Seven.Caged.Tigers

http://www.karawynn.net/mishacat/toilet.html

Every wonder how to toilet train your cat? Kara and Misha can show you free of charge. I’d like to try a variation of this with my cats….

Jeesh. I can tell I’m aging. My grandmother died two months back and as a result my grandfather was put in a nursing home. My mother and her two sisters are now charged with the nasty job of distributing, selling, and throwing away all of the stuff from their home.

Well, over the weekend, my mother called and told me that they wanted to give the lawnmower to us. Our ancient Craftsman isn’t exactly up to snuff. The motor runs and the blades cut but the body is rusted through and it continually shoots grass out the rust holes. My husband is cheap and every time we looked at lawnmowers about $150 seemed to be his limit. What does that mean? No extras–no self propelled ANYTHING. Which means I still wouldn’t mow the yard.

Anyway, so my dad called yesterday and told me about the mower. It’s apparently a very nice push mower. The guy who did the tune up offered him $250 for the USED machine. I guess it was originally a $600 or so mower (and we’re getting it for free-yee haw!) It’s a Snapper 6 speed self propelled mulching/regular mower. Now I’ll be able to help. I can’t wait to get it and put the old one with a sign ‘Free-Runs’ in our front yard. Maybe somebody will have some use for the motor…

Today is my parents 35th wedding anniversary. 35 years…that’s a very long time. When my dear mother reminded me, I looked at JT with his ice packs on his crotch and drugged up on Vicodin and said something like “that will be us someday.” And I know it will be. We’ve been together now for nearly seven years (three married). What’s the big deal with 32 more? Not much…j/k if course.

Congrats to mom and dad. You guys rock. And dad? Take mom to Willow Tree. You know she really wants to go…

The results of the test hit me like a ton of bricks…positive.

In five years, I would have been happy. With any other guy, I would have been overjoyed. But come on…I’m was only 18 years old with my entire life ahead of me and barely a high school diploma to my name. How could I possibly support a child, much less myself?

All seemed hopeless. My boyfriend took the news pretty hard. His usually outspoken attitude was immediately silenced and his cocky demeanor dropped when I told him about our predicament. It was hard for me to be happy about it all when his eyes welled up with tears and he turned his back on me and slammed the door. After six months, I though I was in love. Really, I did, but apparently the feeling wasn’t mutual. He turned his back on me…and our unborn child. Jesse never returned and I was left to learn the hardest lesson of my life.

Nobody else knew my secret for a few long days. I was overjoyed to be carrying a life within myself, but on another level I was scared beyond belief. What would my father and mother say? What would my grandfather say? What would my friends say? All of these questions, and no solid answers. I wanted to run away, but still felt comfort living within the safety of my parent’s home. It was hard to be hiding such a huge secret from my entire family and friends…I couldn’t hold it all in forever.

It was during one afternoon shopping trip that I finally cracked. I broke down and spilled my guts to Angela, my dearest confidant. She looked at me wide-eyed and shocked…”you’re pregnant? It’s Jesse’s right?” Of course it was. He was the love of my life, but she didn’t yet know that he’d walked out on us. “Yeah. It’s his. He left me two nights ago.”

Concern bubbled up in Ashley and she asked a question I’d yet to address to myself. “What are you going to do?” I had one answer…I just didn’t know. It would take some serious consideration and soul searching to come up with an answer to that query.

As I saw it I had three options. I could have the baby and disappoint my family and friends while at the same time rubbing our child in the nose of Jesse. The baby would grow up with no father, but a loving mother. This solution wasn’t necessarily the best. On the other hand, I could have an abortion. There’s nothing morally reprehensible about this option…but could I bring myself to deny the child of life? Then again, is it worth bringing a fatherless child into the world and putting my body through the rigors of pregnancy and childbirth? The third option is adoption. Again, my young body would be put through pregnancy, I would never know my baby, nor could I guarantee their home life would be stable. But my child would be given a chance.

I considered each of these three options over the matter of a few weeks and second-guessed every choice. Nothing seemed perfect…each elicited good and bad emotions. But considering pregnancy only lasts nine months, I forced myself to come to a quick decision.

For the millionth time in the past few weeks, my sunglasses-shaded eyes welled up with salty tears. As they ran down my cheeks, I rode the bus to the clinic. Those three options ran feverishly though my confused mind. All of the “what ifs” pounded me, but again I came to but one solution. I knew it would be best in the long run, I knew it was selfish, I knew it would leave me with lifelong scars. But I had to do it…

I wiped my cheeks with my coat sleeve as I gathered my purse and slowly got off the bus in front of the clinic. Briefly, I stood and gazed up at the sign and at the front of the building. It didn’t look as ominous as I’d expected, but that fact didn’t comfort the pain and unease inside me. I opened the inconspicuous door and walked to the receptionist. I had made the hardest decision of my life…there was no turning back.

