Crazy? Nah, I'm just a cat lady.

Since getting another cat two years ago (and before I get started, those of you who know me are aware that I only currently have one cat- by 'another' I mean 'another in my lifetime'. Continuing now.), I've found that many, many people have taken to referring to me as a 'crazy cat lady'. So let me take a few moments of your time to educate you on what, exactly qualifies one as a 'crazy cat lady', and why it is that I am absolutely not one, thank you very freaking much.

Hey, also- let us take a moment to wonder why on earth no one calls a single guy with a cat 'crazy'. Same bacteria, for pete's sake. So a guy with a cat he dotes on clearly has no issues. Another example of the media being absolute twits to women?

Maybe so. But...moving on.

Educational point: So the term 'crazy cat lady' was basically coined because of a bacteria cats carry (See the following link for details). This bacteria tends to latch on to people and cause personality things like OCD to flare up, and make someone 'crazy'. So the media latched on to it, and bam- 'crazy cat lady'.


See: Crazy Cat Lady Syndrome

Anyway. So yes, I'm depressed and yes, I'm single (as this other article indicates, these two things can often cause a devotion to the pet in question), so thanks to this incredibly stupid spin the media put on it...clearly I'm a crazy cat lady. Right? Right?

Wrong.

I'm not crazy. In fact, I'm unique and eccentric, but not certifiably crazy. My being devoted- as they say in these aforementioned articles- does not in any way mean I'm crazy. People use, as I've learned in recent years, any shape or size of animal to deal with their emotional needs. Small dogs can be therapy dogs (and I'm just as guilty as anyone of wondering why a tiny Yorkie had a 'therapy dog' vest). Emotional therapy is a thing that's more necessary than many realize, and if it takes my owning a cat and devoting myself to it- my emotional well-being is what I'm dealing with, so don't put me into that stereotype, because there's a lot more than meets the eye.

So a crazy cat lady I am most certainly not. But a cat lady? Definitely.

Let's Get Back into the Swing of Things, Shall We?

So I haven't written anything here...since February, if Google is accurate in their timeline. But today I got something in the mail, and I had to write about that...because how often does someone have something this goofy and random to write about?

I'm a landowner!

What's that, you say? Owning land is pretty common now, really- whether it's land you inherited from your grandparents, their grandparents, or your own parents. It's land. I think these days it has a bit less sentimental value than it used to (think Little House on the Prairie and how Pa sowed the land, planted, had to stay there on his claim for months until it was really and truly theirs), but just the same...it's pretty substantial. You own land, and you have something to build on, plant on, just make snow angels on in the wintertime. Whatever you want.

Today, in the mail, I received a part of my Ten Days of Kwanzaa or Whatever from Cards Against Humanity. The company pulled several very interesting stunts revolving around the holidays, one of which was actual poop you received in the mail (oh, the people who I imagine were steamed about that- though thankfully it was just the people who were steamed and not the actual poop. Eew.). The Ten Days of Kwanzaa or Whatever consisted of ten days (accurate) of random things in the mail. Actual custom printed CaH cards involving your name, an interesting breakdown of some legislative information, and....a piece of land. Not literally, of course, as said land would not fit in an envelope.

But Cards Against Humanity acquired themselves a lovely little private island for something like $200,000, and in a fairly hilarious gimmick, gave people who had purchased the Ten Days subscription exactly one square foot of land. So I could stand in it, build a card house on it, plant a teeny flag on it...whatever I want. Tax free, even...so my only major obligation is to keep it tidy.

I'm somewhat tempted, as a new landowner, to hike myself over to Lake St. George in Maine, where my square foot is located, and do yoga in my tiny square foot. Yoga that involves standing up, because I can't very well be rude and do a <insert yoga pose here> on both my square foot and someone elses'. Trespassing is something people take seriously, these days.

But all the same, I own land now. So. I can check that off of my bucket list. If I had a bucket list.

I think the D is broken...

