Computer's still broken. So is George Jetson. I'm NOT a fan of Honda today.

Hopefully my laptop will be fixed and back Mon or Tues. Until then joy to the world!

There's 9 inches of snow on the ground outside my house! Seriously!!!

I just finished breakfast, and need to get cleaned up and ready to go. I've got tons of presents to wrap (still). But I decided to forgo the trek to Richmond to pick up the TV console table I bought (that we tried to pick up last week, but when I asked them to open the box so I could inspect it before accepting it, found it had a HUGE chunk broken out of it) due to the snowstorm. They've engaged the National Guard for a State of Emergency, and even I know that means I should stay home. Living in Alaska taught me that 4-wheel drive is really only 4-wheel GO, and that no matter how big your truck is, NOBODY has 4-wheel STOP.

But, I am trekking so far as to see PB and The Force, who have already held multiple snowball fights in my absence, and attempted to build the world's biggest snowman. Now The Force is working on making Santa some Christmas presents to put in a box. His own idea.

Guess I'd better get crack'a'lackin'. There's a lot of snow to clean off that truck. Pictures to follow!!!

There's a post at the bottom of all the pictures... seriously.

These have to be two of the world's craziest statues.

This one, a little too much love between the frog the turtle.

And really, who decided it was time to Bedazzle the Laughing Budda? Seriously?

I'm not so excited by the idea of hanging my stockings by the chimney, even with care (and it's a gas log fireplace anyway) so they're hung from the Spiderman room entry.

And finally, a little festive garland and lighting for the spiral staircase!

Edit: Posted without pictures 'cause Blogger's being an asshat, so you'll have to look above to see them!!!

My seester warned me. Actually, she warned me, and Shawn SCREAMED in the background. TheKnot.com is the devil. Amanda told me not to let it make me cry, and Shawn yelled that it's run by Satan and the Webmaster is Rush Limbaugh.

The day I registered I was 57 items behind scheduled. According to TheKnot.com, I was 6 months behind schedule the day I got engaged. Fabulous. So I've been a wee bit busy trying to catch up. I'm now 56 1/2 items behind schedule. Jason's got his half of the guest list complete. Mine is "mostly" complete. Whatever. One friend pointed out that I'm a 4th-quarter kind of quarterback. It's true.

Work's been intermittently busy and not so busy. Such is the way in healthcare. It's given me time to shop and decorate the house for Christmas, which totally snuck up on me this year. Between the whole apartment el flameado, moving into the new house, going to Aiken for Gram's 80th birthday, spending a weekend at a continuing education class, and having Thanksgiving here, Christmas has just kind of shown up without much time for proper pomp and circumstance! (I mean, I'm still working on finding the right spot for a lot of stuff around here, and putting the final touches on things. And let's not forget the fact I haven't finished putting up the curtains and just started pinning the thermal backings on them... Oh, and George Jetson has to make ANOTHER mid-week trip to the dealer (an hour away) to get fixed because "warranty work" doesn't get done there on Saturdays...) But now it's looking more festive around here. I've got a tree up and decorated, garland on the spiral staircase, lighted garland on the lightpole at the head of the driveway and on the porch... and an Otis in a Box. It's his favorite spot.

The best possible way to have Thanksgiving in your new house with your new fiance and his entire family is to let your mother do all the work. Seriously.

It was not the plan, you see, but it is what happened. I worked longer than I thought I would need to on Wednesday. Mom had made pumpkin cupcakes and cream cheese frosting (though not fully assembled) while Dad did phase 1 of the cat-in-the-wall patch. I came home at 4 to meet PB and The Force at my house so The Force could finish assembly on the cupcakes. Well, it turned out he wasn't too interested, but did manage to put M&Ms on 3 before throwing in the towel and just eating the M&Ms. He watched a little television, did a little Spiderman training, and then was off.

Mom, Dad, and I went to dinner. I ran back to work to finish up and make my annual benefits elections (which had to be done by 11/30, and what were the chances I could get them done on a Monday morning when 48% of the other employees of the hospital system were also trying?)

Anyway, after having bought a sh*t load of groceries earlier in the week, then working more than I thought I would have to, Mom just kind of took over. She's good at these kinds of things.

I came to the kitchen on Thanksgiving morning, and I swear Mom had sprouted 4 extra arms. She was whisking, frying, stirring, greasing, bagging and stuffing simultaneously. Dad helped me hang a curtain rod over the big window that was left (the smallers had to wait). In the end, I cut the broccoli.

I invited everyone to my house for Thanksgiving dinner, let my Mom do all the work, and I cut the broccoli.

At least I didn't cut the cheese.

How to get breakfast for dinner on Friday, and breakfast for breakfast on Saturday... This will be even better when it's not done by phone texting!

Funny: Leading The Force in a revolt to demand more pancakes and bacon in our lives.

Funnier: Getting The Force to free-style his pancake and bacon demands during the revolt.

Funniest: The Force going off on his own foot-stomping, fist-shaking tirade demanding more pancakes and bacon. Hee hee!

My insurance company does not pay for birth control pills. I get a slight "discount" on the regular retail price, but that's it. No copay, just straight up have to pay for them. It costs me just over $2 a day to ensure my uterus stays vacant (for the time being). I buy all of my medications in 90 day supplies because the copays are less, and my "discount" on my trike-motor-prevention-plan is better. All in all, coughing up 90 days worth of cash for drugs at a time hurts, but it's cheaper that way.

Every time I have to buy the birth control pills, the pharmacy tech lady becomes very concerned at the price of my pills. There's no generic available, of course. She bends over the counter, points at the price, and whispers...

Lady: Are you sure you still want these?

TK: I'm sure I still don't want a baby right now.

Lady: But this is a lot of money.

TK: Not as much as a baby costs.

I thought she was going to pee her pants she laughed so hard. It was awesome. Happy Thanksgiving lady!

And I hope you all have a wonderful Turkey Day too!!!

Yep, so my cat was behind the wall.



At about 1:30 I was about to turn right, which would have carried me away from my house and toward another patient's home. At the exact moment I put on my right blinker, PB called.



