The cat

The cat.  Loves.  The food.

Now, normally she only gets wet food on Friday and Saturday nights.  But today, I opened up a can of the Urinary Tract Health stuff (in gel!) for her, dumped half of it in the bowl, and she did one serious happy dance.  And devoured it.  Happy kitty scarfing noises.

I gave her the other half o' can for dinner tonight and she's similarly thrilled.  Whether she stays on this special remedy forever or not, after a couple weeks of this, I think it's going to be impossible getting her to go back to the kibble.  Looks like I've got me a wet-food-full-time cat.

The Weekend Off -- Day Two

Actually, there's a bit more of Day One, first.  Shopping got a bit better once I stopped trying stores and used the internet.  I found a coupla dresses online, and I even had more luck with Vans.  See ... here's the problem.  (Well, the other problem -- the first problem was the mules.)  The problem is that Vans has apparently switched to unisex sizing -- all their shoes are in Men's and Women's sizes simultaneously.  But the one pair of Vans I already own and love are Women's shoes, and the unisex ones I tried on at the store didn't feel as good.  So I thought, damn, now I can't even get any more Vans slip-ons that I like.  Cause when I checked their website, all of the so-called Women's slip-ons were the Unisex sized ones.  But what I'd forgetten about was that Vans is in the Custom business, and for, like, an extra 10 bucks and with a three-to-five week shipping time, I could specially design a pair of slip-ons with women's sizing (and with exactly the color scheme I want).  So, yay, good deal there.

Bad that I couldn't really get over the headache.  In fact, I had it when I went to sleep, when I woke up in the morning, and pretty much everywhere in between.  This has never happened before.  :(

So, onward to today.  Today I was gonna go to a bunch of Open Houses.  (Open Houses are generally on Sundays, as are theatre matinees.  This is really why I took the weekend off.  I was sick of missing the open houses.)  So.  I printed up a list of about 6 houses I wanted to check out, jumped into the car, programmed the GPS to take me to the first house, and was off.

I did not, in fact, look at the first house.  It was quite adorable, but it was sandwiched between two totally crappy looking houses.  And the neighborhood was marked by a bunch of old cars parked on lawns, or up on bricks.  I pulled over about a half block away, reprogrammed my GPS for the next house, and headed off to a better neighborhood.

House number two -- I couldn't quite figure out how to get into house number two.  You park on the street, but there's no path to the door without walking on the lawn.  (But no cars parked there!)  The house wasn't in great shape.  The photos I'd seen on the internet showeda nice living room and dining room, but there was no photo of the kitchen.  Looking at the incredibly old tile and appliances that belonged in the Smithsonian, it dawned on me that when there's no photo of the kitchen, there's probably a reason for it.

House number three -- I hadn't had much hope for house number three.  It was the cutest little English cottage, but it was located right near the freeway.  I figured I didn't want to live there, but I wanted to see how cute it was anyhow.  It was, quite literally, a half-block from the freeway.  As soon as I opened my car door in front of the house, I heard constant freeway noise.  There's no way I'm buying this house, but I went in anyhow.  I admit I admired the agent for gamely suggesting how great it was that you couldn't hear the freeway from inside the house.  (I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd noticed that he'd turned a radio on.)  The agent also said that, y'know, if the house wasn't so close to the freeway, it wouldn't be so cheap.  He was right.  I don't want to mention prices right now (because I live in Southern California so the numbers are insanely high) but this price was quite a bit less than I can afford.  This house isn't for me.  This is a house for someone who can just barely afford it, and wants an amazingly adorable house in a friendly neighborhood that just happens to be a half-block from the freeway.

House number four -- Man, they're all starting to run together.  I think house number four was the one that had less actual square footage than my current condo, but managed an extra bedroom.  The result was a master bedroom you couldn't fit my bed in.

House number five was similar to house number four.  The alleged "third bedroom" seemed more like a walk-in closet someone called a bedroom.  It didn't have a closet or a door or -- come to think of it -- a fourth wall (the hallway wall came up to about shoulder height and someone had closed up the rest of the way with a piece of frosted glass like a shower door).  This is a house for people with a lot of kids who they want to each have their own space -- not me.

