Saturday, April 30, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: Z is for Zoology

I DID IT! I managed to write a post for each letter on the day it was supposed to. And thank God I'm done, because writing six days a week was killing me. Seriously. That's a lot of blogging people. But I made it, I did it, and I managed to snag a few new followers. Although it appears I lost one in the last couple days, but oh well. So, to the new followers that I haven't welcomed, Welcome! Thanks a ton for stopping by and commenting. I hope you continue to stick around. *hint hint*

Onto today's post: Zoology. This was one of my favorite classes at Chico State. It was hard, but I enjoyed it. Well, most of it. I didn't really enjoy the spiders we had to look at; I didn't give a snit if they were dead - they were still spiders. Seriously, someone near me dropped a spider out of the little dish they were in, and I jumped and screamed like it was alive and going to kill me or something. (Sad, I know).

Sharks are also quite disgusting. Did you know they still excrete their slimy coating even after they're dead? I didn't either until I had to dissect one. No, it's wasn't a big one. It was one of those small shark species. But let me tell you, a week left in a drawer made that lab room quite rank. Seriously. None of our dead things were kept in coolers (which might have been slightly more logical); they were kept in drawers. Each lab section had their own set of drawers, and then we had to put our names on our own drawers so we knew were our lovely leftovers were. We would hate to unknowingly grab someone else's screw up. But, yes, the sharks got quite rank. And even wearing double or even triple layer gloves on did not prevent said shark stink from permeating those gloves. You'd leave the room smelling a bit like dead shark stink. Yeah. Not something I'd go marketing to the masses, that's for sure.

We had to learn dog and cat skeletons. We had to do the frog. Seriously? I started dissecting frogs in like 3rd or 4th grade. Why must kids dissect one every year of their scholastic lives? It's not like the frogs change or anything. (Oddly enough, every time I type the word frog, for some really strange reason I want to type like this: frong. Don't ask.) Same with squid - they are all the same. Not to mention we had to do other species of fish, other than the sharks. Luckily, the other fish didn't smell nearly as bad as those sharks.

One of the hardest things to study for was the fetal pig towards the end of the semester. We had to know the respiratory and the circulatory systems. Luckily educators are smart. These pigs had these systems dyed blue and red so us confused students could keep them separated in order to learn them. So, we had colorful piglets.

I know some people have a hard time with people (scientists or educators) raising animals for science like that, just so evil people like us science students can cut them up. I can understand their side, but how else are we to learn? Growing up, I knew kids who couldn't handle dissecting animals in biology. I knew kids whose parents refused to let them do so. I was usually the kid who thought it was gross but did it anyway. I was also usually the kid who was the least grossed out by all of it and being that my other lab partners were far too grossed out, I had to touch it or do it by myself because the others were bigger pansies than myself. By the time I was in college, I was among pre-vet students, so I was among "friends". Some of you would be shocked by some of the things I did in class - and not Zoology.

Maybe another day I'll gross you out with those stories.

And that my friends, concludes this year's April A-Z Blogging Challenge!

Friday, April 29, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: Y is for Why??

Dear Mother Nature:

Why do you insist on toying with us? You give us sunshine for a day then you take it away again.

Why do you deem it necessary to throw more snow on the ground? You do realize it's nearly May, right?

Why must the rain keep falling? It's back the kind of muddy slop that it's far to easy to go kersplat in. You know, the kind of slop that you fall face first into. Although it's not two feet deep all around anymore - that am thankful for.

Why must you blow the wind so hard? Twelve hours and two showers later, I'm still plucking hay from my eyeballs. And thanks to said wind, I also involuntarily ate my fair share of fiber this morning in the form of the alfalfa and grass hays that you blew straight at me. Think of the cows, Mother Nature, I don't want them to starve.

Why can't you make up bi-polar mind?

That begs the question - who did not give Mother Nature her happy pills?!

In conclusion, Mother Nature, it's not just me that's complaining here. You dropped record amounts of snow in the Midwest and the northeast. You just sent countless tornadoes through the south wiping out cities left and right. You've basically flooded the west. And that's just the US. I'm quite sure there are citizens from other countries who have a few complaints of their own. We kindly request that you get back on your happy pills and bring us some freakin' sunshine.

Or we're going to start getting really crabby.

Thank you so much for your time.

Hugs and Kisses,

J.Day (and consequently countless other citizens of Earth)

Thursday, April 28, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: X is for eXample

I was a lucky child. I had parents that set good examples for me. I had grandparents that set good examples for me. I'm not saying they were perfect people; they made mistakes and learned from them. They worked hard and treated others with respect. And all that I strive to do as well.

I fear that kids today don't always have good examples to follow. More and more kids are looking up to celebrities. With the likes of Lindsay Lohan running around I fear the human race may be doomed. I'm sorry but I fail to see how a girl who has had several run-ins with the law, should be serving tons of jail time, has drug issues, and has recently turned to thievery (because she obviously doesn't have a dime to her name - maybe because she spent it all on lawyers and drugs?), should be allowed face time on the evening news. Or allowed to be a role model for today's youth.

Okay, should could be the new poster child for what drugs and alcohol will do to you. That whole egg in the frying pan and "this is your brain on drugs" is so last century.

While we all dream of fame and fortune at some point while growing up, I'm quite glad I'm a nobody so that the paparazzi don't follow my every move. The paparazzi would likely push me over the edge.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: W is for Watching

I'm watching The King's Speech.

So no talking.

Turn off your cell phones.

Don't kick the back of my couch.

Or I'll throw buttery popcorn at you.

Muah.  :o)

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: V is for Vices

We all have them, whether or not we like to admit it. Good, bad, or indifferent - these are things we do even if we know we shouldn't. Here are a few of mine.

Soda: I know I shouldn't drink soda at all, but I can't help it. I should probably go to Pepsiholic's Anonymous.

Hamburgers: I could live off them. Seriously.

Sleep: Me and sleep are thisclose. No matter what time I have to get up be it 5am or 9pm (for when I worked night shift), I hate when the alarm goes off - it means my sleep is over. Me and my snooze button are thisclose as well. Those little 9 minute snippets are bliss.

Torturing the cat: No, I don't mean I'm stringing her up by her paws or anything. I shower her with love and all I get is a look dripping with disdain. Sometimes it's a look that says, "You do realize that I know where you sleep, right?".

My dislike of cooking: I've never been overly fond of cooking. Thus, I have determined that I must marry a man that loves to cook. And is good at it.

