icarusancalion

Jetsunma always knows the right thing to say. I like to swing by her Twitter when I'm puzzling over something. The advice I need is always right there.

It's not always the advice I want of course.

Q: "Which bed should I get? Should I shop for a bed now or wait? I really do want a new boyfriend and..."

A: "Making wishing prayers to return in a form in which you can benefit beings purifies the mind of desire."

(Huffs a sigh.)

She's never predictable though.

Q: "What do I do about the cute guy whose nun!mom just grilled me?"

A: "You MIGHT be compatible. *Links to Chinese astrological signs, revealing we're exactly 12 years apart.*"

Awk!

I wonder about the appropriateness of using a Buddhist Lama as a kind of Magic 8-Ball, but it does seem to work, lol!

And -- rescued a cat tonight.

I was about to leave work. As I shut my door, I heard a meow.

Meow?

I looked back to see if was just the car door squeaking, and there was the source on the edge of the parking lot. He had hoarse voice, like he'd over-meowed.

A few minutes later, my ex-boyfriend (the local Chinese one, S.) stopped by to see if I cared to have a bite, and found me petting the cute kitten -- well, teenage cat, maybe about four or five months old. A fine-lined tabby with white paws and long, thin legs, a tail in extra-long.

"Why am I not surprised?" S. said, which is rich, because he's just as much of a cat person as I am, and that's saying something.

We were about to head out: "The tapas place? You know, I was thinking of stopping by but figured you'd be at a dance class or something--" (I got S. into ballroom dancing) -- when kitty very deliberately blocked the car from leaving.

Kitty meowed urgently. Something was wrong.

"Maybe he's lost?" He looked very young. We speculated, and then S. thought maybe if we brought him over to where the townhouses were, we'd see if he made his way towards one. It was probably a mistake to take him around the block by car, but S. had left the engine running, it had rained, and it was rather wet.

I didn't think it would work. But I humored S. because I knew who was going to be housing this cat if we didn't find his home.

Kitty started going up one sidewalk to a door. Then he looked confused. He trotted down that sidewalk and went up to the next door, but no, not it. He did the next one. He walked on the sidewalk, not the grass. This was an indoor kitty.

"He doesn't know where he lives," I told S.

We took kitty to S's house, naturally, because one, he doesn't have four other cats, and two, he lived next door (which is why he'll stop by after I get off work). He loves cats. His grandmother doesn't (it's his house, willed to him by his mother, but his grandmother's lived there for twenty years; it's Chinese thing).

Tucked in the downstairs bathroom at S's place, we discovered that kitty was a she, and she, though young, was a nursing mother. Gosh, we hoped that whoever lost their cat knew that kittens could be weaned onto wet food as early as three or four weeks. S. went out to get cat food and supplies for a litter box, while I discovered what a sweet, gentle cat this was as she melted in my hands.

S. arrived with the food, and that's when we discovered how lost this cat had been. She tried to eat the kitty litter, she was so hungry. In slow spoonfuls (I didn't want her to get sick) she voraciously devoured six mini cans of cat food. A week, at least, without food? I worried about her kittens. I didn't want to say anything, but it looked like she'd nursed kittens more recently than a week. The telling moment came when, sated at last, rested, comforted and warm, she tried the door.

I know that meow. It's the same one cats use when there's a bird just out of reach. It's also the same one they use when their kittens are in danger. Those kittens are still out there. My mind formed a picture of some reckless asshole dumping a cat and her kittens in the woods because he (or she) didn't want to deal with a litter.

I knew it was hopeless, but I got a flashlight and tried to hunt through the area where we found her. Too dark, too steep, and my slippery work shoes were no help. A neighbor (walking his dog at midnight) offered a harness and leash, suggesting that we put her on one and have her lead us to them. The harness was too big, but he was a nice guy, wants to know what happens.

In the morning, I'm bringing over a cat carrier to take her to the vet, check for a microchip. (S. works from home tomorrow, waiting for the plumber.) We'll see if we can get a harness. Can only pray the kittens make it through the night, and that we can find them in the daylight.

