Decisions, Decisions

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A few days ago I got a post card in the mail reminding me that Sam the Cat needed her rabies vaccination updated. Fuck me.

Sam is…tempermental. She’s indoor only, but my county requires all cats and dogs have their rabies updated every three years. I could be fined if I didn’t take her to get the shot, even though she’s never set a paw outside of my front door except in a cat carrier.

I set the appointment and made plans with my mom. I would trap Sam in my living room and mom would stop by on her lunch break to help me catch Sam. It seemed pretty easy. Everything went off without a hitch and it only took us 10 minutes to catch and subdue Sam and stuff her into the cardboard cat box that the shelter gave me when I first brought her home. I’ve always been too cheap to buy her a real carrier.

I do ❤ my pet, just not enough to shell out $50 on a carrier when this one was free!

After mom left I ran downstairs to open the windows of my car – I have a black interior and with the recent heat wave and tiny air holes in the box, it would be cruel to not air out the car before shoving her in it. When I got back into my apartment, I was just in time to see her rip open the side with her teeth and then burst out of the carrier like the Hulk ripping his jeans. She immediately ran under the bed and I knew I was royally fucked.

Do you know how much they charge you for missing an appointment? $40!

I went into emergency mode, calling RockStar and begging him to get over to my house. Then I ran to Pet Co and bought a carrier – just my luck it was on clearance. Before RockStar showed up I was back at my place trying to catch Sam the Cat. I chased her under the bed, through the living room and around the entire apartment. My hair, ever curly, grew into an afro shape from the sweat dripping off of me. Then, just as I’d given up and was crawling out from under the bed again, I saw something so awful, so evil, so cruel I cried. Sam the Cat had climbed onto the bed and was perched over my cell phone. She likes to sleep on it because the battery is warm and I never let her. This time she looked me straight in the eye and shit on my cell phone. EVIL.

Then once she was done as I shimmied out from under the bed, she laid down in it. Maybe it was part revenge, but I think it was also desperation on her part. She was past the point of logic and maybe I was too. Right then Rockstar showed up, dealt with my hysterical crying and went right over to Sam and stuffed her in the carrier.

It was only that easy because I ran her into the ground, like a fox chased by dogs in a hunt.

Then he proved what a compassionate brother he is – cleaning my phone with antibacterial wipes and light soap, then taking my comforter to mom’s house to wash so I wouldn’t have to pay $2.75 in quarters to clean cat poop off of it. Way to be a good brother.

I took Sam into the vet and after cutting her nails, giving her the shot and checking her over they declared that she seems OK but that her right kidney is enlarged. They advised that it could be an infection, cancer, genetic abnormality or nothing at all. They did say she wasn’t in pain. Um OK.

“You can get a blood and urine test to see if we can find out what’s wrong, but it might just be age.”

“Sam the Cat is only 6 years old!” I exclaimed. Isn’t that around 40 in people years? She’s not old – 40 is the new 25. Duh.

“She’s geriatric. She’s my age.” My vet said.

“How old are you?”


“Dude, my mom is 54 and she would be pissed to hear you call yourself geriatric. My granny would be even angrier.”

In the end I didn’t get the tests. I’m adopting a ‘wait and see approach’. I hope my beloved hellcat is ok!


Parasites Are How You Show You Care

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Once you read the post this title will totally make sense but when I reread it I wondered if you would think I was pregnant. So just to clarify, I am NOT pregnant. My uterus is completely empty of any small people/parasites. Just in case you spend your time thinking about the state of my uterus. Onward to the story!

While Studly was recovering from his recent knee surgery and was staying with me, I noticed a rash on his arm. He’s allergic to a number of things – dust, cats, mold…I never clean my house and Sam the Cat is here to stay. We figured it was an allergy flare up and I vacuumed a bit. A few days later while helping him get boxers on over his bandaged leg, I noticed the rash had spread to his groin.

With an uneasy look at his hip, Studly said, “Um, I’m sure it’s fine.”

I raised my eyebrows imperiously (I’ve always wanted to raise my eyebrows imperiously – it just sounds so classy and commanding!) and pointed to the front door, “Car. Now.” After he hobbled downstairs I drove him to the doctor.

We’ve been dating for a while, are exclusive and have had a few talks about the future but I wasn’t sure he wanted me to go into the exam room with him. If it were my doctor I would say yes, he can join me. Unless it’s a lady parts doctor, in which case park your ass in the waiting room. You may get to see my lady bits, but normally in a setting with soft light and seductive sheets, not florescent lights and paper gowns. Keep the romance alive!

