Stupid Walls

After spending another day writing alone, I sat down to baked salmon and rice with my husband. Daily events proved too boring to discuss, so, like most couples, we moved onto the 2009 MacWorld Conference. After mourning the absence of their loveable turtlenecked CEO, we starting talking about Apple products. In a functional home, this would've devolved into a trip to Apple.com and the rememorization of the "emergency" credit card number. But, here in Salmonland, it lead to an animated shouting match ending in bitter statments only an ex should make: "They remove their DRM on iTunes and they think they're being extra generous. HA! I bought that song, dammit, it's always been mine!!!" and "Apple, they think their laptops are soooooo special They'll see when their lame-ass propietary batteries fail!" The encore was me slamming my hand into the dining room wall, yet still finishing my fervent theory of how the Long Tail was going to end Internet Piracy once and for all. It still smarts, yet I feel so much stupider.

My All Hallow's Day

I gave up this blog a few months ago because writing about injuries can suck. When one realizes they actually injure themselves everyday, it becomes more of a "what the hell happened to me" moment than fodder for a good post. But today, I remembered that daily injuries happen to others, in more horrific and public ways than just tripping on the sidewalk.

This afternoon, my friend called to tell me that one of their cats had passed away. Although that may not seem too horrendous (for example, I said "cats" not "cat," and it's not "me"). The cat that died was young and died suddenly. It was also the cuddliest, hungriest, friendliest cats on earth. That cat could be folded into a pillow... a fluffy, hungry, cat-filled pillow.

Anyway, it made me put in perspective all my recent injuries and setbacks: reorgs, rejections, repairs and revisions. This is the note I sent to my friend on behalf of Mr. Lemonywinks. Note: I've never performed a cat eulogy.

"Sadly, I'm sorry for what you're going through. Mr. Winks was such a good boy, and I know that he was probably in your "Top 5 Beings in the World." Meaning, losing him is probably very very painful. Micah and I are upset because Mr. Winks was a great cat, and we're also incredibly sad because you're devastated right now. Although, to be honest, Mr. Winks would just be gorging himself if you passed on. That's his thing... eating.

"Mr. Winks was your fluffy little kid. Except, he wasn't quite, because kids grow up and cats grow up fast. Although your time with him seems short for you, he did have a wonderful life and was very happy with all the love you showed him. You gave him so much, and I know he was very content with all the care, snuggles, food, and catnip you provided. In short, you're a good cat parent and wonderful provider to everyone in your family.

"Again, please let me know if there's anything we can do. If you want dinner, household help, or just to get some brunch over the weekend, please let us know. This has to be a horrific and painful experience, and Micah and I want to support you through it. Also, next time we're at Dearborn, we'll make a donation to a collaborative shelter in Mr. Lemonywinks' name. This is a very hard time, but it will get better, and you must remember that you did well by Mr. Winks, and you've given him (and the rest of us) the love, support and friendship we all really need. "

No Man's Land

I watched "The Warriors" at a friend's house. All was going well (i.e. no injuries) until I got home. Drunk and sleepy, I washed my face and shut off the faucet-- but the water didn't stop running. I trotted downstairs and realized there was no water running out of any faucet. At 1:15 AM, I realized there was water running under the house: the outside faucet had snapped off the house. I crawled, WW1 style, through a No Man's Land of crickets, gravel and CPVC piping to shut off the valve. My elbows and knees bruised up, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the bruise to the checkbook-- 340 dollars. Luckily, I did get to watch a 250-pound plumber squirm while a friend's beagle discovered his ass when they both crawled under the house.

Hanger Hair

I went to Loehmanns tonight searching for a dress. My friends are getting married in J-actionville, Florida, so I rationalized a shopping trip out of it. During the second trek to the dressing common-room, I got a hanger stuck in my hair and had to rip a few follicles to break free. After working my way through eight dresses, I found myself in a tunic that fit so poorly that I tried it on three ways, thinking each time I had stuck my head through an armhole. I looked at the tag for an illustration and conferred with another shopper to figure it out. Thirty minutes later, I left the store, empty-handed.

Ticking Time Bomb

When I first saw Boxey three years ago, she was huddled in a little crate outside the PetSmart on Ponce de Leon. I'd gone to buy light bulbs at Home Depot, but I left the stripmall parking lot with a dachshund accompanying my GE compact fluorescents. When we got home, she ran a victory lap around the house before settling on the couch, her paw poised on the armrest. Since then, she's been a tiny, ticking time bomb of scratching fury. Big moon eyes gaze from the floor, but once my hand stops scratching her chin, she unleashes her wrath through a furious frenzy of sharp, black claws. I managed to come clean tonight with only a three little marks on my right hand. Content with her post-pettin's handiwork, Boxey did another victory lap and went to have a lie-down in her basket.

Dreaming with Dogs

This morning, I dreamt that I was driving a beige Carmengia around Ireland at night, searching for the coast. I'd just reached the twilit sea when my bed-hog-of-a-dog, Dotty, donkey kicked me in the jugular. Stupid Dotty...

Near Miss

Went to Atlanta Roller Derby tonight at the Yaarab Shrine. After several beers in the Shriner's parking lot, we sat on the floor near Turn 4 before realizing were sitting in a line-of-fire. Despite wearing fishnets and miniskirts, roller girls skate really really fast and slingshot each other around the track. They also fall down, a lot; and, they also fall into the audience, a lot. We moved to the bleachers just in time to see Raging Cock shove Punkin π into the spot we'd been sitting. Robin and I picked our new roller derby names, Ph.Death and Princess Slaya, but after watching Reba Smackintyre elbow-check Anita Bopabitch, we decided to stick to tailgating.