Monday, April 25, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: U is for Unknown

Okay, so this is my sad, horrific post for the letter "U". I'm typing this at 11pm, to barely make my cutoff time, and I'm tired and I want to go to bed as I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow finishing my route.

I've been at a loss for the letter "U" since the beginning of this, and seeing as how I didn't have the brains to attempt this post on Saturday night and have it scheduled for today I'll never know. So, stupidly, here I am, with still nothing to write. Since I don't know what to write for "U", I'll just simply fill you in on my weekend.
Saturday, I went to work at job number 3, got home and cleaned out the back of my car to make room for paper bundles. Then went to my grandparents house to load up my car. Had dinner, and came home to finish cleaning house. I finally flopped onto the bed around 9 - yeah, I know. Got up early on Sunday, drove 3 hours to my destination, and delivered some papers. I was surprised to get an extra day off, so I met my parents for a movie - Source Code. Good movie.

Didn't get online at all on Sunday - it was kind of nice actually. Thought for a split second: Hmm, maybe I should write a blog post for Monday. Hmmm, I still have no idea what to write for the letter "U". Eh, I'll think it about tomorrow. Seriously.

That evening, we watched a movie my parents had from Netflix - The American. Never ever watch this movie. Unless you can't sleep and counting sheep isn't working. Worst. Movie. Ever. 

Monday, my mom and I went into town to visit with her mom, and my dad's parents. Then ran my errands. Bought a couple scrub tops, a collapsible back scratcher (I've really missed the one that broke), and some random Target stuff. The one thing I have withdrawals from is Target. Although I did also have my first fast food in nearly 3 months. I got a 5 Layer Burrito on Sunday from Taco Bell, because that was oddly the first thing that popped into my head. Man was it delicious. Today, mom and I split a Quarter Pounder Meal at McD's. The burger was okay, but the fries were delicious. And the funny part about the McD meal, was that we pulled to the side in parking lot to quickly eat it, only realizing after we'd parked that were to eat this artery-clogging meal directly in front of a gym. And in front of about 5 people running on treadmills - facing us. Whoops.

Once home, mom fixed my dinner request, which was her taco salad - YUM. Then we ordered The Last Three Days on video on demand. Good movie.

Now I'm sitting here typing this sad "unknown" post so that I technically have a post of the blogging challenge. And after typing this, I still don't know what I would have written for the letter "U".


Saturday, April 23, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: T is for Thanks

To the powers that be, thank you for:

My wonderful parents.

Allowing me to get to know pretty much all of my grandparents.

Allowing me to know several great-grandparents.

Bringing Miss Harriet into my life. (Although, next time, I politely request a cat that doesn't shed so much and doesn't leave me hairballs to step on in the middle of the night)

Letting my parents buy me a horse when I was in high school; that was fun.

Bestowing on me the bestest best friend a girl could ask for.

Granting me the wisdom that I would not survive prison so that I wouldn't cause any bodily harm to the old psycho roomie or the old psycho co-worker.

Giving me the opportunity to get my extremely stressed self away from night shift and the horrible excuse for management. I really do appreciate that.

Giving me the opportunity to work with my grandparents on their ranch. In the daylight.

The opportunities for travel that I've had - to Florida, Chicago, the East Coast trip in high school, and the cruise Mom and I took.

Oh and home-made chocolate chip cookies. Those are delish.

Friday, April 22, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: S is for Scrabble

Words are a funny thing. Especially when you get points for them. Suddenly it's like winning the lottery and all sorts of a relatives you never knew about show up. In Scrabble, words you never knew existed start showing up, making you run for the dictionary to see if your opponent is cheating.

Since Christmas I have been playing Scrabble online with my mom, two aunts, and one of my grandmothers. Well, it's not "Scrabble", but it's essentially the same thing. It's called Lexolous, and you get 8 tiles instead of 7. But all of Scrabble's rules apply. Apparently it's a copyright thing. You can play live in a game room, or you can play via email, which has been my game of choice.

Both of my aunts, and my grandmother have been whooping my butt since day one. The only one I seem to be able to beat on a fairly regular basis is my mom. However, she's bested me a few times.

Words have always been a thing in my family. I've always been a good speller, my mom proof-read my high school papers, and my grandmother used to correct English papers as well as worked for a newspaper.

I'm better at Scrabble then, say, Monopoly. Man, I suck at that game.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: R is for Ranching

Ranching is a tough business. It's hard work and long days. It's cute calves and their overly possesive mothers. It's muddy and dirty. And it can be a wee bit smelly.

It's dirty.

It's windy.

It's finally okay to go wading in mud puddles! (*ahem* to, uh, wash off the boots)

It's beautiful sunrises.

And beautiful sunsets.

It's learning how to drive one of the ranch trucks (it's a stick shift, and I can barely reach the pedals!)

It's bringing a calf inside the house to save it's life.

It's falling face first into that, which is 2 feet deep.

It's a lot of fence work.

And it's a lot of male attention. lol

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: Q is for Quiet

There is something about the country life that I love, and that is how quiet it is. Yes, I my house is on the highway and I hear trucks drive by or even the stray tractor. Or, as it happens - a cattle drive. But there is no real noise pollution out here.

It's quiet. It's peaceful.

It's totally flipping awesome.

Living in Sacramento there was always noise. Cars on the road or freeway, sirens blaring, neighbors fighting, delivery trucks beeping. There was always something to hear. There was always something to assault my ears. If you were in the store, people were on their cell phones or kids running amok like they owned the place (yes, Wal-Mart, I'm referring to you). There really is no place to go where you can have total peace and quiet.

Enter the country. Every morning when I'm out feeding the cows, that's what I hear - cows. Okay, and the feed truck. It's peaceful out here. I am currently sitting in my house and it's completely silent, except for my keyboard. I'm serious. The TV is off, there's no music on. There's no traffic, no car stereos thumping from 5 miles away, no sirens blaring in every direction, no neighbor noise.



And let me tell you how nice  it is. How relaxing it is. I love it.

Silence really is golden.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: P is for "Playing Hooky"

I have a confession. I can cop to it now that I no longer work for my previous employer. In the 6.5 years that I worked there, I called in "sick" when I wasn't twice. And both times were in my last year. In my defense, I rarely ever call in sick anywhere, even when I am sick. And both times I did it, I was stressed and could really use the extra day. And the last time, I was going to lose all my sick time if I didn't use it and I was leaving soon anyway . . . so, yeah.

