Fergus!

Oh, and I've decided to go with "Fergus" for our new addition to our human-feline family. I think he likes it too, 'cause he's already starting to come when I call his name. Thank you for your comments and suggestions, even ones like Dingleberry and Soloniosum *smacks Spongie* Though I really liked all those names, Fergus felt right in the end. I say *I* since Beau plans on calling him his usual names for cats:

- Cat
- Goofball
- Oh-You-Little-Shit (after he gets bit or scratched when he plays roughly with Sabina)
- Lemme-Step-On-Your-Head (This one for the sheer pleasure of riling me up), as in:
"Hey you, come here -- Lemme step on your head!"

I'm still totally thrilled he's here and liking him more each day. He is currently in a sort of tense truce with Sabina - they slept next to each other last night for the first time, though every now and then she couldn't help but emit a low-tone growl. And he terrorizes her by leaping onto her back and biting her head, then joyfully chasing her around the house, while she lets out these unnerving screams of protest. She's old and her tolerance for play is not too high, but she needs a bit of exercise. It's rather funny, except for this morning. Screaming cats are not funny at 6:00am.

P.S. Beau reminded me of one more name he frequently uses: Dumbass. I'm not a fan of that one either, but he says, "But I always say it as a joke, like 'Hey Dumbass' hahahahah."

Ha.

*giggle*

Every year, some student trickster(s) manage to scale the precarious roof of the campus-famous University Hall to place a lone pumpkin on the very tip of the clock tower. And there it sits for an entire year, possibly because no one in the campus Facility Services can figure out how to get the heck up there. And then, as the next Halloween rolls around, a fresh pumpkin is placed atop, to slowly rot the next year away.

I don't know why, but I find this really funny. And cute. And yeah, funny. It just makes me giggle every time I look up at it on my way to work in the morning. It seems the zoom on my cellphone's camera is crap, so this is the best I've got...it's that little ball at the top.

Name that Cat!

After a year of lobbying, culminating in some intense negotiations over the past couple weeks, I finally "convinced" Beau to let us get another cat. (Convinced being a very strong word). There are certain things I believe when it comes to cats: 1) You should always have two. They keep each other company over the long hours when you're gone, and well, it's just more fun that way; and 2) You should try to get them from your local Humane Society if at all possible.

This past Saturday I went to the Humane Society of Western Montana specifically to see a cat named Donovan I had read about in the paper. He had all the qualities I wanted in a cat, both physically (adult, male, short-hair, inside cat, fixed, different coloration than Sabina), and personally (likes other cats, affectionate). When I got there, I made a beeline for him. The place was fairly crowded already. He was in a small glass room with another cat, and immediately he began crawling all over me and rubbin and lovin. Awwww.

Then he bit me. And then he bit me again, and again. Ow, damn it! Now, I don't mind a little cat nip (ha ha), but an adult cat who repeatedly bites you is a bit of a problem. I kept stroking him and talking softly, thinking maybe it was a fluke, but he'd rub-rub-rub, then proceed to sink his fangs into the palm of my hand. Again and again. Oh, shit.

I decided to give him a break and went to see the other cats, of which they had quite a few. They had a lot of really wonderful ones, mostly female, who were sweet and loving. I opened up a lot of cages and stroked a lot of kitties. I would take photos of my favorites with my cellphone and send them to Beau at work. One cat in particular caught my attention. He was a male Siamese with gorgeous blue eyes. I've never really been a fan of the breed. They're loud and pissy in general, and their super-angular over-breeding is resulting in a pretty queer look. Thankfully, this cat looked more old school with the darker coat and larger, muscular body. Also, despite the fact that all the other cats in the room were mewing and calling, he was surprisingly silent. As soon as I opened his cage, he climbed up so his front paws were on my shoulder, and then be began to nuzzle my chin.

Yeah, I was hooked.

I checked him out - adult male, fixed, and declawed *WINCE*. "Likes other cats, especially the ladies." Oooh, well that will help! His name was Cinder.

