There is cat hair on everything I own.

As I sit here at 3 in the morning, polishing off a delicious dessert tray of Reese’s peanut butter bars, I sit and wonder: why the hell am I not asleep? Perhaps it is because I’ve completely trashed anything that might have even resembled an internal time clock. Or maybe it’s because that very internal time clock mixed up its AMs and PMs. It may also be that I’m just tired enough that I don’t want to make the walk to the bedroom, and I’d rather click Stumble! after Stumble! after Stumble!

Whatever the reason, this is true: There is cat hair on everything I own. On every pair of shoes, on any piece of clothing I leave out (including the mountain of clothes sitting on my dresser), on my couch, on my table, all over the carpet floor, and, of course, on my bed. Every now and then, when I feel like cleaning, I vacuum the floors to pick up the easy cat hair, I lint roll the couch and the clothes I’m going to wear for the day. Sometimes I lint roll the bed, but then come the cats to roll around in it to freshly apply their generous amount of hair.

So, where does this leave me?

Almost four months after my last post, everything’s still just the same: my house is a catty fucking mess.

What’s different? I’m now technically a junior at Temple. I finished off my last final this past Friday, and I’ve been trying to figure out just what I’m going to do with myself this summer. I’ve already given up any hope of finding a second job (before I’ve even started looking, mind you.) So, I’m going to settle myself on a hobby, perhaps start a project or two, read a good book. Here’s my list for the summer:

• Read a few books.
• Finish all the PS3 games I’ve started.
• Watch “Australia.”
• Design and build a cat tree.
• Bring the cats to Rittenhouse again.
• Take pictures.
• Make videos.
• Get crunk fucking nasty.
• Do laundry at least once.
• Adopt another cat. (Please?)

One thing’s for certain: you can expect to see much more of me on the internet in the coming days, weeks, and months. Stay tuned, friends. You’re going to be wowed.

Sometimes I forget to lint-roll all the cat hair off me before work. And I look all sorts of catty.

So I apply stickers all over my body and remove.

Stick. Peel. Stick. Peel.

It’s very efficient.

I don’t believe in the typical karma that involves fate from cause and effect. You know: you do good — good happens to you. Rather, I believe in my own personal karma where I try to be a good person and do nice things just for the sake of being GOOD. (Of course, not to gain admittance into heaven. Fuck that shit.) Sometimes, it just so happens that good things happen to me as a result of my being good. GOOD GOOD GOOD. I’m having trouble thinking of synonyms at the moment.

A few days ago was trash night. Jeff and I brought the trash to the curb, and while we were out, we noticed that there was a large pile of ripped open trash bags across the street with all sorts of garbage strewn on the sidewalk. The guy who lived there came out as we did, and he just stared in amazement and horror at the sight of what he was now forced to clean up. Because everyone knows that no sanitation worker will clean that shit up.

Jeff and I went over to go ask if he wanted help, and so we did. It didn’t take very long with the three of us, and soon it was all cleaned up. (Side story: he is in the process of moving, so I guess people noticed the furniture on the curb and thought they might find some goodies hidden in the trash.) He asked me, “what’s your favorite kind of alcohol?” I told him that that wasn’t necessary and that I didn’t expect a payment for helping. He insisted.

Two days later, my doorbell rings. Not only did he bring over an expensive bottle of Don Julio tequila but also two brand new iPod Shuffles for both Jeff and me. OMGWTF. All I wanted was for him to do the same if he saw someone else in the same situation. Sort of like a pay-it-forward thing. (That movie made me cry.)

He also included a really cute thank-you card. Shame that we met in the midst of his moving. We could have been BFFs. He seems like such a nice guy! (And I say this judging his personality before he came bearing gifts worth almost $200. Though, buying me things does fast-track the road to friendship.)

Here is my list of irrational fears. Or phobias, if you will:

1. Heights. Includes: tall buildings, cliffs, skydiving, large trees. Also includes: sitting at tables or on benches near second floor ledges, i.e. malls, or anything that’s not ground-level.
2. Double knots. Since I learned to tie a shoe, I’ve been afraid of double knots. It doesn’t freak me out when other people double knot their shoes — THAT’D be silly. Just when MY shoes are double knotted. I’d rather spend the day constantly retying my shoes than spend the day at the mercy of an untieable double knot.
3. Gangrene. Period. Everyone’s at risk. WE’RE ALL SO SUSCEPTIBLE! I’m going to start the Gangrene Awareness and Prevention Institute for Newly Gangrenous Humans, and Other Lethal Emergencies (GAPINGHOLE).

