Weekend Wishes

My heart, my soul and my brain hurt from all the ugliness, divisiveness, hatred, violence and racism that I see on social media, the news and in the world lately. I'm not so naive to think that any of these problems will be solved easily. Maybe we can all agree to be kinder and more thoughtful in our daily lives and our daily interactions. Maybe we can all strive to acknowledge our own prejudices, and squash those thoughts before they spur us to regrettable words or actions. 

Best wishes for a harmonious and enjoyable weekend. 

I'm the Worst Brunch Date

Chad loves brunch. It's one of his favorite things. He loves all the egg dishes, especially eggs benedict. He loves pancakes. He loves coffee. He loves a good bloody mary.

Chad does not take very much time in getting ready for the day. In under ten minutes he brushes his teeth, puts a little product in his hair, applies suncreen and chooses an outfit from his very well edited and curated closet. (Yes. I curated and constantly edit his closet. You're welcome.)

I stay up later, and sleep later, than most polite earthlings. Brunch hours don't jive with my night owl ways. I don't like a big meal early in my day. I prefer iced tea to coffee at just about any hour. I find bloody mary drinks repulsive. *gack* A mimosa is nice in the early evening on a hot day. I don't like eggs, especially eggs benedict. *gag* I may be the only person who doesn't love pancakes. Pancakes are okay, but not really cake, and not really proper nutrition. Why spend the calories on them?

I take much more time than Chad does to ready myself for the day, minimum fifteen minutes, but usually thirty minutes. It feels like work when I have to rush to ready myself to beat the crowds to brunch for food and drinks I don't love at a time of day when my face hurts. Yes. That time of day is anytime before 11:30 AM. I'm chrono-delayed. It's a thing. If you need something done at 1:30 AM, I'm your girl. We all have our strengths.

Part of going vegan means that I don't have to suffer through egg brunch dishes anymore. Yay! I can just eat the carbs and beans that I like. Hash browns or home fries, with black beans, vegan toast, maybe some steamed broccoli: these are all yummy brunch foods to me. I still have an issue with the timing of brunch, and the long waits to "brunch" anywhere decent. I still won't be a brilliant, sparkling conversationalist at brunch, because it happens early in my day. Sorry.

If you love brunch, I will go with you. I will be the worst brunch date, but you don't have to brave it alone. Are you going to finish those hash browns? May I have them?

Are You THAT Jenn C.?

We all do internet searches for specific people from time to time, be they famous or just an acquaintance. Don't lie. Maybe it is poor manners to confront people with the findings. Maybe it is disarmingly charming to admit to trying to find out more about a person, and ask that person more about their life. In the past year, I experienced two instances of people admitting to searching out information about me with Google, or googling me.

In the first instance, a stage manager for a show in which I performed asked if I ever worked for a respected local judge. No, I never met, or worked for, that judge. The stage manager persisted, "then you're not the Jenn C. who accused Judge ---------- of sexual harassment?" Nope. Not me. The stage manager, still unsatisfied with this unproductive conversation said, "Well, she spells your full name just like you do, and goes by the same abbreviated nickname." I distinctly felt as if defending the good name of this judge ranked as a high priority on this stage manager's agenda, whether the judge harassed this other Jenn C. or not. I finally shut down the conversation by pointing out that Austin combined with the greater Austin metro area boasts a population of approximately 2.2 million people now. A few of us are bound to have the same first and last names, especially with a first name as common as Jennifer. What I left unsaid, but thought: calm down, and let me do my job here.

In the second instance, I stayed at a fancy, boutique hotel in small town. Upon check-in, a group of revelers made it a bit difficult for me to hear the employee at the hotel's front desk. One of the revelers, waved his arms and called out, "Jenn, over here." He looked in my direction, but called to a person in his group, apparently also named Jenn or Jen. The hotel employee jokingly asked if I needed help shaking my adoring fan and the paparazzi. I gave a courtesy laugh, and politely declined.

The next day, I bumped into the same hotel employee in the lobby. He smiled knowingly, and asked in a hushed tone, "Ms. C-----, are you the Jennifer C----- that is the life coach?" I replied no with what I hope was a look of bemused surprise. "We googled you," he admitted. I explained that my very minor claim to fame/infamy involves work as a featured extra in a few films and television shows, and as an Austin stage actress. He seemed a bit deflated. Maybe he liked this life coach's website, and was sad to find that we were not one and the same person.