Isn't that always the way, that your warranty expires and all of the problems just manifest themselves in a span of time that rivals how quickly small children can get into mischief. I mean, you barely turn around and -bam- the 'd' button no longer works and the spacebar makes horrible clicking noises like it's trying desperately to ride an imaginary pony without the coconut shells for effect. Everyone knows- you need coconut shells to ride an imaginary pony.

I work in customer service, and every single person who calls in about some sort of problem gets all up in arms when they discover that they have to exchange their device due to some sort of malfunction. It's not even the fact that they have to actually exchange it, but more the fact that 'You mean I'm going to get a refurbished phone/tablet/husband/dog/universal remote'? 

Of course you are. You're going to get a refurbished phone/tablet/universal remote/spaceship/BB gun/kitten because you've USED yours, and we aren't giving you a brand new phone/tablet/universal remote/key to the city/refrigerator/hissing cockroach. Because yours wasn't brand new, so why on earth should you get a brand new one? 

And why do you have to pay for it? Five dollars or twenty, six buttons or six hundred buttons? Doesn't matter- it costs to do it. Some poor worker somewhere has to take your gunky disgusting phone/tablet/book light/pizza pan/shoulder massager and actually take it apart to fix it. So you might have sneezed on it, your schnauzer might have peed on it, and you may have herpes...so they have to charge a fee. It's minor, and if you're being given a replacement for free...you shouldn't argue. Because that's much better than an insurance deductible.

That's another thing: insurance deductibles. If you got insurance for your iPad and your iPad gets stolen by some thug who just wants to use it to buy his baby mama some bling on ebay...well, you're going to file a claim. And the insurance company is going to ask you for some money, because you may only have been paying for your insurance for a few months, and there's no way you've been paying enough to cover the replacement of any sort of iDevice.

And if you go to the doctor, unless you're under twenty-five and/or have REALLY GOOD INSURANCE, you're going to pay a deductible. It may not be much...but even the ER has at least a $100.00 deductible. Same goes for car insurance, pet insurance, and pretty much every type of insurance you can think of...or I can think of.

So the moral of this story is: nothing is free. NOTHING. It's probably going to happen whether you like it or not, and the 'd' button will stop working when it *amned well pleases (see what I did there?), and the only thing to be done is to realize the universe is out to get you and pay up. If you can't pay up, then clearly you bit off more than you could chew in owning an e-device or universal remote shaped like the Sonic Screwdriver of the 10th doctor....and you may have to go back to the crappy old universal remote they sell at the local Massively Ridiculous Mart for all of five dollars. 

Pay your deductible, pay your warranty fee, and just be grateful you're not paying another five hundred dollars for a replacement phone/remote car starter/robot dog.

