Archive for the ‘general’ Category

Hi. We’re the Vibefam!

Monday, September 22nd, 2014

My dead cat killed my blog.

No, seriously.

Apparently, I was so overcome by the loss of my cat, I completely abandoned this blog for nearly FIVE YEARS. 4.5 if you want to get technical.

Ok, so that’s not really what happened, but by the looks of this blog, it was totally the cat. I loved Hayley, but LORD what a depressing note to close on, no?!

So much has happened since I up and deserted this place!

First, this:



His name *was* Isabella until we figured out HE wasn’t a SHE (took about 4 days and the help of Google Images). Now his name is Béla Lugosi. No one actually calls him that though. He most commonly goes by Chumpy. He’s a Tonkinese, like Hayley, and is actually her Grand-Nephew!

Then, this happened:



Which led to this:



Which DIRECTLY led to this:



Ms. Zuzu Anne-Marie, named after the aunt without whom she never would have existed. After all, if there was no Anne-Marie, there would never have been an Adam & Lara. <3

What can I say? We move fast. Also, I think we were in denial.

It was our HONEYMOON!

What are the chances?!

(Pretty good, apparently.)

Anyway, fast-forward 2 and a half years:




And here we are. All caught up.

Oh.

Except.

This:


HOLY TWEENAGER.

How have you been?

(I’ve missed you.)

My Sweet Friend.

Wednesday, February 24th, 2010

Back in October, 2000, I was having a hard time. I had just gone through a bad break-up, I was living on my own (without roommates) for the first time, and I was lonely.

It was around that time that I adopted a kitten. I had always wanted one, but either my parents wouldn’t let me have one (as a kid) or my roommates were allergic. I did a little research and found a family that had 4-month old Tonkinese kittens for adoption. 6 little girls and 1 boy, born to a beautiful dark-brown cat named Phoebe. I couldn’t for the life of me tell them apart. One minute I’d make a friend and the next minute I’d lose her in a sea of cuteness. That is, until one little girl jumped on my back. Amused, I lifted her off my back and placed her back down on the ground. Within minutes, she was back on top of me. I remember taking this as a sign that she was choosing me. No matter how many times I put her down, she kept jumping back up. Then she would bite my hoodie zipper.

That night, I told my mom about the kittens. She said, “Don’t pick the jumpy, bite-y one!!! That one is a trouble-maker. Pick a nice, quiet one.”

I didn’t listen. A day later, I went home with the jumpy, bite-y kitten – *my* kitten, named Hayley.


As it turns out, she just liked jumping on people. She also liked to be in high places. Anyone who has ever stood in front of an open closest or bent over to do *anything* around her can attest to that one.

She was the tiniest, softest little cat I ever met. She never weighed in at more than 7lbs. Her size and her insane amounts of energy always tricked people into thinking she was a kitten, even at the “senior” age of 9.

She liked the color blue and she was relentless in her attempts to get a lick of your pear or peach.


She always liked to be warm and sought out the warmest spot in the house. Most of the time, this was under the covers between your knees, but often it was the cable box, or the laptop or, most recently, the kitchen table.

She rarely liked to sit *next* to you. *ON* you was her preferred spot. Close to your head. So she could lick it.


She had a bit of an oral fixation – she’s left cat-tooth marks in mini blinds, shower curtains, mouse cords, knitting needles, magazines, cell-phone chargers, and especially shopping bag handles.


When she wanted a cuddle, she would crouch by my feet and jump up straight into my arms.

She was a terror to other animals and tended to attack in a “fury of hell” (a blur of waving paws and claws). I even once saw her try to beat up a GINORMOUS German Shepherd. She was fearless. And Funny. Sometimes Bitchy, but mostly sweet and ridiculously affectionate. I jokingly called her “My Furry Tumor” because she followed me *everywhere* and was constantly physically attached to me.

She loved boxes and bags and couldn’t stand to be left out. If there was a closed door she would cry and cry and cry to be let in. Often, she’d shove her little paw under the door and wrap it around to rattle it. She. Wanted. In.


She hated being alone or left behind. My neighbor Ian teased that he always knew when we weren’t home because the hallway of our floor would fill with her sometimes irritated/sometimes sad complaints. She also hated being kept in. Every time the front door was opened was her big chance for escape! Coming home meant crouching down to catch the cat (or chasing her down the hall)

She talked a lot and had opinions on everything. I pretended I didn’t *really* think she understood what I said, but I always secretly believed that we did understand each other, at least a little bit.

She was Hayley, Haylstorm, Kitty-boo, Pussy Pants, Hayley-Schmaley, Haylers, Poopers, Winky, Wheezy, Hayley-Bop, Honey-cat and Hayley-Tonkers.

She was my friend.


She saw me through breakups with boyfriends and breakups with bad friends. Job promotions and job losses. Together, she and I lived in 7 different apartments in two different states. I was a single, lonely girl when we met and I always felt a little selfish for adopting her. She was always a comfort to me, but I know she was often lonely. I wasn’t around enough for a cat like Hayley. I was so happy when we moved to the Bronx because finally she had a family to love. Short of one of her sisters being with us, I felt she finally had the type of full-house home she always needed – Adam and I to give her cuddles and love, and two little boys to keep her entertained and on her toes. As feisty as she was, she showed amazing restraint and patience with those kids, sometimes scolding, but never harming them. Considering her crazy antics, I was always very impressed with how kind she was to those boys.


