds of dogs play with cats, where they do that jump at them thing and jump back, circle and bark... no harm, no foul. I've never seen one actually...' and then, mama kitty took off for the woods behind my house. The woods that are so densely underbrush ridden that you can't walk through them in many places. Dog? Was right on top of her. She made it in and I'm suddenly (SECONDS, people!) up and running across the yard, screaming my head off. The dog dove in after her, not to be deterred by the thick bushes, nettles, weeds, trees, etc. I got to the edge of my property, at the line where my lawn stops and the woods from HELL start, and am standing there, barefoot and unable to follow, screaming bloody murder.

I could hear her...

Behind me I become aware that there is yet another dog, twin to the first. I'm running at him to get him away from my yard and the babies. A woman comes jogging up my side yard, asking what's wrong. I tell her the dogs are there and she starts calling them... she says they're her brother's dogs and he just stopped by to visit and let them out. I cut her off and scream at her that the one has MY CAT. She says 'oh my GOD' and starts running and screaming for her brother. He comes running and, thank God, HE has shoes on. He goes diving into the brush and I can still hear mama kitty... it was horrible. She was screaming and crying...

God.

I see him through the trees, and he's bent over and I can see he's doing something at ground level, but can't see what. Too much greenery and shit in the way. The woman is trying to get the one dog under control. I see the guy stop and slowly start to stand, and I can't take it. I turn for the house and am crying and shaking my head over and over and just repeating 'no no no no no'. Behind me I hear the woman say 'She's okay!', and I turn, for that moment ready to believe there IS, in fact, a God, when the man steps out... shaking his head and holding...

Poor mama kitty.

I had named her Angelina.

She was gone.

I turned back for the house, and then saw the second dog was heading up the steps of my deck again. I sprinted across the yard, just screeching like a banshee, and got there just in time to stop him from attacking the two babies. The woman is coming onto the porch just as I'm about to kick the living shit out of her brother's fucking dog. She pulls him away, and I grab the babies and yell for Connor, who I'd sent inside at first glimpse of what was going on, and have him take the babies to the garage. I go back outside and realize...

I have a missing baby.

I'm searching all over, calling for him (his name was Scratchy. 'Cause he had this scratchy little meow, and it was a name that didn't care if it was a boy or girl, since we weren't sure which it was yet. Scratchy.), while the people have taken the dogs to stick them back in the dude's van. I'm walking all over, crying over Angelina and praying that I'd find little Scratchy scared and up a tree or something. I'm on about my third lap around the yard when I see Mom and the neighbor lady walking from the yard of the empty house next to me with a towel wrapped bundle in the neighbor lady's arms.

Scratchy.

He's gone, too.

Poor, sweet little Scratchy. He was the fattest and fluffiest of the kittens, and the shyest but the sweetest. He was... *sighs*

From what I can best piece together, the dogs came and found the babies, and got Scratchy, and Angelina did something that you read about animals doing but don't have to witness very often... she bought her babies time by using herself as bait and running across the yard to distract the dog from Crockett and Tweeter (the other two babies... hey, they have to have names, right?). She bought them time at the expense of her own life.

I tried to save them all by bringing them home when I found them on the side of the road. I did. I thought I could help. Instead...

Angelina and Scratchy are gone. I miss them both and wish I'd done something... anything... different, faster, SOMETHING. I still hear mama kitty screaming...

What a fucking week.

Does That EVER Work?

First off, let me just say? I am doing this as a REWRITE, for fuck's sake. I had my WHOLE post done, nice and tidy... I was quite pleased. I clicked 'save and continue editing', and you know what happened? Do you know what happened, people? It ATE my goddamned ARTICLE. GONE. Not retrievable. POOF! *bangs head on desk*

IT FUCKED ME. And nary a kiss to be found.

So I'm going to try this again, but I can't promise that it won't suck. I had it right last time, goddammit... and it was a funny one, too. Now I've been robbed and don't know if I can recreate what I wrote. I'm not even sure I have the energy to try. I could really go for kicking the everliving shit out of something right about now... *looks around*

What, no volunteers?

Pussies.

Anyhoo, on with whatever small amount of my post I can remember. Let's see, I think it started with...

I have, once again, been reminded of the sheer dipshittery attached to the male of the species. I haven't posted about this in awhile, but sometimes I see something so astoundingly stupid that I just have to write about it. I'm all about the sharing. See the unbelievably retarded, share the unbelievably retarded. That's my job, people. Pointing and laughing may ensue. It's not mandatory or anything...

But encouraged.

So there I am this evening at about 5:00, driving down Kansas Expressway (me and about 5 billion other rat-racers... traffic is festive.) on my way to the 10 year old's Tae Kwon Do lesson (wherein he will learn how to render me unconscious using nothing but his pinky toe. And I pay money for this, dear reader. 'Cause I'm smart like that.). I am, of course, managing to hit every single red light on my way down Kansas (because I was running late. That's how that works. It's a gift, really.), but am managing to handle it without leaning out the window and screaming.

