Stray Cats and the People Who Feed Them

I've waited three days to write this post. I waited so that I would give myself the opportunity to calm down a little and not write a post that was all "...those-g**-d***-m*****-f******-no-good-gossiping-neighbors of mine..." Well, I tried.

A couple of months ago my neighbor started hanging string in the woods, like a boundary line. We ignored it though they went out of their way to tell us they thought it would be interesting to see where the line was, to which we responded that we had it professionally surveyed before we purchased our acre so we were fairly confident where our property ended. Well this past weekend they hung a new line (I'd like to point out here they moved it back two feet since the original string they hung was actually on our side, but whatevs). Along with the new string came a sign. Not just any old sign but this one:

Now I'd like to think we are good neighbors. Our yard is clean, mowed, and nice looking in comparison to some of our neighbors. We don't throw huge parties, play loud music or keep a thousand cars in our driveway in varying stages of disrepair. We keep to ourselves and do not engage in any neighbor bashing that we hear, cause really I don't have time for that shit. Oh, that and I don't care. We purposefully bought an acre so that we were not all up in our neighbors yards and/or business. Apparently this was done in vain. There's even a good fifty feet of woods between our houses. That seemed adequate at the time. It was not.

Feuds between neighbors extend as far back as history tells. I mean who hasn't heard the story of the Hatfields and McCoys, right? Except the Hatfields and McCoys knew they were feuding. Hell, they even thought they knew what the feud was about though I doubt the historical accounts are at all accurate. But at least they thought they knew why they were fighting.

I, on the other hand, had no idea a feud was going on, much less why. I had no problems with my neighbors, other than they were a bit nosy and gossipped more than I was comfortable with. You know if people will talk to you about other people, they'll certainly talk about you to other people too. I live by this mantra, mostly.

Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty of reasons to start a feud but I didn't.

I never complained when I pulled chicken bones out of my dogs' mouth that the f-ers left out for the stray cats they feed.

Nor did I complain about the slimy chunk of tuna that the cats brought into my yard that nearly made me throw up when I had to retrieve it from my dog, cause who the F knows how long that's been sitting outside.

I didn't say anything when they called the county to complain that the bus my kid's ride left tracks in the grass. (I should point out that said grass isn't even on their property and the man who owns the property has told the county, more than once and repeatedly for the past twenty some years, that they can continue to use his driveway as a turn around.)

I didn't say a thing when I found out the crotchety old neighbors threatened to put glass in that strip of grass that doesn't belong to them in hopes of flatting the bus tires. I am rethinking this as it shows just how fucked up they are when they make threats against a group of elementary school kids on a bus. Seriously fucked up.

Hell, I never even complained when a tree from their property fell on mine and took out my kids' play set. Demolished it. And they never uttered one word of sorrow, no offers of help to fix it, no assistance in removing the tree. Nothing.

We've taken the high road and ignored all these things. But I think I'm done, while I write this at least.

I've learned from other neighbors that the bat ass crazy woman thinks I've been messing with the stray cats she feeds in a little cat house they've built in the woods between our houses. She's gone so far as to put a video camera in said strip of woods to "catch" me. They think she's crazy and off her meds. In fact they are taking bets on how long before she's committed to a psyc hospital. I say not too long. But since this is all gossip I'm trying to ignore it.

Well, guess what crazy cat lady? I. Don't. Give. A. Rat's. Ass. About. The. Cats. And if I wanted to do something to them I wouldn't have to leave my property to do it since the cats lived under MY shed ALL winter. But I seriously do not mind the cats since they keep the other rodent population down. And they are mildly entertaining when my dog runs out to chase them (no worries, he'd never be able to catch them and wouldn't have a clue what to do with one if he ever did. Besides he weighs all of eighteen pounds, no threat to the cats whatsoever.)

What's funny is I should probably mind the fox that frequents their cat house, or the coyote or the unidentified thing that comes to visit. But I don't. We live in the woods and should expect some animals. In fact I have multiple pics of animals that frequent the cat house that are not cats. You can find those pics here. If anything is happening to your precious stray cats, it's probably because of the other annimals you're attracting by feeding the stray cats. Duh! But who knows if anything is happening to the strays at all? They are strays! They could very easily be roaming away, finding other homes, getting hit by cars, being eaten by whatever might eat stray cats, etc... you just never know, because...they...are...strays!