For the last year and half, Hayley has been pretty sick. Her occasional cat-puke incidents grew to be a daily (or several-times-a-daily) occurrence. Three vets, countless tests and piles of drugs later, no one could say any more than, “She has a tough case of IBD.” One that never really responded to any treatment. One that kept her sad and queasy most of the time.

It wasn’t until the night she passed away – February 22, 2010 – that we finally found out what was wrong with her. Our poor Hayley had been suffering from Intestinal Lymphosarcoma, CANCER, and no one had found it. The vet who diagnosed it did it in 20 minutes, over the phone while he was supposed to be celebrating his 41st birthday. When I took her in to see him that night (at 10pm!!), he confirmed it, letting me feel the lumps in her abdomen. He gave her fluids, and I took her home. Her temp was 10 degrees below normal and her body was already shutting down. I wrapped her up in blankets on my bed, curled my body around her and sat with her for almost four hours until she died at 2:40am.

I loved that little cat. She was my friend, and a better friend to me than I ever truly was to her.

RIP, my little baby cat. You will be greatly and forever missed.


Our First Tree.

Wednesday, December 16th, 2009

I love Christmas.

I love all of the hustle and bustle and fuss of Christmas. The lights, the cards, the shopping, the tree, I like it.

My adventures to get a tree are usually solo adventures. I borrow a van, I cruise tree lots, I make unsuspecting tree lot guys shake and twirl and fluff tree after tree after tree until I find the perfect one. Then I drive home, carry the tree in, set it up in the stand and decorate it all by myself. That’s the way it’s been for the majority of my adult life. Truthfully, I love it. I love the process and I love my tree, covered in multi-colored lights and ornaments I’ve been collecting since I was 13. It’s my TREE.

Last year, I didn’t have my own tree. I was living half with my mother and half with my boyfriend and both of them let me share their trees, but neither of them really belonged to me. It was also an odd year because I knew I was at a crossroads and that everything was about to change and SOMEHOW, the tree became a symbol of that, leading to a tiny nervous breakdown wherein there was sobbing and pitiful-ness and the muttering of something like, “I’m never going to have *my* tree again!”

At the time, I was sitting in my bf’s apartment, watching his 5-year old string lights and plastic ornaments on a scrawny fake tree. (I never said I was a rational woman. Everyone has their lapses. Besides, have you ever seen what it looks like when a 5-year old does the lights?)

This year, things are a lot different. Adam and I are now living together, my stuff is out of storage and I have a new home. A new life. Adam graciously tossed the plastic ornaments and offered up the fake tree to his ex for her to use. (I think maybe he understands about the Tree, even though it doesn’t really make sense to him… which is sorta nice :) ).

Still… I was nervous. Were we going to be able to merge over a decade of DIY single-girl Christmas tradition with those of the lost boys tribe? Were they going to like having a real tree when they kept asking to put together the fake one? Was I going to be able to let go of my anal-retentiveness concerning ornament placement?

tree09adam.jpg

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This year, my tree became our tree.

Our First Tree.


* Adam carried that tree on his shoulder for the *entire* 15-minute walk home, UPHILL.
** Only two ornaments were harmed in the decorating of this tree and of those, only one of them made me cringe (but only a tiny bit!).
*** mention the stockings and get a beat-down.

Thank God it’s FRIIIIDAY!

Friday, November 6th, 2009

Elias: Is tomorrow Friday?

Me: Nope. Today is Friday.

Elias: YES! That means tomorrow is the WEEKEND!

:)

Although, it just occurred to me YESTERDAY that 5 adults, 1 kid and an adorable baby are going to descend upon our 2-bedroom apartment for a 5 day stay in T-minus 17 days. Also? Thanksgiving is in 20 days. The 5 adults, 1 child and adorable baby will, at that time, be joined by another 5 adults and 2 children. NO! WAIT! I forgot that Adam invited *another* 2 adults and 1 child so make that 7 adults and 3 children. HAHAAHA HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAH AAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHA HAHAHA. Wow.

In case you are too lazy to do the math, that would be, including the four of us, 14 adults, 6 children and one adorable baby in a two-bedroom apartment for Thanksgiving. 21 peoples.

How. In. The. Hell. Did. I. Get. Myself. Into. This!?!?!??

I’m actually really excited about it because I love love love all these people, but seriously, WTF? Adam and I must be clinically insane. Actually, of the two of us, Adam is the one whose screws are a little bit looser because he actually tried to invite MORE people two nights ago. Luckily, they had other plans.

Currently, I am attempting to do three things at the same time, which is not something I’m known to do very well, but I had to pop on and say hi. I’m determined to not let this blog die! That said, I have nothing interesting to report, no pictures to post and no rants to rant. OH! ALTHOUGH! You might be interested to know that someone from B&H commented on my B&H rant-post! For what reason, I’m not sure, since it was clearly not to reach out to me and make things right. I am skeptical:

Skeptical Face
See? Skeptical Face.

Suck it, B&H, suck it.