Well, it’s that time of year again. A time of renewal. A time to begin again. A time to evaluate decisions of the past. A time of renewed opportunities and of chances to make new choices. It’s also a time of anticipated visits, of children’s joy and a time to enjoy the many sweet confections that life has to offer. No, I am not referring to spring, though it is definitely upon us (YAY!!) Likewise, I am not referring to Easter, though I’m looking forward to that as well. (Though not so much to images such as this, called the "Ultimate Peep Show":
That's just too disturbing for me to even comment upon...) No, I am instead referring to that utterly anticipated, eagerly awaited, favorite time of year for many of us: Girl Scout Cookie Season. Yes, I consider it a season in itself, since it is a process of agonizing decisions and amazing restraint, followed by a period of unbearable waiting, then ending with the gaining of hundreds of a few pounds. I, of course, participated once again in this annual ritual, as I have done nearly every year since I was a Girl Scout myself. And once again I over did it. Though I won’t tell you how much I spent, or how many boxes I bought, I will say that once I told a co-worker how much I had spent this and last year, she commented that I am single-handedly keeping the Girl Scout cookies in production. Well, I don’t quite know about that…
I will tell you how very disappointed I was to discover that the powers that be in the Girl Scout world have changed the names of all of the cookies. 
No longer are there such things as Tagalongs, Samoas, Thin Mints, Trefoils or Do-Si-Dos. Now there are only Peanut Butter Patties, Caramel Delights, Shortbread Cookies and other ingredient-sounding names. To tell you the truth, I didn’t pay much attention to what the names are now. I was so utterly and bitterly disappointed that they had changed such historical symbols that are so big a part of my past that I nearly didn’t buy any at all. Ok, so I’m lying. It didn’t even cross my mind not to buy any. But I’m mad, damn it! Why can’t they ever just leave things alone? (I won’t even address the issue of “who is they?”, or “why do they have so much control?”.)
Which brings me to my next topic. There was a saying on my calendar the other day that was so true, I had to write it down. It said “Law of Necessity: if it is good, they will stop making it.” How true is that?!? In fact, the more I started to think about it, the angrier I got. I have a whole list of things that are either no longer made, or else the stores have stopped stocking them. It’s something I find very irritating, since I’m the type of person who finds something they like and sticks to it. Is it just me? I mean, really, is there a Foundation for the Furtherance of the Universal Conspiracy to Discontinue Products that Janci Likes (aka FFUCDPJL)? Well, if the FFUCDPJL does exist out there, they’re sure doing a bang up job of it. Let me enlighten you to just how often this happens to me. Here is a list (and I’m sure it’s only partial) of things that I have had discontinued or changed on me:
Hair Gel
Specifically the brand is Loreal, but they changed all their products AND all their packaging, so I have 150 5 bottles of nearly full hair gel in my closet representing my failed attempts at finding the right one. (I’m positive that the amount of time it takes me to get through a bottle of hair gel has absolutely nothing to do with why it all changed on me.)Hair Dryer – gee, you think once they’d made a hair dryer that lasted for 9 years, they’d keep making it. But I guess that means if you didn’t have to replace them as often, they wouldn’t get as much money. Unfortunately, when mine died 9 years after its purchase, I realized they’d long ago discontinued it, and I’ve had to deal with a less-than-stellar replacement.
Generic Claritin-D – Ok, so I really don’t know whether this is discontinued, or if it’s just not being carried by my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, anymore. I’m guessing though, it was (temporarily??) discontinued to compete with the release of OTC Zyrtec. So, just to show them, I’ve switched to PRESCIPTION Zyrtec.
Electric Youth Perfume
I know, I know, laugh it up, but this stuff was my signature scent for years!
Numerous Bath & Body Works products – every time I find a scent I like they discontinue it and I spend a fortune trying to stock up on what’s left and still available for sale on E-bay! Let me give a few sub-examples:
Bergamot & Coriander Aromatherapy Line
Red Currant & Thyme Tea
Lavender & Vanilla Aromatherapy Line
The ENTIRE Dolci Line
Red Current Lip Balm
Need I continue?
Several different types of feminine hygiene products – I’ll spare my male readers the details, but suffice it to say, I was BEYOND PMS grumpy when I found out these were discontinued or no longer carried ANYWHERE! I swear these companies are run by men. Single men. Who have never been within 200 yards of a woman.