Or pray that I'm wrong, and she just doesn't like being kept in a room. S., for his own peace of mind I think, has decided on that interpretation.


ETA: Breaking news. All the kittens are safe and sound -- because she's not a nursing mother. She's pregnant.

Sometimes I have a lot of respect for my ex, wildernessguru.

One of the things I learned from watching him was that ... you don't have to be 100% in the wrong to apologize. You just have to recognize that the other person is upset and care how they feel. The rest sorts itself out afterward.

Is it weird that I go out with my ex?

To a burlesque?

He thought so.

Hit the end of Memorial Day weekend and found, jeeze, I ran my tail off but only accomplished one project (and that only because b-boy insisted).

Okay, I did try a new recipe in my curry book. (For him. One really has to do it with lamb.) And did some grocery shopping. (Partially to have food for him this weekend.) But.

Writing project: 0 done.
Spiritual practice: 0 done.
Meeting with writing group: couldn't go, was with b-boy and late getting back from DC.
Yoga class: didn't go, up too late with b-boy.
Tibetan study: hahahahahhaha.

We talked. He doesn't have other plans. Which is why he's soaking up all my free time. *eyeroll*

I just ... I remember that with my ex, he took care of himself. And me. (I realize though that my ex was in his late 40s, while b-boy is only 29. And 29? Really pays off in the bedroom.)

He just mentioned he had a button come off one of his shirts. "I can show you how to sew that," I said sweetly, knowing full well he wanted me to do it for him.

*sigh*

Let there be shoes....

I went on a Etsy.com spree tonight. It's hard enough to find US size 4 1/2. Finding knee high boots and ankle boots in my size-? Rare.

*SPENDS!*

But it's worth it.

I may have hats and scarves queued up for my next spree.



ETA: Dinner tonight with S. was an excellent Greek Mezze place. Snuggle time after, with chocolate. (In the basement? Oksy, he's put up with my tiny bed and grumpy grandma was upstairs.) Valentine's just came a little late.

Calling all home repair people, full alert.

Remember that wallpaper job?

Yes, it's still going on.

Since S.'s grandmother came home unexpectedly, I couldn't spend the night there anymore. We were reduced to working on it when our schedules overlapped: he works 10-6ish, I work 3-9:30ish, so project work time shrank to 10pm-midnight.

My fall-bounce-bomp down the stairs delayed it further. Then I got a cold.

The ugly wallpaper came down over Christmas, revealing those horrifying Pepto-Bismol pink walls. It took two coats of primer (high quality Zinsser) to cover that pink. The walls had both coats of primer and were painted January 10th, done ...

... except for the crack down the wall we'd discovered behind the wall paper and the closet doors. That corner I mudded (I'm no expert at mudding), sanded, and primed.

Annnnd the primer cracked like lizard skin along the vertical part of the crack.

Huh.

I assumed I must not have let the mud dry (but 24 hours should have been enough...), talked to the guys at Home Depot, who'd never seen anything like it but thought my explanation was plausible. They told me I'd have to scrape it out and re-mud. I said, "Oh, god, I hope not."

I scraped and sanded the cracked primer and mud. With a sanding block it was total gorilla work.

Sanding hard, I leaned on the wall -- and broke the mud. After all that sanding, I was going to have to redo it.

Got sick, got injured, painted the closet doors to keep the project moving while I couldn't sand. Got snowed in.

Finally bought a palm sander and set to work on it this weekend. I stopped trying to have the work be perfect and asked S. (home renovator-in-training) to do the mudding of the part that broke. He put on waaaay too much, but hell, he sanded it.

Then he did the same thing. He leaned too hard on the wall on the upper portion, breaking the mud there. So that had to be remudded as well.

Sunday it was done. Sanded smooth. Ready to paint.

I primed it.

And the damned primer cracked like lizard skin again. The seam underneath it is smooth. It's just the primer cracked on top of it.

