Really?

There are no words. Just thought you should see this since I had to.

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Another view

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Nice Doggy…

We had a yard sale this morning.

Apparently this is the weekend for this type of thing. We got out there early – really early and had people all morning.

Our neighborhood has great walking paths – there’s always folks out with their babies or dogs or both.

Now…before I begin the rest of this post…let me be clear. There’s one thing that I usually don’t discuss with people. No, not religion or politics or money – I have no problem talking about that stuff (as long as you’re a grown-up and not secretly angry).

What I’m talking about is a subject near and dear to many people’s hearts. I’m talking about pets.  Pets. Specifically, my non-love for/of them. My complete un-need for pets. I know. I’m a monster.  I don’t stroke, coo, or otherwise touch them. Do I wish them harm? No! NO! I love that you love pets. Dogs, cats, birds, whatever. Good for you. It’s just not my thang.

My husband is a cat person. He’s had and loved cats his whole life. He’s made our children cat people too.  And we have one. Lexi, a very pretty Calico. Before her we had a very street smart, rat-turned-cat that my husband found behind a dumpster in the Bronx named Virgo.  I’ve posted pics before.  I offer this not as an excuse, but merely as part of my history.

Back to the yard sale.

As I said, we set up early for all the hardcore “buyers” who troll the neighborhood at 6am. During the course of the morning, we met many of our near and far neighbors. Some were curt and all business – nodding and forging ahead. But many were super friendly. Stopping to chat and look around.

Many of the awesome folks that stopped had dogs. And inevitably, I felt deep guilt when I didn’t acknowledge the dog. Because you see I know you love that dog. And I think that dog is awful cute. But here’s what happens, when I say something about the dog, like, “oh how cute” or “what a sweetie” or something – all of which I mean sincerely –  you immediately loosen the harness so the dog can come closer and I can pet said dog.

And then….nothing. You get nothing from me. I start stuffing my hands in my pockets. I start fixing my hair. I do anything but pet/stroke/touch the dog.

Awkward.

Because what you don’t know is that I don’t even pet the animals that live in my house.

I blame my parents. We never had pets – until I went away to school – then my family had a pet revolution. Everywhere you looked there was a big, fluffy dog. I missed out.

So you see I appreciate you and your love for the dog/cat/bird/fish – but I’d rather not touch it.

Is that ok?

Am I still a good person?

I’d rather kiss a 100 snotty babies than rub a dog’s belly. I’m a freak.

Not news.

jealous much?

I hope somebody gives me this much love and attention today.  The end.

Virgo

My husband is a cat person.

If he was older, unmarried and a woman – he’d be a really good cat lady. He’s had cats all his life and loved them. Me? Not so much.

This is Virgo – he was with us for almost 12 years.  My husband had just graduated college, gotten a job in the big city and was about to move out of the Bronx – where he had been living for about a year.  As he was leaving, he went to the back of his old building to dump some garbage and a little, gray cat the size of a large rat ran over to him. It was love at first sight for both of them.

Virgo was not a gentle, loving, purring kitty. He was a Bronx born, garbage raised hooligan. He considered every touch a call to arms. He didn’t like to be pet. The irony. A pet that doesn’t like petting.  The only person in our family that even tried to love that cat was my husband – and he’s got the scars to show for it.

Virgo lived the good life. He went from eating garbage in the ‘hood to eating only Fancy Feast – my husband insisted. For most of his life he had a better healthcare plan than all of us combined and he was groomed way more than I was.

It was the first time I ever lived with a pet. I know, I know. Cats are easy. Cats aren’t dogs. Cats are low-key. Except this cat wasn’t low-key. This cat was wild, crazy and mean most of the time. And the liter box. Can we talk about the liter box? It’s box. Full of poop and pee that just lives with you. The horror.

That seat was his perch, his favorite spot in the house.  There is a permanent indent in the cushion where he sat – and where now, our new cat, also sits.  Yes, we got another cat. Lexi. The complete, polar opposite of Virgo. A loving, purring, soft, sweet little girl. You want her?

I don’t think I’ll ever be a cat person. Or a dog person. Or a fish….you get the point. But I’ve made my peace with cat living.

 

 

 

Twice as Nice…

Guest post today.  This time from my friend RD.  Another person who should have her own blog – stat!! 


Ok, I admit it.  I’m a Gemini.  Not just a Gemini–a full-blown, hardcore, dyed-in-the-wool Gemini.  So is my host, WME, by the way, I’m totally outing her.

For those of you not lucky enough (or unlucky enough, depending on your POV) to have a Gemini in your life, let me take you to school.