So before his name was called, I softly whispered, “Do you want me to go in with you? If not, it’s ok.”

He gave me a look like I was crazy and asked me to go with him. I guess if you’re willing to share your Facebook password and bank account information a little visit to the doctor about a groin rash isn’t even a blip on the radar. To clarify, he has shared that information. I would never use that against him. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep both of those things to myself.

We were called into the patient room and the nurse asked some routine questions. After stating that the rash had spread to his groin, the nurse actually physically moved away from Studly and quickly exited the room. We took it as a bad sign.

By the time the doctor came in, Studly’s face was strained and he was convinced he had some incurable disease. I think he was particularly worried since the rash was so close to his man-parts. After a brief exam the doctor nodded to himself and gave the diagnosis. “It’s scabies.” He proclaimed.

What is scabies? Basically they are teeny tiny little bugs you can’t see that lay their eggs in your skin. Gross, right? Right before his surgery Studly had been across the country for work and stayed in this hotel that had seemed less than stellar at the time. According to the doctor, the timing was right for having gotten the parasites from that hotel. Although he couldn’t really confirm it. Way to cover your ass.

I can haz home in ur skin
Almost like an LOL Cat…but not

“I wonder if I can claim worker’s compensation…” Studly mused, extending his hand for the prescription.

“Hold on.” I said, wondering why the hell no one was talking about this further. “What about me? I’ve been sleeping with him since he came back from the hotel. Am I at risk?”

The doctor asked some cursory questions like, “Do you have a rash?” and at my “Um, no. Would have mentioned it if I did.” He said that if I didn’t have it by now, I probably wouldn’t get it. “You probably just have thick skin.” He said with a smile.

That sounded really wrong. Not like I was insulted that he implied that my skin is tough like an Armadillo and not soft and delicate (ok, maybe I’m a little miffed about that), but it sounded incorrect. I have HORRIBLE skin. I have allergies and break out into hives at the smallest thing. I’ve had pityriasis three times in my life. That’s a disease that usually strikes once, if ever. My skin is extremely sensitive to light and to tempurature. I get nasty bruises just from a light hickey, remember? But I’m immune to bugs that dig into your skin. Right.

“What about Sam the Cat?” I asked, hoping against hope that I didn’t need to take her to a Vet.

The scabies killed Sam the Cat
Not really, just fucking with you.

“You have a pet?” He asked, surprised. Shouldn’t these be standard questions? “Your pet cannot get scabies, but they can be a carrier. Your animal will need to be bathed.” I suddenly pictured the last time I had to hunt Sam the Cat down and stuff her into her carrier to take her to the groomers. It was a nightmare. Studly took the prescription and we started planning the rest of our day. I made an appointment with the groomer for Sam, we got tons of quarters so we could wash everything and we headed home to catch Sam.

In a bit of luck, we discovered Sam the Cat lounging on the couch in a patch of sunlight. I quietly closed all of the doors she could use to escape while Studly got the cat carrier out. She lazily opened one eye and suddenly realized something was wrong. She’s only recently come to trust Studly, so it must have been quite a shock for her new favorite person to turn on her and try to catch her. While shrieking and running away, I finally managed to grab her only to have her pee all over me and I accidentally let her go. Luckily we were in the kitchen which is tiled, so it was easily cleaned up.

Finally, she gave up and let Studly catch her and stuff her into her carrier. He locked the door and gave a sigh, throwing himself onto the floor next to her where she was screaming like a banshee. After cleaning up the cat pee we got into my car and started driving. Then things got much worse, because while she was screaming I could say this was what was best for her, but then she changed tactics. Rather than yell, she began to cry. Piteously. Softly. Incessantly. It sounded like I had broken her heart. Suddenly I pictured all of the good times Sam and I had – the time I was sick and stuck at home and she never left my side. In the middle of the night when I heard a noise and she jogged over to my side of the bed to snuggle. Eating ice cream and watching X-Files together. How she waits outside of the shower for me every morning, licking her little paws and rubbing at her face like she’s getting ready for the day along with me. Licking my hand for the first time, almost like saying, “I love you, Zoogie2.