House number six -- Now, house six was interesting.  I was torn about even seeing house six.  It's a beautiful old fashioned house that has been gorgeously renovated -- which is, like, totally what I'd like.  But it didn't have air conditioning.  I don't mean no central air -- I mean it didn't even have the wall-window units.  No.  Air.  Conditioning.  But it was a very lovely house -- I mean, it had been written up in magazines and stuff.  Figured it was worth a look, regardless of the a/c thing.  It was, as it happens, a lovely house.  Original hardwood floors, marble kitchen counter, Italian tile in the bathroom.  And a fountain in the backyard.  Honest.  The patio had these big old white columns around it, and the view through them was of a lovely little stone fountain surrounded by flowers. 

I mentioned to the agent that it sure would be nice if it had air conditioning.  Agent said, "Oh, the owner will install central air by the close of escrow.  You can't sell a house out here without air."  I was tempted to tell her that maybe she'd have a better shot at selling the place if she'd, y'know, put that in the listing.  But then I thought that I might actually like the house, so why should I make it easier for the competition?

Ultimately, I do not think this is the house for me.  I looked at it a little bit more and realized that this is sort of the flip-side of the other houses I saw.  This house was too nice for me.  I mean, I'd have to get all new stuff.  I can't put an IKEA bookshelf against these custom-painted walls.  And the closets -- they're these great craftsman built-ins (and cedar lined) but there's not enough room in there for all the crap I need to store.  I'd get Closet World to come out and put some pressboard shelving in there to make them more useful, and have someone drill through all the baseboards to wire this place for cable -- and that just isn't what you do to a house that comes with an award from a Historical Preservation Society.  They did a kick-ass job on this house and the house needs someone who will respect and cherish it for what it is -- not try to change it into something else.  It's a great house (and a good price) -- but it's the first house I've seen where it isn't that the house isn't right for me -- I'm not right for the house.

On my way home, I stopped off to get my nails done.  On the way to parking lot, I screwed up one of the nails.  Went right back up to the nail shop and had them fix the nail.  Drove home.  The next real estate agent was coming over, so I thought I'd tidy up.  I commenced tidying and ended up screwing up the polish on the same nail.  Argh.

Very unusual situation -- this other agent (or, more precisely, pair of agents).  The first agent who came by isn't actually an agent, he's the one with the broker's license.  And he's been doing this for, like, thirty years.  And he gave me a multi-page full-color presentation with charts and graphs, and spent about an hour and half going page by page through his booklet before telling me how much (or, more precisely, how little) he thought I could get for my place.

The pair of agents who came by today are agents.  They're much younger.  (They're most likely younger than me.)  They've been in the business about 5 years, after both coming to it from internet-related stuff.  (The wife also grew up in my home town in Maryland.  Small world and all that.)  The husband would list my place while the wife would try to find me a new one.  Husband came up with a number some ten to twenty-five thousand higher than the number the broker came up with, and had a market study to back it up.  Wasn't quite as high as I'd wanted (maybe if I have a third agent come in?) but I am, in this particular area, totally screwed by my upstairs neighbors.  (You see, my upstairs neighbors -- the ones whose bathroom leaked into mine -- sold their unit in a big fat hurry a few months ago.  Seriously, it was on the market for, like, a week, and they'd listed it so amazingly cheap they actually sold it for $20,000 more than their asking price.  It was a below-market sale -- but anyone looking to do an appraisal of my place is going to look at the fact that the unit above me (same floor plan) sold for that amount just a few months ago.  And it's going to be hard to convince someone to pay me a whole ton of money more than that.  Damn upstairs neighbors.  Well, the least I can do is get a good price for my unit, and make it easier for the next person here who wants to sell.)

I like them.  They weren't as slick as broker-dude, but they seemed on-the-ball and, unlike broker-dude, did not waste my time walking me through all their paperwork, but just showed me a spreadsheet and trusted I'd have the good sense to be able to read it.  Oh, and they said they'd show the place by appointment only so that one of them would always be here to babysit Jasmine.