"Don't freak out, but I think you need to come home right away."



Yeah, that's a good way to keep someone calm.



My first thought was that something was horribly wrong with Pooh King. I mean, the dog is nearly 13. But before I could get the next question out I heard...



"Oz is in the heating ducts."



WTF???? "I think she got in through the old dryer tube."



Oh yeah. I forgot about that. You see, I've had the cats' litter box in the guest bathroom upstairs since I moved in, but always with the best intention to move it downstairs. For reasons known to nobody, including me, I decided to do this on a Wednesday morning just before work. Go ahead, shake your head in disbelief. When I picked up the litter box, I saw the hole in the floor. The owner had previously had the washer/dryer in this bathroom, and had cut a hole in the floor to vent the dryer through. I looked right at that hole and thought to myself, "Self, you need to cover up that hole before a cat gets in it!" But do you think I did that? Oh no! By the time I had gone down the stairs and back up, I forgot all about it.



Hence the call. I knew as soon as he said it what had happened.



I took off the right turn signal, put on the left turn signal and headed home. I called the office and explained. God bless 'em, they're so understanding. PB thought she was just above the heat pump, in which case, all I could think was, "at least I turned the heat off before I left or she'd be slow roasting by now."

So when I got home, PB showed me where he thought she was. If I stood on the top step of the little step-ladder thingy, poked my top half through the drop ceiling, and bent 45 degrees to the right, I could hear her clear as a bell. She was in the 45 degree elbow of the vent system. Oh hell. There are only 2 ways to get into that vent. One is through the hole Oz went through, and the other is with a knife. I know this, because I tried to gently lift the tape at the joint and separate the pieces. No go. I was going to have to cut it. "PB, get me a knife." Ironically, this is the second time I was calling for a knife to get this cat out of a tight spot in the last 6 weeks. So I very carefully cut through the joint of the vent, making an L shape, and pulled back the flap. Oz was wailing the whole time. I stuck my arm in, imagining her hanging on by her little claws and... NOTHING. No cat. I shoved my arm in further. I twisted around, I torqued my body forward to try to twist in for a better angle and? Oh, there's no cat in the vent, but as I'm staring down at the floor about 15 feet below me? There's Oz staring straight back. She's stuck in the space between the vent and the wall. Apparently all that wailing was cat for "Hey, 2-legger! Don't cut that vent! You'll get fiberglass in your arm!!! You're stupid!" She was right on all accounts.

Apparently, the landlord had been venting the dryer through the hold in the floor and into the dead space between the walls. Tell me that's not a fire hazard. I'm NOT SO FREAKIN' COMFORTABLE with that! Now the dryer's downstairs, but anyway... There's about a 6 inch triangular space to try to get Oz out through, and a 15 foot shaft to get her up from. No bucket will fit, no basket can be mashed. I tried lowering a sheet and coaxing her to climb up to freedom. The best I got was her sitting on it and bellering at me to lift her out. At one point, I decide that if I just stepped onto the top shelf in the cabinet, I could probably reach down a little further and Oz would understand she was supposed to climb up the sheet.

Well, let's just say that was a bad idea. Oh, I got on the shelf alright, but it turns out it won't hold my body weight for more than about, oh, 6 seconds. And when that shelf gave? My elbows punched through 2 of the drop-ceiling tiles and I was left hanging from the very thin metal supports that hold such things in place. Meanwhile, PB's trying to hold one of my legs, and I hear the dreaded "glug, glug" of the giant 64 ounce Downy bottle as it empties on the floor. I don't know if you can calmly state "LET GO OF MY LEG. LEG GO OF ME! GET THE DOWNY BOTTLE OFF THE FLOOR BEFORE IT GETS ON THE CARPET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Thank goodness he did let go in time for me to get my foot on the step-ladder and get down before the metal supports gave way, and PB got the Downy bottle up before too much got on the carpet. (Just a little on the edge, and we're working on that.)

Problem? Oz is still in the wall. In rushes Paul, my buddy, my friend. My friend who's a custom cabinet maker and owns a jigsaw. Paul very carefully cuts a 4" square hole in the drywall about 2 feet above the floor to allow Oz to jump about without potentially cutting her cute furry little head off. As soon as that square dropped out of the wall, you should have seen that cat fly out of there! Her tail was the size of a feather duster and you would have thought her ass was on fire. But she's okay.

There's a hole in the wall. There are 2 ceiling tiles missing. My arms are bruised to hell from hanging from that ceiling. PB barely escaped with all his teeth intact after trying to grab the leg of a woman dangling from the ceiling. I had to leave directly afterward and get my hillbilly teeth worked on. Again. And they're still not fixed. But later that night, I got to sit with PB, Paul and his wife , and laugh hysterically about the events of the day while we ate wings and drank beer.

That freakin' hole will get patched this week while my Dad's here visiting, you can be sure of that.

And like I said, the Balloon Boy's father can suck it. Some of us just don't have to make this shit up.

Like I said

Tonight's blog... in which I will tell the story of why having my fiance call me in the middle of the day and say "I need you to not freak out, but you need to come home right away. Oz is stuck in the heating ducts," is only going to end with having to cut a hole in the house I just rented, and buying my friends a lot of buffalo wings and alcohol... or maybe the alcohol was for me.

Seriously.

The Balloon Boy's dad can suck it. Some of us wish we had to make this shit up.

Okay, so, driving across the pond wasn't as bad as I thought it would be... really it was more like driving across a dike (but not in the angry lesbian kind of way). But the old lawn chair marking the turn? It was everything I thought it would be and more. I have to admit I was a little disappointed that I took Tough Lucy Dodge thinking I was going to get to go all bad-ass 4 wheel drive through the pond, then just drove across a dike. But fear not, there was a little promise of more adventure...


TK: Okay, well, now that I know I don't have to be afraid of sliding into the pond, I'll see you on Wednesday. (insert trademark sparkling smile, complete with still temporary fake hillbilly teeth)
Lady: That will be good. But can you come in the morning? I'll do better in the morning.
TK: Let me check my schedule. (Looks at very important schedule.) Yep! I can come in the morning, that won't be a problem.
Lady: Good. But watch out, because the goats will probably still be on the porch in the morning.
TK: Goats?
Lady: Oh yeah, my son has some goats. They like to stay on the porch in the morning.
TK: Okay, that's going to be a problem.

