10th anniversary love.

Maybe this is a few days late, but I’ve been a little busy being cranky having to return to the real world.

That, and Taco has NOT SHUT UP since we’ve been home. I mean, really. The day we got back, Taco meowed incessantly. Even when he was half asleep, he was croaking out meows. I’m sure he missed us and all, but you can SHOW us. We don’t need to hear it. It’s died down a little since then but he’s still way too loud for my tastes.

Anyway. Honey. Happy anniversary. I’m writing this because I still haven’t given you the card I bought months and months ago and then forgot.

I knew you were a keeper when I still liked you after two weeks. I can’t believe how long ago that was. I appreciate that you do things like get me the fries I so desperately crave because Aunt Flo is in town even though it makes your pizza cold. And that you’re such a good daddy to the boys. Mostly when no one’s looking, but I know.

Kitty just looooves daddy.

Kitty just looooves daddy.

You’re my bestie. You know me better than anyone on this earth. It annoys the crap out of me sometimes because I can only bullshit you when you’re feeling generous and allow it. I’m amused that you vaguely accept me being PigPen when you love clean so much. I assume that you’ve finally understood that the mess is in my genes and no matter how hard I try, I WILL get crumbs all over. And I try to accommodate your “man cave” weekends with the curtains drawn (sometimes) even though I would live in a house built of windows if I could.

I would say I look forward to growing old with you, but it seems we’re already doing that. I’m not sure whether this is what aging is like normally or if we just prematurely age each other by being pains in each others’ asses. But I wouldn’t be happy with it any other way. You keep me on my toes and I love that. I’m up for 10 more if you are. I heart you.

I don’t miss my cats.

Does that make me a bad person?

The boyfriend and I are on a mini-vacay/10th anniversary celebration (it really bothers me that 10 years of monogamy would be thrown out if we got married. I find that concept so unfair). We’re in the Keys. The Florida Keys. Are there any other Keys? I’m so snobbish about my Floridian-ness.

I hate most of my body, but my arms never fail me in the skinny realm.

I hate most of my body, but my arms never fail me in the skinny realm.

Anyway, it’s just 2 nights, and a lot of driving, but it IS beautiful down here, and although the room is small, it’s lovely and the bed is as comfy as our own ridiculously priced iComfort. Strangely, even though we own a king (specifically because I am NOT a sound sleeper and we’re definitely not cuddlers), this bed seems bigger.

Maybe it’s because it’s not ours, maybe it’s because (disturbingly) we don’t have our body pillows to throw our legs over, but I think it’s because there’s no cats. NO CATS.

I woke up at nine. NINE! Actually, I woke up initially at 7:43 but I was able to go back to sleep, and it was glorious. Why? NO CATS.

God, I love my little fluffballs, and granted, I SHOULD have been able to sleep in since we woke up at 4am to drive down here (technically we woke up at 4:40, this is because I set my alarm to 4pm by accident), but it was so nice to DECIDE when I wanted to wake up. This is seriously a luxury for me because I was the kid at slumber parties that woke up hours before everyone else and laid there wishing I could go back to sleep. I’m not a good sleeper.

This is not to say I don’t TOTALLY miss my kitties. We stopped by a famous marina (Bud N Mary’s, if you ever end up in Islamorada) to see the tarpon. These giant fish swarm the dock, it’s really quite amazing.

fishies!

fishies!

I’m sure you can guess that as a vegan, I’m not much of a fisherman, but I do enjoy the accoutrements that go along with fishing, like boats and open water. Anyway, we watched the fish for a bit and then… there was a kitten. It was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. So tiny. Lives at the marina, apparently. Has a collar and everything. To my dismay, lil kitten wanted nothing to do with me, and walked over to Momma, who was so passed out she wouldn’t even move. I don’t blame her. It’s hot as hell here in a tiny bathing suit, let alone a fur coat. Then…one of the employees came out to feed the baby. WITH THE FOOD FROM THE DOLLAR STORE THAT I MADE FUN OF A FEW POSTS AGO.

This is just weird. It looks like the cat is trying to escape the bag.

This is just weird. It looks like the cat is trying to escape the bag.