Jeans – two separate styles of jeans from the same company (Levi) have been discontinued. I spent five or so years buying the first style as new as I could get them off of E-bay when they were discontinued, and I would wear them until they had holes worn through both knees and the pockets were tearing out. The second style was discontinued just a few months after I received my first pair and decided I liked them. Guess I need to be a little less picky about the jeans.
Einstein Bros.’s Chocolate Cherry Coffee – YUM – MY!! And they discontinued it…
Arizona Sweet Tea in cans
Yes, it’s still made, and it’s out there somewhere, but no longer at any of the stores I shop in, something which occurred mere months after I discovered its existence. Now all I can find it in is plastic bottles. Not the same.
Nature Valley Oats ‘n’ Honey Granola Bars
I’m sure they’re still out there somewhere too, but nowhere I can find.
Many, many character cake pans
Many, many cross stitch kits and patterns
Yes, the FFUCDPJL is definitely all-powerful.
I’d like to introduce everyone to the newest addition to my office:
Not a very good picture, I know, and if you can’t tell, he is mostly purple in color. And then about half way down on his fins the color stops and they are white/clear. No, I had no intention of getting a beta. It just so happened that a couple of Saturdays ago we were in my favorite store to hate, Wal-Mart, (no I’m not capable of just calling it Wal-Mart from the get-go :-) ) and we had to get cat litter. Of course that puts us in the pet aisles, which Sweetpea immediately recognized as the place where the fish are. So, to avoid a serious fit of screaming in the middle of the store, we had to go look at the fish. Totally out of character for Wal-Mart, they had an amazing selection of betas, with some absolutely gorgeous coloring. Once I saw this one, I could not resist. Since purple is my favorite color, I just HAD to have him. And since we have a beta at home already, and I knew he and Mr. Fish would not get along, I decided he’d be perfect for my office.
I brought him in the following Monday. Once I got his bowl all set up and filled, and he was comfortable and fed in his new home, coworkers began noticing him and stopping by my office to check him out. One asked me what his name is. Name? What name? You mean I have to name him? Oh. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he needed a name. Since Mr. Fish was already taken, and I thought it needed to be something a little more creative than “that fish over there”, I was drawing a blank. I suggested to her that if the office wanted to contribute to the name, he could be an office mascot. She just laughed and left my office. Later, however, she came back in and said she thought his name should be Grape. Grape? Hmm. He may be purple but I just didn’t think that fit. I told her I’d think about it and let her know. Later it hit me. I emailed her my idea for the name, and upon her giggles from down the hall and “laughing” email response, “that fish over there” has now become: GILLbert Grape. Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week. Geez I crack myself up.
In further fish news, a friend of mine came to visit this past weekend from Idaho. We had a girls’ night out/slumber party at a local hotel. I’m sure many of you have heard of it, the Hotel Monaco. The Hotel Monaco is very pet friendly. In fact, it is so pet friendly that one of the amenities they offer is entitled “Guppy Love”. Upon request, and free of charge (very important), the hotel will provide you with a goldfish in a pretty clean bowl for you to “adopt” for the term of your stay in the hotel. This is a service provided so that you will not be lonely for your own fish, since they are the type of pet that doesn’t travel well.
I’ll try not to get into my thoughts on what kind of person gets lonely for a fish, as I have this image of Commandant Lassard from Police Academy in my head, carrying around his fish bowl with his little goldfish inside. But I digress…
When I sent my friend the link for the hotel’s website, I told her she HAD to check out the amenities section. It wasn’t long before I got a response saying we had a reservation, and that she couldn’t resist the Guppy Love, so we had a goldfish too. Since I didn’t really believe this whole thing to be more than some sort of sick marketing ploy, I was quite surprised when we arrived to find that there was, in fact, a goldfish ready for us in our room. He was quite a pretty little goldfish, too, but I did not think to snap a picture. My friend named him Sushi Bowl. Unfortunately we weren’t aware how appropriate that name would end up being.
We enjoyed Sushi Bowl’s company during our stay. He was a lively, interactive sort of fish, very curious about us and our goings on. We were therefore immensely dismayed and disappointed when we awoke the next morning to find that Sushi Bowl had gone belly-up. Our mention of this fact at the front desk brought swift, horrified apologies, but no compensation for our loss (after all, Sushi Bowl was a free amenity in the first place, and we were only foster owners, not adoptive parents). I warned my friend to watch her credit card bill to make sure they didn’t bill her for Sushi Bowl’s apparently untimely demise. Regrettably, I don’t believe our status as foster owners gives us the ability for sue for wrongful death, or even for loss of affection. Ah, well, rest in peace Sushi Bowl.
