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Thursday, July 27, 2006

No Rabbits and One Pissed Cat

This morning, thankfully, there were no rabbits, dead or otherwise, in my backyard. However, the cat was perched on one of the patio chairs and gave me what I interpreted as a scathing look. It was akin to the look Brad Pitt's character on Friends gives to Rachel: I HATE YOU. If only the cat had lips, I'm sure he would mouth those exact words. I'm pretty sure he is going to sneak in the house and murder me in my bed some night soon. He usually spends the day inside, sleeping in some corner and then he goes out at night to prowl around and terrorize the local fauna. In fact, one of the rules in our house is that the cat goes out before we go to bed because he ALWAYS decides at about 1:00 am that he MUST go outside NOW and he meows until one of us (me) wakes up and lets him out. It drives me crazy and to those who actually know me, you are well aware that I don't take kindly to being woken up, by man or beast.

Anyway, yesterday, which was hot and muggy, I did not let the cat in. I didn't want his dead rabbit germs in my house or near my baby. He repeatedly came to the patio door and meowed pitiously to be let in, but I held firm and ignored him. I left him out all night too and I'm pretty sure it rained most of last night. Hence the reason I believe he hates me and has become determined to murder me. It's not just paranoia, I saw what he did to those rabbits.

Which reminds me of a story that taught me the dangers of exaggeration. When I was a little girl, I had pet mice. Two white mice named Max and David, David being named after my brother. I'm not sure if this was meant as a dig because my brother was small for his age, or if it was because I hero-worshipped him when I was little, you can decide.

Anyway, one tragic day, David decided that he would squeeze through his metal bars and explore the house. Unfortunately for David, there were also in residence two cats, called Amber and Willow. I tend to think it was Amber who ate David, she was a bit of a crazy cat. I discovered David, or what was left of him, the next morning, sicked up by one of the cats on my kitchen floor. All that was left was a tail, an ear and various guts. I was obviously very upset by this turn of events and I went off to school in tears. I told my best friend, Anna, about what had happened and another girl, Ashley*, overheard and said, "Your cat ate your little mouse David? That's sad, but how did he get out of the cage?" So I explained that he must have flattened himself enough to squeeze through the bars of the cage.

I went home later that day and told my mom about my conversation, but I thought it was kinda boring, so I embellished it a little and said that Ashley actually exclaimed, "Your cat ATE your BROTHER?" and my mom started laughing so hard, she had tears in her eyes and when she could do more than a funny little hiccuping noise, she gasped, "Is Ashley retarded? Does she think we keep tigers in our backyard?" I was satisfied with the result of my lie. I didn't care that it made Ashley look dumb (I didn't like her anyway), I was glad that I'd made my mom laugh. But then, THEN, she proceeded to repeat the lie to other people, with, I might add, great glee at Ashley's stupidity. I used to shrink back when she told this story, feeling guilty because I had knowingly lied to my own mother and in doing so HAD MADE MY MOTHER A LIAR! Well, ok, technically, she wasn't a liar because she was telling the story as she had heard it, but there she was, innocently telling this story, this complete LIE, that I had totally made up and she BELIEVED me. And that, my friends, is where the real sting lay. I had lied to my mom and she believed me because I had never before given her a reason not to believe me.

So now I was facing a conundrum. How do I tell my mom the truth without making her feel dumb for believing me? Especially after she had told about a million people? And in revealing to her what a huge liar I was, would I also become, in her eyes, exactly like my crazy, story exaggerating father?

You know what I did?

I never told her.

We're all much happier this way. Fuck being honest with each other. I mean, I do believe honesty is the best policy and I really do try to be honest most of the time. But sometimes, a little white lie pops out. And most of the time, it really doesn't matter, no one was hurt, it's a little secret for myself, you know, no harm harm, no foul. But other times, well, I tell a little bitty lie and suddenly EVERYONE gets to hear it and poor little girls like Ashley get slandered left, right and centre.

The morals of this story are: Don't keep mice in wire cages because they can become very, very flat and slip through the wire and get eaten by cats. Plastic aquariums are much better. Oh, and don't tell great big whoppers about girls named Ashley to your mother.

*some names have been changed to avoid embarrassment.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Dead Rabbits

My cat is singlepawedly getting rid of all the rabbits in my back yard. Yesterday, there was a full-grown dead rabbit on my back lawn. The head was there and the back legs were there and the middle was missing and there were guts strewn all over the place. It was like the zombie apocalypse with rabbits. Today, there was a baby rabbit on my patio, at the foot of the steps. Only the back half was left and there were once again guts everywhere. It was so disgusting I told the cat that I hated him and to fuck off and never come home. He didn't listen, but I wouldn't let him in the house. Tomorrow, if there is another dead rabbit in my yard, I'm taking a picture and posting it on this blog. Then no one will blame me when I kill the cat.

