Saturday, March 31, 2007

T's Birthday Weekend - The Finale

If you'd like to catch up on all the scintillating details (including porn shenanigans),
Part One is here, and
Part Two is here.

I will reiterate that porn charades are awesome. I'd forgotten about "Hairy Pooter and the Sorcerer's Bone."

* * * * *

Saturday ~ Early Afternoon

Saturday morning we all eventually woke up and started milling about. Someone put on bad tv, and at least three others started making more food, probably out of fear that if someone weren't cooking AT ALL TIMES the food might somehow multiply and gang up on us and form a mutiny and kick us out. Persistent cooking was our way of ensuring our own safety. (SO MUCH FOOD.)

Here, Ish decides to take on some deviant-looking eggplant by using it as a football.


At one point during a commercial, the non-cookers looked around and said, "We should do something."

"We could go...for...a walk?"

Let me take a moment to explain something to you all, dearest invisible internet friends, with excessive use of quotations.

I love -- love -- when my group of friends get together to do something outside. Because most of this group of folks, despite their more outdoorsy and/or suburban beginnings, are City People. The kind for whom "outside" is usually a "sidewalk." The kind who don't own "windbreakers" or articles made of "fleece."

Sometimes we get together for "pool parties" down at Reaper's place in San Jose. At least half of us don't even own bathing suits. We arrive and set up food and drink, and then disrobe down to our tank tops and shorts, and huddle closely under the large umbrella for fear that direct sunlight could, at any moment, melt our skin off.

There is precious little "swimming."

That is, until the sun starts to set and everyone clambers into the hot tub with their drinks.

So there was kind of a lot of looking at each other with respect to the notion of "going for a walk."


And then it took the better part of an hour for us to decide who was actually going to go, and what the proper attire would be.

I am pretty sure I wore flip-flops, which I believe is neither "proper" nor "attire." But by the time we were all ready to go in as-appropriate-as-possible "outdoor" wear, we were kind of excited for this foray into nature.

Here is Em. She is excited.

And so now I will embark on something of a photojournalistic journey I call:

"We've Walked HOW Many Blocks And There Is STILL No Bar?"

We leave the house. I was not kidding about the livestock in our backyard, and so here is a photo of sheep.

Maybe they don't look scary to you, but I swear. They were. In the dark we didn't know they were fenced in.

We go about 11 feet.

There is definitive "open space" so T and MJ decide the only appropriate response is to "frolic" in it.

Then another 6 feet or so later, there is a sign.

Em walks toward it as though already drunk.

Remember "Up With People?"

We come to the end of the road.

Or is it?

We decide to go past where the concrete ends, and actually walk on grass and trails and rocks, several perilous feet above the ocean. In flip-flop-like gear. Why?

Because it's pretty.


And also, I like to use the very advanced setting on my camera called "sepia." And also "zoom." Because I am terrified of heights and would prefer not to walk to the edge of a cliff and slip and crash to my doom for the sake of taking crappy pictures with a camera setting intended to make things look like they're from a Saloon in the Old West.

And just as I'm starting to feel okay and not terrified of heights I'm seeing through my zoomed lens, my friends decide to climb rocks.

I do not approve.

I catch up with Ish and Ben.

Note: Ben is wearing a leather coat (i.e., NOT typical "hiking" gear), yet he has chosen to pair it with a backpack (i.e., VERY typical "hiking" gear). Is Ben more "outdoorsy" than we knew?

And then we learn. The real reason Ben has brought a backpack? It is for holding the beer.

Finally, I just like this picture because it looks as though Ish has accidentally dropped something of importance, and/or has absolutely no idea how to get down.

Or maybe he is just sad to learn that after all that walking and rock climbing there was still no bar at the end of the trail.

* * * *

Saturday ~ Late Afternoon

Some time after we'd all managed to return in one piece to the house, Ish decided that the afternoon's festivities should commence with a proper wine tasting. Because he is in the Wine Business and has sensibilities about wine that extend beyond "Should I get the $7.99 bottle with the crappy label, or the $9.99 bottle with the cute logo?"

Look how sophisticated we're pretending to be, as aided by further use of "sepia."

The sloshing-the-wine-around-the-mouth motion caught here is especially effective in "sepia."

Whereas in color, it might look silly.

And then following the wine tasting, we decided to watch the sun set from the master suite's balcony and toast to the birthday boy.