I actually constantly fear all three. So, how do I deal with the constant fear?  Well, I’ve  switched almost entirely to slip-on shoes, like Vans, to prevent any need for tying at all. Also, I’m doing my best to prevent severe infection and frostbite. Lastly, I’m currently researching and looking into growing wings to prevent serious falls.

What I’m not afraid of?

• Freak panda bear attacks.
• Freak alien attacks.
• Freak tadpole attacks.
• Mirrors.
• Technology and electricity.
• Brown people.
• Chia pets.
• Patterns; specifically argyle.

And others. It’s a particularly long list. You may request a copy.

To say 2008 was life changing would be an understatement. But then again, 365 days is a decent amount of time to bring about a decent amount of change. The year was certainly rocky. Tumultuous. Turbulent. It was sort of like an airplane ride. With terrorists. And plenty, I might add. But, here, on the 29th, I couldn’t be happier with where I stand. Or lay. On the floor of Jeff’s apartment, typing on my rapidly-aging MacBook. Damn technology.

About just this time last year, I was sitting in my therapist’s office, rambling about nonsense, particularly how nervous I was to ask out this really cute guy because I was afraid of getting the big old reject. Nevertheless, the year started off with a bang. Rather, a shower of sparkles. Or glitter. But not like the Mariah Carey kind. More like the cheesy romantic gay date kind. The kind of glitter that trannies wear. Okay, so that’s essentially the same kind as Mariah.

Almost immediately upon returning to Temple from winter break, I went on a date with that really cute guy. It was my first real date in a while, and it went splendidly. I was head over heels for him for a long time. I had some of the most magical nights that February. And then, after some time, we had some issues. A lot a lot a lot of issues. And then a couple breakups. And some passionate reuniting. We’ve been back together with almost no issues for the better part of the year now, and a lot of that can be attributed to spending the entire summer nearly alone — just the two of us. Took some time to really figure each other out, and we’ve been good ever since. And if you just ignore those two small breakups, we’re one month to a year together.

Scholastically? Spring 2008 was pretty abysmal. In my defense, it was the semester that I was busy blossoming a relationship, which meant entirely ignoring schoolwork, going out to eat and to movies a lot, and having tons of sex. Fall 2008, the semester that just ended, was surprisingly very decent. Though I prepared myself for even failing a class, I managed to get all As. Somehow I managed to learn an entire semester in three short days to prepare for an intense final. And they say cramming doesn’t work!

The shift from spring semester to fall semester also marked a shift from spending all time on campus to spending nearly none. Chalk that one up to some interpersonal issues with a few “friends.” I managed to sever some ties, and not only did it make my life drama free, but it also made me much happier in general. I guess all through life you learn who your real friends are, learn who you can trust, and learn that no matter how hard she tries, Madonna will never be a good actress. She had one good performance, but she’ll never make another Evita. Not when she’s still releasing things like Swept Away.

Relationships with my family hit an all-time low midway through ninth grade. Since junior year of high school, things have been improving steadily, and I think I can say now that it truly feels like a family once again. Anything that happened between my older brother and I in high school has completely dissolved and has been repaired. He met my boyfriend and seemed to have no qualms at all with doing so, which made me feel all sorts of happy inside. I guess this year was also when my whole family first met a boyfriend of mine. Kind of a big step.

The biggest change in oh-eight was the addition to my home and family in the form of two felines: Nefer, the troublemaker, and Mabel, the instigator. Nefer entered my life at the end of August and Mabel on November 4th. Nefer’s slowly approaching his first birthday, but Mabel’s only four months or so. They are the most precious kittens in the whole world and bring me infinite joy and love. Despite the vast amount of concentrated evil they leave in the litter box every day (I swear, defecating that much shouldn’t be normal), I’m patiently (or not so much) awaiting the day that Jeppy will let me bring home Kitten #3. Or Puppy #1. Or Babies #1-10.

And here I sit, on January 1st, three days later from when I started writing this. I’m now on my couch with kittens running up and down around me while the scent of freshly dropped feces quickly and quietly fills the entire apartment like a noxious gas. I’m probably going to go home for a few days next week. Maybe I’ll stop by my therapist’s office and fill him in on the year. I bet he’s curious at least.

Last night was a wonderful last day of the year, full of brownies, Thai food, and Kathy Griffin. It was a great way to usher in the new year. Though there was plenty of hate in 2008, it’s now looking fine in 2009. Right, Dennis?

