Driving Miss Daisy

I took off early from work today so I could take the cat to the vet.  She was just there a few weeks ago for an emergency visit so the typical time elapse in which Miss Daisy forgets the trauma was not there.  So, knowing trauma was still fresh in kitty brain,  I stealthily retrieved her Kat Karrier.*   I did learn a new trick for getting kitty into the Karrier.** Cover her eyes.  Yeah...cats aren't all that smart...

I loaded crying kitty into car, and was on my way.  She whined, and I comforted, and she whined some more.  All was well for about ten minutes. (Did I forget to mention that I am still taking her to the old vet despite moving 45 minutes away??)

Then, the whining became more pronounced and I began panicking because I knew this tone meant "I am about to excrete something from my body."

I slowed the car, hoping to reverse what I knew to be an irreversible process.

And then the cat puked.  And puked.  And puked.

The smell.  My Lord, the smell.  It caused me to gag.  And gag.  And gag.  With tears in my eyes, I pulled into a parking lot and fished through the trunk for supplies.  I removed the cat from the Karrier, and scooped more puke than should reasonably fit in such a small cat out onto the pavement.  (Hey, it's biodegradable!  Quit judging!)

But it gets worse.

I decided it would be ok to leave her out of the Karrier, even though she invariably crawls under the passenger seat and I have to pry her out by the legs hoping I won't be reported to Animal Services each time I do that.  She seemed content enough on the floor, but I was rather nervous because Miss Daisy has a reputation for excreting from both ends when she gets this upset.  I figured she must be feeling better after such a massive ejection, and we were nearly on the highway by then, so I crossed my fingers hoping for smooth sailing.  After about five minutes, she tried scooting under the seat and I (safely) began playing goalie and blocking the entrance while driving.  So she peed right there.

Whoa.  That was a new one.  She was on the mat, and the smell was not too bad, so I focused on the drive and tried to Grin and Baer it.

But it gets worse.

At this point, the cat has no place to sit that isn't pee covered or puke infested.  I patted my lap and encouraged her to sit nicely for the duration of our trip.  Unfortunately, she hadn't wiped, and I immediately felt moisture on my leg.  Nice.

But it gets worse.

Unhappy on my lap (or perhaps satisfied that my jeans would now require washing), the cat began sniffing at the floor below me.  I did have to draw the line of safety there, as I began imagining how I would explain to the officer how I couldn't stop because a cat was lodged under my brake pedal.  Reluctantly, I let her go to the passenger side, knowing she would crawl under that damn seat.  Which she proceeded to do.  I began to smell more unpleasantness which was totally unsurprising.  I wondered if it was possible to imagine a smell because you think it will come, and my mind is just playing tricks on me.  As I thought of this, kitty thankfully crawled onto the back seat and meowed at me once again.  I turned my head briefly to look at her and saw the pile of poo.  I was dismayed but slightly relieved because it was not under the seat and quite reachable.

But it gets worse.

Kitty began to meow insistently again, and I thought, what more can she do?  Spontaneously explode?  Because really, the only bodily fluids she could possibly have left are blood and earwax.  Having destroyed all floor options for sitting, she apparently was uncertain where to sit next.  She meowed and paced about in the back seat, and even tried out sitting on the back seat head rests for a spell.  Meanwhile, we are nearly at the vet, the number two smell is mingling with the number one and vomit, and I am beginning to lose patience.  We sat through an entire light cycle without moving an inch because some asshole was blocking the intersection.  Ugh!  If he only knew the chaos in my car at the moment!  The cat meowed again, and I turned to tell her we were almost there when I noticed that she had stepped in the poo and tracked little pooey kitty paw prints all over the back.

Thank god, at that moment, the light turned green and the intersection was free.  The vet weighed her and noted that she had lost weight since her last visit.  Go figure.

Could It Get Any Worse??

*Why is it necessary to spell this way?
**No really.  Why?

Tomato Tragedy

Imagine your first trip to an amusement park.  Not the trip where you were in diapers and riding the little fire engines around in a circle - I mean the real trip.  The time you were finally big enough to ride the big kid rides.  You probably didn't go on them alone.  Most likely, you went with someone you trusted, someone who would take care of you, just in case, horror of all horrors, something bad happened.

So you get all strapped in, after possibly hours of waiting with anticipation for the big trip.  The ride begins to move.

And the car tips over, dumping you and all the other riders face first into the hard earth below.

This is the ride my poor poor tomato plants took today.  It was awful.  After saying a few choice and very naughty words, I lunged for my overturned cart .Yes, it was pretty much already overturned by the time my lighting fast reflexes kicked in.  My poor plants!  Many of their little stems were snapped in two, and a few more suffered near breaks.  I was running a triage center, trying to rescue the ones that could be saved, and sadly admitting that there wasn't much hope for a few of them.

My garden book warned me that tomatoes are a little less tolerant of transplanting than other veggies.  How true.

