Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
why i love you
I decided to wear your cologne today and I'm really glad I did. It's what I think a man should smell like, it smells like YOU and every time I move, it drifts up and I feel better.
better than prozac
I recently realized I had yet to properly introduce the newest member of our family.
This is Hoban Washburne, Wash for short.
He is the most wonderful cat ever to grace the earth with his presence. I mean it. He’s quiet (except when he wants that turkey sandwich you’re eating), he’s cuddly and he sleeps as much as I wish I could. He knows his name and will come running if you offer him a lap upon which to lounge.
And he loves his Mama. I don’t know what Jason did - maybe it was his big hiking boots tromping around, maybe it was his smell after having cleaned out the garage, or maybe it was just that his heart was two sizes too small - but last week Wash developed an aversion to him. Wash could be sound asleep in my lap and Jason would walk into the room and it was like a gunshot went off - he’s up and under our bed faster than a 20 lb cat should be able to move.
I'm pretty sure it has something to do with all the company we had for the last 3 WEEKS IN A ROW. Poor cat didn’t have a chance what with the constant stream of people roaming about the house; enough people to start a baseball team with. I think it was too much for his delicate sensibilities to handle. So for now he only likes me. Which is completely fine by me. I would hide that cat in my pocket and take him with me everywhere if he didn’t weigh so much.
Is that a 20 lb cat in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
He really has been a personal mini-lifesaver over the past month. With my struggling through the depression and anxiety, the knowledge that when I get home there will be a husband, a bunny and an amorous cat waiting for me has made a world of difference. And at night, he lies between Jason and I and runs his little motor. I rest my hand on his side and drift off to sleep. Who needs Valium when you have a cat that sounds like a classic ‘67 Camaro?
This is Hoban Washburne, Wash for short.
He is the most wonderful cat ever to grace the earth with his presence. I mean it. He’s quiet (except when he wants that turkey sandwich you’re eating), he’s cuddly and he sleeps as much as I wish I could. He knows his name and will come running if you offer him a lap upon which to lounge.
And he loves his Mama. I don’t know what Jason did - maybe it was his big hiking boots tromping around, maybe it was his smell after having cleaned out the garage, or maybe it was just that his heart was two sizes too small - but last week Wash developed an aversion to him. Wash could be sound asleep in my lap and Jason would walk into the room and it was like a gunshot went off - he’s up and under our bed faster than a 20 lb cat should be able to move.
I'm pretty sure it has something to do with all the company we had for the last 3 WEEKS IN A ROW. Poor cat didn’t have a chance what with the constant stream of people roaming about the house; enough people to start a baseball team with. I think it was too much for his delicate sensibilities to handle. So for now he only likes me. Which is completely fine by me. I would hide that cat in my pocket and take him with me everywhere if he didn’t weigh so much.
Is that a 20 lb cat in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
He really has been a personal mini-lifesaver over the past month. With my struggling through the depression and anxiety, the knowledge that when I get home there will be a husband, a bunny and an amorous cat waiting for me has made a world of difference. And at night, he lies between Jason and I and runs his little motor. I rest my hand on his side and drift off to sleep. Who needs Valium when you have a cat that sounds like a classic ‘67 Camaro?
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
the source of my sushi power
Last night Jason and I went out for a sushi mini-bration and something happened that has never happened before.
I had to use my fingers to eat my sushi!
It was the strangest thing. I've never had a problem using chopsticks. EVER. I can even show you the proper way to hold them. But nothing was staying put. Sometime during the 8 tries it took me to get a spicy crab roll from the plate to my mouth it hit me. Oh no, what had I done? I looked at Jason, with the shredded remains of a smoked eel hanging off the end of my chopstick -"Did I just get rid of the source of my chopstick power?"
Jason got me hooked on sushi after we were married and I have craved it ever since, becoming more and more adventurous about what I'm willing to try. I've contemplated what it would cost to move to Japan so that I could have sushi everyday. But now something was horribly wrong. I couldn't use the chopsticks except to stab ridiculously at the fish. If a rabid gunman had run into the restaurant and shouted that he would kill everyone unless I could prove I could use them properly, before Jason took him out (obviously), I would have had to let everyone there know how sorry I was that I couldn't save them.
Then the correlations started running through my sushi-induced coma brain. Our mini-bration was to celebrate having my IUD removed. Since we'd decided to start down the long road to parenthood we had to do away with the birth control. But what if, just what if, that was the source of all my power? Had I freely given up the power source to the only thing that allowed me to look like a civilized person while eating raw fish?
I now have no other choice. From now on, when sushi is involved, I'll have to use my fingers. There are only so many shirts I can stain by having soy sauce splashed down the front of them when a California roll is not constrained by my unweildly chopsticks.
And if this is the price of us bringing a child into the world, then maybe I should just give in and ask for some adult-sized bibs for Christmas.
I had to use my fingers to eat my sushi!
It was the strangest thing. I've never had a problem using chopsticks. EVER. I can even show you the proper way to hold them. But nothing was staying put. Sometime during the 8 tries it took me to get a spicy crab roll from the plate to my mouth it hit me. Oh no, what had I done? I looked at Jason, with the shredded remains of a smoked eel hanging off the end of my chopstick -"Did I just get rid of the source of my chopstick power?"
Jason got me hooked on sushi after we were married and I have craved it ever since, becoming more and more adventurous about what I'm willing to try. I've contemplated what it would cost to move to Japan so that I could have sushi everyday. But now something was horribly wrong. I couldn't use the chopsticks except to stab ridiculously at the fish. If a rabid gunman had run into the restaurant and shouted that he would kill everyone unless I could prove I could use them properly, before Jason took him out (obviously), I would have had to let everyone there know how sorry I was that I couldn't save them.
Then the correlations started running through my sushi-induced coma brain. Our mini-bration was to celebrate having my IUD removed. Since we'd decided to start down the long road to parenthood we had to do away with the birth control. But what if, just what if, that was the source of all my power? Had I freely given up the power source to the only thing that allowed me to look like a civilized person while eating raw fish?
I now have no other choice. From now on, when sushi is involved, I'll have to use my fingers. There are only so many shirts I can stain by having soy sauce splashed down the front of them when a California roll is not constrained by my unweildly chopsticks.
And if this is the price of us bringing a child into the world, then maybe I should just give in and ask for some adult-sized bibs for Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)