Goodbye Citizen Cake...and more

Soooo....I had a cupcake today. It was pretty good. Not as amazing as I sort of hoped it would be. Nowhere near the greatness of the chocolate sandwich cookie, but better than what you can buy at Safeway.

I am so stressed out and excited about my trip I just can't stand it. Basically I feel keyed up and exhausted all at once. It's sort of disorienting.

It was a big day of goodbyes today. We said goodbye to Citizen Cake and then we had a goodbye party for one of my coworkers. Since I've had my job for all of 2 months, I can't say I knew her all that well, but I will miss her. She seemed really nice and she sat right across from me every day. The whole staff went to a great bar called Sugar and the board president bought us drinks. Sugar has amazingly filling free appetizers so I may have chosen poorly. I don't want to confirm that I made bad choices, but I can't deny it either.

Also, I had a gin and tonic because it seemed rude not to. Apparently I have become a lightweight because I was totally tipsy after like 3 sips. And then after finishing the drink I felt exhaustion settle over me.

So basically, I spent the party stuffing my face in an unattractive way, sitting in a drunkenly comatose stupor and making occasional odd, tangential comments. I am so classy. I bet I definitely get a raise after that.

Ok, well you may or may not hear from me this weekend. The last time I tried a mobile post it just didn't work, so we shall see.

Happy Trails!

It is almost Friday!

I am pleased to say I made it through Wednesday.

Did I mention before that Citizen Cake is moving? Currently, I work directly above them, making it hard to resist those magical sweet treats. But tomorrow is their last day in that location. They are saying goodbye Hayes Valley. This is probably very good for my diet, but awful for my spirit. Obviously, this means that there will be some snacking this week. Of a non-weight watchers kind. I admit I had both hot coco and a sandwich cookie today. Because I will never have them again after tomorrow. Well not at Citizen Cake anyway. Please, don't judge. Not unless you have had Citizen Cake's hot coco and sandwich cookie. If you have had them, then feel free to judge. You won't though, because if you have had them, then you know.

On Friday Brady and I leave for a secret adventure. Technically it is not at all a secret for me because I booked the whole thing. But Brady has no idea where we are going. Not for sure anyway. I am crazy excited. More specifically it is a celebration of our second anniversary...which was in October... See, Brady and I started dating on Halloween. I refuse to share an anniversary with a scary holiday that revolves around costumes and candy, so each year I try out a different day to celebrate. This year I am trying out February 27th. I like the way it sounds.

January 4th was a big hit last year, but it was just so close to New Years. I figure I can't go much later than February, or it starts to be too far away from our actual anniversary and then the counting gets all off. I mean really we've already been dating 2 years and 3 months. You know, if you were really precise about that kind of thing. Which I am not...

Anyway, there may be some less than ideal eating going on this weekend, but I think it will be worth it. Plus there will be a lot of physical activity where we are going. I can't really give away any more than that because Brady reads this blog, but I bet there will be pictures when we return.

Eee, I love surprises. Except that I keep wanting to share my excitement with Brady and that would sort of ruin the surprise part.

Anyway, that is all I have to say. I am going to bed early for once so that I don't fall asleep on the BART train and start missing my stop. I barely woke up in time today. Oops.

Night!

Today is Monday...right?

Ok, so I lied when I said I would post more Monday. In fact it is Tuesday. On Monday I was too busy stuffing my face full of delicious fattening food and drink to post on this blog.

I guess I should start by confessing that this week I gained .7 pounds. My favorite part of that is that when I posted my weight on my weight watchers online page it said, encouragingly, "So, you gained a little weight this week. If this is not a surprise to you, then that's ok. Move on and have a great week this week. If this is a surprise to you, go back and look through your tracker to see where you could have slipped up."

Thank you automated Weight Watchers response. I feel pretty motivated for the coming week now. I wonder why I gained though...could it have been the giant Reuben sandwich from Max's Cafe? Yes, I think all .7 pounds came from that delicious pastrami.

Max's has a list of rules posted on their menu. Rule #4 explains it all: "We enjoy the taste that fat adds to corned beef and pastrami. If you want something lean, try the turkey." This is why I am the worst weight watcher ever. I saw that sign, I looked at the whole menu, and I proudly declared "The Reuben please. With pastrami."

As a side note, Max's rule #12 is my favorite: "If you are a single diner and are greeted with the expression, "Just One?" we'll buy you a drink."

Today I did manage to have tea instead of hot chocolate, even though there was a hurricane type thing happening in San Francisco and I wanted cozy foods. I also chose popped potato chips instead of cookies as a snack. The potato chips were sort of a sorry stand in for the croissant I had my eye on, and they didn't come close to the sandwich cookie from Citizen Cake that I wanted more than anything. But as I began to walk to Citizen Cake, lured by the siren call of the chocolate sandwich cookie, I thought to myself, "Wait, really? Who is in control here? What matters more? Is this cookie worth the shame of blogging about gaining weight again next week?" And then I walked away. It was a proud moment. A moment that almost made up for the cheesy gooeyness of the reuben.