Someone on Facebook commented that she thought of goats sitting in rocking chairs when she heard this. Now, if THAT happens? I'm totally taking a picture before I run like hell.

My Mom wrote me a note earlier today asking when everyone was going to get the story. The answer? When I get a minute. Seriously. This was the first weekend since I moved into the house that I've been home to take care of anything. The first weekend was spent moving, the second was Grandma's 80th birthday party in SC, then last weekend was spent at a continuing education course for work. It's really hard getting things done only at night after work, and I hadn't touched anything I got out of the apartment. So that's where I've been.

Part of my job is to call the patient and tell them I'm coming out to see them that day. It's best that they're aware, plus if they're not home, it's best that I don't drive out to see someone who isn't going to be there anyway. If it's a new patient, I have to get directions to their home. If you know me, you know I usually have to turn around at least twice when I go anywhere new. I have NO sense of direction, and little to no faith that I'm going the right way even if I have directions. Hence, I usually turn around the first time because I think I'm not going the right way, then the second time because I was wrong about the first time. Don't you judge me.

I called a new patient last week. She was sick and didn't want me to come that day, but went ahead and gave me directions for when I go this next week. I swear, these are the directions...

Lady: So you go out to where that yellow house is, and take a right.
TK: Yep, I know where that is.
Lady: Then you're going to go about 1 or 2 miles and turn left on XYZ road.
TK: Okay, I've got that written down.
Lady: Then you're going to go down XYZ road until you see an old lawn chair on the side of the road. Turn right at the old lawn chair and go across the pond and right on up to the house.
TK: I have to drive ACROSS A POND?
Lady: Oh yeah, we do it all the time. You just stay up by the edge of the bank a little bit.
TK: I drive a little tiny car!
Lady: Well, if you're afraid, you can go on up the road a little further and turn right at the old rusty mailbox. Then you just have to drive down through the pine trees to get to the house.
TK: Through the pine trees?
Lady: There isn't really a road either way. But make sure to blow your horn when you get here 'cause we got kind of a mean dog. You blow your horn and I'll roll (the wheelchair) out on the porch and holler at him so he won't bother you.
TK: So I need to either turn right at the old lawn chair and drive across the pond, or turn right at the old rusty mailbox and drive through the pine trees, but either way I have to honk to be sure you holler at the mean dog so he won't bother me?
Lady: (Obviously pleased with herself for giving such fine directions) Yep, you've got it!
TK: See you next week.

I go in to tell my boss lady these directions, and she says, "I think you should take water wings and shove them on your car's mirrors in case you don't make it across the pond!" Great, thanks, that's very reassuring. Other suggestions included that I take a hand mixer that I can hang out the hatch to act as an off-board motor. Thanks y'all. You're a ton of help. Since Thursday we've had like 10+ inches of rain. I bet the pond is more like Lake Superior now.

Maybe I'll just take a canoe.

Hopefully today is going to be a short day at home health, a short day at the 2nd job at the nursing home, and I'll be back here in time for dinner even after working at both. Do you know what that means for you tonight? You get to hear the story of "turn right at the old lawn chair and drive across the pond". Seriously.

But for now?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY POPPY!!!!

I just finished my insurance claim paperwork. It's not an exhaustive list, but I'm exhausted, physically, but especially mentally, so I'm done. I'm more than $10,000 over the limit of my insurance policy, so I really don't need to go on. Thank God I got my clothes out on the day of the fire or I'd be up shit creek without a canoe, none the less the paddles. My insurance policy is enough to cover what I need, and I've got been able to meld that with what I want, so I'm doing alright. I've also had a few generous friends hit the gift registries and cough up some of their own skills, so I'm not hurting for things. It does, however, make me re-evaluate how much insurance coverage I really need. I think I'll go have a little sit-down talk with my agent this week and talk about upping my policy, especially since I have more space and more furniture now.

I'll see you soon, my peeps. Even Pooh King gave up on me 45 minutes ago.

Finally! I did it! The wireless is hooked up. Hooray for me! No, seriously, you don't know how hard it was. There was enabling and disabling... and well, we know I'm an excellent enabler, but disabling? Not so much. So the fact that I finally got it finished and actually working is down right remarkable.

So now you can look forward (the 3 of you who still actually read here, besides my mother) to frequent posts. YES, I MEAN FREQUENT! Oh sweet hey-zeus I've been having a lot to say! Like how I actually have been proposed to twice now. The first time PB was down on one knee in my kitchen with me in my pajama bottoms, unpacking boxes, and the ring is great, and I didn't care at all that I was in my pajama bottoms. Then he put my dining room table together. It was perfect. The second time was tonight in the car at a stop light. Seriously.

Turns out I used to wear a size 8 or 9 ring on my ring finger. Since losing almost 30 pounds, I now wear a size 7. So, PB had my ring upsized to a 9 before popping the question. The ring was nearly falling off my finger every minute of the day. I thought about wrapping yarn around it, a la high school, but figured in the end that might get a little stinky, what with all the handwashing and old-person touching I do these days, so we went to the jewelery store today to have my finger measured so the ring could be resized. Yep, a 7. Funny thing? That's what the ring started out as. I have a yo-yo diet ring. I should have it back in a week or two. So we got a plain silver band and I made him ask me again so I didn't have to have a naked finger until then. Crazy but true.

And there's more. So much more.

:O

She's back!

I'm trying to set up my wireless connection. It's not going so well. :(

It's official... I'm getting hitched! Date to be announced. :)

Oh, and I should have internet connected tonight or tomorrow. Like that shouldn't bring unpacking to a screeching halt.

I bought Pooh a new bed over the weekend. $89. Oz slept on it last night while he stayed on the thin one bought right after the fire. Sheesh.

Good news Mom... you can tell Dad I have a toaster!

It went well. Now no one has to figure out how much antique china is worth. Woot!!!