I tried to be fair though and took my time to visit all the cats there, revisiting some, and even took a moment with the kittens though I had no intention of adopting one of those. I then went back to Donovan. A small boy was standing in the room with him, tightly clutching one hand in the other, and displaying a face of pure misery. "Did he bite you?" I asked the boy. He nodded silently. I tried to console the boy and asked him a few more questions of which he simply nodded or shook his head, continuing to hold his hand protectively. I tried to then pet Donovan and talk softly to him, but he just kept biting me. I went and talked to the staff about Donovan and his biting and they kind of looked at each other and smiled. "Yeah, he's a wild one," they said. Oh well.I went and visited the dogs, then came back and asked the staff about Cinder. Well, they said, a lot of people had been inquiring about him, and in fact, someone was coming right now to see him to adopt. At this particular Humane Society, you can come in and adopt on the spot, so it's pretty much first-come, first-serve. It turns out that Cinder had been the "Pet of the Week" in the local newspaper and so was getting a lot of interest. Shit.

My original plan was to come when they opened at noon, narrow it down, and then when Beau got off of work at 4pm, race back to the Humane Society which closed at 5pm to adopt a cat. Although Beau was less than thrilled about this, it was important to me that he be a part of the process, help choose. The staff explained that I still needed to submit the permission slip from our apartment manager (true) and come back with that before I adopt. They apologized that they couldn't hold Cinder for me, but I understood. That was fair.

Then the staff told me some more about his history. He'd been with a family with a small boy who had broken Cinder's leg at just 6 months old! Horrors! Then, they'd had Cinder declawed shortly afterwards (this is something I am totally against). Finally, when he started peeing out of his litterbox (because they had just gotten a new dog), they gave him up. Heartbreaking! (The litterbox problem stopped instantly after he was surrendered to the Humane Society).

So, I left and called Beau, telling him about Cinder. I was going to wait on all of this, but I decided I should just go ahead and take care of it, and with my sweatshirt absolutely covered in cat fur, I went to my apartment manager and got my permission slip (after plunking down even more of a deposit than the original). I went home and showered and changed clothes and by this time, Beau had called back and told me he trusted me enough to do this on my own and go ahead. My heart pounding, I raced back to my car and drove back to the Humane Society - on the other side of town, of course.

When I got there, they recognized me and told me that there was a couple in with Cinder now, and I should basically just wait, biting my lip. I filled out the application and turned in my apartment permission slip and sat down in the lobby. And waited. Awhile.

As I sat there, two different calls came in specifically for Cinder. In addition, a spiky-haired woman walked in inquiring about him as well. I waited for the woman behind the counter (a different one) to basically tell the spiky-haired woman the same thing they'd been telling them all, "A lot of people are interested in him, forget it." But to my horror, the staff person ended up escorting the woman back to see him. I was going to protest, but I didn't get the words out fast enough, and was intimidated about shouting across the room as they walked off. So, I sat there and waited. And waited. Here and there the staff woman I had been talking to shot me sympathetic looks and I tried to smile back. I even went in and petted a sweetheart of a dog for a bit before coming back to deposit my butt into the chair.

The spiky-haired woman emerged and began whispering to the staff people. Uh oh. I glared in her direction, just daring her to try to steal him out from under me. Then I heard one of them say, "Oh no, Cinder can't go to a home with kids. He doesn't like kids." Yes! The spiky-haired woman left.

After what seemed like eternity, they called me up to the counter. Apparently, the previous couple had decided against Cinder after he had bit the woman on the chin. *snicker* Okay, that's not really funny, it's just luck. The staff were unfazed. "That poor cat has seen 50 people today. He is so overstimulated and exhausted. We're not surprised." So, with that interesting green light, I went ahead and filled out all the paperwork to adopt him, and for just $10 more, he could be microchipped as well, which I had done (Sabina already has one for when she went to NZ). They gave me a bag of Science Diet, a collar and tag, all his medical history, a free vet visit card, and of course, Cinder, in a large cardboard box.

Driving home, he finally found his voice and began to cry. I let him out and petted him and peering out the windows with wide-eyes, he was fine. And now, we're all home, cats in two different rooms (it takes Sabina quite awhile to adjust to a new animal), and all's well. He's still a total sweetheart and I adore him. I miss him when I'm at work. We did have one small accident *cough* but since then it's gone smoothly. I look forward to many many years with .... with....what's his name?

That's where I hope you, all four of my readers, come in. I thought I'd throw out the names I picked for him. Cinder is actually kind of a cool name, especially with his gorgeous coat, but I'd prefer to name him myself for one, and secondly, there's something I feel...like how he had this traumatic childhood and now is his time to start all over, with a new name. Over-personification of a cat, perhaps, but I can identify with wanting to start all over anew.

Anyway, below are the names in the running. I'm curious as to what you all think. Like any of them?