I wondered what she thought was going on. A nasty thought crossed my mind: is this is how it happened to her before, the times she’s been returned to the shelter? Did they drive her and just leave her there with no goodbye? Does she assume that’s what’s happening now? Does she think I’m abandoning her? And just like that I started to cry – because I was breaking Sam’s heart and she wasn’t able to understand why I was doing this to her.

Suddenly Studly was confronted with two sobbing females and he awkwardly tried to comfort me as we drove to the groomer. We dropped her off and I emotionally limped back to the car. Studly hung his head, later saying he felt worse about upsetting Sam and I than about the tiny bugs living in his dermis. How sweet!

We spent the afternoon washing every single item in my home that could go through a washer and dryer. After what seemed like an eternity, I went to pick Sam up. I held Studly’s hand as the Petco woman reached into the cage to pull her out and knew my kitten was going to be just fine when I hear her scream of rage and saw her ineffectually bat at the woman. The employee sighed and drew on thick gloves, but when she tried to drag Sam out by her waist, Sam held onto the sides of the cage with her little paws, screeching the whole time. Ah, my beautiful hellcat.

The drive home was silence from the backseat and I worried she would never forgive me when I let her out. She must have had a drop of pity in her soul,  because after bounding away from me with a glare she looked back. I felt so terrible that my head was hanging and I whispered, “I’m sorry, Sam.” She reluctantly scampered back to me just long enough to pet her before disappearing under the bed.

A few hours later I was Googling scabies and I looked over at the kitchen. Studly had just finished washing our dinner dishes and was playing with Sam the Cat before feeding her. As he tickled her belly and scratched her chin, I realized I’d never seen Sam take to anyone so quickly, aside from me. She playfully batted at his hands and purred her pleasure. I looked back at the screen and saw pictures of bugs; bugs that had infested my house, my pet and my boyfriend. Not once during the day had this bothered me. I remember an infestation occurring with some of my friends in high school and when I found out I hadn’t touched them for weeks even thought I knew intellectually that they weren’t contagious. Not once had I hesitated to touch Studly throughout the day. He had miserably apologized a few times and said he felt disgusting and I had easily hugged him and told him it would be OK. Where was my disgust?

Then with dawning horror I realized that it didn’t bother me because I cared more about Studly than about bugs literally burrowing into my skin. That I loved this man. It took a parasite to make me see it, but I love Studly. I was so shocked I spent the next few hours quietly musing on my realization. This in turn led Studly to suspect that I actually did find him disgusting.

“You’re so quiet, why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” He demanded, worry in his eyes. I thought about how to tell him how I feel. He watched me taste the words, convinced that I would say that I didn’t want him to spend the night.

“You don’t have to say it back,” I cautioned him, “but I think I love you.”

He relaxed. “Oh. I love you too.” He said, as if it was something we’d said a million times before.

After covering his entire body with a cream, we went to sleep in each other’s arms. I’ll stop the mushiness now. When I woke up, I absentmindedly scratched my arm and Studly grabbed my hand to inspect my wrist. Two little rashes had appeared overnight. Motherfucker.

So I hauled myself to my doctor and got a lecture about scabies. It turns out that I should have undergone the treatment with Studly the night before to ensure that I wasn’t a carrier with no visible symptoms. It can take two weeks for the rashes to form. Mofo! If I hadn’t come in, I could have re-contaminated him AND Sam the Cat. Great.

After accepting a prescription, I was diagnosed with…hives. I didn’t have scabies at all (and never had any sign of them); I got hives from the shampoo they used on Sam the Cat. We underwent the second treatment together and he’s slowly losing his rash. I guess in a way it was fortuitous, since it made me realize my feelings. But really, I could have done without the bugs, washing Sam and massive amounts of laundry.


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So to summarize: I planned on seeing HOTTT one last time because I’m in need of some action but I was really going to cut it close time-wise. Back to the story:

So there I was sitting at my desk running through a few chaise lounge fantasies when…I see my phone is blinking. I look and find a text from HOTTT.

HOTTT: Can we shoot for tomorrow night? I have a major exam tomorrow.

Geezus. This reminds me of college – except I was the bitch who bailed on a horny guy to study, not the other way around! I took some serious deep breaths, shook my head in anger and emailed Evelyn.

