Outvoted again!

It's really hard to win disputes in my house when I'm surrounded by three guys with absolute determination written all over their furry faces and whose argument for every situation is "meow." I just can't win.

Ever since we moved into the house, I've had this fantasy of never having to clean another litter box in my lifetime. Short of getting rid of my furry roommates, I decided to encourage them to use the great outdoors as their toilet, since they do have 24-hour access to the backyard. Saturday afternoon I moved the box from the spare bathroom out onto the patio and closed off all the doors leading to the bathrooms and bedrooms. The plan had a chance to work. I saw Turtle using the box a few hours later. Tommy had an issue, though. I caught him circling in the house, so took him outside and set him down in front of the litter box. He wasn't real happy, and he wandered off into the yard.

The first few days I was happy that the new situation seemed to be working. Then the rains came. Can't really blame them for not wanting to go outside in the weather, but there still didn't seem to be any problems, and I looked every day when I got home from work for signs of rebellion. This morning the peace was broken when Tommy showed his disagreement by peeing in the living room. Thankfully it was on some newspapers I had spread out as dropcloths, but still. (And let's face it, newspapers aren't that quick at absorbing anything, so some did end up on the carpet.) I fussed at him while I was cleaning up, but all I got was a view of his raised tail as he walked away, victorious at making his point.

So, the litterbox is now back in the house, although it is currently beside the cat door. Maybe I will leave it there for a bit and then try to move it onto the patio again.

I'll Buy Whatever He's Selling

Saturday morning I was grunging around the house unshowered, teeth unbrushed, hair sticking up everywhere, wearing my glasses and covered in multiple shades of paint thanks to my latest room project. I looked like Nerd Girl's older, even dorkier never-gonna-snag-a-man sister. The only way I could have looked worse would be if Beelzebob the zit (Satan's little brother) had made a return appearance. So of course, there was a knock on the front door. I was hoping it was my aunt showing up to help me paint, so I pulled the door open and was met by the sight of a rather gorgeous guy standing on the front porch. I'm talking young, cute sandy blond hair spiked like that Chad guy's from the Alltel commercials, and the most gorgeous blue eyes framed by those ridiculously long eyelashes that men should not be allowed to have. (I always take umbrage at we women being accused of fluttering our eyelashes to get what we want when there's men running around like that--long eyelashes on a guy make me weak at the knees. But then, so do long legs, sculpted backs... ummm, where was I?)

My first reaction was to slam the door, run and shower, then come back pretending like I didn't know who that crazy woman was who first answered the door. But the paint fumes had evidently addled my brain and those eyelashes were making me crazy. So what did I do? I stepped out onto the front porch to talk to him. Where God and all my neighbors could see just how scuzzy I looked. *groan*

Gorgeous guy takes it all pretty well in stride. Here's hoping one of my neighbors had answered their door looking worse than I did. He starts his sales pitch about the security system he's selling, but we keep getting sidetracked talking about home ownership. He said he and his wife (DAMN!! IT!!) were getting ready to start looking at houses to buy.

And me, being the newly minted self-appointed genius on housebuying started talking to him about the benefits of purchasing a foreclosure. Which led me to invite him in and show off my renovations. At this point I kind of forgot my appearance because, let's face it, dude's married. And I'm chatting with him because I was interested in the system and wanted to talk a bit so I could decide if he was feeding me a line of bull or not.

(Seriously, I really was interested in the security system because I heard a noise the other night that made me wish I had one. I'm really still hoping it was just one of the cats I heard. Plus, my mother was nagging me about it.)

So we talk shop and I agree to the system, which I got for free, as well as the installation. I just have to pay for the monthly monitoring. And, since the system sends out signal via a cell phone transmission, I don't have to have a separate land line. I'm probably paying a little more per month for the monitoring, but I don't have the added phone expense.

Chase and I chatted for a little bit more while he got the installation scheduled for that afternoon. Turns out he's in nursing school, which led me to remember quite fondly the surfer boy hunk of male nurse I had when I was in the hospital for my thyroid surgery who always came calling with a needle full of Demerol. Oh, how I loved him. I might have actually told him that, too. Oops! I can only imagine that Chase will find himself on the receiving end of pharmaceutical-induced affections someday as well.