I think I may go with them.  I didn't actually sign a listing agreement or anything, but she's gonna start looking for houses and I'm gonna get the place recarpeted (they gave me a name of another carpet guy so I can comparison shop there) and, um... I think that even if I get a different agent, I've actually decided to move.  I mean, I'm sitting here talking house options with them and saying I'll call my lender to get prequalified for a new mortgage and planning to get my a/c serviced and buy the new carpet and fix the surface on the balcony and... all of a sudden I realize I can have this place ready to go on the market by, say, the end of August.  And I think I'm OK with that.

.... It's hard, sometimes, making these sorts of decisions alone.  I mean, other than times when I find myself without a dance partner, I think making huge financial decisions are the times when I most think married people have an advantage.  Because there you can talk it over with someone and sort of hold hands and decide to take the leap together, and here, it's just me going, "OK, let's do it," and it's like, decided.  But I think it's right.  All week, my eyelid has been twitching, which happens when I'm under stress, and whenever I think, "Yeah, it's decided; I'll do it," there's no twitching at all.

By the time I get my new Vans, my condo may well be on the market.

That's Just Wrong

I read here that Monopoly is issuing a new edition ("Monopoly Here and Now") whereby the cash is replaced with Visa debit cards you run through a little machine to make all transactions.  (It is apparently a done deal in Britain, and Hasbro is considering it for US Monopoly.)

I am annoyed by this.  I remember learning to make change with Monopoly.  And that bit about how it's better to hand over $101 than $100 for something that costs $76, so you get more convenient change.  Sure, you learn stuff about buying, negotiating and (depending on the deals you structure) profit-sharing, but there were some basic money skills being taught there, and now that'll be lost.

Then again, ever since McDonald's got those registers where the employees just have to hit the button that says "Big Mac," we've been slowly phasing out the whole make-change-in-your-head thing anyway, so maybe this is a true reflection of the world we're living in.

Sweet Cat Quirk

My cat often wants to be alone.  Not alone alone, just "don't touch me" alone.  I've encouraged her to take her paw and push an unwanted hand out of the way, rather than biting.  (This has been partially successful.)  But, sometimes, she just wants to sit there being cute but doesn't want to get pet.

Except -- she will always let you kiss her cute little cat self.  I put my arms behind my back (so she knows I'm not going to sneak a little pet in there against her will), bend down, and kiss her on the neck.  Or a whole line of kisses up and down her bendy little spine.  I am always allowed to do this. 

I think she thinks I'm helping her groom.

The Weekend Off -- Day One

Usually, I put on my Theatre Critic hat on weekends.  The past few weekends, I've been seeing at least two shows.  Well, I took this weekend off.  I've got too much to do.

I made a list.  I had to go to the vet by 1:00 to pick up the Special Urinary Tract Health Cat Food.  I also had to go to the post office by 2:00 to pick up whatever package was supposed to be delivered yesterday (but I got one of those damn little notices instead).  I also had to put gas in the car (down to the little red bar -- around 50 miles left).  And there was an open house I wanted to look at (open 2:00 - 5:00).  And I needed to buy some trash compactor bags and some vacuum cleaner bags (both available at Sears).  And shop for new carpet ('cause I'm gonna have to recarpet before I sell this place -- apparently 24-year old carpet with cat barf stains is not a selling point.)  And then I thought I'd go to the mall and buy a sundress.  And maybe some shoes. 

(OK, yeah, I already have a lot of shoes.  But, with this heat wave, I've been noticing that all my shoes are closed.  I've generally avoided mules on principle, but now the idea of an open-backed shoe seems really pleasant.)

Now, the post office is near my place, but everything else (except gas stations, which are, y'know, plentiful) is over in another area of town.  I didn't get started till around noon, so I figured I'd go to the post office, zoom on out to the vet, go to carpet store, go to Sears, go to the open house, then hit the mall.  OK?  OK.