Recently a friend of mine nearly made the rash decision to quit his job. But not only quit, just walk out. No notice, nothing. I won’t go into the details of the troubles that had plagued him at work that day, (and apparently every day), but things were bad enough that he was ready to throw up his hands and throw in the towel. Thankfully, since he has a wife and children to support, he did not let his emotions get the best of him and is still employed. In his honor, though, I’d like to post the journal entry I found outlining my experience with my very first job interview, encountered when I had first decided to search for other employment back in May of 2006. I would just like to remind him of what it’s like out there (at least, what it was like then, though I don’t think the job market in the area of law has changed much around here.) Enjoy! (And, for those I work with, please remember that this was written nearly two years ago!)
**When I graduated from law school I figured I had it made. A J.D. can always get you a job, whether it’s as an attorney or not. I was proud of my education, a huge accomplishment for someone who graduated from college without a clue as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I believed, as my parents had always taught me, that education was the most important thing for securing a future. Now I wonder how much of a waste of time – and money – my education really was.
Today I had an interview for the first time in nearly ten – count ‘em, 10 – years. Though I’m not sure I would call it an interview at all. Since there are no attorney positions available anywhere in the valley, it was for a paralegal position in a medical malpractice firm representing medical professionals, a type of law I have no experience in and know even less about. Forgetting for just a moment that I would be taking a step down professionally, the position offers a minimum of $15k a year more than what I’m making now, plus benefits – insurance, vacation, PTO, even retirement. Needless to say I was nervous. After all, I submitted my resume on Tuesday and received a phone call on Wednesday asking for an interview to take place on Thursday. The call itself was extremely encouraging, coming directly from the partner of the firm who needs the new paralegal. During the call he asked me little about myself, (I assumed because he would address that in the interview) and instead focused on giving me a history of the firm and a small amount of information on the position itself. He made the statement more than once that he felt my education made up for my lack of experience in the med-mal field. Many times it sounded as if he was making an attempt at recruiting me. Overall, the ending of the call gave me the feeling that I had landed a new job in just three days of searching.
This morning, though, the more I contemplated the day ahead, the more I began to worry. What if he offered me the job? I’ve put out ten other resumes, including one for a $103k per year Court Commissioner position. If I accept this position right away, will I be selling myself short for possibly better offers? If I don’t accept, will there be any other offers at all? Money is also a huge concern. With my husband going to Nursing School, will $15k be enough to cover his cut in, or loss of, pay? If not, how do I negotiate? What is too high? $60k? $75k? When will they say “sorry, you’re asking too much and we’re not even going to try to negotiate down”? On the other hand, what is too low? What if I ask for $50k and they’re willing to pay $60k? Then I’ve just lost my chance at a higher wage? By the time I arrived at my office, my mind was spinning and suddenly I didn’t really want to go to the interview at all. And I certainly was in no mood to deal with all the b.s. my clients were dishing out already in my over-night absence from work.
Ah how naïve I was. As it turns out, seems I had no reason to worry in the first place. Looking back on it now, I am trying to figure out exactly what I did with an hour of my day, sitting in a large glass-enclosed conference room at a large wooden conference table, politely sipping ice water and feeling my back start to ache as I try to hold my beauty-pageant-posture, as I listen to this partner tell me I am NOT their “ideal candidate”. By the time I left that room, I hated that phrase so much I fairly gag now, even just writing it down for you to read. What happened to “education replaces experience”? What happened to my “resume standing out”? Why did he even bother to have me show up? Suddenly I’m sitting in a room with this stranger telling me “you’re good but not good enough, and I don’t want to train you to make you better for someone else”. I think it’s the first time in my life I’ve been told I’m both over and under-qualified all in the same breath. I honestly did not know whether to be flattered or offended as it seemed both emotions applied.