I planted them all anyway.  I couldn't bear to pronounce an official time of death.  I carefully tied the poor broken stems to support sticks, and I am hoping for the best.  Admittedly, there is not much hope for five of the fifteen plants.  They are so sad to look at, with their wilted leaves and broken stems tied to life support.  There are about three more plants that are in intensive care.  Their stems were severed, but their leaves are still in good shape, and looking at them, I can hardly tell they rely on a stick for support. 

Its tragic, I suppose.  I literally bent over forwards, in ninety degree weather, for several hours to plant these plants.  But what can you do but Grin and Baer It?

Body Sculpting II

After taking the pre-requisite for this course - pushing a 20inch mower uphill (both ways) - I advanced to "digging a garden".  Many gardening adds show a sweet little old lady in pink gardening gloves kneeling lovingly over her perfect plants.

Understandably, they do not show me - wearing a tank top with built in shelf bra, glasses due to high probability of dirt in the contacts, unshowered and dripping sweat as I stomped on my shovel and heaved earth, well, out of the earth. I realized mid dig that my shoulders were turning an unsightly share of red, so I was forced to retrieve a tee-shirt.  It was only about 85 degrees yesterday, a heat wave compared to today, so I drenched the shirt in water before heading back out. 

Many bars advertise cute blondes with large breasts in tight, white, wet tees.

Still unshowered, still dripping, caked with dirt, and with oversized wet tee, I did not quite look like that.

But I was finally comfortable in the sunny spot chosen for what was looking like two long wheel streaks in the yard.  Starting a garden from yard is hard work.  First, I took a square shovel and removed the top few inches of sod, one shovel-ful at a time.  I placed the sod into my cart, and when cart is full, I struggled to pull it up my hill to various areas of the yard needing some patching.  The sod was heavy, the cart was hard to pull, and I make have mentioned before - it was HOT.  This went a little faster when I ran out of patching places and was able to take it back to the park behind the house.  It was downhill!

This step took about 3 hours of mostly pure exhaustion, but with a short break or two in the shady tree on the other side of the yard.  When finished, I had a 5-foot by 12-foot section of what was actually looking like a garden!  (Or a grave...)  I had a nice beer sitting at my new patio set, which is situated under two shady trees near the house.  I thought of having a second beer...but alas, there was more work to do.

The next step was to "till" the land using a pitchfork.  I considered renting a tiller, but figured the Cavalier, though much roomier than it looks, would not be the ideal transportation for such a machine.

With some trepidation, I went to retrieve the 2.5 cubic yards of garden soil, purchased, but not carried, by me.  I tried carrying it, since I knew Adam would be away visiting a friend when I had to use it, but there were many (at least two) men at Home Depot who couldn't stand to watch me struggle with the bag.  Man #1 lifted into the cart, saying helpfully, "Good luck getting it out of there."  Man #2 lifted it out of the cart and into the car - he was much stronger than Man #1, but neither of them lifted it easily.  Again, it wasn't pretty, but I managed to slide / roll the bag - which really doesn't look all that heavy - into my garden cart.

I turned the ground over once with the pitch fork, pulling out rocks, and breaking up clumps as I went.  This did not take too long, but I could feel my back muscles screaming, and the callouses on my hands were starting to blister.  I then dumped the new soil, and dragged it on top of the garden (back began screaming louder).  I then turned the ground a second time to mix the soil in.  No planting yet.  Garden experts recommend letting it sit for a few months, so I figure 12 hours oughta do it.

I will be planting tomatoes, tomatoes, more tomatoes, and a few peppers.  My garden book says to plant two to six plants (six if I want a lot of work.)  My dad gave me 15.  What a surprise, this appears to be overdoing it.

Body Sculpting

I haven't been to the gym in ages.  I've got this new, hopefully effective, and definitely time consuming body sculpting routine.  Its called yard work.

Don't misunderstand me, I prefer yard work over house work, and work work.  But, judging by the state of my bathroom at the moment, you would understand that saying I prefer something over housework is like saying I prefer being healthy over being sick.  Still, I purchased a property with a lot of land because I was looking forward to yard work.

I did not plan on mowing the 1.5 acre lawn with a non-motorized push mower.  That, my friends, was an agonizing, back breaking, and incredibly long endeavor that left stubborn long stalks of grass and dandelions sticking out sporadically.  The longer sections of grass required not a second, or a third pass, but as many as six passes to cut before I would bend down in disgust and just pull the dang thing out.

After two weeks of this, and riding mower still in Pennsylvania waiting on a new part, we caved and bought a gasoline powered push mower.  This was an extreme improvement over the other mower since it took only one pass to cut even the longest blades of grass.  We didn't even mind that it took four hours and three gas refills to finish the lawn - at first.  This is fine if you actually have four hours to devote to one chore - weekly.  But as soon as you have, you know, other stuff to do, well, mowing the lawn becomes a bit of a nuisance.