First stop:  the post office.  The parcel waiting for me is fruit (from Harry & David).  I'm not really sure what it is doing at the post office because it says quite clearly on the box:  CARRIER LEAVE IF NO RESPONSE.  Because it's FRUIT.  It was supposed to spend last night in my refrigerator, not sitting on a shelf in the post office.  I figured I should get this stuff home and refrigerated immediately.  Of course, it's 12:20 and the vet closes at 1:00, but I can't see where letting six pounds of fruit go bad in the back of my car is a really good plan.  I rush home.  I grab a knife and open the box and start madly shoving fruit in the fridge.  The cherries and the pears don't look the worse for wear, but the peaches are already pretty ripe.  Very nearly falling-apart-in-my-hand ripe.  I grab one for breakfast (and a handful of paper towels) and head out to the vet.

I drive to the vet, slurping down peach all the way.  It's delicious.  There's six in the box.  If I eat two a day, I might get them devoured before they go bad.  (I've saved the label off the box in case I need to call Harry & David's and complain about the post office.)

Second stop:  the vet.  I'm there all of 7 minutes before they close.  She sells me three cans of the stuff.  I read the can; it's "Urinary SO in gel."  Sounds appetizing.  Not.

Third stop:  Carpet store.  Carpet guy asks the measurements of the rooms I have to carpet.  This is a reasonable question, but I have no answer.  I then realize that I know the total square footage of my place, so if I subtract a little for the bathrooms and the bedroom I've already recarpeted, I get a reasonable approximation.  Carpet guy takes that number, finds me some $1.99/square foot carpet, and multiplies it out.  I ask if he's got a cheaper carpet.  He has a $1.77 one, but I take one look at it and think it wouldn't survive my cat's claws for a week.  I go back to the $1.99.  Then he asks me if the condo is empty or has stuff in it.  I say it has stuff in it.  "Oh," says the dude, "I quoted you the price for empty; furnished is $2.25."  He's right -- that is what the sign says.  But, he says, since he already quoted me the $1.99 price, he'll stick to it.  'Cause he's that kind of honest businessman.  And I interpret this to mean, "He's (a) a wheeler/dealer and (b) trying to get me to commit to buying this carpet from him before I walk out the door."

I walk out the door.

Fourth stop:  Sears.  I miss the road for Sears but eventually get there.  I spy the vacuum cleaner bags and notice that they have every other model bag but the model I need.  A helpful Sears employee asks if he can help.  I ask for "AA" bags.  He's out.  They'll get more Wednesday.  Great.  (Not.)  I go over to the trash compactor department.  I see no bags.  I ask the next helpful Sears employee for compactor bags.  He notices theshelf is empty, but offers to check in back.  Thanks, says I.  He comes back, not carrying bags.  He says there's another store room; he'll check there.  Okey doke, says I.  He again returns bagless.  I leave Sears, having accomplished zilch.

Fifth stop:  The gas station.  You wouldn't think this would be troublesome -- pay for gas; get gas; right?  After all, my car was now beeping at me to alert me of the low fuel situation.  So, I pull into an Arco station, even though I'm usually a Mobil girl.  I wait in line behind some other cars, but Arco's price per gallon was 24 cents less than the place right across the street (76) so I figured it was worh the wait.  I finally pull up and go the pay at the pump thing.  I stick my credit card in.  The pay at the pump thing tells me it will charge ne an extra 45 cents plus whatever my bank charges for the ATM transaction.  This isn't an ATM transaction; I'm trying to charge gas, not get a cash advance on my VISA card.  There does not appear to be a way to convince the machine of this -- it is for Cash and ATM transactions only.  I go back into my wallet, feed a twenty to the machine, and pump about half a tank of gas.

Sixth stop:  The open house.  A most interesting house.  Apparently, it was vacated six months ago and sold to some investors who made some improvements -- remodelled the kitchen and bathroom, recarpeted, and hooked it all up with top-of-the-line appliances.  It was quite nice.