Ok, so it’s been a long time since I interviewed. Ok, so even my last few interviews weren’t even real interviews, just friendly conversations ending in “when can you start?” Ok, so it’s no secret that I really don’t even know what an interview normally consists of. Even so, I doubt it’s supposed to be 50% the interviewer giving a job description and the firm’s history, 40% the interviewer saying why I’m not the “ideal candidate”, 5% the interviewer asking me about myself and 5% the interviewer telling me what not to do for “future interviews”. When, at the closing of the ‘interview’, Mr. Partner said he was still going to try to look for Ms. Perfect Paralegal for three more weeks, and if she didn’t respond to his mating call he would be calling me for a second interview, (i.e. don’t call us, we’ll call you), I nearly told him not to bother, as I’m sure my lack of experience would be a huge disappointment to him, and I’d hate for him to waste one single precious second in training me. But instead I bit my tongue, remembering one of my mother’s favorite phrases “don’t burn bridges”, and pretended like the whole fiasco had gone exactly as I had planned. On my way back to work I stopped and bought myself a 31-flavors Mocha Cappuccino Blast. Once back at my office, I changed into jeans and prepared three more resumes to send for jobs I am over….er, under…..qualified for.**
As a follow-up note, I searched for a new job for nearly another year before giving up, and then miraculously having my present job land in my lap. And that was pure luck. It’s not so great out there, so, when considering quitting, remember what you’re facing if you do! I do have two other journal entries written during that year concerning the job hunt. I regret that I cannot post them, as @#$%! would appear so often you would not be able to make much sense out of the rest of the text. Needless to say, it was a harrowing experience for me, and I am extremely glad that it appears to be over….until my boss gets unhappy with me…. ;-)
Recently I came across some old handwritten journal entries of mine from a few years ago, written during the time when I was still practicing as debtor’s counsel. A couple of the stories I found are pretty interesting, (I think, anyway), and I thought they needed to be shared. So, in the next couple of posts, I will include them. (I really love when my blog posts write themselves!)
The first one will be much appreciated by anyone who meets with clients, or other members of the general public, in a one-on-one setting on a regular basis. For those of you who know about all the junk I keep in my desk drawers, this will at least explain the Lysol sanitizer, Clorox sanitizing wipes, room deodorizer, air freshener and anti-bacterial gel and wipes. So, from May, 2006, here you are:
I thought I’d seen and heard it all, until I spent an hour sitting in my office with a client who, during the entire appointment, proceeded to perform a series of self-grooming activities, all the while carrying on the conversation with his wife and myself as if he was sitting with his hands folded primly in his lap. He began with the cleaning of his ears with a car key, after which he repeatedly wiped the key across his pant leg to clean it off. All I could do was think of Jeff Foxworthy’s definition of a redneck, and be thankful he hadn’t chosen to pick up any of the documents on my desk and use them as a tissue to wipe off the key.
Once he put the car keys away, he began to pick his nose. Literally pick his nose. Not just the “I feel something sticking out” courtesy wipe, or even the “I have an itch inside and am trying to do everything to scratch it besides jamming a finger up there” rub. No, this man was buried to his knuckles. And afterwards, he chose to flick the contents to who-knows-where across my office. Several times I had to fight the nearly uncontrollable urge to duck, and even to crawl under my desk to avoid being hit.
Since he had now completely cleaned out his ears and nose, I figured he was finished. How wrong I was. He began biting the cuticles and dry skin around his fingernails, and spitting out whatever he bit off onto my office floor with that all too familiar “phlbt” sound that means he’s gaining distance with each spit. He wasn’t even quiet about it. I literally heard “phlbt” in between sentences about how a Chapter 13 would affect their children. (Of course, the idea that this man had children at all created images too awful for even my worst heebie-geebie nightmares. But that’s a whole other issue.)
Finally the appointment was winding down and I figured my glimpse into this man’s personal hygiene habits, and apparent lifestyle, was over. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to wrap it up before the car keys made their reappearance and assisted the man in cleaning the dirt (and probably other things I choose not to imagine) from beneath his fingernails. Understandably, I spent the majority of the appointment speaking directly to his wife in an attempt to keep from losing my lunch all over my formerly clean desk. Thankfully, we did get the appointment completed prior to his taking off his shoes and picking out any toe jams, or using the multi-purpose car keys to clean out from under his toenails, or doing who knows what else to clean the various crevices of his body he had not already attended to.
As you would assume, after the couple left the office, my secretary helped me clean and sterilize, as much as possible, every inch of my office that could be reached without employing the use of a ladder and a power washer.
Hmm. And nobody finds the fact that I got out of that practice while I had the chance the least bit surprising. I wonder why.
As a quick post today, I’d like to share with you a story a friend of mine told me a couple of years ago. I will not say how the friend found out about this incident, as I am attempting to keep everyone’s identities confidential. Those of you involved in the legal profession will especially appreciate the absurdity of this whole situation, though I think it will be similarly obvious to those of you not involved in the practice of law.
This story came from a family law attorney. Let’s call her Jane. (*All names have been changed to protect the innocent or otherwise unassuming.*) One of the first cases Jane ever encountered was a divorce here in Utah. Jane represented the husband in the divorce. Let’s call him John.