Later, Chad and I joked that a life coach is the last thing I would ever be for a profession. I do not have much of anything figured out, and am the last person to presume to be capable of coaching others. You do you while I be me.

I'm going to be me over here, away from you, if you admit to googling me.

Are you flattered, alarmed, suspicious or amused when an acquaintance admits to googling you? How does that make you feel?

Sonic waits patiently to google you. He's creepin'.

Follow Me on Instagram

Or don't. It's totally up to you.

The Instagram widget that appeared on the side bar of my blog broke. Here is my Instagram link if you'd like to follow me:

https://www.instagram.com/therealjennc/

Here's a sample of my favorite recent Instagrams:

This is the door to my Great-Aunt Alma's root cellar. It's fairly magical how cool it stays in there. Also, my Great-Aunt Alma is my favorite. Shhh... don't tell the other family members. 

Kenji and Marigold  hog the sofa for naps.

We recently got new air conditioning ducts at the 1952 House. A young workman put his knee through the ceiling. He was unharmed. Then he wiped his muddy boots on our living room rug. I left the house before he was harmed for that lack of manners and common courtesy.

I never had a Lite-Brite as a child, despite wanting one pretty desperately. Chad corrected this situation one Christmas. Now I create themed Lite-Brite images. While not exactly red, white and blue, you get the idea for this Memorial Day meditation.

Janie likes to press her big, lumpy head against Marigold for naps. With all of the elderly pets napping on the fancy Mitchell Gold sofa, Chad and I rarely sit on said sofa.

Kool and the Gang Would Not Approve

Last night, I washed Marigold's (really old cat) face and brushed her long Persian fur. I brushed Sonic (ten year old boy cat) and cleaned his ears. I tried to trim the kitten's nails, but he wasn't having it. Then I decided to groom myself with a shower, hair-washing, shaving my prickly legs, removing old nail polish that started to chip, thoroughly flossing and whitening my teeth. The whole time, this song was stuck in my brain.

When I felt so good, fresh, clean and groomed, Sonic (ten year old boy cat with all kinds of anxiety) decided to spray smelly kitty urine* under Chad's side of the desk. I got to climb under the desk in my pajamas with a flashlight, Nature's Miracle cleaning spritz and a roll of paper towels to clean up the stinky spray. This was stuck in my head:

*Sonic has been to the veterinarian about the urine spraying. He always gets an excellent bill of health. He does not spray because of any type of infection or illness. His spraying is purely behavioral. He is also a resource guarder: blocking the other pets from food, water, litter boxes, the good toys. He was neutered at seven months old. Sonic is a fifteen-pound bruiser of a cat who started life as part of a feral cat colony. He is also our only cat allowed outside. He has a waterproof, heated little house on the deck with dual exits. I fear if we forced him to live only inside, our entire house would end up covered in his stinky musk. 

Love Will Keep Us Together

This is stuck in my head today. You're welcome.

Ten Years Ago

On this day ten years ago, Chad and I signed a bunch of papers and started making mortgage payments for The 1952 House. We've made this sweet old house a lot prettier and a little safer over the past ten years. I'm so proud of all we've done to make this house a home for ourselves and our ever-growing menagerie of pets.

The 1952 House Today

In 2006

Backyard Today

Backyard in 2006

Back of house today

Back of house in 2006

I Performed Something I Wrote

I performed a few weeks ago as part of testify ATX storytelling at Spider House Ballroom. The theme was death and taxes. My story actually covered two deaths, a betrayal, an inheritance and taxes. I also made a reference to Bleak House in my story, of which I am very proud.

I don't want to post the full story on my blog, because it's too much dirty laundry to air on the interwebs. I don't want to change names and details to protect the guilty. I don't want to edit for fear my story might meet the wrong set of judgmental eyes. If you were there that night, you got to hear it. If not, there will be no transcripts without very special exception. 

The house at Spider House Ballroom was nearly full the night I performed. Everyone was so supportive. I was VERY nervous. Performing my own story felt overly intimate, but I’m glad I did it. People laughed in the right places mostly, but one person gave a big guffaw right after I said my dad dropped dead while exercising on a treadmill in his garage (the second sentence of my eleven minute spoken story) which threw me for a fraction of a second. I got choked up in the first paragraph describing the day my dad died, but recovered quickly. My story was well received. Approximately ten people said encouraging things after the show. My husband and a sweet friend were there for much-needed moral support. 