For those of you hoping to achieve my level of photojournalistic impressiveness, please note: sunsets do not require the use of "sepia."

* * * *

Saturday ~ Evening

What day of very sophisticated "walking" and "wine drinking" would be complete without a Showgirls drinking game*?

None, that's what.

The limited edition DVD set of the worst movie ever made in the history of movies does in fact come with shot glasses and instructions. And I'm sure I could tell you more about how the game was played (???) if my team didn't have to drink every time the word "darlin" was uttered.

(If you've ever managed to get through the movie, you know that "darlin" is pretty much spoken every other word.)

So yeah. Following the mostly painful Showgirls experience, there were few collectively coherent moments in the evening. There was much silliness, a tasty dinner, a vacuuming accident, fabulous birthday cake (thanks to Serre), a random and surprising group-sing to both Cecilia(?) and Piano Man(????), and a massive clean-up effort on Sunday morning that took several hours.

(I'm less concerned about how you remove wine from the under-side of a coffee table than how wine landed there in the first place, you know?)

But since you're probably wishing this entry had been a more limited edition, too, I'll finish off with this thought:

Dear Hot Gina Gershon,



*Lest you think this is merely a link to a REGULAR DVD, please see the details on Amazon, as below:
  • DVD Features:
    • Available Subtitles: English, Spanish, French
    • Available Audio Tracks: English (Dolby Digital 5.1), French (Dolby Digital 2.0 Surround), Spanish (Dolby Digital 2.0 Surround)
    • "The Greatest Movie Ever Made": a commentary by David Schmader, with video commentary on the strip-club dance scene by the girls of Scores
    • Lap-dance tutorial featuring the world-famous girls of Scores
    • A Showgirls Diary: storyboard-to-screen featurette
    • Pop-up trivia track
    • Original theatrical trailer
    • Set of Showgirls shot glasses
    • "Pin the Pasties on the Showgirl" game with pasties and blindfold
    • Deck of Showgirls playing cards
    • Six photo cards with party games [ed. note: these are the drinking game rules]

Friday, March 30, 2007

Oh Goodie! Just What You Were Hoping For! A Post About Posting!

I am aware that my blog has not been the hotbed of breezy elegant disasters lately. I've written about little things here and there, but now I have a backlog of Things To Tell You and I hardly know where to begin.
  • For starters -- I don't know if you remember this -- but in the cleaning and clearing out of my dad's house, a box of my old journals was discovered and I now have them here in SF with me. Some of the entries? From back when? Definitely worth noting.

  • Also, maybe this would be the equivalent to reading about paint drying (or, you know, cat pee) but I would love to give a rundown of the Serious Relationships I've had in my life, because sort of there are a startling number of them. I have been in love a lot. I have almost always had a boyfriend. I don't think this is a problem -- though I've been told repeatedly that it is -- but rather, I think this just makes me good at being in relationships. Some people are good at being single. I am not one of them.

  • There are a bunch of "serious" things I'd like to write about, but have never known where to begin. My mom and her depression. My parents' relationship. On being an orphan at 30. My sister, Sam, who's gotten short shrift here.

  • Oh, well and that little issue of having been dating a married-but-separated man for the last year and a half. It's been a great, awful, terrifying rollercoaster ride. Although with far less crying than one would expect. And I don't think I've told anyone this (hello, everyone), but in the early, heady days of our Romance-Or-Whatever, I did NOT do that thing where you get drunk and cry at your boyfriend...

    [I did learn, however, that this is a common phenomenon, at least in the Bay Area. More on this, too.]

    But! I would get drunk and carry on imaginary conversations with his mother. Alone in my apartment. Out loud.


  • And lots of bits and pieces I've neglected for too long. I haven't drawn anything in a while. I never finished the story of T's birthday weekend. Like, two years ago I said I'd be telling you the worst three things men have ever said to me. I got through the first two: one was here and the other here -- seriously amazing. But I didn't get to the third. Also, maybe I should post about sex sometime.

Plus, now that I have more time (read: not insanely busy with the conference, yet) I will try and be better about acknowledging comments and actually commenting on all of the blogs I read, too.

On another, couldn't be more unrelated note -- WTF is up with Sanjaya? I sort of am hating on American Idol this season. Seriously.

And also I love the Apprentice. Don't tell anyone.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

My Very Important Boobs

I think blogs are cool and political and empowering and changing the very notion of communications and democracies and speech and language and art and community. I get excited about the prospects and future of "new media."