By way of a little background here, Utah is not a community property state. What this means is, while all states have different laws pertaining to divorce, in Utah, if you have been married a short amount of time, you take out of the divorce what you came into the marriage with.
John told Jane that the reason he was employing her is because he had walked in on his wife, (we’ll call her Mary), and her future divorce attorney, (we’ll call him Tom), in bed together in John and Mary’s house. John and Mary had been married three weeks. Jane contacted Tom and indicated that it would probably be in everyone’s best interest to just walk away from the marriage with what they came into it with. Tom actually had the nerve to write back to Jane, on behalf of his “client” Mary, and demand the following from John:
1. $2,000.00 per month for LIFE in alimony (as far as I know, whose life was not defined)
2. One half of John’s retirement
3. John to buy Mary a house which would be paid for in full by John
As if this wasn’t enough of an insult, Tom then promised that in return, Mary would do the following:
1. Let John keep his kids from a previous marriage (as if she would have any chance of getting custody of HIS kids)
2. Make John the king of any South American country except for Guatemala. (I’m really not kidding, this was a promise made.)
Being such a ridiculous proposal, Jane did not believe any attorney would put such a thing in writing. She was dismayed to find that Tom was absolutely, 100% serious with the proposal. How did it all end, you wonder? Well, Tom proved to be crazy enough that the entire proceeding lasted 18 months. The good news is that John was able to get an annulment instead of a divorce, so custody of his kids was never a question (not that it really was to begin with, but still…) Oh, and Jane was required to testify at Tom’s disbarment hearing.
And, as a final bit to the story, those of you who are LDS or aware of what is involved with the LDS religion will appreciate this. Apparently Tom and Mary were reading Tom’s patriarchal blessing while they were being intimate in bed. (I’m not LDS, so I’m not really 100% sure what that is, except I believe the patriarchal blessing is believed by church members to be a direct revelation from God. I found a quote from former Church President Ezra Taft Benson: “A patriarchal blessing is the inspired and prophetic statement of your life’s mission together with blessings, cautions, and admonitions as the patriarch may be prompted to give.” Nope, still don’t have a clue what that means, but it’s obviously very, very bad to read it while in bed with someone else’s wife. For those of you who are interested here’s information from Wikipedia.) John found the patriarchal blessing and sent it to Tom’s bishop with a letter of explanation as to how John came in possession of it. Needless to say, I’m sure none involved have been the same since.
Hope everyone’s Valentine’s Day is a very happy one! I love this holiday. I know there are some of you out there who think this is the worst holiday ever invented. Not me. I’ve always loved it, even when my husband wasn’t in the picture. I’ve loved it so long, I even remember the boy I liked in Kindergarten giving me the heart sticker from the middle of his paper plate BEFORE we had our Valentine’s treats, just so I could have it while it was still nice and hadn’t gotten all messed up from the frosting. Yep, I’m a sap. I know it.
But ANYWAY, that’s not really why I’m posting today. Maybe I’ll get all ooey gooey, lovey dovey about it tomorrow, after Sweetpea has brought all her Valentines home from daycare, and after I’ve given my hubby his gift. We’ll see how the rest of the day goes. Though I will show you the flowers I got from my husband. They arrived yesterday, and are perfectly gorgeous. Here’s a pic:
Ahh, roses, my fav. (Red is actually my very favorite, it’s the romantic in me, but I love all roses. My favorite Ansel Adams is called “Rose on Driftwood”.) I know the pic isn’t that great, but it was taken with my cell phone, as the flowers are at work and I did not think to grab my camera as I left in such a rush this morning. Why is it I’m always twice as busy on holidays?