Textbook Geminis are:

Adaptable and versatile

Communicative and witty

Intellectual and eloquent

Youthful and lively

They are also said to be:

Nervous and tense

Superficial and inconsistent

Cunning and inquisitive (read: nosy)

How dare you, Ancient Astrologers!  I cannot be pigeon-holed!

Except apparently I can–because I own just about every adjective on this list.  Some more than others, of course, but the Twin traits are definitely in full effect.

I have a friend/former boss, who has a sister who is a Gemini and she used to intro her by saying, “This is my sister, Carol.  And my OTHER sister, Carol.”

In case you didn’t get the joke, the implication is that Gems are also changeable, and like their Astrological symbol (Twins), two people.  Twins are great–if you actually are TWO people, instead of one.  That can get a little hairy.

Admittedly, I am known to change my mind like some people change their socks, and can go from happy as a clam, to a raging bull in 5 seconds flat, if circumstances warrant.

Some other evidence of my Gemini-ness:

I love the beach, but I hate walking on sand.

I will do shots of whiskey or tequila in a dive bar as happily as I will sit down for a full English Tea at The Plaza. (More Devonshire Cream, please).

I am a fervent animal lover, and donor-member of several animal-related charities, however, I love a good cheeseburger or a steak, almost as much as I love protecting animals. Why do cows have to be cute AND delicious?

I have a corporate/conservative job, but I have two rather sizable tattoos, and would have MANY more if my oh-so-square BF wouldn’t kill me.  (Just kidding, Honey. But not really).

I have the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy on my Nook (Don’t judge me! I know you’ve read it too).  I also have the entire Anne of Green Gables series and Martha Stewart Weddings magazine. I call it being multi-faceted.

You get the point.  So while being a with a Gemini can give other mere mortals whiplash, I say we are the coolest sign in the Zodiac.  After all, we can have our cake, and eat it too.

Random, yes. Thoughts, barely.

  • I’m obsessed with Ginsberg on Mad Men.  He is hysterically weird and looney.  I’d like an all-Ginsberg episode please.  Or a Ginsberg spin-off show with his dad. Am I the only one? I also spend a lot of time thinking about the imp from Game of Thrones, Stringer Bell from The Wire and Maggie Smith’s character from Downton Abbey.  I have problems.
  • Pinterest…Tumblr….we just can’t get enough of ourselves right?? Is there anything we don’t need to share with the world immediately, she asks while writing a bulleted list of things she wants the world to know immediately. (Be sure to check me out on Pinterest & Tumblr).
  • Shellac is a kind of instant dry nail polish. Perfect manicures people. I know it’s not world peace but it’s a start.  
  • St. Ives Apricot Facial Scrub.  It’s cheap, harsh and potent – all my favorite things in alcohol and skin care.  
  • I had a conversation with our neighbor after she walked her dog.  She had a question about a painter we used, she’s remodeling her bathroom.  In truth – I have no idea what I said because I was so focused on the Target bag she was holding with poop in it.  This is why we are a mystery to the rest of the world, because we stand in our front lawns with bags of poop talking about remodeling our bathrooms.

A cat and her boy….

Fact: I did not grow up with pets.  Another fact: I never wanted them.  But this isn’t about me, not all of it anyway.  This is about my baby and about his baby.  Have you ever seen an 8-year-old boy in love?  I have.  Lexi is the family cat (see all the sacrifices I’ve made in my life?).   Every morning, after he reluctantly gets out of bed and dressed for school – my baby goes to the cat and snuggles.  For like 10 minutes.  He cuddles with her – cooing sweet nothings to her in a soft, singsong voice.  He strokes her head and chin while telling me how pretty she is and I get lost in the whole thing….and then he asks me the same question every day, “ don’t you just LOVE her Mom?”  And I do what every good mother does, I lie.

Don’t hate me.  I’m the gal that doesn’t want to pet your dog when we’re walking by each other on the street.  The one that understands and appreciates your deep connection to your cat/hamster/tortoise  – but just doesn’t want any part of it.  I know, I have problems.

It’s just that I can’t bring myself to explain that to my little man, who thinks Lexi is the sun and the moon.  The same boy who can make fart sounds with 5 or 6 body parts, the same boy that screams every night because “he has to take too many showers”.  But when it comes to his cat, he is a lovey dovey softie, just like his father…and his sister.

Signed,  weirdo-mom-with-no-pet-lovin’-abilities

p.s. – ignore the untamed, uncombed, wilding hair on my boy

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