The Holiday Procrastination continues…

…And I still haven’t done any of my shopping. Strangely, I’m fully stocked with wrapping paper, bows, cards, and other packaging materials. All of it is currently sitting idly in my living room, glaring at me. I’ve never seen such angry-looking wrapping paper.

My Christmas tree is up and decorated. And ya’ll… it’s kind of a disaster.

When I went to Target last weekend to buy my fake tree, I pretty much knew this venture would be a lost cause. Apparently, one is supposed to buy the fake Christmas trees the day after Thanksgiving. Since I didn’t get that memo (one memo among several other important memos), I had slim pickings in the fake tree aisle. Ultimately, I selected a 6-foot tree with colored lights.

I should probably mention that I purchased all of my ornaments about a month ago, because I managed to hit a sale at Michael’s entirely by accident. My theme was “No Sex for Christmas,” --- all blue balls and frigid silver and white tinsel all at reasonable prices.

As the lady scanned in my fake tree with multi-colored lights, the tiny gay man with exquisite tastes who resides somewhere in my right-dominated brain began to wring his hands with agitation. I had to assure him as we pulled out of the parking lot that the colored lights wouldn’t interfere with my cold and wintry ornamental motif, and even if it did, this was the only decent tree left in the store and I was absolutely NOT going to Walmart, so don’t even ask.

But honestly, I might have been just a teensy bit worried, too.

When I got home, I put the tree together. It was just as easy as the box implied; although I did have to wrestle some of the branches into position to keep my tree from looking like three hurricane-ravaged beach umbrellas stacked one on top of the other. After putting the tree in place, I tested the lights and I was pleased with the results. The lights, though indeed multi-colored, didn’t seem garish or tacky, mostly because there weren’t as many as I’d feared.

I unplugged the light display and began the decorating process, starting with my cheap silver tinsel. With the tinsel perfectly wound in a tight spiral, it was time for the blue, white, and silver balls. My plan was simple: a healthy amount of large balls strategically placed evenly around the tree, followed by twice as many medium balls to surround them, and finishing with a healthy smattering of small balls to fill in the empty spaces. The end result was breath-taking; a glittering, shiny, absolutely chilling display of wintry spirit, that could be perceived as depressing, if it wasn’t so gosh darn sparkly.



The tiny gay man in my head squeee’d with delight at the classy and elegant holiday concoction before him. It was as if we had just single-handedly saved Christmas.

And then I plugged in the lights.

Cue the trombone… Wah, wah, waaaaaaaahhhhhhhh…

Believe me, I’ve tried to take a photo that captures the fug I have unleashed upon my apartment (and the world), but my camera can’t seem to do it justice. Apparently, this kind of fug is so powerful, it is also elusive. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that the colored lights drown out all the beautiful and poignant things I was trying to do with the ornaments, leaving me with just another tickety-tack fake Christmas tree.

The tiny gay man in my head was INCONSOLABLE.

That was about two weekends ago. Now that I’ve lived with the Holiday Monstrosity (as I’ve begun to call it) for almost two weeks, I’ve almost become attached to it in spite of myself (don’t tell the tiny gay man). I considered going out and buying new ornaments – some red, gold, and green things that may compliment all those dizzying colors better than my blues, whites, and silvers. I also considered buying some strings of white lights to put over the colored ones (which come attached to the tree). But then I thought… how completely out of the spirit could I be? I’ve already spent waaaay too much money on this venture (tree, ornaments, tree-skirt, etc.), how silly would I have to be to rationalize going out and spending even more? I should just be grateful I have a tree at all.

Yes, I may just have to learn to love this tree, in all its fugly glory. Maybe the lights don’t match the ornaments; maybe the colors are so loud and inappropriate they could trigger epilepsy; maybe the tree is listing to the left so much that it could renamed the Leaning Tower of Bethlehem; maybe all of these things.

But it’s still a Christmas tree and it’s still mine. And I love it (I think).

Who needs Animal Planet?

I’ve only just recently started calling my apartment “home” and meaning it. The process is slow, and I’m still not completely finished, but it’s becoming what I always envisioned it would be: my place. I love many things about it, but the thing I love most is my porch. I got really lucky when I got the place, because I was able to land an apartment at the very back of the property facing the woods behind. It’s so much better than having a scenic overlook of the parking lot, trust me. For one thing, it’s great that I don’t have to get dressed to go sit on my porch (I’m not in the habit of sitting out there nude but it’s nice to know I could if I wanted to). What I really enjoy is watching the woods.