So, onward. I have quite a few stories about stupid people I’ve encountered recently, and actually a really funny pic I took with my cell entitled “Idiots in SLC”, but I really am in too good a mood today to be irritated. So I will save those for another day. Instead, I think I’ll talk about the cake I finished last week. Here are a few pics of it (blurry, I know, I was shaking quite a bit by this point):
This party was a surprise party for a friend of a friend, so making the decisions on the cake style/flavor/decorations, and then making the arrangements to get it delivered/picked up, proved almost as difficult as making the cake itself! So here’s the rundown. It’s obviously a two-tiered cake. The bottom tier was made of chocolate cherry cake and filled with ganache. The top tier was white cake filled with cherry icing. The guy loved chocolate and cherries, what can I say? I hear it turned out pretty yummy, but sometimes I suspect people of lying to me just to spare my feelings. The entire cake was covered in fondant and the decorations were all also fondant, making everything on the cake edible. And a giant pain in the @#$. I ended up re-covering the bottom tier twice, and the top tier three times. I kept running into the problem that as soon as I started to smooth the fondant on, it would stretch and then tear. When I would try to fix the tears, either by smoothing or squeezing it back together, the icing underneath would squeeze through the cracks. I ended up using all the fondant I had in the house, except ½ of one box of white. That’s 5 ½ boxes of fondant. My husband also decided during this whole ordeal that I will not be doing cakes any more, since I have a tendency to cry when they don’t go right (i.e. every time I decorate one) and to stay up until all hours getting them done. (This one took me until 3:30 a.m. the morning it was to be picked up to complete.) I just nodded and said “yes dear”. :-)
Once I got past the covering/re-covering, most everything else went very smoothly. I only had to do each of the rest of the decorations once, and was totally 100% correct when I said a light box would be the ultimate tool for cutting out those skulls. Thanks to my sister, I didn’t have to spring for the $50 to buy one. Unfortunately the borders didn’t go as planned, and I had to go with Plan B, but I think they turned out ok. Despite a few cuts to the fingers. And no, once again I don’t like the cake. I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that I will never like any cake I ever do, and I should just accept that fact and get on with it. So, on that note, here’s my list of newly learned cake decorating tips:
1. Unless you’re using it for a very small amount of decorating, pre-colored fondant is not worth the cost of the ingredients it’s made of.
2. Pearl dust, on the other hand, is the most wonderful decorating accessory ever invented. So awesome! In addition, black cake sparkles do actually exist in real life, and are not just a figment of my twisted imagination.
3. I am in desperate need of an Exacto knife if I intend to continue to cut figures out of fondant.
4. The rolling fondant cutter available in craft stores does not do well around curves, but is fantastic for straight lines.
5. Nothing will go right with the decorating until you have just used the very last ingredient in your possession, with no hope of being able to buy more due to the lateness of the hour.
6. There are exactly two tablespoons in each small bottle of extract flavors. This is important to know BEFORE attempting to double a recipe that already calls for 1 ½ tablespoons of extract.
7. A normal, plain-jane cake leveler does not cut well through whole cherries, or through frozen cake. A Ginsu knife, on the other hand, does.
8. Ginsu knives are most definitely as sharp as they advertise.
8a. When in need, there will be no other band-aides in the house except Ratatouille Tattoo band-aides. (I think this may be one of Murphy's.)
8b. Ratatouille Tattoo band-aides are waterproof, and do work well in a pinch. They also draw quite a few compliments in Court.
9. A frozen 10-inch round, 2-inch thick cake takes approximately 6 hours to thaw completely, as does an 8-inch round, 3-inch thick cake. Removal from the freezer well ahead of time to begin assembling the layers is optimal.
10. I will never be a full time cake decorator. (Not new, just re-learned.)
Why is it that when pets enter my household they somehow develop a personality disorder? I’m sure I have absolutely nothing to do with this phenomenon. *ahem* It cannot possibly have anything to do with me. *ahem* Well, whatever the cause is, I haven’t figured it out yet. But it seems to be a pattern.
I have two cats. Of course they both have names. The oldest, who will be 12 years old next month, is named Alex. The youngest, who just turned 11 in December, is named Jordan. Here is a pic of them taken a little over 10 years ago, when they were both just kittens:
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Even though we gave them names, neither of them know their names. From day one, Alex has been called Yellow Kitty, and Jordan has been referred to as Little One. I don’t really know how this came about. But I suppose identity crisis could be part of their problem.