Last summer, my mom told me that Clay Walker was the headliner at the Shasta District Fair. I had seen him 15 years prior, and had been a big fan. He kind of went out of the spotlight for several years while he dealt with his MS. And now he's back. And he's still sexy. Anyway, my mom kinda-sorta (meaning, not really) twisted my arm to get me to call in sick to attend the concert in Anderson. It was totally worth it. She and I had a great evening. We sang along to songs we knew; my mom only knew some of his older stuff.

And the second time, was this past New Years. I called in sick for two days to make it look like I was actually sick, seeing as how it was a holiday. And Karma caught up to me, and I fought a nice cold and cough for quite awhile. The reason I called in sick (besides those mentioned above), was that I had been invited by WB to a New Years party. What you should understand is, that this holiday is one of those that never seems to work with me. It's rare for me to have a good New Years, and those that were good, I was at work. I just wanted a fun New Years. Is that really too much to ask for?

So, after much internal debate (and yes, truly there was), I finally decided to call in and attend the party. I felt guilty, but New Years is the lightest night at work, and considering I'd worked nearly every New Years since I was hired, I figured . . . what could they do - fire me? I had already put in my notice that I was leaving.

I played hooky to attend a party where I knew no one, except the guy who was hosting it. That made it awkward for me, I didn't know anyone. And I have a tendency to be a wallflower when that happens. Not long after I arrived there, everyone seemed to go off in groups to do stuff - and it was easy for them as they all knew each other. The girl cooking in the kitchen finally allowed me to help her. She was super nice, and we had a good time that night. Once people started piling back in, I started joking around with people. My only fear was being asked the question, "So, how do you know WB?" Because that is a very long and complicated answer to be fully honest. I really don't want to get into it here. So, instead of gulping and sputtering the truth, I simply told a white lie - "Oh, we went to Chico State." Now, I said white lie - the truth is, we both attended at roughly the same time, but we never met during that time. Truth is we met several years later. Luckily for me, no one really asked for further details, and thank God, as I'm not sure I could have thought my way out of that one too quickly.

I wound up having a good time. I met a lot of great people, one of those people had the talent to make me a drink that smelled like Kool-Aid, yet tasted like NyQuil. That's talent. I got my car really dirty for the first time. I'm talking serious mud.

So, playing hooky really isn't too bad if it's done in moderation. I figure twice in all the time I worked for my previous employer isn't bad at all. I know that there were people who did it quite often. While I felt guilty, I also recognized that I really needed the de-stressing. My old job was hard on me - I had a knot in my right shoulder so bad that it actually popped when I walked or moved my shoulder. You can ask my mom - she had to rub it out on more than one occasion.

Monday, April 18, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: O is for "Oversharing"

If you have ever worked with the public, then you might recognize the "overshare". This happens when someone offers up personal information that, for some odd reason, they thought was imperative that you know. I have yet to understand why these people feel the urgent desire to share unwanted tidbits of their lives.

One gal I worked with spewed forth random bits of information over the years of working with her. One was that she'd had a baby, only it didn't survive. What on earth do you say to that? I mean, "I'm sorry" just doesn't seem to do that justice. Another time, she told me that she'd been raped. Again, "I'm sorry" doesn't seem to cover it. Another time, she said that her boyfriend broke up with her - I didn't know anything her dating life. Over the years, she shared many things with us . . . although it was a select few who got to see whether or not she shaved down there. (Thank God I wasn't among those select few!) I mean, I'm not happy that those bad things happened to her, but why did she see fit to share those with absolutely no one asking for said information?

I had a customer once tell me all about her one kidney. Well, she didn't tell me how she came to have only one kidney, but she did tell me all the pain it caused her. (I didn't really need to know that) Or how about the customers that overshare by way of showing. Like the nice folks who like to show their butt cracks for the world to see. And I'm not talking about the guys who wear saggy jeans, but the guys who dare to go for the full moon.

Just remember folks, there is such a thing as too much.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: N is for Newbie

It's always interesting being the new kid at a new job. And every time I call myself the "new kid", my mind automatically thinks, NKOTB. And if you know what those initials stand for - then right on! If not, you're too young and just Google it, and I'm sure it'll tell you.

I've been going to my new job (aka job number 3) about three days a week for training for just over two weeks. Friday morning I walked in, and my supervisor hollers from her office as I walk by that she's still checking the money and doing back up, so I can't use my computer up front if someone should come in and buy something. I get up to the front desk and to my surprise my trainer isn't there. I put my purse down and glance at the schedule for the day. We had quite the full day scheduled. I kept scanning and noticed this in the lower right hand corner: CP Off.

Oh shit.

That means one thing: I was all by myself.

Oh shit.

You probably could have pushed me over with a feather at that point. Panic started to rise in my chest. I went to my supervisor's office and said, "I didn't know CP was off today. That means I'm all alone up front for the first time." She smiled and said, "CP figured you'd be fine. Sink or swim, kid." And laughed. At that same time, AC (a vet) walks by, and says, "Ahh, you'll be fine." I promptly ran after him and told him with a sweet smile, "AC, please have some tranquilizers on hand for when my panic attack happens." I was sorta hoping for Ketamine as that knocks out horses.

Luckily, we didn't have to tranquilize me.

The newbie (aka me) did okay. The morning was relatively easy to handle. After lunch however, was quite the opposite. From 1pm on, it was relentless. I even got cussed out on the phone - and it wasn't even for something I did. Turns out one of his pets was put to sleep last year, and somehow part of the record didn't get updated. There's a check-off box for the vaccination reminders and that can be easily over-looked, which is apparently what happened. So this guy got a reminder card for his pet's annual vaccinations and called to cuss me out, saying "Don't you guys update your goddamned records?!" Yeah, that was fun.

I had a hilarious phone call from a guy who thought he'd dialed his internet provider and kept telling me to tell the tech he spoke to earlier that his internet was back up. I asked who he spoke to and he said, "Peanut". It was about this time that we both realized he had the wrong number and we busted out laughing. When I told him he'd called the vet, he laughed even harder and said, "I needed to call you, too!" He came in later to drop off a dog for boarding and when I heard his name, I said, "ahhh!" and he asked, "Are you Peanut?" And we laughed.

At the end of the day I had a headache. But I lived. Even the doctors agreed it was a very crazy afternoon, and told me I did good. And double checked that I'd be back again the next day for more fun up front . . . alone.

