A Crucial Stage in Development

It begins. No surprise that I have adopted an adorable cat and she will be the topic of a blog post. I mean, look at her:

I have wanted to have a cat since I was a kid. Really, I have wanted a pet in general... my sister recalls, laughing, how I chanted, "my own hamster, my own hamster," repeatedly on our karaoke machine (it recorded tapes and the radio and our voice with a little plug in microphone... my mama and carl made it rain! I'm thinking about how many toys I had growing up. How I never realized this before. anyhow). I was trying to MANIFEST! Hamster, I want you. Please show up in my bedroom for me to love. We had pet rats in my fourth grade classroom, and I thought that they were so neat, but I remember that my mom didn't like the tails. We had a cat named Shay for a little while, but my papa Carl is allergic, so when we moved to the house that my parents still live in, we gave her to our friends from daycare Rose and Serena. It's funny how when you move only a few miles away when you're a kid, you can lose all contact with everyone from your elementary school. Or at least it feels that way. Three years feels like forever. I went to three different elementary schools, all in the same area. Looking back, kids from all three elementary schools ended up in my high school, and I even went to college with some but they all seem like really sharp divisions in time and space. Probably because they were. Three miles is a lot when you depend on your parents and the school bus for transportation. what was I talking about, my cat?

So, I always wanted a cat, but Carl is allergic. Not his fault.My Grandma would say,when I would whine about wanting a cat, that she would keep playing the lotto (and if she won she would get me a cat) And Carl also happens to be blind, so I grew up with the most wonderful, amazing yellow lab Guide Dogs in the house. Bruin I met when I was five, when I have my first memory of meeting my stepbrother and stepsister at Carl's apartment. He lived until I was... 15? I was a sophomore in high school I think. I remember the night before he was going to be put down sleeping on the floor next to him and crying and thinking that the next time we had a dog I wouldn't take him for granted like I took Bruin for granted. Then, we got Dirk.

Dirk was so young! I still think of Dirk as young, but it isn't true. It confuses me because my parents have a younger dog and I think of Dirk as a puppy still. Dirk was two when we got him, so not really a puppy. He was Carl's guide dog. He had very little interest in us at first. However, over the years, through me sneaking him snacks (I regret nothing!), him sleeping on my bed, me taking him for walks when I was grounded and couldn't hang out with my friends (if my memory serves well, that was often), he and I became best friends. When I had a car (my only car) he knew the sound when I came home and would greet me excitedly. I loved/love him.

so much.

When I transferred to college and finally moved out, I tried to steal him. My mom said (paraphrase),"You don't want a dog. You don't even want a plant. You want to be able to just go." and it's true. I think at some point I acted burdened to dogsit. However... this fear of committing to that kind of responsibility (useful or not) has stuck with me. My roommate meg and I would feed a stray cat we once let in from the rain, and kept coming back to sleep in our apartment. We called her Horatio and she might have had fleas. However, whenever meg who jokingly suggest that I get a cat, I would adamantly refuse.

Levon (my cat) has just sneezed. And in sleeping. So cute.

I know that my friends and etc are getting married and having babies and at one point that was appealing to me. It still is appealing to me. I think. But I have so much fear. Getting a cat meant a decade of commitment, and at the end of that decade (unless the lady is sick or hurt sooner:( ) having to be the person to make/finance all of those decisions. I don't want to be the person who has loved Levon for 10 years and to have to put her down because I can't pay her medical bills. Or to be the person to let her suffer because I can't part with her. Or, more selfishly, I might want to move somewhere where pets aren't allowed/far away/can't afford the pet deposit/anything and everything that could go wrong.

Just recently, I know I was talking smack about having pets. they are so unnatural, blah, blah blah. we are treating animals like babies,wasting resources, and some other bullshit (/perfectly reasonable stuff)I've forgotten about since Levon. Something that I might have fleshed out before, some other time, but now I don't care because I have a cat and I love her.

