Yes, I was a little skeptical of the iPhone at first. I am an outspoken and devout user of the PC and I loathe Macs with their undivided clicker and their pretentious white mice. I think it’s the stark whiteness of the Macs that really gets under my skin. I cannot stare at a white border all day. Computers are meant to be silver, a neutral, calming color. It subtly alludes to the hard, rugged, ooh soo important and complicated machinery that lies just beneath the surface. When I walk into an office and see that I will be working on a Mac my first urge is to hit it. But I refrain from this somewhat violent and unprovoked attack as I know the time will soon come, when the Mac will fail to load its Internet knock-off Cucci inspired Safari browser and I will have no other option but to whack at its white plastic sides in an effort resolve the problem.
That being said, I LOVVVVVVVEEE my iPhone! This sweet baby is enforced with that no-nonsense, silver titanium border, and if you couldn’t have guessed it already, I opted to purchase the black iPhone.
Now, I know that not everyone has a blackberry or an iPhone but for the sake of this blog I am going to pretend that everyone does. And let’s be honest here, seriously, EVERYONE HAS ONE!! I went with the iPhone rather than a blackberry for two reasons: 1) I am on the Cingular/ATT plan 2) The iPhone has apps. Apps are short for Applications. Applications are downloadable pieces of your life that you literally cannot live without. Once you acquire enough said applications, your life is essentially complete. Let me show you….
Before my iPhone: I was a complete mess. I could never remember anything I had to do (pick up kids, eat), I was completely unaware of new and upcoming artists and songs, did not have the ability to log onto Facebook at the drop of a hat, and was soo bad with directions I could hardly find my own left hand.
After my iPhone: I am God. Shall I elaborate?
To Do List Application: Let’s me write down everything I need to do which I otherwise would forget had it not been for THIS particular To Do List. Paper lists are for wimps.
Urban Spoon Application: It’s like gambling for dinner.
Around Me Application: This is extremely handy when I totally forget where I am (happens more than you think) and I need to find something/be found.
Facebook Application: I haven’t logged off Facebook in 4 months! Beat that “I update my status every 5 seconds girl”!
Taxi Magic Application: Not so magical, more like an advertisement for Luxor Cabs, but they just happen to be my favorite taxi cab company as they take credit cards ☺
iFishing Application: Yes, you all thought I was completely devoid of skill, tact and grace. Well say that to me after I just caught a 30 pound bass and won $20,000.00 beezies!
Wikipanion Application: My best and smartest friend, sorry WikiMary but you can’t fit in my pocket.
Tangram Pro Application: Remember when you were a kid in elementary school and you had free time so you grabbed a friend to play a rousing game of Tangram? And the game eventually ends with you throwing those stupid red misshaped pieces at your teacher screaming, “It doesn’t even look like a duck!!” I can now relive those great memories via my iPhone and the Tangram Pro Application.
Sudoku Application: I’m not going to lie, I don’t play this one in public much because I’m afraid people are looking over my shoulders and thinking “9 goes there, how can you not see that you moron!!”
Sandscapes Application: If you ever want to watch the world fly by without you ever contributing a single thing, you must have this application. I have made the prettiest pictures ever at 12:00 on a Friday night!
Fast Food Application: We found this shining star the day after New Years. It led us right to the McDonalds drive thru window. Simply amazing.
Sally’s Salon Application: This was one of the more costly applications I downloaded but definitely worth every penny. I single handedly ran Sally’s Salon, moving her from some strung out joint in the local mall to an exclusive salon at the Hotel Ritz. And yes, I put that on my resume.
Craigsearch Application: For all those missed connections posted about me.
Touch Closet Application: You know that scene in Clueless when Cher is looking through her closet and she’s using her computer to help her find the perfect outfit? I have that on my iPhone. All I had to do was take a picture of every single article of clothing I own. It may eat up all of my memory but I can now plan what I will be wearing tonight while I am…somewhere else other than my room…
Coloring Book Application: Extremely cathartic after a long day of Craigslisting.
These are just some of the AMAZING applications I have downloaded on my iPhone. These beautiful babies make me the woman that I am today. I’m sure all of you iPhone owners (everyone) understand and feel the same affinity, and owe the same amount of gratitude to your iPhone and applications as well. So let’s keep spreading the love for the only thing Steve Jobs and the Apple people got right!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Liphone As We Know It Part 1
I tried to start this blog by researching the history of the mobile phone, but the beginnings seemed rather boring so I decided to skip ahead with the history that I remember. Unfortunately, I was not able to experience the awesomeness of the first generation cell phones that came out in the late 70’s and early 80’s, but I was there for the introduction of the 2G cell phones which were thankfully much more mobile than their original counterparts.