From my porch, I have a great view of a fairly dense patch of trees and the tall, wooden fence that marks off the complex’s property. The squirrels are rambunctious and very active throughout the day, and the trees right on the edge make good homes, apparently. They scamper right along the top edge of the fence and jump from the branches and dive bomb one another from incredible heights, and I’m never at a loss for entertainment. I’m not a casual observer, though. They have marked me, and they watch me just as I watch them. Earlier this year, I was pretty sure there was a nest of baby squirrels very close to my enclave, because every time I came out, a squirrel, who I very uncreatively named Mama, would come bounding down from some unseen place and bark at me in that high-pitched, yet oddly unexpected, yip that squirrels have. At first, it was unnerving, because I kept expecting her to leap at my throat in a fit of paranoia and rage, and… that’s really not the way I want to go. But luckily, she was all bark and no flying berserker. I will say, for the record, though, that squirrels do in fact throw things. When I was going to school at Furman, we always had an inkling that the squirrels enjoyed throwing acorns on us as we walked beneath them, but we could never prove it. Well, I’ve seen it first hand, and… they most certainly do. The good news is: they have sucky aim.

The birds also play a vital role. I’m not a birdwatcher or anything, but I have enjoyed seeing cardinals, bluejays, robins, woodpeckers, and doves and other breeds I can easily identify twittering about. I also see lots of crows. I don’t know the difference between crows and ravens, but these creatures are the big ones. I swear, I’ve seen some as big as turkeys, except I wouldn’t want to eat one. They harass the squirrels viciously, and I’ve witnessed several nasty altercations from my private box. One incident, which was actually kind of frightening, occurred not too long ago. I was sitting inside with the blinds open, and suddenly, a dark shape was flapping very close to my window. I jumped up to see what was going on, and apparently, the crow had attacked one of my squirrel friends. I should say now, before I proceed, that I’m a vehement squirrel supporter. I don’t know if it’s because I’m also a mammal or what, but I always pull for them in these disputes. Anyway, the poor squirrel was on the ground with a massive crow hovering menacingly above her. After a few moments of posturing, the battle proper began, and I quickly become worried for the squirrel’s life. The crow was hitting her with claw and beak, not to mention it was easily twice as big, but the squirrel gave back as much as she took. The fight was epic, ya’ll. I believe it ended in a stale mate, once the crow realized my friend wouldn’t be an easy snack, but I’m pretty sure they don’t sign peace treaties. Hopefully, that crow moved on for good.

A bird I do happen to be fond of lives in the pond at the center of my complex. The “fishing hole,” as we affectionately call it, was one of the main reasons I decided to move into the place. It’s a very well-kept, very pretty artificial lake with a fountain that is kept stocked with fish. People really do fish in it, although, I can’t imagine the fish would be any good to eat. Maybe they catch and release. Anyway, the keeper of the pond is a mallard duck named Rufus (Li’l Sis named him). It’s a mystery why Rufus has decided to make this pond his permanent abode, because it’s rare to see a duck living alone. At first, we thought maybe he was crippled, or really old, and that’s why he didn’t migrate with the rest of the ducks. Well, he isn’t crippled because he flies just fine, and it’s rude to ask his age, so I guess we’ll just never know. Anyway, every time I leave and every time I return, I always look for Rufus to see what he’s up to. Usually, he’s cruising lazily in the pond, but he’s been known to venture forth on webbed feet into the inner reaches of the apartment complex. He enjoys socializing with the many dogs that take their walks around the complex, and he isn’t afraid of people at all. I’ve only discussed Rufus with a handful of my neighbors, but everyone knows him and loves him, though they may call him by a different name. I’m embarrassed, but I find myself worrying about Rufus quite a bit. I worry about visitors to the complex not watching for him on the roads. I worry that he might be lonely. I worry when I don’t see him as I come home in the evenings. I worry about myself and my irrational attachment to a duck.

