I've Lost Ninety Pounds! God, What a Miracle!!! Ping Takes Back Her Tiny Abandoned Kitten. I Love My Scott. Rat Poop and Our Swamp of a Back Yard. Affordable Storage Solutions Needed. Wishing I had More Money to Spread Around. And Why I Don't Think the Nuns Read My Journal.
So here are some shots of our officially white trash backyard and pools. I should include some shots of the mountains of boxes and stuff we've taken out of the garage to go through, our five dogs, some dog poop, the mud puddles and the flies. I couldn't even find or afford one of those big metal side wall jobbies and be a proper beer swilling back yard veggie barbecuing redneck hippy chick. No, I had to go get the light blue fish covered plastic ones at Sport Mart. What's a Mom with overheated kids to do?
This is the little round one I got for the smaller kids, but everyone just jumps back and forth between them, sloshing muddy water and tons of grass as they go.
I was just hoping, merely hoping, yesterday when I said that I might reach a ninety pound weight loss by today. You know it could go up again tomorrow and then down and then up, but I hit the ninety pound mark and that's pretty exciting. Next I'll aim for ninety-five, then one hundred and then on downwards from there.
I was just talking to Scott on the phone at work and he said, "Hey, now you get to wear a ninety pound crown!" I thought that was so funny for some reason, the idea of wearing a crown that heavy but he meant for me to take out one of my many vintage tiaras or costume crowns and actually wear it around, maybe writing the number ninety on it somewhere. I wore a tiara into the operating room, why not when I reach different points in my slide down the scale?
Ping, the new and hopefully last, sob, sob, mama cat, has finally, and after much work on our parts, accepted her little black kitten back into her welcoming kitty arms. He's nursing. YAHOO!! This means I don't have to get up every three to four hours every night, and force feed wannabe-cat mother's-milk to him. It's always such a good feeling when we bring one of these little people back from the absolute brink of death. And I seriously mean he had reached the absolute ledge of leaping into the unknown.
He was deathly cold and his little body was totally slack. We weren't even sure if he was breathing. We massaged his bony little chest and took turns giving him mouth to mouth, and carrying him around in our bras all day, and he came back, bit by bit he came back. Then we all took turns feeding him for a few days, and then miracle of miracles, yesterday morning I came in rubbing sleep out of my eyes, ready to feed the little fighter and there he was latched on to a nipple.
Consequently, last night, and maybe because I kept my promise to Scott and walked on my treadmill for half an hour, and took meds, I slept so long that I didn't get up until this afternoon. I had really needed it. I feel like a completely renewed person. Where before I was snappish and depressed, now I feel awake and a bit more hopeful. And maybe sleep plays a role in metabolism and weight loss, who knows.
I have so many dreams and I usually remember most of them, but it takes so long to write them down, and I don't want to bore you with them too often so I'll just say that in one of my dreams last night, I was running around trying to save my kittens because they had escaped and run across the street to someone else's house. I was in the garden with another woman and we were trying to scoop them up to bring them home but they kept wriggling away. I'd put them in my skirt and they'd all lump up together then wriggle around and fall out. There were a lot of rats there, in this garden, rats who looked exactly like the sleek, big brown-eyed ratties who have taken over my garage, and are living in the fence between my property and my property, (long story about a lazy ex-con who my husband hired to work for us, when we were building this house, before he ran off or I tossed him out you decide the truth because I sure can't, anyway this man, we'll call him Dwayne, was actually kind of nice, I liked him, but he took advantage of me, he hired incompetent freaky people, got into a knife fight with the painter, stole stuff, smoked pot and did coke on the job, and generally stalled and screwed things up a lot around here, building one fence in front of the other fence, rather than tearing it down, thereby narrowing my property and making my neighbor think it is hers, is just one of the many serious muck ups we have to deal with someday, sigh), but these rats were pretty frightened and aggressive. They kept biting me on my hands and arm. I didn't want to harm them but I was also worried about catching some kind of rat borne disease. I was afraid that if the people in the house saw us tromping through their garden, gathering cats, and fending off rats, that we would get arrested or they would discover they had rats and kill them. Weird dream, and I don't even have the time it would take to try to analyze it. Everyone is waiting in the yard for me to help continue the process of opening and sorting through box contents.
Yesterday while all the kids were making a mud puddle of our back yard, we're talking serious mosquito attractant swampage at this point, Esther and Irma and I went out to the driveway, braved all the dog humping, Jack and Spirit remain horny and sexually aggressive despite having been neutered, (don't you believe that about those eunuchs in harems, I'm sure they had their favorites and it's not like they didn't have hands or mouths, sheesh, or could I be wrong on this point, more stuff to look up and distract and stall time with, argh), and dug into the garage for more boxes to go through. At one point we took everything out of a cool old porcelain topped kitchen piece that my old friend's Mud and Marge had salvaged and laid these things on top of the piece. Then one by one we would force ourselves to decide whether to toss each item or figure out where the hell to put it. I kept trying to make myself believe that things were damaged so I wouldn't have to feel as guilty when I sent things to the dumpster. (Which reminds me that I just joined a community called Dumpster Diving, of all things, come on by my house, we just tossed out a monitor, some printers, and some old rugs and furniture. I just can't keep or donate some of this stuff. It's just too gross and cumbersome.) Anyway as we were getting down to the really tiny stuff like nails and screws and door hinges, I picked up a piece of rat poop and pretended to really struggle with the decision of whether or not I should throw this away, then we all had a conversation about it's particular rat-shit merit and laughed so hard I nearly peed. I don't know sometimes the most banal thing can seem super funny when you're dealing with crap, literally.