My friend Alia was the first of us to receive a cell phone. On 8th grade graduation, her parents gave her a Nokia phone, one of the longer ones. Of course, we were all jealous and many of our friends subsequently followed in her footsteps. I was probably the last of all of my friends to get my own cell phone, seeing as I didn’t really want one in the first place. I think it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of High School when my mom took me down to the local Cingular store to apply for a family plan. I walked away with a baby blue Nokia which was equipped with a black and white screen and the ever-addicting game of Snake. My mom wanted me to get a cell phone so she could stop hearing my excuses about why I forgot/ couldn’t call her (none of my friends had quarters for the payphone!) to tell her where I was. Giving me a cell phone was her way of being able to track me down wherever I was. Nonetheless I learned to love the phone and of course now I can’t imagine life without one. The baby blue Nokia was the only phone I kept long enough to qualify me for an upgrade. From there on out all my future held was a series bad luck and irritating trips back to the Cingular store.
It goes a little something like this…
Replacement: A beautiful shiny silver flip phone reminiscent of its unofficial predecessor the Razor.
Death: Shortly before I was about to leave for college I went water tubing at Mission Bay. My phone was in the pocket of my sweatshirt. As I was putting on my sweatshirt the phone flew out of my pocket landing with a delicate plop in the water before swiftly sinking to its untimely demise.
Replacement: An ugly plastic Motorola flip phone, a definite downgrade.
Death: Spring quarter of my freshman year of college. I joined the men’s crew team and was not allowed to leave for Spring Break due to our practice schedule. I always took my phone out on the water with me; unfortunately, my two seat Steve Shanley decided to purposely flip the four I was coxing thus water logging my phone and ending its short and somewhat uneventful life.
Replacement: The same ugly plastic Motorola flip phone I thought I had finally gotten rid of.
Death: Winter quarter of my sophomore year of college. It was a rainy day. I was just getting back from an early morning of crew practice and I was in a hurry. Shortly after I got home I realized that I lost my phone. After calling the phone and retracing my steps I cut my losses and began contemplating my replacement.
Replacement: Silver Motorola Razor which I bought for cheap on Ebay!!
Death: Summer before my junior year of college. Steve Shanley came to visit me in La Jolla. He thought it was funny to sneak up behind me and tickle me. This caused me to jerk and convulse uncontrollably, ultimately making me drop my phone and crack the screen. The Razor suffered a slow and painful death. What started as a cracked screen soon became something much more sinister. The internal hardware began to slow down; it became confused and disoriented, eventually just shutting down during crucial periods of use. Soon after, the screen began showing signs of fatigue and failure. When the screen became shrouded almost completely in a mysterious black substance I knew it was time to accept reality and let the poor guy life the rest of its days in peace.
Replacement: A roommate’s international phone which she lent to me for my semester abroad in London.
Death: This perfect little black phone survived all the trials and tribulations of London, although there were many close run-ins at the hands of the now infamous Steve Shanley. As far as I know this little baby is still going strong!
Replacement: A black LG flip phone which I bought shortly after my return from London.
Death: This bad ass could not and would not ever die. I had this fighter for almost two years. In that time period I dropped it numerous times, spilled everything from tequila to beer on it, and left it more places than I can even remember. But the little sucker loved me and stayed with me through it all. But upon my graduation and entrance into the real working world of adults I felt it necessary to find a phone that could keep up with my hectic and much more mature life.
Replacement: The 2nd generation Iphone.
Death: Never.
And now my life begins
My friend Alia was the first of us to receive a cell phone. On 8th grade graduation, her parents gave her a Nokia phone, one of the longer ones. Of course, we were all jealous and many of our friends subsequently followed in her footsteps. I was probably the last of all of my friends to get my own cell phone, seeing as I didn’t really want one in the first place. I think it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of High School when my mom took me down to the local Cingular store to apply for a family plan. I walked away with a baby blue Nokia which was equipped with a black and white screen and the ever-addicting game of Snake. My mom wanted me to get a cell phone so she could stop hearing my excuses about why I forgot/ couldn’t call her (none of my friends had quarters for the payphone!) to tell her where I was. Giving me a cell phone was her way of being able to track me down wherever I was. Nonetheless I learned to love the phone and of course now I can’t imagine life without one. The baby blue Nokia was the only phone I kept long enough to qualify me for an upgrade. From there on out all my future held was a series bad luck and irritating trips back to the Cingular store.