I'm really sorry I haven't been able to keep you all better posted on what's going on here. I'm stealing the internet signal from the neighbors and it's kind of hit or miss for actually working, so bear with me a few more days until I get into the house.

Yes, that's right, only a few more days until I move into the house! Okay, I'm excited about the house, but it's still a very sore spot. I feel like if I could click my pair of ruby slippers (which I don't have) together, I don't know where I'd land. My old place doesn't exist, my current place isn't mine, and my new place doesn't exist yet either. It's really weird.

But, there is a house, and it has stuff in it that I own. And soon it will be "my place".

And tomorrow, I get to go back into my apartment. For 2 hours, I will get to go in and drag out the things that can be salvaged. I will work hard to get out the things that can't be replaced. That's what I care about and what I'm after. I've made my peace with the rest, but damnit, I'm getting the sentimental stuff.

Ole ole ole, ugh ugh ugh!!!

(Oh, and the signal has gone out 3 times while I wrote this!!!)

For those who are interested, I've started a housewarming registry at Target.com and Bedbathandbeyond.com as "Tiffany Big Burn King", where "Tiffany Big Burn" is my first name. Should you feel so compelled, go see it. I'll be adding more as I am able to steal internet signals from my neighbors and Huddle House. Don't you judge me.

I officially move in on Friday, but it will be a process. Looks like I'll be on the sleeper sofa for a week or two. Aaaah, the good life!

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Check out my new pretty things!

Have you ever seen where a fire started? Who knew one little cigarette butt could do so much damage? One cigarette butt took down a whole building, and nearly everything in it. Thankfully, all living things made it out. Unfortunately, lots of things that are still useful, still meaningful, and still sorely missed, are still inside. They will never come out. Because of one little cigarette, my Great Grandmother's fine china, my friend's family photographs, my bike, a friend's jewelry, and countless other treasures, will be bulldozed to the ground with the building. My insurance company will cut me a check, and I'll never touch that china again. I will not pass it on to my daughter some day. Now, I know my Great Grandmother would not have anyone get hurt trying to get her china out, but it does not change the fact that one person's carelessness took so much from the rest of us. It is almost unbelievable. It would be unbelievable if it happened to someone else. But we all know it didn't.

And after getting in a heated discussion with my insurance adjuster this morning about whether or not she would transfer my benefits to an available corporate apartment offered by my hospital or leave me in a slightly shady hotel, I'll be moving tomorrow. She implied that I was milking the system and trying to stay in temporary housing to avoid finding a permanent home and suck more money out of the insurance company. I firmly, and in no uncertain terms, reminded her that I was in no way obligated to take substandard housing to save my insurance company money while using a benefit for which I had been paying a premium for years. I mean, seriously, the house I looked at yesterday was the Taj Ma-Hole and had mold growing in the closet. NOT GOOD. Needless to say, tonight is my last night in the hotel, tomorrow I start at the corporate apartment, and I think she was crying before I stopped talking... oh, and my short term housing has been extended to Oct. 23, WHICH I DIDN'T EVEN ASK FOR. What is wrong with people?

But proving that it pays to know people that know people, one of my former patients (who probably loves me a little too much) really pulled one out of his hat and contacted a friend who has been trying to sell his (overpriced) house for quite a while without success. Everyone loves a good sob story (and money), so sure enough, the guy was willing to meet me and show me the house. I almost peed my pants before I even got out of the car.

I could live on the porch alone. And it's painted in almost the same colors as my apartment was. And I pink puffy heart it. And I didn't even think to take pictures downstairs of the two other bedrooms, or bathrooms, or living room, or lower porch... or POOL TABLE. Or riding lawn mower. Jealous?

And there's a double stove-thingy/bread-warmer-whatever-it's-for-thingy. And the fridge is HUGE. And check out the spiral staircase and reading nook with storage/playroom. Otis and Oz may never come in off the porch... Pooh King may not either, come to think about it.

So a week later, things are settling back into a more "normal" pace. Well, as normal as you can get for being a week out from having lost most of your material possessions. We've basically settled back into a nomadic life, but that will be over Oct. 23, when my new lease starts. It will be different than decorating the new apartment was, but I can do it. :)

I didn't even cry today. Really. A little misty, maybe, but no crying.

Okay, so that last post-by-text blog was a bust.

What it was supposed to say is "I'm okay." So is Pooh King, and so are the cats.

My apartment building burned on Friday morning. I awoke early, around 4:30am, to beating on my door, the doors around me, yelling, screaming, etc. It wasn't until I got to the front of my apartment (bedrooms are in the back) that I heard the fire alarm and could tell that the man was yelling "FIRE! THERE'S A FIRE! YOU HAVE TO GET OUT NOW!" It was scary and confusing, but my brain was starting to gear up. The first things I realized were that a) I was naked and needed to put on clothes, and b) the cats had scattered and I didn't know where they were. I threw on clothes and started calling the cats, all the while the Fire and Rescue guy was beating on the door screaming for me to come out. This happened over about 15 seconds I think. I kept yelling to the man that I was up and trying to get my cats, to quit beating on the door, he was scaring them and they wouldn't come. When I went to the door to tell him to quit, that I just needed a minute, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door. There was no time to get the cats. The fire was in the walls and they couldn't tell where it was or where it would come out next. I knew in my heart he was right, and that the best I could do was give them the best chance I could, but I had to get out. But hell if I wasn't going to give my cats a chance. My inner black woman came out and I shucked a 300 pound man off my arm like he was a flea. I ran back into the apartment, opened the porch door and propped it open. I hoped that would give them enough air if it got smoky, and an option to make a jump for it if the fire made it around to my apartment before the Fire Department got it put out. It was horrifying.

Pooh had to be drug out into the hall. Why not? My apartment was quiet and didn't smell like smoke. The hallway was full of smoke and screaming people, and seemed like hell itself. I grabbed my shoes, purse, and Pooh's leash, which were all by the door, and ran. That was 4:33.

When I got outside and could only see smoke coming up from the back of the building, I tried running back to the stairs to get to my apartment so I could get Otis and Oz. The same 300 pound man tackled me before I made the first step. My inner black woman might have shucked him, but she could not break his tackle.

