Kathy & I like to go to art classes every once in a while. It's nice to do something creative, especially with your hands. We went to an art journaling class last spring or fall (honestly, sometimes time blurs for me), which promised to be a lot of fun. The teacher had all of the materials we needed and she gave us prompts for the pages we created. There were about four women who knew each other and a couple of women who came alone and then there was me and Kathy. We are always so excited to get messy and create and spend time chatting; unfortunately, we show up and everyone is looking a little dour. We enthusiastically say "hi" to everyone and introduce ourselves to the teacher and then proceed to sit down. I suppose we were chatting to ourselves and then trying to connect with our neighboring classmates, but let's talk about talking to a brick wall or a rock. The gal next to me had a very stoney personality and the woman next to Kathy wasn't really having it. Whatever, we aren't fazed. This is supposed to be a fun class even if the women here are really very serious, especially the woman next to me. She hoarded the materials she wanted and then proceeded to bend over her project and work on it, without a word--very reminiscent of the classmate who uses her entire arm and torso to cover her paper so no one will "cheat" off of her. It's as if the rest of us didn't exist. It was actually pretty remarkable how little contact she made with the rest of the class.
The other ladies were serious but in a different manner. They wanted what they wanted when they wanted it and seemed to pitch a little hissy fit if their materials weren't available or if they were unable to accomplish the technique they desired. Up and down, searching for their "perfect" ephemera and bumping the already shakey card tables. It was no problem when they did it. There was no apology or even acknowledgement that they could be disrupting others. However, when I stood up and reached across the table to get a different pen and accidentally bumped the table when I sat back down you would think I committed a very horrible crime. No joke. I felt very bad and immediately apologized, but the woman across from me held me in an icy glare for a long time (a throw down kind of glare--intense). This is very same woman who kept bumping the table earlier but didn't seem to realize it. Finally, I could take her insolence no more and I very firmly & slowly repeated, "I'm sorry!" and continued to look at her until she looked down. I know, I could've and should've risen above it but I didn't. I was really tired of the pissy kitty club and the "rules apply to you but not to me" parade. Kathy and I came to class like a couple of labs who've just been told their going on a car ride--very excited and super friendly to anyone who crossed our paths. For the non-dog readers, Labs, in general, are the meeters and the greeters of the dog world--happy, happy creatures who run all about and investigate in a good-natured sort of way. This lady was like a cat walking up to a dog (a good natured one or one used to cats), that swats the dog for no real good reason and then looks at the dog with the attitude of "whatch you gonna do 'bout it?" Pissy. Kitty. The kind of cat who's always getting the squirt bottle by its person because it does whatever it wants, just because.
Here's the thing, we are talking art journaling class--this isn't some art masterpiece course, it isn't even a course! It was a simple, fun workshop to explore one's creative side. That's all folks. Hate to burst your bubble. It's as if this lady was shopping at Kmart, expecting to find something on the level of Saks. Ain't happening, so you probably should work with what you have and relax! Have some fun, for crying out loud. Life is a little too short to have a throw-down with me about bumping a table. My table bump was so subtle that Kathy, who was sitting next to me, didn't even notice. She couldn't figure out what was going on. To be honest, neither could I.
We left with some journal pages that we were pleased with and some that we weren't, but we were o.k. with that. When class was over, we thanked the teacher and left, while the other ladies were still whining that they didn't finish or they weren't happy with x or y. Crazy labs gleefully left the building while pissy kitties stayed behind, perhaps looking for approval from the teacher. Who knows. Next time, I promise I won't bite the bait.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Mrs. B
Since Buddy's been gone, the cats have "moved into" our yard. They stroll, run, hunt, snoop, frolick. There is barely any urgency to vacate when they see us, whereas before they were just a blurr of color. That's because Buddy has caught more than his fair share of cats, much to my dismay. I have to admit that while I'm an animal lover, cats are not at the top of my list. Probably because I'm severely allergic to them. Despite that, there have been some cats that I've formed great attachments to.
When we first moved into our current home, our realtor said to us, "Oh, by the way...the house comes with a cat." Wha-what?! No, no, no! That can't be! NO! Allegedly a "stray" that the family took to feeding. Jon and I just looked at each other. I'm thinking they didn't want to bring it along on their next house flip. We'll never know, but we decided she was a girl--very cute, black and white cat, with a nearly silent meow.