No, they don’t. They’re cats! But I know that they love the season as much as (or even more than) people do: krinkly paper, trees to climb in, dangling ornaments, garlands to tug at. Really, the season was built around cats. While they bring a lot more aggravation to the holiday, they bring even more love. SWEET LITTLE BUNDLES OF JOY. But I didn’t always have cats around the holidays.

This season has always been an exciting one for me, ever since I was a child. When I was a youngster, I got myself so jazzed every Christmas (about all those presents, of course! — the materialist in me) that I would make myself physically ill. Well, that’s at least how my mom recalls it. All I remember is every December around Christmastime, I’d be vomiting like a pregnant woman. I’d always stay up as late as possible and wake up as early as possible, making myself dreadfully tired Christmas day, but I think most other kids did the same in that respect. However, tiredness can always be overcome with strawberry pancakes and flashy new toys.

My dad has some sort of Christmas routine that we loosely follow every holiday, which goes something like: wake up; open presents; eat breakfast, which usually consists of eggs and fruited-up pancakes; hang around for a while; go see a movie–the whole family, of course; then come back to the house, make a quick dinner–hamburger helper, perhaps–and hang around some more. The Christmas routine has become a very special and necessary part of Jesus’s birth. Now, you must understand that I don’t really care so much for that Jesus fellow. I celebrate this secular holiday for two reasons: 1. festivity: decorations, lights, music; and 2. Gifting: I like giving things, but I’m not going to lie and say I don’t like getting things, too. Today, “Merry Christmas” has about as much religious connotation as “it’s hammer time!”

My dad was also in charge of setting the mood for Christmas. This involved setting up all of the decorations, which was a mix of multi-colored lighting, eclectic ornaments, and Department 56 houses, and choosing the holiday music, which time after time is still Neil Diamond’s The Christmas Album — which, for the record, is enjoyable and a PLUS in my book because it does not include any single song from my Worst Christmas Top 10:

10. Do They Know It’s Christmastime - Band Aid
9. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer
8. Happy Christmas (War Is Over) - Celine Dion
7. Our Love Is Like A Holiday - Michael Bolton
6. Hey Santa - Carnie & Wendy Wilson
5. Love on Layaway - Gloria Estefan
4. Wonderful Christmastime - Paul McCartney
3. Christmas Shoes - NewSong
2. Last Christmas - Wham!
1. Happy Holiday - Andy Williams

I can’t remember every Christmas in great detail, though I do remember one Christmas really jonesing for a Barbie airplane. Mattel’s lucrative franchise and monopoly over girls’ 11-and-a-half inch dolls topped my Christmas lists many, many years in a row. Barbie this, Barbie that. Then, I just became expensive and wanted digital cameras and GameBoys and such. A few years ago, my little brother and I both got that idiotic Nokia N-Gage. It was fun for a hot second. Then it was totally lame.

This Christmas season, I just asked my parents for some dollarz towards an HDTV. I really want one — you know — so that I can see the full high-definition beatuy of BBC’s Planet Earth among other things (HIGH DEF PORN). My television’s really onto it’s last hour. In addition to the two giant permanent discolored spots, sometimes it now flashes different spectra of color, obscuring my view of the stories and possibly inducing strokes on unsuspecting guests to my apartment! Speaking of presents, I’ve already received a gift from my number one fan and the number one aunt of our dearest Mikey, Ann Ginda. Since this is the first year I’ve had my own Christmas tree, I was waiting until after the holiday season had ended to start my collection of heavily-discounted ornaments, but Ann has already begun my collection with two beautiful gifts. I’m so thrilled to hear you read my rarely-updated blog, that this whole update is dedicated to you!

Your love of cats gives me that Christmas joy, and it is encouraging me to motivate myself to throw together a video of the newest addition to my cat family, Mabel. Nefer and Mabel get along splendidly, but I have some really cute footage of Mabel’s arrival to the home. Nefer didn’t know quite what to expect. Adorable, really. Just as AWW-inducing as the video I got of Mabel climbing in the Christmas tree before we decided that that was a bad idea (RE: four broken ornaments.)

(Left: Dennis, Jeff, and I with our gifts; Right: Mabel, doing her favorite activity, Christmas tree climbing)

Also, this holiday season marks the first time I (with five others) threw a holiday party. I’ve wanted to do so for the past few years but have been unable to. (Limited resources, lack of planning, no friends.) But this year, the combined effort of Jeffrey, Dennis, Deborah, Ginda, Emily, and myself threw quite the classy affair. All the scandalous photos that may have leaked from the paparazzi (and let me tell you, Ann, your nephew is quite the scandal!) can be seen on Facebook, but here’s two for the rest of you: a family picture with tree and sans tree. (Click to see bigger resolution!)