It goes a little something like this…
Replacement: A beautiful shiny silver flip phone reminiscent of its unofficial predecessor the Razor.
Death: Shortly before I was about to leave for college I went water tubing at Mission Bay. My phone was in the pocket of my sweatshirt. As I was putting on my sweatshirt the phone flew out of my pocket landing with a delicate plop in the water before swiftly sinking to its untimely demise.
Replacement: An ugly plastic Motorola flip phone, a definite downgrade.
Death: Spring quarter of my freshman year of college. I joined the men’s crew team and was not allowed to leave for Spring Break due to our practice schedule. I always took my phone out on the water with me; unfortunately, my two seat Steve Shanley decided to purposely flip the four I was coxing thus water logging my phone and ending its short and somewhat uneventful life.
Replacement: The same ugly plastic Motorola flip phone I thought I had finally gotten rid of.
Death: Winter quarter of my sophomore year of college. It was a rainy day. I was just getting back from an early morning of crew practice and I was in a hurry. Shortly after I got home I realized that I lost my phone. After calling the phone and retracing my steps I cut my losses and began contemplating my replacement.
Replacement: Silver Motorola Razor which I bought for cheap on Ebay!!
Death: Summer before my junior year of college. Steve Shanley came to visit me in La Jolla. He thought it was funny to sneak up behind me and tickle me. This caused me to jerk and convulse uncontrollably, ultimately making me drop my phone and crack the screen. The Razor suffered a slow and painful death. What started as a cracked screen soon became something much more sinister. The internal hardware began to slow down; it became confused and disoriented, eventually just shutting down during crucial periods of use. Soon after, the screen began showing signs of fatigue and failure. When the screen became shrouded almost completely in a mysterious black substance I knew it was time to accept reality and let the poor guy life the rest of its days in peace.
Replacement: A roommate’s international phone which she lent to me for my semester abroad in London.
Death: This perfect little black phone survived all the trials and tribulations of London, although there were many close run-ins at the hands of the now infamous Steve Shanley. As far as I know this little baby is still going strong!
Replacement: A black LG flip phone which I bought shortly after my return from London.
Death: This bad ass could not and would not ever die. I had this fighter for almost two years. In that time period I dropped it numerous times, spilled everything from tequila to beer on it, and left it more places than I can even remember. But the little sucker loved me and stayed with me through it all. But upon my graduation and entrance into the real working world of adults I felt it necessary to find a phone that could keep up with my hectic and much more mature life.
Replacement: The 2nd generation Iphone.
Death: Never.
And now my life begins
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Spread the Love!!!
*Note: The day I wrote this I spent 2 hours in the dentists chair getting a gum graft and was on copious amounts (a quarter of a quarter of vicodin, I’m a light-weight) of pain killers. While this blog entry may not make much sense, it has a good moral…I think, I’m not sure, I really have to read it again.
It’s that time of year again. No, not Thanksgiving and taxes aren’t due quite yet. It’s the month of love and soon we will be celebrating (Saint) Valentine’s Day, the day on which lovers express their love for each other by sending Valentine’s cards, presenting flowers, or offering confectionery (Wikipedia). People feel one of two emotions about Valentine’s Day. You either love it or you hate it, simple as that. I am not what you would call a romantic but I love Valentine’s Day. So for the sake of this wonderful holiday, let’s take a trip down memory lane…
Many of our first Valentine’s Day’s probably started the same. A couple weeks before V Day (I’m lazy) your teacher sends you home with a note telling your parents that on this day your entire class will be celebrating Valentine’s Day. The note usually included a list of all of the students in your class and a ‘suggestion’ to please bring a card for EVERY student in the class. You are then whisked away to the local drug store where you are faced with the difficult task of choosing between Barbie (Will you be my Prince?), Garfield, Power Rangers (Have an awesome Valentine’s Day! Pow!) and some unrecognizable character that looks like cross between the purple teletubby and Wolverine. If you were anything like me, this is how your thought process goes, “Should I choose Barbies? They’re soo pretty! But what if the boys think they’re lame and they make fun of me? But what will the other girls give? Well the Garfield ones are funny and cute, should I get those? But those have no candy and the Power Rangers come with candy. Candy’s always cool.” And so on and so forth.
