He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not.

Just yesterday I was conflicted:  Moggy, the Domestic Short Hair kitty Bandit and I rescued two years ago, has never gifted me with a small animal. (Yea!  But does that mean he doesn't love me?) 

When he kept punching out the AC side panels of our window unit, so he could escape I was crushed. I had spent all kinds of money on Vet bills, cat toys, litter boxes, quality cat food, and all the other trappings of a spoiled kitty. And all he wanted to do was escape from me. I was crushed. 

Then he came back and I was elated. 

Until he ran off while we were at a hotel in Florida. I spent hours calling his name. Worried the large free-roaming dogs might find him before I did. And then he came back. Once again I was elated. 

Finally, I realized he likes his freedom. I do as well, so I could relate. So I stopped fixing the side panel. It's now his official Cat Door. (I do keep a really tight reign on him when we travel though--now he stays in the cat carrier, in the SUV, until I have the room set up for the boys: water and respective feeding stations--Moggys up high so Bandit can't get into it, litter box and waste disposal bags and equipment in the corner by the trash basket, toys for Bandit, collapsible tunnel for Moggy, etc.) 

After Moggy had the freedom to come and go as he wished, I noticed he started coming home sooner. Now it's nothing for him to race me down the driveway and walk in with me. He's even responded to his name. He's even starting coming dcome when called. Both actions are very uncat-like. 

He's always been loving--but on his terms. When he's feeling well, he uproots Bandit from my lap. But when he's feeling poorly (or when I'm trying to type something on my iPhone),  he crawls up on my chest. It's been his safe place since we rescued him. 

All that to say:  I think Moggy does love me. So I was kind of hurt that he hadn't brought me any gifts.  But not really, because my gift-less state meant he wasn't killing another living creature. 

Until I came home to find a squirrel tail on my living room floor tonight. This is the second one I've found. The last one was small (like a baby) and I found it outside. Probably about a year ago. 

Once could be a fluke. But twice is a pattern. And confirmation that he loves me. 

Long Live the Queen of Rationalization!

The Queen of Rationalization has struck again.  She is the Evil Twin Sister of the Queen of Procrastination. I am well aquatinted with both.  I will not point fingers and lay blame; however, I will say this:  Due to poor planning a situation arose. It was not of crisis proportions; however, it did present a small dilemma:  Do the Right Thing—or, go for the Quick-n-Easy Fix?

I’m ashamed to say the Quick-n-Easy Fix was the path taken. Here’s a list of the “reasons” used:

1. I’m too tired to do the work involved in doing the right thing.
2. No one needs know about it.
3. It’s not like I make a habit of it.
4. I’m not hurting anyone else, and in fact, by doing this I am stimulating the economy, so I’m actually helping others. 
5. I haven’t treated myself since…last week, so it is due me. 
6. It was a cheap fix.
7. At least I didn’t rent it like someone else I know did—now that would be wasteful! So, really, I'm a better person than they are.  And I'm being a good steward of resources. Why, I'm practically a saint! I should receive acclaim and a reward for my goodness. Maybe even the Nobel Peace Prize. 

And the list of rationalizations continued to grow and top one another in outlandish claims. Sadly, the dilemma remains. It has not been resolved. In fact, it looks as if I may be washing clothes late tonight while marathon-reading my book club book. All so I can avoid appearing dumb at my book club dinner tomorrow evening   (Am I really still cramming and pulling all-nighters before a test?  For a volunteer, FUN Book Club?!).  

So it would appear. 

Okay, so avoiding the appearance of being dumb is the lesser of the motivations. The real motivation is avoiding going to work nekked as a jay-bird. 

I guess I'll skip the reading.  And the laundry.  I'll purchase an outfit.  Again. 

And yes, there really is an online clothing rental site—your fee includes the clothing rental, shipping and handling (both ways—unless you decide to purchase and keep the outfit),  and the cleaning fee of all returned clothing! 

No, I have not tried the service.  

And I'm not going to finish my book by dinner tomorrow. 

I'm an Uncultured Heathen.

I'm an uncultured heathen.

A friend won tickets to the Central Texas Orchestral Society Van Cliburn Recital featuring 2013 gold medalist Vadym Kholodenko.

I didn't make it past Chopin.