Yellow Kitty is, kind of, yellowish in color I guess. I would say more on the very light tan side, but she does have a beautiful coat, and gets compliments from everyone who sees her. She is a pure bred Scottish Fold. If you’ve never heard of this type of cat before, they are named such because their ears are normally folded forward and then downward on their head, and because the first known Scottish Fold was spotted on a farm in Scotland in 1961. This type of cat was awarded championship status by the CFA in 1978, and has been cross bred with several American and British breeds. Scottish Folds come in two types: the folded ear and the straight ear. The also have widely spaced eyes and short noses. All Scottish Folds are born with straight ears, and then at about three to four weeks of age, their ears either fold or they don’t. In my cat’s case, hers did not fold. She was the only one of the litter who did not, and the only one, as my husband said, that didn’t look like it had run head-first, full-speed into a brick wall. Only cats with folded ears and direct Scottish lineage are allowed in the show ring. (Cats with straight ears are designated as breeders or pets.) This little tidbit amuses me, since the folded ears are produced by an incomplete dominant gene and are the result of a spontaneous mutation. Here is a good picture of a typical Fold:
Little One, unfortunately, does not have the bloodlines and prestigious history that Yellow Kitty has. She is just a tabby. She did come from an interesting mixed litter, however. Her mother was a black cat with green eyes. There were four kittens in the litter, three tabbies that were dark charcoal grey with white stripes and green eyes, and one white siamese with blue eyes. I really don’t get that mix at all. As Little One has gotten older, her color has darkened up quite a bit so that she is nearly all black along her tail and back, and onto her head. She still has the stripes on her sides, but she has somehow developed orange-colored fur mixed in around her face and on her stomach. So, it’s difficult to say what her mix is. She got her name because when I brought her home she was itty bitty. And I do mean tiny. When I saw her I wasn’t sure she was old enough to leave her mother. (The picture above was taken several months after I brought her home.) To give you and idea of her size, when I first brought her home she used to sleep with her whole body draped over my neck. From the tip of her nose to her hind legs she only wrapped about half way around my neck. So you see how little she was. Not so anymore. One of her personality disorders seems to be an eating disorder. Of course, we’re not talking about anorexia or bulimia here. Try the opposite. She’s a pig! Any time the bowl of food empties, and you go to refill it, she acts as if she’s been deprived of food for weeks. She runs full speed from wherever she’s been hiding/lounging, crying at the top of her lungs, and hovers around your legs until you’ve finished filling the bowl. And then she’ll stand there and chow down as if she were getting her very last meal.
Little One isn’t the only one with an eating disorder. Yellow Kitty seems to have one too. Hers is a little more on the strange side. See, she refuses to eat the food straight out of the bowl. In order to eat it, she must first scoop it out of the bowl with her paw and down onto the floor. Only then will she eat it. She does this one piece of food at a time. So you can imagine it takes her quite a while to eat. And no crumbs for her. No siree. Whole pieces only. The crumbs she just leaves on the floor for either Little One or us to clean up after her. She also won’t eat treats out of your hand, (if she eats them at all). You have to put them on the floor in front of her and then draw her attention to them somehow, or else she won’t eat them. She also has a similar situation that goes on with drinking her water. She takes probably a full minute, sometimes more, to properly position her body at the exact necessary angle to enable her to drink from the farthest corner of the bowl away from her without having to lower her head too far or having to turn it either direction in the slightest. Well, she’s old, you might say. Yeah, she’s old. But she has had no problem so far with mobility. Plus, she’s done this for as long as we’ve had her. The problem with this is that normally in her efforts to perfectly position herself, she has a tendency to spill the water. I am forever and a year walking through puddles of water from the cat dish in my sock feet.
In addition, both cats like to drink out of the faucet in the bathroom sink. Our current house has a pedestal sink, and we leave the water just barely dripping for them. However, due to her age or her laziness, I can’t decide which, Little One insists on using the toilet as a landing spot to jump up. After all, the toilet is only a mere foot and a half jump as opposed to that monster three foot jump from the floor to the sink. She’ll jump up on the toilet and then turn and jump into the sink. This causes a couple of issues. First, she has been known to not look before she leaps. This is unfortunate when we’ve had guests that don’t know or have forgotten the “toilet lid down” rule. Additionally, whenever the toilet lid cover is in the laundry, instead of attempting to make the jump onto the bare toilet lid, she stands at the door to the bathroom and cries for hours. You must understand how annoying this is, because this cat does not meow. She either squeaks in a conversational sort of way (sometimes as she’s preparing to jump, which I interpret to mean “I think I can, I think I can….”) or she makes sounds that resemble strangulated screams. These are usually done at the very loudest that she can muster. Now, why, you ask, will she not jump onto the toilet lid without the cover on it? Though I’ve never witnessed the occurrence, I suspect that she attempted it once, and, unable to gain any traction whatsoever, slid across the lid and head first into the wall next to the toilet. Ouch. Reminds me of Hammy in Over the Hedge once they’ve made it into Gladys’s kitchen.
As for Yellow Kitty, her disorder when it comes to the sink is that she doesn’t drink directly out of the faucet. Instead, she settles herself comfortably in the sink and does one of two things. She either sticks her paw in the water and then licks the water off of her paw, or she settles with her tail, back or some other body part under the running water, and proceeds to “clean” the water out of her fur.