I am the model of self-control.

So I'm at a red light (gah) behind this blonde chicky in a Maxima with a sunroof. I noticed the sunroof because when she was driving it was blowing all her around, making her resemble nothing so much as an Afghan hound. Anyhoo. The light turns green (it has to happen eventually... even my gift has its limits), and we're off.

Now, about 50 to 80 feet past the intersection, I run into the fodder for the post (re-post... GOD I'm still mad about that. Can someone slap Bill Gates for me?) that you're now reading. Or maybe you're sleeping... hellooooooo!!!! Pay attention, for the love of GOD.

Standing on the little concrete median thingy between us and the two lanes going the other direction stands a man (and I use the word loosely) with what is obviously a mere passing acquaintance with personal hygiene. I guess he's waiting to cross the road (and walking that extra 50 feet down to an actual CROSSWALK would have gone against his moral code. Heaven forfend.), but then again, maybe he just likes hanging out there. You never know. People are freakin' weird.

So, Maxima girl and I take off, approaching this bastion of all things manly. Right? Well, as she pulls abreast (heh... I said breast) of him, he turns his head to match her passing, eyeballing her intently. This, while unwelcome to her, I'm sure, would have been fine, if it had just been LEFT at that. But, being a penis-bearer, he just couldn't leave well enough alone. She gets right up next to him, he looks down at her, and... (I swear to God, I'm not making this up)...

Opens his mouth and does that tongue waggling thing at her.

I'm not kidding.

You know that thing the roadrunner always did in the cartoons, where his tongue would go flapping around right before he 'beep beep zip DANG'ed himself out of the picture? Yeah, like that. Also known to perverts everywhere as the universal 'I'd eat your pussy RAW' motion. It so radiates class and chivalry that I was temporarily rendered speechless.

(...)

Oh, shut up.

Now, here's my question... has the tongue thing ever, in the history of MAN, ever gotten a man laid? I am unaware of any instance where a man has looked at a strange woman, flopped his tongue around at her, and she's been so overwhelmed with passion and lust that she's ran to him, thrown him on the floor, stripped down, and sat on his face. If I'm wrong on this one, let me know. Really. And if I'm right, and this doesn't work in ANY WAY, on ANY LEVEL, then what in the name of all that's HOLY is he doing? Is he deranged? In need of an intervention and a lobotomy, in no particular order? Has he only recently discovered a penchant for lingerie and other men's erections, and thus is attempting to alienate every vagina he comes into contact with lest he go back to his heterosexual habits?

I just don't get it.

Now, if someone can explain that and the whole 'I'm wearing my pants around my knees so all y'all can see my dirty boxers. Try to restrain yourself in the presence of my phatness. Yo.' thing, I'd be grateful. It's another form of dipshittery that boggles my mind. You have men (again, LOOSELY, people!) in their sexual prime, that think about getting laid roughly every 3 seconds, and they're dressing in the fashion equivalent of a Citronella candle.

*sighs*

Men are just here to test us, aren't they?

I’m Still Standing… Sort Of

This week has been phenomenal... in a completely Jonestown kind of way. Okay, some of it hasn't completely sucked, but mostly? You figure it out. This post is going to be pretty long for a change (well, my posts used to be longer, but lately it's amazing if I can even work up the motivation to type my name, let alone something worth reading), so make sure to get a snack and take the phone off the hook.

WHAT?!?!

Okay, first off? I was out early the other morning. On the way back home, on the access road running parallel to interstate 44, I spotted some small, black things way ahead of me, smack dab in position to get flattened by, well... me, if I hadn't been paying attention. I get closer, slow down, and what do I see?

Kitties.

*sighs*

A momma cat and her 3 babies, to be precise. And these were NOT cats that were showing good street-crossing skills, mind you. They were meandering across, not a care in the world, practically begging oncoming traffic to turn them into a furry little spot on the pavement. I stopped the car, looking at them, and they were pitiful... starving, clueless, and, to top it all off? Crossing the access road in the direction of the freaking interstate. Yeah, THAT would go all kinds of well. Really. So who can guess what comes next?

*pounds head on desk*

Yeah, that's right... I threw three completely clueless kittens and their mother into the back of the Cadillac (praying the whole time they wouldn't take a collective shit on the leather seats. 'Cause I have luck like that. For the love of GOD.) and took them home. That would be MY home, not THEIRS. I have no idea where their home had been, but pretty sure that they were a case of drive and drop. I fucking HATE people that do that. These cats had definitely belonged to someone, because they were all super friendly, not in the least wild, and more than willing to come with me. If they had opposable thumbs, they'd have lit up a cigarette, they were THAT content.