I've often wondered why none of their kids ever come to visit even though one lives within twenty minutes and another within an hour. In five years I've only seen the one son two or three times. I've contemplated why these people never go out of town to visit relatives or just vacation. But it's apparent to me now, their families are probably staying as far away from these peeps as possible and I don't blame them one bit!

So now that I've written this I have some work to do. Already changed all the locks since crazy neighbors once had a key to our house and I would not put it past them to have made copies. I'm also researching fastest growing pine trees that provide best privacy to put along that side of the yard. This bush should do the trick, right?

And when the kids get home I will remind them they are to stay as far from the crazies as possible. It sucks having to do this.

Then I will get back on that high road and pretend they don't exist, sort of. I'll continue to wave if I see them on the street -but not because I want to be friends, only because I think they'll hate it more if I keep trying to be nice. I've already wasted enough mental energy on these fuck-up neighbors of mine and that will end now. And even though I really, really, really, really, want to so bad I can taste it... I won't hang this sign.

By the way, no cats were harmed in the posting of this whine!

I'm Just Not Superwoman!

Okay, so this is going to be a majorly self-indulgent post. But I'm not looking for sympathy - just a listening ear or ten ;-)

Just under a week ago (last Sunday, to be precise) I was doing the usual Sunday thing - laundry. I bent down to pick up a sock from the basket, with the intention of dropping it into the washing machine, and 'POP' - my back went. Quite where, I can't tell you. All I do know is that I lost the power of my legs for a moment, and was eternally grateful that we have some heavy-duty shelving in our utility room...

This is how wobbly my legs were...

This was not a huge surprise. Three weeks ago, my back went 'POP' for the first time in years, just as I had carried a 25kg bag of dog food from my car to the garage. At the time, I was fortunate enough to be standing in the doorway and could grab hold of the frame just long enough to call to my hubs, who was working at the end of the garden. He duly trotted along, helped me back into the house, then left me to it. There was little else that he could do...

Thankfully, the pain subsided pretty quickly three weeks ago, though, unbeknownst to me, the cause had not gone away. I was quickly reminded of this last Sunday, as I hung on for dear life to the shelving, and wondered how I would ever be able to move.

Our utility room is hidden away in an area of the house that is the least accessible - and audible - to everyone else. Given that my sons, #Thing1 and #Thing2 were busy playing COD upstairs, and hubs was busy building things at the end of the garden, I knew that this time I was on my own. Trouble was, I was in no state to rescue myself...

This was me, except I wasn't wearing the nasty pink outfit, and was in a damn sight more pain. Trust.

To cut a very long and painful story short, I eventually managed to hobble out of the utility room, aided by various walls and bits of furniture to which I had to cling to for dear life. I then spent the best part of two hours moaning and groaning (actually, screaming) with every single move, before I eventually contacted NHS Direct (you can google it). I was advised to take paracetamol and some left-over anti-inflammatories, then told to contact my GP if the pain didn't subside within 48 hours.

I couldn't get out of bed on Monday morning. Or Tuesday.

I can't begin to describe the agony I was in - I thought I had broken my back. #Thing1 (who had been extremely helpful and had rescued me as a struggled on the sofa) was really quite distressed at this point (he's almost seventeen - so that says a lot), and he was insistent that I see my GP. And so I did.

I thank all the deities above that the emergency GP I saw on Tuesday happened to be one of the partners in the practice. He knows his stuff. He took one look at me, signed me off from work (I've never had the guts to ask for a sick note), prescribed me a shedload of drugs (some of which I was somewhat reluctant to take), then asked if I had private healthcare. It just so happens that I do - via my employer - and I've never ever thought to make use of it. To cut a long story short, he managed to get me referred to a physiotherapist for the very next day, as a result of my health care plan, and I've since had acupuncture twice and have been hooked up to a TENS machine for twelve hours straight each day - and it's working!

In case you've ever wondered - this is what acupuncture feels like...

So, where's the whine, I hear you ask...

Well, despite the medication, the needles and the electrical stimulation, I'm still pretty much out of action. For example, I can't bend down to fill the dog's water bowl, feed her, get things out of the refrigerator, pick towels up from the bathroom floor - you get the picture. I can't stand up long enough to iron clothing, can't straighten the bedclothes, can't even get my toiletries from the bathroom cupboard.

