The Chronicles of the Angry Geologist

The way it all happened, it sounds like something I made up.

It was the Thursday night before Halloween. I was at home, hanging out. My previous plans of going downtown and handing out candy to trick-or-treaters with my boyfriend had fallen through, as it was misting cold rain and the police had cancelled it for safety. We were supposed to get eight inches of snow the following night, so it was going to happen Monday.

I was walking Roland when I heard this plaintive mewing, a little kitten. I couldn't identify where the sound was coming from, so I just kept going. We were inside and planning on staying put for the night, but I just kept hearing it. Finally, I decided to look out my front door. About six inches off the ground, little yellow eyes looked up at me, and then ran for the bushes.

I felt bad for it, so I got together an empty beer box with a towel for it to shelter in overnight. As I was setting it out, it decided it could trust me enough, and walked up to me. I finally got a good look- it was entirely black.

As I was standing there, my conscience was wrestling with my good sense. I am terribly allergic to cats, as has been proven to me time and time again, most recently visiting with my boyfriend's cousin, where I had such an awful reaction to their two cats that I had to end the visit early, apologizing through the coughing and wheezing fits. I had exactly nothing I needed to care for him, either- no food, no litter, no bed other than the dog's.

But... it was a black cat. On Halloween. It might just be an urban legend, all the horrible things that happen to black cats then... but I know, more than most, that there are horrible people out there for which Halloween would be a convenient excuse. If that wasn't a death sentence for him, surely the oncoming snowstorm would be.

After a bit more farting around and a conversation and material aid from my upstairs neighbor, Howie Lovecraft was warmly and happily ensconced in my dog's old airline crate. A few days later, he went to the vets, where he was dewormed, de-flea-ed and de-ticked, and tested negative for FIV/FeLV/HW. I set him up with a friend of mine to foster, set up a neuter/vaccination appointment, and set about finding him a home.

I didn't realize how bad a year for cats it has been. All the rescues and shelters are full. No one seems to want a cat, not even a cute black kitten. And what's worse, my fostering friend lost her job and couldn't keep her apartment, or my cat, past this Saturday.

So... Howie is back in my apartment. I set him up in my bathroom with a safe environment, got everything I need to care for a cat, and have been popping zyrtec every twelve hours like clockwork. This isn't a long-term solution. It isn't even a great short-term solution. But he is the most sociable, friendliest cat I have ever met, bar none. He will walk up to greet anyone, and never stops purring. He let me rub his belly! How many cats will let you do that? There's no way I can kick him to the curb.

This cat deserves a chance. There is a fee, and references and a home visit are required. If you know anyone who is looking for a cat, please share this link: http://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/21287177

Thanks!

I want to write about Japan,
but there's nothing more to say.

Please donate, if you can.
And if you can't, please pray.





(the crummy poetry was unintentional, but I'm going to leave it like that anyway)

...


*hangs up a "Watch This Space" sign.*

Yeah... it's been an embarrassingly long time since I've written.

So what's new?

-I'm trying to find a new job.
-I'm taking Roland to visit the Jewish Home every Monday.
-I've finally found a RP group
--which I may be losing due to job changes.
-I finally took a train trip
--to Philly
---where I went to Wizard World Philly
----where Edward James Olmos told me to go back for my PhD
-----which I'm seriously considering.
-I've lost enough weight so that I am no longer in danger of metabolic syndrome (whew!)
-I'm knitting socks.

I'm also considering upgrading this blog and potentially moving to another platform. Or at least updating on a more regular basis, which I'm sure you will all like.

Young male mockingbird stud seeking single female mockingbird with an appreciation for car alarms and backup horns. Come help feather my nest in a spacious, well-wooded apartment complex where the residents feed the birds! Must be willing to relocate, no chicks, serious inquiries only, please.

For the past four nights, a bachelor mockingbird has taken up residence in the tree outside my bedroom window. He has been singing his heart out nonstop every night all night.

This was funny maybe the first time.

I can no longer sleep with the windows open- hell, I can no longer sleep! I had to jam cotton balls in my ears and tell my dog to wake me if the smoke alarm went off, and this was after the shot of whiskey to knock me out. By the way- from newly acquired personal experience, involuntary sleep deprivation is torture, and anyone who says otherwise is banned from my journal effective immediately.

At about 2:30 AM this morning, I looked up in desperation why he was up at such an ungodly hour, and I learned something new. Did you know male mockingbirds sing at night when they're seeking a mate? I didn't either! Mockingbirds are migratory, and are protected species- even if it were legal to harass him, I couldn't bring myself to do it. So, I'm putting out the above personal ad on his behalf. If a female doesn't show up soon, I'm going to look forward to this until the middle of June.

[Poll #1367280]

Nota bene: This is not to discriminate against people of size. You are who you are, and if you're happy and healthy the way you are, more power to you.

Unfortunately, I've got a family history of diabetes that I can't ignore, and my body has been showing signals that all is not well. It finally hit me when I realized my waist had hit 35"- that's a sign of metabolic syndrome, which can lead to diabetes and reduced lung function, like I need any more of that- I needed to lose 10 before I gained 30. Long story short, I'm on my way to killing myself in the same horrific way my paternal grandmother died, and I'm not even really enjoying the ride.

So, I'm going to give it a shot. If I can't manage it on my own, then at least I'll have tried.

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

Today, thanks to the magic of Google Books and the New York Times, I found out that there exists out in the Pacific Ocean a tiny island nation called Niue.

The name translates to "Behold the Coconut!"

The fact I live in a world that has a place that is called "Behold the Coconut!" makes it a much happier world indeed.

Today at work, my Minion got called into the bosses' office. This was pretty normal, because she had been working on a few of his projects. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I saw her a little later with performance review forms in her hand, and since it's that time of the year, I asked her how it went.

She said, "Good, but pointless."

I asked her what she meant, and she opened up the folder she had been carrying and handed the top sheet to me. It was a notice of layoff. It was like a bomb went off. The closest story I can compare it to was something I heard my grandfather tell about working in the coal mine. A section of roof had collapsed and killed the man working next to him- he quit that day.

After I stood there for a minute gaping like a dying fish, all I could manage was, "I am so sorry!" Shortly after that it was, "What the hell are they smoking?" But yeah.

She is okay with it. Her husband has a job that takes an Act of Congress to eliminate, and she gets all her benefits through him. They'll have to stretch, but they'll make it- besides, she was glad she got it and not someone who is supporting themselves, or worse, a family.

But we were working on the same projects. And this scares me, quite a bit.

I sat down today and wrote out a contingency plan in case I get the axe next. It involves canceling the cable and... *sniff*... the internet... in the beginning, trying to find temporary work to keep the lights on, and if I don't find a permanent position in the end, moving back home and applying for PhD programs. (Frankly, we're all going to have to be homeless and fighting over dog food before I'll give up Roland. I made a commitment to that dog, and I will keep it.)

I know I'll land on my feet, but that doesn't stop me from being afraid of the fall. Wish me luck.

When you look at the tissue in your hand and wonder when the Shoggoth crawled up your nose and died, it's probably a good idea to go and see the doctor about your sinus congestion.

My co-worker invited me out to meet her dodgeball team after their game tonight.

Yes. That is what I said. No, I am not kidding.

See, this is really the first time I've been out as a single woman since me and the "dude man" worked it out that we really weren't going to be more than friends. It was an amicable split, and if we weren't on opposite ends of the continent, I'd be thinking differently, but it didn't happen like that.

I got some numbers. And the guys that gave them to me weren't bad looking either. Meh. Might call them on Sunday. It's not like it's the stupidest thing I've ever done.