The house was built in 1967, so we thought, wouldn't it be neat-o to have a lawn mower that was as old as the house?  We got our wish.  I really should scan some of the original 1967 lawn tractor operating instructions.  But lets just say that beehives are a-plenty, and women's lib was in full swing because they are careful to show each family member (mom, dad, brother, and sister) on the tractor having a grand ole' time.

So, last week, my father finally drove the lawn mower down on a rickety rented trailer.  And it started, sort of.  He managed to coax the ignition, and the VERY LOUD engine ran....but we were not able to keep it running with the blades attached.  We were proud owners of a VERY LOUD four wheeler, and some VERY HEAVY attachments.

And then yesterday, after a week of tinkering by Adam, and my contribution of occasionally lifting the other end of things, traveling to stores with lists of unknown parts for purchase, and all important light holding, we got the thing started - with the blades attached.

And then, it mowed!

Yeah, sorry.  The excitement ends there. Would it help if I add a second exclamation point!!?

Bug Battles

The battle with the ants is once again leaning in favor of the good guys.  As long as wee keep the counter tops wiped up, and the dishes in the sink to a minimum, we are relatively ant-free.  Actually, I should thank the ants - Adam is much more diligent about his own contributions to the cause and he has been cleaning in the kitchen more often.

So now we have fruit flies.  Well, I think they are big for fruit flies, but for lack of interest in internet research on species, let's call them fruit flies.  They stay pretty much out of site during the day, though you can find them clustered around water sources.  At about sunset, they all come out and just sit.  They would not bother me so much, since they are non-bitey, non-stingy, and not crawling on my food and/or pillow, but there are just so MANY of them.  They are an army, and a force to be reckoned with.

They are super easy to kill.  They move slowly, so a wap with the flyswatter does them in in a jif.  But it does them in a little too well.  One wap, and there are bug guts an inch long on the ceiling.  One tap, and the guts are limited to a dime size area.  So I kill like 50 of the little suckers in a minute, then spend the next 50 minutes moving my step stool around and cleaning up the crime scene.

We found they could be killed with a deadly clap.  They fly slowly, so it is not too hard to get them in mid air. So no icky guts on my new kitchen paint - just on my hand.   Ewww!  So, I got my rubber kitchen gloves, which once again need replacing because I will never be able to convince myself the bug guts are washed off and I can cut food with these on again.  I walked around the room, clapping the claps of death and making eerie "wah ha ha" sounds.  But I cannot reach the ceiling bugs without the swatter, and so I was back in the same spot.

This morning, I found that I could suck them up in my Dirt Devil.  Wah ha ha!  Again!  I am amazed that the little bugs still just sit there as this loud thing saunters up and sucks them to their doom.  The ones that do fly are the most fun though, because I can suck them right out of the air.  Shuzaw!  Phoom! I imagine the Batman like cartoon strip - me the evil villan - as I lumber through the town sucking the citizens from their very homes!

And then I hit my heel on the back of the counter as I was circling around, looking up at the little buzzy fly, and not at the ground around me. 

Score one for the fly.

Score a bazillion for me.

But I am not sure when I should empty the Dirt Devil...

Top Ten Signs You Might Be A Tad OVerstresSed

1.  You apologize to your phone when you pick up the handset and accidentally knock a piece of paper onto the display.

2.  You admit to the person on the other line that you have just apologized to your phone.

3.  You schedule your eye doctor appointment three months after you realize you are out of contacts, one week after you end up in tears at restaurant due to pain of dry and ripped contact and have to drive home one-eyed, and three days after glasses (from 2005) cause pinched nose and headaches...

4.  ....and you do not so much "schedule" said appointment as you show up on one of Wal-Mart Vision Center "Walk-In Days".

5.  You schedule stress-relieving "Lets Dish" session....and forget to go.

6.  You are involved in a consuming "Battle with the Ants" - and the ants are winning (possibly due to teacup with honey coated bottom which has been sitting unwashed in sink for five days).  Possibly.

7.  You finally get to post office to mail thank you gift that you forgot to bring to professional event after recipient of said gift reminds you - twice.  When at post office, you laugh uncontrollably at irony of post office's mail when helpful worker gives you junk flyers to pack around gift.

8.  You are afraid to get on Wii Fit for fear that current diet of vending machine corn chips has caused weight gain.  Is best to remain ignorant.

9.  You haven't bought mothers day gift yet...(this will most likely work out in mom's favor as guilt will cause inclination to spend more money.)  Ditto on graduation gift...

10.  You do not blog for nearly a month,  and when you do, it is lame-o list.

The Amish May Be On To Something...

This is my lawn:

This is my lawn mower:

The neighbors probably think we are Amish....

....nah.  The Amish would have a mule pull this thing.

I hope the riding mower will be fixed soon....