Lulu in her bee girl costume. Still trying to teach her how to tap dance..."all I can say is that my life is pretty strange..."
And I didn't forget about Miss Kitty, even though she hasn't been feeling well lately. I skipped the whole costume, but she has a rooster hat. And hates it. I couldn't get a single pic with her pretty blue eyes open. In fact, she looks pretty pissed.
I have become the woman who dresses her animals up for Halloween. Yay for me.
Let me preface this confession by saying I've had a stressful week. Not just work, but Miss Kitty has had UTI issues on and off for a month or so and I got results back Saturday morning that she has "feline lower urinary tract disease," so besides the $300 and something I've paid for bloodwork, urinalysis, antibiotics, etc. so far, I had to go back to the vet and pick up special food and another round of antibiotics, which ran me about $100. AND I have to bring her back to do it all over again in another couple of weeks. Not that I wouldn't pay any amount of money to keep Miss Kitty healthy; it's just bad timing.
So yesterday was Lulu's birthday and since she's torn apart her squeaky man twice (my mom has sewed it up once, but this last time she really shredded him), I decided to go back to PetSmart where we found squeaky man and get her a new one for her birthday. Let me also add that Lulu loves her squeaky man. She sleeps with it and has been looking for it every night since I put it away because she tore the stuffing out of it.
I had just left the vet's office and figured I'd pop in to PetSmart and return home with a new squeaky man. Not so easy. They didn't have any up front (where I found the other one 2 months ago). So I asked one of the women working up front if she could help me find it. We went to the toy aisle and I tried to describe it ("it looks like a cookie cutter and has no face, but it's made from fleece and squeaks...") and the nice lady kept holding up other toys (Lady: "is this it? It's fleece." Me: "That is a SHEEP, not a man.")
I was actually starting to get tearful (note: lack of sleep = tired and emotional) when I realized I had become Parker Posey from "Best in Show" when they lost the busy bee and she had to find another one. Video below - fast forward to the 2 min. mark if you want to know what my PetSmart meltdown looked like.
I spent another five minutes or so letting the PetSmart lady drag me up and down the toy aisle, showing me everything that wasn't a squeaky man before she told me I could probably order it on the web site. I meant to thank her, but instead I said, "if I wanted to order it online, I wouldn't have come to your store!" (or something equally bitchy and stupid).
I called my friend Charlie and told him what happened (he's usually the person I call when I need to do a crazy check). He said, "we must never speak of this again."
Then I went home and took a Xanax and a really long nap. With a day's perspective and some sleep, I feel a lot better, less crazy, and now I know I can order squeaky man on the web site.
UPDATE: My BFF, MK, who is also Lulu's Fairy Dogmother, brought Lulu a fleece covered stuffed squeaky bone-shaped toy that is close to the size of squeaky man last night and Lulu loves it.
I can't believe she's been with me since she was 8 weeks old. And that there was a dog person hidden inside my cat lady. Or that I could love a little ball of fur whose poop I have to pick up in a bag WITH MY HAND so much. She got me off the couch in December. She gets me out of bed every day. She's been better for me emotionally than any shrink I've ever seen (after all these years it's nice to discover that all I needed was a furry animal to tell my secrets to who would simply respond with a worried expression and a cock of the head...could have saved a some $$ on therapy if I'd figured that out 10 years ago).
Baby Lulu at 8 weeks:
Lulu today:
She's a very happy girl and we bought a dozen "birthday bones" from the dog bakery to hand out to her neighborhood fur-buddies. Happy birthday to my little furball!
I haven't looked forward to a TV show (with the exception of 30 Rock) all day since the short-lived series Popular was on the WB. Oddly enough, Glee was created by Ryan Murphy, who also created Popular, which was canceled in 2001. Apparently, I've waited EIGHT YEARS to fall in love with my television again. I don't make plans for Wednesday nights. I watch clips of the show (and full episodes again) on YouTube and Hulu. Because I am over 30, this is slightly embarrassing. The show is about a high school glee club. Popular, also set in high school, was not quite as embarrassing because I was still in my 20s when it was on the air.
This one's from my favorite episode ("put a ring on it") and features my favorite character, Kurt, who reminds me of my best friend from high school. This episode actually made me cry at the end. Don't judge. I've already done an unofficial poll of my mature 20-something and over-30 friends: They ALL adore this show. In fact, as much as I love Family Guy, if FOX cancels Glee before its 3rd season, I'm boycotting the channel forever. Oh, and since I'm sharing: I've memorized a few dance routines from the show (it makes me blush to write this) and I am anxiously awaiting a CD from a friend who downloaded songs from the show and is sending them to me. Because I'm too cheap frugal to order them from iTunes myself.
p.s. Don't call me between 9 and 10 on Wednesday nights.
Working from home and not respecting my own boundaries (i.e. "end of day" means I stop working). Too many nights over the past few weeks spent working on various projects late into the evenings. Verdict: Guilty.
Giving the cat Albacore tuna (not cheap, BTW) three days in a row because I haven't had time/energy/inclination to go to the grocery store and buy cat food. Verdict: Guilty.
Not showering/washing my hair for TWO DAYS IN A ROW. Verdict: Gross.
Ordering Pad Thai for dinner last night because I didn't want to cook and my pantry was running low anyway (see: not going to the grocery store). Verdict: Guilty.
Writing, but the kind of writing that won't see the light of day for some time. Let's call it cathartic writing, except that it stopped being cathartic and instead has caused hostility, anger, and a general bad mood to resurface. I've been in therapy on and off since childhood and I should know to leave it be for a while by now. But I don't. Verdict: Guilty. And stupid.
Being happy that it rained all day Monday so I didn't have to take the dog for a long walk - meaning no exercise for me either and I spent the entire day with face in computer. Verdict: Guilty.
Feeling guilty about all of the above and not cutting myself very much slack. Verdict: Guilty.
What can I say? Do you want to hear about all of the billing I have out for work I've yet to be paid for? Do you want to know how difficult it is to make a living on a project by project basis? Do you want a rant about how worried I am about my COBRA running out at the end of the year and the possibility that I may not be able to get coverage because I'm diabetic? Alternately, I have another rant about paying $400 a month for health insurance. I made a commitment to be positive - no matter what happens, no matter how low my checking account dips, no matter how many unpaid bills or time I spend on projects that I may or may not get paid for?
I don't even want to hear about that. But after having lunch with a friend last week and an interesting discussion about appearances versus reality, maybe I should write here more often about what the life of a freelancer is really like. It sounds glamorous and exciting to say I work from home, I set my own hours, I pick the projects I want to work on. But it's all one big scramble to make ends meet, and some months they don't meet very well.
I hear from other writers all the time - some friends, some casual acquaintances - and they want to know how I do it. This is how I do it: by the seat of my f*cking pants. I know I'm lucky. I have talent and skills and have learned a lot of new things this year. I can build web sites from scratch, I can build online advertising networks, I can be a media planner, I can edit, I can write. Survival skills. Don't underestimate them. And if you're a young writer planning on taking the leap from your boring day job to the exciting world of freelancing, stop and think about it first. If you have employer sponsored health insurance and a 40-hour a week job, there are many hours left in the week to write and submit articles and see your byline all over the place so you can feed your ego. But keep the day job, at least until the economy turns around or publishers get smart and start paying living wages for online content, because print media seems to be continuing its downward decline.
Expect more honesty from me here. I don't want to be responsible for anyone thinking they're "less than" because it appears that I'm not only paying my bills, but rolling in all of the extra money I'm making because I got a book published and write articles for magazines sometimes.
