Morning blues

Raise your hand if you woke up to:
-A dirty litterbox
-Cat food on your floor
-Cat water on your floor (though water dispenser was thankfully against the wall, rather than in the middle of the kitchen)
-Not one, but seven balls of yarn unrolled and wound around every piece of furniture in your apartment

Because that was my morning. How do I sleep through these things????

At least my hair looks fabulous…

There's nothing more traumatic than feeling like you're 13 again. (Ok, I'm sure there are things that are more traumatic, but bear with me.) In the last week, I have hurt my ankle, causing me to limp, gotten some sort of eye infection, meaning I'm glasses-bound for the near future, and realized my hair was so overdue for a haircut that it was one long, curly mess. I feel like I did when I was 13 and in my "awkward" phase, which was painful. (Come to think of it, work is a bit like high school--we have lockers and everything--so really it's as if I'm reliving a part of my life that I never ever intended to.)

So I decided that dammit, I'm not in high school and I can take control of the situation. I started on Saturday, when I went to get a fabulous new haircut. I hadn't had a haircut without wearing my contacts in about 15 years, so I'd forgotten how scary it is to be blind for the whole process, just crossing my fingers that it would all turn out okay. Must be how women on The Swan feel when they have the "Final Reveal" in the mirror (minus the plastic surgery, of course). Anyway, the haircut is, in my opinion, fabulous, and it immediately made me feel better. It even goes with my glasses.

Then this morning was the eye doctor, which is always traumatic for me. Last night, I actually debated writing a blog entry entitled, "A Pirate's life for me," fearing that I'd end up with an eye patch. My limp could be replaced by a peg leg, and instead of a parrot I'd have cats by my side.... But luckily, no eye patch for me. Instead, I got eye drops that made my eyes yellow, numb, and gummy, and the eye doctor turned my eyelids inside out, which actually sounds much scarier than it was. But still, I nearly cried when she told me what she was about to do. So now I have some sort of steroid eye drops that I have to use. Maybe they will give me super eyes, but somehow I doubt it.

So I'm slowly mending myself, and at least I have the confidence of an adult, rather than the insecurities of a teenager.

And fabulous hair, of course. It's always all about the hair.

Where have I been?

The short answer is: around.

The longer answer is: school, work, more school, more work, tutoring, sleeping, more work, getting annoyed with my job, homework, even more work, watching tv, more work, and even more work.

Ok, I don't really work that much. But with my NewCrazySchedule it certainly FEELS that way. I used to think I liked being busy but now I'm not so sure. Meanwhile, I don't know if it's out of protest of my never being home or what, but the kitties have decided that they prefer their water in the middle of the kitchen, and in order to move it there, it spills everywhere. So whenever I come home, I have to clean the kitchen floor. I'm going to blame Murphy for this, because a certain look in his eye indicated he was responsible. If it continues, I may have to post a memo of complaint to him.

Baxter, on the other hand, has truly turned a corner lately. He's been affectionate, cute, sweet, and slightly less destructive towards my furniture. He also had his first visit to the vet this week, and was pronounced in good health, with "beautiful skin and markings" and was the "perfect weight." I'm so proud of my little firstborn. (Though the vet also said, upon taking a first look at him, "He looks mischievous." Oh, if only he knew.)

And as for me: I have a sprained ankle. Or something. I tripped yesterday on the uneven sidewalk and went down. Now I'm limping all around and really can't walk down stairs, which makes the Subway really really annoying. Turns out New York City is not the greatest of places to be when you're injured.

So in light of this kinda down post, enjoy these amusing (at least to me) pics of the boys.

Baxter has decided he likes napping on the floor, inside my sweatshirt.



While Murphy prefers to sleep surrounded by towels.



But they both enjoy hanging out in my closet--especially when there's a nearly empty shelf that they think is just for them!

Cat Grass...I don't get it

Feeling rather uninspired to write lately, probably due to homework stress (blech). So I'll quickly tell the story of Cat Grass.

For those who haven't heard of it, you can buy little grass plants that are safe for cats to eat, the idea being that it deters them from eating your plants, which is dangerous for them and annoying/destructive for you. I don't keep any real plants in my house (though "stoopid" Murphy tries to eat the one fake plant I have), but I thought it would be fun to give them the grass when I came across it at an outdoor market last week, on sale for $2.

When I brought it home, there was definite curiosity and sniffing. Murphy then tried to eat some, only to find that it was hard to break off a piece of grass without dragging the whole plant behind him across the kitchen floor. So I let them be with the grass and figured I'd come back later to see if they'd figured it out. But the next time I walked by my kitchen the floor was scattered with little pieces of grass. I cleaned them up quickly and stood the little plant back upright, hoping this was a one time thing.

Then yesterday, I left the house for a few hours and came home to a small wet pile of what I can only guess was regurgitated cat grass. Sigh. So that's it for Cat Grass & me. I don't get the appeal. Sorry, kitties.

The Baxter Dance, explained

A quick comment on the video below...

Baxter LIKES dancing. Really. After we dance he rubs up against my leg sweetly as if to say, "I AM sexy, dammit, and I like dancing."

So stop poor Baxter-ing me. :)

The Baxter Dance

I don't know how to explain this except:
Cat+computer geek+homework avoidance = This video.