Well that is all for me. I am quite tuckered out.

Where does the time go?

Another weekend gone and I have little to show for it. And by little, I mean absolutely nothing. I did sort of think about writing yesterday. And then I watched some more Merlin instead. Seriously though, that show is awesome.

Why is it that BBC comes up with excellent ideas for TV shows, shows that are full of magic and fantasy and talented actors, and in America we must content ourselves with crime dramas? Ok, none of that sentence was fair because in fact I love crime dramas, and in America we have Ghost Whisperer which is all about magic and the next life and all that and which I watch religiously.

Also, I am sure that if I started watching SyFy network (is that how they spell it now? I think it is.) I could probably see all sorts of shows with magic in them. Or I could at least catch reruns of Xena, a show that I have never seen but which seems to sort of fall into that whole magic and fantasy genre. But I think I would be hard pressed to find a TV show in America based on mythical people, given a big budget and put on network TV. With great actors.

I think in the UK there is less of a stigma attached to watching fantasy television. I would certainly understand why. When I was in Scotland everything was so old. There was so much history and lore. And when you live around all those castles and country homes and green hills you have no choice but to believe in history and mythical magical stories.

I remember walking in the highlands in Scotland and I was just absolutely sure that magic existed. No question. I went on a hike to some old ruins and I was standing on what must have been a fortress like a thousand years ago or something and I was overlooking the ocean. And I was ready to start chanting ancient spells. I'm pretty sure it would have worked too, especially if I had been wearing some flowing robes. No wonder J.K. Rowling dreamed up Harry Potter. If she had been in America, he would have come out wrong, but in Scotland it just makes sense.

Nothing in America is that old. Unless you start visiting some old Native American sites (which I will confess fill me with a similar but different sense of magic) you can't find anything that has lasted since the 1300's. There is definitely an earthy magic in America. If you hike up Yosemite Falls, you get a sense of majesty, a feeling that your life is connected to the greater plan. A deep connection to earth can be felt in America, once you get outside the cities and the suburbs. But for some reason, I can't imagine King Arthur in Wyoming. I don't see any sorcerers holding rituals out in Kentucky. America is a land of earthiness. Of vampires that sparkle (oh why Stephanie Meyer, why? I love romance too, and I'm a fantasy addict, but why must Edward sparkle?). I can see us being host to witches and vampires and modern magic. Or people who talk to trees.

But the old magic, the battle for good and evil kind of magic...it lives across the pond. That's where you go to find princesses and princes and great magicians who will battle ancient evils.

So my point is, if you can get your hands on it and you were obsessed with Camelot legends when you were younger (like me), watch Merlin. I do not in any way condone obtaining it illegally (although I am not sure a legal way exists in America) but I love it and I have now watched every episode that currently exists. Oh season 3, come soon!

That is all for me. Tomorrow, tune in to hear the amazing tales of MONDAY!! Also known as, the ramblings of a sleep deprived mind.

I'm not quite back yet

I have had probably the worst week that I can remember having in quite some time. I had a terrible stomach flu at Disneyland a few months ago. This week was sort of on par with that.

The upside of the stomach flu was that it ended and no permanent damage was done.

Isn't that the trouble with words? You can apologize over and over and over again, but the words just don't get undone. Usually I am the one botching up the words, trying to take them back, but this time I'm the one who got hurt. Words don't really mean anything until they get read, or heard. The reader is the one who assigns the meaning. Things that I write can be read however the reader wants to read them. I may be writing with only thoughts of reconciliation in my mind, and if my reader wants to see anger there, they will. It's a mystical thing, and a dangerous one too I suppose.

Funny because I am usually such a proponent of the written word. Here I am wanting to be a writer. I love that when you write you have a chance to edit before you send the words out into the world. I love that you can take the time to distance yourself from emotion, to choose the exact word you meant. But when the written word is used to fight, somehow I guess things go wrong. Meanings get skewed.

The terrible thing about fighting with the written word is that there is an awful trail of words that gets left behind. A written record of every word you wrote in anger, every insult sent your way. It becomes so tempting to hold up that record and scream, look, see, I was just responding to line three of paragraph four. But the truth is, even when a fight is verbal, there are things that get lodged in your mind. Words you cannot ever forget. Words that build fortresses of hurt in your brain. At least when there is a record you can look back later and make sure you didn't make it up.

Or maybe that's worse because its so much harder to forget.

In any case, I have been hurt by words this week. Apologies have been accepted and yet in my head I hear these words. They tell me I am not loved, that I am imperfect, that I am faulty. They tell me that my hardest is not enough. That no matter how hard I try, I cannot measure up to the efforts of others. That my problems, my challenges are easy, that I exaggerate their difficulty, that the people I love are sick of my complaints. They tell me that the things I feared are in fact true. And that my dearest friends believe them.

