Defying the status quo

I graduated from a prestigious all-girls Catholic private school in Buffalo. It's not a "Catholic" school, per se (privately funded, not part of the Diocese), so I'm not a traditional "Catholic School Girl;" no uniforms or daily rosary readings or nuns beating me with rulers, but yes, I went to Nardin Academy.

When I tell people this, I get the same reaction: "YOU went to NARDIN?" I'm never sure if I should be insulted or flattered by this reaction, because I'm never quite sure how to interpret it. Is it that I don't seem smart enough to have gone there? Rich enough to have afforded it? Well-behaved enough to have managed to stay in? Or is it that my lack of success in life belies my superb educational background? Maybe it's because I didn't grow up to be a doctor or a lawyer or a software developer, or any of the other various "good" career paths chosen by my classmates. Maybe it's because I didn't grow up to marry a Canisius boy and pop out a mess of Nardlets whom I cart around in my M-class SUV. I mean, hell, I don't even own my own home, let alone a giant one in East Amherst.

This is not to say that I feel bad about any of the above possible reasons. I never wanted to be a lawyer, and was strong enough to face the truth about myself and a career in medicine two years into a pre-med program. I hate the suburbs, and I never even liked Canisius boys. I always thought they were obnoxious, spoiled, preppy jerks, and coming from the modest background that I did, felt I was - and never would be - snobby enough to fit into their social circles, even if I'd wanted to. Nope, I was happier dating the public school dirtbags and the occasional Timon boy, not to mention catching myself in a load of trouble with a dropout at one point. Yeah, I sold myself short most of the time.

But I digress. I suppose the status quo of the typical Nardin girl is nothing like what I've turned out to be. And I'm okay with that. I just wish people would be a little less obvious about registering such shock when they find out I'm an alumna.

Why I hate my job sometimes

It's 2:00 on a Saturday morning, and I'm wired on the grande skinny cocomoco (yes, I went to Spot - *gasp*!) I guzzled down earlier this evening. Why, in the name of all things holy, did I not order decaf? Because I have declared myself "immune" from the effects of caffeine. A silly and unrealistic declaration, for sure. I'm not immune, and now I'm posting a blog entry fewer than four hours before I need to be at work for an 8-1/2 hour shift. Ugh.

I never really minded working mornings, but lately as my summer winds to a close and my social life makes a final surge before school starts in a month, I'm getting increasingly annoyed with the fact that I have to cut my nights short to go to bed so I can wake up at the crack of ass to go to work on a Saturday. I was having FUN tonight, damn it! And it was all for naught, since all I did was come home, toss and turn, and get up to post a blog entry. I could have stayed out and been in the company of interesting people instead of this.

Alas, this is the nature of the beast. Ironically, the reason I'm working in the morning is because I didn't want to work tomorrow evening in favor of going to see some beloved bands playing out. So I suppose it's, as they say, six of one and half a dozen of the other. And until I figure out a way to be independently wealthy or talk my boss into letting me work short mid-shifts on the weekends, I suppose I'm stuck.

Why am I always alone when this stuff happens?

This afternoon, as I was sitting at the light at Hinman and Delaware, I noticed a woman at the bus stop. There was nothing extraordinary about her, really; she was older, maybe in her 60's, and had kind of funky, longish gray hair. Anyway, as I watched her, she pulled out from her dollar store bag a bottle of talcum powder, the contents of which she proceeded to dump down her pants. She was, I could tell, trying to be somewhat surreptitious about this, tugging slightly at the waistband and holding the powder bottle closely, but there was no denying what she was doing.

As I watched this, I burst out in hysterics. I mean, sure, we all need a little freshening up now and then, right? But something about this scene just seemed so odd to me, and I had to laugh. What sucked, though, was that I had no one with me to share in this oddity. I just think it would have been funnier if someone else had seen it, too. This doesn't surprise me, as I spend a great deal of my free time by myself. That is to say, when I'm not at work or out socializing, I am usually by myself. And even when I go out, I normally arrive and depart solo. This is not a bad thing, but when I see something funny, I do sometimes wish there were someone sitting in the car with me so that they can at least corroborate my story.

And I only see stuff like this when I'm by myself.