Once you’ve made your decision it is now time to choose which card goes to whom. You make (sign your name) the cards for your best friends first, then you make ones for the rest of the girls in your class. Then you move onto the boys. You first choose which one will go to that special boy. It can’t be too blatant (Will you be my Prince?) but it can’t be too generic (Have a spectacular day!) because then he’ll think you don’t like him at all. It has to be just perfect. You eventually end up giving him the one with the prettiest Barbie on it although as a sacrifice it also has the most generic greeting. You then move onto the boys you don’t like. But you don’t even care about what their cards say because you sign their names and ‘accidentally’ forget to sign your name, oops.
Valentine’s Day rolls around and once you deliver all of your cards into their respective love boxes (shoe boxes the class was forced to decorate two days earlier) you quickly run back to your desk and begin to shuffle through your box trying to find that one special valentine from that special someone J. It’s a Power Rangers card (You rock my world! Pow!). OMG, it’s meant to be!!
This continues for several years. Some years you make the cards with doilies and cut out hearts, other times you just get candy valentines and write your name on the box. Eventually though this elementary (literally) celebration ends and Valentine’s Day is all of a sudden the property of the Associated Student Body. You are thus forced to show your admiration through the form of a single carnation. But now there are all sort of stigmas attached. All of a sudden, every single person in your class has got a boyfriend or girlfriend. You will be the only person not carrying an ugly, waxy, slightly wilted carnation on Valentines Day. So you team up with your other single girlfriends and swear to buy each other carnations. OMG, you smile innocently when a representative from the student body hands you a rose in fourth period English class. “I have no idea who got this for me”, you say sheepishly. You and your friends continue this little charade all throughout middle school and high school. If you were lucky when you progressed to high school your Associated Student Body progressed from carnations to roses. I remember one year I kept on badgering one of my guy friends to buy me a rose on V Day. He wouldn’t do it. I told him to at least buy his girlfriend a rose. He wouldn’t do that either, his way of sticking it to the man (ASB). Instead his girlfriend and I bought each other roses and then bought him a dozen roses which he then had to carry around for the rest of the day.
As awkward as Valentine’s Day was, I always loved it. I loved seeing all of the different types of cards in my love box, each representing a fellow student and friend. I loved waking up in the morning to find a box of chocolate and a Valentines Day card on my dining room table. And I loved receiving those carnations and roses every year, without fail, from my friends. After a couple years my girlfriends and I stopped asking each other for roses and just expected them. The roses would always come with a note, something along the lines of “Happy Valentine’s Day Karebear, I’m soo glad we’re friends! Love, Beachie.”
For many, Valentine’s Day is a day that is otherwise meaningless if it is not spent with a significant other. Those are the people who usually say they hate Valentine’s Day. For me, Valentine’s Day is a day to remind everyone in my life just how much I love them. So don’t look at Valentine’s Day as Singles Awareness Day, find someone you love and spend the day with them. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your parents how much you appreciate them, and buy yourself some chocolate because most of all you should love yourself!
It’s that time of year again. No, not Thanksgiving and taxes aren’t due quite yet. It’s the month of love and soon we will be celebrating (Saint) Valentine’s Day, the day on which lovers express their love for each other by sending Valentine’s cards, presenting flowers, or offering confectionery (Wikipedia). People feel one of two emotions about Valentine’s Day. You either love it or you hate it, simple as that. I am not what you would call a romantic but I love Valentine’s Day. So for the sake of this wonderful holiday, let’s take a trip down memory lane…
Many of our first Valentine’s Day’s probably started the same. A couple weeks before V Day (I’m lazy) your teacher sends you home with a note telling your parents that on this day your entire class will be celebrating Valentine’s Day. The note usually included a list of all of the students in your class and a ‘suggestion’ to please bring a card for EVERY student in the class. You are then whisked away to the local drug store where you are faced with the difficult task of choosing between Barbie (Will you be my Prince?), Garfield, Power Rangers (Have an awesome Valentine’s Day! Pow!) and some unrecognizable character that looks like cross between the purple teletubby and Wolverine. If you were anything like me, this is how your thought process goes, “Should I choose Barbies? They’re soo pretty! But what if the boys think they’re lame and they make fun of me? But what will the other girls give? Well the Garfield ones are funny and cute, should I get those? But those have no candy and the Power Rangers come with candy. Candy’s always cool.” And so on and so forth.