As if all of this isn’t enough, both cats are kleptos. The good news is that they have their preferences and don’t usually stray. Little One steals pens or pencils and cross stitch floss, and Yellow Kitty rubber bands. They may vary their tastes a little: Little One sometimes will steal highlighters, crayons or anything that resembles a writing tool, and yarn; Yellow Kitty will also take twisty ties and scrunchies. (In fact, her favorite toy is a scrunchie I found on the floor in a classroom at the U about 10 or so years ago. I brought it home, washed it thoroughly and then wore it. She promptly jumped up on the couch behind me and took the thing right out of my hair with her mouth. From then on it was hers.) Recently Yellow Kitty has also developed a penchant for wooden beads and teeny tiny pieces of princess ensembles, some of which are about the size across of a grain of rice. I’m sure when we finally move we will be finding these items strewn everywhere under furniture and in closets where they have been batted until they couldn’t be retrieved. And, speaking of which, the only time Yellow Kitty ever makes any noise is when she’s playing with one of these items. The rest of the time she makes the movement with her mouth as if she’s meowing, but no sound comes out. (I just recently discovered that this may be a trait of her breed, so maybe she’s not really psychotic – at least on that account.)
Oh, of course, let’s not forget that Yellow Kitty has to stand on her hind legs and rub her front paws (in a movement that looks like she’s clawing, though she has no front claws) on any new box, bag, suitcase, grocery bag, etc. that comes into the house; and that Little One attempts to eat plastic grocery and shopping bags on a regular basis. Recently Yellow Kitty has taken to following us around the house any time there’s a sign of movement (such as 2:30 this morning when I was up with Sweetpea) and rubbing her body around our legs, or jumping in our laps THE SECOND we sit down. I know this sounds like normal cat behavior, but it is ALL the time. We can’t move a muscle without her being right there. And Little One will appear out of nowhere anytime she hears the clink of a spoon in a bowl because she thinks she will be getting tastes of ice cream. I swear, personality disorders.
And now the trend continues. For Easter last year, Sweetpea got a goldfish named Goldie. Unfortunately Goldie has made the trip to goldfish heaven. But when Goldie passed, we replaced him with a blue Beta fish. If I had known that the fish had a death wish, I would’ve looked for a Goldie replica and been done with it. When we first brought him home, Mr. Fish seemed normal enough. But it wasn’t too long before I noticed him lying on the bottom of the tank in a corner. I was first worried that I was going to have to tell Sweetpea that another fish had gone to heaven. I was then BENT because he is a Crown Tail Beta and cost me twice as much as a normal Beta, and three times as much as a goldfish would have. As it turned out, he was not dead. I still don’t know what was wrong with him, but I get the impression he was depressed. Silly, huh? I get that impression because he wouldn’t even come to the surface to eat, and the surface is generally where they hang out. In fact, he would just lie on the bottom and wait for the food to float down to him, and then only eat food within his reach instead of swimming to catch it. Not too long after that, he started hanging out at the surface again, which I took to be a good sign. However, he has taken an abnormal floating position that makes him look like he’s dead. He’s not floating upside down, but laying on his side on the surface and not moving at all. To get him to move you have to actually move the whole tank. Truly, I don’t know if he’s just lazy, or if he’s lying there thinking, “I wish I was dead. Somebody just kill me. I’d rather be dead than eat freeze-dried flakes of stuff that isn’t even found in nature. Just kill me now.” So far there have been no suicide attempts, even though we’ve had the lid off of the tank to clean it several times. But I’m just waiting for him to do something stupid, like throw himself into the filter when no one’s watching.
That's just too disturbing for me to even comment upon...) No, I am instead referring to that utterly anticipated, eagerly awaited, favorite time of year for many of us: Girl Scout Cookie Season. Yes, I consider it a season in itself, since it is a process of agonizing decisions and amazing restraint, followed by a period of unbearable waiting, then ending with the gaining of 
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Specifically the brand is Loreal, but they changed all their products AND all their packaging, so I have 
I know, I know, laugh it up, but this stuff was my signature scent for years!
Lavender & Vanilla Aromatherapy Line
Yes, it’s still made, and it’s out there somewhere, but no longer at any of the stores I shop in, something which occurred mere months after I discovered its existence. Now all I can find it in is plastic bottles. Not the same.
I’m sure they’re still out there somewhere too, but nowhere I can find.
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