Just A Little At A Time

    I'm sorry to say that I let my daily moods get in the way of my desire to write something once a day. You can't force it, I suppose. But I felt weirdly inspired to let loose with this random piece now, so here you are. Something that just came to mind.

~~~~~~~

     "How do you take your coffee?"
     "Black," She replied, "Like my soul. But maybe sometimes it's a little bit tan, like the tired parts when it's worn almost to the brink of holes."
     "You're not serious."
     "Of course I am." She looked at him blankly for a moment, then furrowed her brow as she considered exactly what it was she was saying about herself with that statement. Or what she was hinting at, how odd she was. "But I'm not that strange, I promise. Just...once in a while. I get a little deeper than I probably should."
     "Who is it, exactly, that's setting the bar for normal, anyway?" 
     "I suppose I thought it was you, just now. The way you answered me when I told you about my soul. Sometimes, when I get hopeful about a situation, I picture myself as a tiny person...the size of a Borrower, maybe. Jumping up and down with joy on those worn spots, and any minute now they're going to break and I'll fall through. That happiness, it's going to fall through right with me. And then there's nothing left to be happy about, with a great big gap in my soul."
     "Well, I wasn't really setting the bar for anything. I just thought it was an odd statement to make, coloring your soul like that. Most people are pure white or black as coal- there's no middle ground involved. And most people certainly don't compare their souls to anything worn out."
     "I feel like I am. After that last relationship, when I laid it all out on the table and bore my soul like a yard of fabric, he cut right through it before I could even measure what I was worth. It cost me plenty, I can tell you that. I'm broken in a way I don't know can be fixed, and even if there is a way to fix it I couldn't possibly tell you where to start. Sometimes I think I miss having someone fluff my pillows...and sometimes I think I'd really rather fluff them myself."
     "How did we get on the subject of fluffing pillows?"
     "How did we ever get off the topic of coffee? You asked how I take it- I think, today, that I'll take it with just a little cream. No sugar."
     "Sweet enough?" 
     "Hardly." She put her hand over the cup before he could lift the spoon from the sugar bowl, shaking her head at the look on his face that indicated he intended to question the subject further. "I can't do sugar these days- one too many Wilfred Brimley commercials. If I ever get diabeetus I think I'd just throw myself under a bus. Diabetes, on the other hand- that doesn't sound so incredibly deadly."
     "He always did have a way of making that word sound so much more foreboding."
     "He really did. And ever since I saw his commercials as a child I refused so much as a Dum Dum, for fear I'd wake up one morning with a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache and a desire to walk around with a sort of hangdog look on my face. 'Hi, my name is Polly, and I have diabeetus.'"
     "Well, Polly, I can tell you that one spoonful of sugar isn't going to usher you into the first stage of diabeetus, but I can respect your choice. All the same, I think I'll be taking a few spoonfuls of sugar myself."
     "And I respect your choice as well, Paul. But I'd certainly like to know more about you. How do you take your coffee?"
     "Well, we've established sugar. And otherwise...black. Black, with just a hint of sugar to say that my soul isn't quite a lost cause, but possesses just a touch of sweet innocence. Pure cane sugar mixed in with the acidic wash of what makes me who I am."
      "And that is?"
      "A man who takes his life just as he takes his coffee. Open to additions, open to adding just a bit more to broaden my palate. I'm looking to live a life that has room for change."
      "And I'm afraid to add sugar to my coffee. But," She fell quiet, thoughtful, manicured fingers tapping lightly against the tabletop as she gazed into the ripples her actions sent across the surface of her coffee. After a moment her hand lifted, curled the same fingers around the handle of the sugar spoon, and she trickled it's contents into the ripples, disrupting them. "I can say with certainty that I'm ready to try."
      "Just a little at a time?"
      "Just a little at a time."

Flying

I always find myself wanting to make up stories for the people sitting around me. You know- look at what they're wearing, what they're reading, and spin a picture in your head of what their lives could be like.

For example- the woman sitting next to me. Well groomed, elegant, delicately framed glasses. She wears just the right amount of jewelry, and is reading a hard copy of a book titled "Someday, Someday, Maybe."

 I'm intrigued by her constant typing on her iphone. Something tells me that she could be just texting, but in my mind she's a book editor, reading a copy of something she's about to or has already released on the best seller list. Or she's a professional of some other field, communicating with her personal assistant about work she's going to or has left behind, taking the valuable and rare personal time to get some light reading before she's thrust back into the high pressured work life.

Or she's just a well dressed woman with an everyday life. That's just as likely, but maybe not as interesting to imagine.

Who Really Likes Winter?

     "It's pretty," She mused, tilting her head as she looked at the blossoming flower poking itself halfheartedly out of the soil bordering the sidewalks. "But I like winter better."
     "Said no one ever."
     "So I'm nobody now, is that it?" The sideways glance had him stopping cold as she turned the scrutiny towards him, the one person she'd managed to convince to come with her on this venture out into the world. Finally winter had lifted, the weather allowing for long walks along the back roads of tiny, quaint neighborhoods that made up their little town. Summersville, population thirty-thousand, so very relieved to see the spring approaching that they'd all broken out of their forced seclusions to breathe in fresh air again. But Sibley had done so out of need more than want, dragging her downstairs neighbor along for the stroll. "Really, Glenn, you've spent more hours in front of your computer playing Warcraft than I have outdoors, so don't start with the judging. We can turn back at any time."
     "I didn't say you were nobody, Sib. I said that no one actually likes winter that much. Sports enthusiasts, people who build snowmen, and aspiring Eskimos. You only stay inside because you don't like people."
     "I like people just fine."
     "When that couple walking their greyhound back there said hi to us, you looked at them like they could give you herpes. Don't tell me that's 'liking' people."
     "They could give me herpes. People aren't infallible, you know. They get diseases. But when I'm in my apartment with the cat, I'm fine. The cat doesn't have herpes."
     "I've seen your cat with the neighborhood strays. I'm not willing to bet good money against your cat's body running rampant with sexually transmitted diseases." He'd brushed up against her while they were walking, and reached out to gently pick a strand of hair from the sleeve of her coat. "Sibley, you've got to face it- you have a thing about people. You really have to get out more."
     "The next person who says that to me gets a mouthful of that grimy dirt the snowplows left behind." One of the offending snowplows drove by at that moment, a straggler presumably on its way to the DOT garage to be tucked away for the spring. No snow was on the horizon, no winter storm threatening the annihilation of the entire eastern United States, and once the weather stations had sounded the all-clear the town had begun their recovery process. She wondered what would happen if a freak storm rolled in at that very moment and whisked away all of the unsuspecting house escapees before they could see it coming, and the image of people flying away on gusts of wind brought a smile to her face.
     "What's so funny?"
     "Nothing- nothing you'd find so funny, anyway." Glenn Kendricks had been her downstairs neighbor as long as she'd lived in her tiny, one bedroom apartment overlooking the city. She'd long ago learned that while he was a fantastic ear for her problems and an even more fantastic cook, his sense of humor didn't quite match up with her own slightly warped amusement. But she was used to it- always had been. "Let's go, all right? I'd really like to get back before it starts to get cold. I bet we're just waiting for one last deep freeze."
     "You talk as if you know something. I don't think we'll be seeing any more of winter- you're gonna have come out of that place again sometime." His hand was soft in it's fleece glove as he reached up to pick another hair off of her- from the back of her neck this time, and his breath was warm in it's wake. "It was nice today, you asking me to come with you. I think we should do it again."
     "If we get the chance." She looked up at the sky- it really DID look deceptively blue, with a few fluffy white clouds in the distance. These clouds didn't look like anything special, but she as much as anyone knew just how appearances could easily mask the underlying nature of someone or something until it was too late to do anything but take what came along. "But you never know. Those clouds could be dangerous."
     "It's not like we're going to be getting acid rain. Worse case is that we see a bit more snow. And I haven't put away my shovel yet, unlike any of these idiots." They'd strolled past a house whose garage gaped open to reveal a snowblower already shrouded in a tarp, shovels tucked up in the eaves that ran above a parked SUV.

Epic Wordness, Page 2: Warning- innuendos afoot.

You've been warned. :) Read on.
~~~

