Ads.

I am endlessly amused (and somewhat frustrated) that facebook is apparently convinced that I am: Christian, married/engaged, and pregnant. How it got any of these impressions is completely beyond me. I have tried to discourage it, repeatedly indicating that these ads are uninteresting to me, and yet they persist.

For the record, I am in fact: agnostic, of Jewish blood and heritage, in a relationship but neither married nor engaged, and absolutely not even a little bit pregnant, nor even in the market for any kind of sperm getting near me for any purpose.

Maybe since facebook is now apparently EVERYWHERE, not just on its own website (seriously, it creeps me out that I even have the option of "liking" things on facebook when I'm nowhere near the facebook website), they'll read this blog and get the hint. More likely, they'll just see the buzz words Christian, married, engaged, and pregnant, and inundate me with even more irrelevant ads.

Like a Chicken With Its Head Cut Off...

I can't help it. Every time I go to Petsmart, I fall in love. But c'mon, wouldn't you? Look at her! There's even a little note on her cage saying to please not remove her bed.

{I think my surviving cat is jealous of how much I want this cat. As I was typing this post, she chased and devoured a cricket (pretty much my favorite insect) right in front of me. Beast.}

How to Recognize an Awesome Girlfriend

This weekend, the only thing I really felt like doing was watching How to Steal a Million. It was one of the first movies I grabbed when I was helping my mom's library dispose of its VHS collection. We have two VCRs in my house, one of which is very reliable, and the other of which is total crap that is constantly malfunctioning and has a history of eating tapes. So obviously, I chose to watch it on the crap VCR, and it was instantly sucked in, chewed up, and spit out in a tangled mess. Being all PMSed up, and really loving that movie and wanting to see it, I was very upset. Two days later, I get a dvd copy in the mail, ordered by my girlfriend :)

Why procrastination is stupid.

So I'm a hopeless facebook addict. Not so much for the social networking (who are these people again?), but for the games. Games like the highly addictive Restaurant City, which recently had a contest for Halloween-themed recipes. Which I slaved over all day Sunday, making four totally awesome recipes, the last of which I finished several hours before the deadline. Not thinking to check just how much earlier midnight happens in Greenwich Mean time as compared to when midnight happens in my time before proceeding to dick around for a couple of hours afterward instead of just posting the damn things to the forum. So when I finally went to submit my long-since finished work, I found that I had missed the deadline by an hour and a half and the forum was now closed. Thus demonstrating why procrastination is incredibly, painfully stupid. But just because Restaurant City is denied my Adobe Illustrator-driven "genius" doesn't mean you should be! Enjoy my spooooooky, delicious-looking efforts.

Contacts

So my old phone finally slipped into the realm of "beyond repair" when it decided to no longer connect to the charger. I did manage to get all of the pictures and such that I wanted off of it, but I didn't have enough battery to download the software that would be required to move my contacts to my new phone. So I copied them all down manually, and in doing so I realize just how many numbers I've been carrying around for the past six years or so that not only do I never use, but don't even remember the people they belonged to. Seriously, did I ever know an Ashley well enough to put her number in my phone?? The last Ashley I remember was in High School, and I didn't even have a cell phone then. Eric? Justin? Who the hell are these people?? Not to mention the names I do vaguely remember but have no idea why I was given their numbers. Like Jessika. We had one class together, and we got along to the point that we traded prints (it was a printmaking class), but we weren't friend to the point of needing each other's numbers. Or Carrie. Again, one class together, maybe two. The only thing I really remember about her was that once when we were talking her false (but I didn't know it was false at the time) tooth came flying out of her mouth.

I was kind of sad to see that I didn't have Malcolm's number in my phone, even though I'm sure I'll never need that number again, and I only used it maybe twice when I had it. But she was a really cool chick, and she kept turning up in the strangest places. I guess that was my old, old phone. Too bad.

Well, at least this phone was laid gracefully to rest and didn't take a bath like the other two that had to be retired. Farewell, my little dinosaur. Hello, newfangled contraption with all your fancy, shiny, flashy things.

And Now the Good News

So obviously (if you read my previous post), my vacation week was not all sunshine and roses. The world lost one of its sweetest and most beautiful creatures, I lost my best friend, and every chipmunk in the northeast heaved a collective sigh of relief... until they realized that I still have another cat.

But, surprisingly, the week was not all bad. I honestly expected that after we had to put Buster to sleep, I would spend the entire week wallowing in grief and misery and be a completely non-functioning creature. Mercifully, I had already arranged to take June 11th - June 17th off from work, so I didn't have to fake illness to get out of work and then spend the week alone crying into the couch. Instead I went away with Amanda to Cape May, as we had planned.