Back to my porch. As I mentioned, my porch faces the back of the property, and the lay-out works out just so that my porch provides a very cozy shelter from wind and rain. While this is great for watching a thunderstorm pass (one of my favorite things), it also means I have a great many creepy crawlies setting up residence. I’m not a huge fan of spiders, but I appreciate them for what they do. But, I have to admit, the situation I’m currently living with makes me uncomfortable. I have spiders on all four corners of my porch, and they don’t look they’re going anywhere. My relationship with them follows the same set of rules I have with all insects, which is based on mutual respect; I won’t bother them if they don’t bother me. Thus, if feels wrong to murder them if they’re outside, which is where they’re supposed to be. Now, if they come inside, into my space, all bets are off… may the best bottom part of my shoe win. Of course, my porch presents a conundrum. It’s my space, but it’s outside. After deliberation, I’ve decided to leave them be, if they stay still and don’t get up on me. I’ve named them Terror, Horror, Panic, and Eeeeeeek! Our arrangement seems to be working, although I do feel like I’m getting the bad end of the deal. They get their corners, and I have to stand, like, right in the center of my own porch, all nervous like. They’re lucky I’m so diplomatic.

I can’t begin to tell you how eager I am to contribute my own animal life to the complex. I have decided that I will get a dog, and to be honest, I’m not sure how much longer I can wait. A lot will ride on how my job negotiations go at the end of this month, but no matter what, I’m pretty much set on having a puppy of my very own by Christmas. I’m super-pumped about it. Before you know it, this blog will cease to be about anything except picture spam of my beautiful new lab, or cocker spaniel, or collie, or mutt… I haven’t decided. The point is… get ready.


This is one of my favorite sites on the Internet, and you know I'll be contributing once I have a puppy. Click!

Movin' on up...

This is my new doormat. You like? I'm kidding, that's not my new doormat.

It’s my first weekend in the new apartment – I’ve been here a week and I’m doing just fine. I’ll admit that the first few nights were a little weird. It’s amazing how quiet things are when you live alone. It isn’t like my parent’s house was noisy, but when other people are in the same space, there’s a certain white noise. It might even just be the sense of other people around that makes it seem noisier. Anyway, on the first night, it took what felt like an interminable time to fall asleep. Every little noise made my eyes snap open, and I was thinking I would NEVER fall asleep. But I did. Finally.

You see, I was a little punchy that first night, which might explain my unease. I decided to take a shower before heading to bed, because I was all stank from moving furniture and things, so I did and let me say… the water pressure here is fabulous. I was very pleased. Anyway, I got out of the shower and went into the bedroom to put on my pajamas, and then the freakin’ smoke alarm went off – except I didn’t know it was the smoke alarm at first. I might have had a small coronary episode. My first thought was, OMG I’m naked! So I tore on some clothes and then ran around like a cartoon character trying to figure out what to do. I ran outside because that’s what you’re supposed to do (at least, that’s what they taught me in kindergarten), but no one was around. When the door shut behind me, I quickly realized that the noise was coming from my apartment only, so I ran back inside. I don’t know how loud your smoke detectors are, but mine is two decibels down from an air-raid siren and I wish I was kidding about that. I got a chair from my dining room and stood on it to try and turn the smoke alarm off, because I thought I remembered that you could do that. I tore it from the ceiling, literally, but couldn’t find any batteries or any switches, and the alarm was still screaming at me! And then I thought OMG what if the fire department shows up? I’m going to look so stupid. What if this stupid alarm just keeps going? My neighbors are going to hate me and it’s just the first night! Just as I was getting ready to call the emergency number for the complex, it turned off. The silence was glorious and I finally started to breathe again. The shaking continued for awhile, though.

Of course, the alarm went off because of the steam from the shower. Whose brilliant idea was it to put the smoke alarm right outside the bathroom door? And why doesn’t this smoke alarm know the difference between smoke and steam? Clearly, I’m not dealing with geniuses here.

But… lesson learned. The bathroom door must be closed at all times. Got it. The only thing is, when I keep the door closed, the steam doesn’t have anywhere to go and the fan can only do so much. So, when I get home in the evenings and go into the bathroom, which has been in lockdown all day, I find a nice pool of water on the floor where all the steam has condensed. This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I mean, do I really have to buy a dehumidifier for my bathroom? I mean, Geez…

Other than that – I’m loving my new digs. I’m still lacking in the furniture department, and I have cable cords running every which way because I haven’t had the time or money to get a wireless router, and I can’t figure out how to hook my DVD player into my TV, and I still don’t have any pots and pans to cook with, and my couch is still the ugliest couch ever made… but I’m starting to like this whole apartment idea, and thank God for that… I was getting tired of being grumpy.