I almost vomited. I mean, dollar store food is, I’m sure, better than nothing, but really? UGH. Poor kitten. I wanted to steal him. Just can’t get away from my cat love, I ‘spose.

Facing facts. The cats run this house.

THEY decide the wake-up time.

THEY decide when it’s time to eat.

THEY decide when they want to sit on your lap.

THEY decide when you’ve been on the computer too long and alert you by sitting on your keyboard.

THEY don’t clean up their waste. The humans do it for them.

THEY allow you to pet them, but only until they’ve had enough, at which time they will make it clear by biting your hand.

THEY decide you need to rewash your clean laundry because it’s a perfect bed for them to shed on.

And Taco obviously fully embraces his king status, as evidenced by this picture.

King Shit.

King Shit.

They’re acting weird again.

As a mother of any species can tell you, you know when something’s a little off with your children. And despite the fact that my brats are never really what I’d call “all there,” they’re acting weirder than usual. I don’t know if it’s the fact that they had their parents home for a whole 5 days or the weather or if they’re just feeling their age as a result of their recent birthdays, but even the boyfriend’s noticed. It’s not anything I can put my finger on. Just some weird crap here and there.

Moosh will stop in a part of the room he usually won’t (yeah, I notice this crap) and stare at me. Usually he just waits by his food bowl and stares. He’s also being really needy. Following us around and looking at us pitifully for attention.

He's ridiculously cute when he curls his lil pawsies!

He’s ridiculously cute when he curls his lil pawsies!

Taco can’t sit still. He’s in my face 24/7, and when he’s not, he’s in weird places, like my closet (this is Moosh’s usual haunt) and in Moosh’s basket (also, as you might have gathered by the title of the resting place, Moosh’s). Taco’s also started kneading me when he lays on me in bed. Yes, I know this is a NORMAL cat activity, but he’s never really been much of a kneader (Jackson Galaxy calls this “smurgling” but never explained if that’s some sort of scientific term — it seems like an odd choice for a serious scientist to choose, but whatever) and he does it ON me. I’m fairly certain that my skin isn’t as rewarding to smurgle on as, say, a cushy blanket. I don’t mind it so much. It’s more like a change-up pitch in baseball. Throwin’ a fast ball at me forever and now you’re going to throw a slider? You know what? That’s a horrible analogy. I’m assuming you get the point.

Never in the existence of this pillow has he ever paid it any mind, yet last night he decided it was the best place to sleep EVER.

Never in the existence of this pillow has he ever paid it any mind, yet last night he decided it was the best place to sleep EVER.

I don’t know what this all means, but it throws me off. And I hate change.

Just when you think you’d seen it all…

My boys still continue to surprise me. With all the years of hijinx and mayhem, they’re not out of tricks.

In a half sleep this morning, I opened my eyes to notice the top dresser drawer was open. This is nothing new. Taco’s opened them before. I’ve never SEEN him do this, but he’s the little brat adept at opening things, so I have to assume. So I closed it. End of story, right?

No. Because then the scratching started. Being half asleep, I thought Taco was scratching to open it again. But he wasn’t there. So I opened it. Apparently, the little shit thought it would be a hoot to BURROW in my clothes and sleep there. Why this was a good idea, I’ll never know. I tried to get a picture but he moved too fast, once he decided to pop his head out and emerge.

This was the best I could do.

This was the best I could do.

At least he was sleeping and not meowing at me, I suppose.

Another cat-free day!

First of all, please let me reiterate how much I hate being woken up by a cat. Like I’ve said before, it’s not usually in my nature to sleep in, so when I DO, I know my body is saying “PLEASE GIVE ME AN EFFING REST!” Apparently my body is not in contact with Taco. I woke up at 9 because he wouldn’t shut up, and I was so tired it felt like I was getting up at my workday 5:30am for work. I was not pleased.

So we left them.