I actually expected that my mom would be disappointed in me for getting a cat. She was not. She seems to like Levon. I have really internalized that getting a cat is horribly irresponsible and will really limit my choices. As I was looking at pictures that that I took of Levon on my phone and giggling outside of the grocery store, I wondered, how did I build up something that makes me so happy to be such a scary thing? So maybe I can't move to Germany with Levon, but was I moving to Germany anyway? Not soon anyhow. I am embracing real life, and luckily levon is a part of it. She really is perfect. Soon we will be best friends. I hope! I'm used to dogs. Whatever. I love you Levon!

*I never understood why until recently that we all have things that we want that we are really afraid of. I always thought that it was foolish and cowardly not to pursue what makes a person happy. But now, as I feel so brave for getting a cat, I really have to say that all of these decisions can be scary, and I'm glad that I didn't understand that when I was younger. I'm sorry that I do now. It still seems like a silly way to live, but I don't know how to fix it, except to decide to get a few tattoos on a whim and to spend all of Sunday adopting a cat that you didn't plan to on Friday. Poor impulse control. that's my solution. Or taking advantage of unexpected moments of feeling like you know exactly what you want, and it's what you've always wanted and it's going to be okay. The end.

Sally Field's Oscar Speech

Have you noticed that no one really looks at each other in the elevator? I hope that no one notices me glancing around at everyone else automatically fixing their attention to the doors or the floor. If they do notice it might seem like it's the first time I've ever ridden in an elevator. I haven't yet learned the etiquette. So uncouth.

I ride the elevator at least twice a day in the building that I work in (up many floors, I'm not just riding up one or two and am lazy or injured), and the first thing I do when I'm alone with the doors closed is glance up at the mirrored ceiling and make a face at myself. It's an automatic reaction. Maybe mentioning it here will break the spell...

My eye has been twitching all this week. Not too noticeably like a tick, but the muscle around the lid keeps spasming. I have been told that this could come from clenching my teeth as I sleep, which could occur from stress. Great. My face is already responding with all sorts of exciting bumps and oils to this unbeknownst source of shoulder tensing stress.

Tonight I'm going to see a band that I enjoy. I feel like it's unfair that I am seeing them and my friend who introduced me to them is not, but c'est la vie. I am really excited about this weekend. I scheduled for a plumber to come on Monday (because that's what grown ups have to do, fill their precious free time with all of the jobs they don't get paid for. He'll be being paid to work on our toilet. He sounded very nice on the phone. Our last plumber seemed to resent me. I wasn't rude to him or anything. maybe I imagined it) and when he said he could come at 8, I said, "maybe do you have anything later?" Three day weekend! i might sleep until 7, I might sleep until 10!

It's raining outside and my housemate generously offered to drive me to the train station. From the station I will go to Nick's and off we will drive to adventure! I'm so tired. I am drinking coffee. Maybe I can take a power nap in the car, but that seems unfair. I'd be drooling all over the window and nick would be driving in traffic, in the rain. I should have made cookies. No time! We will have burritos. Before I was writing this I was eating a salad so fast I bit down really hard on the fork. Luckily my teeth are okay. I just kinda lost my health insurance. oh well. that's the name of the game folks.

Well, it's been an honor and a pleasure. thank you for reading. If I don't get too embaarrassed by the amount of posts I'm writing, I'll tell you all about our trip. Maybe.

I volunteered to write our programs newsletter or blog at work. I've been told that it might be an impossible task. We'll see. Something to add to the resume. Blech. I hate thinking about those things. It sounds like it could be fun.

Valentine Angst?

"I choo choo choose you."- ralph wiggum

I am fairly neutral about Valentine's Day, so I really don't have much to comment on it in one way or another. Either I am dating someone and it could be a thing, or I'm not dating someone and it's not,... I remember maybe three or four occurrences on Valentine's Days that I've lived. One is today.