*sighs*

Soooo... I now have four cats living on my back deck/porch. Quit looking at me like that! What the fuck was I supposed to do? Furry little bastards would have been dead in a matter of minutes if I hadn't picked them up. It was humanitarian! It was necessary! It was the right thing to do!

*screams and kicks the desk*

Whatever. Anybody want a cat?

Okay, next on the list? I was sleeping away Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, right? People do that. It's a thing. About 4:30 a.m. I'm jerked awake by the most intense pain in my chest. I've had children, people, and I still can't describe the pain. It's right up there with a contraction, but since you don't usually have those in your sternum, I don't have anything good to compare it to. Anyway. I stumble out of bed, and am just riding these waves of blooming pains that won't let up, trying to decide what to do. First I think, in my middle of the night brain stroke of brilliance, that it might be heartburn. Heartburn created specifically by Satan, but still... heartburn. So I nibble on a piece of bread and take a drink of water, hoping to help it go. the. fuck. AWAY. I almost puked when I swallowed the water, which is never a good sign. I went to my knees with each successive pain, and hit the point of literally wailing each time one hit, as it was just intolerable. I lasted about 15 minutes, maybe, before going in to wake up Mom. Did I mention she's staying with me until we get her in her own apartment? Anyway. I wake her up and tell her to call the hospital and ask them what a heart attack is like. Hey, it was all I could think of! Next time you're writhing around on the floor screaming bloody murder and thinking that you'd pay someone to throw you in front of a bus because your chest feels like someone's inside it going nuts with a goddamned Cuisinart, see if you don't think heart attack.

Anyhoo. Mom, of course, decided that calling the hospital was not the way to go. She called 911. Hence me riding in the ambulance a short time later and feeling like the world's biggest weenie. I mean, to me? Ambulance rides are reserved for people that are copiously bleeding out the eyes or something. Having seizures. Sleeping with Paris Hilton. You know, obviously life threatening things. My chest just hurt like a motherfucker, but I was conscious and all and... oh, nevermind. I rode in the damned ambulance.

After x-rays and EKG's and all manner of festivities at the hospital, it turns out that, as far as their guess is concerned, I have a)Gastritis, which I know nothing about, and b)an 'aggravated ulcers episode', or wording to that effect, which I know entirely too MUCH about. Been years, but ulcers and I go wayyyyyyyyy back. And apparently? They're back and ready to party. Good times.

They medicated the holy hell out of me, which helped the pain eventually pass into something tolerable. I'm now on some meds at home, whicih hopefully will help. The pain is more faint now, but still around. This is my body's way of telling me, in no uncertain terms, that it is sick and goddamned tired of the stress and bullshit in my life. I suppose I had better pay attention. I've already started clearing out some noise in my life after the hospital visit, in an attempt to bring some calm into my immediate vicinity. I'm going to continue to do so, and also try to make myself remember what is small shit and what isn't. Then again, that's harder than it sounds, since after awhile EVERYTHING starts to feel like big shit. But I'll work on it. There has been so much building up in my life the last year, I suppose it's not surprising that my body effectively went on strike. Want an example of things on my mind? Hmmm...

This coming Saturday would have been my and Jonathan's fifth wedding anniversary. It's hit me a lot harder than I expected, and I'm really struggling with it. Just a bit over two weeks after that is the one year anniversary of his death. I can't begin to describe how painful it is. I know people who look at my life and have either said or thought that I didn't feel pain because of how I handled things, but the fact is? No one knows what I was feeling, and no one knows how well they would or would NOT hold themselves together after something like that happened to them. All I can say is... it hurts. A lot of the anger over various things has had time to settle and fade, and it leaves behind it other memories and other feelings, and it's... well, I won't go into it all, as I'm sure you don't all want to hear it. Suffice it to say that these next few weeks is going to be a tough time for me. I'm sure I'll be calling some of you. Forewarned is forearmed, right? If you want to hide, better start finding places now. You know who you are.

Oh, and just a little 'by the way'?

*insert drumroll here*

One of us is, really and truly, a college student now. MSU, here I come.

(...)

Hell hath officially frozen over.

Girls’ Night Out

Well, last night another sign of the end of the world as we know it came to pass... A)I went out to a club... one that had drinks and a dance floor and (God strike me dead if I'm lying) a mechanical bull (I shit you not. And NO, I didn't ride it. You must be MAD.), and B)I went with a girl I know (and here we thought all women hate me... go figure! I told you... Armegeddon, people! Buckle the fuck up!).

It was... interesting.

First off, I went to someplace called 'Midnight Rodeo', so that right there speaks volumes. I'm sure you can all form a mental image. Oh, except for the rotating bar thing. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that some brainiac thought the idea of a circular rotating bar was a good idea in a room full of PEOPLE WHO ARE DRINKING, but... whatever. I'm not the one that has to pay the liability insurance, so no skin off my nose.