Zoogie2: Mother. Fucker. He cancelled. Granted, for school (test tomorrow), then said “tomorrow night?” Uh no. EP’s birthday party. I guess I’ll see if he can do Friday. Will the cupcakes stay OK that long? I mean, I covered them with saran wrap

I sent a quick text rescheduling for Friday and received one back saying “That should work”. No sorry you’re going to suffer the fires of hell waiting to make out with me or I’ll bring you something shiny to make up for my complete jackass-ness. I didn’t really text him after that – not to figure out a time, not really anything. Remember when I said that when the going gets tough I sit it out most of the time? Yes, this is one of those moments. But I feel completely justified.

Evelyn: Yup they will keep. I’m sorry he is a stupid man bitch. Would you like to hang out tonight to make up for it?

So we made plans to grab fro yo after my meeting. And I ended up staying up until 3 in the morning again. But at least this time it was talking and laughing with my best friend, rather than watching shadows skate across my ceiling all by my lonesome. Evelyn and I had a really productive talk about our relationship expectations and why the guys we’re seeing don’t meet those expectations, then I proposed to her. No, seriously. I know it’s still illegal in California, but I told her that as long as we could see other people (read: I can sleep with hot men) and we never have sex (which is totally what marriage is all about, by the way), then I would super marry her. Then she could cook for me all of the time (I’d end up crazy fat) and she would have someone willing to pretend that they actually manage their 401K, plus I promised she could have my clothes if I die an unnaturally early death. It’s just like Leave It To Beaver.

I’m going to skip the recap of EP’s birthday party for now, because I haven’t finished writing background on a guy that I met through EP who has some mysterious motivations concerning me. I pinky promise to finish that post – which you really shouldn’t trust because there are people out there who pinky promise shit and then plan on Photoshopping their pinkies being removed from their hand for breaking said promise. Not that I’m calling anyone out on that. But I will point out that karma will seriously come after you if you pinky promise things and then don’t deliver. *Cough GD Cough*

So let’s fast forward to Friday, shall we?

HOTTT was supposed to come over at 7:30. I raced around my place cleaning up, showering, putting on my makeup and fixing my hair. I sat down to work on my mandatory training because I had some extra time. After a few pages of reading, I glanced at the clock. 7:40

What the fuck? So I did what I always do, I texted Evelyn.

Zoogie2: HOTTT is late, how long should I wait to text him?

Evelyn: How late?

Zoogie2: 13 minutes. Not that I’m counting.

Evelyn: Text @ 15. Call @ 1 hour. Bar the door and settle in with your vibrator at 1 hr & 10 mins

Zoogie2: That’s disturbingly specific

This is a situation I haven’t encountered before. He’s always shown up early. Way to make me feel even crappier.

Zoogie2: Maybe I should just text something like “need directions to my place <winky face>”

Evelyn agreed but I decided to leave off the winky face because “late people do not deserve a winky face” as I told Evelyn. HOTTT responded right away.

HOTTT: I’m kinda trapped at the moment but ill .able to leave in about 20

Are you fucking joking? No explanation or apology and you haven’t even left yet? Maybe Evelyn’s barring the door comment was right. Or maybe I’m being an overly analytical female and reading too much into this, but have I made things too easy for him? Would he be more respectful and text more often if I wasn’t drooling over him? Questions that don’t require an answer, because I’ve already given up. Wow, lack of commitment sure does make my life easier. Well, thanks for confirming that you aren’t right for me. I’m the kind of person who shows up 10 minutes early to everything. Except work, but that’s because of the insomnia. He was already 25 minutes late and he wouldn’t even leave for 20? Not cool dude. So I settled in with my training manual and shrugged it off. Ah, not caring. I love it.

He showed up an hour after our original time. I was deep into training and didn’t hear him walk in (it was hot and my door was open) so he scared the crap out of me.

I gave him a cupcake and we talked for a while. He really can be charming and funny when he wants to be. You’ll note that he didn’t offer an explanation and I didn’t ask for one. We watched a bad scary movie and cuddled on the couch. You know that the man is stunningly fine when even Sam the Cat is charmed. That’s right, the cat that can’t stand my mother (well, who can blame her?) and barely tolerates me was mesmerized by the beauty of HOTTT and sat right next to him, meowing and purring while we watched the movie. He must be a goddamn magician or voodoo doctor to make Sam like him. Actually, he had me purring too so maybe it’s just females in general? After the movie I had the make out session I wanted. I did tell him not to leave any more hickeys on areas that would be visible, but he seemed to find that difficult. Definitely not as bad as before but it annoyed me that I kept having to police him when I was trying to focus on enjoying myself. I sent him packing at 3AM and called Evelyn to giggle a bit.