In my defense, I had too much sun and tension at the homecoming game, and it was dark and cool, and the chairs were very comfy, and the first few pieces: Berceuse,  op. 57 (was not to my liking at all), and Nocturne in G Minor, op 37, no. 1 was lullabyish. And I complied.

I perked up for Nocturne in G Major, op 37, no 2.  Unfortunately, it was not a second wind rally which usually sees me through into the wee small hours of the night.

By the time he performed Bolero, op 19 (frankly, the only thing that sounded remotely familiar), and Tarantella, op 43, the comfy seats had done their number on both of us.

I'm afraid we gave up on trying to stay awake for Liszt and Scriabin--we left at intermission.

And I got caught skipping out on culture by a co-worker.

Of course, now that I've been outside in the cool air, I'm wide awake. So I'm gassing up the car and buying DDPs and something for lunch for tomorrow (I have to work and the Canteen is closed so I have to bring my lunch).

It's a double whammy on the heathenism--skipping church tomorrow and skipping culture tonight.

At least I didn't snore. Or drool.

I don't think.

Social Media Sucked Me In. Again.

The last time I looked at the clock it was 10:30.  I had just picked up cat food at HEB after losing at Bunco. I remembered an email I wanted to read that I didn't have time for before the game. So I opened the email up. What could it hurt? It's just an email. 

Four (4) HOURS later I have seen all of the posted quartet videos and three of my favorite chorus videos (The Woodlands Show Chorus, Houston Horizon, and The Richtones) all competing in Las Vegas this week at the Sweet Adoline International contest. The music at this level is phenomenal! 

SAI is an organization that empowers women through musical education and performance of a Capella music in true four part harmony (not three parts with the "fourth" an overlap of another part) in the Barbershop style. They are the most amazing women on the face of the earth. Even at competition,while some can be petty and overly competitive, for the most part they are uplifting and encouraging. I can not say enough good things about my previous involvement with this organization. (Many if our churches could take some lessons in acceptance and encouragement from these ladies.) 

So, tomorrow I need to stay really busy since I'm going to be working on just a few hours sleep. That's assuming I don't see another email I need to read--like the one about adoptable pets from APAC...

Thursday is a dangerous social media day for me. 

(Unedited because I'm too pooped to fix problems. Goodnight.) 

The Joys of Pet Parenthood.

Living with Bandit (my 11-year old Chinese Crested--hairless dog) and Moggy (our 2-year old DSH rescue kitty) is always an adventure. Each new day brings some little present. Tonight was no exception:

I found the duvet in the middle of the floor and I heard hurried scrambling behind the bookcase. Inhaling in preparation of a verbal chastisement (a "tell" a friend told be about years ago) I found the real shock--I was unable to speak! 

Reposed on my duvet was not Bandit as expected--it was Moggy!  A quick glance in the direction of the bookcase revealed Bandit scrambling out wearing nothing but a sheepish expression!  

How the HECK did he fit back there?! 

Working Over Time in the Dream Factory

It was one of those nights...

In one of my dreams a cop knocked on my car window.  I was so sleepy I could barely open my eyes. When I managed it, I hallucinated people and things that weren't actually in the shadows.  I was two blocks from home, and had pulled over for a cat-nap after swerving out of control in an attempt to avoid a mongoose darting out of the dark bushes lining the fence running along-side the deserted road. The police officer wanted to take me in for vagrancy and violating the curfew. I explained I was just trying to be safe and waiting until I was rested enough to make the remainder of my drive home. He was unimpressed. Before he could respond I had awakened. (I watched a recoding of last weeks episode of Designated Survivor. I must have been thinking about their Michigan Police State Standoff.)

Luckily I fell right back to sleep.  Unfortunately my next dream had me car-dueling with a couple of teenaged hot-rodders (the driver had a cam walker boot on due to some pre-dream injury).  I forced the teens to watch a video on car safety (I think this dream was in response to the distracted driving video I posted just before going to bed). I tearfully told the boys I wanted them to be safe so they would be around and bugging the crap out of me for another 75 years--but they wouldn't last the year the way they were driving right now. Again, I awoke before I had dream-resolution (but in my heart I'm sure they listened to my wise words and began driving like responsible adults.  Yeah, I live in PollyAnna-ville.)

The third dream must have been a doozy because I woke up in a cold sweat, yelling for Bandit, Moggy, and Tweety Bird (maybe because I shared a post for a friend seeking forever homes for a bird and a kitten--I believe one or both are still available if anyone is interested). After I assured myself everyone was okay I allowed myself to drift back to slumber-land even thought it was after 4am. I skipped the gym. 