And triple checked.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: L is for Love

We cannot do great things on this Earth, only small things with great love.     ~ Mother Theresa

For today's post, I'm going to pull a Cinderita and talk about love.

We all want it, we're all searching for it. In some form or another. There are all kinds of love. Love of family, friends, significant others, your passions, or your beliefs. I have been blessed with a wonderful family who loves each other. I am blessed with a BFF I consider my sister. I have been blessed to always have a job in an industry that I love - the animal industry. This post will be mostly pictures with the ones I love most - my friends and my family.

I'm not as eloquent with my words as the lovely Cinderita, but she is right that love is a beautiful thing. She finds the most inspiring things to put on her blog. If only more people thought like that, the world would be better. If only everyone held onto the happy feeling that love gives, the world would be a better place. If only everyone smiled more, laughed more, loved more. 

I will leave you with a video from my favorite group, Rascal Flatts.  :o)

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: K is for Kiss

In yesterday's post, I mentioned a bad kisser. I think I shall elaborate, as it is quite funny. It does, however, still make me shudder. However, to get to the kiss, I shall have to relate a bit more about the guy. It might help explain the bad kissing . . . at least, that's what I keep telling myself.

His name was Rob, and we went out on probably 4 or 5 dates tops. Including our first meeting. We met via an internet dating site. I got a few yellow flags from the minute I met him, but the last day we hung out, all I got were red flags.

The first flag was that he had lied about his height. Now, I don't mind if a guy is short, but to lie about your height says that you're embarrassed by it. Another day, I think it was our third meet-up, he started making plans for things for us to that summer - cave spelunking, romantic weekends at Tahoe. On our third date. I'd also like to point out that summer was technically still two months away. I'm not commitment phobic, but he made me feel that way.

The last weekend we hung out, I had pretty much decided we weren't a good match. Unfortunately, I have never actually broken up with someone, so he was to be the first. It was eating me up inside. We went to lunch and the zoo. During lunch he told me that he felt we were kindred spirits and that he felt that he could tell me his deepest darkest secret. My imagination thought the worst: a wife and 3 kids in LA; convicted felon. And then he continued with, "I don't like cheese." (insert crickets here)

Once done with lunch, I tried to beat him to the car, as I wanted to test something. He always opened doors for me. Now, normally I love when guys open doors for me. But if I get to it first, I don't mind opening it myself. This goes for car doors, too. I get to my door and open it and he literally rips the door out of my hand so that he can open the damn door for me. Broke a nail in the process. He then said, "I know you can do it yourself, but my mother taught me to always open a door for a pretty lady." (while I agree . . . there's no reason to rip it from my hands you idiot). At the zoo, he embarrassed me with his horrendous parallel parking abilities. I had to actually back him in with hand signals. I offered to do it myself, because I'm pretty sure I could have done it easily, and I despise parallel parking.

While inside the zoo, he held my hand - backwards. Now, I know what you're thinking - how do you hold hands backward?? Easy. Just think how you usually hold hands with a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse. Whose hand is in front, and whose hand is in back? Typically it's the "protector's" hand that is in the front, which would typically be the man, or if with kids it's the parent. He took my hand and my hand was kept in front, telling me that I apparently wore the pants in that relationship. Aaaalllrriiiigghty then. He also never moved to get out of anyone's way, always seeming to make people walk around us. I couldn't shake the guy.

Heading back to the car, he started asking me about past relationships, like my longest (which was about 4.5 years), and then he tells me he never had a relationship over six months. (red flag!) He asked me if I'd met anyone else off this particular site, and I answered with yes. He actually asked me if I was still seeing that guy. (um, no, that ended a couple months prior). He then tells me about his previous girlfriend who hadn't treated him well, and all this stuff. I felt bad about it, but really uncomfortable as I was wanting to end it all right then.

Back at his place (which was where my car was), I had been trying to think of a way to get away from him without the pending kiss I had a gut feeling was coming. We'd had a few pecks, but no "real" kiss. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that it was going to happen and I wanted to avoid it because my gut told me it wouldn't be good. He pulled me in for a hug, and while I tried to move my face away, I apparently wasn't fast enough. And sure enough, he planted those lips on mine, and I was actually physically repulsed.

If any of you have ever seen the Sex and the City episode where Charlotte dates a bad kisser - that's the only thing I can think to equate it to. Although, he might have been better.

I felt as if the entire lower half of my face was gone. From nose to chin. Felt as if it had been sucked into a vortex. And this little tongue kept trying to meet my tonsils. He pulled away a moment later, and actually apologized if he was a bad kisser, that his previous girlfriend didn't let him practice much. (internal scream of terror) I couldn't bear to tell him that I was gagging on the inside, but said something akin to, "Oh no, it's okay . . . I really should get -" And he cut me off with another kiss. I had to endure it twice. I finally managed to pull away from him, and managed to leave the house. Ever the gentleman (and I do believe this was the only time I've ever hated a guy for being a gentleman) he walked me to my car.

Where he promptly assaulted my mouth for a third time. And no, it never got better. Evidently my avoidance skills were on vacation that day.

I drove around the block and parked to see if I could find something to wipe off my face. He'd slobbered all over it. I mean, I know that kissing can get a bet wet and sloppy, but that was freaking ridiculous. I actually pulled into a McDonald's to eat something that would get me to put something in my mouth that didn't make me gag; it was probably fries or a McFlurry or something.

I know everyone has different thoughts on when a first kiss should happen and whether or not tongue should be involved. It is my opinion that there really shouldn't be much if any on the first kiss. I was disgusted with this guy's blatant attempt at tonsil hockey - of which he was really bad at. I mean, it was like his lips didn't move, he just attempted to suck the air out of my lungs, and only his tongue moved.

(shudders uncontrollably)

Okay, now I need to go brush my teeth and watch a movie with Hugh Jackman or Gerard Butler . . .

Just in case you were wondering . . . when I typed in Google, "Bad Kisser Images" the first thing to pop up was a picture of Robert Pattinson.


Tuesday, April 12, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: J is for Jaded

This is how the world of dating can make you feel after awhile. Especially if you have a fun of odd luck dates. You don't even have to have dated a douche to feel jaded. Just having enough dates or guys in a row that seem to fit the same profile . . . none of it really suiting you at all.

During my time in Sacramento, I dabbled in the internet dating world. It totally freaked me out in the beginning, and by the time I left Sacramento, I felt kinda let down. I'm not saying those sites don't work, because they obviously do. For those that aren't me.

