Daisy of Love & the Boy Who Lives Under the Bed

Jen and Mike bought a mansion and since movers and deliverers and realtors and buyers and sellers were all going to be swirling in and out of multiple homes this week, Mack and I opened Camp Kitty back up for business.

And this time, we had TWO guests.

Milo is older and more fraidy cat this time than he was on his last visit, but to be fair, it's only day 5 and he usually doesn't come full out until day 6. Also, every time he comes out, I sneeze and he freaks and there are setbacks. Also, every time he comes out, Daisy whoops on him and I laugh at him and there are more setbacks. So, this is the most we've seen of Mr. Handsome.
Daisy of Love, on the other hand, is like a kitty shadow. She is everywhere. She's on the potty with you, in the sink while you brush your teeth, on the edge of the tub while you bathe, on the counter while you make tacos.
She helps me with work, helps me wash dishes, helps me sweep. And most of all, she's helped me find things like candles and toy cars that had rolled under furniture and been forgotten.
Like all cats, she seems to have a special bond with Mack and appreciates his donkey-like carrying abilities. Normally she jumps onto his shoulder while he's at his computer studying, but once she leapt from the counter in the kitchen while he was at the stove. She tries to get me when I walk past the couch and I have the claw marks that prove I am no good for shoulder riding.
Like Milo, she seems to have a special thing for Mack's stinky gym bag. Maybe it's the aroma of cat pee judo gi that makes her feel at home???
Unlike Milo, she has had no problem whatsoever settling in and snuggling up to us. She spends chunks of the day on my computer chair with me, forcing me to sit hanging off the front of it so she can lay down on the back of it. Yes, I know who's boss.
At about 9 o'clock she and Milo get wet food, and then Daisy chases Milo into the bedroom and pounces all over him. There's snarling, followed by thumping noises, and all my good intentions to learn acid-base balance goes right out the window. It's like my own little Animal Planet performance, right at the foot of the bed.

Here they are doing another thing they do called Get the Tail of the Cat on the Seat and Bite the Legs of the Chair... Also Take Breaks to Clean Yourself.These are two of the funniest little cats I have ever met. So Jen, no, we will not be meeting you or Mike or your mom as planned because I am not going to be able to give these things back to you. Sorry. Go enjoy your appliance corral.

Birth Daze

It all starts with Leiah. Actually with Shahin, but since we don't really know when she was born, it's kind of hard to count.
Then it's mom and dad, just one day apart. Then Renee. Then Laila.
Then MEEEEE. (This year I'd like paper money that has actual value. Or you can just make a payment to my credit card to help me pay off Ghana.)
Then we squeeze Charles in there.
Then it's Shannon's turn. And Bubba's. And Tom's. Tom especially likes to go to the zoo for his, since there's no place better to spend a hot day in July than the zoo.
And then we wait until September revs it up again, with Ben, then Betsy, then Mack.

I almost died. Well, I could have. But really I just hurt my butt area.

I was riding my bike down High Street tonight around 8pm when a stupid fucking moron asshole decided she needed to turn right in order to hang out at the coffee shop with her boyfriend. Only problem was I was right there, and she turned into my bike.

Luckily the universe made all the seconds line up just right so that my fender snagged her fender and our respective vehicles did a little dance into the turn. I think I yelled, "Hey, hey, hey, what exactly is this all about?" Or something like that.

I also stood up on my right pedal to get my left leg out from between my bike and her car, and when I did my weight shifted and the bike seat kissed my hamstring... kissed like drunk dudes kiss on MTV. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have an interesting bruise to show off at Keeneland on Friday.

When you get hit by a car when riding your bike everything slows down the same way it does when you get hit by a car while driving your car. It was over in a matter of seconds, but even so it was enough to swirl emotion with adrenaline and fear, and when I got off my bike and looked at the car I yelled something classy and composed.

And when the girl rolled down her window, while my hands were shaking and my body was trying to figure out if it was broken, she said, "I didn't even see you. Are you okay?"

To which I replied, "You're gonna have to get away from me for a minute because right now, I want to bash your fucking face in."

Yeah, I lost it. I totally cussed and threatened that poor girl, who I now know via Facebook is a high schooler at Dunbar. And I feel terrible. Sort of.

A nice guy in a yellow car with curly brown hair saw the whole thing happen and pulled over to see if I was alright. I sort of cried, sort of breathed deeply, sort of managed to collect myself, sort of reassured him that I was okay, just freaked out. I knew I had to calm down if I was going to feel if I was hurt or not, but whoa, adrenaline is madness.