We have a Volunteer Fire Department, which takes a while to gather, since those guys were sleeping peacefully at home and were awoken at the same time we were. Overall, we were incredibly lucky, as one of the volunteer fireman lived in our own building and 2 or 3 other fire and rescue volunteers lived in our complex, therefore got the 9-1-1 dispatch and got us out of bed about 20 minutes before the fire trucks arrived. Everyone got out alive. (Oh, they had to drag out the jackass college kid who was obviously on some kind of drugs and refused to leave, preferring to watch TV in his bedroom while the 4th floor burned, until the firefighters broke through his window and dragged him out. He fought them all the way. Asshole. He was the one person who had to go to the hospital and be treated for injuries, and I hope the fire department sends him a bill.)

During that time we watched the building smoke, then the fire break over the back and engulf the roof. All the while, I was praying that Otis and Oz would be okay. Of all domestic animals, cats are the smartest when it comes to fire and the most likely to survive. I mean, Oz survived a Colorado trailer park dumpster, as my sister is quick to point out, so I hoped chances were good she'd go to the porch, and I hoped Otis would follow. The first water went on the fire at 5:11am. Once the VFD got there, they had trouble with the pressure in the hydrants, which significantly hindered their ability to fight a blaze this size.

When the fire was out, the firemen went in to my apartment 2 or 3 times to try to find them with no luck. They kept coming out and saying "We didn't find them, but we didn't find their bodies either. Sometimes they don't surface for a day or two. You did a good job by opening the door. They probably jumped. They'd be hurt going from the 3rd floor, but they'd make it. You should go to the woods and call them." Yeah, I tried going to the woods, but every time I tried to say "Otis" or "Oz" the word would get stuck in my throat and I would sob. I could only call "kitty kitty kitty" and I watched the bedroom window of my apartment the whole time.

At about 12:30pm a firefighter came and got me. They were taking me in to try to find the cats. They had decided to let us go in and get out what valuables we could, and they wanted me to be able to go in first. My apartment had not been burned at all, but there was about 2 inches of water standing on top of the carpet, and water was pouring out of parts of the ceiling. The apartment above me had been incincerated, as had the rest of the 4th floor.

I was calling the cats from the time I hit the door, but they didn't make a sound. Again, the words were getting caught in my throat, but I forced them out. If my cats were alive, they needed to hear me. They had to know that I had come back for them... that I had to be dragged out without them. I went to the closet, where Ozzie likes to hide on the shelf. When she wasn't there, I got on my hands and knees and started poking between the slats on my platform bed that supported the boxspring. I did one side with no luck. When I got to the head of the other side, I poked into them. They were as hot as freshly baked break and didn't move. Didn't meow. I poked them again and again, screaming to the firefighter to come help me (she was looking in the spare bedroom and pulling photos off the wall). We flipped the mattress on the floor, got the boxspring up, and cut and pulled it open. Oh, they were moving and yowling then! Oz took a few laps around the bedroom with Firefighter Dee in hot pursuit. Looking back now it's kind of funny. Here was this little cat running through inches of water, and a firefighter in full gear trying to run after her. After two laps, I gave her Otis and the carrier I had retrieved from the porch and she carried him out. I got Oz with no problems after that.

I did get to go back in and get most of my quilts, photos, and a lot of clothing out. About 2/3 of my amazing Dansko collection is gone. There just wasn't time to get everything, and with that much water standing and running down the walls, not everything could be saved. I'm grateful to have what I have, even though I do still have daily episodes of tearful longing for my "stuff" and the desire to be able to walk back into my apartment and see it as it was before it became a water feature. What kills me is that so much stuff in there is perfectly fine, I just can't get it because the structure has been deemed unstable and unsafe for people to be in. My bike is still hanging on the porch, and the curtains are blowing in the windows. I am certainly luckier than the people on the floor above me, for they got virtually nothing back. I have renter's insurance, so that will replace my furniture and household stuff. But how do you replace your great grandmother's china that's sitting in a box in the closet? Yeah, you can't really do that.

But you can't replace these guys either... and I've got them.

Yeah, I've got them!

I have nothing but wonderful and grateful things to say about our volunteer fire department, and the 4 other volunteer companies who responded. If you want to do good in the world, support them. How many times can you say that you have gotten out of your bed to put your life in harm's way to help someone else? Now, how many times have you done it FOR NO PAY? These people are amazing, and they are my heroes.

Now, if you want to see something REALLY pretty, go see me bring sexy back to fire fashion and plastic hairbands! That's right, I'm famous, baby!

Yep, I told him to do that!

Here you have it! The proof that I am totally, completely, and without a doubt, rotten. I have horns, I just do my hair so as to cover them up each day. I cut PB's hair (what cost-cutters we are!) and this time, we decided to wait until The Force was there so he could see the action. Of course, that meant he wanted to BE part of the action. First, it was combing. Then he asked what the little brush was for. Well, really it's to clean the clippers. But of course that's not what I said. Oh no! That's to clean Daddy's ears and nose with! You just sit back and enjoy what ensued...

Yep, yep, make sure you get all the wax out!

Oh yeah, get any boogies out of there. We can't let Daddy go around with boogies in his nose! The Force takes Daddy's appearance very seriously. Oh, and PB frequently takes care of The Force's boogies, so I guess maybe this was revenge!

I guess maybe the next time PB wants his hair cut, he won't want to see what I tell The Force any of the impliments are intended for!

You know what's fun? Getting The Force to "help" cut PB's hair. What's more fun? When he asks what the little brush that cleans the clippers is for, telling him they're to clean Daddy's ears and nose out with. He takes his job as comber and cleaner VERY seriously. I would post pictures, but left my camera at PB's house and can't get it right now. I'll have it tomorrow or Wednesday, so you'll just have to come back to get the visual. Trust me, don't have anything in your mouth when you look, 'cause it will be coming out your nose a few seconds later if you try!