I Might As Well Be A Maple Tree

     “Man. I'm so sappy, I might as well be a maple tree.” Kimberly tossed back another shot and sighed, leaning on one elbow to gaze at the stern visage of Maggie Smith as she scolded the trio of young students who stood in the Hogwarts corridor. “I've got such a lady crush on her, I can just imagine the white picket fence and moving pictures of us at the Cape on our mantlepiece.”

     “Who has a mantlepiece these days?” Juniper chuckled and gave McGonagall a sideways glance before she took a swig of her IPA, squinting slightly at the television screen. “I think she's got another wrinkle since the last movie. Maybe two.”

     “Shut up. She's a handsome woman- maybe Maggie Smith is kind of like her. At least, enough.”

     “You might as well go for Betty White. At least she's on the right continent.” Another swig revealed that the IPA was tapped out, and Juniper reached for the last of her stash, a half-empty bottle of rich, amber scotch. They'd chosen to watch Harry Potter for what she imagined was the thousandth time at least, and the usual argument over whether Kimberly could land a woman like Minerva McGonagall was reaching it's predictable end. As Snape came on screen she cracked open the cap and threw back her head as the liquid burned her throat comfortably, and she could bring herself to look at the greasy haired Professor on screen. “God, he's homely.”

     “Even Snape needs someone to love, June. Come on, don't tell me you wouldn't want to know what kind of core his wand had. Maybe you could be the one who twists it just right- you know, just the right turn of the wrist to cast the spell?”