If I had another solid story to fit the monthly theme of testify ATX, I feel like I could do it again, but I was SO nervous beforehand. I’m equal parts proud of myself for doing it, and relieved it is over.

The other storytellers at testify ATX are talented people with a gift for words and spinning a great tale. I was humbled and honored to be among them. 

I will be at every future testify ATX show that I can reasonably attend. You should check it out too if you're in the Austin area. *Click here for the testify ATX website.*

I'm Performing Something I Wrote

I'm nervous, excited and my tummy is aflutter. I'm performing an original piece that I wrote at testify ATX this Thursday, April 28. If you're in Austin, the show is only $5 at the Spiderhouse Ballroom. Doors open at 7:00 and the show starts promptly at 7:30. Including myself, five storytellers will conquer (the theme of) death and taxes.

*Click here to go to testifyATX.com for more information.*

I love to write, and I love to perform. Performing something I've written seems overly intimate. Depending on how Thursday night goes, this may be your only chance EVER to see me perform my own work. Just sayin'...

Health Insurance is Hard & Makes Me Cry

My hunky husband, Chad, closed his business this past summer after a successful six year run. (That is not my story to tell here.) One of the consequences of closing his business was that we needed to find new health insurance, since his business would no longer provide that for us. Chad did all of the tedious research to find a health care plan that fit our healthy lifestyle and hardly-ever-visit-the-doctor needs. We got the (not at all) illustrious bronze plan, which is basically just catastrophic coverage that helps keep us out of bankruptcy if something awful happens health-wise. Bronze coverage should be cheap, but it is not, as I'm sure many of you are painfully aware.

We hardly ever go to the doctor, but I recently spent three weeks with itchy hives on my chest, arms, ears and shins. I thought it was an allergic reaction to soap. I threw out the soap, but the hives stayed. 

I decided I should go see my new Primary Care Physician on my new health insurance plan about these bothersome hives.  

I tried to call my new Primary Care Physician listed on my insurance card. The phone number on the card was incorrect. I did an internet search to find the correct phone number for Dr. A, and called.

 *************

Receptionist: Hello, Dr. A's desk.

Me: Hi. I'm a new patient for Dr. A. I'd like to make an appointment to see her.

Receptionist: Dr. A is a hospital-only doctor. She doesn't see patients who aren't in the hospital.

Me: Oh. Umm, she's listed as my Primary Care Physician on my insurance card.

Receptionist: Let me guess. You have BCBS?

Me: Yes.

Receptionist: You're like the hundredth person to call. We called them several times to correct this, but they keep sending patients.

Me: Oh. Oops. Thanks for the information.

Receptionist: Sure. Have a good day. Bye.

 *************

I called BCBS. I got the royal runaround from an unhelpful "health advocate" who told me that I had to wait sixteen days to see a new Primary Care Physician, even though it was BCBS's fault that I'd been paying for months to effectively have no Primary Care Physician. My "health advocate" told me to take some Benadryl for the hives, and to find a new Primary Care Physician on the BCBS website. I explained that Benadryl wasn't working. (I took the pills and applied the ointment to no avail.) Then I cried. The phone call was recorded for security and quality control purposes. Fortunately I was very nice to my health advocate even while I cried, in case someone reviews that recording.

I filed a complaint with the Texas Department of Insurance. For a government agency, they have a very user-friendly website! (I am not one to sit idle in the face of injustice. I start ripping red tape, filling out forms in triplicate and raising a stink.)

During this debacle, still having no Primary Care Physician, I was enjoying my usual breakfast of peanut butter on a flax waffle with sliced banana. This has been my personal breakfast of champions for years. That morning, my chest hives suddenly flared up even worse. My lips got puffy like Goldie Hawn's fresh from collagen injections. My ears got itchy. My throat tickled a bit, causing me to cough. My face flushed. It hit me like a mean wallop that my beloved peanut butter might be to blame. 

I didn't eat peanuts or peanut butter for two weeks. The hives cleared and my self-inflicted scratch marks healed. (So itchy!)

Two weeks later, I told myself it was ludicrous to suddenly become allergic to peanuts, and ate three small bites of peanut butter. My chest and face flushed red. My face got itchy. My throat tingled in a bad way. My lips swelled. DANGIT!