I only have one more thing to say; how the fuck does he eat the head?

Monday, July 24, 2006

This Kid Makes Me Laugh

As I said before, I know that I'm biased, but how freakin' cute is that?

Ok, am I the only one who thinks it's totally awesome that someone in Italy signed my blog and actually reads it? Sadly, I checked out her blog and it's written (obviously) in Italian so I couldn't read it, but I did sign her guestbook, or leave a comment or whatever Blogger calls it.

I'm hungry.

Today I went to see my dad. He is a little weird. I once said to a Jewish boy that my dad looked like Moses and he said "Oh, he looks like a Jew, does he?" Which flustered me to no end. I was sixteen, had no idea that Moses was a Jew, no idea that Jews had a 'look' and I just knew I had made a faux pas, even if I wasn't exactly sure what it was yet. Any answer was sure to insult this guy and that wasn't my intent. I was horribly embarrassed (and truth be known, I still am, 13 years later) and I mumbled something about, "What? Um, no, I mean, uh, I didn't think Jews had a 'look'." I was trying to be PC, you know, What!? There is no difference between you and I, we are just the same, I see no difference, I am much too liberal to see a difference. And the guy was indeed insulted, and retorted, "Of course Jews have a 'look'!" He was scandalized. I honestly thought that Judaism was purely a religion and that anybody could be a Jew if they chose. I didn't think of them as a "people" or a "race" until I was a little older. My mother looked at me in horror when I told her the story and said, "Well, yes, it IS a religion and anyone can convert, I suppose, to Judaism, but they definitely started out as a seperate race. I mean, my God lovey, what do you THINK Moses meant when he said, 'Let my people go!'?" This conversation did nothing to relive my embarrassment. When I was five, my best friend was a Jew and I didn't think she looked any different than me. But I was five, so what do I know?

That story reminds me of another, when I was 17. I was taking summer school and I was telling my girlfriend a funny story about this guy I hung out with that summer. We were talking about food and he said he'd never eaten bacon before and I was astounded, I asked him what rock he'd been living under to never have eaten bacon. He laughed and said, "Peaches, I'm Muslim, I don't eat pork" and I was, again, embarrassed at my faux pas. Anyway, I was telling this girl in my class about it and I said, "I didn't even know he was Muslim, I mean, he doesn't LOOK Muslim!" And this girl behind me, she gets all mad and says, "Exactly what are Muslims supposed to look like?" and there I was again, totally embarrassed, I had just insulted this girl without even meaning to. And later that day I had another cringe-worthy conversation with my mother, "Well, lovey, of course she was mad, Muslims don't have to LOOK like anything, it's a religion, anyone can be a Muslim." Gee thanks for clearing that up. So there, I thought Judaism was just a religion and had nothing to do with race and that Muslims were a certain race of people and had nothing to do with religion.

And who do I have to blame for all this embarrassment and cringing?

I like to blame my Dad. My Dad is an Atheist and raised us as Atheists. He took it further though and often ridiculed organized religion and painted religious people like fanatics, which made us reluctant to explore religion. I have often lamented this because I'm so very ignorant about religion. I don't think being closed-minded about people's beliefs is any better than being a religious fanatic. It's just closed-minded in a different way. Most of what I know now is just stuff I've picked up from books and class and stuff, but I'd like to take a course on religion, just to learn about the different kinds.

Anyway, I did, at least, know who Moses was even if I never picked up on the fact that he was Jewish (how embarrassing when he's, like, the LEADER of the Jews). I even knew that he lead the Hebrews (Hebrews are Jews?) away from Egypt and across the Red Sea after he miraculously parted it. Which isn't red at all, by the way. I only know all this because my mom liked to watch the Ten Commandments at Easter time. And I always thought my dad looked like Moses. Now I realize that he just looks like Charleton Heston in a wig.

Anyway, my dad and I had a surprisingly nice visit. We went to the local park and walked around and then we sat on a bench near the water and talked about whether the geese would make a good meal. We decided they would. We also decided that everyone should slaughter a Canada Goose on Canada Day and eat it for dinner. Because there are about 80 million of them and only 30 million of us. We'd hardly make a dent in the population and our parks wouldn't be so covered in goose shit.

