This is the song that doesn't end

One of my favorite TV shows when I was a kid was 'Lamb Chop and Friends'. I loved little Lamb Chop and her animal friends! I also loved the closing song, "This Is The Song That Doesn't End." Whenever I get it into my head, I bounce around the house like a 7-year-old, singing to it. I even got my cat excited about it today. We had fun. And we never have fun. She just bites me. (Evil kitty!)

But listening to that song does stir up bad memories. Like how I wasn't allowed to watch it because it came on before 11am in the summer time. And in Arizona, to save electricity, we have Peak and Off-Peak times. Up til 11am was considered Peak time, so the company (SRP, the bastards!) could charge more money. Lamb Chop came on before Peak time ended. So, I'd have to sneak into the dining room and turn on our mega old, little tiny TV, position the antenna just right, and try to quietly watch Lamb Chop without waking up my dad. Some times that didn't work. Some times he was up before me. Some times I would defiantly watch the show anyway. Um, that never went over very well. My dad always yelled at me and switched off the TV. It was never pleasant.

I hate dealing with my dad. And dealing with my dad when I was younger was worse. He was way harsh. I don't understand how a tiny TV turned on for 30 minutes takes up a lot of electricity? What I really don't understand is why he had to treat me so poorly over something so simple as letting a child watch a children's show. I was always berated for my attempts to watch the show. Always put down. Constantly meant to be made inferior. That is no way to raise a daughter.

Despite the harsh memories, I still love Lamb Chop. And the song. Maybe I love it because it reminds me that no matter what, I was once a kid. A kid who deserved to watch Lamb Chop.

Neither here nor there

I just finished reading Bill Bryson's travel memoir, "Neither Here Nor There." The book is a hilarious, rightfully exaggerated account about his travels through Europe in the early 1990s; as well as including tidbits from a European trip he took in 1973 with his best friend, Stephen Katz. He basically re-followed his trip from 1973 for this book, but with some added stops and different accounts.

It's interesting to see how different traveling Europe was in 1973 compared to 1990. And how different traveling can be when you have money. I personally hate the idea of back-packing Europe. I know, I know - it's the thing for American kids to do. But really, who thought it was a good idea to spend a vacation in Europe being smelly and gross? Who says to themselves "Yay I can't wait to pitch a tent on the side of the freeway in France"? I know I never thought such a foul thing. Once a friend suggested that very idea to me. I nearly hit them.

Europe is a place meant to be explored and experienced. Not a place that is meant to stress you out while you smell up the place. Traveling is stressful enough. But isn't it nice to come back to a hotel with your own bathroom at the end of the day? It seems Mr Bryson relished in the fact he could take a shower in every city he stopped in. He detailed every hotel he stayed at, whether it was worthy of his time and money or not. He even divulged into the properties of the hotel more than he did the city he was visiting. I find that interesting. I guess that's what older people with money do when they travel Europe. And if I travel Europe and stay at hotels instead of hostels or tents by the side of the road, I'd do that too.

Another thing I noticed about Mr Bryson's book is the way it can convince the reader to fall in love with a town or hate it. He is so descriptive and clever with his words about any town. And after reading this book, I can tell you there are now some cities I will never visit. Istanbul, for one thing. I've never warmed up to the idea of a Turkish holiday (though the Europeans love it), but now I know I never want to go there. I have personal bubble issues and fear of purse-snatchers enough as it is. Send me to the Istanbul described in Mr Bryson's book and I'll have a heart attack. It's irrational to base an assumption of a city on an account someone wrote down in 1990, but to me, it makes sense. If one American can hate the city, then I can too. So, no Istanbul for me.

He did make me want to visit Rome more than before. I would love to see how Italians park their compact cars in non-existent spaces and gesture rudely at each other first hand. At first, his account made me second guess ever visiting the majestically ancient city, but by the end of the chapter, I was all set to take a Roman holiday.

Despite it's sore spots, as described by Mr Bryson, Europe seems like the best place on Earth. Only there can you travel a few hours and find yourself in a different country, surrounded by different food, customs, and language. Only there can you expect to be treated either like a local or brushed-off like a foreigner. (And no matter how hard you try not to be a typical foreigner in Europe, people will disregard you anyway! They know) Only there can you experience history first hand. The cities Mr Bryson visited were made to awe people. Churches built so significantly large it made its worshipers tremble in fear. Cities built so beautifully and richly it made poor people cry. Yes, the degregation of modern society has sent cities spiraling downward when it comes to beauty and awe, but the meaning is still there.