This morning, when I finally got up for good, I had a headache. 

I think my brain has been working over-time in the Dream Factory and is in desperate need of a vacation!  

Bandit: My Fabulous Famous FurBoy

Thursday night I posted one of the photos of Bandit in his tuxedo, along with a breezy intro (with a shout out to Moggy), on a new dog page on FB called Lovely Dogs.  The likes have been steadily rolling in--so much so, I was getting kind of prideful and I thought, Bandit's becoming an internet sensation!  I've always joked about him being famous and giving paw-di-graphs--now, it could actually be coming true!  Yeah, yeah, yeah--I know it's  just FaceBook.

When The BaldOne Boy hit over three-hundred likes I got all puffed up thinking, He's gone viral!  

I know. I know.  Going viral is actually based on the number of shares not likes. Just give me this moment.

I had even started thinking the agents and publishers could seek me out, rather than the other way around. And maybe I could get a sponsor for my blog [you know, the blog that only has one (1!) official Follower--a total stranger I picked up the year I participated in an April Blog Challenge].  Maybe the sponsorship would enable me to retire early--but not until they hired a full contingency of Patient Care Coordinators because I don't want my coworkers to suffer while I become a rich and famous writer.  I became giddy thinking of the unrealistic possibilities. 

Such is my fantasy life now that I'm back to working 6 and 7 day weeks as we continue to attempt to fill two of our six positions. 

These thoughts flitted through my brain at warp speed between the nano-seconds that it took for me to realize Bandit has not gone viral--he has just received likes--he has not been shared. 

After I calmed down and began thinking rationally, I started to return-like the people who had liked Bandit (I had already begun replying to the ones who commented or left emojis).  I realized all the dogs have 200-300 likes. Pet Parents are very likable and supportive of one another. 

Then I ran across several dogs with 500+ likes...and one that was close to 1K. They left Bandit sitting in their dust. The sobering realization hit me: three-hundred likes is almost run-of-the-puppy-mill. 

My bubble officially busted. 

Like being thrown into a cold shower, I remembered what I already knew:  No Agents are going to call. No Publisher is going to seek out my stories. No Sponsor is going to enable me to quit my day job. I'm just going to have to continue writing for my one official Follower for free. 

But It's not quite as pathetic and depressing as it sounds--I wrote and submitted another short article last month. (Albeit, I have received no news to date which, from this particular Publisher, means it's not been accepted either.)  

But even that little downer is still not pathetic--people other than my official Follower read my blog anonymously:  A few Friends and Family.  And total strangers that randomly see my tweets with the blog link. And of course the people I pay to publicly like my posts:  you know who you are--the  check's in the mail.

Even though I'm not quitting my Day Job any time soon, and Bandits likes are not over-the-top impressive, I'm gonna keep on blogging about everyday stuff--and the antics of my Fabulous FurKids. 

I'll have to build a following, and do the hard non-glamorous work of writing, editing, researching and submitting appropriate fits for Agents and Story Submissions. 

Just like everyone else. 

Well, except everyone else isn't employed for the express reason of spoiling  a fabulous feline and captivating canine--after all, Bandit continues to live up to his thievery name as he steals the hearts of all with whom he comes into contact.

It's early Saturday morning and still no shares, but Bandit's up to 390 likes. 

Still Stopping Traffic at Fifty-Six

I didn't think it was possible, but this ole gal's still got it. I may be packing a few extra pounds and sprouting enough silver to mint my own coins, but at 56 (I won't turn 57 until the end of next month), I still have the ability to stop traffic. 

Honestly. 

A sweet little chihuahua ambled out into the street tonight. Directly into the path of my SUV.  I slowed. He looked straight at me, and continued walking toward me. As I rolled to a complete stop, so did he--directly in front of me, where he worried something stuck to the pavement. 

Afraid I would scare him blindly into traffic, I contemplated exiting my SUV and scooping the little darling up, as I counted the four cars stopping  behind me. 

Before I could decide, he calmly turned and returned to his slightly larger friend, who had wisely stayed on the sidewalk.  

Amazingly, although it was end of the day rush hour, not a single car honked impatiently. 

I'm claiming this incident as proof of my ability to still stop traffic.