Oh, update on the car accident. The insurance companies saw reason and totaled the car, so my parents will get a brand new one, probably as soon as next week, so everything worked out. I don’t know if it’s a symptom of getting older and more experienced or what, but it’s like this wreck never happened. My first accident (senior year of high school) haunted me for weeks. I had nightmares and suffered small anxiety attacks behind the wheel, all of which eventually passed, but I remember feeling quite unhinged. This time, I walked away and barely thought of it at all. Is that weird? Somehow, I don’t think it’s a good thing when a car wreck is no big deal.

The Update of Life...

I try pretty hard to keep this blog light and frivolous, but every now and then, I suppose some angst is in order. And by “angst” I mean completely irrational overreactions to routine life occurrences that will more than likely turn out for the best.

Part the first: The new apartment

While I haven’t completely given up hope that my bachelor pad will be fabulous and worthy of publication in Martha Stewart Living eventually, I must confess that the first few weeks of my habitation there have been… well, they haven’t been. The timing of everything worked out in such a way that by the time I’d paid the deposit and the first month’s rent, turned on the power, and paid my student loan bills, I had just enough money left over to buy… absolutely nothing. Basically, I’ve been renting for more than two weeks and I have yet to actually “live” there. Yes, I feel guilty about that. And yes, I feel incredibly weak and pathetic. But I really couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting alone in an apartment with no cable, no internet, and no food – just so I could say I live on my own… not when my parents’ house, along with the aforementioned cable, internet, and food, is right across the street. So I’ve been moving very slowly and gradually – a few boxes here, a quick run to Target for the basics there, and the apartment is just now beginning to be habitable. This weekend, the cable will be connected (they got the very last few crumbs in my bank account), my bed will be moved over, and the misery that will be the first few months will commence. I guess I’m just really disappointed… in myself, in life in general, in the rising cost of EVERYTHING… because I was truly excited about this move. Actually, I’ve been excited for over two years. It was anti-climactic, rough, and very little fun. And I’ll cry if I want to.

I had a little meltdown in Target earlier in the week. I was there with my mom and Li’l Sis, trying to pick up the things I would need to survive, and I was overcome with failure and disappointment. Here I am, almost 27 years old, and Mom has to help out with basic living items like toilet paper and trash bags. So much for self-sufficiency. I dealt with these feelings the only way I could… by sulking and whining like a five-year-old, losing all enthusiasm, and basically being an ass. That’s just how I roll. If it wasn’t for my sister’s death-stares and admonishments, there’s a good chance I would have stormed out in a huff with nothing, rendering the apartment vacant for another two weeks. Thanks for the tough love, girl.

Meanwhile, my couch is really ugly and I hate it, and don’t give me any crap about how I should just be grateful that I even have a couch, because you would be right, of course, but that’s not the point – the point is it isn’t the couch I wanted and it’s really UGLY and I hate it, but I took it and it’s sitting in my living room making me sad and miserable, emotions which are compounded exponentially by the fact that I can’t even afford a slipcover to hide the UGLY, so in a way that damn ugly couch is sitting in my living room laughing at me. I’m allowed to hate it and I’m tired of people telling me to stop complaining about it. The good news: I’ve come around to sort of liking the dining room furniture and the coffee table. And the bathroom is going to be really cute when I’m done with it. See? I can be positive when I want to.

