Life Without Socks

What about the cat?!

Have you ever sat on a cat? No, me either- but I did put my knee on a slimy, wet cat hairball just this morning. I was minding my own business, putting my knee in our overstuffed livingroom chair- the chair that cost me $398.00, the chair that the damn cat has already tried to shred (numerous times) and lo and behold, right through my white eyelet nightgown, comes this squishy, seeping, wetness.

My mind won't register anything at first. It tries to take me down the road of red herrings, coming up with such scenerios as- my knee is leaking- the chair has sprung a leak- I have nerve damage that leads me to feel sensations that are not real- when suddenly, I am struck with the realization that this is some animal abomination. Some disgusting function that only some animal- no, specifically, some CAT, can do.

I look down with a certain amount of "oh no you didn't" mixed with a fair amount of "you've been punked by a cat", and there it was. The most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life! It looked like a miniture version of whatever is washing up on the beach near Montauk, NY- that hairless, bloated brown body thing- I wanted to scream and throw up at the same time, but instead, I recoiled my knee in an auto-response mode and set my foot solidly down- ON THE OTHER HALF OF THE ABOMINATION!! I had to hop across the beige livingroom carpet, down the hall, into the tiny 1950's bathroom, hoist my leg and foot into the sink (no easy feat- since the 90's) and scrub, scrub, scrub for hours. Still, I had the vague feeling something from that damn cat was still lingering with me.

Donning a gas mask and rubber gloves, I eventually went back to the scene of the crime to clean whatever the hell that was that the cat expelled. Hairball-schmairball. Really. I have a fair enough belief that cats do this on dead purpose. If it was just a hairball, why doesn't it look like just hair? Why does it look like a small, half-formed genetic cat experiment gone awry? Why is it always brownish tan and slimy? Cat's hair is not slimy- my cat is grey, why then, do I always see a small mutation minus a birthing sack and eyes?

But enough. The cat hates me and did that on purpose as she does everything on purpose- you see, I am a cat step-parent.

Before you all get on a bandwagon about me being a cat-hater and such, you must understand. I too, am a mother, but of real, human children, and my partner is a step-parent. My partner also believes my children are next to the devil's spawn and that I am inconsistent, too permissive and in general, a crap parent. My partner has been offered the solace of a room in the twin sister's house if the step-parenting roll- the children- are just too much to handle. Doctor Phil will devote a talk show hour to my partner if we want to go on national television to have my partner describe the horrors of step-parenting- but what about me?

Do I get offered a room somewhere to get away from the cat? Will Dr. Phil devote an hour-long segment to the trauma of living and trying to step-parent a cat? NO. Most people just scream out "buck up, how bad can it be?" Well folks, YOU HAVE NO IDEA!

Unlike children, the cat has no rules. Not even a pretense of rules. The cat is allowed- no encouraged- to eat on the table (the table my father built out of the oak shipping crate that my great-grandfather traveled with across the seas from Europe to America) and to use human dishes. The cat can stand on the counter with no complaints- The cat slobbers food and not a word is said. The cat plays in the street and goes out again the next day. The cat disappears and nothing happens. Why, the cat has even barfed in the livingroom, peed on clothing, drank out of the toilet and had two teenage pregnacies where we didn't even know who the father was! Still, nothing, nothing at all- but, should my daughter show up in such a condition, she would be in reform school! The cat? Free to walk around. The cat has stolen (jewelry) assaulted (my feet) vandalized (the wicker laundry basket and the livingroom chair) murdered (birds) and countless other infractions. She is allowed to sleep in our bed every night (good luck that my daughter would ever be granted that priviledge) never brush her teeth or take a bath, walk across the fireplace mantle and break, take, and snake around everywhere!

I'm the permissive parent? I'm the permissive parent?! That cat has no rules whatsoever!! The cat has no chores, no school and doesn't have to pick up after herself ever. At least I try to implement some type of discipline on the children. Em has been grounded, scolded, made to apologize and lost privileges. The cat is never grounded, never given consequences, rather she is rewarded with wet food and massages daily. I know, I know- a lot of cat lovers are not going to see my point- but isn't "what's fair for the girl, is fair for the feline?" I think it's about time that someone take a stand. So, the next time one of you gets into a relationship with someone with children, and then whines and moans because it's so hard- and all you brought into the picture was a cat (or a parrot, a monkey, a horse or a goldfish) just remember, it isn't easy being a step-parent of anything- but the kids might take care of you in your old age- MIGHT- if you play your cards right. The cat?..... not a chance... And who's fault is that?