     “Your innuendos could use some work.”

     “I promise, I won't quit my day job. Honest.” Outside, as the movie droned on, the snow fell in drifts so deep that they themselves seemed magical. Wiping away the world with it's whiteness, snow was in no short supply those days, and the residents of the city found themselves making do as best they could. Harry Potter marathons ruled over Facebook invites, yoga challenges ran rampant on timelines and promises of New Years diets gave way to declarations that someone, somewhere would make it to the store for that one box of Oreos before the snow got too deep.

     Their two cars were long ago buried, antennae peering out of snowbanks like desperate periscopes trying to see in the vast nothingness. She'd given up hope long ago that there would be a stop to the horrible weather, or that the temperature would at least pick up enough for her to go downstairs and get her laundry from the subzero laundry room. It was there that she imagined hanging up fat, butchered pigs to hold over throughout the winter months, although she lacked the desire and stomach to butcher anything, let alone fold her delicates among the carcasses of Wilbur and Babe.

     “What's up? You just missed the best scene. Ron and Harry finally gave in to their feelings and had a rough tumble in the Owlery.”

     “Shut up. I've seen this movie a million times, and there's no rough tumbling. Don't try to get me excited for nothing.” But just in the off chance she picked up the DVD case when Kim wasn't looking and inspected it for any discrepancies- like the chance that her bestie had sidetracked to the adult video section and picked up “Harry Peter and Her Chamber of Secrets” instead. But the DVD was more innocent than either of them, and appeared to have been legitimately rented from the brightly lit front section of Blockbuster Video.

     “Well if you're not going to pay attention, that's what I'm going to be doing all night.”

     “What? Thinking of the many ways you think Harry and Ron are going to successfully flick their wands? Really, aren't we a little beyond that?”

     “Not me, no. I'm definitely not beyond taking McGonagall against the giant, sexy bookshelves in Dumbledore's office.”

     “I think Dumbledore might have some problem with that- I'm pretty sure he's always playing footsies with her under the table at breakfast. I mean, don't you see the way the tablecloth moves?”

     “No, but I definitely see the way Ron's chest heaves whenever he and Harry fight. You can't tell me that a skinny little guy like that gets all worked up over someone if he doesn't desperately want to jump their bones.”

~~~

 That was a page, so I stopped. But this one might at least get finished. It won't be long, or anything, but it kind of went where it did. :)

Day One of Epic Wordness: "Enough"

Here you go, folks- the long awaited (since yesterday) first page of my page-a-day ambition. I'd like to say that I'll see this through, and I'd like to hope I do...but I'm going to try my best by starting, and see where it goes from there. So without further ado... Page One.

~~~

     As she fell she took in air with large gulps, the panic overruling all thought as her body rolled rough gravel and rocks, tumbling until she struck the grassy bank with a final thump.

     How odd, she thought, that I'd be grateful for a grass stain. But she was, if it meant the pain would finally be something in her past. Something she could sweep under the rug that was her memory and concentrate on furnishing the rest of the future with beautiful things.

     Alice stood herself up and sighed, brushing the dust and dirt off of her skirt as she stared at the world around her and wondered just how she'd gotten there in the first place. She couldn't be consciously aware of why she'd gotten on the train in the first place, even as she watched the cloud of dust that was the retreating cars on rusty tracks. Sometimes she even wondered how she'd gotten that far in the first place, how she'd managed to even live thirty years of her life without experiencing even a moment of it.

     You know, she thought, there's no answer to that. There's no light in the fog and no end to the tunnel.

And there wasn't. She'd spent every last dime and sunk every last ounce of her passion and drive into something that had never seen the light of day. It was only a book- a silly, simple book about love and a lie she'd never realized even was, and when she'd opened herself up to it she'd found that it had died a long time ago. Trust was earned, and when she'd found someone she'd loved enough to think they'd earned it, they'd failed to be who she'd thought they were.