I can't pick the milk bottles up from the doorstep, plump the cushions, move the stack of magazines that has been bothering me on the lounge floor all week. I can't plug the damn hoover in to get rid of the mess that the dog and boys have trampled in all week. I can't sit - or lie - in one position long enough to feel relaxed.

And does anybody care? Have the three able-bodied men in my household even noticed the anxiety all of this causes me?

I guess you know the answer...

I can't wait to be back in action... :-o

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

Father Time Can Kiss My Arse*

*Jamie - the 'arse' was just for you. Appreciate.

I am in the mood for full-on whinging tonight. You have been warned. I have only the vaguest of ideas where this post is going. But who doesn't love a good ol' flight-of-ideas rant?

Last weekend our clocks changed. Daylight Savings time is over. Summer is over. I have seasonal affective disorder just thinking about it.

I know, I know. When my summer started, and you were all staring down the depths of a long cold winter, we discussed the fact that all my "yay, sunshine" shit would bite me in a few months. Well, here 'tis. I'm not THAT sad really, cos in about four months (*ahem* 116 days to be precise) I'm gonna be basking in some West Coast USA sunshine. For FOUR WHOLE WEEKS. Ah, shit... I digress.

What I really wanted to whine about tonight is the time difference thing that comes with being on the other side of the planet to the majority of your friends. While I was on Daylight Savings time and you guys weren't, the difference between NZ and the West Coast was four hours. It was three for a wee while there, until your clocks changed.

Three hours is not bad. Easy to manage. Most of the time there were peeps on twitter, and things quieten down in the early evening, before the UK tweeps wake up *waves to @CougarChloe, @SQicedragon and @EdBrella*

Let me add here that I'm well aware of my 'Future Girl' status. I love nothing more than a good Friday when you're all still back there in Thursday. I love it when I wake up on Saturdays and people are bitching about how it's not the weekend yet. I take it as well as I give it (I hope) when I'm at work on Mondays and you're all chilling in your Sunday-ness.

Anyhoo. Now, the difference between me and the Cali/WA girls is FIVE HOURS. That means, when I get home, settle into the couch, grab some dinner, and jump online, most people are going to bed. GAH! I miss you all! I don't get a lot of opportunities to tweet during the workday because I share an office with a staff member of mine (you know the one) who can see my screens easily. Lead by example and all that. I'm usually on gmail chat, cos that's a little more discreet, and I do tweet on my phone a wee bit, but it's not the same.

It's always been a given that I usually miss the East Coasters in the evenings. Here's an example of how this time zone shit works *consults iPhone world clock app for the millionth time*

NZ time right now: 9.43pm
US West Coast time: 2.43am
US East Coast time: 5.43am
UK time: 10.43am

So basically, I'm getting all lonely on twitter in the evenings and I don't like it one bit. I feel sorry for my Aussie tweeps, like @EdwardsIsobel, three more hours behind me. 

That's really all I wanted to say. I love (in my own selfish way) that @AllTwiedUp works crazy-arse hours cos sometimes she's around at stupid-o'clock and hangs out with me. I love when my tweeps have insomnia cos I'm usually here. What I'm really getting at is... it's all about MEEEEE, people! Wait, what? It's not? Oh, shut up.

*UPDATE*
How rude of me. I neglected to mention my new Kiwi twi-friend, @vampthenewblack. She's cool, and even better... awake at the same time as me. I look forward to getting to know you better my dear :-)

I think that's quite enough. Imma hop down off this soapbox now and go look at some more Robp0rn. Cos that's how I roll. Feel free to play the world's smallest violin for me in the comments.

The 'Do' That Wasn't

I've been MIA for a bit. It seems to me, there's been so much sadness going on in the world, that a whiny post would have seemed a bit wrong. But it's time, dear readers, it's time. So here's my whine of the week:

Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon at the hairdresser. I've been refraining from applying the usual 'semi-permanent' colour for the last God-knows-however-many-weeks, because I had finally decided that it was time to treat myself to a permanent colour and highlights. This was a big step for me.

Not quite me...