Name choices:
1. Fergus - named both after a literary character in a series Beau and I read, and after Beau's family's Scottish clan.
2. Kiwi - cause it's a cute name and relates to our beloved time spent in New Zealand
3. Atticus - after Gregory Peck's stellar character and because it sounds cool. "Also, it's close to 'cat,' so I can just call him 'hey, cat' like I want to," muttered Beau.
4. Phoenix - cool name, Harry Potter connection, and it's where I grew up.
5. Stile - named after another literary character and kind of a neat homonym.

Snow Sucks

This is a photo taken a few months ago during our glorious Spring.

This is today.

Divine Dance Dance Intervention

As with many married couples, Beau and I have gained a bit of weight since our wedding day. Since graduating from high school, I've slid up and down the same range of 20lbs, with varying degrees of firm muscle and smooshy fat. But since I quit Shop-n-Smile - my nightly 4-hour walk complete with dozens of squats and heavy lifting - my weight has taken a massive leap skyward, and I am now the heaviest of my life, well beyond that 20lb range.

It feels gross, and uncomfortable, and though my clothes still "fit," they feel tight and bothersome. Also, my chronic stomach problems seem to become magnified when my weight goes up.

Plus, I'm pretty damn depressed, and winter is fast approaching - two prescriptions for weight gain anyway. The New Zealand thing, which I deposited a lot more hope in than even I realized, doesn't look too promising now. With Beau being in America, NZ schools see hiring him, sight/site unseen as a risk, and I totally understand - I went through the same thing when I hired teachers in Thailand. But it's maddening to know that he's such an amazing, gifted teacher, and his talents are being wasted in the wasteland that is Missoula's substitute teacher system.

A little over a week ago I had this dream. I was playing Dance Dance Revolution - the super hyper dance video game that involves a mat with arrows that you step on in time with the arrows passing by on your TV screen. It's similar to Guitar Hero, but you use your feet. Kind of feels like a Dance Club version of Twister. I can't remember much more about the dream, but it was one of those where you wake up and the dream just seems to have a powerful grip on you that lingers far beyond the usual ones. I laid there and thought of how I'd seen several news stories about how DDR was this weight loss phenomenon for fat, introverted kids who stayed home and played video games all night. There were many cases of kids losing over 100lbs each. Now they even use it in schools! I always thought that was really cool, but wasn't interested in buying a video game system. Civ IV is the only purchased computer game I've ever needed (well, except for maybe Diner Dash).

In real life, I've only tried DDR once at a friend's house, and I completely and utterly sucked at it, not to mention that I looked like a total dweeb. But for some reason, I took this dream as divine inspiration. Okay, maybe not DIVINE, but I dunno. Sure, it looks pretty crazy typed out like it is now...

Anyway, I went to Wally World where Beau was working that day and approached the Electronics people. I know that you can play DDR on pretty much any video game system, so I asked one saleswoman, "What's the cheapest way I can play DDR?" She led me around to view several massive glass cases stocked full of video games, as we had to weave in and around the hypnotized goons playing Guitar Hero III. The best she seemed to find was a $400 game system (I think maybe it was Wii or Playstation 3) along with a $80 DDR game. Ugh. No dream or weight loss system is worth that much. After she left, I wandered around some more until I found a Playstation 2 system for about $129 with the DDR game priced at about $50. Though still pricey, this seemed much more reasonable. I found Beau and brought him over, but he was less than thrilled. Money is tight and this was an extravagant purchase for us. We went back and forth for a bit, then he walked away and I walked around the store some more. Finally, I decided to get it, and use the credit card in my name. I told myself that Montana's lack of sales tax and the additional 10% off employee discount I'd get would make a big difference. These are the kinds of things you tell yourself at these moments when a part of you feels guilty for spending cash.

But why make such a reckless purchase? (Besides the fact that I've never been that great a manager of money?). Well, I just got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. I had to DO something. This may not make much sense to some of you, especially regarding the silliness of buying a video game system or losing weight, but it makes perfect sense to me. When you're clinically depressed, and honey, this ain't my FIRST rodeo, you feel yourself sinking, sinking, sinking until you get to the point that you just cannot see a way out of the darkness. I find it is similar to an alcohol or drug abuser, in that most people reach a point, the proverbial "rock bottom," where say, "Fuck this! I need help! I need to make changes!" and so begins the slow steps to recovery.