Why the hell do men give hickey’s in such visible places? Evelyn says it’s a way of marking their territory (well, at least it’s better than peeing in a circle around me) and warning off other guys. Sort of like how Hawaiians wear a flower over one ear if they’re married and another if they’re single, or the point of wedding bands. Except you’d think he would take the time to call or text if he was so concerned about what other guys are checking me out. Seems like buying insurance on a boat you don’t own. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he did it because he knows I like the feeling, even if I don’t appreciate the effect. All in all? Not a bad way to end things.

Thus ends the saga of dating HOTTT. Dating him, not him in general because the next night Evelyn made some discoveries of her own…

Least Favorite Neighbors

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The whole year I’ve lived at my place, I never got new neighbors. It was just Banker next door and Sweetie downstairs (who moved out a few months ago). We recently experienced a change in property management companies, so now all of the apartments are full. My new neighbors next to me are cool, other than the massive amount of weed they smoke, but I hate, Hate, HATE my new downstairs neighbor.

I mentioned that Syab wanted to move in downstairs – well shortly after I wrote this post I went home, opened my living room windows and was shocked to see items strewn about the small garden downstairs. It’s been empty since Sweetie moved out and when I’d closed the windows that morning there hadn’t been anything there. They moved in like Ninjas during the day.

What really concerned me were the toys. There were a number of children’s items around the yard – one was obviously an older child (skateboard, baseball bat and glove, boogie board) but one was clearly very young (small slide, blocks, etc). I stared down at the backyard for a while, completely confused. You see, every apartment in this building is a small one bedroom. I used to share a one bedroom with La Actress, but it was much bigger than this place. My full sized bed takes up most of the room in my bedroom and I can’t imagine fitting a family into a place my size. There are times I trip over Sam the Cat and threaten to evict her and she’s 10 pounds!

So I staked out a spot by my window while I watched some TV on DVD. Then I saw them, this four person family – Mom, Dad, and two boys. I had approximates ages right (8ish and 3ish), but being right didn’t make me happy for once. Because now I have a family living below me, and families are notorious for being annoying. They’re loud by nature but bitch whenever you’re loud too. They think everything their precious little brats do is adorable and can’t understand why you’re pissed when their little angels annoy the fuck out of you. I couldn’t decide which was worse, having my mom’s best friend downstairs to spy on me or having a family with young children.

I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe they’ll be quiet and kind? Who am I to throw the first stone? So I shrugged and smiled at them when I saw them and crossed my fingers. The second day they were there, I knew this was going to suck. I woke up at 7:00am on a Saturday to the sounds of that Fucking Annoying Child (the 3 year old), who I will now call FAC, whining in the backyard. I understand if you’re kid gets frustrated because his slide is wet from the dew, but why did you leave him crying in the yard for 20 minutes so early that the sun hasn’t even had a cup of coffee yet while you gabbed on the phone, occasionally screeching at said kid to shut the fuck up? If I wanted a whiny child, I’d procreate and get one of my own. At least then I’d get the benefit of a tax break! Or I’d get a boyfriend and cut off all sex. I haven’t done either of those things, ergo I don’t want to hear a whiny fucking child.

Then after 20 minutes of trying to mute this kid out with a pillow over my head and seeing Sam the Cat’s ears pulled sharply back in fear, the mom finally went out the yard to comfort the kid. In two seconds she had wiped down the slide and the kid shut up. You couldn’t fucking do that before!? I sighed and hoped that I could go back to sleep, due to the continuing insomnia I had only gotten to sleep around 4am, so I was tired and bitchy. Sam the Cat ran off and hid under the bed.

I lay my head down and then almost jumped out of my skin. 7:22AM on a fucking Saturday and that bitch had turned on her vacuum. She vacuumed for almost 40 minutes, while I alternated between trying to use a pillow to suffocate myself and wondering if I should take the time to throw some clothes on and go downstairs. I decided not to go downstairs because I would have killed her. And that’s a bad first impression to make with new neighbors, you know? I suffered through it and after she finished vacuuming every last inch of that sardine sized apartment, I got up. Because I couldn’t sleep. Because that bitch and her crotch spawn had ruined my REM cycle.