I do know that I once got a toy singing hamster. that was neat. I think he sang, "love machine." I also remember that in 8th grade my sister broke up with her "boyfriend" (sorry to rat you out sita) on Valentine's Day. I was once of the opinion that that was kinda mean, but why go through the charade of any event that's shared with the person you're supposed to love (they were in 8th grade. I mean generally)when you know it's not true (unless you have kids and it's christmas or something). I guess it's kinder... I don't know. Now I'm thinking of When Harry Met Sally, "I didn't want to ruin your birthday." Ah. Love that movie, yes I do.

I do like flowers. Receiving and giving them. "god's decorations," I heard a lady call them. I think that boys like getting them too. More so than stuffed animals. that one took me a while to learn. My mom and my sister both are not big fans of roses. I say why not? They smell good, they look good... at this moment I hate my evening latency period. I just want to lounge around. Immediately upon coming home, I took off my greasy work clothes and put on my comfies. Now it seems like a chore to go grocery shopping. I will just be here. In my disgusting bedroom. With all of the stuff. My room that I loved before I actually lived in it and let my crap take over every part of it. Whew! I think I'm going to watch a movie tonight. And so it begins. Not living my own life and watching other people on the screen do it for me. I kid. I am going to enjoy the heck out myself. Full belly. Soft bed. Let's go. To the grocery store. I need: coffee, eggs, dressing... and sunflower seeds. shelled. For my salad. I can do it. Happy Valentine's Day!

Aunt Chita

My grandfather’s aunt was a nun who lived in Los Angeles. We called her Aunt Chita. For most of her life she was known as Sister Adele Marie. [The story goes that my mom was supposedly named after her, but my mom claims that she was actually named after a girl that my grandfather went to high school with and thought was pretty.] Aunt Chita’s family was Mexican (she was insistent that they were Spanish-Mexican) and “chita,” (so I’m told) means “little one”.

She was born in 1901 and lived to be over 100 years old, although I regret that I cannot remember what year exactly she passed in. The blow of her death was softened by its expectedness, given her advanced age, and the distance that she lived from us. She lived in a convalescent home for nuns (I always thought of them as retired nuns, but that doesn’t seem right. You don’t retire from being a nun) attached to a college that sat above a posh neighborhood in Beverly Hills. I think I remember when we were driving towards the home, up the windy streets, that we passed the house that O.J. Simpson was supposed to have committed murder in. The view from across the parking lot was of The Getty. Pretty nice real estate.

Aunt Chita spent most of her adult life as a high school Spanish teacher, if I remember correctly. She was on a mission in Hawaii when Pearl Harbor was bombed. She wrote books. I was told she became a nun because she was the youngest girl in her family and her mother wanted one of her daughters to become a nun… and she was born at the beginning of the century, so that’s what happened. Aunt Chita was physically small, but she had big personality. She had a great sense of humor. She played piano beautifully, even in her nineties. Once a sister walked past as we were in the gorgeous visitor's area, where Aunt Chita was near a piano. The sister requested that she play a song. Aunt Chita wanted to know what the sister would give her. “I’ll pray for you,” the sister said. Aunt Chita said that she would prefer some candy.

While Aunt Chita eventually lost her short term memory and we would reintroduce ourselves to her repeatedly over the course of our visits, she maintained a good memory of the distant past. Unfortunately I only have retained a wisp of a recollection of her talking about eating watermelons when she was young.

She had a good friend, Sister Kathleen, who we also would see when we were down in L.A. Sister Kathleen was slightly younger, but she is also gone – cancer. Once she decided that it would be good for us kids to see a recently deceased nun that was lying in state. I had never seen a dead body before. I remember looking at this old woman who had no attachment to me, and being kind of freaked out.

For Aunt Chita’s 100th birthday they got a mariachi band and served virgin margaritas. I can’t remember if this was the same trip, but someone once gave her a beautiful Hawaiian lei. Her skin looked so delicate, and the flowers were so vibrant.