And by the way? What the hell is up now with all the women I saw in shorts and flip-flops at a nightclub? Is it only me that thinks that's just a wee bit unhinged? Setting aside the fact that you're wearing flimsy, open shoes in an environment populated by A)cowboy boots, and B)drunks WEARING the aforementioned cowboy boots, you still have the fact that nine out of ten people are going to a bar looking to get laid, and wearing flip flops? Just might not be your best bait for the trap. *shrugs* I'm just sayin'...

So I got there around 10:00, and was home safe and sound by... oh, 12:15 or so? Yeah, I know, I know... I'm an animal. I couldn't help it. My heart just wasn't in it. I thought that I was ready for ye olde night of drunken debauchery, but... not so much. I had a monumentally shitty week behind me, and while nursing a broken heart in a bar may be the stuff of country music wet dreams, in reality it doesn't work very well. Kind of like scratching an itch with a power sander. Sort of.

So it was an uneventful night. The prerequisite amount of men staring at my ass (don't ask me, I just wear the damned thing), but I didn't feel the slightest inclination to ... well, there was this one guy that was awfully cute *laughs*, but I felt no real desire, more just an objective observation. He was HOT. And yet I didn't speak to him or feel any real need to go there. I know, I know... my hormones can't believe I let them down, either. I've officially lost my mind. They'll make me pay for it next month. Trust.

My friend wants to do it again, next time at this Cartoon's place, but I'm just not sure. There are all kinds of ways that could go wrong. We'll see how I feel about it in a couple of weeks. Meh.

Oh, and I finally caved in to the consumer sheep epidemic...

I own an iPod.

(...)

May God have mercy on my soul.

Girls’ Night Out

Well, one of us is going out tonight for a change. Guess which one? *raises hand and bounces in chair*

Aren't you excited for me? Try to contain your joy.

A girl I know called and asked me to go with her and a few of her girlfriends to some club called 'Midnight Rodeo'. I'm sure it's awash in cowboy hats and Skoal cans, but still... it's OUT! It's with actual grown-ups and stuff! I just don't know what to do with myself. I may just spontaneously combust or go all Linda Blair or something.

Now comes the trauma of trying to decide what to wear... *screeches*

My friend is going with the dress and heels thing, but I'm leaning toward skinny jeans and high heeled boots. It's a look I tend to be comfortable in, but then again, how often do I get to do the short skirt ensemble? I even have a dress that I bought to wear for... someone special *sighs*... that I never got to wear out, and it's just begging to see the light of day. Well, dark of night, in this case, but whatever. You knew what I meant. Work with me, people. I'm a woman on the edge!

I could just say fuck it and go naked...

*falls over*

Imagine That

Hey, it's me... actually sitting here and writing a post without a month going by since the last one. I can't swear to it, but I'm pretty sure that's one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse. Or maybe that's when I get my garage cleaned out...

I'll get back to you on that.

Soooo... my life has been nothing if not interesting the last few months. Okay, the last six months. (...) A year? Whatever. Some period of time that feels roughly like a) forever, and b) hell. Wheeeee! I have been on the mother of all rollercoasters, and all I have to say is that for the mere fact that I'm not somewhere locked in a room with lovely padded walls and a noticeable lack of sharp objects? I deserve a goddamned cookie. No, make that a boatload of cookies. What, do I look like I'm kidding here? SHOW ME THE COOKIES!

Me and my competitive nature, I had to prove that I could not only be an idiot (repeatedly and with gusto, might I add. 'Cause a job worth doing...), but the single biggest idiot in high heels. Mmmm... high heels. I love those. Shoe shopping is just short of a religious experience. All those... *looks around*... um, wait. What was I talking about again?

Oh, an idiot. Yeah, that. *sighs*

I think that when Jonathan passed away, every piece of internal wiring I possessed short circuited. Seriously. I lost my goddamned mind. That's the only explanation, short of demonic possession. Which I'm not entirely ruling out, by the way. I mean, it makes a kind of sense, doesn't it? Anyone notice my voice changing or my head doing any 360 degree turns? 'Cause either of those are pretty good indicators and you should give me a heads up. Friends don't let friends mind meld with Satan.

Well, I'm busy trying to get my brain back in order. We'll see if I have any success or not. Given my history, I'm not going to hold my breath, but my inner eternal optimist insists that I may actually come out of this with a little less crying (God, the crying I've done lately, with someone's name all over it... you know who you are) and a lot more hope and laughter. I am going to start with making a point of writing here more often. If I don't show up, you collectively have the right to poke me in the eye.

With a SPORK.

Ha! The spork is back! You may all commence cabbagepatching around the room.