Once you’ve made your decision it is now time to choose which card goes to whom. You make (sign your name) the cards for your best friends first, then you make ones for the rest of the girls in your class. Then you move onto the boys. You first choose which one will go to that special boy. It can’t be too blatant (Will you be my Prince?) but it can’t be too generic (Have a spectacular day!) because then he’ll think you don’t like him at all. It has to be just perfect. You eventually end up giving him the one with the prettiest Barbie on it although as a sacrifice it also has the most generic greeting. You then move onto the boys you don’t like. But you don’t even care about what their cards say because you sign their names and ‘accidentally’ forget to sign your name, oops.
Valentine’s Day rolls around and once you deliver all of your cards into their respective love boxes (shoe boxes the class was forced to decorate two days earlier) you quickly run back to your desk and begin to shuffle through your box trying to find that one special valentine from that special someone J. It’s a Power Rangers card (You rock my world! Pow!). OMG, it’s meant to be!!
This continues for several years. Some years you make the cards with doilies and cut out hearts, other times you just get candy valentines and write your name on the box. Eventually though this elementary (literally) celebration ends and Valentine’s Day is all of a sudden the property of the Associated Student Body. You are thus forced to show your admiration through the form of a single carnation. But now there are all sort of stigmas attached. All of a sudden, every single person in your class has got a boyfriend or girlfriend. You will be the only person not carrying an ugly, waxy, slightly wilted carnation on Valentines Day. So you team up with your other single girlfriends and swear to buy each other carnations. OMG, you smile innocently when a representative from the student body hands you a rose in fourth period English class. “I have no idea who got this for me”, you say sheepishly. You and your friends continue this little charade all throughout middle school and high school. If you were lucky when you progressed to high school your Associated Student Body progressed from carnations to roses. I remember one year I kept on badgering one of my guy friends to buy me a rose on V Day. He wouldn’t do it. I told him to at least buy his girlfriend a rose. He wouldn’t do that either, his way of sticking it to the man (ASB). Instead his girlfriend and I bought each other roses and then bought him a dozen roses which he then had to carry around for the rest of the day.
As awkward as Valentine’s Day was, I always loved it. I loved seeing all of the different types of cards in my love box, each representing a fellow student and friend. I loved waking up in the morning to find a box of chocolate and a Valentines Day card on my dining room table. And I loved receiving those carnations and roses every year, without fail, from my friends. After a couple years my girlfriends and I stopped asking each other for roses and just expected them. The roses would always come with a note, something along the lines of “Happy Valentine’s Day Karebear, I’m soo glad we’re friends! Love, Beachie.”
For many, Valentine’s Day is a day that is otherwise meaningless if it is not spent with a significant other. Those are the people who usually say they hate Valentine’s Day. For me, Valentine’s Day is a day to remind everyone in my life just how much I love them. So don’t look at Valentine’s Day as Singles Awareness Day, find someone you love and spend the day with them. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your parents how much you appreciate them, and buy yourself some chocolate because most of all you should love yourself!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Puffer Kitty
So far, my stay at home has been relatively uneventful which is fairly nice. Since my parents still spend their days working I am left at home alone to fend for myself. Luckily I have my favorite companion Puff here to keep me company. Puff, is my precious kittie kat and I cannot put into words how much I love him, although I am going to try.
I don’t think I would appreciate Puff as much as I do if it hadn’t been for the previous Beach pet, Smudge. Smudge was what many would typically define as felis catus domesticus or domestic cat although I would define him as diabolus liber or devils child. My brother found the lucky devil at the Mission Bay Yacht Club one night when we were both wee children (grade school and elementary). The poor creature was shivering and barely two weeks old and after many tears and wistful looks (and my brother threatening to run away and live with the cat) my parents decided to let him take the cat home under the condition that it would be Kevin’s responsibility. Kevin named him Smudge and immediately transferred all remaining care taking duties to my parents. My parents did a wonderful job raising Kevin and I, but things really went south with Smudge. The thing was fuc*ing psycho. I’m not sure what we were expecting considering we found him on the beach but Smudge wanted nothing to do with his domestic responsibilities, i.e. snuggling on your lap, playing with fuzzy little balls you threw at him, eating from a cat bowl; usual catly duties. Some of his favorite activities included catching little lizards and playing with them for a while before eventually eating them, hiding behind the couch and pouncing on my head, or hiding under my bad and attacking my feet as I walked by.
