Did some one mention shoes?

Ah, yes, here are some DECIDEDLY impractical heels.

And aren't they ever so SPARKILY!?!

(I'm pretty sure I could climb trees in them.
Given the opportunity.
And enough financial incentive. Any takers?)

Eh? 24? I don't know if I want to be seen as so young!

You Are 24 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

I may be in danger.

Here's a very small, (for me) stack of books that I'm currently reading. No danger there.
A completely safe, acceptable size stack, no?





By way of comparison looms THIS stack. Beside my bed.
Not the port though, that doesn't sit by my bed.
(Though that's not such a bad idea!)
No, the port is merely there to illustrate the immensity of my dilemma.

C'mon people, if this thing FALLS on me, I'm in serious trouble.
(Not if the bottle of port is full, though. Then I'll be okay. "Send help, but not to fast, I'm only half way through the port!")

Truth be told, I really HAVE read all those books (and the ones by Nancy Friday more than once...ahem...) but now. I have NO. MORE. ROOM.

I have two large bookcases full to exploding with all the OTHER books I have.

So I guess I'll just have to build more piles and get more port.
(I can see there's a happy turn to this problem already!)

But seriously...

I live in a one bedroom apartment.

I own hundreds and hundreds of books, none of which I would easily part with.
(oh, and my teeny storage unit? Full. Of books.)

I need help.

Send port.

I didn't write this, but DAMN, I wish I had.

10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong


1) Being gay is not natural. Real Canadian/Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

2) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

4) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' '55-hour just-for-fun marriage' would be destroyed.

6) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in Canada/America.

9) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

So.

I guess the moral is that I definitely need taller friends.

Well, not THAT much cellulite.

It's funny, isn't it.

I live in an intentional pop culture void.

I don't buy the tabloids, I won't watch E.T., and I don't go to movies just because of the name tagged on to it.

(I was going to say I make exception for movies with Ralph Fiennes in them, but you know, I couldn't be bothered seeing "Maid in America".)

So what's so darn funny?

Well, considering the degree to which I actually avoid the pop icon world, it's bizarre that I visit frequently (and I must confess, with glee), this website, Go Fug Yourself.

Alright.

Maybe it's not so bizarre.
After all, isn't it inherent in human nature to look for that in others which makes them more like yourself...pimples, cellulite, questionably placed sequins and all?

I'm not sure.

All I'm saying is...it's darn amusing. And that's all I'm saying.

Blackcrag, I don't mean to boil your bottom, but...

Main Entry: ra·ti·o·ci·na·tion
Pronunciation: -"O-s&n-'A-sh&n, -"ä-
Function: noun
1 : the process of exact thinking : REASONING
2 : a reasoned train of thought


Main Entry: au·re·ate
Pronunciation: 'or-E-&t
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English aureat, from Medieval Latin aureatus decorated with gold, from Latin aureus
1 : of a golden color or brilliance
2 : marked by grandiloquent and rhetorical style


Main Entry: fab·li·au
Pronunciation: 'fa-blE-"O
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural fab·li·aux /-"O(z)/
Etymology: French, from Old French, diminutive of fable
: a short, usually comic, frankly coarse, and often cynical tale in verse popular especially in the 12th and 13th centuries

And ms. L was right about lineaments...thanks ma'am!


ahem...Merriam-Webster Online....

(oh gosh...DUCK! he's throwing things at me!!)

Oh, to be able to read a book.

This is the book I'm currently reading.
It's call "Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination" by Peter Ackroyd.






This is me trying to read this book.

Note size of eyes compared to sheer mass of book.

Now.

Don't get me wrong.

I'm REALLY enjoying it.
It's full of fascinating information and history, interesting characters including Chaucer, Henry the VIII (that puppy kicker!), and of course Shakespeare.

HOWEVER.

I'm NOT used to reading a book that affords me more than a few words in the entire volume that I don't understand.
I may not be able to spell, but, DAMN IT, I know my words.

This incredible tome is so full of words I don't know, I've resigned myself to writing them all down so I can review them later.

Here's a list composed after only about 10 pages.

EMPYREAN

PATRISTIC

ADDUCED

LINEAMENTS

RATIOCINATION

AUREATE

FABLIAU

Now, I can generally surmise what these mean in a fashion, based on the context of the sentence they're surrounded by...but if someone actually KNOWS what these words mean, when they're just hanging out there all by themselves like that, speak up!

Give me a hand, would ya?

How to re-enter the blogosphere, after a hiatus.

Why...with the KILLER RABBIT in his very own SPAM CAN, fresh from New York!
(as you can see, he's got great HUGE pointy...and he can LEAP...ahem)

Thanks Kris, I needed that!

And thanks EVERYONE, for being patient and understanding and allowing me the time I needed to work my way through my sadness.

There are so many good people in this big old world...thanks for being a part of mine.

I'm still here.

I'm just finding it really hard to get my bearings...but I'll be back soon, I hope.

Your words are very kind.

Don't give up on me quite yet.

Now what do I do?

Thank you everyone, you're all so generous, and your thoughts so kind.

They are so important to me.

It's true that some of you never met Bentley, but as Ian pointed out in his comments about his cat Stumpy, "She followed me like a dog, talked to me, and would rarely let me out of her sight. She was awkward and cumbersome, and that was much of her charm."

That was Bentley,too, Ian.
Just like like that.
Awkward, cumbersome and wouldn't let me out of his sight.

There's just something about some animals that elevate them to more than 'just a cat' or 'just a dog'.

And now?
I'm totally confused about what I'm supposed to do next.

Bentley and I traveled far, just he and I.

I 'grew up' with him by my side.