A perfect example of this is That Guy Who Walks Down Delaware. I see this guy every day, sometimes several times a day. He wears a red cap, sunglasses, has a white moustache, and carries a black bag, looking ever determined like a man on a mission. Every day, no matter what time of year it is, I see this guy walking. I see him as far down as Forest Lawn and as far north as Kenmore. I've seen him early in the morning, I've seen him late at night. A couple of months ago, I saw him exiting an apartment building in Kenmore. But whenever I ask anyone about him, no one knows who I'm talking about. I feel like I'm in a Twilight Zone episode sometimes, the way people look at me quizzically and make that face like, "oooo-kay..." when I talk about him. And whenever he walks past my work, by the time I'm able to point him out to anyone, he's out of sight. That Guy moves pretty swiftly.

I see him so much that I'd decided a while back that if I ever got close enough, I was going to talk to him, ask him what his deal was, ask him where he's always walking to, maybe try and get a glimpse into that bag. One day I saw him in the laundromat, but I was only there to pick up my cleaning, so I didn't have time to try and sidle up to him and strike up a conversation. I got my chance again a couple weeks ago, and I chickened out. I was shopping for shoes in Target, and because I was shopping for work shoes, I was in the boys' section (I have little feet). As I was trying on some super cute athleisure lace-ups, this figure cast a shadow over me. I looked up, and there was That Guy, shopping for new sneakers in the mens' section. I froze. I got nervous. I mean, here was a guy that I have seen and wondered about every day for the last four years, and he was practically breathing down my neck. I kept thinking I should ask him about his shoes, maybe make a comment about how he must go through a lot of sneakers with all the walking he does. I wanted to snap a photo of him, and send it to a bunch of people, but as fate would have it, my phone was in the car. Curses! In the end, I walked away having not said a peep to him.

Since then, I've continued to see That Guy, but never do I ever have anyone with me when I do. But at least now I know where he got those new sneakers.

Eight is Enough

Meet Pepper, the newest addition to my rattie family! She's a Dumbo (see the ears?) Black Berkshire. I picked her up earlier this week from my friend Amanda in Rochester, and she was well worth the drive!



So this brings me now to eight rats in my colony. I think I'm going to stop for a while, since I think eight rats is all I can reasonably manage.

I went to the fabric store today to buy fabric to make new pads for the cage, and the woman working at the cutting counter asked me what I was making with all this cute, brightly-colored, girly-patterned fleece. I said, "I'm making bedding for my rats' cage," at which she responded, "Rats?! You mean, like, rat rats?" I affirmed this and she said, "Oh, tell me you are not sewing for rats!" I stopped short of saying, "Oh, but I am...and I COOK for them, too!"

What was funnier was the woman standing behind me really liked the pink and purple "Princess" patterned cotton and asked if she could have the bolt when I was done having it cut. She asked me what I was making with it, and I said, "a hammock for my rats." She kind of choked and said, "Oh. I'm making pajamas for my granddaughter." I guess you had to be there, but it was funny at the time.

So yeah, I've got a new baby, and I'm finally gonna bust out the sewing machine and try my hand at making some simple pads and a hammock for the cage. It shouldn't be too difficult, but then you've never seen my sewing. It's on par with my cooking, so these poor rats may end up with some weirdly-shaped stuff. But I'm sure they won't mind. And besides, they seem to like my cooking.

Embarassment and Triumph, Part III (with new toy)!

Aaahhhh....stepping out of the clean shower into a clean bathroom is heavenly! The "before" photo of the bathroom really doesn't do the mess justice - it had actually gotten much worse before it got better, but just try to imagine a few more towels and clothes on the floor, and fixtures in sad need of scrubbing. The after photos don't really show how squeaky clean the tub and sink are, but trust me - they sparkle!

Bathroom before: And after:



AND! I did the music room today, too. I went to the music store today to buy a mute kit for my drumset (so I can practice whenever I damn well please), and while I was there I saw a keyboard on sale that I couldn't resist. So I bought it, and was inspired to clean up the music room so that I can spend hours of clutter-free practice time in there! Now that I can actually access my instruments with ease, I might actually play them as often as I should! Yay!!!

Before:





After!





It's music to my eyes!

I still have the basement and the upstairs work studio to work on, but I think for now I'm just gonna enjoy my living space. In a few days I'm going to try and sort out the various closets and cabinets and make them more user-friendly. Most of them are jumbled messes with the exception of my bedroom closet, which is beautifully organized these days - gotta keep track of all those damn shoes, of course!

Stay tuned, dear blog-watchers! There is much more to come!

Embarassment and Triumph, Part II

The bedroom is done, and I can now sleep easy. There is something to be said for sleeping in a clean room - somehow sleep just seems to come easier when you're unobstructed by clutter.

