Monthly Archives: July 2005

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I DID IT!

I finished the first issue of my diary-zine. It’s such a little thing, and yet I’m so ridiculously proud of it. If you’re nosey like I am, it’s up at my Etsy shop. Or if you want to trade for it (because I love getting mail, and especially other zines), email me!

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No kitty pictures yet, although Skeeter was being awful cute earlier, playing with a grocery bag.

I’m working on the first issue of my childhood-diary zine. I hope to have it finished tomorrow evening and on Etsy. I was such a dork at nine. Eh. It’s funny. I haven’t decided how far I want to go with this, though – I wouldn’t feel right putting out stuff from my later diaries without some editing, but I wouldn’t feel exactly right about editing it, either. We’ll see, I guess.

Tomorrow night, Greg’s taking me out to dinner (at a Vietnamese restaurant we just found) and a movie (Mr. and Mrs. Smith) – yay! And then Sunday, we have a tentative date with Jesse and Sumi to go geocaching. I’m so excited!

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Our home inspection today went very well. We’re going to the bank soon to let them know they can go ahead with the appraisal. Fingers crossed!

Tonight, I watched some episodes of Poirot (with the superb David Suchet) and sewed twin bustle skirts – one for myself, and one to put in my Etsy shop. Here are some pictures:

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Okay, Inga Muscio writes some brilliant shit sometimes, but right now I am so fucking pissed I can’t read her new book. I had to put it down. I just…UGH. It’s that fucking section about her cat – she’s against neutering, she’s against indoor-only, whatever, that’s her shit. But to fucking condescend to her readers, like all of us who realize other people are assholes who don’t fucking watch out for cats when they’re driving, because *we* keep our cats indoors – even though our cats are totally happy, well exercised, and get anxious when they go outdoors anyway – we’re fucking evil, heinous, bad people for that. And to be all hardline, and then not even be completely vegan. That’s fucking bullshit. Like, “This is evil, and if you’re not completely against it, you’re an ass. And this over here is evil, and if you’re not completely against it, you’re an ass. And heaven help you if you slip up and do this over here unconsciously, because that’s shitty, too. Now excuse me while I preach animal rights to you, from a completely fucked up and conflicted point of view, and eat some goddamn non-soy cheese while I’m at it. Because that’s okay, because I’m all enlightened and shit.”

What the fuck ever. You know, I can respect that it’s your decision how to care for your cat, and even though I think you’re an asshole for being all passive about whether he gets hit or not, I’m not going to write a fucking book about it. (Although I will blog about it in response to you writing that I’m a bad “owner.”) I’d think you could extend me the same courtesy. You know jackshit about my relationship with the cats that live with us, so don’t presume that they’re all “Oh, if only stupid Kathy would let me go outside, where I could frolic and catch roundworms and leukemia and get hit by cars and attacked by dogs. Whee. That would be so much better than living indoors and having a long life and less sickness and being COMPLETELY FUCKING SPOILED BY MY HUMAN SLAVES WHO LIVE TO SERVE MY EVERY WHIM.”

And also? On the anti-neutering thing? How extremely convenient that her cat was already neutered. My big fat ASS you would be alright with an unneutered male cat pissing all over your house. And it’s totally fine for you to be lackadaisical about whether YOUR cat is neutered or not, because he’s male, so, you really won’t be involved when he gets some other cat pregnant. I mean, that’s a problem for *that* cat’s owners, isn’t it. Motherfuck. I am so fucking mad. I live in a crazy apartment complex, and allowing Skeeter and Chalupa out of doors here would pretty much sign their death warrants. Maybe not their first day out, but I’d say pretty quickly, judging from the carelessness, asshole-ish tendencies, and crazy driving around here. As a vegan, and as a person who tries to practice compassion in general, I think Skeeter and Chalupa are our little furry friends. I say “pets” and “owners” because it takes less time, and saves me alot of explaining and background when I’m casually talking with acquaintances. Anyway, I try to look out for my friends – I don’t want anything bad happening to them. Skeeter and Chalupa are no different, in my mind. And so I explain to them that although I’d love for them to experience the outdoors, I’d have to be fucking crazy and heartless to let them loose *here*, and that in the meantime, I’d be more than happy to play with them and buy them all sorts of toys, and let them birdwatch, and see to their needs and whims. And when we finish buying this home, one of my first renovation plans is to screen in some of the back porch/yard for them, so they can frolic safely and I can not-worry. I think they understand – they’re certainly not miserable and yowling to get out.

And now that I’ve revealed myself to be a crazy cat lady, I’ll get off my soapbox. In a minute.

My point is, I’m not trying to say I’ve got it all figured out. Because I DON’T. I try to be compassionate, and think about things, and figure things out, but it’s a process that one can never really be done with. I also slip up and eat nonvegan food every once in a while, but I never ever ever buy it, and I’m working on not even eating it in the first place ever because it is hypocritical and heinous of me, and erodes my credit when I’m trying to make a salient point about animal rights. However, and here’s the thing, I’m not going to condescend to tell anyone “this is definitively how it should be, I don’t care what your circumstances are*” because I don’t have it all figured out. No one does. So, Inga, in this instance, shut up, please, or at least be a little less rigid and a little more imaginative of other peoples’ situations.