I finally was able to stop tears from exploding out of my face so I walked my bike over to the girl's car... she was nice enough to park as far away from me as possible... and the first thing I said was, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was just freaked out and scared and mad, but I'm pretty sure everything is okay."

I then got her phone number, took pictures of her car, my bike and her, called her to make sure her number was legit, and reassured her that I really thought I was fine and that I was just being cautious.

I asked her passenger for his name and he actually started to cop an attitude with me, like he didn't have to give me his name. So I asked him if he had a problem, because you know, she just hit me with her car and I'm the one who should have the problem, and he said no. A longing to bash someone's face in (someone named Daniel Hannah) resurfaced.

At the time I didn't know she was a high school girl or I may have been nicer to her, but maybe not. She never got out of the car, and when I took a photo of her she started to pose and smile, like I was taking a snapshot for her Facebook profile.
Then, when I decided to fill out a police report more for the city's awareness and the hope that the more accidents reported, the more bike lanes will be installed and the more pressure they might put on drivers to pay attention, the police officer called her to verify my claim and she said I was riding on the sidewalk, which would make me at fault if it were true.

I wish I had punched her in the face all over again.

I admittedly ride on the sidewalk sometimes, especially when it's busy traffic or narrow roads, because... well, because I don't trust Lexington drivers. You have to go slower on sidewalks since they're narrow and bumpy, and I'm extra careful about driveways and pedestrians, but if I had an accident on a sidewalk, fine, I accept responsibility. It's better than being clipped by an SUV's rear view mirror at 45mph.

But this time I was absolutely on the street, on the right hand side of the street. I rode down the hill out of my driveway, got in the right lane and cruised on down the road until she hit me. A man out walking his beagle saw it, the man in the yellow car saw it... the girl who didn't see me riding my bike in the right lane was the girl who hit me and then said, "I didn't see you."

And who's the cop gonna believe? The girl who was hit by the car but still had the where-with-all to take photos and get contact info and names or Queen Oblivious?

Because I was so worried about how mean I'd been to her at first, I didn't get Yellow Car Guy's contact info as a witness... lesson learned: get witnesses' info FIRST!... but luckily I'm pretty sure I'm okay and my bike is okay so who's at fault isn't really an issue.

Except it was her fault.

What is an issue is, damn, I could have died because some girl didn't bother to pay attention. Please, when you see a cyclist or a pedestrian, give them some room, slow down a bit, and if you pass them and need to turn right, for the love of god look over your shoulder first.

As for me, I'm getting back on the sidewalk where it's safe.

The Magical Wonders of the Outside Experience

This winter was spent in the jungle of my living room, with doors closed to other areas of the house, curtains cloaking the gray outside, and a New Mexican-flavored down comforter on top of my body. Which is to say I did not leave and barely moved because I did not like leaving or moving and because I did not remember how the cold could be so cruel.

But now, amazing.

Springtime (fingers crossed it lasts until June) in Kentucky is like breathing air again after being dead for a while. I love that the non-Gism trees are just getting buds on them so that I can watch the exposed squirrels playing on the naked branches and see where the birds are making their nests. You can't see that in the summer because of all the leaves.
I love that one day there's nothing out by the front porch and the next we've got bright red tulips and fluffy pink hyacinths. It's like a little surprise party, thrown and decorated by Mother Nature.
I've wandered into no fewer than six trees trying to get a closer look at their blooms. I just love the contrast of the cold, dark bark against the delicate, bright blooms and the soft blue sky... And that I wear glasses or else I'd be really embarrassed that, yeah, I'm blind by stabbing myself in the eye with a tree branch that was still attached to a tree.
It's true that every day in California is like this time of year in Kentucky, but when you factor in the thrill of change, Kentucky is winning. At springtime anyway.

Return of the Vagina Trees

Look, this is going to be nastyish. You've been warned.

There's this tree that's planted all over Lexington's suburbia called Bradford Pear. It's one of the first to bloom every spring, which is why I think developers planted them all over suburbia, and when it blooms it sprouts these cute little white flowers.

When it blooms it also sprouts the aroma of unkempt vagina, half dried semen or sex in a dirty sock.

a bouquet of vagina

Perhaps you've been too struck by the beauty of this tree, too grateful for its trumpet of springtime to really evaluate its smell... but I haven't. There are 10 of them densely packed right outside my front door (which is, admittedly, not in suburbia) and when I open everything up to let the outside in, I get a little too intimate with the scent of backseat teenager sloppy sex.

And that is really hampering my springtime euphoria.

one of the 10 offenders outside my door