I call my bedroom "The Princess Lair" because it is, unlike most of the other rooms in the house, very girly. Definitely shabby chic and very feminine, and I like it that way. One time a while ago when my place was clean (because it wasn't always so messy, you know), a friend of mine came over and looked in there and expressed shock at how girly it was. I asked why he was so surprised, and his response was, "I don't know, I figured you'd have it decorated in, like, a Harley motif or something." God, I hope that's not really the image I project!

Well anyway, here's the moment you've been waiting for -- another set of before and after images! Woo-hoo!

Before:



After:
(Yeah, there really was a bed under all that crap)!



I'll be going to bed now.

Small town city

I really don't know what it is, but I have this uncanny knack for running into people I know every time I venture out. Not just people I know from working with the public - I don't count those people, unless they're regular customers with whom I've established a deeper rapport - but people I know on a personal level. It seems like no matter where I go or what I'm doing, I run into at least one person I know. Stores, restaurants (remember the buffet bust?), shows, bars, festivals, or even just driving down the street...there's always someone.

I used to think Chicago was the biggest small town I'd ever lived in, but Buffalo has it beat. Today I was driving back from running errands in Williamsville, and as I was inching along on the expressway in rush-hour traffic, I pulled up next to a familiar-looking car. It was, indeed, a fellow partner from Starbucks. Then I was in Target, and as I rounded the corner of an aisle, I ran into my cousin. Then as I was driving home I heard a beep next to me, and there was my drum teacher and her roommate waving at me.

Note to self: don't commit any felonies. Someone will recognize you.

For the love of rats

I was recently asked by someone how I got into rats. Those of you who know me know all about my obsession, but not many people know how it happened. Having been asked the question a few times now, I thought it prudent to compose a blog entry with the answer. And in formulating said answer, it occurred to me that my love of the critters came about quite accidentally.

I've always been an animal lover. There has never been a time in my life, save for the first four years, that I have been completely petless. For the past several years I'd thought about getting a rat, and often I would stop at the rat cages in various pet stores and watch them. Part of it has to do with their "underdog" status in society, I suppose, but in observing them and talking to people who've owned them, I was intrigued by their sweetness and brightly intelligent nature. So one day in March of 2006, I was in the local pet shop buying dog food, and I asked the girl if they had any rats. They did, but they were kept in the back in the "feeder" tank. I asked if I could look, and she let me back there. There was a white and black hooded rat who looked at me quizzically through the glass, so I asked if I could hold her. They took her out and handed her to me, and she squirmed a bit, but I held her tight, looked into her eyes, and said, "Listen, rat, you're coming home with me, it's a good place, you're going to love it there, and that's final. Understood?" The rat immediately calmed down, almost went limp, and I was in love.

I brought her home, named her Nancy (another story in itself), and couldn't believe how cool she was. A couple months later I got her a cagemate, as I had read that rats quite literally require the companionship of another rat, and just happened to see an ad on craigslist for a female rat that was being given away. The cagemate had a rough start (suffice to say her name "Dash" was given to her due to the fact that she'd escaped in the car on the way home and spent three days living in my dashboard before I was able to coax her out) and she was a bit more of a challenge, as she had been kept alone for quite a while and had had no socialization. Eventually she came around, though, and I fell in love with her, too.

A few months later, I decided a third rat was in order, so this time I went to a breeder, a fellow in the Grant-Amherst area who specializes in exotics. Ivy was the most obnoxious rat I'd ever met; completely misbehaved and resistant to any kind of affection or discipline, and she ended up scurrying into the darkness one night. But still I couldn't stop. I had this huge cage now, and I felt compelled to fill it. I brought Rosie home from Steve's Pets in Williamsville one morning, introduced her to Nancy and Dash, and the three became fast pals.

I still had all this room, so one day this past March I was in the same store where I'd gotten Nancy, and that's where I got Paula. If you look back into the archives, you'll see the post about Paula and her babies - but just to refresh your memory, I brought Paula home not knowing she was pregnant. Three weeks after I brought her home, she had her litter of fifteen babies. I had to keep the babies for at least five weeks before I could adopt them out, so at that point I had 19 rats.