The next morning she vacuumed at 8am. On a Sunday. With a broken vacuum that screeched like a Banshee. Who the fuck does that!? I planned on going downstairs to confront her, but the noise woke Sam the Cat up who panicked and tried to hide under my head, which caused her to get tangled in my hair. It took twenty minutes to extract a shaking and terrified Sam the Cat from my locks, who then lay on my stomach and cried piteously. As I attempted to comfort my poor kitten, Bitch finally stopped vacuuming. Every day since then, this woman has vacuumed between 7am and 8am. Normally I wouldn’t care, because I get up at 6:30 to get ready for work, but if she ruins another weekend sleep in, I’ll fucking rip her face off. See? This is me without sleep. Dangerous. Angry. Willing to hurt random rude people. On the other hand, she contributed to the situation by taking away my chance at getting some shut eye.

I guess this is what it’s like being the unintentional villain in a superhero movie. Like, some evil mad scientist experiments on an animal or child, creating a super villain capable of great destruction. Then they lose control of said experimentee and are shocked when their creation turns on them. Well lady, you’re helping me become evil, guess you shouldn’t be surprised when I turn on you and vacuum your face off with your Banshee Vacuum.

Since then I’ve happily played movies and computer games loudly until 2am since I can’t sleep anyway. Gangs of New York? Hope you like hearing the bar fights, sex scenes and death threats! Then last night Evelyn came over and we started to talk. She mentioned finding her sister’s boyfriend’s p0rn last time she was at their apartment.

“Do you think my sister get’s jealous or concerned that he doesn’t find her attractive because he has such a large p0rn collection?”


“Are you going to explain that statement?”

“Dude, all men watch p0rn. It’s natural. As long as he watches it and then does your sister, it’s fine. If he watches and does someone else it would concern me.”

“But those women are so sexy.” I started choking on my water.

“What p0rn are you watching?!”

“Oh, I’ve never watched p0rn.” Hold the freaking phone. Never!?!

“Ok, first of all, how the hell did you get to the ripe old age of 23 without watching p0rn? Second of all? Those women may be what guys like to watch, but that doesn’t make them perfect. They have stretch marks and cellulite and one wonky boob just like us normal women.”

“Don’t they fix that during editing?”

“Hell no! They’re on a budget and most guys don’t give a damn. These women are not Jennifer-Freaking-Aniston whose agent will make sure every pic of her is airbrushed so she still looks 26. Men are paying to watch sex and that’s what they get. It’s only women watching who will stare critically at asses.”

“How much p0rn have you watched?” Note: I had to delete my answer for privacy reasons. I’ll say this much – I’ve watched as much as I’ve wanted to. That’s vague and not really an answer, right? Good.

So because I felt in a giving mood, I pulled out a DVD and put it in so that Evelyn could say she’s seen p0rn. And you know what? We spent most of it debating about whose makeup was cuter and what parts of us are firmer/more shapely than certain parts of the…’actresses’. I had fun. And the best part? Knowing that my neighbors had to have heard, because you can hear a fly sneeze in the next room, that’s how thin the walls are in this building.

I hope you and your family enjoyed hearing my p0rn at 2:30am. Now turn off your fucking vacuum or I’m going to the adult store and buying something kinky and loud…

My Mother’s Spy


This is not happening to me. This is not happening to me. This is NOT happening to me.

I love my apartment – it’s the first place that I can call my own and no one else can dictate who is allowed in or what happens there. Except Sam the Cat, but she’s a pretty cool roommate. My place is actually really nice – it has cathedral ceilings and large windows, plus every room has a skylight. I love light in my home and I often leave my windows open to catch the breeze, even when it’s cold out.

My mother’s best friend is an older woman in her 60’s who smokes three packs of cigarettes a day and rents the house I lived in as a young child. I’ve known Syab my entire life, she was my mom’s neighbor before my older brother was born. Recently, her landlord gave her 60 days notice on her place (which is actually nice of him, since he’s only legally required to give 30 days). Syab, after receiving this information…did nothing. She didn’t start packing, she didn’t start looking for a new place. She just ignored it, even going as far as to say, “What’s he going to do if I don’t move out?” Uhhhh it’s his house, so I guess he’d call the sheriff and have you evicted.