And so went the conception and abortion of my first child. These memories return every day for at least a second and maybe longer. I’ve had three children since I graduated college and was married to the real love of my life, Mark. Mark knows of that incident, though he doesn’t ever mention it nor does he really understand. I’m happy to have a family, but wonder if that first child was a boy or a girl and whom he or she would have looked like. I wonder what his or her interests would have been and what college they would have eventually attended. So many what ifs.

These memories are unfortunate painful reminders of a problem and subsequent solution fifteen years ago…

I’ve been a bit out of commission the last few days. JT had surgery yesterday morning. I was stuck at the VA hospital for seven hours with him. Fortunately, all went well according to the doctor and according to my own eyes. He’s doing well today, mostly due to the fact that they prescribed to him 1-2 vicodin every 4-6 hours. That pretty much keeps him drugged up all day. He says he doesn’t hurt, all I can think is that he does but he just doesn’t know it. So I have to keep him down and quiet as per the doctor’s explicit orders.

So yeah. That’s it. It’s boring and quiet and I’m waiting on JT quite literally hand and foot. Nice.

For the past two weeks or so, I’ve been forced to drive ‘old faithful’ as she’s now known. That’s the 1992 Honda Accord LX in the oh-so-stylish hue of champagne (aka metallic tan with a non too subtle pink hue). In any case, the reason is because my car isn’t very happy. It all started a month or so ago when I mentioned to JT that my car (a 2002 Impala LS) would rev up to 4500 RPM for no particular reason and then cut out.

He told me to not let it get up to 4500 RPM and I told him that “it just happens.” He thought I was insane. A few weeks later, I complained some more. The check engine light was permanently on and I was losing more and more power. So we brought it into the shop and they found (fortunately under warrant) a corroded coil on the fifth cylinder. Not that I know a damn thing about cars, mind you.

So they gave us the car back. Well, turns out that the car wasn’t fixed. It barely would get to 60 MPH because it was cutting out at 3000 RPM. Um. No. Bad, bad, bad new. JT said after he drove the car to the shop that he’d never been flipped off so much in his life. Of course he was driving 60 in a 55 zone, but this is metro Detroit and 55 MPH translates to roughly 75 MPH. That was last night. And they called JT back early this morning to tell him that the corroded coil caused the engine to dump unburned gasoline through the catalytic converter. So guess what? We need a new one of those and some injector thing-a-ma-bob too.

Fortunately, again, it’s all covered under warranty. My car will be happy some day. I want it back. I miss my heated seats and nice stereo system. And I hate driving the Accord because the exhaust in it is shot and I sound like a freak driving down the road. I hate cars. But when you work 25 miles away from home and there’s no public transportation there’s little else I can do but drive.

Plus, Michigan is the motor capital of the world so what else would you expect?

I ended up going shopping but after visiting Gap, I couldn’t bring myself to go anywhere else. Needless to say, after buying two pairs of (work pants), a jean skirt, a pair of shorts, and like six shirts (not to mention three for JT) I was financially DONE. I didn’t intend on buying pants, but I couldn’t pass up the Gap Clean Cut Khakis. They are my favorite and are soon-to-be-discontinued and were just $18.50 a pair. Plus, you still have to spend $42 to buy them in-store or online. So the more I stockpile now, the better.

They aren’t cute or neat or stylish, but their 10 longs fit like a glove:

I’m going shopping today. Mind you, I haven’t bought any clothes for quite some time. And, mind you, I’m intending on going to the outlets that are only about fifteen minutes west of where I live so at least I’m going to get a deal (on stuff I probably don’t need). I just feel like I’m running out of unstained shirts. The problem is that I only wear cotton. Not on purpose, but because of where I shop (Gap). Anyway, cotton stains horribly. Now I have to go shopping and buy some shirts to insert in my closet.

Plus, I’m of course going to have to stop at the Publisher’s Warehouse and the Carter’s (kid’s clothes for somebody else) and a perfume place if they’ve got one (I can’t ever remember). Anyway, I love shopping…but I guess I married the right guy. He makes me feel guilty for spending $20 on a shirt from Gap Outlet. Bad, bad, bad JT.