One of the women I met at the BlogHer Business conference last week is a professor, and brilliant, and smart, and even SMARTER because she's also British. And I was excited to chat with her because she was saying all these lofty things about the art of writing-for-blogs and how we define "self" and what we share and don't share and what blogging is doing for professionals and just -- it was a very intelligent conversation.

Well, you know. At least one half of the conversation was intelligent.

Because while I was busy being enthralled and discussing all these lofty things, I didn't exactly think ahead to better position my answer to the inevitable question --

"So what's your blog about?"

-- and so, for all my grandiose ideas and sense of self-worth and self-importance, I'm pretty sure my answer did not quite propel me into the British professor's elite list of Impressive Women.

"Oh! Well, lately I've been writing a lot about cat pee."

The conversation didn't last long enough after that for me to be able to mention that not ONLY do I write about my cat's peeing habits, but I ALSO write about such dazzling, profound things as getting stuff stuck in my cleavage. Go figure.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

The Best Diet In The World

I have discovered it!

Finally! you say.

Tell us! Tell us! you say.

And I shall. Just as soon as I get the details worked out exactly.

See, the diet is, you simply ensure that everyone in the entire world views you directly from the front. Presto! You're 20 lbs lighter!

Seriously. I am just back now from the conference and family visiting and whoa. There were a LOT OF PEOPLE WITH CAMERAS. And while most all of them have the good decency not to show me the pictures of me, let alone post them online somewhere, I have been thoroughly APPALLED.

I don't know what happened. I mean, I know I gained more weight than I would like to believe over the holidays. I also know I'm older than I would like to believe, too, and thus less able to lose a "few extra pounds" as quickly as I used to. But do I really look like this?

Like that?

I bought some cute outfits for the conference. I tried them on and they looked flattering. They looked flattering in the store mirror. And in my bedroom mirror. And again in my hotel mirror.

But -- and I'm perfectly willing to blame this on that whore, Physics -- something does not translate from "mirror" to "camera lens."

I have decided it's simply the angle. It must be. I just went to the ladies' room here at a cafe, and from the front, I look normal and not like some bulbous, protruding mass of a person. I swear. But I turn and from the side, I can see where the camera is coming from. Sort of.

But until I work out losing approximately half of my body weight, I implore you, world, to only view me directly from the front. And from a slightly downward perspective if you can manage it.


Sunday, March 25, 2007

If You're Not Gonna Wear Pants, You'll Need To Put On Shoes

Hello, and welcome to my post-conference world.

The BlogHer Business Conference was a wonderful success, hurrah, hurrah. I might write more about that later, but right now I am knee-deep in sippy cups.

Following the conference, I trekked out to the NY 'burbs to visit my friends/family. I'm staying with Emily and Nick, who have two-year-old Ella and three-month-old Annie. They live in a darling home with two dogs. Yesterday, I arrived here with Healy and Sam and Mike and my nephew Charlie in tow. And Healy's best friend and her husband and their new baby.

It was amazing. And cool. And really kind of terrifying -- this life that pretty much resembles mine in no way.

It's just...I mean, I read some mommy blogs pretty regularly, but it's something else entirely to experience this in person.

Somewhere out there, there are probably people who blog about Star Wars, and probably lots of people read those blogs and think they know what they're talking about. But what would those readers do if they suddenly found themselves aboard the Millennium Falcon?

Like, okay. You see the Star Wars movies, you read the books, you follow the blogs...and so sure: you think you're pretty well versed in that glaxy far, far away.

But I am here to tell you -- I have landed on Planet Parenthood, and while it looks very familiar ("Hey, is that one of those 'baby boppies'?" and "Oh, of course I know DORA"), I am officially a stranger in a strange land.

I have heard of poopy diapers, but can't remember the last time I heard an actual conversation between the diaper changer and the diaper pooper about the situation at hand. I know about the Build-A-Bear stores, but had never held a resultant stuffed creature in my arms before, nor had I ever had such a creature taken from me because it was Connie The Cow's naptime and also I'd better shush.

