My Desk Smells Like Pizza

When I got it into my head to move to Hawaii, my mother told me right off the bat, “You know this means no birthdays (with us), no Christmas (with us), no more seeing the baby, right?” and I said yes. Quickly and without hesitation. I knew I wouldn't be there with my family anymore. (I was actually sort of looking forward to being alone for Christmas and not having to make a huge deal about it.) What I didn't know was that I wouldn't be there for my family.

That may seem like a no-brainer, but, for me, it wasn't. I'm kind of nutsy about my little brother and sister, and absolutely crazy about my niece. I fought with them like I fight with everyone (violently and loudly) but I love them to death. I took my brother out driving (me driving, not him) at least once a week, and we would get some sort of food and just talk for an hour or two. I went out with my little sister to go shopping or, once a month, going to our favorite sushi place and splitting the order. I talked to them (read: lectured them) on these drives, and I'm sure they loved that. And when I found out my older sister was going to have a baby, all I could think about was being an aunt, and, for everything I had in mind, my niece and I would have to be a lot closer—like, at least two states between us. So I didn't realize until I held my first online conversation with my little sister that I couldn't run upstairs and bop her in the face for something stupid she said. I also wouldn't he able to go home every day and talk to my mom and dad. This stuff didn't occur to me until after I'd moved, after I hated my job, hated thinking about money, had my first late phone bill and bad things had happened and my mom couldn't talk sense into me and make me see reason.

With the exception of their living situation, I watch the first seasons of Friends and have surprising affiliation with situations I used to not understand.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THIS BREAKING NEWS: Iron Man just came on my Pandora radio and, oh, dear god, I feel so much better.

[Five and a half minutes of awesomeness later] Anyway.

Ella, my cat, comes home on the 26^th. I work that night at Narbes, but I have the next day off and I'm going to work on getting her to like me again, because I know she won't. I haven't been to visit her in a while, but when I did she would get really pissy, and even bit me once—I wasn't handling her right, but she still put her teeth around my finger, and she's never done that before. So this is probably going to be like when I first got her and I'll have to reestablish the relationship. Good times.

It's A Conspiracy

Quite recently, I applied (and by “applied” I mean Katana nagged me until I put in an application and had my interview in the same thirty minutes) for a position in the Narbes cafe. Which is fun; I like the cafe and I like the people in the cafe (for the most part). What's not fun is that I also work at Hallmark four days a week, and now my schedules are quite often back to back.

This, as you can gather, was a mistake.

Take Monday. I had orientation at Narbes from 9:30 to 1:30, which meant that I had to get up at 7, leave the house by 8:30 to catch the bus to the mall and ZombieSlayer's house to get the black shirt I lent her so I could wear it to work, and then go to work. Again, not so bad, right? Not until you add on the fact that I worked in Hallmark from 2:00 to 9:30. Better yet, I get to do a similar run on Friday, working 7:30 to 3:30 at Narbes and 5:00 to 9:30 at Hallmark.

My fee hate me, by the way. At least I get a slight break in between, and a killer discount.

On a different but slightly consecutive note, I was babysitting two kittens during this period. Their names are Shoebox and Lucky. I've never owned a kitten before, and I've come to realize that they fall under the same category as human babies: I like them just fine when they are someone else's. I do not want my own.

My cat, Ella, is actually pretty easy to live with. She gets 75% of the bed, and I respond quickly when she meows. (Yes, I am whipped. No, I don't care. She is a princess.) The only times she has ever gotten in my face when I was in bed was when I was sick, couldn't respond to her meows and she wanted to see what was up. Then I coughed in her face and she ran away.

These kittens got in my face all the time. It was freaking ridiculous. I pushed them off and they came right back within five minutes. I finally put the fear of water in them and started spraying them when they annoyed me. Shoebox liked very much to sit on the back of my chair and either play with my ponytail or knead my sunburned shoulders with her claws. How considerate, right?

Okay, maybe I would like them a little better if I hadn't come home on Saturday to find all of my Snuff notes strewn across the floor. Just maybe.

In other news, BeccaTwoC started college and I'm sooo proouuddd 8'33333