Part the second: Occupational shenanigans

The new big boss is finally starting to move on his big restructuring plans for the department. Last Thursday, our team had a meeting, and it was announced that I would be leaving my current position and relocating. Beforehand, in a little one-on-one, the new boss assured me that I would like the new position he had in mind for me. He used phrases like, “great opportunity,” and, “more effective use of your skill-set.” Notice he didn’t use the word “promotion.” It’s all very confusing, but the gist of it seemed to be that I would no longer be the administrative assistant to my supervisor, but I would probably be doing the same sorts of things, just in a new office with a new supervisor. Meanwhile, everyone else in the department was either promoted or left the way they were. I have to be honest… it kind of felt like I’d been voted off the island. Everyone was very happy for the people who got promoted (congratulations were thrown around liberally), but I got a lot of concerned looks and the other assistant even gave me a pouty-face, which was unnerving. After the meeting, I couldn’t stand it, so I asked my supervisor if she thought I had received good news or bad news. And she said she thought it was good, but not very convincingly. Yesterday, I had a meeting with the big boss and the lady who will be my new supervisor, and I left it even more confused about what I’d be doing and for whom I’d be working. My emotions are wavering in an alarming way, too. One minute I’m excited, because some of what I’m hearing sounds perfect for me, and even fun. The next minute I’m angry, because there has been no mention of what will happen to my salary, and I feel weird asking about it. The next minute I’m just plain scared, because the transition will probably be very chaotic, and I could totally see myself doing two jobs for the price of one for a few months, which puts me in a really bad mood. But most of the time, I’m just grumpy. I hate not knowing what’s going on, and I’ve been left in the dark. I can tell my big boss thinks he’s doing me all sorts of favors, but I really resent it when authority figures think they know all about you and what you’re good at and what you’ll be happy doing - but don’t take the time to talk to you about things before they pull the rug out from beneath you and set your world spinning out of control.

The big boss says that this new position is being created FOR ME to take advantage of my skills and abilities, so I guess that’s a good thing, but he hasn’t said a word about perhaps giving me a title, or boosting my salary, or anything of that nature, which makes me think I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But let me tell you, if I don’t get some sort of salary inflation after all of this drama, I will be VERY CRANKY, and I might not be able to hide it. I might be cranky enough to start looking elsewhere, which I really don’t want to do, but crankiness is a huge motivation.

So CLEARLY, I haven’t been in the mood to blog about the latest music videos or the latest reality T.V. scandal or whatever because I’m actually sort of preoccupied with life – and all of it just reminds me why I like music videos and reality T.V. in the first place.

Strangers in a Strange Land...

While it’s still fresh on my mind, I wanted to relate to this humble blog an experience I had driving back from Charleston at 2:00 am last night.

I should mention here that it was never my intention to drive back so late. I had hoped to leave before dinner time to maximize the daylight – I don’t have issues with night-driving, but I definitely don’t prefer it – but as it happened, I didn’t leave until close to midnight. South Carolina, if you don’t know, doesn’t have the densest of populations, so these highways can be very dark and lonely late at night, especially in the low country. Miles and miles of nothing.

So, like I was saying, at about 2:00 am, I was passing through Clinton, SC, a little town about halfway between Columbia and Spartanburg, when I noticed a pack of red lights in the distance. For the most part, this had been a solo trip with very little contact with other vehicles, but for some reason, a little ways ahead of me, several cars were tightly gathered up and moving very slowly. I thought, “That can’t be good.” I slowed down and approached the cars gently, and noticed they were in a close single-file in the left line, moving at about 15 mph. I was getting ready to pass them on the right when I noticed movement on the right side of my periphery, after which I slammed my brakes and almost lost it.

There, just slightly off the road, barely inches from the edge of the emergency lane, was a massive herd of deer. There were so many, one couldn’t possibly count. Some were grazing contentedly; others were bounding back and forth from group to group. Some were pawing the ground nervously right where the asphalt met the grass, and still others were standing stiff, watching our small caravan of cars move past. Our lights caught their large, oval eyes with flashes that seemed electric as they passed from animal and animal.

I gradually removed my foot from the brake and eased myself behind the four cars I had seen before, ingratiating myself into their little club. We crawled along veeeery slowly, because, frankly, the deer were making us just as nervous as they seemed to be of us. Occasionally, one of the bucks (I assume they were bucks… rather large antlers and all) would venture out into the road and stand there, almost like he was waiting for something. Away from the rest of the group, these bucks seemed large enough to tip a car if they wanted, and the flickering shadows caused by our lights only seemed to make them appear larger and more powerful. After this happened a few times, most of us stopped braking altogether and just continued on, but it was incredibly nerve-wracking all the same. Gradually, other cars filed in behind me ever so cooperatively, until I would guess there were about 12 cars or so making their way past this giant family of deer.