And the last time I awoke to someone bargaining with me, explaining that if I wasn't going to wear pants I should at least put on shoes and probably underwear, I'm positive there was much more vodka involved.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

so i lied

this will be quick.

so i'm in new york, which isn't where i grew up, but almost. i was born here, and lived in a connecticut suburb most of my life. so i have all these almost-memories floating around my otherwise occupied mind, just below the surface.

you know how that happens?

i'm reminded of trips to new york -- there were many, but not so many that i can't keep track of them all -- which means i'm being reminded of childhood, which i think maybe opens the floodgates to remembering all sorts of things i otherwise forgot.

i'm on the 21st floor. there was just a commotion outside, down below, which doesn't mean anything in new york really. it's, among the hubub, i realized a flute was playing.

why? how? who knows.

but it was. and it was playing when johnny comes marching home. and i don't know if it was the song in general, or that rendition, or that it was being played on a flute, but i was suddenly -- shockingly -- reminded...

we played that song one year when i was in marching band.

i did not ever need to remember that.

but i did. and then just when i was contemplating whether or not my mind was remembering this fact simply because i was in the vicinity of my hometown, just when i was thinking maybe i was just over-familiarizing things here in the northeast, the flute played something else.

it played our high school fight song.

i can't even begin to know what to do with that.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Live! From New York! It' Night?

Dearest Invisible Internet Friends,

I have arrived in New York for the BlogHer conference which starts on Thursday. I'm currently alone in my hotel room, where it is eerily quiet. I'm tired but not sleeping, as it's only 10 p.m. in California.

The pre-conference bruhaha starts tomorrow.

By the way -- if you're near the New York City area and want to come by the meet-up tomorrow night, please do. Info is here. All are welcome.

On a personal note, trying to keep up with blogging seems impossible, so I'm just going to take a week off, officially.

I'll be back on Monday.

In the meantime, for the record, I will note that my hotel room is quite possibly larger than my apartment, and definitely has more toilets.


Thursday, March 15, 2007

From the Archives

I am no longer running around like a headless chicken in advance of next week's conference.

This is kind of the eye of the storm, where there's not THAT much more that can be done until I'm on-site.

And because my body seems to know the first round of super-stress has ended, it has gone and gotten me sick. Wheee! I have a cold, and am exhausted, and pumping fluids and vitamins and Airborne and such into my system. Good times.

Anyway, I thought of this last night, for no good reason. Maybe it's all the weird things in my system, maybe all the baby stuff with my sister and Charlie that's been banging around in my brain off-hours. Whatever it is, I thought of my Aunt Jane, and how I miss her.

And I laughed at the story about how I first really met her.

* * *

I was a verbal kid. Far as I can tell, I never shut up. (Yeah. This here on-blog rambling-ness? NOT NEW.)

And there is some debate about exactly how old I was the first time my Aunt Jane visited me, but I was a baby. I was definitely under 2 years old, and small enough to be propped up in one of those table-top bassinet things.

Jane's visit was a big deal. She and my mom had grown up together and been very close for much of their lives. But by that time, Jane was single and living in Minnesota, and my mom had up and moved to the East Coast and -- from the looks of things -- settled down.

I don't know how long it had been since they'd seen each other, but I am sure it had been ages. I picture them reuniting like a Hallmark moment: Jane, entering the house, hugging my mom and then walking over to see The Baby. I picture soft lighting and shared tears of joy and familial love.

Well, except.

Jane did enter the house and I'm sure she and my mom hugged, and she did come over to me. But for whatever reason, perhaps because she didn't expect it from so small a child, or maybe she'd forgotten that I was talking already, she instinctively launched into that coochie-coo thing that grown-ups do.

She bent over me, and stuck out her forefinger and began swirling it as she cooed, inches from me.

"Ooochie areeeen't you just the cuuuutest leetle baby? Yes you are! Yes youuuuuu, baby Kiki cuuuutie--"

And while she started this, it is said that I didn't so much smile at my aunt as watch intently. And perhaps somewhat unbelievingly.

"You are just theeeeee cuuuuuuutest little girl!" My poor Aunt Jane said, her forefinger still outstretched.

There was a pause as everyone waited for my reaction.

And apparently my reaction was to outstretch my forefinger. And point at her. And twirl my finger around in a circle, and say, in the same tone of voice (though clearly mockingly):

"Oooh...aaaaand youuuuuu..."

and I swear I'm not making this up --

...are an asshole!"

We were fabulous friends from that point forward.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Operation Cat Pee: FAILED

Came home this morning to find that Monster is no longer as afraid of the electrical tape as he once was.

I am not giving up the fight, though.