Running with the Wolves

So, this recession has seemed to put a real damper on a lot of people's festive lifestyles. A prime example- mine. I didn't know how seriously it would affect me until a few days ago. Now as I sit, inside my unlit car, which I have hidden under a pile of tree limbs, tinfoil on my head, trying to bang this out on a laptop before it becomes light and they find me- well, consider it my legacy to you. Suzie Ormon was right!

It all started like this: I called the bank the other day, to address a credit card issue that had appeared in writing on my doorstep. Apparently a new policy in which the credit card company can jack your credit card percentage up as high as they want, give you 30 days notice, and unless you read this print about a millimeter of a centimeter big and call to "opt out", well, heck, they can just put the extra charged interest on your next month's bill. Furthermore, if you had a promotional balance that was some ridiculously low rate and was good for the life of the loan, again, they can change those terms too- this time, they can raise the minimum payment percentage (did I say raise? Silly me, I meant DOUBLE PLUS) and poof- what you are expecting to pay, is but a mere drop in the bucket!

Is it just me, or have other people drawn the same conclusions that I have? I did a little figuring and realized that the postage, paper, manpower, writers fees, and ink that it took to send these little irritating notices to people cost... well roughly... about what the Federal Government gave them out of our future tax penalties as a BAIL OUT!!! Anyway, as I said, I called the bank the other day to "opt out" and a very nice man, with an accent I could not define, informed me that if I chose to "opt out" my credit limit would be lowered to exactly the amount that I owed on the card at that time, but yes I could choose that option. "You would lower my credit line by $19,000.00?" I asked incredulously. "I am so sorry, ma'am," he offered, "but it is now the way we do business." He started to speak but gunfire in the background stopped his sentence.

"Would you mind if I moved to another room?" he asked me, not giving any explanation for the screaming and groaning I heard in the background.

"No, go right ahead," I offered, feeling a bit concerned.

"May I suggest," his familiar voice said just a few moments later, "that you consider consolidating other debts onto this card and then opting out. That way you will receive the low interest rate on the other high percentage rates that you currently have balances on."

"I really don't have anything else charged right now," I said to him.

"What about those underwear you bought yesterday, and that IPOd shuffle you got for your sisters upcoming 60th birthday," he offered.

"Well, I intended to pay those off-" wait a minute, how did he know about my sisters birthday IPOD?

Suddenly a torturous scream resounded through the phone lines. "Excuse me quickly" he said in his broken English, he laid down the phone roughly forgetting to put it on MUZAK. I was privy to everything on the line.

The Man: "You will sign this agreement or you will never see your little dog again, do not toy with my credit specialists, they have ways of making you comply with the terms outlined in your agreement."

A woman's voice: "But, I didn't agree to those terms. This was a pre-approved credit card. I don't want it!"

The Man: "Oh, you want it alright, you want it bad... and you're going to get it, too... but at 28% interest compounded!"

The Woman: "Noooo, please, for God's sake, Noooo!"

The Man: "It's no use begging! You opened the mail, you used the card. You are mine now!

The Woman: "But, I didn't see the fine print! Please, just let me go, I promise I will pay the whole thing off and pretend this never happened. I swear I won't tell a soul."

The Man: "No. I would like to let you go, but this is a war zone- we can't afford to have one escapee- not one exception. Guido, you know what to do, now make her sign the new terms."

The woman screams and the man picks up the phone and calls out.

"Hello, I am sorry for the delay, I was checking with my supervisor. We would like you to come in for a personal visit. We are local now, as you know, as we have taken over your old bank. We are excited to meet you and would like to show you what we have to offer- our new terms are sure to excite you. Can you come in tomorrow?