I met several nice guys via internet dating, but for one reason or another, they totally weren't my type. Well. One was, but for whatever reason, he wasn't into me. He's now with someone else and is happy, and I'm happy for him. No, really, I am.

I'm not sure what I said in my profile that would make these sites match me with certain people, but it did. But because I lived in a city, that's what it matched me up with. City folk. People who wanted to live in lofts or spendy condos, or just maybe the suburbs. Guys who had 9-5 jobs and either did nothing afterwards, or were into sky diving (I'm not sure you could pay me to do that shit) on weekends.

I gave most guys the benefit of the doubt. Figured the picture didn't really do them justice. Figured they wouldn't mind meeting a girl who worked graveyard. Figured I was destined to wind up with a computer nerd. Not that I'm dissing computer guys, but the ones I met weren't really all that special.

I met short guys who blatantly lied about their height - as if I wouldn't figure that shit out the second I met them. I met guys who mentioned they were currently living with their parents while they were looking to buy a house - only to find out that they'd been living with said parents and looking for said house to buy for over two years, and only to find out that they had never moved out and they were 30 years old. (Red flag, red flag!)  I met guys who parallel parked worse than me, and embarrassed me in public with their horrid parking abilities. I met guys who were actually kinda cool - only to find out that the literally could barely find 5 minutes for me and made me feel like I was begging (Not cool dude, not cool). I met guys who were the absolute worst kissers on the planet, and made me fearful of kissing ever again. I met guys who had never had a relationship over 6 months, and they were well into their 30s. (Perhaps it's the bad kissing?)

After all this and more (yes, I'm serious), dating is not exactly the fun Hollywood makes it out to be. They make it comical, sexy, and fun. Then you have the fairy tales, that make every young girl dream of her Prince Charming sweeping her off her feet. In reality it's probably some douche who is knocking you off your feet to steal your cab. It's awkwardness, being ignored out of existence after several dates, making you think you did something wrong. It makes you feel bad for actually having morals and expectations. It makes you feel bad for having standards.

There are past relationships that still haunt me. That make me question people when I probably don't need to. To not trust when it's really okay to do so. That prevent me from being as open as I could be with someone because I got laughed at by others for revealing myself. That make me fear I won't find someone who will have patience with me while I work out my own neurotic issues. That make me fear I won't find someone who won't hold me to a different standard than they hold themselves.

As sick as I am of trying to find my Mr. Right, I don't want to stop. I shall just find more Willoughby's before I find my Darcy.

Monday, April 11, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: I is for Instant

The instant I started this post, my damned laundry buzzer goes off. *sigh*

I'm back. That wasn't what I was really going to talk about, but instead how people want their shit instantly. I don't care what they want, they want it now. And if they don't get it now, then they'll throw little hissy fits until they get their way.

Today at my my third job, the vet clinic, I spoke to such an asshat on the phone this morning. This gentleman calls, and starts telling me how his dog is limping suddenly, and he worries she might have injured herself by running or jumping or something. Okay - it happens. Of course, this man talks to me like I'm supposed to recognize who "Ginger" is via the phone, and realize that he is obviously a super-dee-duper special client who doesn't have to make a fucking appointment. I politely tell him that I have several afternoon appointments available for him to choose from, which he forcefully says, "No, that won't work for me. It has be this morning." (What. The. Fuck. Did. I. Just. Tell. You?) I politely tell him that I don't have any morning appointments available (again), and he rudely asks for the other receptionist (who is my trainer). I politely tell him that she's on another line with another client, and he rolls right into how his dogs needs to be seen this morning. I step it up a notch. I said, "Sir, I understand that, but I do not have any available appointments this morning, we're solidly booked." To which he then tells me that he will just show up and be seen. I politely said, "If that's what you wish sir, but you do understand that you will have to wait until a doctor is done with his scheduled appointments to squeeze you in?" He showed his old cranky ass up at 11am, and promptly waited damn near 45 minutes. And you know what? That damned 12 year old dog was barely limping, and the vet didn't do anything and sent Mr. Cranky Ass back home.

So, I beg of you, pet owners, don't treat your local vet office in such a way. You win no respect or brownie points for being an asshat. If it's an emergency, we're happy to fit you in, and most other clients are understanding that emergencies happen. But don't call and get all pissy that the morning appointment you want isn't available. Unless it's coffee, you can't get a lot instantly, folks. So please, don't take it out on the poor receptionist.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Half-Assed Weekend

By way of The Simple Dude, it's a half-assed weekend post. I haven't done one in awhile. Lately it's because I've been blogging my damn brains out with this A-Z Challenge for April. Six days a week of blogging and having to come up with a post for every letter, it's nearly enough to drive one ape shit. But I'm also enjoying it, so it appears to be a catch-22.

I figured I'd let you guys in on the details of my new job, aka job number 3, aka vet office receptionist. For some of my newer followers here's a quick recap: Two weeks ago a vet came out, and long story short, he told me to turn in an application at the clinic. Next day he calls me for an interview for that afternoon. I was hired the day after that. Without a real interview, no applications, no resume's, nada. And now I'm up to three jobs. We shall see how long my sanity lasts.

Anyway, training has been going well. I've been there about three days a week, answering phones, setting appointments, and charging people ridiculous amounts of money for vet services rendered (or livestock vaccinations, wormers, joint supplements, and food). I still have a lot to learn, but everyone has been helpful and patient with me.

No one I work with has any idea about the blog, and I won't tell them, either. That way, they won't know if I'm talking about them. Or the customers. Or the pets. Or any of it.

I actually got left all alone for about two hours today (Saturday), as the only doctor was out on farm calls all afternoon. During the week, there are four vets. On the weekend it's just one, and we usually won't send them out on farm calls. But this time we didn't have a choice. And the tech today had to go run supplies to the vet, so she was gone about two hours or so. That left me. All by myself. I about had a panic attack. And rightfully so, as a guy came in to buy a 40lb bag of dog food and I couldn't for the life of me find the damn dog food in the computer system. I tried "science diet", "dog food", "dry food", "hill's", and all sorts of combinations of those listed. I called the tech, but she was out of service due to the passes she had to climb to get to the vet. I eventually had to write up manual receipt and apologized to the guy, who was very patient and understanding and was even trying to help me figure it out - because I couldn't even run his credit card because I had no idea how much to charge! The tech eventually called back and told me it was under "maintenance". When all she got was silence from my end she said, "Yeah. It made no sense to me either!" So, apparently, puppy food is under "growth", adult food is under "maintenance" and senior food is, oddly enough, "senior". What. The. Fuck. Who designed that system and what the hell where they smoking?! So I charged the man's account, so that he can come back next week and pay for it. Or he'll get a bill. Either way, we want his money.