I've only been to three cities in Germany, but I can tell you, based on this book, that there is no place I'd rather be than Europe. And one day, I intend to return.

Why do you do what you do to me

I think privacy in the Facebook age is no longer existent. For instance, I keep getting friend requests from people I don't know, but apparently we have friends in common. But my privacy settings are as private as they can get. Yet, I probably still pop up on the right hand-side of people's Facebook page as a friend suggestion. How am I private if that's happening. I feel so violated. I didn't join Facebook to be friends with everyone. I joined it because it was a university network and it was a way to keep in touch with my uni friends since my Myspace page was super blocked.

(A side note: why do people follow friend suggestions? Do people look at friend suggestions and think "sweet, someone from high school I don't have on my friends list" and do it for points? Or do they think "I like the way they look and my friend knows them so, swish, I'm in!"? I've had people from high school try adding me that a) I never knew, b) never liked, or c) forgot. I've also had people I have no idea who they are try to add me. It's ANNOYING. Stop the friend suggestion madness!!)

Also, privacy in this age is gone in the sense that our family and friends all know what we're doing because of Facebook status updates, Tweets, blogs, etc. I can't even say "HOLY COW WHY DO I WANT TO BE FB FRIENDS WITH (enter person here)?!?!?! Denied!" without it getting back to them. You know, if my dad ever joins Facebook (or Twitter), I'm screwed. All the shit I say about him will come back to me. Like my new running joke of "Dad's quote of the day." That is funny stuff. But if he knew I was mocking him on a national stage because I was friends with him on FB, oooohhh big trouble. Even if I just posted the joke on a friend's page, he'd probably still see it. THANK BOB he's not on Facebook (or any social networking site), otherwise I really would be screwed. So, for now, I can at least enjoy some privacy with my joke.

Other than that, privacy is a joke in the modern age. Girls cannot gossip (which was evident by an incident with some MA Mag Journos a few years ago - let's just say the bully couldn't take being the victim!), boys cannot share inside jokes, sisters cannot complain about parents, and friends can't swap details for someone's surprise birthday party without someone finding out about it on the Internet. I blame Facebook for this.

I don't blame them just because they connect us all together (more or less), but because they have degraded the value and privilege of privacy on the World Wide Web. Thanks a lot assholes. You know, all those people I didn't like in high school, now they know where I am. THANKS. Only bright side is I don't have to accept their friend request. Which, that my friends, is becoming a more popular form of power than privacy.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

I'm changing things around. I was inspired by my best buddy to create this blog. This blog will encompass my old posts from a previous blog from when I was abroad a few years ago and when I came home. It will also now encompass anything new in my life: music, school, etc. My general place to muse, if you will.

Here's hoping I can keep up with this blog!

Cursed still?

Turns out I am cursed. Sassy has bone cancer. It was confirmed Monday. This all sucks so much. Now the proof that I'm really cursed will come in four years time if my other cat Missy comes down with some deadly disease all of a sudden. She'll be 15 in four years. Fantastic...

But we're not giving up on Sassy. We're taking her to an oncologist to see about radiation treatment to shrink her tumor. I can't accept the fact she would die from not being able to eat or take in fluids because the tumor is obstructing her mouth and throat. That's not fair. If it's spread to her lungs and is affecting her organs (which I don't think it has because her blood work last month came back fine; oddly enough) then we can prepare for her to leave us. But I think we can slow this tumor down. At least I hope so.

I know not only may she not respond well to the radiation, but it'll be expensive. It'll cost more than my sister's car is worth. That's scary. And she may only live another year or so if the treatment is successful. Is it worth it? ... But wouldn't you do the same if it was your mother or sibling that had cancer? Even if the treatment only secured an extra year of life? I think so. Sassy is family and we're going to try to do everything we can to help her. Besides, she's still acting like her normal self. She's bound to be healthy enough to take on radiation treatment, right? Crossing my fingers.

Am I cursed?