But the difference is that with Depression, you sink and sink, and then at some point you just sort of plateau...and there you reside. I've often said that Depression becomes a comfortable way of life for the afflicted, which is why you find people who claim to be desperate to get out of it, but who never seem to make any real moves to do so. Even someone like me who is very sympathetic to being in that state, has grown impatient and frustrated with others - namely those who beg you for help, and then turn around and refuse all offers. I had one friend in grad school who slowly alienated all others with her suicidal-but-not-really personality. I spent many nights on the phone, in her apartment, listening to her, consoling her. At some point, I started to try to help her. I talked to her about the University's fantastic counseling center, therapy and/or medication, support groups, helpful books to read, her clergyperson, ANYTHING. Despite her pleas for help, all suggestions were pa-shawed off. After more endless J-therapy sessions that exhausted me, and seemingly only rejuvenated her for a day, it slowly became clear to me that she didn't want help. She was comfortable residing on that plateau, despite what she said. She had to make her own decision to climb out.

An-y-way, to me, buying the PS2 and DDR was about taking action. It's about consciously making changes and taking steps to get out of this stupid super funk and lose weight and have more energy and sleep better and be a little bit happier.

And here I am, a few weeks later, and it's kinda working. As far as the weight goes, I lost a pound and then a week later gained a half a pound back - whoopty-doo - but I feel a lot better. I can't really articulate it, but I definitely do notice a boost in energy and I've slept through the night for the past two nights in a row - quite a feat for me. I know that when I do set out to lose weight, it's a very slow process, so I'm patient.

But the trick to kicking Depression is action. You can have the pills and the therapy, both of which I recommend, but you also have to do some of your own work. It's so easy to give in and just stay home and (over)sleep and be safe and warm and eat mac-n-cheese and watch lots and lots of Forensic Files and Law & Order *cough blush* and though I will continue to enjoy all those things, I can't be stagnant any longer.

I read something online today in regards to the writers' strike, and it said something about the blogosphere being "the unhappiest place on earth." Hahahah, that really made me laugh. It's so true; how many of us have blogs about how shitty our lives are? One thing I have truly learned in the past few months by reading the blogs of many of my friends, yes you, is that we ALL have shit to deal with. We've all got something in our life that is weighing us down - money matters, health issues, spouse troubles, family entanglements, job woes (sidenote: my job still sucks - and I might not have it much longer). Everyone has something serious they face. And I have to say that I truly admire the Mutual Admiration Society that is blogging. We're all depressed, we all love each other, and we're all virtually there for each other. *sniff*

And now for me, it's time to dance!
--------------

For your enjoyment, I am including the youtube of a small child and one of a one-legged man who would both kick my ASS on DDR any day. The first week or two I danced on it, I was alone, but was so ridiculous I was embarrassed to be with myself. Now, I'm at least respectable at the game, but can't hold a candle to these two:

R.I.P. Robert Goulet

When I first saw Will Ferrell do one of his SNL Robert Goulet skits, I loved it, even though my familiarity with Robert Goulet was marginal.

About two years ago, accompanied by my beloved Aunty Betty and cousin Wendy, I had the chance to see Robert Goulet himself on Broadway, starring in La Cage aux Folles. I guess he was just about 70 then, and it was quite clear during the raucous musical that he wasn't very mobile, (he sat or would only shuffle a couple steps on stage for most of the performance), but his voice was still strong and warm. We had a great time.

And now that he's passed away - waiting for a lung transplant - how sad! - I just wanted to put in a few fun video clips in his honor:


1) Video of a La Cage aux Folles number that was done at the 59th Tony Awards (Goulet opens the number). Note: And for all those not familiar with the show, all those delicious can-can dancers are men. I haven't been able to do the splits like that since 7th grade!



2) Will Ferrell's giggly skit on Robert Goulet pushing his new rap album. Robert Gouleeeeeet.



3) The awesome commercial he did a few years ago for Emerald Nuts.

Knock Knock Knock on Wood

I am super happy to report that for the last 63 1/2 hours, our Honda Civic has been running like a dream! *furiously knocks on wood til knuckles bruise*

In the end, the whole circuit breaker drama was scrapped, and a shiny new alternator with a warranty was installed. So far, so good. SUCH a relief. The guys at Auto Electric Service in Missoula (I can advertise now that all's well), didn't even charge us a penny more. They were nice guys throughout the whole process, even though the week+ long drama made me hella nervous, and I admit to not being too sure about them at times. But now all feelings are warm and fuzzy, and it feels good to have a mechanic who isn't going to stick it to you.

And a car that runs.