Guilt: poking writers with a sharp stick since birth.

Part of the reason I haven't written is that I was on vacation, and have all sorts of witty entries detailing the madcap adventures of a heiress on vacation...oh, wait. That's not me. I'm broke, so my vacation was full of reading, watching crap tv, and sleeping.

Heaven. (Except for the tv part.)

Anyway, I came home to a new roomie--a 2 year old tortoise cat named Shayna. I promptly started a name-finding mission, because
a: cats don't care what their name is, and
b: I really don't like that name.
After a week trial period (checking out Charlie's allergy level, basically) she was allowed to remain, and she got a new name to boot: Clementine. Of course, I've called her that name approximately 7 times in the past month, but that's not the point--nicknames are what I love, but she had to have a good name to begin! So I haven't posted anything--I'm not funny like Sars and I recognize that I have a boring cat who doesn't give a lot of entertaining material.

She sleeps. She flops over. She tries to eat my toes when I'm under the covers in bed. She turns her back feet out like a ballerina and gallops like a spaz. She's very anti-treat, anti-meat, and is a suspected vegetarian.

Seriously--this cat wants nothing to do with anything that might have been able to move under independant power at one time. It makes it hard to give her treats, but I guess that just means I'll save money. She doesn't like catnip, she doesn't like toys, she doesn't like a laser pointer, and she thinks that any rustling is a sign of attack and she mustmustmust retaliate.

It's only cute because she's declawed.

She's not a kitten, with all their awkward graces and unchecked enthusiasm, but she's not a wacky teenager who's fighting authority and refuses the word 'no'. This cat's lazy and knows where her meals come from, and that they'll never stop...so she doesn't eat my plants or jump on my counters (too high and requiring too much spring-action) or poop in my shoes or yack on my floors. She sheds like a fiend, but if that's all I have to deal with--it's a match made in Heaven.

~~~~~

Quick update, since it's been a whopping 8 weeks:
--Still gainfully employed and still working for the man. In fact, I'm now hiring for the man, which is a daunting and frightening thing. I might be sent to our London office in the spring to interview/hire some Brits, which is even *more* daunting. On the other hand, 10 days in one of my favorite cities--wheeee!

--I broke down and bought some glasses since my adventures in reLASIK are taking a lot longer than expected. (Thanks, NMFF) They're cute, and they're not what I would've originally picked, but they unexpectedly match my hair exactly, so I'm very cute if I do say so myself.

--My parents came in for a weekend and we had a blast. We went to high tea at the Peninsula (awesome tea service, you must try it) and then James Cameron's Aliens of the Deep which was wicked awesome. I don't care what anybody says about how much more intelligent the commentary could be, it was good enough for me. Also checked out the stained glass display at Navy Pier, and then on Sunday introduced my parents to intramural Dodgeball. (Did I mention I'm playing dodgeball?) We also hit a bunch of good food places and they delivered me a new (to me) couch. Yippee!

--I'm playing dodgeball with a group of people put together by a Wild Onion buddy. We're neither the best nor the worst, but I like to think we have the most fun. I've been hit in the head twice, giving me street cred, and I've perfected my death-glare that I shoot at those who *hit* my head, since it's illegal and can get one thrown out of the game. I'm having an absolute blast, erasing all those horrible grade school memories of this idiot game.

--I hosted an Oscar party last weekend, and it went well. I had fun making food and getting the place ready, and having friends over for some fun. I'd host more things, but it's hard to get people to congregate for a nebulous reason. It's odd... and I know it's not just because I'm the one putting it together. February and March are nesting months.

--Saw The Jacket last night, and am so terribly glad I didn't actually *pay* for the thing. What a waste of time and money... It's Butterfly Effect crossed with 12 Monkeys with some Mothman Prophecies thrown in. There's nothing redeeming about this film, no matter what that doofus Kevin Williams says in the Trib. Adrien Brody is in the Gulf War, gets shot in the head, develops amnesia, is hitchiking when he's picked up by a cop killer who then runs off with him being charged for the murder. With no memory, he's screwed. Institutionalized with Kris Kristofferson drugging him and leaving him in a morgue drawer to 're-educate' him, he starts to see/live in the future. Falls in love, finds out he's going to die, and then tries to find out how/why he'll die and still change his present to make the future better. So he does. And it's all better. And he dies but lives in the future, somehow. Add some plinkity Casio keyboard work and mood music courtesy of some emo composer (Brian Eno, in fact), and you have 2 hours of blech. Keira Knightley is a Katie Holmes kind of girl, breaking out into dark roles to prove she can do it. She's also very thin, as is Brody, making their sex scene rather uncomfortable to watch. Too many jutting bones and angles, you know?