There are two beings I will always love more than anyone in this world: my cats Randy and Sassy. Randy was brought into my life via a newspaper hunt for a cat 'free to good home' when I was nine-years-old (1994). Randy was three, going on four, when we found him. An outdoor kitty rescued by a family who rescued cats for a living (they had 30 cats!), he was adorable, easy-going, and was found sitting atop a Little Tykes art easel when we walked into the family's home. We knew he was the cat for us the moment we said hello. We took him home that night and from then on, he was my best friend.


(Me and Randy, 2005)

About five months later, on a warm winter's night in January 1995, we went to Petsmart to buy Randy some of his fancy food (Science Diet) and while my parents went to look for his food, my sisters and I were overcome with joy and curiosity as we say the adoption center had cats to adopt that night. We walked in, just expecting to look at some cute kitties and then we found her. A tiny little six-month-old kitten named Snuggles. She greeted us as soon as we came up to her cage. We were allowed to hold her and apparently, she bit my little sister. My twin said she knew right then we had to have Snuggles because she bit our little sister. We sent the youngest to guilt the parents into coming over and looking at Sassy. Needless to say, as soon as they met Snuggles, they knew she was the best kitty to add to our household. After all, Randy needed a friend.

Snuggles came home with us and was content to stay in the parents room while we waited for the right time to introduce Randy and Snuggles. Oh and we changed her name real quick from Snuggles to Sassy. Probably the next day. My twin was obsessed with 'Homeward Bound' and named our cute new kitten after the cat with Sally Field's voice over. Sure, my twin denies this but I think she's just forgotten. And boy oh boy, was she a Sassy. I remember a few days after she moved into our home, she jumped on top of the washing machine and tried to bite me when I attempted to move her off of it. I remember saying "You sure are a Sassy..." when I finally got her down.


(Sassy, 2008)

And from that day forward, Sassy became my twin's cat and Randy was mine. We moved a lot and Randy and Sassy were our constant companions as we learned to adapt to a new schoolyard of friends and new neighborhoods. There were plenty of times when my asshole of a father tried to get rid of the best cats in the world just because he didn't want to pay a pet deposit, but they stayed with us. I would have probably gone out on the street with Randy as opposed to loose him.

You see, Randy was my best friend not only because I never had a stable best friend throughout my childhood; but because he was there whenever I was upset. Upset that I was being ignored by my family; upset when I had a bad day at school; upset that my parents were fighting yet again. He was always there to greet me with a head-butt and a purr. I could never imagine my life without him.

In 2002, Randy became ill. He had a urinary tract infection. We spent the next few weeks rushing him to the hospital to get IV fluids and getting special food to make sure he was okay. His UTI became so bad the only option to make it stop was to re-route his urethra (apparently boy urethra goes in a loop and a girl cat has a straight one, which they wanted to reroute his to be straight) - a $1,000 surgery. My parents wanted to give up and put him down. He was only 11-years-old at the time. After everything he had been through in the first four years of his life before he met us, I knew we couldn't give up on him. My whole family pitched in to get the surgery done.

To this day, I still think something went wrong in the surgery. Something affected his kidneys. We took him to different vets for opinions, but no one had anything to offer. The one year I didn't take him for a check-up (2004-05) is the year things became much, much worse. By March 2005 I knew something was wrong. And by April we were told 75% of his kidneys had failed. He couldn't go to the bathroom, he wouldn't drink or eat anything, and it killed me. We had no choice but to put him down. A decision I will regret the rest of my life. I didn't try hard enough to save him. Maybe I did and maybe I didn't. He was 14 going on 15-years-old when he left me.

And now Sassy just had her 15th birthday. She's had her health problems over the past few years. Pancreatitis, IBS, and other stomach issues. My sister has spent so much money on making sure Sassy's pancreas and IBS was under control that we never imagined any other health problem would pop up. But a new health problem has popped-up. A bone tumor, about the size of a candy Gobbstopper, sits on her lower jaw. On the jaw of a cat who has been as tiny as she was the day we took her home. What was once a little nodule has become huge. It's grown tremendously over the past three weeks. Where did it come from? Why is it so big?