I also did some alterations to off-the-shelf Spiderman suits. The Force has had, oh, about 30,429 different ideas for Halloween costumes. Every time you ask, he comes up with someone different. Batman, Spiderman, Luke Skywalker, Bobophet (not sure if I spelled that one right), Jaba the Hut, Captain America, Bolt, Ginormica, a vampire, etc, etc. There's no pinning down what he really wants, because, well, he really wants it all! So when we saw that Evil WalMart had several superhero costumes in an X-small children's size, I knew I could alter it to fit The Force, and PB bought him the Blacksuit Spiderman. On Saturday, I found a redsuit Spiderman costume on a clearance rack for $7. Sold!

Yesterday afternoon, PB asked The Force what he'd like to be for Halloween. The conversation went something like this:

PB: Hey The Force. Have you thought about what you'd like to be for Halloween?

The Force: Batman, the Dark Knight Detective.

PB: Anyone else?

The Force: Ummm, Iron Man.

PB: Anyone else?

The Force: Ummm, Captain America.

PB: Anyone else?

The Force: Ummm, Luke Skywalker.

I swear, the kid picked EVERY OTHER costume Evil WalMart had. PB was crestfallen. Finally he asked, "If you could be redsuit or blacksuit Spiderman, which would you be?" Immediately, The Force starts to giggle and wiggle. He yelled, "Blacksuit!" PB showed him the costume, then explained that he would have to stand still while I pinned the suit to shorten the arms and legs, then take it off while I sewed it. Much to my amazement, he stood as still as a statue! He didn't even fuss when he had to take the suit off. It was truly astonishing.

I sewed for a few minutes before dinner, then took a break to eat. I went back to sewing while The Force finished eating his dessert. While I was sitting on the couch sewing on the hem on a sleeve, The Force looked over from the kitchen table and said, "T, you're so beautiful!" I cracked up, thanked him, then asked if he thought I could sew faster if I was beautiful. Of course, the answer was an emphatic yes! Well, it must have worked because before too long the redsuit was done.

Then it was time for the blacksuit...

And it was on like Donkey Kong! The boy was wide open with the Spidey moves after that. I didn't think he'd be able to sleep. He wanted to wear his blacksuit to bed, and how could you refuse a boy who had been so good and so patient? PB stripped his shorts and t-shirt off, telling him he only had to wear his underwear under the suit. Well, that was fancy! He couldn't believe that the pants were part of the suit! Crazy talk! But off to bed he went, happy as a clam. I thought for sure he'd be up half of the night, but he fell asleep faster than ever, surely to dream of spiders and webs and catwomen, and such. :)

A quick update since the world economy still doesn't run on wampum or dog hair, which means I still have to go to work. (I really wish the hippies protesting G20 would get to work on THAT!)

I got to see Baby, aka Penelope, and her babies yesterday. TOO FREAKIN' CUTE! Turns out she had 3 babies, one was hiding when they were first discovered. One is a black and white tuxedo kitty, just like Baby. The other two are the softest buff tan color and white, with black tipped ears and black ringed racoon-looking tails! They're awesome! I can't wait to see them as they get bigger and really develop their personalities. The couple that took Baby are just in love with her, and she is such a good mama. She let us love all over her and the babies and was her normal sweet, purring, lovey self. The couple just fawned over her (and the babies too) and I couldn't be more sure that she's in the perfect home! Sigh.

Pooh King had an unfortunate run-in with a spare-rib that landed us in the vet's office. Thankfully surgery was avoided, but it was a rough few days while his stomach digested the bone and his gut was very inflamed. Poor guy... well, he got what he deserved, and really, poor me and my wallet. He snatched the rib at the petsitter's house (poor girl is 41 weeks pregnant, currently, and couldn't waddle fast enough to get it away from him... he stole it off the damn stove!) and she did kick in 1/3 of the bill, which is probably more than she could really afford. Anyway, all is on the mend now, thank goodness, and Pooh King wants more ribs. Bad dog!

PB's friend Mark was laid to rest at his small country church yesterday. It was a glorious, clear fall day, and the heavens seemed to shine, warming the earth and welcoming him home. Today, the heavens are crying, realizing what the world has lost. The girl from West Virginia is being buried today in her hometown, and we've heard that Emma and her mother will be buried some time in October. The preliminary hearings are scheduled to start in January. The killer has been assigned a public defender, who has met with him and described him as "overwhelmed". Join the crowd.

Murder in a Small Town

If you've been reading here long, or know me in real life, you may know that a horrible crime was committed in my town last week. A horrible, atrocious, heinous group of murders has rocked my little town to its core. A family is gone, a family in West Virginia has lost a daughter, and somewhere, someone in California has to wonder what the fuck happened in their family that their son/brother/nephew/grandson could have murdered 4 people, mutilating two of the victims so badly they have to be identified by dental records, then stayed in the house for at least a few days with the bodies.


This young man who rapped "horrorcore" music detailing horrific crimes, then went on to nearly identically commit the crimes he wrote about, is now in our regional jail. Friends of mine are charged with the task of protecting him inside that jail. The police have had the horrifying task of collecting "hundreds of pieces of forensic evidence", then have to close their eyes and try to sleep.


The daughter met their killer on MySpace. His personal page has been removed, but was up long enough after his name was released to be well read. He wrote disturbing, sick, twisted things on his page. He wrote about defiling graves and had pictures to prove it. He wrote music about the pleasure of killing people. Maybe you can't say that music makes people go out and kill people... but really, if you or your child enjoys listening to music that details the brutal, tortuous murder of another person, there's a problem and you'd better get that shit in check quickly.


Why she thought it was a good idea to talk to him, to tell him she loved him, to tell him to come, to pick him up from the airport, and to invite him into her home, we will never know. What we do know is the killer came here some time last week. The daughter's friend was visiting from West Virginia. Her mother called the house when she wasn't able to get in touch with her daughter, the killer answered the phone and told her they were at the movies. She was suspicious, called the police and asked them to check the house. The police went, the killer answered the door and told them the same thing. At that time they didn't have cause then to enter the home. The mother called the police again on Friday and they went back to the house. This time there was cause to enter, and they found a murder scene. The killer had fled some time overnight. It seems PB's friend went to the house some time on Thursday and was killed then. Before or after the police were there? We don't know yet. The others were already dead, but it's not known yet for how long. The killer left the house on Friday early in the morning, showed up at the Richmond airport some time Friday night, and was seen and arrested there Saturday just before noon.