And while I’m out that direction I have to stop at Wal-Mart and buy some more of that damn Clearly American water. My favorite flavor? Well, I adore the white grape while JT loves the blackberry apple.

OOOH! I didn’t mention it, but my best friend Amy who has been living in Japan for two years is returning to the states next month. Her husband (he’s a Navy diver–like in ‘Men of Honor’) was transferred to the Jacksonville area for some sort of officer training. That puts two of my three best friends in Jacksonville with the third in Lansing. Oh, and my sister is in London, England. Anyway, I’m really excited to see Amy not to mention meet her baby Braden. His pictures are adorable.

12 Reasons Same-Sex Marriage will Ruin Society (found via revelling.org)

I apologize for posting that link above. It’s good. Read it. Love it. Understand it. Britney Spears wants you to because she’s a good poster child for Americana.

Boring, boring, boring, boring.

That’s the way of my life right now. I just wish summer would get here already–even Spring would suffice! But for now, southeast Michigan is buried beneath recent snowfall. Too bad that this past weekend, I raked leaves, twigs, branches, and dead grass into tidy little piles around my yard. Too bad they are now covered in (guess what) snow. ACK! I just want it to all thaw out so I can see my yard and the flowers and so that the trees may again grow leaves.

Winter is well and good for a while, but when it gets to be mid-March it’s gone on much too long. Methinks we’re going to have a warm (hopefully long) summer to make up for the unbearably long and cold winter. Maybe that’s some sort of pipe dream, but maybe not.

My eyes (from the CustomLASIK) are still doing well. I can tell they are healing. Basically, they are tired all the time from my brain trying to focus on things it doesn’t need to or can’t (because of surgery). That’s fine though, they always got tired because of my contacts. Also, they are periodically fuzzy because of irritation. It was my left eye, but that seems to have cleared. Now it’s my right eye. But last weekend my right eye was 20-20 so it’s just a matter of time before everything settles down.

Anyway, I still love my new eyes. Even now it is worth every single penny I’ve yet to spend on the procedure. I could have bought something new and amazing (like a HDTV of some kind) with that cash, but HDTV wouldn’t last forever–this will.

It was weird sleeping in my bed alone. That’s not meant to sound dirty (I’m a married woman, folks) but still…it was strange. I’m used to JT being around all the time. Plus, my house seems strangely quiet. Can I miss him in just one day? Yeah…I think so…

I can tell he misses me (already) also. He called three times–THREE! All were after work.

What else. Life is quiet right now. Really quiet…almost surreal. But I am busy thinking about all the nasty stuff in the world. Spain, for one. I don’t blame the people for being pissed off at us and their government. Their government supported us and in return they had 200 innocents slaughtered. So they overthrew the gov’t. Seems simple enough…for the Spaniards. Too bad Americans can’t seem to grow the balls to do something about our corrupt goverment.

Speaking of corruption, I’ve read in various places that they are encouraging guys to sign up with selective services. It seems that the draft is getting closer to happening. I predicted this a long time ago (not here, but in conversation), and regardless of what we’re being told the truth is becoming clearer by the moment. Who wants to go to war for a country who has so royally screwed it’s citizens? Nobody. Now people who really don’t want to go to war are going to pay the price in blood.

Canada looks better every day.

Good. You know your music. You should be able to
work at Championship Vinyl with Rob, Dick and
Barry

Do You Know Your Music (Sorry MTV Generation I Doubt You Can Handle This One)
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I woke up much too early for a Sunday. 5am to be precise so that I could drop JT off at the airport for his 7:20am flight. I was home by about 7am. The drive is about 30-40 minutes each way.

Anyway, at about 7:30 I get a call from JT. At first I was confused, but then he explained. See…it seems his 7:20am flight was actually supposed to be 7:20PM! He just never bothered to verify the time and date he THOUGHT the flight was. So basically he was dropped of a full twelve hours early.

Fortunately, he got a bump. Not that he’s in a huge yank to get to Milwaukee but he also doesn’t want to sit around Detroit Metro’s McNamara Terminal for twelve hours. I know I wouldn’t…

JT will be gone for the entire next week. It’s going to be kind of strange. We’ve been apart since we were married for a week before (the last training he had to go to). But it’s been a while. One two or three days here and there…a week is something entirely different. I guess I’ll go and rent a bunch of horror movies to appease myself. JT really doesn’t like wanting blood n’ guts, but I adore it.