A couple of weeks after the babies were born, Nancy passed away despite the valiant efforts of the vet to save her. I was heartbroken. Nancy was, as we call it in the rattie-loving world, my "heart rat." She was the one who introduced me to the love of rats, to the coolness that rats could be, to the loyalty and affection one could never believe would come from a rodent. Nancy spent hours riding on my shoulder, content to just watch the world from her perch. Everyone who met Nancy fell in love with her. Nancy was, to sum it up, one really cool rat. Shortly after Nancy died, Dash, who'd been ill but until Nancy's death was making a recovery, fell seriously ill again and also passed away. It was very tough losing two rats in a week's time, but bittersweet knowing that Dash just gave up without Nancy.

At 5 weeks, I had to separate the babies by sex. I knew I was keeping a few of the girls, so I decided to invest in the most coveted of all cages known to rodent owners the world over: The Midwest Ferret Nation. This thing is a behemoth of shelves and levels, a powder-coated luxury rodent condominium on wheels that cost me more than a week's pay. I spent the days preceding its arrival trolling thrift shops and dollar stores to outfit it with brightly colored blankets and toys. After it arrived and I put it together, I then spent two days covering it with 1/4" hardware cloth becuase the bars were spaced too far apart and could easily facilitate escape. But when all was said and done, I filled it with my treasures, and the rats were, as only rats can be, thrilled. The best find was the Weebils treehouse that plays music when the rats step on the ferris wheel. It's awesome to be sitting here and suddenly hear the tinkling and beeping of canned circus music coming from the cage. The first time it happened I nearly jumped out of my chair, but I've gotten used to it, and it makes me laugh. Anyway, the thing is a cinch to clean, and it has made my rat ownership that much easier.

After I'd adopted out all the girls I was giving away, I still had two boys. Bob and Nathan were the coolest, but I couldn't let them live in the Ferret Nation with the girls. I shopped around for a vet who could neuter them, but in the end it just proved too costly, so with a heavy heart, I decided to put them up for adoption. As fate would have it, five minutes after I placed the ad I got a response from a girl who had the exact opposite problem as me - she had two girls that shd couldn't put in the large cage with all her boys. So one Friday morning last month, I delivered Bob and Nathan to her house, and came away with Dex and Moushe. It was a worthwhile trade; I've since heard that Bob and Nathan adjusted fantastically and are much-loved by their new owner and cagemates, and my two new girls, despite an initial fracas in which Rosie's right ear was badly damaged, have made friends here.

I have another girl in the wings, a baby from my friend Amanda in Rochester who, ironically, had taken two of my babies from Paula's litter. Right after she adopted my girls, she had an accidental breeding of one of hers. So see, in the rat community, we never really get rid of our rats, we just trade them back and forth. :-)

So that's the story of my rats. I don't see myself ever not having rats now, and it's hard for me to imagine life without them. Yet despite my best efforts to educate the rest of the non-rat world on the joys of rodentia, it's a tough sell. But that's okay, because as long as there are people like me in the world, rats will always have a place on this earth.

Now I suppose I should include some photos with this entry, just so you can see for yourself how adorable these little kids are!

The Ferret Nation!



Nancy (RIP) meets Turkey the kitten:



More Nancy:



Dash (RIP):



Dash and Rosie spooning!



Moushe squishing into the little house:



Liza in the Treehouse:



How many rats can squish into one igloo? I think I counted six:



I should send these to McDonalds, lol!






Now tell me they're gross!

Embarassment and Triumph, Part I

Operation Project Toss Redux is well underway, and holy shit I have a lot of crap! In the past week I've thrown away no fewer than five Hefty bags full of stuff, and that's just from the living room, dining room, and kitchen. I still have a bathroom, a bedroom, a music room, a basement, and a studio space to clear out and organize. But here is the first round of photos, representing three solid days' worth of work.

Keep in mind that this is a "work in progress;" once the cleaning is completed, there is remodeling on the horizon. I like the kitchen the way it is, but the living room and dining room will look much different when all is said and done. I plan on painting over the awful paneling, the horrid orange carpet will be ripped up and replaced with laminate (or the floors underneath will be restored if they are able to be), and I have vertical blinds to install in the living room, replacing the cat-battered miniblinds.

So, without further ado...

Kitchen before:



And after:





Another kitchen view before:



And after:



Living Room before:





And after:





Dining Room before (God, this is SO embarrassing!):





And after:





So there you have it! More photos to come...

The Greatest Thing EVER

So I bought myself a P-touch labeler, and it is the single most awesome thing I have ever owned in my life. As part of Operation Project Toss, it has become the most indispensible tool in organizing my crap.

And to think I made so much fun of my boss for labeling everything at work...she really was on to something!