Our house sat empty for a few months while we tried to sell our other one. We'd go and work on it in the evenings and slowly move small items in. One night I was in the kitchen doing something and I felt like I was being watched. I looked through the french doors and there she was, silent meow and all. We eye-locked but she wasn't leaving. I called Jon from the other room and very sympathetically exclaimed, "Look! We have to feed her. She's expecting it." We stood there looking at the pitiful face peering back at us and agreed--we had to go the store and get cat food right now. Yup, she wrapped us around her proverbial little finger from the get go. We went out to see if she'd come to us, which was no problem whatsoever. Jon picked her up and she loved it. Yes, a quick trip to the store was in order. Jinger named her "Mrs. B" after Mrs. Beasley and the name stuck. That cat hung around through our first dog, Dutchess, and for the first year or so of Buddy and Trigger. Then we didn't see her again. Of course that made me sad. I wondered about her for a long, long time.
Mrs. B and Dutchess had a little arrangement--they didn't bother each other. We fed Mrs. B on the potting table and Dutchess wandered around the yard unperturbed by the little black cat. In the winter they would simultaneously lay against either side of one of the kitchen doors (Mrs. B on the outside and Dutchess inside). It looked like they were snuggling, only they had the door between them. Made me chuckle. Then it made me think of the 50s and 60s sitcoms where the husband and wife slept in separate beds (a little stream of consciousness for you).
Mrs. B wasn't as fortunate with Buddy and Trigger--they did not have an arrangement. We had to feed her on the roof. This displeased Mrs. B and me, but what can you do? I became very accustomed to her presence after Dutchess died. That cat even wandered into our house a couple of times when the door was open (when we were between dogs). She didn't stay, but she came right up to me to say "hi." (Which, coincidentally is when Jon said to me, "You're getting way too used to that cat. I think it's time we get another dog.") Why, that cat even brought me a mouse once and a lizard another time (much to my dismay and delight). You know, "She likes me! She really, really likes me!" She could very well have been someone else's cat who spent a lot of time at our house, but when she started bringing me "offerings" or "gifts" I wasn't so sure. Perhaps I told myself this to "justify" my attachement to an animal I allegedly "dislike."
It's been years since Mrs. B lived here. However, I think we might have a "fill-in" cat for her. A beautfiful calico has been hanging around here and he doesn't really run away from us. He's very curious and when we first noticed him he'd go to different doors and meow. The other day he came right up to the kitchen door and peered in--just like Mrs. B did. Crazy. I squatted down and peered back at him. Stuart did the same but then he moved towards the door and the cat ran away. I'll keep you posted on cat watch. I hate to admit it, but it makes me a little happy to have a friendly feline visitor. At first, I was really concerned with the "alarming" number of cats using our yard as a byway. I think I counted about five. I thought they were feral, which means more cats to come...I mentioned this to someone who told me if they don't run away they aren't feral. O.K. I think this cat is someone's pet because he has such a healthy and beautiful coat and he's friendly and curious. I also could be telling myself stories, too.
I'll keep you posted.
When we first moved into our current home, our realtor said to us, "Oh, by the way...the house comes with a cat." Wha-what?! No, no, no! That can't be! NO! Allegedly a "stray" that the family took to feeding. Jon and I just looked at each other. I'm thinking they didn't want to bring it along on their next house flip. We'll never know, but we decided she was a girl--very cute, black and white cat, with a nearly silent meow.
Our house sat empty for a few months while we tried to sell our other one. We'd go and work on it in the evenings and slowly move small items in. One night I was in the kitchen doing something and I felt like I was being watched. I looked through the french doors and there she was, silent meow and all. We eye-locked but she wasn't leaving. I called Jon from the other room and very sympathetically exclaimed, "Look! We have to feed her. She's expecting it." We stood there looking at the pitiful face peering back at us and agreed--we had to go the store and get cat food right now. Yup, she wrapped us around her proverbial little finger from the get go. We went out to see if she'd come to us, which was no problem whatsoever. Jon picked her up and she loved it. Yes, a quick trip to the store was in order. Jinger named her "Mrs. B" after Mrs. Beasley and the name stuck. That cat hung around through our first dog, Dutchess, and for the first year or so of Buddy and Trigger. Then we didn't see her again. Of course that made me sad. I wondered about her for a long, long time.
Mrs. B and Dutchess had a little arrangement--they didn't bother each other. We fed Mrs. B on the potting table and Dutchess wandered around the yard unperturbed by the little black cat. In the winter they would simultaneously lay against either side of one of the kitchen doors (Mrs. B on the outside and Dutchess inside). It looked like they were snuggling, only they had the door between them. Made me chuckle. Then it made me think of the 50s and 60s sitcoms where the husband and wife slept in separate beds (a little stream of consciousness for you).