On Monday, we will find out if this bump is bone cancer. If it's bone cancer then my other best friend will be sick with something just as deadly as Randy was when he was about 15. This would mean my cats are all cursed to fall to some awful peril at 15. It's silly to contemplate I'm cursed, but I feel like it. I feel like I'm being smited for trying so hard to take care of my cats. For loving my cats above anyone else. I can't help it.

An indoor cat who has always had their immunizations, been seeing the only internal medicine vet in Southern Washington state every six months for a check-up, and been fed the best food should not become ill at 15. It's not fair. Randy may have not been taken care of as well because we never had the money to take him to the vet every six months. I only have myself (and my parents, really) to blame for that. But for Sassy... it just doesn't make sense. It just comes down to the fact I'm cursed.

I'm hoping and praying I'm wrong. That 15 may be a time when something bad happens, but it isn't the cause of the downfall. It isn't the time when they'll leave me forever. I'm hoping this bump - cancer or not - can be treated and soon. Sassy deserves to live another five years. Besides, I told her before she has to live til she's 20. And she owes me the five years Randy lost (he was also meant to live until 20), so she has to be a minimum of 25 when she leaves this Earth. I refuse to settle for any less! And I refuse to be cursed!

I know that evidence is going to suggest that I will let you down

I. Hate. Boys. Frustrating, infuriating boys! 20-year-olds "knowitalls". HA! Wankers. No one ever, ever, ever gets away with dissing my MA. Ever. And no one ever gets away with dissing UK! What an idiot.

I haven't let a guy wind me up like this in a while. And no, I do not have any sort of crush on the guy in question. Sure I thought he was all right looking when I met him, but really. He's a wanker. It may be fun to talk to him and I know he's never serious; however, he really gets on my nerves. He knows how to push my buttons. And I hate that. Hate it. I always win. I'm always right! My defense mode is excellent by now. Somehow he's made it past the shield. Dammit.

Okay, so I do make fun of him for his attempts at getting with girls. (I tell him he'll never be able to get with a girl) And I make fun of his hair. He had Jim hair and then buzzed it all off. Now he looks like a potato with a bit of fuzz on top. No girl is going to go for that. Sorry. Hahahaha.

Maybe he's getting back at me for being so mean... Nah. He's just a tosser! Plain and simple.

I think the biggest thing here is the fact he's 20 and immature. I've met two 20-year-olds, one 19-year-old, and one 18-year-old guy over the past few weeks and it's amazing that I even talk to them. They're a lot younger than me. And a lot more immature. Way more immature than the 24-year-old guys I know now. I think when guys start reaching the 25-year-old range they start calming down. But these guys have years to go. Years. And I don't know if I can talk to them much longer knowing they have years to go until they reach the calming down age range.

I was once 20 and I remember how boys were then. They were very frustrating, but I think I handled it a heck of a lot better then than I do now. Now, I try to outsmart them. And it's kind of hard to with these guys because they're pretty educated. I had an argument with one of my 20-year-old guy friends about LBJ and his Great Society. Any guy I knew when I was 20 wouldn't have been able to argue that with me about that. So these youngins I know now are a bit smarter than the 20-year-olds I knew four years ago. Maybe that's why they're more impossible to deal with!

I hate it when people - especially young boys - question my knowledge. And argue with me. I already argue enough with the most immature person on the planet (my dad) on a daily basis; so I don't need to be arguing with some full-of-shit 20-year-old bloke on top of that.

Whhyyyyy. Why me. Stupid boys. Stupid, stupid boys. Stupid for thinking you're all smart even though you still have so much more to learn. (Which I know we all have more to learn in life, but they're four years behind!) And they're stupid for just being a boy. I already thought boys were stupid because they operate in stupid ways. Stupid with their drunk text messages filled with weird sayings and being all secretive. Stupid with the way they seem interested, but then they're not interested. (And sometimes its because they're f-ing taken. What is that all about?!) Stupid with the fact they always have to f-ing flirt. (Because you don't!) Stupid with thinking girls are more difficult to figure out then they are. (HA boys are way harder to figure out) Stupid! And toss on the 'smarter than thou' symptom and you've got a real mess. A recipe for pissing me off big time!

AGH. This is why I don't talk to younger people and/or boys. They just piss me off. That's it. After my OFA stint, no more talking to younger guys. They're just full of it.