Needless to say, when I found Smudge in a box on our doorstep with a note reading “I think this is your cat – Bob”, I wasn’t too torn up. In fact my mom found me several hours later in the backyard wearing yellow rubber gloves poking and prodding the dead cat. The story the coroner (neighbor) reported was that Smudge had been hit by a car. I think that Smudge was likely playing Chicken with every passing vehicle and had finally met his match. I wanted to take Smudge’s dead body to show and tell but my parents disposed of the body before I could sneak it in my backpack.
With the untimely (perfect) demise of our beloved (my feelings were more ambivalent) Smudge, it became evident that there was a void in the family. My mom marched herself down to the animal shelter in hopes of finding a suitable replacement for our fallen loved one. When she picked me up from school that day there was a box in the back seat and when I looked in all I could see was puffs of orange hair sticking out of the air holes. I was soo excited (clapping hands)!! We took the un-named cat home from school and fed him. Upon finishing his meal my brother burst into the kitchen and immediately picked up the new addition to the family. Almost immediately the cat puked up his meal all over my brothers back. I knew I was the start of a beautiful friendship. My mom let me name him, and after much, much, much though and deliberation I resolutely decided on the name Puff.
Unfortunately my first experiences with my new best friend were not much more successful than my brothers. As it turned out, I was allergic to the puff ball. Not like, a couple sneezes, more like after petting him my entire body would itch, my eyes would become itchy and red and swollen and my nose would start running like a racehorse (I think that’s a much better analogy than peeing like a racehorse). Yes, a slight bump in the road but I wouldn’t let it stop me. When I found a dead bird under my bed one day I knew Puff loved me just as much as I loved him. I tried to take the dead bird to show and tell as well but again, my mom discarded the body before I could even begin to play with it. This fateful event forced my mother to purchase Puff a new collar with a bell on it. This heavily impeded his mighty hunting abilities.
As the years went by (and our friendship grew) my allergies began to recede. But by this time Puff had found someone he loved more than me. My mom fed him and my dad was actually able to pet him and soon I went off to college where his memory of me faded into kittie oblivion. I was crushed. After all of those years spent trying to bond with him; putting a leash on him and walking him around the block, lightly transferring him from my window to the tree outside to see if he would be able to climb down, and picking him up and putting him around my neck like a fur stole, all in vain.
Puff is no longer the athletic sprite he once was (actually he hated exercise; I don’t even think he can stay awake longer than four hours a day). He was recently diagnosed with a thyroid disorder (like owner, like pet!) and somewhere along the way he lost his hearing. This seemed to happen around the same time my nephew began learning how to walk and talk which makes me think that his loss of hearing was more a blessing than a curse. He’s suffering from old age as well; he’s always grumpy and he thinks he can sit wherever he wants (he can’t he has a blanket he can sit on. That’s it). I think he’s also a bit senile as he seems to forget when he ate and always thinks its meal time. He can’t clean himself anymore which means that at night my dad takes the scissors to the poor creatures’ fur and cuts off huge chunks of tangled hair balls. Oooh, he just yawned and his teeth aren’t looking so good either.
But old age or not, he’s still the most beautiful, loving cat I have ever known. Right now he’s sitting on the desk nest to me and can’t get down because it’s too much of a jump down, he’s looking at me for help but I keep ignoring him, hee hee ;). And I’m sure he loves me just as much as I love him (actually he would rather have absolutely nothing to do with me as I still don’t feed him).
So let’s raise a glass and say a toast for my true home-boy Puff!