2nd beach trip of this mini vacay, and I insisted we leave “early,” i.e. 11:30. Because the weather is actually so perfectly perfect, the masses are all running out to the beaches for the holiday weekend. Well, this turned out to be not early enough, as there was nary a parking spot to be found. And of course, since I hate driving and I hate having plans ruined, I got overly frustrated and started crying. Yeah. I cry. I’m not afraid to punch a 200-pound dude in the face (I firmly believe that you can always fight someone bigger than you, but NEVER fight anyone crazier than you) but I will cry like a little girl when I don’t get my way. Perhaps this can be attributed to being an only child, maybe I’m just a baby. I don’t know. So I turned the controls over to the boyfriend )who is used to these episodes and should be up for sainthood for effortlessly dealing with them), telling him that I didn’t even care anymore, I just wanted to go home. He, of course, ignored me, and tried the parking lot again, where miraculously, a guy was pulling out at that exact moment. And no one else was waiting to take the spot. He’s my lucky charm. I really hate driving.

I know this is Florida. having lived here for the entirety of my life, I’m more familiar with the climate here than anywhere else in this entire world. So when I tell you it was scorching today, feel free to believe me completely.

Ignore the seaweed, it ruins the idyllicness. That's so not a word.

Ignore the seaweed, it ruins the idyllicness. That’s so not a word.

I also know that I’m (mostly) Polish, and therefore prone to fairer skin than say, a Cuban, like my best friend, who never burns, instead turns a lovely shade of dark, as does the boyfriend (inexplicably, because his lineage is all European). So I have to wear sunscreen. I only wear 15SPF. I realize this is horrible for my future self, and in fact, my own mother had a spot of skin cancer from her nose years ago. In my defense, I DO wear 30 on my face, and not just at the beach, in my daily tinted moisturizer. Apparently I don’t care if the rest of my skin is leathery and wrinkled in my old age. I already hate what age is doing to my face, thanks to my birth control, which causes brown splotches called Melasma. You probably wouldn’t notice unless I pointed it out, but I have a dark spot resembling a mustache which I assure you is NOT actually a mustache. THANKS HORMONES.

See, I also wear a hat. So responsible of me.

See, I also wear a hat. So responsible of me.

But back to my story. Today, I felt like my skin was boiling. We spent two and a half hours there before we just couldn’t take it anymore. The water was lovely, but it can only help so much. And it’s only May. AND A COLD FRONT CAME THROUGH YESTERDAY! I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be when the real humidity kicks in. I despise laying on my stomach anyway (so hot and uncomfortable), but today it was just impossible. I couldn’t even READ. I GO to the beach to read. My body temperature was far too high to concentrate.

I’m not sure whether this is old age or global warming, but even the sand blistered my feet. It’s effing white! REFLECT HEAT LIKE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO. WTF.

The kicker is that I didn’t even get burnt. At all. I can only barely see my tan lines.

And yes, I realize that I’m bitching about something that most people would DREAM to be able to bitch about, but I’m a Florida native girl, and the beach and reading on the beach and getting color is what makes me happy. Other people play bingo and shit. I bake myself and read. Scientifically, this is actually quite logical. Your body processing the sun’s rays produces Vitamin D, vital for one’s mood. And it’s better received this way than from supplements. And reading, well, who can say anything NOT beneficial about that?

That’s a hell of a case I just made there. I should have been a lawyer. Also, I think I should just move to Hawaii. The sand is better (it just FALLS OFF your feet AND it feels like a pumice scrub to walk over it) and I swear the Pacific salt water causes a more golden glow.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABIES!

Today is the shared birthday of my baby boys.

Gawd, Moosh looks like a fatty.

Gawd, Moosh looks like a fatty.

The boyfriend refuses to believe this is possible. Moosh’s birthday is, of course, not as definite, since he was found as a kitten after being thrown out of a car, but given that Taco was birthed behind my friend’s house, I DO know this for a fact. Whatever, they don’t care when their birthdays are. As long as they get extra treats, they’re ecstatic. I don’t know how to bake cat cakes, or else I would. Maybe hash brownies with catnip instead of hash? I don’t know how to make hash brownies, either. I’m pretty sure chocolate is bad for cats, too. Well. They’ll just have to deal with a little extra love today. Crap, I think I need to buy them wet food, too. Boy, I’m an awesome mommy.

Moving on. Moosh Moosh is officially an old man at 5, which in cat years is 37.