The last time I had my hair professionally coloured was probably about 20 years ago - and that time I went blonde :-o  These days, I tend to stick to semi-permanent colours, as I like a bit of variety - darker colour (i.e. Black Cherry) in the winter months; lighter colour (i.e. Warm Chestnut) in the summer months. To be honest, they all look pretty much the same (my hairdresser calls it 'build-up'), and sadly, they no longer cover the increasing amount of grey hair I've developed over the years.

I refuse to go grey. I mean, I'm sure I'll capitulate eventually, but Not. Right. Now. D'ya get me Mother Nature? So it was with some trepidation that I entered the salon yesterday at 1pm and prepared myself for the hours of 'pampering'.

Hmmm, does something tell you I'm not a great fan of going to the hairdresser?

Three hours later I emerged: full head tint coupled with highlights, hair cut back into shape, conditioning treatment applied. I even spent the 'developing' time reading fanfic on my iPod (thank God Stanza has an option to increase the font size - I was unable to wear my glasses!). I was happy with the result - my hair felt manageable once again and I thought the lighter colour made me look a little fresher and - dare I say it - younger.

I arrived home to positive feedback from my sons, Thing1 and Thing2 (I clearly have them well-trained!). By the time my darling husband (she says with gritted teeth) arrived home, I was well and truly at ease with my new 'do' and looking forward to some positive husbandly feedback. By this time, however, I was also cooking dinner. This is what ensued:

--------------

Hubs arrives home, plonks his bag in the hallway and enters the kitchen. I have my back to him, so he should be able to see - immediately - that my hair is shorter.

Hubs: [peering into the pan] Hmmm, what are you cooking?

Me: Well, I didn't have enough time to roast this, and Delia's cookbook says it's a pot-roast cut anyway - so I'm gonna pot-roast it [endeavours to disregard his lack of attention to the 'do']

Hubs: Hmm, okay [he walks away and doesn't comment on the 'do']

Hubs re-enters kitchen a little while later - and still doesn't comment on the 'do'.

Me: Ummm, have you not noticed anything?

Hubs: Huh?

Me:  My hair, perhaps?

Hubs: [gazes at my head for a moment] Well, it's a lot shorter... [he pauses] Um, and it's ginger.

He pauses again, then leads me out through the back door into the daylight.

Hubs: Why did she leave the grey in? [he plucks a grey hair from the top of my head]

I give up.

--------------

Needless to say, despite his numerous apologies, I haven't let my DH off the hook...

But, you know what? I like my hair. I can see the difference. And that's what matters, right?

This post was brought to you from the UK by CC x

*tap tap* Is This Thing On?

Hey, um, what's with the lack of whining?

Are you telling me that our collective lives have been so fucking great for the last THREE WEEKS that we have no whining to do?  I call bullshit!

Actually, I call too-busy-to-whine.  I'm also not up to another round of the One Lovely Blog award, although we won it!

Thanks to smartEpantz, the Borderline Phenomenal BFFs, and Smitten who have bequeathed unto us the distinguished honor of the OLB.  Here are our 7 facts:

1 - TwiKiwi50 lives in New Zealand.
2 - inotu is gluten-free.  And dairy-free.
3 - jaymes805 has touched Jackson Rathbone (although not his Rathboner, I don't think).
4 - Living with Edward is fucking hilarious. Fact.
5 - Jelena wrote a fan fic (and you should read it if you like fan fic).
6 - Chloe Cougar is building a summer house in her backyard.
7 - Twired Jen is getting married this year!

How's that for seven random facts? (Feel free to correct me if I got yours wrong... except you, LwE).

Oh, and I have several blogs to recommend - they're over on our blog roll, and I like to call them our other blogs. :)  So, thanks, E, J, D, and S!*

 

*Updated to include all blogs that nominated us!

I can't have kids and eat them too...

*Disclaimer: this whinefest is NOT about cannibalism. I just found this title fucking hilarious*

I’ll start this rant by saying I always wanted to be a Mommy…or so I thought. Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids and can’t imagine my life without them blah blah blah. Seriously. Then why do I find myself so unsatisfied and unfulfilled as a Mother?



Is it possibly because it’s an almost entirely thankless job? Maybe it’s because I’ve grown tired of changing poopy diapers (which I have been doing for over 8 years straight now)? Perhaps it’s because there is always something more to do and the “job” itself is never done? All are possible answers, but I think more to the heart of the matter is that regardless of the fact that I have always seen myself as a mother, I find myself actually HATING this position. Not all the time, but a fair amount of the time…probably more time than is normal.