During the two weeks I refrained from peanuts, I also found a new Primary Care Physician on the BCBS website. According to the BCBS website, Dr. H accepts bronze coverage and is currently accepting new patients. I called BCBS again, and got a much more helpful health advocate who immediately changed my Primary Care Physician to Dr. H, and made the change retroactive. I did not cry this time. I sincerely thanked my health advocate for her help.

The new health insurance card with my new Primary Care Physician listed on it arrived in the mail. I called the phone number on my card to make an appointment with my new Primary Care Physician. Again, the phone number printed on my insurance card was incorrect. I did an internet search to find the correct phone number for Dr. H, and called.

 *************

Receptionist: Hello. Dr. H's office. How may I help you?

Me: Hi. I'm a new patient for Dr. H. I'd like to make an appointment.

Receptionist: Dr. H is full for patients this year. You might try and check back with us in like... September?

Me: Oh, sorry. I thought he was accepting new patients. You might want to tell BCBS that Dr. H isn't accepting new patients. They referred me to Dr. H.

Receptionist: Oh we are accepting new patients, we're just full for this year.

Me: Okay... I'll check back in September. *big eye roll*

Receptionist: Oh, also, there is an annual fee if you want to be Dr. H's patient.

Me: How much is the annual fee?

Receptionist: Sixteen hundred and fifty dollars... per year.

Me: Thank you for the information. Good bye.

 *************

What? What do you mean Dr. H is accepting new patients, but not until September? What do you mean there is an annual fee to have a doctor? What? 

Now I will wade back into the BCBS website and try to find a new Primary Care Physician amongst their sketchy data. Before changing my Primary Care Physician with BCBS yet again, I will call and thoroughly vet the doctor's office. I will make sure they are actually a Primary Care Physician. I will make sure they are currently accepting new patients. (Now. Not in September. Now.) I will make sure there is no annual fee for them to be my doctor. (Because how is that even legal?) I will make sure they actually take my lame bronze BCBS insurance. (For which I will likely never meet the high annual deductible anyway. *knock on wood*) 

In the meantime, I made an appointment with my doctor of nearly twenty years, who unfortunately doesn't accept my new health insurance. He's retiring very soon which is why I thought it would be best to get a new doctor on my new health insurance plan. I'm going to pay out of pocket. I will not be able to apply the cost of my medical care to my high annual deductible. I'm doing this because I don't want itchy red hives, or to possibly die from something supremely ridiculous like anaphylactic shock due to an allergic reaction. 

The takeaways from this mess are: Health insurance makes me cry. I miss peanut butter.

My New Favorite Song

Now that we share an office, Chad has been subjected to this song playing on repeat. He's not mad about it. Enjoy!



Disclaimer: I'm not sure if this is the "official" video for this song, but I like it.

Smellz

I'm reading a great book currently that conveys vivid smells as keys to deep sensory memories. With that as inspiration, I present to you my top five favorite smells and top five least favorite smells.

Least Favorite Smells:

5. Anything pine scented including fresh Christmas trees *gag* *sneeze*
4.  Garlic: note to all chefs, go easy on this mess.
3.  Port-o-potty: not even a freshly cleaned one can inspire enough confidence for my shy bladder.
2.  Hot tar: does anyone like this smell?
1.  New car smell: I know I am in the minority here, but I hate it. I have a few sachets of lavender hidden around my car to ward off the new car smell.

Favorite Smells:

5.  Lavender: I visited a lavender farm once. It was heavenly.
4.  Freshly baked cookies: a classic
3.  Peaches/nectarines: I lump them together, because they are cousins, and smell similar.
2.  Tangelos/oranges: see note above.
1.  Freshly brewed Earl Grey tea

Smell ya later, Gentle Readers.

My (Totally Fake) Agenda for the Day

Chad often asks what is on my agenda for the next day. I know he is only asking to be polite, and to make sure there is nothing that conflicts with his agenda. Yesterday when he asked about today's agenda, this was my response:

6:30 AM I will rise and consume four blueberries and ten almonds with some coconut water for breakfast. I will ready myself for my sweaty bikram yoga class.

7:00 AM Because there will be zero traffic I arrive at the bikram yoga class.

8:00 AM I leave the car parked where it is, and run half a mile down to the lake, then run four miles of gloriously beautiful trails at Ladybird Lake. I am not at all deterred by bugs or allergies.