Mrs. B wasn't as fortunate with Buddy and Trigger--they did not have an arrangement. We had to feed her on the roof. This displeased Mrs. B and me, but what can you do? I became very accustomed to her presence after Dutchess died. That cat even wandered into our house a couple of times when the door was open (when we were between dogs). She didn't stay, but she came right up to me to say "hi." (Which, coincidentally is when Jon said to me, "You're getting way too used to that cat. I think it's time we get another dog.") Why, that cat even brought me a mouse once and a lizard another time (much to my dismay and delight). You know, "She likes me! She really, really likes me!" She could very well have been someone else's cat who spent a lot of time at our house, but when she started bringing me "offerings" or "gifts" I wasn't so sure. Perhaps I told myself this to "justify" my attachement to an animal I allegedly "dislike."
It's been years since Mrs. B lived here. However, I think we might have a "fill-in" cat for her. A beautfiful calico has been hanging around here and he doesn't really run away from us. He's very curious and when we first noticed him he'd go to different doors and meow. The other day he came right up to the kitchen door and peered in--just like Mrs. B did. Crazy. I squatted down and peered back at him. Stuart did the same but then he moved towards the door and the cat ran away. I'll keep you posted on cat watch. I hate to admit it, but it makes me a little happy to have a friendly feline visitor. At first, I was really concerned with the "alarming" number of cats using our yard as a byway. I think I counted about five. I thought they were feral, which means more cats to come...I mentioned this to someone who told me if they don't run away they aren't feral. O.K. I think this cat is someone's pet because he has such a healthy and beautiful coat and he's friendly and curious. I also could be telling myself stories, too.
I'll keep you posted.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Chuckle of the Day
This is the second time I've seen this photo and it makes me laugh, a lot. Not a fan of Tori Spelling, but walking a pet goat kills me.
This is from the WonderWall--a "place" where I spend more time than I'd like. Did you take note that the dog is in the wheel barrow--apparently little dogs who wear sweaters don't get to use their paws a whole lot (as a side note, I bet it'd work up some heat and keep warm by "hoofing" it).
All around, this gave me a good laugh. I'm not laughing at those folks, although I think they could be easy targets. Sadly, I can kind of identify with walking a pet goat. With that said, I won't be getting one any time soon.
This is from the WonderWall--a "place" where I spend more time than I'd like. Did you take note that the dog is in the wheel barrow--apparently little dogs who wear sweaters don't get to use their paws a whole lot (as a side note, I bet it'd work up some heat and keep warm by "hoofing" it).
All around, this gave me a good laugh. I'm not laughing at those folks, although I think they could be easy targets. Sadly, I can kind of identify with walking a pet goat. With that said, I won't be getting one any time soon.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Mutts & Minis, part II and a bonus story
When we were driving to Mini of North Scottsdale to see the Halo dogs, the boys were talking non-stop. I mentioned that I wish there was some silence in the truck. Chief agreed, "Yes, we need the cone of silence." (From "Get Smart") I laughed, which made me think of the "cone of shame" from the movie, "UP."
We always get a kick out of referencing that movie for several reasons, but the oddest is because of an acquaintance's remark. I had told this person that we went to see "UP" (when it first came out) and she said to me that they saw, that same weekend, "Transformers," for the second time. There's a irrelevant story behind why she saw that movie for the second time, which was followed by, "I didn't like 'UP,' it was totally unrealistic." Total silence on my part. Later, I told Chief this and his immediate response was, "Was it the floating house or the talking dogs that she found unrealistic?" We laughed and then he asked if she thought "Transformers" was realistic. I told him I didn't even bother to ask, because the conversation was too strange to begin with.
For those who were wondering about our dog outing--there were a lot of cute dogs waiting for forever homes. All but one was little--some larger dogs were already adopted by the time we arrived. The Halo volunteers were awesome, so, eventually, we will go to their facility and see what they have. We'd really like 2 larger dogs. Stuart keeps saying 3. Here's a dog similar (mostly coat and size) to the one I fell in love with:
We always get a kick out of referencing that movie for several reasons, but the oddest is because of an acquaintance's remark. I had told this person that we went to see "UP" (when it first came out) and she said to me that they saw, that same weekend, "Transformers," for the second time. There's a irrelevant story behind why she saw that movie for the second time, which was followed by, "I didn't like 'UP,' it was totally unrealistic." Total silence on my part. Later, I told Chief this and his immediate response was, "Was it the floating house or the talking dogs that she found unrealistic?" We laughed and then he asked if she thought "Transformers" was realistic. I told him I didn't even bother to ask, because the conversation was too strange to begin with.
For those who were wondering about our dog outing--there were a lot of cute dogs waiting for forever homes. All but one was little--some larger dogs were already adopted by the time we arrived. The Halo volunteers were awesome, so, eventually, we will go to their facility and see what they have. We'd really like 2 larger dogs. Stuart keeps saying 3. Here's a dog similar (mostly coat and size) to the one I fell in love with:
google images
Sherman was his name and he had ginormous ears and a larger snout. He was the most laid-back large, little dog I'd ever seen. He was later adopted.