Anyway... Chase headed out and I even invited him to return in a couple of months to check out my work on the house. As soon as he was gone, I hit the shower and was thankful I had a couple of hours to pull myself together before the installer got there.

I also managed to get a couple of quick errands in before Rich showed up at my door to hook up the system. And let me tell you, I think that company has some kind of "You Must be This Hot to Work Here" kind of scale, because this guy was cute too! Dark hair, dark eyes, and again with the killer eyelashes!! He walks in and sees my menagerie of felines lounging around the living room and says "I love cats!" Awwww! He even pulled out his cell phone to show me a picture of his kitty. And of course my boys had to fawn all over him. Too bad he's young enough to be my much younger...ummmm... brother.

He was great to chat with as well and we got along great while he was there. He was telling me about how the company keeps moving him around and he misses his mom back in Utah. I was ready to go bake the poor boy some cookies!

At one point he asked me some dating advice. Obviously he doesn't know me, because I'm the absolute last person to ask such advice of, seeing as how I don't date. He was trying to get my take on a response a girl gave him when he asked whether or not she liked Coldstone ice cream. His original question to me was "do you like ice cream?" and I immediately started dreaming of my favorite downfall and how, when I met a man who worked for Blue Bell, I almost asked him to marry me. (For those of you from outside Texas, Blue Bell's motto is: "we eat all we can and sell the rest". I could only assume such benefits would apply to spouses as well.) So yeah, I think you could say I like ice cream. However, I have not been to Coldstone Creamery and really had no advice to give. Now, I can bluff my way through almost any topic, but dating and male-female relations leave me completely stumped as well as tongue-tied. Hence the reason why I tend to sit at home on Friday nights.

(Now before anyone think I sit and dwell upon that, I don't. Anymore. I just keep hoping that there's a guy out there who intrigues me enough to make me forget my shortcomings. And if he's reading, please send me your photo, resume, and a short paragraph on why I should give up Friday nights watching Stargate to go out with you in care of this blog. If you own a cat, please include a photo of him, as well.)

After about three hours, I finally had a new security system up and running and was given a lesson on using it. Now I feel much more secure, but my OCD is going nuts worrying about setting it off myself and what I should do if it goes off in the middle of the night. At least the darned thing beeps loud enough you can't ignore it and are forced to attend to it quickly.

Once the gorgeous guys were gone from my house for the day, I went around in paint fume-enhanced happiness and even gave my new system a test-run when I decided I HAD to go to Wal-Mart that evening. So far so good in that I haven't set off the blaring siren and had cops show up to find out what's wrong. I can only imagine, though, that such an event is in my future.

Oh, My Aching Feet!

I hate shoes.

Wait, I take that back. I love shoes, especially pretty high heels. I could spend all day in the shoe store lusting over all the different models. I love spending hours on shoebuy.com. So my problem really isn't with shoes. It's wearing them that's the problem.

I wear shoes because society demands it and to avoid having my feet shredded as I walk across glass-strewn parking lots. I wear shoes only as long as it takes me to get home and kick them off. There's a pile of shoes immediately to the left of the front door because that's as far into the house as I get with them on.

But alas, my aversion is coming back to kick me in the rear. My feet hurt. I'm pretty sure it's plantar's fasciitis, which is small tears in the tendon that runs along the bottom of your foot from your heel to the ball of your foot. It seems that running around barefoot, or in flipflops (my version of "shoes" in the summertime) damages the end of the tendon at the heel. Which is why I want to scream in pain when I get out of bed in the morning, as I walk around, and even as I sit here with waves of pain radiating up through my ankle.

What is the main treatment for this condition, you ask? According to the web, it's... shoes. Closed heel, slight heeled shoes. All. The. Time. Which means, other than the obvious no going barefoot, that my closet full of flip-flops, slides and high heels are a no-go until my feet get better. But I also have the issue of pain when I wear my Reeboks. My right foot hurts in more places when I stick it in a fully enclosed shoe.

So, I broke down and called a podiatrist to see about getting further treatment and to make sure my self diagnosis is correct. I have an appointment two weeks from now. By then I might need a wheelchair.