9:30 AM I go for a blow-out to get my hair just so.

10:30 AM Mani-pedi where I am not at all embarrassed at the state of my retail-hobbled-feet and the nail technician does not gasp at the bunion on my left foot.

11:45 AM I meet the Ladies Who (Don't Eat) Lunch for a leisurely date. We chat cordially as we push food around our plates and pretend to take bites.

2:00 PM I pop into Lululemon for some yoga clothes that perfectly fit my Kardashian-esque curves, and are not at all sheer.

3:00 PM I report for my court-ordered community service hours. Don't ask.

5:00 PM After such a stressful day, I head to my favorite massage therapist for an hour long Swedish.

6:15 PM I arrive home just in time to prepare a tantalizing vegan meal from scratch. We dine by candle-light at the dining table with proper linens.

8:00 PM I take the dog for a stroll.

8:30 PM I load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen before watching something culturally enriching on PBS.

10:00 PM I remove my makeup and ready for blissful sleep. Our street is so quiet and our pets are so well behaved that I have no need for earplugs.

                       *********************************************************

How it really went down:

6:06 AM I awakened to a cat fight in the bedroom. I had to sequester the kitten in the dressing room for his own safety and for the safety of Sonic (cat) & Marigold (really old cat). I got back in bed and despite wearing earplugs, could not get back to sleep due to street noise.

7:15 AM I heard Chad's alarm go off again after he hit the snooze bar once, maybe twice already. After a quick cuddle and one more snooze cycle, I forcibly pushed Chad out of the bed. Kenji (cat) pinned me down and gave me scary kisses on my chin. One never knows when the kisses will turn to needle-teeth nibbles with her. Mercifully, I fall back to sleep.

1:15 PM I awakened from a deep slumber. Chad poked his head into the bedroom and asked if I wanted a grilled cheese sandwich with fig spread and walnuts. Yes, please. I needed a lot of sleep as I am recovering from some difficult TRX classes at my gym. Also I currently am afflicted with itchy hives of unknown origin. Plus I didn't get to bed until 2:30 AM due to storms and a nervous Janie (dog).

1:20 PM While Chad made lunch, I greeted all the pets, brushed my teeth and tried to find my favorite socks.

1:30 PM I lunched with my hunky husband who works from home. We both cleaned our plates.

2:00 PM I stared at twitter, instagram and emails for a while.

2:45 PM I did some grooming including plucking my overgrown eyebrows. I put together an outfit for the gym. I cleaned litter boxes, swept and took out the trash.

3:35 PM Janie (dog) knows the difference between heels and cross-trainers. Upon seeing I wore gym shoes, she demanded a walk. It was a very productive walk for her. Eww.

4:00 PM I finally made it out of the house to the post office, and then to my gym. After a full 60 minute workout, I saw that a Zumba class was about to start, so I stayed for that too. I am not the most coordinated person, but I love me some Zumba.

6:35 PM I finally left the gym, and hightailed it to Central Market for much-needed groceries.

7:30 PM I made it home and put away groceries. Chad arrived home shortly after that from his gym.

7:50 PM We dined in front of the TV. We watched The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story. What a good show and a guilty pleasure.

9:30 PM Chad and I walked Janie (dog) again. This walk was not so productive, but she enjoyed sniffing stuff.

9:50 PM I forced Chad to prepare for his bedtime. He is reading a book that I just finished before he falls asleep each night. I want him to finish this book so we can discuss it.

10:00 PM I washed the dishes by hand (no auto dishwasher in the 1952 House) and wiped down the stove and counters.

10:45 PM I kissed Chad goodnight and took a much-needed shower.

11:30 PM I stared at the Internet some more, punctuated with letting our indoor-outdoor cat inside and outside about six times. He's a mess of anxiety. We bought him a little house that is waterproof and has a heated bed in it for the back deck, so he can take his anxiety outside even in cruddy weather.

1:02 AM I realized I still haven't sent my sister's birthday gift and decided to order that post-haste.

1:30 AM I faced the big decision of whether to read a lengthy magazine article or start a new book before bedtime.

2:30 AM It was raining again, but so far no thunder. I prayed, "Please let the dog sleep through this, so I can get some sleep."