And what I need to hear are some words that are entirely different. Good words. Loving words. Words to battle those powerful, dangerous words currently in my brain. Silence can hurt as much as words sometimes. More so in some cases because sometimes silence seems to confirm that those terrible words are true. I need to hear the right words from the right people and I cannot.

I feel so shattered that I cannot begin to describe it. I will of course go on, I'm not that shattered. No suicidal thoughts or anything. No one died, except maybe some part of my heart. And I will try to write more funny stories about me failing at weight loss. I will try to put this behind me and write much less self indulgent posts. But something breaks when you doubt things that you once believed were fundamental. Something breaks when you start to really wonder if the people you love, love you back. When a seed of doubt is planted, it grows out of control very quickly. It can only be stopped with more words I suppose.

I wish that I could clear my name, and address my hurts and speak my piece. I wish I could get it all off my chest to the people who need to hear it. But those words would be perceived as petty words or fighting words. And since I am so tired of fighting, this blog post is my only defense and my only outlet.

And so, after a week that left me emotionally battered and possibly heartbroken, and a little hopeless, I am doing what any normal sane person would do...I am watching streaming episodes of the BBC's Merlin online. Oh Merlin, I wish I could be in Camelot battling evil magic. It would be so much less complicated than these battles of words. At least in Camelot you know who the bad guy is.

That's all I can write. I'm out of words.

Just trying to pull myself together

I had a rough day today. All around. Things that seemed like they would be big stress relievers, actually turned out to be stress inducing.

That's all I can really muster up right now. I'm just too tired and sad and worn out to do anything else. Actually I really feel like eating now, but I think that's what we call emotional eating.

I hope tomorrow is better. Happier. Easier.

That's it from me.

One day I will die and be eaten by cats

I have a cat problem. I've never had anything against cats. I've always thought they were nice to look at. It's nice when they sit on you and purr and I can even put up with the way they dig their claws into you when you make them really happy...sadistic? Absolutely. But in a good way...or something. I'm a dog person myself. If I am going to put in the time and energy required to have a pet, I want one that isn't too proud to say "I love you." Or you know, show affection.

My mom likes cats. In the course of my life she has brought two of them home. Sadly they hate each other in a crazy I'm going to kill you kind of way. Much of my teenage years were spent keeping them apart so that Cali wouldn't fly off the handle in a spitting hissy fit. Jewel (she's the fat one I featured in this blog last week) actually seems pretty untroubled by Cali. Honestly, if Jewel wanted to kill Cali, she could. She's huge.

When we moved to our current house, our cats were pretty old and the health problems began to set in. It started with Jewel and her bladder infection of DOOM. I'll try to spare you the gory cat pee details, but let's just say cats avoid the litter box when they have bladder infections. Then Cali went blind. And then she lost a kidney. And I will once again try to spare you the cat pee details, but it 'aint pretty.

Amid the cat pee and the vows never to have another cat ever, a small feral cat walked into my life. Little Ziggy was small when I first saw her walking in our backyard. She looked hungry and cold and I thought, ah ha, I will give her some cream. Little Ziggy was soon joined by another small kitten, a boy named Neon Tiger. The two of them wandered my yard drinking cream and playing cute little games and I thought, maybe, I had been wrong to judge cats so harshly. And then came Tiny Dancer. A small kitten with a freckled nose. Who could turn him away?

As you can see from the photo, their mother soon came to join us. On a whim I bought them little cat dishes and toys. I fell hard for the kittens and in time the whole feral colony. And it didn't seem so bad at first to feed 4 cats. And then when Rusty came along, she seemed so sweet. And then Daddy. And then Whiteface. And then Rocky came from out of the blue, so sweet and small.

One evening, as my mom and I sat on the floor of our living room, watching our feral cats eat, listening to Cali upstairs doing her "pay attention to me now" wail, we realized that with 11 cats, we had in fact become crazy cat ladies.

Our vet has informed me that Jewel needs to get her weight down, and that Cali needs to keep her weight up. I prepare 4 different meals each night for the cats and their discerning palates and I trick Cali into eating 3 pills a day. My mother and I spend our days cleaning up litter and wondering how it came to this.

And then two nights ago a small all black kitten wandered into our yard and began to eat. This cat is not part of our colony, he looks nothing like our family of adopted cats. He is from a brand new feral colony and I bet he has friends. And I realized that I would one day die and be consumed by the feral colony I helped. So let this be a lesson and learn from my mistakes. Resist the big eyed look of the kitten, for kittens grow into cats with bladder problems and high blood pressure.

My mom has been on vacation all week and I have been taking care of our harem of cats, so I may be coming at this from a slightly biased perspective. Spay and neuter your cats.

That's all from me.

(Oh and P.S. We spayed and neutered all those ferals. Just so you know I practice what I preach.)