 

See the smile on her face? It's because she's heavily sedated.

I’ve come to discover that I possess very little maternal instinct. My patience is wavering at best, downright non-existent at worst. I struggle with performing the most mundane tasks repeatedly only to watch all the hard work I do get undone right before my eyes. Just about every day my 3 year old pushes me to the point of homicide. I swear to all that is fucking sane, I have actually sympathized with women who have drowned their kids in the bathtub! I’ve thought “ Yeah…I could totally see how that would be a rational idea in a moment of extreme stress.” Not that I would ever do that. Hopefully. At least if it ever comes to that, this post may come in handy if I’m on the witness stand. Just kidding! Probably…

 

This is what I look like most days.

I have been a stay at home Mom for over 3 years now, and I find myself longing for life outside my family. I miss the sense of independence and the pride which comes with bringing home a paycheck. I have always liked working outside the home and if it weren’t for the fact that it would actually COST me money to have a job that required me to leave the house, I would be out there again quicker than a crack whore picking up the pipe. Trust. But, would that actually make me happier and more satisfied as a person? Would it make me a better Mother? Would I be blissfully rewarded with a more well rounded sense of self instead of feeling like I’m drowning in a sea of lost identity? My guess is no.

I think I suffer from “the grass is greener” syndrome. Ya know? Whatever I don’t have is always the most appealing thing, until I actually have it…and then I realize that I’ve made a huge mistake and become filled with regret? I can’t be a stay at home Mom and constantly yearn for a life outside these four walls because I’m fairly certain that as soon as I have that, I won’t be able to focus on anything except for the fact that I feel like I have failed my children and effectively qualify as the WORST. MOTHER. EVER. Yep. I’m fucked good and proper like.

 

I want what you have...I think.

Now, some of you are Mommies and can relate to some of what I’m spewing. Some of you aren’t Mommies (yet) and probably think I’m off my fucking nut right now. So, I’ll state again…I love my kids and no matter how frustrated I get, I wouldn’t wish them away for anything. But I do get really fed up with this bullshit from time to time! I wouldn’t be human otherwise, and anyone who tries to tell you that being a parent is always sunshine and rainbows is lying right out of their face.

On a side note: Thanks to MB for inviting me to word vomit all over this here blog. I heart her hard. A lot.

Be prepared for more whining in the future!

Xoxo
E

I can't see clearly now, and I'm OVER it

I love that I have a place to vent.... here goes nothin!

So, here's my really awkward story. I broke my glasses last week - like, they completely self-destructed. This happened about two hours before I was due to give a presentation at a conference, so I had to make a mad dash to an optometrist for some super glue. Cos that was really what I needed to help my nerves.

The glasses aren't that old and are still under warranty so I went to get them fixed on my day off yesterday, thinking I could wait, and get them back right away. Ahhh, no. They're keeping them there for a week. At least. I have no spare pair of glasses. Shit!

Pretty much like this.

I have a couple of options. None of them are ideal and all of them piss me off, hence the need to WHINE!

I have contacts, that I rarely wear. I have allergy eyes and contacts irritate the fuck out of them. I can manage for about three hours... so, for a few hours this morning I fooled myself into thinking everything was fine. Oh, and contact lenses don't correct my stigmatism, so it turns out the ole vision isn't that sharp with them in anyway. Safety first.

So, about lunchtime I switched to an old pair of glasses I had at home, but they're an old prescription so they hurt too, especially staring at a screen all day. Oh, and has anyone ever gone from glasses with a coated anti-glare, anti-reflect lens, to a pair with neither? It's like a disco of light reflection is going on around the outside of your eyes. Cos that's not annoying AT ALL.

I spent the afternoon alternating between this fun party laser light show, and my third option - wearing my prescription sunglasses. They're perfect in terms of vision, it's just that.......they're sunglasses. 

I'm inside. In an office. With sunnies on. My colleagues alternated between calling me Barry White & Stevie Wonder. Fun times.

I'm so sexy right now. 

Umm, yeah. You can laugh.

OK, end rant. I feel better. Thanks for listening. This week can't pass quickly enough.

Now I need to go lie down and get rid of the frontal lobe headache I got goin on. Over and out.