There is no way to impress upon you the sheer number of animals hanging out by the side of the road, but I will tell you that we went on like this for at least 2.5 miles, and there was no break in the lines. I don’t know how deep their numbers were back into the trees, but their bodies were taking up almost all of the space on the embankments between the treeline and the road. The point is: there’s just no telling.

I had turned off my music immediately, but I remember eventually snapping to the realization that I should open my windows a smidge, just to catch whatever sounds I could. The sounds of our cars idling and our brakes expelling air drowned out most everything, but I could hear the faint sounds of munching and the soft bleats of whispered deer-conversations, as well as the intimidating sound of hooves on asphalt.

So, this went on for at least 45 minutes (I know, but I barely noticed), when suddenly, a signal must have been given, because the deer began to venture out onto the road en masse. We all pounded our brakes and held our breath. The deer weren’t afraid of us at all, it seemed, and before we knew it, they were walking, as placid and nonchalant as can be, between our cars, over to the median and across the other lanes. All of the stories I had heard about “deer in headlights” didn’t seem to apply. They simply traveled through us like we were nothing more than very loud, very bright bits of forest.

I don’t pretend to know the mind of a deer, but as all of this was happening, I had to wonder… what must they think of us? Do they realize there are hunters and meateaters lurking in those big cages? Or do they consider the cars to be large, noisy creatures with unnaturally bright eyes but otherwise harmless tempers? I got my answer, sort of, when a beautiful doe crossed in front of my headlights about halfway through the migration and came to a stop. She seemed to be looking at me, but after meeting her eyes with my own, I realized she was probably looking at my lights. She tilted her head slightly to the left, putting my fender directly in her sight, as if to issue a challenge. Then, and I almost missed it completely, a fawn tiptoed across the road, his mother’s body between us. I could see the whites of the mother’s eyes, so I could tell she wasn’t completely comfortable, but once her baby had reached the median, she huffed and sniffed at my car and moved on.

I don’t think I breathed the whole time.

It was magical, really, in that way that magic is fascinating, mysterious, creepy, and wonderful all at the same time. I wonder what my human cohorts were thinking as they experienced it with me. I hope that if any of those other cars had kids in them that their parents thought to wake them up so they could see it. I know that if I were sitting in my car with my mouth open and my eyes as wide as saucers, the kids must have been beside themselves. It would be something to remember for their whole lives. I have no idea who those people were or where they were going, but it was a thrill to share the experience with them. I think I might have been really freaked out, and not in a good way, if all of that had happened to me alone.

It’s entirely possible that there are people who wouldn’t be moved or touched by an experience like this. Some might have been utterly put out; we did, after all, get stuck for almost an hour. But I definitely feel like it was a magical moment - like seeing a shooting star or a butterfly landing on your hand – and I like to think my friends in the caravan felt it, too. I couldn’t help but feel camaraderie with them – we were like strangers in a strange land. This herd of deer has been trekking across the grassy hills of South Carolina for time out of mind, their ancient routes and pathways etched into their minds with the clarity of their own heartbeats. It isn’t they crossing our interstates, but we crossing theirs. I’m glad that I and my fellow drivers were respectful and appreciative enough to let these deer travel unmolested. It was the hospitable thing to do.

my iPod and me...

Subtitled: How a piece of gadgetry almost ruined my life.

I know I haven’t been updating much lately, and for that, so sorry, but really, this blog has missed nothing. Truthfully, and without exaggeration, all I’ve done for the past week, excluding the miserable hours at work, is fiddle with my new iPod. Funny story about that… it almost didn’t work.

My iPod arrived like a new-fallen snow, or the first rain of spring, or a rainbow after a flood – it was all magic and angels singing and babies gurgling and what not, just as I’d expected. The first phases of getting it online went by without incident. My little computer properly downloaded and ran all the appropriate updates and programs. When the help wizard told me I was finally ready to start importing my music – I could barely contain my glee. And so it began. I started at the beginning of my first giant traveling case of CD’s, and we were off and running. The first CD I imported was one of my newer ones, Cyndi Lauper’s first album, She’s So Unusual (I bought it for Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and seriously, don’t we?). After the little jingle jangle that signified the import was complete, I connected my new Ipod and let it sync, all the while shivering with excitement… my FIRST digital listen! The sync went fine and the album showed up on the crystal clear screen of MyPod, and I pressed play. Ah, the joyful strains, “I come home in the morning light/ My mother says, “When you gonna live your life right!?” and so on and so forth, and we’re just about to rev into the chorus when…

Skip…

Girls, th…

Spazz…

Ey wanna h…

Blippity, Bleep…

Ave f…

Gagahgahgahgah… skippy skip…

Uuuunnn.