Out of Practice

I am out of practice interacting with my fellow humans. I worked too long in retail. It made me wary of people. Working retail often meant long hectic hours of multitasking with cranky crowds. I left retail employment last April. Even amongst old friends, I find it difficult to string words together in a way that makes sense, much less with any charm, sparkle or humor. I get so tired shopping, talking to strangers, driving around in traffic and generally living in a congested boomtown city full of lost newcomers who are unfamiliar with the drill. I know this is not a good, or necessarily healthy, attitude to have. 

I am out of practice updating the blog. Apologies to my eleven (!) loyal readers. 

I am out of practice being artistic. I used to paint backdrops, build displays, artfully arrange things and "style" outfits or spaces as part of my job. I miss the "styling" part of being a retail stylist. I am taking a weekly drawing class currently, but it's not enough to keep the ennui at bay. I am not one to sketch, sculpt and schlep out the acrylics for the sake of being creative. I am task-driven. I want to make it pretty while checking off to-do items. Again, this may not be a good or healthy attitude to have in regards to creativity.

I am out of practice going to the gym regularly. I am currently taking a TRX class (visualize resistance bands and tortuous looking strap-contraptions) at my gym. The first three weeks of that class, I could barely walk without pain and whimpering for days afterwards. This past week, I gave it my all in class, kept good form, and I am not sore. Maybe my atrophied muscles are recovering some of their memory, and growing stronger. This is certainly good and healthy. Gold star.

I am out of practice being thin. I no longer forget to eat due to stress or hectic schedules. I eat when I feel like it. Many of my clothes are tight, or too small to the point of being unwearable now. I remember at the height of stress during a former job, I had hives, hemorrhoids and was down to my middle school weight, wearing a size 4. My hair was long with neglect and not colored in ages. People kept telling me how great I looked while I felt like the floor was slipping out from beneath me. A close friend squeezed my thigh grinning with gleeful admiration and told me, "You're so skinny! You look perfect!" No one is telling me how great I look right now except for my awesome husband. In my humble opinion, it is not a good or healthy thing to admire someone with a stress-riddled, sickly, starved physique. I own these curves I have now. They are not perfect, but they are literally part of me. 

I am out of practice being an insomniac. No longer do I toss and turn restlessly in bed. No longer do I bolt upright from slumber suddenly wondering where I am supposed to be at that moment. No longer do I resist naps, or resist going back to sleep midmorning. I love sleep. Sleep and I got a thing going on right now. It's good stuff. Twinkly silver stars for both of us.

I am out of practice improvising. Scripted acting? No problem. I got this. But when that fourth wall comes down and I am expected to interact with the audience, or when I am expected to create a scene and situation on the fly, right now, not so much. I once excelled at improvisational acting, but those muscles are weak. My "yes, and..." got up and went.

I am out of practice pretending like I want to climb any kind of career ladder. I was never great at aspiring to advance in the workplace. Currently, I think I should find a new gig, but I am directionless and uninspired. I like housewife-ing and caring for my menagerie of pets. It's kind of time consuming.

Some of the things I am out of practice with can stay out of practice. Some of the things I am out of practice with should make a practiced, triumphant return. I'll keep you, Loyal Readers, apprised of the situations.

Foster Fail

L.B. makes himself at home with Marigold as Janie observes.

Yes, everyone saw it coming. No, that doesn't make any of you psychic. We are keeping L.B., previously known as our foster kitten, now to be known as a resident of the 1952 House. "Foster fail" is the term given when a person thinks they will find a home elsewhere for a pet, but that person ends up adopting/keeping said pet. I accept most of the blame for not working harder to find an appropriate home for L.B. with another household. I thought it would be easy to find a good home for a healthy, socialized kitten who excels at playing, purring and cuteness. Lesson learned: if I find another kitten or socialized cat with no discernible home, I immediately get them into an adoption program at Austin Humane Society. Without the support of a proven no-kill shelter, trying to find a home for a pet (even a super-cute, healthy, baby pet) is difficult and daunting. 

Sonic, our fifteen-pound male cat, plays with L.B., and has not done any bodily harm to him. Janie, our wonder-mutt dog, is less interested in trying to make friends with L.B., so I think we'll be okay. Kenji and Marigold can't be bothered to react to L.B. other than a bit of hissing and one half-hearted cuddle session. (By the way, Marigold is now eighteen-and-a-half years old. Persian cats and other exotic breeds of cats typically don't live this long. She may break some longevity record for her breed.)

