You Know How They Say You Always Turn Into Your Mother...

Well, it's true. Even for cats. At least in this household. As you know, Maggie suffers from anxiety. Instead of crying or going into freak out mode, she over-grooms. Thank God that's all she does. She could be shitting everywhere. I love Maggie, baldness and all, but her anxiety is not taken lightly in this household. Even though her chosen outlet does not disturb Jeff or me, we know anxiety is real, even for cats. It probably helps that we know people with anxiety and another well-loved family cat with behavioral issues. Just like with humans, anxiety can manifest physically. We don't want this to happen to Maggie for two reasons: A. More health issues means more money spent at the vet's office. B. Those physical problems can shorten her life span, and I would prefer she live forever.  I'm serious. I know she can't live forever, but she better be here for a really long time! I mean look at this face! How could you not want her forever?!

So, on our quest to ease Maggie's anxiety, we've tried pretty much everything: medicine, pheromone diffusers, prescription food, toys, placing multiple food bowls around the house to coax out her hunting instincts and provide stimulation... heck, she even has a leash for trips outside! I've also rubbed homeopathic oils on her fur (yes, it is safe). It all works to a point. Her belly is still bald, and she's started pulling from her legs. So, a few days ago we adopted another cat. At first it might sound counter-intuitive. But it's not, or at least it's not supposed to be anyway. The new kitten is supposed to give Maggie something to do while Jeff and I are off at work.

We chose a young male kitten. His name is Purrcy.

Now, there is no definitive answer as to whether it will help Maggie (this is according to the Internet and of course, our vet). But our hope is her mothering instincts will kick in, and she will show the little guy the ropes as well as have someone to keep her company during the day and therefore not pull out her own hair.

So far, it's gone as you might expect. Purrcy wants to play with Maggie, but she is not having it. She's swatted at him a few times, hissed, growled. And then there was my breakdown this morning. Through my tears all I could really say was, "Maggie hates me. I miss my Maggie." Or it was something like that. Don't get me wrong. Purrcy is one cool dude. Plus, I would save every stray cat if I could. If I was rich, I would totally build a shelter with space to play, and there would be plenty of windows for the cats to enjoy nature from afar. But Maggie is my gal. She's my napping buddy. She's my grad school pal. I may have deleted what she typed, but she nonetheless always tried to help me with my papers. She's this gal's best friend!

They (mostly cat people and the Internet) say it will all work out in time. For now, Purrcy is chillaxing in the other room with all of Maggie's old toys (She's too cool for them now. I mean she is an adult now.) until he it's time for his next "recess" with Maggie. Here's hoping it works out!

Stay tuned for updates. Maybe next time I'll have a photo of them together! *fingers crossed*

I'm a Skinny Darling...

I'm finally realizing who I am... whatever that means. It sounds trite, cliche. But it is what it is... I've been meaning to blog about this for several days, but I continued to put it off because the timing itself felt just as cliche and trite as the concept itself (you know, New Years etc.). But alas, here I am, bored and writing about it.

It it all started with a pair of jeans, well a shit ton of jeans really. You see, I lost about five or so pounds while I was in grad school because cooking for one blows...  I learned to snack. Apparently snacking and sipping multiple coffees a day can lead to weight loss. Of course it didn't matter because we got a Noodles and Company my last semester. Combine that with extra stress, and blamo: the five pounds returned! And to continue the never ending trend, I lost it all again... everyone around me was dying so I drank a lot of Mr. Pibb but didn't eat much... and then I lost a few more after coming down with some mystery illness that really just turned out to be an unfortunate side effect of a medication. Needless to say, I had several pairs of jeans in a plethora of sizes. I never knew when I might need the others!

So, what exactly do jeans and "figuring out who you are" have to do with one another. Well, for one thing, it's really difficult to figure out who you are when you can't hammer down a solid weight (seriously, I feel like I'm riding a yo-yo. I'm currently down a few pounds because I lost muscle weight due to a bum knee) let alone a wardrobe. It doesn't help when you look about four year younger than you actually are... I confess; I'm a twenty-six year-old who purchases her jeans from the juniors department. And it most certainly doesn't help when it seems like they're constantly falling apart faster and faster. Solution? Apparently more expensive jeans. It sucks, but realizing the problem wasn't me or how I was doing the laundry made me feel a lot better. It also sent me into a tailspin. I actually cleaned out my closet...

While I was cleaning out my closet, I realized the clothes I was discarding seemed "young" or "college-esque." Everything that remained was either a comfy pullover for weekends or a cardigan (or one of the seemingly endless amount of tank tops that go with the cardigans). Something clicked. I finally realized what I looked good in. Sweaters! Cardigans! I can stop worrying (sort of) about putting weight on because I found pants that fit; I found comfortable yet work appropriate clothes that fit.

My closet actually looks like a closet of a twenty-six year old, and less like a twenty-something with no idea what to wear. I of course will still struggle with "ugly" days, "fat" days, "too skinny" days, or "nothing looks right on me" days. And I'll still get frustrated when that really cute sweater from Macy's doesn't come in a size that's small enough for me. I'll also still get frustrated when people tell me I'm too skinny or this or that. Seriously. I'm fully aware. I don't need a cupcake. I'll take a cookie though, maybe two or three depending on what type... no oatmeal or raisins! And no nuts!

But I digress... at least I'm getting it somewhat figured out, and I'm starting to become at least a little more comfortable with who I am and what I look like. In fact, I'm more comfortable with my looks than I realized.

I thought I didn't know how to do makeup. Every time I put on foundation I thought I looked weird, like it was all wrong. Well, after letting a Clinque lady do my face up, I realized I'm just a Darling woman: I hate makeup. It's funny really. All these years, I thought I was doing it wrong! It turns out I just really hate the look of foundation and most of it's counterparts (I really am like my mother! Eek!). Just don't take my mascara!

P.S.
Yes, mom, I'm bringing home a lot of clothes when I come home. Don't ask how much either... just be surprised. Love you!

I'm Back... Hopefully

Hello blogosphere. Welcome to my medicated life, a life where I drop off the face of the earth as I experience a medicated haze. But I'm back now, and off the Seroquel- I couldn't take the almost never-ending sleep.

Word to the wise, if you weigh a mere 100ish pounds, Seroquel may not be the sleep remedy for you. If you dare try it, stay on the look out for excessive sleeping, not realizing you're sleeping way too much, and a "funny feeling" you refuse to describe or just can't describe. There are probably other things to watch out for, but I have no memory of them... sorry!

Later, peeps.

P.S.
Maggie is on vacation this week. I know it's sad! But she got tired of carrying the blog while I was sleeping. A week off is fair I do believe.