Well…I haven’t mentioned it yet this season, but once again my guilty winter and spring pleasure is American Idol. I have only missed one episode thus far–an audition in one of the original cities. Not that I’m an expert on the topic or anything, but I will likely be discussing my angst and appreciation of the show. The official “top 12″ has been announced following last night’s selections. They are, in order of who I think will land atop the heap:

12. Matthew Rogers (dude CAN’T sing)
11. Leah LaBelle
10. John Stevens
09. Jasmine Trias
08. John Peter Lewis (though I’ll admit to loving this guy)
07. George Huff
06. Amy Adams
05. Jennifer Hudson
04. Diana DeGarmo
03. Camile Velasco
02. LaToya London
01. Fantasia Barrino (and her incredible voice!)

I think this year is going to be all women basically. The men just weren’t strong enough–not even Mr. Huff. He’s got a great, classic voice, but I think it’s a bit too “classic” or as the judges told him early on “old.” Will be interesting to see how it all pans out. Fantasia is without question my favorite. I love her performance style. It’s like she’s been on stage performing and perfecting her entire life. And John Peter Lewis…a lot of people don’t like him. But my musical background is much less pop than it is “alt-pop” or “alt-rock”. His voice and demeanor fit what I like…I’m just not sure if America will “get him.” Oh well.

Speaking of television, I’m pleased to report that HBO is bringing back my lovely…my Carnivale. It will be back this year. Not sure when, but I don’t really care…as long as it returns. 13 additional episodes are on the way…I’m still waiting for a clear idea of who is good and who is evil and for those two forces to meet in a truly stupendous fashion. I won’t pretend to understand everything about the show, but I will admit to being a fan-girl.

HBO has a knack for peaking my interest. I also adore Six Feet Under (that’s what I call a REAL show) and I can’t help but be interested in seeing the upcoming series Deadwood. Another weird one for this slightly (okay, majorly) off-kilter gal.

Remember all those nasty cereals based on kids toys and various other stupid ideas? Well, my mom allowed for one box of such sludge to enter our house growing up. I’m pretty certain my little sister (Cheryl) threw such a fit that my mom folded. Needless to say, after Cheryl exclaimed it tasted like (and I quote) “ROTTEN CABBAGE” we never really had much of an urge to partake in such luxuries.

So in honor of that yummy Cabbage Patch Kids Cereal and my sister, I give to you a crappy graphic of the long since defunct product made by Ralson (yes, the dog food folks–go figure). Apparently (though memory doesn’t serve on this) the jingle went kinda like this:

As I drove home yesterday afternoon I realized just how much better I can see. It’s almost creating a sense of vertigo. My depth and contrast have been GREATLY improved. It’s all so wonderful and new and just like the first time I had my glasses on as a kid and exclaimed (as smart-assed as it is):

I kind of feel the same way all over again, but this time as an adult. Going to bed and waking up is also strange. Laying on the couch, I think to myself “I’m tired, I have to dig these stupid contacts out of my eyes.” And then I have to check myself and say “No, Shelly…those aren’t contacts!” Waking up in the morning is so much easier too. It’s never fun to poke and prod at eyes that have just become adjusted to wakefulness not to mention light.

Never, ever, ever again. And boy am I grateful to the doctor (Novetsky) at TLC that gave me back the sight I never remember having. It’s like a dream, a fairy tale, even a gift. There’s no good reason I waited this long. Bad Shelly…BAD!

pure

What’s YOUR sexual fetish?
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When I turned five years old I decided I was a big girl. I didn’t think big girls carried around blankets or sucked their thumb. So I stopped–cold turkey and without any apparent reservation. I even gave my grandmother half my special yellow blankie for safe keeping. I suddenly in the passing of just one day grew up.

But not all was well in Shellyland. See, I was without question orally fixated. My mother says that the first moment she saw me, my left thumb (funny considering I’m right handed) was already firmly planted in my mouth. The doctor said I probably sucked the appendage even in utero. I am the worst kind of orally fixated person I guess. It is an inborn habit. I was never even given so much as a fighting chance.

So on my fifth birthday I stopped one habit and picked up another. I started biting my nails. In the past nearly 22 years, I’ve continued on that road. I’ve never been able to stop for more than a few months, and it’s probably been a good seven or so years since I’ve made any real attempt. I’ve just resigned myself to the fact that I can’t stop. And I’m fine with it. I know my hands are ugly–because when I say I bite my nails I also mean that I rarely see even seasoned nailbiters with worse hangnails, cuticles, and the like. Like I said I’m incredibly orally fixated—and catch myself doing it at all moment of the day.