And it was... really nice. Wonderful, even. I didn't think I'd be able to enjoy anything so soon after losing Buster, but I really had a good time. I already feel nostalgic about it. It was very, very peaceful. Restful, even though we were constantly running around doing things. We had a pleasant drive, didn't even have to make a pit stop. Went to the naval aviation museum in Wildwood, which was fantastic. We took a couple of hundred pictures (with flash because hangars are not renowned for being well-lit) and almost completely drained Amanda's camera battery before we even left the museum. We crawled around in old cockpits and took pictures of engines and training bombs and bought lots of vaguely gay postcards of naval recruitment posters (I did, anyway). After getting a little lost (and getting a little ice cream), we found our way to the bed and breakfast. I've only been to a couple of B&B's before, but this was by far the nicest. The guy running it (an unmarried middle-aged guy living with his mother. gotta be family) was really friendly and social and had a million suggestions of places to go, things to do, and places to eat. A little exhausting, but highly entertaining and very nice.

Our room was great, too. Decent size, comfortably had a large bed and a couch, not quite as tacky as most B&B's seem to be in Cape May, a/c, ceiling fan, fake fireplace, white noise machine, spa music machine, private bathroom (with a good-sized shower/tub)... I played with everything provided except for the tv (somehow we missed that one). I liked the white noise machine more than I expected, especially "summer night" (loved the crickets, but it just doesn't sound like summer without katydids and the occasional peep frog). The B&B also had a really nice garden and off-street parking. No complaints at all. It felt like home... A home we could never afford, but still.

The museum was the coolest thing we did the whole time, but we still enjoyed everything we did. The shops weren't nearly as interesting as in Provincetown, but they were still fun. The coffeeshop where we had breakfast both times was really nice (though they did forget my food the first time we went there... Oops.) if a little sketchy looking when approached from the rear. The taco place next door to the coffeshop had the best damn tacos ever. Cool antique stores. Lots of beautiful sea-smoothed rocks on the beaches. Oddly, there wasn't much of that smell you expect near large bodies of water, that wind and salt and hint of fish smell. Metal detecting was a little uneventful, which I think disappointed Amanda. She did find a bottlecap and a weird rusty thing that looked like part of a fence and we probably should have both detected with our eyes without much help (and yet somehow didn't, despite it being about a foot long). And the trowel, which I would occasionally "hide" in the sand for her to "find."

Lots of walking. Lots and lots and lots of walking. Not so much sun, but not nearly as much rain as predicted, and too much sun probably would have been worse anyway. Also learned that if I ever want to sit and stare at the beach for more than a minute while on vacation, I'll either have to slip Amanda a sedative or sit alone. The girl cannot keep still once she's got a plan in her head. Ah, well.

Fair bit of shopping. I still think P-town is more fun store-wise (and by fun I mean supergay), but pretty decent. Some cool antique shops (with some very nice - and very expensive - military garb). A store full of loose teas and tea accessories. Lots of touristy places. Good times. I got a very nice cane for six bucks, some shoelaces made from kimono fabric, cheese for my parents, tea and strainer, very cool chopsticks, and a little Bast figure.

So that's about it, I'd say. I'm already ready to go back. Of course, I'm always ready to be as far away from my job as possible. Yeesh. But anyway. Good times, fond memories, and all of that. Now, back to life.

The Last Days of Buster Keaton

That which we most feared and dreaded has come to pass. My beloved beast of the past 18 years, my best friend, the four-legged love of my life, has left us. When I left work for my vacation on June 10th, Buster was very hard of breathing and had to be rushed to the vet. He barely made it through the night (in fact, none of us expected to take him home that night, and all of us quietly wished that he would die in his sleep so that he could at least die at home and end his suffering), but shocked us all the next day when he made a rapid recovery. His breathing returned almost to normal and he was out and about, sitting in the sun and even eating some treats. When Amanda came up, I even got to indulge in my favourite pass-time: watching bad tv while curled up with my girlfriend, with my cat purring on my chest.

Saturday, June 12th, was my 26th birthday. I spent most of it in the City with Amanda, so I didn't get much Buzzy time, but my mom tells me he had a good day. Sadly, it did not last. By the time I saw him that night, he had had what the vet believes to have been a stroke. He could no longer hold his head up properly, and his eyes were wide and staring, his pupils seeming to have difficulty dilating. His condition worsened overnight to the point that he could not eat and could barely stand without stumbling. Even lying down, he seemed to have trouble supporting his head. As little as we all wanted to, my parents made an appointment with our vet for that afternoon, and we said our goodbyes as well as we could. Even in his weakened state, even with his trouble lifting his head, he still managed to rub his face all over my hands and forehead. The love of that boy.

June 13th was possibly the hardest day of my life. When we took him out of the carrying case, he dove straight into my arms. He stayed there to the last. My mom told me that when her cats had been put down when I was younger, the vet just gave them the final shot, which is apparently painful and I imagine doesn't give you much time to digest what's happening to your loved one. Our vet gave Buster a strong sedative first so that he wouldn't feel the final shot. I got to hold him in my arms until we were "ready" - not that we would ever have been ready, really.

The vet and his wife/receptionist were very, very good. Very sympathetic. And Amanda was wonderful as well. I told her I would understand if she waited outside, but she stayed with us the whole time. I'm glad. There's strength in numbers, and it was all we could do not to go to pieces as it was.

So that's how it ends... I have many more pleasant stories to tell about this past week, some wonderful stories even, and I will tell them soon, but I had to give Buster his own post. It just wouldn't have been right any other way.