My mom started looking for places for Syab, then she would drive her to these homes and help her look at them. Each was dismissed as “not good enough”. Syab lives almost exclusively off of social security…there are no nice places for that little money. I stopped by to bring her some cookies I had made and I was shocked by the state of her house. It always smells like cigarettes, but it’s been a few years since the last time I was there. The walls had yellowed even further and the drapes on the windows were shredded from her cats and were falling apart. Dust, ash and cat hair covered every surface and it looked like the dishes hadn’t been done in months. The floor was the worst – there were stains but it also looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed since 2001. Judging by the layer of dust on the vacuum, I’m probably not far off.

So imagine my surprise when I received this (slightly edited) email from Syab:

Went this morning and looked at an apartment in your building [WHAT?]…The management company has a lock box so you can let your self in….

OMG…your apartment is a palace compared to this one. The carpet was cleaned but there were big spots…kitchen was much smaller than yours and the refrigerator stuck out to the middle. It was upstairs and is on the freeway side, so the noise was deafening even with the windows closed and it kind of smelled musty. I was really disappointed because I really like your apartment and there are not a lot of places that will take cats.

Wait, she wants to live in my building? With me? My apartment is the only place safe from my family. So I did what anyone would do. I scoured Craigslist and sent her a bunch of links to places in her price range that take cats. According to her, none “are good enough”.

Then my Granny called, asking if she could stop over to drop off some things. I said yes, and as I walked her back to her car she paused. “Hmmmm, that apartment is open” she said, indicating an apartment facing the freeway on the ground level (I’m on the second floor facing the mountains). Apparently, Granny called Syab and they went to look at that apartment.

Just got back from checking out #XX with Granny. Big difference from the other one…carpets look good, nice vertical blinds, kitchen refrigerator definitely is back farther. You actually don’t hear freeway noise at all.

I sent her more Craigslist ads of places far away from me and started crossing my fingers. Please, please, please find a different place I begged. I don’t want to run into people I know in the laundry room or while I’m out taking a walk. Then this email came in:

I called to get info about filling out an application but the apartment is already rented. However, #YY will be ready to rent probably next week…they are putting in new carpet, blinds etc.

I think #YY is directly underneath your place, Zoogie2…before I do anything I would like to make sure it is in the front where I think it is.

Any thoughts?

So many I can’t even begin to sort them out. Immediately I called my Mom. I told her exactly what I thought about this new development. My old downstairs neighbor was a sweetheart, but she smoked and there really wasn’t anything I could do about it. She lived there for over a decade. Since she’s moved out, I’ve really liked the fact that my place doesn’t smell like an ashtray, and I would not be OK with a smoker moving in. I don’t have anything against smokers (I used to be one myself), but I find it difficult to refrain from taking my smoking addiction back up when I’m surrounded by the smell. With my windows always being open, there would be no way to avoid the smoke if Syab decided to light up.

Not to mention the sound issue. One time Smokey came to visit and we started talking about how her current boy toy had dumped her because he got a girlfriend. She was a bit regretful that her Friends With Benefits situation had come to an end. We weren’t shouting and we weren’t loud but when I ran into my downstairs neighbor a few days later she had a comment about the situation. That’s how thin the floors/walls are – she could hear every word. Now that I’ve decided to date again, imagine how TMI that would be – if I had a guy over and Syab could hear everything!? Gross. Plus she’d probably call my Mom to complain, who would then henpeck me about bringing the guy to meet her. There are no winners in this situation.

Plus, I somehow picture Syab coming to “borrow a cup of sugar” and parking herself on my couch for untold amounts of time. The HORROR. Syab is retired, with no close family nearby and few friends. Basically, she sits at home with her cats and rarely leaves the house. I already get numerous calls from her every week – imagine if she lived downstairs and knew exactly when I was home?

Finally, I decided that I needed to say something. I felt guilt, because she needs to move by the end of the month or get evicted and it’s not like I own the building – anyone can apply to live there. I just always saw it as my pool of serenity away from my annoying family. On the other hand, she had two months to make arrangements and she hasn’t done anything by herself. Everything was prompted or done by my mom & Granny. At what point do you tell her “you need to do this by yourself or suffer the consequences”?

I explained everything to my mom (including the whole, “ummm you can hear through the floors and walls and I’m kind of dating right now”, which was mega awkward). Surprisingly, my mom agreed with me! She did this thing she often does, where she purses her lips and frowns and then says something she thinks people won’t want to hear. She agreed and said she’d brought the topic up to Syab, but Syab said that it was the only place she wanted to live and that “Zoogie2 won’t mind”. After that she became snappish is Granny or Mom tried to bring it up again. Oh hell.