     There hadn't been anything she could do or anything she could say to make it any less real, to make it hurt any less than it had. Than it still did, when she lie there at night and let the world move on around her. So running away had been the thing she did instead, because even though it couldn't fix anything, the world inside her mind could make everything seem so far away that it wasn't real anymore. When it wasn't real, it didn't hurt. And when it didn't hurt...it didn't kill that part of her soul she'd kept safe, that one remnant she'd managed to hide away.

     Maybe I could just stop here, she thought, and kicked her toe into the tufts of grass with a soft thud, the curve of her shoe leaving a half moon in the soil that grew such vividly green life across the vast nothingness. Maybe here is where I'm making my last stand, and where I'll be remembered.

     By whom she would be remembered, she didn't know. There was no one left who knew her, really knew her- who loved her the way she wanted to be loved. There was no one who really understood her insanity, who could hold her when she needed holding. But that wasn't the reason she'd run, and it wasn't the reason she wanted to die. She didn't want to live, didn't want to be in the world where people were so cruel and unkind, who didn't understand difference. She'd been crazy in a good way and colorful and kind, and to see no one understand it was to find herself called naïve.

     There's nothing wrong with different, she thought, and there's nothing wrong with naïve. Naive is just a word, and all it means is that I think people can be better than they are, and that there's no reason for anything but goodness. Although she believed it, no one else seemed to, and although she knew that everyone believed there was no need for someone to love them, she wanted someone who only wanted her, and no one else. There was a point where being strong was too hard to handle, and walking on was far too difficult to muster the energy for.

     No. She didn't want to go like this, didn't want to give up in the middle of nowhere with no one there for her. There were so many people in the world, and many of them had the potential to be such friends and allies. So many people had goodness and kindness and could see her as a light even when she couldn't shine for very long before she faltered.

     But that was why, she knew, that she was wonderful. She could live in that world even knowing that people were always going to disappoint. Not everyone would, but those who did...they were those that she could never imagine would be as hopeful as she wanted to be. And that was enough for anyone to live as long as they could- because hope turned her world into something brighter. From an endless, grassy plain...to anything she would ever want it to be.

     Somehow, as she spun around and looked at the sky, she knew that her hope would be enough.

Write, Right; Either Way, That's What I do or What I Am!

So. Here I am again, back at the blog- and there are many of you whom I know (who I know? I never get that right, it seems) are going to be thrilled to see it. But it's the start of a new year, and while I'm totally not making a resolution (you know how it is- they're SO EASY to break), I think I can stick to a project of some sort.

I give the credit to my dear friend Steph, who read about this particular project a while back and suggested it to me today. So Steph- thank you, dearest, and I hope you read some of the fruits of my labor! You're fantastic!

The Goal

To write a page a day for the entirety of 2014. These pages will be later compiled and read in 2015. If they actually go together...they'll become something. If they don't...they'll become something else, or part of something bigger. I've always thought it would be fun to write a collection of short stories, and I find that a short story that is only a page long is SUCH a huge challenge. So some of these could be tiny stories and some could be big, or they could be one great big story. Whatever it is, it is.

Will I Do It?

Well, I'm a bit of a flake- I'll admit it. I have a hard time sticking to goals, but I do really want to. Honest. Who doesn't want to succeed in some regard, sometime? But it's hard to get past the days where you just want to be a lump, and do something big.

That's where this project appeals to me. Because even if I'm having the worst day ever, there's going to be a part of the day that's fantastic and good, and that's the part of the day where I'll write a page. It's only one page- and if you double line it, as we all learned in school...well, that's hardly a page at all (I'm not double-lining it, because that's cheating).

To tie it in with the blog was the idea I had today, because I keep really wanting to get back into my blog again, and I also absolutely can't bear the thought of waiting for THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE EFFING DAYS to read what these pages are. Really. That's...I mean, really.

So without further ado, I give you the launch of Epic Wordness. That's the name of the project, I think, unless I come up with something even better. And I don't care if Epic was one of the words deemed overused in 2013. It's 2014 right now, folks, and I like it.

Later today will be the first page, so stay tuned. It might even be really late, but it'll be before midnight. So you could even read it tomorrow if you like. Just get some coffee and read it like your morning paper. It'll be cool, and maybe even a little bit better.