I can remember the cafeteria and the visiting area, and how she would ask us if we had to use the lav or the john (which we always thought was funny). I was getting out of the shower tonight, and I felt like writing these memories. They’re all I have of her. If I haven’t written anything about her, I have definitely talked about her. She was a neat lady. I was too young to really remember all that much. Maybe this is the beginning of the time where I begin obsessing about my family history. My grandma knows it all. She’s all about family trees and genealogy. More than that I’d like to preserve my own memories before I forget. It would be impossible for me to completely forget Aunt Chita, but it’s getting murkier as time passes and I cram my head with new memories. I feel like a few years ago was one of happiest times of my life, and even with that so recently ended I barely remember most of it.

I meant to go to bed right after my shower. Oops.

My terrible vision of things to come

Everyone loves sunshine.

Glory in dreams of ice cream sundaes dripping onto swimsuits, knobby knees half submerged/sun toasted in aquamarine bliss--the coconut-y chemical aroma of Hawaiian Tropic mingling with the chlorine and wet concrete mist of the public swimming pool.

Baseball games that end right around dusk; dirt streaking blue jeans and staining white t-shirts, hoodies pulled over tousled hair as the hatchback trunk of the minivan slams shut and everyone goes home for a dinner examining new mosquito bites.

Everyone loves sunshine. I had a debilitatingly boring day today. As I left work after 5 pm, I thought, "I do not love sunshine."

Granted, I just came back from Southern California, where I had my fill of gorgeous weather for a few days. I having already worn a sun dress and felt warmth on my bare back at the beginning of February.

I have always had the association of boredom with sunny days.

Sunny weather is kind of bland. Everything is revealed all at once. There is no fog or shadow, just harsh brightness. Some days this is nice. I especially like it when it is sunny and a little cold. Sun is usually a novelty in those cases and it's not hard to be happy about not having to bundle when leaving the house.

Since I've gotten older I've begun to enjoy more outdoor activities that are more easily facilitated by comfortable weather. Comfortable. Unchallenging. Unchanging. Pleasant for a day or for an hour, but not for always. I love morning fog and gray weather and sometimes rain.

My debilitatingly (the computer keeps telling me that I'm making up words) boring day has made me think of what always hovers in the back of my mind as the nightmare of my future. Sunny days spent inside working, going home and making dinner,watching tv. And repeat. This is actually what I do on a regular basis now (minus the television, but plus more computer use), but in my nightmare version I am bored all of the time. Bored at work, bored at home, bored even when I sleep. Completely static and unfulfilled. Sunny days sometimes remind me of this.

Days that are windy and icy cold (for here, which is not ever truly icy cold) or mornings where you can see your breath, there's an electricity in the air. It's like sunshine cooks all of that electricity out and the air becomes like a tepid bath.

I don't know. I prefer the beaches of Northern California to Southern California, but I am afraid of actually going into the ocean (sharks!) and have never been to bonfire (a dream)... and have in recent years really begun to enjoy the sweating and stinking and sundresses of summer. And although I know it's physically unhealthy, I sometimes feel the one link that I have to my ancestors who have been assimilated out of/ are otherwise unknown to my present existence is the deep tan that I am able to develop after one painless sunburn. My last name is Italian, didn't you know this? And Aunt Chita's family was Mexican... however, as my grandfather said, my grandmother came from a "good German family." and who knows about that other half of the family. My father's last name is German, I think. The rest is a mystery. The cause of my melanoma will not be.

Maybe I am not enamored with sunshine as a condition that I often do not get to maximize my enjoyment of it. This seems unlikely as I am practically never outside at dusk, however whenever I am I only can think that dusk is the most beautiful, wonderful time of the day. Maybe it's from growing up here and there just being too much of it. I used to always equate summers with standing in hot black asphalt parking lots that could make a person sick.