All I can say for sure is that there is a lesson to be learned. If you have kids old enough to be on MySpace, FaceBook, or the internet in general, tell them this story. Read up on what happened here. The Richmond Times Dispatch has had good coverage of the investigation and good articles. If your kids are old enough, make them read the coverage. If they're not old enough, find good words to help them understand that the world can be a dangerous place, and the internet is not always a safe place to meet people. If they think this is something that only happens to other people, you have to tell them. I can tell them what it was like to sit next to PB when he received a phone call telling him his friend and family had been murdered, and what it was like to wait for every phone call after that, hoping there was more information that would explain it, change it, make it go away. It happened here.


A minister, a professor of sociology and criminology, and two teenage girls have been brutally murdered. The minister was a good friend of PB's. He was a good, good man, and he is dearly missed.

**Edit: A press conference was held this morning to release more details in the case. The Commonwealth Attorney was very tight lipped, but did confirm the identity of all 4 victims. Previously, PB's friend, Mark, was the only one positively identified. Now his estranged wife's, daughter's, and the daughter's friend's identities have all been confirmed. They were all killed with blunt force trauma. He refused to answer a lot of detail-related questions, and said only that they were still waiting final autopsy and forensic results. I'm sure we won't know a lot of the details until the trial begins. The preliminary hearing is scheduled for Jan. 11. We now know that Mark and Debra took Emma to a Horrorcore music festival in Michigan on Sept. 12, the weekend before Richard McCroskey, the murderer, came here. The family was in counseling related to the separation and the parents realized that Emma was openly spinning out of control. They were doing anything they could to reach out to her and show here they loved her and wanted to be involved in her life. It is believed this music festival was not the first time the two met in real life, in addition to having extensive contact online. Unfortunately, these murders were the horrific outcome of Emma's relationship with this man. It's still too much to comprehend.

Well, Big Poppy did really well, and was able to have the lesser of the two surgeries! Whoo hoo! He was out of the O.R. in about 4 hours and home the next day. I hustled on down to the farm on Saturday to help out, though I'm not sure how much "help" I'm doing versus "R&R" alongside Dad. Aside from doing a few environmental modifications (add a pillow here and there) and telling him to push from somewhere else, he's really doing pretty well. We go for walks around the driveway a few times a day and he's supervised my cleaning of the pool. Aaaahhh, farm life!

I got a call from the lady who took Penelope (the pregnant rescue cat). After having a last minute freak-out that almost kept her from taking poor Penelope (nothing to do with Penelope, more with some extended family stress), she agreed to take her on a "trial" during the week that I'm here at the farm. The agreement was, if it's not working out when I get back, I'll take her back. Whatever. I knew if I just could get Penelope there, the woman would be in love with here and there would be NO WAY I would ever get her back. Well, it took exactly 10 seconds for her to be in love. I dropped Penelope off on Thursday. I talked to J (the lady) on Friday morning. Apparently Penelope walked into the house, checked out her new digs, and promptly plunked herself down in front of the fireplace. J's husband wanted to turn the air up and build her a fire. J didn't sleep much that night... she got up about once an hour to make sure Penelope was comfortable. Too sweet. By Saturday J had slept more and Penelope was one of the family. But her name's not Penelope anymore.
J: Tiff, I don't think her name is Penelope. I'm not sure what it is, but it's not Penelope.
Me: That's okay. Her name can be whatever you think it should be. It will strike you when you get to know her well. What are you calling her?
J: Well, mostly we just look at her and say, "Baby, you're the best cat ever". So, I guess we call her "Baby" most of the time.

That cracks me up! J called me this morning to announce that Baby had blessed them with 2 beautiful kittens last night. "We couldn't find her last night. We looked and looked, and M (the husband) said she was probably having the kittens, so we just let her be and didn't try to find her anymore. This morning she walked right up to me while I was in the bathroom and led me to where the babies are! One black, and one tan/yellow striped one!" They're tickled pink and I couldn't be happier. Nope, no chance I'm getting her back, or her kittens! Good job, Baby!

09/09/09

By all that's holy, it should be a good day. I mean, I love cool numbers, and this is one of them... 09/09/09. 9 years ago, on 09/09/00, my best buds Peg and Chris got married, with me as the sole bridesmaid. That makes today their 9th anniversary. 9 years on 9/9/09. I didn't realize it at the time, but I have a sneaking suspicion they planned it that way.

My Dad is going in for more surgery on his lower back this morning. Needless to say, my Poppy's got crap for a spine, and less than a year since his last surgery he's had another disc collapse. The short version of the story is that if we're lucky, the surgeon will be able to build a scaffold-type structure off the top of the bars that are already there to lift up the vertabrae that has collapsed down into where the disc should be. If not, all the bars and screws that went in before have to be removed and replaced with longer bars and more screws. We really want option A here, folks. I'll let you know when I know. I'll be heading to the farm on Saturday to help out for a while, so probably the updates will be a little more frequent then.

I will also be attending a funeral this morning. One of PB's cousins was born with a congenital blood disorder and was not expected to survive infancy. He lived to see his early 40s, and passed away on Sunday afternoon. Life is precious.

Hopefully Penelope will go to her new home tonight and will be happy with that.

All this on 09/09/09.

My hillbilly tooth, and other such stuff

Yep, that's me. And that's my hillbilly tooth. You see, I have porcelein veneers on my 4 front teeth. I was very self conscious about the gaps between my teeth when I was younger. When I was about to turn 20, my parents got me veneers for my Christmas and birthday presents combined. They're like false fronts on buildings... my own tooth is underneath, just with a shiny, pretty top. My dentist has been telling me for the past 3 years that it was about time to get them replaced. You see, they normally last about 10-12 years. Mine have been on 15. "It's better to plan to hae them changed, then to have your hand forced." I told him they would have to fall off before I would hae them replaced. These f*ckers are really expensive! Well, let's just say my hand has been forced. I had a water bottle in my mouth, flicked it forward oh-so-gently, and pulled the veneer off the corner of the tooth, cracking it in the process. Just goes to prove that exercise is dangerous and water can kill you.