(Left: Without tree; Right: With Tree)

Now, it’s only the 21st, four more days until Jesus is reborn as an ocelot, or so the Christmas story goes. I still have shopping left to do, broken ornaments pieces to discover around my apartment, and some party leftovers to devour!

I’m kind of sick of being pretend Christian for the season. Maybe next year I’ll be pretend Jewish and celebrate Hanukkah. Or pretend black and celebrate Kwanzaa.

(Who the eff celebrates Kwanzaa anyway? Call it ignorant, I call it statistics: 2% of Americans celebrate it, making only 14% of African Americans. Oh yeah, and it’s a holiday made up in the late 60s by a convicted torturer. And Kwanzaa has an official website which is the first result in Google. WTF PLZ? That’s legit stuff, yo!)

Whoever has known me since the middle of this past summer knows that I have formed a new addiction. No, it’s not heroin. Not crack either. Nor is it cookies. Cheesecake–that’s another story. But this is not about my pregnant-like cravings for cheesecake. It is about my obsessive need and compulsion to constantly check my BlackBerry. Not to mention the separation anxiety I get when I’m away from it.

I stumbed upon an article detailing some recent studies done on addiction to technology, more specifically, smartphones. More specifically even, BLACKBERRIES. Or, CrackBerries, if you will. And I know you will.

I got my first BlackBerry on eBay around August. It was a Pearl. Then I graduated to a Curve shortly after when I was eligible to upgrade. Soon after that, I was enveloped by the hype surrounding the Storm, and I just HAD TO HAVE IT. And so I did. I waited in line like a crazy person the day it came out (first in line of about 50 to be exact.) Two weeks after that, I returned the shitstorm that was the BlackBerry Storm and went back to my trusty Curve. I’ve been all around the block, as you can see.

Now having a BlackBerry, I don’t know where I was without it. This is one addiction I will own up to. The cheesecake is less of an addiction and more of just… well. It is what it is. I eat cheesecake a whole lot. My favorite is raspberry. I had some banana’s foster the other day though, and that was DELISH. I am also a fan of the plan New York style cheesecake. Pretty much anything that is CHEESE + CAKE is good in my book. My book of cheesecake, that is.

“But wait! What do you use a BlackBerry for? You don’t need that!”

Ahh, but you’re wrong! While the CrackBerry used to be a self-proclaimed business device, it has branched quite largely into the consumer market. Of course I text and email a whole lot. But there’s so much more! Now, I’m always connected with AIM, BlackBerry Messenger, Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, and Flickr. No more waiting around a computer. Plus, when I’m lost coming back from Deborah’s into the city, GPS really helps. Then of course, there’s those times when I need to prove a point by instantly accessing Wikipedia. Or listen to some jamz when I’m sans iPod. And the camera for those really special two-megapixel moments. I keep all my contacts there, my whole schedule, and some on-the-fly notes to remember the good times, like Jeffrey’s definition of “sitting.”

“Well, why do you need a BLACKBERRY? Can’t you do all that with an iPhone?”

Ahh, but you’re wrong! iPhones do not get push emails or notifications. Nor can they record video. Or receive MMS, or “picture messages,” if you will. And of course, they cannot copy and paste, which is something I use a lot more than you would think.

“So what does it all mean?!”

Well, for me, it means I have constant connection and access to friends. Either texting with Jeffrey, instant messaging on AIM with Dennis, chatting on BlackBerry Messenger with Deborah, or Twittering with any of them + Emily and Ginda. It also means I have instant access to my cats! Like a good aspiring cat lady, I have about a thousand pictures of Nefer and Mabel on my phone. They’re good for conversation starters with other crazy cat strangers, too. “Oh, how old is he?” “He’s eight months!” “Aww, they’re so cute.” “Here’s them sleeping together!”

When it comes down to it, my life is all about friends and cats. And forgiveness, of course. Because when you have friends and cats (some people have one or the other, some people have neither), you need to be able to forgive. Sometimes I forgive my friends when they apologize. Sometimes I forgive my cats when they shatter my ornaments or claw at my feet while I’m sleeping. And sometimes I forgive… No wait, I’ll never forgive the BlackBerry Storm for being such a disappointment. Tsk tsk, RIM.

See look, it’s working right now. I just forgave Mabel for clawing at my shoes and just generally being sub-intelligent.