I don’t think I would appreciate Puff as much as I do if it hadn’t been for the previous Beach pet, Smudge. Smudge was what many would typically define as felis catus domesticus or domestic cat although I would define him as diabolus liber or devils child. My brother found the lucky devil at the Mission Bay Yacht Club one night when we were both wee children (grade school and elementary). The poor creature was shivering and barely two weeks old and after many tears and wistful looks (and my brother threatening to run away and live with the cat) my parents decided to let him take the cat home under the condition that it would be Kevin’s responsibility. Kevin named him Smudge and immediately transferred all remaining care taking duties to my parents. My parents did a wonderful job raising Kevin and I, but things really went south with Smudge. The thing was fuc*ing psycho. I’m not sure what we were expecting considering we found him on the beach but Smudge wanted nothing to do with his domestic responsibilities, i.e. snuggling on your lap, playing with fuzzy little balls you threw at him, eating from a cat bowl; usual catly duties. Some of his favorite activities included catching little lizards and playing with them for a while before eventually eating them, hiding behind the couch and pouncing on my head, or hiding under my bad and attacking my feet as I walked by.
Needless to say, when I found Smudge in a box on our doorstep with a note reading “I think this is your cat – Bob”, I wasn’t too torn up. In fact my mom found me several hours later in the backyard wearing yellow rubber gloves poking and prodding the dead cat. The story the coroner (neighbor) reported was that Smudge had been hit by a car. I think that Smudge was likely playing Chicken with every passing vehicle and had finally met his match. I wanted to take Smudge’s dead body to show and tell but my parents disposed of the body before I could sneak it in my backpack.
With the untimely (perfect) demise of our beloved (my feelings were more ambivalent) Smudge, it became evident that there was a void in the family. My mom marched herself down to the animal shelter in hopes of finding a suitable replacement for our fallen loved one. When she picked me up from school that day there was a box in the back seat and when I looked in all I could see was puffs of orange hair sticking out of the air holes. I was soo excited (clapping hands)!! We took the un-named cat home from school and fed him. Upon finishing his meal my brother burst into the kitchen and immediately picked up the new addition to the family. Almost immediately the cat puked up his meal all over my brothers back. I knew I was the start of a beautiful friendship. My mom let me name him, and after much, much, much though and deliberation I resolutely decided on the name Puff.
Unfortunately my first experiences with my new best friend were not much more successful than my brothers. As it turned out, I was allergic to the puff ball. Not like, a couple sneezes, more like after petting him my entire body would itch, my eyes would become itchy and red and swollen and my nose would start running like a racehorse (I think that’s a much better analogy than peeing like a racehorse). Yes, a slight bump in the road but I wouldn’t let it stop me. When I found a dead bird under my bed one day I knew Puff loved me just as much as I loved him. I tried to take the dead bird to show and tell as well but again, my mom discarded the body before I could even begin to play with it. This fateful event forced my mother to purchase Puff a new collar with a bell on it. This heavily impeded his mighty hunting abilities.
As the years went by (and our friendship grew) my allergies began to recede. But by this time Puff had found someone he loved more than me. My mom fed him and my dad was actually able to pet him and soon I went off to college where his memory of me faded into kittie oblivion. I was crushed. After all of those years spent trying to bond with him; putting a leash on him and walking him around the block, lightly transferring him from my window to the tree outside to see if he would be able to climb down, and picking him up and putting him around my neck like a fur stole, all in vain.
Puff is no longer the athletic sprite he once was (actually he hated exercise; I don’t even think he can stay awake longer than four hours a day). He was recently diagnosed with a thyroid disorder (like owner, like pet!) and somewhere along the way he lost his hearing. This seemed to happen around the same time my nephew began learning how to walk and talk which makes me think that his loss of hearing was more a blessing than a curse. He’s suffering from old age as well; he’s always grumpy and he thinks he can sit wherever he wants (he can’t he has a blanket he can sit on. That’s it). I think he’s also a bit senile as he seems to forget when he ate and always thinks its meal time. He can’t clean himself anymore which means that at night my dad takes the scissors to the poor creatures’ fur and cuts off huge chunks of tangled hair balls. Oooh, he just yawned and his teeth aren’t looking so good either.
But old age or not, he’s still the most beautiful, loving cat I have ever known. Right now he’s sitting on the desk nest to me and can’t get down because it’s too much of a jump down, he’s looking at me for help but I keep ignoring him, hee hee ;). And I’m sure he loves me just as much as I love him (actually he would rather have absolutely nothing to do with me as I still don’t feed him).
So let’s raise a glass and say a toast for my true home-boy Puff!