In other great news: we caught L.B.'s mama cat, and successfully had her spayed and vaccinated at Austin Humane Society as part of their feral cat program. After a few days of rest, healthy food and central heat at the 1952 House, we released Mama Cat back to our neighbor's yard. Mama Cat seemed ecstatic to go back to her life as a roaming outdoor feline. Our neighbor made a little bed for Mama Cat in her favorite spot in his woodshed.

If I keep the house super-clean and all the pets healthy, then it's not pet hoarding. Right? I solemnly promise not to bring more pets home until the number of resident pets is back down to two through natural attrition. I should probably start volunteering for a pet rescue group again, but clearly not as a foster. 

L.B. Kitten Update

Wait. What? Oh! It's a boy. Our foster kitten, previously thought to be a female, is in fact a male, as proven by recent developments. (Pun intended.) L.B. was short for Little Bit, but is now short for Little Bubba, or maybe Little Buddha. He is approximately 17 weeks of age and weighs in at seven pounds. L.B. finished all of his kitten shots today, and is ready to find his forever home. He is a sweet, busy boy. L.B. loves to explore, chase string toys, chirp at birds from his window seat and try to befriend the resident pets at the 1952 House. 

Chad and I have exhausted our social networks trying to find a home for L.B., so he's going on Craig's List later today. Wish us luck!

Meatless Monday? Try Vegan Monday!

Repeat after me: what one chooses to eat or wear is personal. You do you, I'm gonna be me.

I've been a vegetarian on and off again since my teens: a looooong time ago. I have been a lacto-ovo vegetarian consistently for the past nine years. (Lacto-ovo vegetarians eat eggs and dairy products. Chad and I buy humane certified eggs and milk from pasture-raised animals, but I'm aware of the hypocrisy. Thanks.) The cow slaughter scene in the movie "Hud" coupled with my work as a Furry Godmother caring for pets compelled me to say goodbye to eating meat over nine years ago.

I was very fortunate to work on the movie "Temple Grandin" several years ago. (You may recognize the back of me as the flight attendant when Temple Grandin as played by Claire Danes exits the airplane.) While I applaud the work of Ms. Grandin, a notable person with Autism and an animal behavior researcher, more humane slaughter methods for cattle won't let my conscious condone consuming steak. I am very fortunate to live in a society with abundant food choices and the personal freedom to eat what I want.

In December I made the enlightening choice / awful mistake of watching a documentary called "Vegucated" about three people, former omnivores,  who as part of a social experiment embraced a vegan lifestyle for six weeks, and had their eyes opened to the cruelty of factory farming. While the movie was very well made, it was shocking and sickening for me to see what animals go through on an egg farm or a dairy farm. SHOCKING. and SICKENING.

A few years ago I made a half-hearted attempt to go vegan for the forty days of the Lenten Season. I ate lots of processed vegan foods, gained four pounds, discovered my soy intolerance, and gave up after only 20 days. Armed with the knowledge gained from that failure and with the shocking images of conditions on egg and dairy farms, I am resolving to embrace a more vegan lifestyle in 2016.

In the month of January, Chad and I will eat vegan on Mondays. (When I told Chad, a sometimes-vegetarian / current omnivore about my plan to go vegan, he asked if he could try it with me. This was totally his choice.) We are blessed to live in such a vegetarian-friendly and vegan-friendly city as Austin where vegetarian and vegan choices abound at most restaurants and grocery stores. We've already discovered an almond milk coffee creamer that we both love, and that doesn't upset my tender tummy.

In the month of February, I will eat vegan on Mondays and Tuesdays. Each month I'll add another day of vegan-eating to my routine. By August, I plan to be vegan full-time. Easy-peasy! Okay, not really easy-peasy. I love cheese pizza. I also love cheese on bean nachos and bean tacos. I love milk with cookies, the cookies made with milk and eggs. I love milk chocolate. I may give myself a "pass" when traveling, and just be vegetarian if I find myself in the backwoods of exurbia far from a Whole Foods market or vegan-friendly food cooperative, or in Spain where the meat entree comes with a side of meat salad.