If you can't tell, my Dad smokes a lot of weed and I used to, so we have strange conversations. K fell asleep in her Snugli while we walked so she was happy too.

I still haven't smoked and it's getting easier, although not smoking makes me feel like I'm forgetting something all the time. Like, I'll clean the bathroom and usually I'd go out for a smoke after (to reward myself on a job well done), now I don't smoke, but I feel like I'm missing something, like the job isn't complete. The feeling eventually goes away.

Thursday, July 20, 2006


I took my daughter swimming today. She is still a bit young to really care about it. She mostly just looked kind of stunned and sucked on her fingers. And sputtered when her face got wet. I let go of her for a sec, to see what she would do, but she really just thrashed around and looked reproachfully at me when I lifted her back up. Babies DO, in fact, hold their breath when they sink into the water, but that doesn't mean they don't get water up their noses at the same time. A three-month-old may instinctively hold her breath, but she doesn't know to blow out of her nose to clear the water. And getting water up your nose sucks, we all know that!

Anyway, she doesn't splash with her hands yet, but she does kick. But then, she kicks when she's not in a pool, so it's hardly a sign that she will be an Olympic swimmer one day. Anyway, we're going to keep going, because it's fun for me and I think the more I expose her to water, the more she will like it.

Today my friend and her baby came with us. That was kind of fun, to have someone else to talk to. The first time I went by myself and I was the only mother with a small baby. This time, there were lots of babies and everyone was pretty friendly too. And I totally know I'm going to hell, but my, there are a lot of ugly babies in the world. But then, I think there's something wrong with me because I'll be like, "Wow, look at that baby, it's kind of ugly eh?" and whoever I'm with will be like, "Really, I was just thinking how cute he/she was." So now I think I'm either very picky about cutenss, or my perception of cuteness is seriously fucked up compared to everyone else.

Ah, well. One bonus is that my baby cleared all the boogies out of her nose!

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Baby Dilemma #12

It rips across your peaceful Sunday afternoon like a sonic boom: the giant fart of a baby full of poo. You wait with baited breath, listening for another explosion. Hearing none, you assume it's safe to change the diaper, but no sooner have you opened said diaper then a smelly, slimy substance is injected into your hand like the ink of an angry squid.

Monday, July 17, 2006

No One Likes a Quitter

I quit smoking again. Cold turkey. It's been 36 hours or so since my last smoke. I made a list of 21 reasons I should quit. They are all good reasons but I'm still niccing out here.

These are my 21 Good Reasons Not to Smoke:

1)Even though we smoke outside, it's bad for my daughter (because I'm breastfeeding) and while she doesn't have a choice, I do-I chose my daughter
2)I don't want my daughter to grow up without a mother because I was too stupid to quit and got cancer
3)My throat hurts every morning-like I'm getting sick
4)I don't want to be a bad example to my daughter
5)I smell like smoke and it's totally gross
6)None of my friends smoke anymore
7)You can't smoke anywhere in public anyway
8)It's dirty and bad for the environment (butts everywhere)
9)It makes me feel guilty all the time
10)It makes me feel weak, like I can't control myself
11)Sometimes I have pain my chest, like my heart or lungs are getting sick
12)I get mad when I can't smoke, or haven't had one and I want one
13)I don't want to be responsible for my own death
14)I'm a bad influence on my mom and my other friends
15)It's too expensive to waste money on cigerettes
16)I could use that money for better things for my family
17)I'm always short of breath, I gasp just going up the stairs
18)It's pretty dumb to freeze my ass off in the winter time, just so I can smoke
19)I feel like I'm disappointing so many people when I smoke
20)I'm tired of lying to my in-laws, it's wrong and I feel bad doing it
21)It's just a pathetic crutch to use when I'm stressed out, instead of dealing with my problems

Pretty good eh? I'll feel pretty stupid starting up again after that list!

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

To The Only Person Who Reads My Blog

My friend told me to update my blog and she said I should write about how stupid she is for leaving her keys in her car because that made it a hell of a lot easier to steal said car. I would put a link to her blog so you could read all about it, but she is the only person who reads this, so she knows where to go. And presumably has already read the blog, having been the person who wrote it. Oh, what the hell here ya go: The Rooster's Beak Maybe there are others out there who come across my blog and would like something more interesting to read.

I'm ordering pizza right now. As I type. How cool is that!?, I need a life.

I have to go bathe my daughter and put her to bed. She's not even napping and I'm writing in my blog--I've broken the rule already. This negates my whole blog. Oh God, the humanity!