I evolved from a naive 19 year old to a slightly less naive 33 year old, as he stood watch.
From a small town girl, to a woman actually 'making it' on her own in it in a big city.

And living in a large city, away from friends and family, he was my balance point.

I couldn't go to far off the edge 'cus he was there depending on me.

No matter what else was going on, Bentley was always my focal point.

Broken heart?
Bentley still needed to be loved.
Lost job?
Bentley still needed to be feed.
Bad day?
Bentley still had a purr for me.

But now what do I do?

I feel suddenly...so lost.

He's gone.

Bentley didn't make it back from the vet.

Despite the fact that I'm crushed, I have to say that he afforded me the best example of what a cat can be, and in turn, I gave him the best life I could offer.

He made me laugh, he listened to me, he moved to 4 different cities with me and always, he loved me just the same, even if I was bawling my eyes out or laughing out loud, he was always stomping about, keeping me company.

He accepted all other animals gracefully and generously, without question.
Dogs, mice and other cats...even a chinchilla once all benefited from Bentley's beatific gaze.

Bentley didn't have a mean bone in his body.

Last year, a squirrel showed up on my balconey that Bentley refused to chase away, so I wrote the ode to him you can read below.

This morning, just before I took him to the vet, a squirrel showed up again.

Bentley stalked slowly to the open balconey door as the squirrel bounced along. Bent checked behind him every few steps to make sure I was right behind him.
Finally, he got to the threshold of the inside/outside and paused there, checking over his shoulder once again for me.

The squirrel paused, stared at Bentley, then jumped away casually, no fear.
Bentley didn't even make a move to attack.

Even during Bentley's last few hours he was true to his nature.
Calm and gentle.

"A credit to cats", as my friend Danny said.
"I didn't even LIKE cats before I met Bent", another said.

It's true.

Bentley had a charm about him that I don't think will ever be duplicated, and was certainly unusual in the feline world.

He was 'Bentley', a personality, and a charming one.

I miss him so much.


Ode to my Cat

Oh, fierce terror recessed deep under the fat.

Oh, fang'd and claw'd with sharp pointy things, you stalk the apartment on semi silent paws...

The food bowl cowers and trembles at your stealthy approach, for it knows it's fate is at hand.

Yea, let the squirrel approach the balcony with no trepidation at all, for it knows that lurking inside the glass door you are there.

So, come oh squirrel, come dine on the bulbs I planted in happier times. Dine and revel.

I hasten to open the door, placing death on four legs out, out onto the balcony to revenge me!

You mew piteously, the squirrel snacks on.

I let you back in. The thief chortles and stuffs it's face.

Bentley, please please don't go quite yet.

He's in the 'hospital' maybe with a tumour, maybe cancerous, maybe not.
They're still doing tests and I am beside myself.

He's a grand old cat, the nicest, kindest, calmest cat I've ever met.

I've had him 14 and one half years, since he was 8 weeks old.
He was named 'Bentley' because he's got a crooked ('bent', if you will) tail, born with it, in fact.
It's the reason I chose him from all the cats in the litter.
For that little tiny 'flaw', it turned into the finest discovery of all.

We've seen just about everything, him and I.

And I would like to continue to see more of this life with him....

Please, send him your best.

Friday night built for one.

I adore Fridays.

End of a long and hectic work week and the beginning of just about anything you can imagine.

This is one of my favorite ways to spend a rainy, wind blown Friday night...

First, the drive down a long dark windy road to my favorite 'comfort food' restaurant, Burgoo.

The car gets parked on the quiet little street and off I go...but wait, before I go for dinner, I need one little thing.

A new book!

I'm so lucky, there's a Book Warehouse three doors away from Burgoo.

So a brief browse, and I am now the proud owner of immense tome, "Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination", by Peter Ackroyd.

I slide in to a VERY crowded, warm Burgoo to the back of the line up.

I'm lucky though, the waitress comes over, and motions me to take a seat at the dark wood bar, ahead of everyone waiting.
They're waiting for actual tables, and not a seat at the bar, but I still feel special.

She asks me how I am, comments that she hasn't seen me for a while, and asks with a smile, "French onion soup?"

I grin, nod and take my seat, arranging my book in front of me.

Burgoo is a delightful, warm little restaurant.
The walls are creamy brown, and old travel posters of exotic locales hang on the walls.

Their specialties are soups and stews, and they do them with a grace meant for more 'refined' fares.
Delicious, decadent and always perfect.
They do comfort food to make moms the world over wonder why they didn't start their own restaurant based on their own beloved tomato soup.

Jazz plays in the background at the perfect level, I can choose to immerse myself in what is proving to be an interesting read, or listen for a while to the croonings of "Dancing Cheek to Cheek".

That's where you'll find me, on a perfect Friday night.

You see what I mean!?! Trouble.

Attessa...Bentley...little cat...BIG cat...

(I really am turning into a crazy old cat lady...OH NO!)

Hello, little cat! Hello, digital camera!

This is wee little Attessa.

My little cat I raised till she was two, then didn't see again until this spring...now that she is 8.

And she is tiny, perhaps 5 pounds, soaking wet.

(The digital camera is smaller, but WONDERFUL, thanks to my dear friend Spider and her sweet husband...thank you thank you!!!!
And yes, this does mean that I'll be posting ever so many pics that I have taken with my very own hands!
So...consider yourself warned!)

It's just to damn easy!

Honest, I wasn't even LOOKING for it, it simply came to me!

It's to the point now, where I feel all I need do is stand back and just let it happen.

Ms. Lewis.
I hereby pledge not to make any snide comments regarding your 'ensembles' ever again.

I mean, I hardly need to, do I.