I'll be back in there three days next week. And in the middle of the week I'll be helping my grandparents with their publication. Now it's time to put it all together. I feel torn, because the clinic wants me there to train, and my grandparents want me to be with them to learn how stuff gets done. Hopefully things will settle into a nice routine, and everybody's happy.

I get tomorrow (Sunday) off, thanks to my grandmother. I get to sleep in, do laundry and clean house. Yeah, you know you're jealous. Admit it.

April Blogging Challenge: H is for Horses

I can't pinpoint the moment that I became obsessed fell in love with horses. It might have been when someone pointed to a picture of a horse when I was a toddler. I'm not sure my parents could even tell you. But I was one of those madly in love with horses kind of kid. And I couldn't have one for the longest time. For some reason, the city frowns on you keeping one in your backyard. Not sure why . . .

I used to ask Santa every year for a horse and each year I was denied. I usually got everything else I asked for, but thankfully for my parents, Santa realized that horses cost a lot of money and when I was little, we didn't have that kind of money. Or space.

I was the girl who always had a horse book in my hands. I read the Black Stallion books by Walter Farley dozens of times. If it wasn't about horses, I didn't read it. At least, not until I was about 12. I was a sponge when it came to learning about them.

When I was 13, my parents decided to move out of Redding and find a place that had a few acres for some elbow room. The house they chose has a corral with a two stall barn and attached tack/hay room. From the minute we drove in I knew it was home and that somehow I'd finally get that horse I'd always wanted.

My grandparents had gifted me riding lessons when I was about 10 or 11. I don't think you could have found a happier kid at the time. I was on cloud 9. Eventually it got too expensive and I had to stop going. After we moved to the three acres, my parents found another gal that taught horseback riding. When it, too, became expensive, my parents asked if I could work for my lessons by cleaning stalls and whatnot. Their idea was to work my ass off and make me realize I didn't want to deal with the mess and work that comes with horse. Boy did I prove them wrong. Whatever that woman threw at me, I did it. I mucked stalls - nasty stalls, with the smell of ammonia burning my nostrils. And still I wanted to ride and I wanted my own.

That instructor caught wind of a horse for sale, an Arabian mare named Kassie. She herself hated Arabs, instead preferring Morgans. However, this horse was her exception because she had helped the owner train it. I went for a test ride and fell in love. My parents bought her for me, and I owned her for 6 years. We even got a baby out of it, as we bred her a year later.

I eventually had to sell Kassie when I moved off for college. It broke my heart. The little one, O'My, was sent to live at Papa D's ranch. I get to see her now almost every morning. She's about 14 now. In fact, she just had a birthday yesterday.

Having my horses taught me hard work. Every weekend I was out cleaning the corral, creating a big manure pile in one corner. We'd give the pile away to friends who wanted fertilizer. My horses made some good shit. Rain or shine, I'd do my chores. I rode nearly every day in good weather. They were my responsibility. My parents pitched in only when needed, like when I was gone one summer for a school trip. I took a few falls, and got right back on, no matter how freaked out I was. My ego was always more bruised than my butt - which I always seemed to land on. Better than my head, I suppose.

My enthusiasm may have waned a little over the years, but I love horses just as much as I did as a kid. I just realize now that they cost a lot of money - to purchase, to feed, and buy supplies for. Hopefully when the weather gets better and the ground isn't so apt to break an ankle, I might get to ride one of Papa D's horses, Cloud. I know she hasn't been ridden in quite awhile, but she's in her late teens, and a good age for me to "get back in the saddle".

I love all animals, but there's just something about horses. I can't quite put my finger on it. They're beautiful, majestic, kind, and cuddly. I love their smell. I love the smell of a barn. I love the smell of a tack store. After the bites, the attempted kicks, the being stepped on, the falls, the attitudes - I still love them. There's not much that can top a horse hug. Or a horse kiss. Or a horse pillow.

Friday, April 8, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: G is for Genealogy

We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies. ~Shirley Abbott 

This is something that I dabble in from time to time, I'm definitely no expert. But I find it interesting finding out where your ancestors came from. America is definitely a melting pot from the get-go. I mean, after Britain sailed over, stuck a flag in the shores of Virginia, and claimed it from the Native Americans who just happened to be here first. The Americas were a place for other countries to send their criminals so that someone else could deal with them. It was a place for new beginnings for so many people, a place where streets were paved in gold and opportunity knocked everywhere.

Years ago I found my family history somewhere in the house, I can't remember where my mom had it. But someone had done an awful lot of work, and traced part of the family back to the 1600's, to the first person to come over from Britain - his name was Stephen Streeter, and he was born in Goudherst, Kent, England. He married a woman named Ursula Adams, whose brother was the great-grandfather of John Adams, the second president of the United States, and subsequently, the great-great-grandfather to John Quincy Adams (the son of John Adams), another president.

John Adams

That would be from my mom's side. From my dad's side . . . I get the Vaudeville folks. But I also get people who settled a town in Northern California.

According to family history given to me by my dad's parents, Samuel Day crossed the plains with his family in 1861 with ox teams. They eventually settled in Little Hot Springs Valley, which was later named "Day", which is my last name. Samuel married Annie Godfrey. Her family came from Monmouth Shire in England, near Wales. Her father  got into the circus when his parents died young and he had to fend for himself. Once in America, he formed the group, The Godfrey Family Show, with his family.

My Granddad (my dad's dad), lost both his parents by the time he was 10 years old. My Granny suspects his mother died from appendicitis, as she became ill quickly and died a few days later. About three years later, my great-grandfather died after being ill for several weeks. My Granddad was then raised by his older sisters. He, himself, was in a plane crash in 1949 that broke nearly every bone in his body. The doctors said he'd never walk again, but he not only walked, he chased after three kids, and ran a milk delivery business for Foremost.

Some people just search to find famous people in their family trees. Well, if you go back far enough, almost everyone will have a connection so someone famous. Seriously. In my random searching, I have found connections to Jane Austen, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Isaac Newton, several US Presidents (or their wives), a few signers of the Declaration of Independence, Samuel Morse (inventor of the Morse Code), Frank Lloyd Wright, and Humphry Bogart.