Pissed, I laid on coat after coat of primer (yes, I waited an hour between coats, no, I didn't sand between coats, not with that lizard skin problem). It cracked less. But it still cracked.

Home owners and painters ... any ideas? We're stumped. S.'s forums are stumped. The Home Depot guys are stumped.

The next chapter in the ongoing saga of stripping the wallpaper off S.'s walls.

It's amazing what some ugly vinyl wallpaper will cover. Bright pink paint. And now ... a long crack along the corner of one wall.

Wonderful. Our wallpaper and painting project just became a drywall project as well.

On a positive note, mom's cats all love S. Even the very feral Callie. They all curled up with him last night, happy as can be.

(I may have been a little jealous.)


ETA: Primer problem.

Kaplah! The room is painted.

Well. Half painted.

One half is white, one half is ... the brown remainder of the wallpaper looks like a cardboard box. But the painted half looks great.

Have been at S.'s house this last week while his Chinese grandmother's been out of town. I've mentioned his horrible wallpaper.

S.'s grandmother is coming home DAYS early, so we scrambled to at least finish the half of the room that had been stripped.

The wallpaper's more than just ugly. It's a little boy's wallpaper. And S. is a grown man stuffed in this box of a little boy's room. It doesn't help [insert complicated explanation of family, inheritance, the fact he owns the townhouse but his grandmother lived there years before he moved in last year fresh from college] that he's living with his elderly grandmother who sees him as a little boy -- and drives him batty.

Little boy room + grandma = talk about sending the wrooooooong signal.

So this is about more than just removing ugly wallpaper.

The pink underneath was even worse. Great. Not only is it a little boy's room, deep down underneath, it's an emasculating little girl's room. Which describes his relationship with his grandma to a T.

Now it's at least halfway to being a man's room.

It looks pretty damned good if I don't say so myself.

Can't wait till we can finish the rest. He's left out all the painting supplies to send the signal that she's interrupting the project, in hopes that she'll change her mind and decide she wants to go to the resort this weekend after all.

Merry Christmas!

Happily ensconced at S.'s place. Stayed up waaaaay too late working on a latchhook rug when I realized how long it was going to take. You see, my logic circuits decided that this meant I should work on the rug AsFastAsPossible and try to FinishItAllTonight. Absurd, but no one said my logic circuits were logical.

S. has utterly spoiled me over the last few months. I've told you guys about the resort stay on my birthday, the dinners out every week, and the two of us hanging out every Wednesday and Saturday, right?

No?

There's been a resort stay, dinners out, shopping, and hanging out every week. Plus lots of other great stuff. I mean, really, really great. (I'll you NC-17 fic writers fill in the blanks.) Mostly at my place for a variety of reasons involving his townhouse and family, though the decor at his pad would be a good reason if we needed one:


Approximation of S.'s bedroom walls. Someone thought this eye-popping graph pattern, in bold navy blue vertical and red horizontal stripes, would make great wallpaper.

Now that S.'s Chinese grandmother is out of the way (that sounds like we offed her -- no, no, she's just away for Christmas, I swear) his ugly wallpaper is coming down, ha-ha-ha!

Er. Except... it turns out that underneath that ugly wallpaper is horrifying Pepto-Bismol pink paint. It's neutron pink. Can't look at it without getting double vision pink. It's the kind of color a taste-free six-year-old would pick out for her bedroom because "It looks like candy!"

I think I heard a "meep" sound from S. when he saw it. Not an actual sound, perhaps, but a silence that quietly wished that wallpaper back on the wall.

Anyway, I wish you and yours a Merry, merry Christmas. I'm lurking in fandom, reading fic here and there during this busy, busy time. Wrote my sga_santa fic shortly after the deadline. I'm filling out my grad school apps which are all due around January 1st, working till 10pm most nights, and all day Saturdays (more about my boss who thinks lunch breaks are optional in an 8-hour day), decorating S.'s place and mine ... and spending time with long-lost family. Which we all should do if given half a chance.

Merry Christmas, all.


ETA: Cracked wall update.
Primer problem.