I made some excuse and got off of the phone quickly. I packed a light bag intending to get out of Dodge- I don't know how far I will get, you see, my money is all tied up at the bank. The same bank where my credit card company now resides. I can't fill my gas tank, get a motel, or eat. I am heading toward the mountains- to live off the land- until this all blows over or Congress passes a bill stopping this torture of innocent people. It started out as just a line of credit and an ATM card.....

Does this make my butt look big?

There are key things in relationships that are better left untouched. Questions, that we know, (like the "x- files of the 90's) "The truth is out there"- but should remain OUT THERE. Way out there.

Absolute truth is for Dickens novels of some substantial length. Even the Bible has stories full of people telling lies. Things like "sure it's your baby" and "... of course I'm your eldest son, feel the hair on my arm!" Lying is, well, complicated- and, as I have learned by experience, sometimes necessary. I know, I know, that goes against every grain of John Wayne in your ethical little body- but, heads up, life is no longer John Wayne, and the bad guys aren't waiting for you to count off the three steps before turning and firing. It's a different world and maybe it always has been.

See, I didn't used to be a liar. At the very worst, I was an omitter. An omitter is radically different than a liar. A liar will say "No" when the truth is "Yes". An omitter will omit any answer. I guess another word for Omitter would be Evader, although, I would like to think an Evader is a little bit more tactically evasive than an Omitter, but there are other categories too. Oh, this is all getting so complicated, so let me try to explain using a Steven Spielberg classic and some fun names.

Ruthie is living with Jaba the Nut. She has been with her for several years and is housebound due to the fact that Jaba wishes to be in a traditional relationship where she is the primary breadwinner. She also doesn't trust Ruthie any farther than she can throw her. In my opinion, she has now created her own reality where Ruthie will, in fact, be untrustworthy, but that's another blog. While Ruth is supposed to be home doing laundry, she has a secret meeting with Jill-just-over-the-hill, where they attend Jedi Knight training (a big secret). Jaba comes home after a long day working as a temp at the recycling center in 95 degree weather, in a not so pleasant mood. The following conversation insues:

Jaba: How was your day today?

Now, what a loaded question. Let's look at what all of the possible answers could be-

Ruthie as Princess Liar would say: "Oh fine, I just stayed home watching tv and didn't leave the house." An outright, bold, total fabrication.

Ruthie as Omie (short for Omitter) Wan Kanobie would say: "Well, it was okay, I got to watch Judge Judy this afternoon." Notice how Omie focuses on the truth of the afternoon, completely omitting the morning in the hopes that Jaba will hear Judge Judy and go with that.

Ruthie as Darth Evader would say: "Good- hey darling, would you like a big steak for dinner?" A complete evasion of the whole subject-

and Ruthie as Truth Skywalker would blurt out the whole sordid situation: I went to Jedi training classes with Jill this morning! I'm so sorry!!

Oh, how we'd all like to be Truth Skywalker, but Jaba the Nut doesn't necessarily like the answers of our honest, and bold Jedi in training.

WHAT!!!! YOU DARE GO AGAINST MY WISHES??!-

Okay, okay, kind of dramatic but you get my point. And that's where big butts come in. Is it a "far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done" to tell my partner when she asks about how her butt looks in those pants, that if they were yellow, little school children would try to board her for the early morning ride to classes? What purpose does that serve? I mean, if I say nothing regarding the width and breadth of how the coverage looks regarding her posterior- who's going to tell her? Hank, the guy that services the Xerox machine? Some random server at the roach coach? A co-worker equally nervous about the way her butt looks in her pants? C'mon ladies, let's hedge our bets! I am all for preserving domestic bliss and let me guarantee you, I USED to be a Truth Skywalker- but I am here to tell you- the Federation is dead! The fastest way to find yourself in the outermost polar regions of the livingroom sofa, is to give the wrong answer on the big butt question. They disquise it as a problem with some "other issue" like why the garbage hasn't gone out, or child-rearing differences or the like, but when you chart it back (and you will, be sure of that) it goes back to that morning, when she was getting ready for work, and the -do these pants..- question came up.

Same with the hair. I gave an honest answer about a new hairdo recently and life has not been the same. We slept in separate beds all during our vacation. DO NOT GO THERE! The saga of Star Wars has many cast-members and the character of Truth Skywalker, while noble, didn't get the girl. As a matter of fact, it turned out to be his sister- How's that for a dose of reality?