Of course, that happened on a Thursday night and my dentist's office is closed on Friday. (Well, at least the branch I go to is closed on Friday.) Thankfully they got me into another branch office to have it patched. The dentist was sure it wasn't cracked all the way through. "No, really, it isn't." And as he wiggles it, in a vain effort to show me he's right, that dirty fat bastard breaks the veneer off in my mouth! Oh yes he did! Wanna see?

So, now I'm on the 2 week bleaching plan before I can get my new veneers. I can't bite into anything lest I crack my patch job and have to go around with my hillbilly tooth until the bleaching job is complete. I'm bringing sexy back to the dental chair!

Pooh and Oz continue their love-fest. Actually, mostly Oz adores Pooh, and Pooh is beautiful and smart and nice to cats. :)

And this is Penelope. Dear, sweet, pregnant Penelope. I finished up my workout at the YMCA on Tuesday night and she was crying outside the door. The workers told me she'd been there 2 days. She was very friendly, and the small group of us who were there that late stayed and pet her for a few minutes, lamenting at how horrible it was that this cat seemed to either be lost or have been dumped. In my head I was thinking, "I'm not taking her home. I'm not taking her home." I had just sent Blue home with Brook, and I didn't think I could take the emotional onslaught of another cat just yet. So I walked away. I opened the door to George Jetson, and before I could toss my bag in the back, the cat jumped in. She sat down and looked at me, and my heart just broke. There was no way I could put her out. The Y is on a busy road, and she obviously needed help. I couldn't stand to see her hit on the road, and I knew I could help, so home she came. And she's a gem. It was obviously meant to be because she's already got a new home, and the people are tickled that she'll have kittens. Then they'll have them ALL spayed and neutered so there won't be forty'leven more kittens running around. Perfect!

And here's Brook's Boy Blue. He's doing great in his Forever Home. It took him a few days to settle in to the relatively chaotic surroundings of a family of 4 plus a foreign exchange student compared to my house. But obviously he's doing great, and Brook's pretty pleased, too.
It all makes me happy!

This is not a set up.

Oh my sweet 6 pound 7 ounce tiny baby Jesus. PB and I went to the mall this weekend, and these are ACTUAL dresses for sale. Today. In a mall near me. Are you freakin' kidding me? This is almost worth getting married for all on its own! I mean, can you imagine the bridesmaids nightmare I could create with these things? I could sign up the brides from every wedding I've been in (and there have been a lot of them), make them buy one of these lovely, lovely visions of tafetta and rhinestones, and bring sexy back to the wedding scene.

Or maybe we could just go with a beach theme.
Whatcha think? You wanna vote? Oh, no, this does not double as an engagement announcement. It's just funny shit I saw at the mall. That's all people. Don't get too excited yet.

So apparently my phone does do blog updates, 'cause that last one was posted from my phone... as was the gibberish one. I don't know, folks, apparently the thing has a mind of it's own.

Visa and Harriet have gone to their new homes. While it does make me sad to see them go, I'm so delighted that they have wonderful new families. Harriet has a dog, Chester. He's an 80+ pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever that loves cats. She spends her days running around playing with him, then sleeps on top of him at night. She has taken to kneading and licking his chin while lying on the floor, and they are absolutely in love with her.

While trying to pimp Visa to a friend who's a nurse at a local medical equipment company, I wound up finding him a home with the boss of said company. While Trish (my friend) had been blessed with an orphan litter of her own, Steve's family (wife and 2 sons) had been working on him for the better part of a year to get a cat. Steve had been the lone holdout. When he overheard me telling Trish Visa's story, he broke and came out of the office to claim the kitten. Whoo hoo! That was Thursday afternoon. I had an appointment to take Visa and Brook's Boy Blue to the vet Friday at 5 to be wormed and given initial vaccinations, so Steve said he would come and take Visa home from there. The plan was that he would be a total surprise for the rest of the family. Well, that didn't last long since Steve thought it would be prudent to let his wife in on the plan. They quickly decided that two boys should get two kittens or there was going to be trouble, plus the kittens would take care of each other while they were gone during the day. Steve called me back to see if I had another kitten available. Well, hell if this isn't the only time I've run out of kittens before I've run out of demand!

Not to worry, though, I always know where there are more kittens! So I called a friend who had an 8 week old litter up for grabs and told her what the family needed. She showed up on Friday with the perfect orange tabby girl to be Visa's adopted sister. They were a match made in heaven! The vet gave them all a clean bill of health, we paid their respective tabs, and headed out the door after saying goodbye... don't worry, I held my sniffles until I got to the car.

I stopped by to see Steve, or as he's now known, Father of the Year, to see how the big reveal went. He said they had really built it up, not telling the kids what was going on, just that they had made a big decision and were going to need a lot of help and expected the kids to take a lot of responsibility, etc. He said you could see the boys' eyes roll back in their heads (they're 10 and 5) thinking they were going to be taking out the trash or mowing the lawn or something. Then when they agreed to help with whatever it was, he picked the kittens up out of the carrier and said, "Then I need you to meet your kittens!" The 5 year old screamed and ran straight at him, and the 10 year old fell out of the chair and about passed out. Visa ran over to the 10 year old, claiming him as his own, and the orange kitty ran straight into the 5 year old's arms. Visa's new name is "Mystery" since he had to go exploring every nook and cranny of his new home, "Look, Dad, it's like he's trying to solve a mystery!" And the girl kitty's name is "Sunshine". The boys are in love and their parents couldn't be more happy.

Did that end well, or what?

Brook will be here in about 2 weeks to get Blue, then it will be back to my normal menagerie. You wouldn't know Blue from the wild boy he started out as, though. I don't think he remembers how to hiss. He wants to be held and loved, he plays like crazy, and cries for more attention. He's currently sleeping curled up next to my hip. Brook's going to go crazy for this one. He may have been a tough nut to crack, but he's full of marshmallowy goodness on the inside!