For now, I have covered the area in aluminum foil. Everyone suggests aluminum foil will stop your cats from clawing the furniture, so perhaps using it as a welcome mate will work, too.

(I should probably ignore the crinkle-y sounds coming from the hallway as I write this.)

My next step is to buy actual, clear, double-sided tape and just tape the area. And also squirt guns. Because when Sherlock and Moriarty (aka Monster) were kittens, squirt guns were the only things that curbed their bad behavior.

And mommy has been too nice for too long.

* * *

Hi! Remember when I had a blog I wrote every day?

Well, and a mostly non-demanding job? Feh.

* * *

I have two words for you: Ethnic Gourmet.

I have three more words for you: Chicken Tikka Masala.

This is my new lunchtime staple. I am a huge fan of chicken tikka masala, and this frozen kind is a-pefectly-okay. Especially for lunch. It comes with whole grain rice, too. It takes a while to cook if you don't have a microwave (which I don't because for no reason), but it's very tasty and I daresay nutritious.

And dudes. 200 calories.

* * *

Finally, there is a comedy competition tomorrow night that Ish is going to perform in. If you are anywhere near Pleasanton, CA and wanna come by and hang out and drink and vote, that would rock! email me for info!

* * * *
Did you see??? Over there? In the sidebar??? You can subscribe to a fancy feed of this site now, even by email!

Hello, 2005!

(miss you all!) (conference is next week!) (crazy!)

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Flickr? I Barely Even Know Hr!

Although it would appear that Flickr knows me.

So okay.

Once upon a time, a friend of mine decided to look me and my photos up on Flickr. Perhaps she wanted to say hi, or perhaps she was wondering if I had made public the photo of her having passed out naked following late-night-drunken-hot-tub romping. Who's to say?

She wasn't entirely clear.

She did, however, alert me to a fascinating bit of marketing genius. I decided I had to check it out for myself.

So, I went to Flickr...

...and I did a little search.

And I got a message.

Now, this message? The one with the big red exclamation point? It certainly seems to be suggesting that Flickr has never even heard of me. (Kristy? Kristy Sammis? Who?)

Oh, okay "Flickr" if that's even your real name, fine. You don't know me. You have no idea who I am. But then just tell me one thing.


*Thanks for the heads-up, Tinker. :)

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Good Upside Down Electrical Tape Hallway Barriers Make Good Neighbors

So here's what I've learned in the last few weeks, while I've been buried under work, tackling such important issues as the broader business implications of social media and also are glow-in-the-dark ice cubes* a good idea or not:

Even when myriad details are filling my brain -- not just ice cube logistics but things like figuring out how it's humanly possible that the Packing and Shipping vendor requires me to have Packing materials Shipped to her (not kidding) -- it turns out that my everyday running narrative doesn't shut off. I don't always hear it, but it's there, humming in the background like a radio turned to low volume. And occassionally I remember it's on and listen in for no particular reason and catch a few seconds of my Running Narrative Show.

And um.

Well, for example.

I know that my weight would suggest otherwise, but sometimes when I'm really busy, I forget to eat. And so sometimes it gets to be 3 p.m. and I haven't consumed anything except coffee, and then my body gets really annoyed with me and I realize, suddenly, that I'm starving. Which means that out of nowhere I go on a RAVENOUS RAMPAGE, frustrated because I'd rather not interrupt my flow and so I storm through my apartment looking for the easiest and nearest-by thing to eat (even though you and I know perfectly well I'm not going to find much).

Now, I recently had friends over. And because it was a special occassion I served them my very famous hors d'oeuvre, the one I like to call "chips and salsa."

And so last Thursday, when I was very much in my "focusfocusfocus" mental state and I realized I was crushingly hungry and fled to the kitchen, I saw the chips (hurrah! hurrah for food!) and tore into the bag.

And you know? Perhaps because I was so shocked or surprised or delighted to have something as unexpectedly delicious as chips in my kitchen, I shut off the work brain for a few moments and tuned in to the Running Narrative Show.

Thursday's lunchtime edition was apparently featuring haiku. Why? We don't know.

But I call it, Chips For Lunch
"Thin & Crispy" brand
ironic I love it best
since I am neither.

*That's a shout-out, Marc.

* * * * *

Often my Runing Narrative Show features the state of my apartment, which is -- once again -- one of utter disrepair. Chips bags and post-its and coffee mugs and water bottles and mail are strewn literally everywhere.