Recently, I pondered a return to school to become a pastry chef. Austin Community College offers an accredited, exemplary pastry chef certification program. I thought I could sublimate my artistic compulsions and need for hands-on, 3D work into a job that offers good income and a degree of social acceptance. (A blog post for another time: I'm so tired of peoples' small-minded reactions when I say I work as an actress, or a housewife, or a retail stylist, or a professional petsitter.) I'm not going back to school to be a pastry chef. I'll keep baking, because I love to bake, and learn some new vegan baking tricks. I can be creative without using dairy and eggs, but I can't graduate from a pastry chef program without using dairy and eggs.

My decision to transition to more of a vegan lifestyle is not a weight loss diet or a plan to be healthier. Thank goodness Oreos, Nutter Butters and Twizzlers are vegan! Wheatsville Coop (our local cooperative grocery store) offers lots of healthy and not-at-all healthy vegan foods. My decision is all about doing what I can to reduce cruelty to animals and the breeding with subsequent slaughter of animals for food or for fashion.

I'm fully aware that bone meal and animal dung are used to fertilize crops such as fruits and vegetables. Rather than throw my hands in the air and order a bacon cheeseburger with mayo, I am going to do what I can to live according to my personal values and principles. 

Repeat after me: what one chooses to eat or wear is personal. You do you, I'm gonna be me.

I'm a Little Bit in Love

Two weeks ago Chad (my hunky husband) and Janie (our sweet, silly dog), were sending out cranky vibes, so I took them on a midday walk. Whilst walking, I locked eyes with a little kitten scurrying up a neighbor's driveway. I approached the kitten, low and slow, but the kitten slinked under the neighbor's porch. An hour later, I returned to the neighbor's house with a can of kitten food. The kitten was seemingly waiting for me on the neighbor's front porch. It ran off when I got close, but resurfaced within the hour to devour the food I left for it. I also left a note for my neighbor asking if the kitten belonged to them. The next day, I spied the same kitten loitering on the neighbor's porch. We did the same dance where it ran off as I approached with food, but quickly resurfaced to eat. The neighbor called that afternoon in response to my note, saying that the kitten was not his, that it was feral, and could likely use some help. Our neighbor has a humane trap and got it out so we could catch the kitten. Within an hour of baiting the humane trap, the kitten was moving into a giant dog crate in our dressing room (formerly known as the guest bedroom). I outfitted the crate with a heating pad bed, food, water and a small litter box. 

Little Bit just after capture.

Chad and I thought of several gender-neutral names for the kitten, but none of them seemed to fit this kitten. I kept calling her Little Bit, and that name stuck. We call her L.B. for short. 

L.B. uses the litter box every time, despite starting life as an outdoor kitty. She cleans her plate at every meal. She loves to play, and get her back scratched while she purrs. She loves other kitties, but is scared of our dog. L.B. did an outstanding job of charming the staff at the veterinarian office during her first visit. She had intestinal parasites and a gastro-intestinal infection, but has completed her meds, and is all better. L.B. still needs one more round of kitten shots. As of today, she is approximately 14 weeks old and weighs 3.5 pounds.

I'm smitten with this sassy-pants, closet-climbing kitten. However, because we already house three cats and a fifty-pound dog at the cozy-sized 1952 House. It would be best for our current menagerie of pets, and for L.B., to find a forever home for her with someone else. Chad made a cute video of her being adorable. *squee*

If you live in the Austin area, and are interested in possibly adopting L.B., leave a comment. You MUST agree to provide an indoor home, have her spayed within two months and love her as long as she lives, which could be approximately twenty years. (Trust me. One of our cats just celebrated her 18th birthday.)

L.B. cozy after climbing 6.5 feet to the top of Chad's closet.

Suzy Snowflake

Last year when I worked at Brooks Brother during the Christmas season, the song "Suzy Snowflake" played approximately 11 times during each working shift. I loathed this song. One of my fun coworkers started calling me Suzy and Suze, and calling into question the moral fiber of a lady "tap-tap-tapping on your window panes to tell you she's in town".  I don't miss working retail during the holidays, but I do miss the camaraderie of my fellow retail minions. 

I discovered this version of "Suzy Snowflake" by Soul Coughing recently. I must admit that I don't hate it. Enjoy.

New Exterior Paint Color Options

The first photo is our current exterior paint color. The middle photos are colors we're considering. The final photo is my favorite, and since we have no Home Owners Association in our charmingly cruddy old neighborhood, a distinct possibility. What's your favorite? Leave a non-spammy comment.

Current Color