I really, really need some good advice on cheap alternative self storage solutions. I need about a garage sized space and want to spend about four hundred dollars a month or less. Right now I'm paying close to three hundred for something about a quarter the size of that, maybe smaller. But it's close and it's safe, and they send my reminder-needing brain a monthly bill. Yesterday I asked for makeup and perfume tips. Anyone have any ideas. I even gave some thought to that Door to Door company that bring these big blue boxes to your house and then haul your stuff off to some Godforsaken place and keep it there until or if your ever need to see it again. I was mentioning to one of my journal friends that this kind of thing always reminds me about that parable the nuns taught us when we were little about a rich man not being able to make it to the kingdom of heaven because he would never be able to pass through the eye of a needle with his camel all loaded down with stuff. Sometimes I feel like that man, but then I take comfort in the fact that they later discovered there was an actual place called The Eye of the Needle, that it was a pass through the mountains and that if your camel weren't completely weighted down you might just be able to negotiate through it. I suppose if God were beckoning me to cross on over to the other side and he or she said, "Hey Chica, you're going to have to leave all of your stuff behind if you wanna come on over and be with me man," I guess I'd drop the stuff. Maybe pick up a couple of cats, all of my memories, and a jar of Creme de la Mer, and an ice cold bottle of Aquafina, before I jumped back on my camel and trotted through the pass. You never know, it might get thirsty in the desert and my skin could sure use the cream.
Earlier, as I was using the bathroom, (hmm, lots of super overloaded personal info in today's post hunh)? I heard someone in the bath and sinks part of my bathroom making this really weird yorping sound. It went, "Yorp. Yorp!", and then stopped. I thought, Jacqui that wasn't a good sound, listen to your instinct for once and check this out, one of your kitten friends could be choking on a piece of Lego or a paintball or some other overlooked and dangerous thing. So I kind of hastily finished up and bolted for the door, and there was my beloved, best-friend-cat Jake, sitting on a chair, with his head cocked at that endearingly weird blind cat angle, saying, "Yorp?" He just can't stand to be on the other side of any door from me. Sometimes he even makes barking sounds. Why? Is he trying to imitate human speech? Is he that amazing? Is it because of his diminished capacity for site that his hearing has become so amazing that he has learned to make sounds the other cats can only hope to achieve. Sometimes he sounds like he is saying actual words, and I swear, I've mentioned this before, but I taught my childhood-best-friend cat Jade, (also a tabby, with a similar name, I'm not mindless of the possible reincarnation factor here), to say ham.
Okay, well, I have got to go, I have so much to do and I swore to Scott we would list things for sale on eBay tonight. our four thousand dollar lamp has three bids from people who have zero feedback, although one of these guys bought two motorcycles totally just over twelve thousand dollars just the day before he bid on our auction. Cross your fingers for us, we need the money so badly. Segue, again, (am I worse than the CNN news crawl or what?), yesterday, when I was watching that Millionaire show that I swear I never watch, both Scott and I were talking over the phone and guessing the answers together at the same time, (I love him so much, he is maddening at times but he's also wonderful in so many ways and I wish he were here right now, or there in front of all of you so you could really get to know him and see how good and bright and smart he is and be his pal and give him the hugging that he needs), and when we "won" sixty-seven thousand dollars I had the best fantasy about splitting it four ways with Scott, Irma, and Esther. It just felt so good thinking about how much that small amount of money would help each of these people. Scott with his music, Irma and Esther with their kids and housing. I so wish I could be a more benevolent benefactor. Sometimes buying everyone a round of the same perfume and makeup products and a pink fuzzy poodle kids purse just doesn't do it. Insurance would be one thing I wish I could buy everyone, as a start, college for Eduardo would be a close second option.
I so want to submit Scott for a Queer Eye For the Straight Guy makeover. It would be so good for him and make terrific footage for his long neglected reel. Did you know you can look him up and he actually has movie and TV credits, and his music credits of course, Scott Turchin, check it out. Mine don't come up, the bastards. That's because my agent didn't negotiate decent billing for me, blah, forget it, moving on. I really, really do have to go, and I haven't been able to get back to everyone who responded to my makeup questions or my post from yesterday or even the day before. How do you guys do this? Live your lives, document them on Live Journal, respond to all the kind comments, and read and post comments to your friends journals? How do you do all of that and have enough energy left over to be good and kind, work out, look fabulous and have sex? I really want to know this.
Okay I'm off, I'll have to put off until tomorrow what I cannot do today damnit. Sometimes I worry the nuns read my journal. Isn't that a hoot, talk about not having enough time to fool around with Live Journal, sheesh, those gals are so busy saving lives there's no way they'd be over here wastin time that could be spent in reflection and prayer, reading about rat poop.
I wanted you to see the doggies, and I know this is a seriously sucky shot. but they are so wriggly, and this was the absolute best one I could get. I had to hold them still to get them both in one picture. Ali/Alli/Alley was so pissed off she was growling and trying to bite Lulu. Still too shy to show me yet, am working on this.