Jane Austen

Samuel Morse

While it's very cool to find valid connections to famous people, some of those names I mentioned above are something like 9th cousin, 2 times removed. Now I've always been a wee bit confused with the whole "removed" bit, but I'm thinking that it basically means there's no real blood relation. Or there was a separation or divorce. Or they just said "We don't like you anymore".  The only famous person I found that I'm connected with that was not "removed" at all, was W.G. Grace, who would be an 11th cousin and was a famous Cricketer - he apparently made it a "spectator sport". Being that I'm American and don't understand Cricket at all, I wasn't overly impressed (sorry for my British followers!), but I do still think it's cool.

More than likely, you'd be like me - start finding some really weird names in your tree. I mean, Trelma, Zelma, Zebulum, Napthley, Meletus, and more. I swear, I really don't know where people found some of these names.

Anyway, I think it's cool to know where you come from, where your ancestors came from. Every generation has a story.

P.S. I wanted to put some of my own old photos in this post, but the ones that are on a computer are at my parents house, and the ones here I could scan aren't the best quality. So I stole images of my famous relatives. Maybe another time.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: F is for Followers & Family

This post is three-fold. First, I would like to welcome the new followers that have stopped by. Thank you so much for stopping by and clicking "follow"! I hope that you stick around and like what you read.

Secondly, I'd like to mention a huge thank you to Deidra Eden-Coppel over at A Storybook World for bestowing on my humble blog, her Creative Blog Award. She stopped by and liked what she saw, and decided to bestow this upon me - or my blog rather. Thank you so much!!

And thirdly, onto my post for today! Today I will be talking about my awesome family. If more families were like mine, the world would probably be a better place. Seriously, if I had ever spoken to my parents like kids seem to today, I would have found myself picking my ass up off the floor more often than not.

My family has a tendency to take care of each other. I'm not saying we don't have our fair share of family drama and issues - because Lord knows every family has their own fair share. We have grudges, we have flakes, we have drama queens (and kings), and the like. But I will focus on the good, because that is what is important.

My parents decided last year to move my grandparents onto their property so they could more easily help them. These are my dad's parents, not the grandparents I'm currently with. Over the last several  years, my dad gradually began helping out his parents more and more often. As long as he's in town, he has lunch over there nearly every day. While he's there, he would assist with ironing, laundry, small fix-its, cleaning, or anything else they would need. My mom cooks food pretty much every weekend for them, so they have plenty of food, as cooking wears out my grandparents. It finally came to a point where my parents felt it would be easier having them closer (like in the front yard kind of close), versus having to drive 30 minutes into town each time.

My grandparents house is up for sale, and they will use the money from the sale to purchase a "granny unit" that will be placed on my parents property. My parents will be helping them pack up their belongings, and help them move. My parents have recently helped get a motorized wheelchair for my Granddad. When Granny calls for something, my parents do what they can to help them out. For the past month, they haven't left their house. My Granddad took a nasty spill in his house, and he can no longer walk very far, even with his walker. My parents have done their grocery shopping, mom still cooks food for them.

My parents also look after my mom's parents. While my parents aren't as involved in the level of care that my dad's parents require, my mom's parents know that my parents will be there for them.

While my parents give up most of their free time to help their parents, they do it willingly. They do try to get some time to themselves, though. They even finagled a night away last week, just to themselves. Which they fully deserved.

Eventually, being the only child, I'm sure this sort of thing will fall on my shoulders (and hopefully a husband's as well). I joke with my parents that I will "take good care of them" and find them the best nursing home. But in reality, I will be just like them - busting my ass to help them.

Why? Because that is what families should do. Seriously. Families are supposed to support each other, help each other, and protect each other. Somewhere this got lost in society. But this was how people survived  since the dawn of people. We created "families" for support and strength. How, why, and where this got lost is beyond me.

I'm proud of what my family does for each other. We may have our drama and issues, but we do still love each other. And that is all that truly matters.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: E is for Entertainment

So what does a Sacramento transplant do to entertain herself after moving to Sticksville? Why, fall face first into mudshit, that's what. But besides running around after cows on an ATV making the cow shit fly everywhere, trying not to get run over by a possessed cow, and falling down in 2 foot deep mud, what else does a girl do?

Well, I do love to annoy my cat, Miss Harriet. You know, pamper her with so much love and attention that the normal look of disdain turns into a look that says, "I'm plotting ways to kill you in  your sleep". Plus I love it when she gets a wild hair up her ass and every tiny thing freaks her out, so that all I have to do is take one step towards her and she does 5 laps around the house before stopping.

I'm not sure how I survived before Netflix. I mean, seriously? Oddly enough, I do remember thinking, "OMG how lazy do you have to be to have your movies mailed to you?!" when I first heard about it. Yes, I'm a hypocrite. Not intentionally, though. And I'm not sure how I survived before I had DSL (and now wireless) so that I could watch stuff instantly while waiting for movies through the mail. I have more movies and TV shows in my que than I care to admit. I have just watched two Russell Crowe movies (Robin Hood and 3:10 to Yuma) and really enjoyed them. I just received a couple discs of the show Chuck (don't judge).

Reading. Oh, this is going to become a very expensive addiction habit. I'm sure you can find previous posts about my obsession with Jane Austen related books. In fact my very first April Blogging Challenge post was about Jane Austen. I've branched out in regards to authors in the past two or three years. Some I have really enjoyed, others I'm not so sure. I've been a huge Dean Koontz fan since high school. Stephen King's novels make me seriously wonder how that man can sleep at night. I've started reading Kathy Reichs (Bones is based on her books), and I've enjoyed what I've read. Alice Sebold had me a little weirded out with Almost Moon. And I love love love the Harry Potter books.

I enjoy concerts, although I seriously think that most artists these days are charging way too much for tickets. A couple summers ago, I went with a group of friends to see Nickelback at the Marysville Amphitheater, the tickets cost about $70 per person with the taxes and fees added. Manageable. The very next spring, I looked up tickets to see Rascal Flatts there - wanting the same seats (not up front, but not lawn seats) and the damn things were $160!!! What. The. FUCK. Really? Highway robbery, folks, highway robbery. As much as I love me some Rascal Flatts, I will never pay $160 for tickets. Unless I get to meet them backstage and get to spend the day with them and they put me in their next video. I've been to tons of concerts since I was about 11 years old. They're a lot of fun, and in some cases  you get to shake your booty a little, too.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: D is for Death

I hate to go all morbid on you guys, but this technically is a part of life. I'm not going to go into losing family members or friends, but rather the pet side of it. I know a wrote a post quite awhile back regarding how people see their pets - as members of the family. I got my first (and only thus far) anonymous comment because of that post.