Speaking of subs, I’m hungry, and that’s the one thing my BlackBerry cannot do for me. Although, give it time, and smartphones will be feeding us tacos and instant oatmeal on-the-go.

And cheesecake, too.

Is it…

1. not settling an issue
2. not having or showing the ability to make decisions quickly and effectively
3. your bff steve

One thing (of many, of course) that most of my friends make fun of me for is that I am always changing my major. I wanted to do a lot of things throughout high school, and when I started to think about college, I had to start thinking about majors. I phased through business, chemistry, psychology, math, and advertising. Then, on a whim, I decided I wanted to be a superstar film maker. This began my college search, where I was looking at communication schools so I could pursue either film or advertising.

Then I had a reality check and decided to just go with advertising.

During the application process, my dad convinced me that I didn’t want to be an Ad major, I wanted to be a Business major seeking a job in advertising. He had some logic and it made sense, so I listened and applied to every college’s business school. Upon tearfully turning down the school of my dreams and painfully accepting a bid for Temple (which I now so dearly love/hate), I decided I was over being in business and I wanted to pursue engineering because I love the dollarz. So, I changed my declared major before I even arrived. When I got there for orientation, I decided I was over engineering and wanted to just be undeclared for a hot second. I was undecided for only that hot second though, because soon into the first semester, I was a sociology major.

Then, I had some doubts after my first year of Sociology, and I wanted to return to the Communications/Ad major. I eventually came back to Sociology, which is where I am now. With a double major in Economics.

Basically: I had no idea what I wanted to do. More basically: I still have no idea. Well, I have some idea: a major or two that I’ll stick with. (FOR NOW.) But I’m still kind of all over the place about a job. My ideas for what I want to do stem largely from my own interests but have definitely been subjected to popular culture along the way. Put simply, kick ass TV stars sometimes influenced what I wanted to do at one point or another. Since I had no idea what I wanted to do, I could at least mold my life after these people who have such funny lives! When I was big into Will & Grace, I wanted to be a lawyer. Queer as Folk, I wanted to be an ad exec. Weeds, I wanted to be a dealer. Desperate Housewives, I wanted to be a housewife.

Now I’ve just started watching Ugly Betty from the beginning, and I want to be the ugly clumsy assistant that works for a fashion magazine. Like Anne Hathaway from the Devil Wears Prada, too.

Or, more realistically, I want to be a cat. Eat all day. Sleep all day. Lick my asshole.

Requirements for a future career: EXCITEMENT + CASH MONEY. Oh, and whatever job I have, BlackBerry use must be essential.

Oh yeah, and when I was little, I wanted to have magical powers like Matilda.

We’re on our third film in Blacks in Cinema. The first was “Imitation of Life,” one I’ve seen three times now. It’s a really fantastic portrayal of racist ideology of the 1930s, complete with mammy and tragic mulatto. The second was “Intruder in the Dust,” which strayed from the mammy and instead told of a biased justic system, unfairly accusing a black man of a white man’s murder.

This class is mildly interesting at best because we don’t really discuss much about the movies. Rather, we just go from movie to movie. We’re now watching a musical of some sort. I have no idea what’s going on, but everyone in it seems really excited. I think that’s why I like musicals; people can get excited about just about anything. Sometimes I wish my life were a musical. It would make explaining policies at eBay much more interesting.

In fact, I just left my job at eBay. Hours weren’t as ideal as I thought they would be. My error–not his.

Speaking of racism, one of my last days working there, I was researching a lot of Barbies to see the best way to group and sell them. I came across a “glamorous gala barbie” or something similar–I don’t remember the exact name. Underneath that, it said “African American.” Not that surprising, as Mattell is known to make different versions of each Barbie for different races and ethnicities.

I opened up the box, and laying there was what appeared to be a tanned white Barbie. And I thought, isn’t that really racist? After all, the “Barbie” itself was modelled after a white woman. So, is just changing the skin tone of a figure so obviously created to resemble a white woman racist? But then I thought: would it be more racist, then, to alter the physical features of the doll to make her “more black?” After all, are the features of white and black women really THAT different? I don’t think so. But, even so, I have a hard time accepting that it’s okay to just paint a white doll, dress her in stereotypical African garb and call her black.

Or maybe I’m just being too rough on Mattell? They’re trying their best to be inclusive, and they have to pick one way or the other. I guess they just thought the latter was better.

Sort of similar to Mrs. Butterworth’s magical transformation from a black mammy to a white grandmother.

No, not really.