Anywho. It'll be nice when the days get longer. I just love summer nights.

Boring but not bored in L.A.

When I listen to Iron & Wine (trapeze swinger), I feel like I should be staring out of the window at something distant and invisible in the horizon, or at a photograph of a lost love... I am in Los Angeles. In my hotel room. My bed is very comfortable. Television is boring and has nothing to offer me.

The euphoria that I felt earlier has faded. I am still very happy, even after a glance in the full length mirror at myself and my swollen belly as I was changing, having consumed an overpriced asian chicken salad, minus the chicken-- might have felt more worth it if it had chicken, but then I wouldn't have eaten it, so, there you go. I contemplated room service, but that just seemed like too much. I went out looking for a drugstore and should have taken advantage of a not super delicious looking burrito place called "Cilantro's."

I feel like whenever I am at home, I'm always daydreaming about being somewhere else. Being out of context there is so much processing happening, I think it's so wonderful and stimulating to take in new sights and surroundings, even if it's in pretty mundane situations... and I find myself pretending that I am starting a new life whenever I'm visiting a new city. It's funny. All I ever want to do is find someplace comfortable and stay there, but I want to do this is a million different locations. There also something wonderful about walking around in an unfamiliar place without knowing a soul (I know Natalie, but she and I had parted ways for the evening).

Anyhow, it's been nice. I fell asleep immediately on the plane; the flight was super short. I went for a lovely jaunt while looking for contact lens solution to replace the stuff that leaked out of the travel bottle and all over my bag. I was calling and texting and giggling and grinning at strangers on the street, taking pictures on my cell phone of my bed. Speaking of...

this is my exciting hotel room.

this is right down the street.

and this... and this...

this is what it looks like outside of my bedroom window back at home. It's a little fuzzy in light of recent events. Isn't it lovely? I will return to it soon. I'm tired. I'm going to read and go to sleep and wake up in a bed that I've never slept in before. This is great.

I overheard a lady who was exiting the elevator refer to me as a "pretty little girl" to the gentleman who was accompanying her. I initially suspected that she was drunk, as she seemed confused about how to the elevator operated. Upon hearing her say this I decided that drunk or no, she is probably the nicest person in L.A.

Don't Forget the Name Badges!

To be so blase about having to travel for work. I've seen it. People grumbling about being confined to the beige walls of the Fresno Marriott, caged in with other discontented out-of towners, with their stale continental breakfasts, styrofoam coffee cups and local news broadcasts blaring on the cable tv-- only watched at night as distraction from what brought them to this miserable place-- papers scattered all over those scratchy hotel blankets. Island print in teal, purple, and orange. fluorescent light streams out of the cracked bathroom door, all an inhospitably cold formica tile. the fan hums audibly, but does little to dissipate the trapped moist air that just hangs in the air and settles on the mirror. The windows are sealed, the curtains pushed back to reveal a view of the hotel parking lot and the grand promenade that features a strip mall with an ancient and abandoned looking Long John Silver's.

Well, I cannot afford to be so blase. I am looking forward to it.. I am going to go to our Project Director's Meeting, and I'm pretty delighted at the thought of leaving town. I just hope that everything goes smoothly and that I do an okay job. I'm a civilian, a non-special, just working on logistics and trying fly under the radar. I have a ride to and from the airport and have been advised to wear comfortable shoes.

I must not forget the name badges tomorrow. This is key. What confidence can I be expected to have in any of this panning out if I forget something as simple as the name badges? It all hangs in the balance here. That and my snacks. I bought two snack bars, and I'll be damned if they are consumed except for in emergency. No idle chewing; I will not be taken down by low blood sugar.

Wheeee! You see, I don't do this very often. I think everything will be fine. Unless I forget my toothbrush. Do they sell toothbrushes in Los Angeles? I'm sure they sell everything in Los Angeles. Here's a goat! A human liver! Land of dreams, you know.