*Unless we’re talking about shit that I *have* figured out, like, “Rape/murder/prejudice/etc is NEVER okay.” Then I’ll totally condescend all over your ass. ;)

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Today, we both stayed home to take both of the cats to the vet. Because I thought either one of us would’ve had a difficult time with two cats and two carriers – and it turned out the vet tech, who administered the deworming medicine, needed BOTH of us to restrain Skeeter. And I thought he’d be the easy one to pill. But, no, he was a monster. Chalupa was actually the easy one to pill – she didn’t struggle. I think she was too cowed by the vet’s. Anyway, so yay for deworming!

So I pretty frequently have gastrointestinal upset of some form or another, and I’ve always chalked it up to my family’s gastrointestinal issues: my mom and dad both have “weak stomachs;” both have acid reflux; my dad and middle sister both have been diagnosed with IBS, and I’d put money on my mom and I having it as well. Fun stuff. Anyway, a friend who has unfortunately had personal experience with parasites, with whom I’d discussed my gastro issues, and after hearing that the cats had worms, mentioned that my symptoms could all come down to having a parasite. So I also went to the doctor myself today, and came home with a stool culture kit for “ova & parasites.” Fuuuuuun. Except, not terribly. Since playing with poop is not my idea of a fun time. I’ll spare you the logistical details, but I will mention – in case it hadn’t occurred to you, because it hadn’t occurred to me – that you have to poop somewhere NOT in the toilet, because the toilet water would contaminate the sample. And then you have to scoop “sample” into three separate containers. And on top of all that, I haven’t had to poop all day. So now, when I finally CAN poop, and can get all this unpleasantness over with, I have to refrigerate my “samples” until I can drop them off at the lab. AND THEN! When I’m done with *that*, and I get the “parasite-free” bill of health, I get to get a colonoscopy, because the doctor suspects I really have IBS, and either wants to confirm it with the colonoscopy, or rule out something else. I think it’s the latter – I got kinda hung up on the colonoscopy when she mentioned it. Another friend of mine, who’s had a colonoscopy, says it was incredibly painful – but my doctor said I’ll be under while the do it. I fucking well better.

Anyway, enough ass talk. I’ve been working on that lace bolero from Vogue Knitting, and I just got to the sleeves. And I’ve done what is my personal BEST job of picking up stitches off the lace for the sleeves – so neat, so even, so nice-looking. I totally surprised myself with how well I did this – usually picking up stitches is my anathema. Anyway, so I had to document this huge deal:

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Fuuuuuuuuuck. Fuckity fuck fuck!

The cats have fucking worms!

I don’t understand how the fuck this happened – oh I understand why BOTH of them have it. BOTH of them have it because they are nasty little fuckers who at least once a day will follow each other around the house with one’s face in the other’s ass. So no fucking wonder they BOTH have worms. What I don’t understand is how one of them got the fucking worms in the first place, since they NEVER go outside, and were both dewormed when we got them. So…I know worms don’t spontaneously generate, and I’m not sure how else they could have gotten into the cats’ tracts, or even in the house in the first place for that matter.

I am SO FUCKING PISSED. Worms are like THE single cat problem I hate the most. Well, I mean, CLEARLY I’d rather they both have worms than, say, FIV or FeLV. But you know what I mean. I’d rather them have runny diarrhea all over the house – as long as it didn’t have worms – and we all know how I feel about poop outside the box. Which is another thing – I *do* keep an eye on their poops, and their poops aren’t wormy. So how did I discover the worms, you’re asking. Well, I’ll tell you – Chalupa’s being extra sweet and standing on my lap while I pet her, and I notice little white things in the fur on her rump, and I’m like, “What the fuck is that? Litter?” And then – HORROR OF HORRORS – I see one CRAWL OUT OF HER ASSHOLE!!! At which point I shriek and push her the fuck off of me, and go change my clothes in case any worms got on them. And then proceed to freak out because, WORMS!!!

Jesus, I hate those fuckers (the worms, not the cats). And it’s fucking Saturday evening, so we can’t take them to the vet until Monday. If only I’d discovered this like, last night, I could’ve taken them this morning, but no.

Sigh.

Just so you don’t think my life is all about worms right now, I did cut a pattern for bloomers, and attempt to make some…Thursday night? It was my first time using the French curve, and I kinda screwed up on calculating the pattern with regards to the ease, so as a result, the crotch came out really shallow and close, and the top of the bloomers didn’t come up to my waist like I had planned. It’s okay, though, because Tiffianna pointed out that I can just sew a waistband on top. Anyway, here are pictures.

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What the fuck am I getting myself into?

So, I talked with Tiffianna, and I need a French curve to do the crotch for the bloomers. Or I guess I *could* freehand it, but that’ll probably just end in tears. But as it is, I’m still not convinced this French curve is going to hook it up. Or maybe I need a hip curve, or something else entirely. And while I’ve read about using the curve for other curves, I have no idea how to use it to properly do a crotch.

I plan on just going to the store, and hoping whoever’s clerking there tonight knows what the fuck I’m talking about, what the fuck I need for the crotch line, and can show me how the fuck to use the damn thing.

And this is a pisser – JoAnn’s has stopped carrying them. Whatever. And the womyn suggested I check some online sewing supply stores – which I did, and they don’t appear to have any, either. But lucky for me, Studio Supply on Franklin St. totally carries them.

So, tonight, French curve(s)! And possibly bloomers. We’ll see.