Furthermore, Syab had already applied by the time I talked to my mom. Dammit! Mom encouraged me to say something to Syab, but I decided not to for now. What the hell is the point? She’s already applied and we haven’t heard if she got it or not. If she does, there’s not much I can say that will make a difference. If she doesn’t then there’s no point in making a big deal out of nothing. Per the smoking, it’s a non-smoking apartment so she’d have to smoke outside in her garden. Which is directly beneath my window. I was OK with my former neighbor smoking, because she’d been here longer but I told Mom that if Syab’s smoke filtered into my place I’d tell her to stop and then go to the management company. So I guess my options are to use the management company as an intermediary between us – that may make it even more awkward.

I love my place, but should I move? Should I say something even though the deed is done (so to speak)? Do I just buck up and deal? Does it make me a bad person for hoping she doesn’t get the apartment??

Losing My Fillings

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I just patted myself so hard on the back I knocked a filling out – well, not really since I never had any fillings, but you get the picture.

In December, Anonymous Software Company hosted their annual Holiday Party and I had my bridesmaid dress from my mom’s wedding (she’s been married two years) shortened so that I could wear it. It’s a gorgeous deep purple Empress waisted gown with ruched bodice and halter straps. I absolutely adore it. Unfortunately, when I tried it on it was too small. That’s around the time that I vowed to lose weight (again). Last night I couldn’t sleep (I miss my sleeping pills), so I popped out of bed around 5:30 in the morning and I impulsively decided to try on the dress, just to see how much more I’d need to lose for it to fit again.

I dragged it on and started zipping. I made it half way up my back…good. Then it was 3/4 of the way, which is where it got stuck before…OK, bit nervous now. Then it was zipped all the way up. It fits! OK, so I’m a bit more…top heavy than I was two years ago (despite continued dieting and exercise, I cannot seem to shrink my chest) but it actually fits! After dancing around my apartment in glee and kissing Sam the Cat, I took it back off. Now, to maintain (or hopefully, lose more) weight until this December so I can show off my dress at the 2011 Holiday Party.

Watch out boys, I look killer in this dress!

Cancellations Galore

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This weekend was all about canceling plans at the last second. Friday was my usual night hanging out with friends and somehow I rolled out of bed in time to meet up for a wiffleball game with my coworkers. I showed up and only Poww, WhiskeyGirl and NBA and his wife “Claire” were there. Everyone else had ditched out. So we set up teams; WhiskeyGirl and I were both wearing red so we called ourselves the Cardinals. NBA and Claire named themselves The Awesome Team. Poww decided that playing the actual game was lame so he became the umpire/pitcher.

It was a pretty typical game except for the fact that NBA kicked our asses. Since he’s so tall even the highest pop fly was easily reached and it’s not like you can hit far with a wiffle ball and plastic hollow bat.

After losing spectacularly (but getting one last run in with a well timed bunt), I headed off for my up all night Are You Afraid of the Dark viewing party. If you’ve never seen this Canadian-early-90’s hit sensation, you should. I used to love this shit!

Unfortunately, everyone canceled because it was midterms (I assume you know when you’re damn tests are). So I spent Saturday night hanging out with Jayy, one of my high school friends. What I learned? She ‘loves meth but not in an addicted way, just in a I-like-to-do-meth-way”. Hmmm mental note to self: get the fuck out of this town. Now I remember why I moved away for college.

On Sunday I tortured Sam the Cat – I took her to a groomer. After 25 minutes of chasing her crazy ass around my apartment and then shoving her into a cardboard carrier to get her to the groomer, she screeched. The. Whole. Car. Ride. I practically shoved her into the arms of the minimum wage groomer, hoping he could clean her. At least she wouldn’t get to bite and scratch me anymore.

When I picked her up, she was silent. The whole car ride home, she was silent. When I let her out of the carrier, she was silent. She hid under the bed right away, not even coming out for food and water. Anytime I stuck my head under there to make sure she was OK, she would turn her back on me. I quickly realized that she was giving me the silent treatment. The silent treatment. From a cat.

She seems less pissed at me today, she even deigned to sleep next to me again. Although she wouldn’t let me touch her pillow and she wouldn’t look at me. I guess I deserve it, but I really don’t give a shit. They used apple shampoo on her, so my mean, grudge holding little cat smells like apples.

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