Wacky Wednesday

Since my life seems to be filled with home renovations, code review and allergies, I'm posting a joke forwarded to me by one of my aunts. Whomever came up with this is funnier than I am anyway.

AMAZINGLY SIMPLE HOME REMEDIES

1. If you're choking on an ice cube simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat. Presto! The blockage will instantly remove itself.

2. Avoid cutting yourself when slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold while you chop.

3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by using the sink.

4. For high blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. Remember to use a timer.

5. A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.

6. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you'll be afraid to cough.

7. You only need two tools in life - WD-40 and Duct Tape. If it doesn't move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn't move and does, use the duct tape.

8. Remember: Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

P.S. If you can't fix it with a hammer, you've got an electrical problem.

Daily Thought: SOME PEOPLE ARE LIKE SLINKIES. NOT REALLY GOOD FOR ANYTHING BUT THEY BRING A SMILE TO YOUR FACE WHEN PUSHED DOWN THE STAIRS

Never Argue with a Woman!

I've been sent this joke more times than I can count and it's always good for a laugh. Don't know it's creator, but don't let that stop you...

One morning the husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although not familiar with the lake, the wife decides to take the boat out. She motors out a short distance, anchors, and reads her book.
Along comes a Game Warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and says, 'Good morning, Ma'am. What are you doing?'
'Reading a book,' she replies, (thinking, 'Isn't that obvious?')
'You're in a Restricted Fishing Area,' he informs her.
'I'm sorry, officer, but I'm not fishing. I'm reading'.
'Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up.'
'For reading a book,' she replies,
'You're in a Restricted Fishing Area,' he informs her again.
'I'm sorry, officer, but I'm not fishing. I'm reading'.
'Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I'll have to take you in and write you up.'
'If you do that, I'll have to charge you with Sexual Assault,' says the woman.
'But I haven't even touched you,' says the game warden.
'That's true, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment.'
'Have a nice day ma'am,' and he left.
MORAL: Never argue with a woman who reads. It's likely she can also think.

PS--Speaking of reading, I read Suzanne Brockmann's 13th entry in her Troubleshooters saga--Into the Fire. If you haven't read this series, I suggest you start at the beginning ASAP!

Further Proof My Bank is Evil

I love the internet. Without it we wouldn't have videos of lions reuniting with their human friends (*sob*) or be able to look up our houses on Google Earth. (Or, of course, read the wide world of blogs.)

However, paying my bills online has become one giant headache. I honestly think I should return to writing checks and sending them snail mail. As I type this, I am on hold with AT&T's customer service because their website suddenly won't process my debit card. The first person I spoke with tried inputting the information again and their system still wouldn't take it. So I'm being transferred to someone in receivables.

Do do do... This hold info that they keep repeating incessantly is really starting to chap my ass.

Oh wait, a human. I wonder which hemisphere he's located in. He just informed me that there's a $5 charge for making a payment over the phone, but he's going to "waive" it because this is a special case. Yeah whatever. He tries to input the info again. No luck and now I'm being told I need to contact my bank, but not before he reads one long-ass script about how my payment schedule ends on such date, my payment's due on such date and there'd be a $35 reconnect fee if I were to get cut off for nonpayment. What the hell ever.

I have to look up my bank's phone number. Evidently they really don't want their customers to call them, because the only link I could find on the home page was a tiny little "Contact Us" at the bottom of the right-hand corner. Several minutes of hold advertising and assurances that my call really is important to them.....

I'm told that my card is expired. Never mind the fact that I am in possession of a new card that--yes, I activated when I received it in MARCH--has an expire date of 2011. Or that I have been using this card all over town since MARCH, and paying bills online with it. And strangely it's affecting only some of my automatic payments. Which explains the problems I've been having with Big Fish.

So this can all be laid at my bank's evil doorstep. I love how they made me repeat my name, last four digits of my social, my first pet's name, mom's maiden name, dad's middle name, rank and serial number multiple times as well as email a photo of the mole above my eye just to prove it really is me they're talking to. (that was a joke, for those of you who can't grasp sarcasm)

I've really got to get my money out of that bank. Preferably transferred and not just spent at Home Depot.