Growing up, I was made to think my behavior was gross and abnormal. My parents bought that polish that tastes like something dead. I got used to it and bit right through it. I wore gloves to bed to try to make myself think I shouldn’t bite my nails. It didn’t work. My mom put all sorts of crap on my hands–I too was able to eat it all. She gave me a lovely yellow pretzel teething ring at about 9 years old (or so) to give me something else to chew on. But I just chewed my fingers and the teething ring at the same time.

And growing up I found many other outlets–Barbies weren’t sacred. I chewed the feet and when they were gone I chewed their arms. And when my Barbies cried mercy, I turned to my sister’s. It really was an ugly, ugly thing. My first Barbie, Ballerina Barbie, at age three was my original victim. I ate anything I could and then I didn’t get another one for like two years. Very few of them came out of childhood unscathed. I gnawed on towels, plastics, wood, and as a baby something else. And this is the funniest part of all.

My mother’s story involved me as a cribbed infant/toddler. The discussion all began because of a woman on TLC’s Clean Sweep who couldn’t get rid of her children’s crib. My mom piped up and said that she didn’t have any issue because I chewed on mine. That’s right. In addition to eating plastic, fabric, and nails I also ate wood. She called me a little beaver and said that I chewed on the horizontal and vertical parts of the crib. She never could figure out how I got to the vertical slats. I can’t imagine why. It’s not like I ever had buck teeth. And before you blame it one a teething baby, I want to just say that my teeth were (clearly) well planted by the time I got to gnawing on the crib.

Anyway, I told her that should have been a clue that I would have this affliction for my entire life. She said it wasn’t a clue and that she just painted the crib and gave it to my little sister when she arrived—and unlike the woman on Clean Sweep was more than happy to get rid of the baby-gnawed furniture.

I’m so humored by this whole thing. Especially considering the woman I’ve become–one that still bites her nails (although fortunately hasn’t been able to readily reach her toenails for years). I look down at my hands an am fine with what I see. Heck, it makes working on computers quite a lot easier than if I had nails. And believe me I know all about having nails—I’ve had acrylics probably half a dozen occasions for a total of maybe two years and have managed to chew those off. And I stopped getting nails because I couldn’t imagine all the chemicals that go into an acrylic nail could possibly be good for me.

So basically if your child eats their crib, Barbies, and towels (not to mention countless other “inedible” objects) you better believe they are going to chew their nails. And it may be an ugly habit, but I suppose it’s even uglier to see an adult sucking their thumb.

So there. Stand up and join me.

“My name is Shelly, and I am a nail-biter.”

I can see. I can absolutely, 100% see without aid of glasses or contacts. It’s almost surreal to look in the mirror and see your eyes without squinting or without also seeing the edge of your contacts.

I had my CustomLASIK yesterday at TLC. It went incredibly well. It was all a very strange experience, but the techs and doctor really helped out a great deal. They explainted it all to me before the surgery and narrated while the surgery was taking place. There was very little discomfort and it was all over in about 15 minutes. I stood up from the chair and could IMMEDIATELY tell things were better. I mean IMMEDIATELY.

By last night, I was certain I could see. By this morning I couldn’t believe the quality. The recovery is supposed to be between 4-8 weeks in total. But as of this morning, both of my eyes were 20/25. Whoa. Seriously. Before this, I wore contacts at -4.5 in both eyes. I couldn’t tell that there was anything on the screen in front of me, much less that it was a letter, much less that it was a big “E.”

Yee-haw! I can see! I can see!

March is definitely operation months in this household. First this, then the end of the month JT has his own little surgery to fix his swimmers. Hopefully, then, we can begin having out family. I’ve gone through so much crap in my life that I don’t have time to waste. My body is a whole 10 years older than my age (27) which means that babies need to start happening soon for fear of complications from congenital, genetic, and birth defects.

Can’t wait

Before I get on with this, I have to make a MAJOR admission. I can’t edit video worth crap. Of course I’ve taken an entire college class in the topic, but because I lack proper editing software I’m stuck sucking. Anyway…bear this in mind when you click on this mega 1.5MB video that will ONLY interest a few folks. So unless you are:

a) a friend in real life;
b) really interested in dancing girls or moose; or
c) just plain into pain don’t do it…just don’t.

By the way, it’s in Window Media format for lack of a better option. To view, right click and save as…please…k?

For those of you who don’t care, I give you a gratuitous cat picture.

Oh. And in three days my eyes will be gummy with healing juice following my CustomLASIK surgery. Woo-hoo!