What happens in Amsterdam, stays in....

I am probably being watched by the FBI as we speak. I may even show up on DATELINE or 20/20, maybe my computer might even be seized. I have committed the unpardonable sin. I have just watched porn on the internet.

It won't matter that I didn't mean to. It won't matter that I thought I was responding to something totally different and then, well, admittedly, I got caught up- but not for the porn. No, before I show up on the news and they take away my laptop, children, goat and rubber boots--just wanted to see if you were paying attention- I don't have a laptop- aha, kidding again! I don't have a goat or rubber boots! But, before all of that happens, I would like to explain to you, my loyal readers, and to make sure you don't fall into the circumstances that I did.

I answered an email. Short and simple I answered an email about "so-and-so wants to be your friend". This is not shocking. I write a blog, I belong to facebook, every-so-often I get someone wanting to be my friend. I'm not a creep! I have several internet friends. Of course I don't answer the ads that say "chacha lala wants to be your sexy friend" or any ad like that. I have been around the block once or twice- or so I thought. But this was different. This threw me. For when I responded to the email, it opened up to a page covered in black with tiny white writing that went on forever. Now, if you know me, you know I have ADD in a bad, bad way. Please don't put tiny white writing on black paper and then right next to it put glossy face shots of "potential friends in your area". I can't follow all of that and will opt out for the pictures every time. Still... before I really got to the pictures I noticed something else- WEBCAM.

I am not a computer guru, I barely know how to turn one on, let alone what all the gadgets, bells and whistles are, still, through the years I have been able to learn to navigate the basics on these little beasties- but, now there's webcams... little cameras that can pick up people across the globe and feature them on your laptop. I knew this because my sister's kids all have webcams which they use to "visit" with my mom and dad. What a great idea, and now, right here at this friendship site, my new potential friends are all on webcam so I can see them before I even talk to them. What open and friendly people! I clicked on the first name and...

Holy crap! Im2fun4u doesn't realize that he is on camera with his fly down!! I can see him reading his monitor, but he has no idea his webcam is accidentally pointed toward his private air strip!! And then, if that wasn't bad enough, his hand comes in for a landing!! I start shouting out "Hey, 2fun, your camera has slipped down! We can't see your face, but guess what we can see!! Your fly is open- with your hand in it!! Then, 2fun does the unthinkable and whips out his...glider? I don't know what to call it. All I can tell you was I felt sorry for this poor guy, wait until someone tells him- he's going to die of embarrassment.
 
I go to another "friend" her name is YolandafromArizona. Yolanda is bookkeeping when I click on her webcam- I can see her from across the room. She is working at an old oak rolltop desk just like the one my father has. There is a Steven Hanks picture on the wall just like the one my ex has. Hey, I wonder what else this woman has that I have seen before. I am looking around her room as she is very busy with her back to me- when she turns around.... SHE HAS NO FRONT SHIRT ON! It was a shirt with a back only and the front is completely cut out and there they are, the girls! Just like the girls my mom has! Now, it is starting to dawn on me. Once, a horrible mistake. Twice- not so much.

I click on my third webcam- a man in his 30's who obviously lives with his mother. He is doing things to himself in rapid fashion, but I could care less about that, I am more interested in where his mom might be. I can see a very clean kitchen behind him. He is sitting on a couch with a hand crocheted afghan like the kind my sister makes and a picture of Jesus is above the kitchen doorway. It looks like tollhouse cookies are piled up on the counter and I wonder if mom has gone to the store or if she is out visiting the sick and infirm. The young man is wearing no shirt but has a nice haircut. He looks like a mama's boy. Good thing mama doesn't have a laptop and doesn't answer emails from potential friends. I love the house.  It is warm, comforting, and very light and cheery.

The next cam features a couple that gets on and off the bed like those german weather clocks. You know, when it's stormy the man with the umbrella comes out, and when it's sunny, the little kids. Well, these two are just remarkable, first he hangs out touching himself and she gets up and goes into another room- I fantasize about where she is. Is she getting cool-aide? Watching a soap opera? Reading the obituaries? Then she comes back and he is gone. Where is he now? Perhaps he's getting dressed for work. What does he do? Is he a postman, a constable in Amsterdam? Is he walking the dog?