Except the master bathroom.  The other bathroom had beautiful travertine tiles and a new bathtub with spa jets in it.  The master bathroom had a tiny shower and was done in cheapo white tile with yellow spots on it (like someone blew their nose all over it).  Ug. Ly.  I had a chat with the real estate agents showing the house and they confessed that it wasn't their listing -- they were just babysitting it while the listing agent was away.  Since it wasn't their listing, I confided in them that the place probaby would've shown better had they not painted the closet doors shut (honest -- two sets of sliding closet doors, repainted, stuck to their tracks) and maybe removed the spiders from the tub (two cute little daddy-long-legs).  Agents seemed nice enough.  They'll come over tomorrow to give me a new "market analysis" of my place, seeing as I'm not happy with the "market analysis" the last guy did.  Although, foolishly, I told these people the number that the last agent came up with.  Only a total moron who didn't want my business wouldn't find some way to come up with a higher number.  So this real issue is, how much higher, and will they be able to back it up with enough information that I think we can actually get that price?  (I do have a figure in mind -- let's see if they hit it.)

Seventh stop:  The mall.  This entry is getting long and I'm getting a headache, so I'll just sum up the entire mall trip by saying:  (1) none of the department stores in the mall have trash compactor bags or vacuum cleaner bags; (2) none of the clothing stores have sundresses; the fall lines are out now; and (3) Vans has some really cute mules, but not in my size.

Eighth stop:  By now, I've called my mom to ask advice on where to find compactor and vacuum bags.  We conclude Best Buy or Circuit City would be the best bet.  I go to Best Buy.  Find the last bag of AA vacuum bags!  (Perhaps in all of Pasadena.)  No trash compactor bags, though.

Ninth stop:  I walk into Ross (next door to Best Buy).  They haven't got sundresses either.

Tenth stop:  I drive to Circuit City.  I walk in Circuit City.  I notice they don't have appliances at all.  I walk out of Circuit City.

Eleventh stop:  Pass a Target on the way home.  It was an longshot, but still.  No compactor bags.  I check for vacuum bags, and they're out of AAs too.

Home.  Oh, and Vans.com doesn't have the mules either.  :(

 

And the Vet says...

My cat may or may not have a urinary tract infection.  (Useful, huh?)

The vet took a urine sample from Jas.  This process apparently does not involve the cat peeing in a cup, but a rather messier procedure that the vet's assistant politely referred to as the Urine Extraction Process.  Jas had to stay there all day.  She was real happy to come home that night, as demonstrated by the fact she didn't meow once in the car ride home.  (Whereas she'd cried all the way to the vet's office.) 

Well, the vet had yesterday off, so I didn't get the results until today.  The results were pretty good -- meaning that the urinalysis was all normal.  Yay.  However, there was blood in her urine.  Vet isn't sure whether the blood was indicative of a UTI or a result of the, er, Urine Extraction Process.  Poor kitty.  :(

So we're gonna start her on some food that's better for urinary tract health.  We're not positive it's necessary, but, as the vet's assistant put it, "The only thing you have to lose is bed-peeing."  She has a point.  I'll be starting the cat on that food real quick.

Updates

1.  Returned the comforter.  I won't be able to get a duplicate of the one I gave back.  Here's the problem.  It is a Hollander comforter.  Hollander rarely sells stuff under its own label (according to the website, it is just starting to do this).  Instead, it sells stuff under different labels, through all sorts of outlets.  You can get a Hollander comforter anywhere from Wal-Mart to Laura Ashley.  Since I've no idea which Hollander comforter I was dealing with (no idea of fill-power or thread count or anything), I can't figure out where to shop for it.  Ah well.

2.  The most amazing thing happened this morning.  My air conditioner actually turned off.  For, like, four minutes.  The damn thing has been cranking 24 hours a day just to achieve 80 degrees, and very briefly, around 8:30 this morning, it actually hit the 76 that it was aiming for, and shut off in satisfaction.  Didn't last though.  (I fear my electric bill.)

3.  The cat actually wanted to be brushed today.  I sat on the couch, held the brush in my hand, and made an inviting hand gesture.  She jumped in my lap and let me brush her for, like, ten minutes.  This is massive progress.

4.  My neighbors came over tonight (we're finishing off an ice cream cake -- long story) and they asked if I had anything recorded on the DVR.  I had last night's episode of "Colbert Report," -- a show they had never watched.  Looks like I made two new fans of the show last night.  I think I should get a gold star from Colbert Nation or something.