What. The. F*ck. Why is my iPod skipping? I don’t panic... no, it’s much too early for that. Instead, I erase the album, restart my computer, and try again. And this time, it’s much better. Sigh of relief. After that, the importing began in earnest. As my CD’s were one-by-one fed to iTunes, I read His Dark Materials by Phillip Pullman, and watched some of the first season of Ugly Betty on DVD. Fine Holiday Fun.

All of that was Thursday night. It had been a busy night – 58 albums imported. Friday at work passed slowly, and when I got home, I went straight to my computer and began importing. As I put in the soundtrack to Chicago, I noticed that the music wasn’t sounding all that great coming out of my computer. It was fuzzy and…you guessed it… skipping. I thought, maybe it’s the CD, so I let it finish and listened to it from the iPod. All That Jazz was almost unrecognizable amidst all the hissing and scratching. I was upset, understandably, because what the hell good is this iPod if my Chicago soundtrack isn’t on it? Right!? But then I went to listen to some of the other stuff I’d imported. EVERYTHING WAS SKIPPING!!!

I think the cloud of obscenities that erupted from my mouth at that point is still hovering over the Kackalack in a dense haze. It might not be safe for flying.

Once I managed to compose myself, I went online to see if anyone else was having these kinds of problems. Can I just say that the iPod tutorials and forums are incredibly UNHELPFUL when it comes to troubleshooting. The problems discussed are either as inane as, “How do I turn this thing on?” or so complex and out of my league that I can’t understand the words much less put them into action. After several hours of hair-pulling and nail-biting, I was close to tears… but then I found a blog that answered my questions. Turns out, my computer doesn’t really have enough memory to support iTunes, and my laptop’s CD drive is a little outdated and can’t handle the speed iTunes wants to use for importing. So, some CD’s will import just fine IF my computer is having an amazing day and IF it’s the only album currently residing in iTunes. Basically, I was screwed.

I felt like I’d hit some sort of rock bottom. I called a friend and said, “If I don’t figure out how to get this G’Damn thing to work, Ebeneezer Scrooge won’t be able to hold a Grinch-scented candle to the level of Stank I will unleash upon this holiday season.” Clearly, everyone’s Christmas was at stake.

At that point, I figured my only options were to a) go buy a new computer (not happening) or b) use my parents’ nicer one. So that’s what I did… I took my iPod and my two giant CD cases and parked in front of my parents’ Mac. I said a little prayer to the Heathen Gods of my ForeGays, and BEHOLD!, the CDs started importing without problems. I was so excited that I just started importing with wild abandon. One album after another, over and over, again and again. Before I went to bed that night, I’d caught up with my previous stint and then some.

Four days later, and ImportFest 2007 is almost complete. I had no idea what a shitload of music I had. The iPod is running fine, and my parents’ computer has taken the digital onslaught like a champion. Now, though, I need to start thinking. I’m moving out very soon, which means my iTunes library is going to be stuck at home. Does that mean I have to come home every time I want to add something to my iPod?

Also, my computer is a PC and my parents’ computer is a Mac. My Pod can’t do its updates on the Mac – I’ll have to do that with the PC. Is that going to screw anything up? Does it matter if my iTunes library is on one computer but not the other? When I plugged my iPod into the Mac, it made me erase all that I’d already downloaded, which was fine because it was all skipping, but will it make me do that again when I need to download the software updates? I know it says you can use it on up to five computers, but does each computer have to have all the same music in its library in order for the iPod to sync properly? Will I have to erase and start over every time I want to sync? Is there a way I can move my iTunes library to another computer when I want to? What is the meaning of life? Where do we go when we die? What did I get on my shirt at lunch?

I need to lie down.

I'm so confused

I’ve been meaning to write about this topic for some time – and I’m surprised I haven’t, because it’s really been “dogging” me. The question is: when I have my own place and I’m settled and fabulous, will I get a pet? And if I do, will it be a dog or a cat?

I mean, what's cuter?...

OR

And what's scarier?...