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Long Goodbye
I am once again making the all too frequent jaunt down to sunny Sandy Eggo to reunite with a few dear old friends. My first stop, which should be no surprise to any of you, will be to my dentist J-Dawg where he will hopefully re-bond my temporary teeth with a sealant gale force winds couldn’t even tear off. I will then go on to see my quirky yet harmless family doctor for my yearly in-person check up. I’m not sure how much he knows about me because I’m not the one who does most of the talking during our visits but I know an awful lot about him. I know that he is a Libertarian and thinks he could run the United States better than Bush or Obama. I know that he recently bought land in Las Vegas (several apartments to be more specific) that he is hoping to use to make a profit. I know that he has done incredibly well for himself (he’s very proud of this fact). He is married and does not have nor does he want children, but he does have three dogs (three small dogs). My last appointment is with a new doctor I have not met with yet. Of course he is an oral surgeon, a periodontist to be exact, and he will be examining my gums.
I know what you are thinking, “What a brave soul she is, I hope she survives”. Well, just in case, for some reason that I do not return to you all I would like will away some of my most precious belongings.
Diane - I would like you to have my puzzles. I never had the chance to re-create those missing puzzle pieces from the 1500 piece Magna Carta puzzle so I leave that daunting task in your hands. I know you will make me proud.
Anna – Any remaining alcohol I have in the house will go to you. You only need a shot to get you drunk, therefore my abundant supply of tequila and wine will be able to enjoy a long, long, long shelf life under your diligent care.
Tiffany – I leave you all of my bathing suits as you may be the only one who still visits the beach. Take care of them, don’t stretch them out, wash them in cold water in the sink when you are done wearing them and don’t wring them out; instead let them air dry. Also, rotate them as exposing one to the sun for long periods of time makes the colors fade.
Lani – This is a hard one as you seem to have everything you need so I am giving you something extra close to my heart. I will you my beloved teddy bear, Teddy. May he keep you warm and protected on those cold San Francisco (or Morgan Hill) nights. In addition, I leave you my plant, Sweet Pablo. May he always be as green as the day I left it.
Monica – Last but certainly not least. I would like you to have my beautiful pearl blue Dirt Devil floor and carpet vacuum cleaner with a rotating brush roll. Please use it weekly and remember me when you are picking up after someone else’s mess. As well, I would like you to have my paper shredder. Never be afraid to use it, because remember, it only takes one receipt to steal an identity. And most important of all, I would like you to have my beloved bicycle. I have spent many hours cycling along, envisioning myself in the woods or cycling by the ocean. Give it a spin, I’m sure you will learn to love it as much as I have.
And with that I say good-bye. Wish me luck my dear friends, as I am entering waters I may likely never escape from. Remember the good times and keep my memory with you always. KISSSSESSSS!!!
I know what you are thinking, “What a brave soul she is, I hope she survives”. Well, just in case, for some reason that I do not return to you all I would like will away some of my most precious belongings.
Diane - I would like you to have my puzzles. I never had the chance to re-create those missing puzzle pieces from the 1500 piece Magna Carta puzzle so I leave that daunting task in your hands. I know you will make me proud.
Anna – Any remaining alcohol I have in the house will go to you. You only need a shot to get you drunk, therefore my abundant supply of tequila and wine will be able to enjoy a long, long, long shelf life under your diligent care.
Tiffany – I leave you all of my bathing suits as you may be the only one who still visits the beach. Take care of them, don’t stretch them out, wash them in cold water in the sink when you are done wearing them and don’t wring them out; instead let them air dry. Also, rotate them as exposing one to the sun for long periods of time makes the colors fade.
Lani – This is a hard one as you seem to have everything you need so I am giving you something extra close to my heart. I will you my beloved teddy bear, Teddy. May he keep you warm and protected on those cold San Francisco (or Morgan Hill) nights. In addition, I leave you my plant, Sweet Pablo. May he always be as green as the day I left it.
Monica – Last but certainly not least. I would like you to have my beautiful pearl blue Dirt Devil floor and carpet vacuum cleaner with a rotating brush roll. Please use it weekly and remember me when you are picking up after someone else’s mess. As well, I would like you to have my paper shredder. Never be afraid to use it, because remember, it only takes one receipt to steal an identity. And most important of all, I would like you to have my beloved bicycle. I have spent many hours cycling along, envisioning myself in the woods or cycling by the ocean. Give it a spin, I’m sure you will learn to love it as much as I have.
And with that I say good-bye. Wish me luck my dear friends, as I am entering waters I may likely never escape from. Remember the good times and keep my memory with you always. KISSSSESSSS!!!
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