Little Man was so excited to see the dogs that he wanted to write them a note. It was really to the people who brought the dogs and it was to tell them that he wanted to buy one of the dogs, but his dad said no. The ladies thought it was so sweet of him to write the note--I had to explain what the "no" part meant, that Saturday was a day for looking and that we eventually adopt.
Little Man was so excited to see the dogs that he wanted to write them a note. It was really to the people who brought the dogs and it was to tell them that he wanted to buy one of the dogs, but his dad said no. The ladies thought it was so sweet of him to write the note--I had to explain what the "no" part meant, that Saturday was a day for looking and that we eventually adopt.
Monday, February 20, 2012
His Lordship is an Ass
We've been watching Downtown Abbey with great enthusiasm and last night Chief says to me, "I wish my wife would refer to me as "His Lordship" when I wasn't around." We were watching the scene where the housekeeper gives Lady Cora an update on His Lordship's valet and Lady Cora refers to her husband as "His Lordship." I made sure I heard him correctly, we have a hearty laugh and we continue watching. A minute later I tell him that he's going to regret ever saying that. He returns with, "I know I will."
After we watch the show he was saying something silly and I give him the look and he says, "I know, His Lordship's an ass." It took me a minute to figure out that he was referring to himself. You see, whenever he's being jokingly rude I always tell him "he's being an ass" and he responds with "yes, I know, I'm an ass." It's a funny exchange we do to rib each other--it's always preceeded by the look. I roared with laughter and told him he'd done it--I'd have to blog about that one!
I'm not sure I'm prepared to start calling him His Lordship, even if in jest. I had to stop calling his cell his "girlfriend" because the boys started calling it that. Chief's cell would ring and if on the rare occasion it wasn't on his person, the boys would bring it to him saying, "It's your girlfriend," as they handed the cell to him. You can see how that sounded and looked. I don't think people would get our "Lordship" joke at all. Do you?
If you get a spare moment and are looking for something different to watch, I highly recommend Downtown Abbey. It well done. Even for those addicted to nasty reality TV, because this is filled with backbiting and drama and a lot of good one-liners. Tastfully, of course. Maggie Smith's character, Cousin Violet, has a good share of them.
Monday, February 13, 2012
A Sign! Mutts & Minis
It's a sign! I was talking to our pest guy, Tony, about Buddy--all the service people are asking because Buddy made it known that he was here & this was his house. It was reciprocal entertainment, actually. At one point Tony mentioned Halo rescue shelter. Halo is one of his clients and when he's done working there, he goes in & plays with the dogs. We chatted a bit more and then he said he was going to go home & hug his English Bulldog. I'm surrounded by sensitive ponytail guys--it was very sweet. You have to love that! Coupled with the dogs are Minis--hear me out...while I love my Mini it's getting a little small for the boys in the back seat & hot, as well. We've been looking at the Countryman (it's the kind of a silly looking SUV Mini--like a Mini on steroids, wearing platforms; it's the silver 4-door in the pic), but it fits the boys comfortably in the back, Jon can manage in the front while the boys are the back (can't in the Mini) and it's grown on me. Besides, it's still a Mini. I just had that conversation with Tony (the pest guy) last Friday and about a week ago I had the Countryman conversation with Tony (the mailman--he's a Mini fan & was chatting me up about my Mini). This shows up in my inbox this morning:
Tell me that isn't a sign? Please pass your comments on to Chief, so he can get on board, too.
Yes, they both are named Tony.
Tell me that isn't a sign? Please pass your comments on to Chief, so he can get on board, too.
Yes, they both are named Tony.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Profound Statement by the Wee One
The boys were sick, again, on Monday. However, Stuart rallied pretty quickly and was non-stop into everything. As an aside, he's paying for it the past two days because he's feeling worse than he did on Monday because he didn't rest when he stayed home...we've had this lingering flu-like cold that has come equipped with a death-cough for weeks now. Max was home with 103.5 temps off and on for a week, two weeks ago, but the rest of us has been gimping along. It's not been pretty.
Max felt bad for me when he finally got up, which was around noon--he was so exhausted from coughing all night and the lingering cold. I told him not to feel bad, if you're sick you're sick there's no need to apologize. He could tell Stuart was jumping on my last nerve by that point of the day. He responds with how I had to stay home because of them and I told him immediately that my first job is to take care of them and you both needed the rest. Then Stuart chimes in with, "Yeah, and your second job is to have fun with us." He said that with all seriousness.
Food for thought.
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