The following websites just bring more questions.  There is a woman who is smoking, but only looks to be in her late 20's. Surely she knows the consequences of chain smoking during sex. Then there is the man dressed in fishnets- he has a very nice chair that he is tied up to. It looks to be maple and probably from the early 19th century. I think I saw the chair on Antique Roadshow, but I can't be sure. One site features someone making pancakes- in an apron with no butt- and "home of the whopper" written on the front, while another website features a very portly man probably also masterbating, but who could tell. He was in a lovely den with beautiful tiffany style lamps- truly a lovely sight to behold.

Before I knew it, I had toured homes all over the U.S and Europe and spent 3 HOURS ON A PORN SIGHT?! I didn't even realize it, but I'm sure the FBI does. How do I explain to them that I, in fact, was more fascinated by what the bed was made of than what was going on in it, that I liked seeing the rolltop desk more than seeing the rolled down top on the woman, and that the thrill of the day for me was to see that mom's house in NJ (unless there was no other occupant in which case that young guy really has problems). So, now you know the whole sordid story. And the worst part is, I'd like to see their other rooms. 

Fogged in-

I've had writer's block. No long stories, no excuses, just writer's block. I say "just writer's block" because, to the general populace, writer's block is not an earth-shattering phenomenon. Brain surgeon's block, now that would be something, Air traffic controller's block- again- you'd probably sit up and take notice of that, but writer's block... who, but me, finds it devastating.

Writer's block kind of rates up there with hampster breeder's block, or used car dealer's block or even Pop-Tart packager's block. Don't get me wrong, I think we'd eventually notice it if enough Pop-Tart packagers came down with a block at the same time, but you know what I mean.

Writer's block is under-acknowledged. Granted, it doesn't panic us like a block involving surgeons, it doesn't thrill us either. It is just blase'. Still, it's not a good thing. Most of the time, a block is not a good thing. It is a dam on the human psyche, the Hoover dam on the river of artistry. Rarely can any good come of it. Having said that, I must say I just thought of a good block- Serial Killer's block. Bad for them, great for us. Imagine, being a serial killer and waking up one morning (much as I did last month) saying "I just can't think of anything to kill (in my case write)". "I don't feel like killing, nothing seems like it is fun to kill, maybe people aren't even noticing anymore." Perhaps SK (serial Killer) actually sat there, weapon of choice in hand, waiting for inspiration- like I did. The days rolled on. He/she picked up the newspaper. Damn! Other people were able to kill! There it was in black and white right there in the local paper. Other people didn't have Serial Killer's block. They weren't all depressed because of the state unemployment rate, the recession, the rising cost of gasoline- nope, there they were just killing like usual. And doing a good job too. In reading the articles in the paper, SK realizes not only do they not have a block, they are actually being innovative and unique. Practicing their craft as the expression goes.

Well, anyway. That's what happened to me. Nothing was noteworthy, nothing was funny, and nothing could pull me out of the funk I had gotten myself into. I sat for weeks with my laptop poised- only to end up writing...nothing. Not even on facebook. Not a twitter, not a smile, not a wink on the personals. I could barely even type in a websearch. And that was that. I locked myself in a quiet room. So quiet, I could hear my heartbeat. I could hear my breath sounds. I could hear the people down the street eating spaghetti. I counted how many dissecting lines the walls, ceiling and foor of a room have. I cried at the fact I didn't end up going to prom, but rather stayed in Adrian Dutton's downstairs bedroom watching Monty Python reruns and thinking I was so cool. I took several trips down memory lane, trips so long I had to pack a lunch. A month went by.  Finally, slowly but surely, my fingers started to move across the keyboard. "STOP MENTALLY MASTERBATING" they typed of their own accord.

And it was true. Who the F*&!! did I think I was? Hemmingway? It was a damn humor blog for Peanutbutter's sake! It wasn't slated for the NYT bestsellers list! I hurried to complete something, anything to ease the length of my absence- writer's block indeed. Try and explain that to a brain surgeon.