OR

Here’s the thing (or things, really)… I LOVE dogs. Seriously, I can’t get enough of them. When they’re on TV, I automatically get emotional. When I see them in people’s cars, I stare and try to get their attention. When I’m walking past people walking their dogs on the street, I greet the dog. When a dog comes up to me at a park or whatever, I actually consider puppy-snatching, and my brain goes through the likely scenarios (will I make it to my car before the owner can catch up?) (but I never do it – the point is I think about it). Basically, dogs make me smile. No, they make my HEART smile, and it really is as cheesy and sickly sweet as it sounds.

A great many of my best memories from childhood are wrapped up in my dog, Beauregard (wasn't he gorgeous?), who passed away a couple of years ago. He really was the best damn dog that ever walked the Earth, and I know everyone thinks that about their pets, but I’m right about this, so shut up. The idea of having that again (warm fuzzy ears, wet sloppy nose, and destructive whip-lashing tail)… well, I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.

Cats, on the other paw, are very mysterious to me. There are no cat people in my family whatsoever, and I’ve never coexisted with a cat for more than a few days at a time. I think they’re sort of fabulous… not in the same way as dogs, but in ways I can definitely appreciate. I like that they’re independent and relatively self-sufficient. I like that they have attitudes, very distinct likes and dislikes, taste and style. Where dogs are predictable, cats are enigmatic, and that is undeniably appealing to me.

The main difference between the two seems to be encapsulated in the role of their owners. Dogs NEED their owners; cat owners NEED their cats. Or that’s how it seems to me. I think both relationships are probably equally fulfilling, but I have to decide which will be best for me.

If I’m being honest, my first choice would always be a dog, but when I think about what a dog needs besides the basic food, shelter, love, etc., I get a little worried. A dog needs exercise, lots of attention, and most importantly, he needs to do his business outside, which sort of requires supervision. I know a well-trained dog can make it from 8 to 5 without going potty in the house, but anything past that might be unfair (and painful). I’m not sure I want to have to run home right after work everyday to make sure Fido isn’t redecorating the carpets in lovely browns and yellows. I’m aware that plenty of people do leave their dog shut up in the house all day, or at least fenced or chained outside, but I don’t have that option because I plan on having an apartment. It’s my choice to bring a dog into my home, and if I feel like it might be too much for me, I probably shouldn’t do it, right?

Cats don’t seem to require as much attention and time. They do their business whenever they want. You can train them to be perfectly content staying indoors their whole lives. They don’t need or want the physical, energy-draining exercise, and they don’t seem to mind when they’re left alone for long periods of time. In fact, some of them act like they don’t need an owner at all, and wouldn’t be bothered if their owner just… disappeared. That is, until dinner time.

In a way, I think a cat might be the perfect choice for me. It’s companionship with half the responsibility. But I know I will miss the affection and submissiveness that only dogs can provide. My cat-loving co-worker assured me that cats can be - and often are - very affectionate, but when I went over to her apartment to meet her brood (three of them), I didn’t see affection… I saw roommates. I think she may have a different definition of the word affection than I.

As I re-read this, I realize I’ve made cat-keeping sound extraordinarily easy and carefree, which I know it isn’t. Cats have their needs, too. (Just wanted to clear that up.) When I was discussing this conundrum with that same office-worker, I saw her jaw clenching as I confessed some of my completely uninformed biases towards cats. I really thought she was about to scratch my eyes out (appropriately enough). Luckily, instead of attacking me, she educated me about all the joy there is in owning a cat, and I came away from the conversation enlightened – and no blood was shed. However, I still had reservations. My biggest fear is getting a cat and finding out I can’t stand them. What if I don’t bond with him at all? I’m seriously not interested in orphaning an animal, even though I would definitely do everything in my power to place him in a better home.

Here’s where I am now: based on the conversations I’ve had with some cat owners and the lifestyle I plan on adopting when I live alone, a cat seems to be the better choice for companionship. Since I don’t know if I even like cats, is it fair to put a cat through a test run? If I want a guinea pig, shouldn’t I just… get a guinea pig? Do I seem like the kind of person that can handle a cat? Is there any hope that I can be converted into a cat fancier?

So there it is. What should I do? And don’t say, “There’s always goldfish.” Or… do, but understand it will make me cry.