I'm not going to open up that debate again, but it is clear that in general, for the average person, their pets are like family members. These animals, in most cases, will spend up to 15 or even 20 years living with you. With horses, you can have them for 35 years. With some birds, they can actually outlive you, meaning that your poor kids have to suffer with Polly.

I had other ideas lined up for this letter, one them about my family history. However, today (Monday), a gal came into the clinic that I now work at as Job #3, to put down her 15 year old dog. She called in the morning, hardly able to put together a cohesive sentence. She told me that she needed to euthanize her dog, that it was his time. I found an available time for her later that morning, just before lunch so that hopefully it would be relatively quiet for her. (Yeah, that didn't really happen). I settled her bill over the phone, so that when she came in, all she had to do was sign the credit card slip and the euthanasia consent form. About 2 hours later, she comes in, her eyes all puffy and her nose all sniffely. As I showed her where to sign on the credit slip, she cried, "I'll never own another dog!" I took that to mean the saying good-bye part was too difficult, not that her dog was the world's worst.

In my three days at this particular clinic, I've seen three dogs lose their lives. And not necessarily to the pink juice. One dog was a little guy who had been attacked by larger dogs, and survived the 45 minute drive, as we are the nearest clinic, only to die in the vet's arms within 30 minutes of arriving at the clinic. Another dog was brought in, the owner thinking it was having seizures. I saw the x-rays of the dog's heart - highly abnormal. It died, too.

In all the clinics I've worked for since I graduated from high school, this was always the hardest part of the job. As horrible as it is to say, yes, you do get used to euthanizing animals. But that doesn't make it any less sad. The worst is the owners. I hate seeing them crying, telling you about their beloved Fido or Fluffy. The worst of the worst is if the owner wants to be in the room when you give the pink juice.

The first time I saw an owner saying good-bye to their dog before the pink juice, it nearly killed me. I had to go hide in the kennels to let my eyes dry up before going back out.

We all know that nothing lives forever. Yet it doesn't make it any easier when the time comes. In fact, the 10 or 15 years you spend with Fido or Fluffy make that much harder to make that call. I think the hardest thing for pet owners is finally saying, "It's time to euthanize". No one wants to take that final walk. No one.

My grandfather put down his horse, Chubs, this past year. That horse was somewhere around 35, which is damned old for a horse. This horse, my grandfather owned her whole life, and trained her. The vet had mentioned euthanasia, but Papa D couldn't do it. All I had to do was see Chubs to agree with the vet, but I knew that if it was O'My (my horse), I would have the same dilemma. You don't want to see them suffer, but you don't want to say good-bye, either. In the end, he finally made the decision to put her down.

So the next time you think, "my pet isn't family, it's just an animal", think about down the road. Think about the moment when you will have to end their suffering. You'll be bawling like a baby, just like the rest of us. And don't think the folks in the clinic are heartless because they've done this a thousand times, because they care, too. They have pets and they know their time will come. They put on a brave face because they have a job to do.

But trust me. We all cry. Because even though you know they're no longer suffering, death sucks.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

April Blogging Challenge: C is for Cat (duh)

Yes, I am writing about my cat, Miss Harriet. I've mentioned her a few times, probably posted a picture or two of her since I've been blogging. But I've never told you the story of how she came into my life.

Shortly after I moved to Sacramento, one of my friends that I met while working at Petco (who had moved there the same time I did) had transferred from the Chico Petco to a Sacramento location. In the city, folks tend to just drop off an animal at the doors before employees arrive because they're so freaking wracked with guilt and shame (as the should be) they can't take it to the Humane Society or return it if it was purchased from the store. Heaven forbid they just take care of the fucking animal they purchased. Yeah, that's a whole other soapbox.

Moving on.

One morning my friend got to work to find a large cat carrier left in front of the doors, with a cat inside. Being that she has a heart of gold, she took the cat home. This cat, however, was not fond of her two other cats, and seemed to get sick from the food she fed her other cats. So she took it to her boyfriend's house. This cat was also not fond of his two cats, but like the food better. She kept hinting to me that this cat needed a home with no other pets and someone who could give it lots of love (aka me). After a couple months of nagging hinting, I finally decided to take the cat. My friend had named her Harriet, simply because she is quite hairy. She's a long-haired, black and white kitty.

Since it was December when I took the cat, my friend and her boyfriend agreed and offered to buy me stuff to get set up with Harriet.

Harriet is quite the affectionate cat; if you're sitting down, that means your lap is automatically available for her to claim. She doesn't give a snit if you're deathly allergic to her, all laps fall under her domain. If she makes it to the bed before I make it, it simply doesn't get made. I hate to disturb her snotty highness such a sweet kitty. Her motor runs if she's cuddling next to you. Her whiskers are so long that if she is within a foot of my face, they tickle my face.

She leaves me such disgusting nice presents. I mean, she really is so very thoughtful. She enjoys leaving me hairballs once in awhile. It's the greatest thing in the world to wake up in a dark room, to walk to the bathroom and step on something wet and slimy. I have no words to express my joy - I simply jump up and down in excitement.

She dreams. I have no idea what she dreams about, but I know she does. In fact, she's dreaming as I type. It's a good dream so far. A good dream her smacking her lips or making little licking noises, and her nose will twitch a bit. More than likely, she's able to catch what she's after. She also has nightmares. The really bad ones will have her jolt from her slumber, jumping to the ceiling and hissing; she'll land - me laughing my ass off, and her looking at me like, "Nothing to see here, move along." The best ones are where she jumps and hisses with no warning, therefore scaring me so bad that I actually scream, which probably doesn't help her obvious freaked out state of mind.

She despises travel. She'll meow most of the time in the carrier, sounding like she's being tortured.

She sheds enough in a week that it could easily make another cat. My carpet constantly looks like a Dalmatian, full of black spots. It's nasty.

But I love her to pieces, even if she is a wee bit psychotic. She only wants to be loved, is super friendly (unless you're trying to comb out mats), and is quite cuddly. She may not jump for joy when I come through the door, but she fits in my lap quite nicely.