Does he always have to be sitting on something black?

Does he always have to be sitting on something black?

He’s older than ME! But still younger than the boyfriend. HAH!

Taco is still a little younger than me, 3 actual years, 29 in cat years.

My little Billy Idol.

My little Billy Idol.

Shouldn’t he be running out of steam yet? He thinks he’s still a kitten. I just tried telling him that and he looked at me, then continued to lick his foot. Ah, to not care about one’s age! Then again, I think I’m still in my twenties. At what age is it no longer appropriate to wear neon? I hope never. I’m not a fan of Chico’s or Ann Taylor Loft. But I don’t want to end up looking like those ladies who can’t let go of their youth, wearing midriffs and stripper heels. Please smack me if I’m ever that lady.

I suggested taking the kitties to the beach for their birthday, after all, it’s one big litter box…but they hate fresh air, and probably water. Oh well.

Who wants to sleep in on vacation, anyway?

It’s day 1 of our mini vacay. I couldn’t REALLY sleep in because I had an eye appointment early-ish anyway, but Taco wasn’t having any of that. SIX THIRTY. A-hole.

This is Taco last night. He’s practically dead. Why can’t he be like this early in the morning?

Ugh.

Ugh.

Now the boyfriend and I are too lazy to go to the beach. Rather, I had everything kinda ready and the boyfriend said “Why don’t we be lazy today and go tomorrow.” I was TRYING to be un-lazy. It didn’t take much to twist my arm. I’m pining for the great weather I see outside, but…I have 4 more days, right? Why is it so much harder to force yourself to do things the older you get? I’m tempted to buy a kiddie pool so I can lay out back and dip my feet in. That’s pretty much the ultimate in laziness.

We did, at least, go to a beach bar yesterday. That’s something.

View from the Sloppy Pelican

View from the Sloppy Pelican

Can't hate on this.

Can’t hate on this.

Vacation hi-jinx.

Despite the fact that I’m only on half vacation until 3pm tomorrow, I’m trying to make the most of my off time. So far, I’ve accomplished very little, except that I’ve actually been to the gym EVERY DAY this week! So what if it’s only Tuesday? This is still something to give accolades for. Yay me.

I also spent some quality time with my mom and my other cats today. By this I mean one allowed me to maneuver under a chair to pet him and the other demanded attention to his fat belly.

The fat powers the lasers.

The fat powers the lasers.

The mother is not used to having my undivided attention, so as usual, she forgot everything she was saving up to talk to me about. But we had a lovely time anyway, going through books and old photos. And I did all her “tech” stuff. You can lead a horse to an iPhone, but you can’t make em update it. mom love

Then I came home. To a Taco that seems to be extra loud. He’s been meowing up a storm lately. I am ready to punch him. I won’t, of course, but I threaten him anyway. He meows in response. I’m considering not coming home at all tomorrow.

I plan to spend the rest of the time off with the boyfriend. Hopefully on the beach. I stockpiled a crapload of books (it pays to have a mommy with a bookstore when you’re a bookworm) and I even bought a fancy new towel that slides right on to your beach chair. Please hold out, weather!

Crafting with cats.

Not WITH THEM with them, just their pictures. See, I got some of my instagram pics printed out, and I was planning to transfer them to canvas for some DIY art pieces.

Only it turns out that you’re supposed to use pictures printed on regular paper from a laser printer. Not photo paper. Good going, me.

So I’m going to attempt to modpodge them to the canvases and get it done that way. I’m so stubborn. We’ll see how this turns out. Especially with my “helpers” – i.e. the furry ones who get really curious particularly about anything I don’t want them around.

I have big plans. We’ll see how this goes.

As you can see, Taco is already being very helpful by playing with the bags of supplies I picked up this morning.

Little helper, my ass.

Little helper, my ass.

I think I would have been better off going to the beach.

Update: all of the square canvases I bought are 1/4th of an inch bigger than the damn pictures. “Measure twice, cut once” is awfully good advice, but I suck horribly at following it. In fact, I’m more like “Vaguely measure, make it fit.” This is probably why I’m not rich and famous for my handmade goods.