It occurred to me that I actually receive a whole helluva lot of catalogs and magazines that serve no purpose because I never find the time to look at them. Sure, they make lovely display pieces, but I don't think my guests believe for one second that I actually read Gourmet, since that's what I end up using as a placemat for the chips and salsa.

* * * * *

My cat, Monster, has taken to peeing on my doorstep inside my apartment again. I don't know why. I don't understand his patterns. It's awful and I'm trying to curb it, but mostly it's all I can do to just to keep up with cleaning it, using all sorts of fancy products that claim to be able to completely remove the scent of cat piss from hard wood floors.


You know, I am more or less unfamiliar with the inner workings of international chemical warfare developments, and seriously doubt that too many chemical warfare engineers read She Walks with any regularity, but just in case at least one is reading this now -- I sincerely hope you're working cat pee into our defense strategy. Because seriously. We would totally win.


I tuned in to Friday's episode somewhere around the time I realized I was actually listening to Monster peeing on the door.

And because I was so stressed and not in my right mind, and with a huge deadline looming over me, Running Narrative Show became something straight out of The Twilight Crazy Cat Lady Zone.


And like a complete raving lunatic, I shot up out of my office chair and ran to my closet, having no idea what I was looking for or what I would do with it once I found it.

But then I saw the enormous roll of electrical tape and suddenly a plan formed.
[Over the holidays, Ish was in a very random comedy/improv show in the city, and there maybe was drinking, and maybe the theater he was in was still sort of under construction, and maybe one of my friends accompanied me to the ladies' room and decided it was rude to have a huge roll of electrical tape just sitting there, in the bathroom, and so took it and stuck it in my purse without me knowing. Later, on the street, I wondered why my bag was so damn heavy and you can imagine my surprise when I opened it to find a huge roll of electrical tape next to my wallet and lipgloss. My friend thought that was hilarious.]
I grabbed a big pair of scissors, and went to my doorway.


And that is how I discovered that industrial strength electrical tape is not very easy to work with. And also why working not at home is maybe sometimes a good thing.

I plopped myself down on the floor, about three feet from where Monster has claimed his space, and I ripped a long strip across the whole hallway like this, _______, sticky side up, with the ends curled down to stick to the floor. Then I cut several 8" or so strips of tape, and ran them length-wise.

Um, like this:

I would just like to re-state how difficult it is to unroll and cut electrical tape while you are sitting in your hallway with cat pee and a deadline, but I managed.

I was probably laughing maniacally.

My thought was that cats hate to have tape on their paws. And I was certain that Monster would want to investigate this new hallway development, as he wants to investigate anything new in the apartment to determine -- I suppose -- if it's something worth peeing on. And I thought he would go to step on it, and discover its horrible stickiness. And that that would stop him from thinking the doorway was a nice place to hang out.

So moments after I put the tape down, Monster decided to check it out, as above. He stepped on it and jumped off it, towards the door. Then he tentatively came back over it, and, upon realizing it was still sticky, even though he was coming at it from a different perspective (cats? not so swift), ran away from it.

Later that evening a knock came at my door. I was still in the throes of working-with-deadline, and didn't really think through the implications of actually opening the door to speak to the couple standing in my hallway.

I should have.

Upon opening the door, I realized I had not showered in three days, was not wearing makeup, and was in sweats that probably could have gone over and opened the door all by themselves if you know what I mean.

I can't imagine I opened the door with anything less than a look of desperation in my eyes.

"Hey, um..." this cute couple looked at me and said. "I'm [some name I couldn't retain] and this is Brett and we live in #4. We're having a little housewarming tonight, some champagne. It'd be great if you could come by. At like 8:30? It'll go probably till midnight or so."

And do you know what I said?

No. You don't. Because I don't, either. I'm certain it wasn't coherent, and went something like, "Working from home deadline early morning I am not sure about sorry pants mess welcome! try cats I'll dinner kind of hectic thank you so much that's very nice of you."

And then because I was feeling so terribly self-conscious and was convinced they'd seen the bizarre arrangement of tape on the floor directly behind me, I figured I should offer something of an explanation. So I started to say it was there to keep my cat from peeing in the doorway, but then stopped myself because I didn't want them to realize that meant they were probably standing inches away from said pee.

"Oh, um, that's tape because cats don't like it and I'm having a problem with my cat...uhm...who...likestorunintothehallwaywhenthedoorisopen." Yeah.

And then Sherlock ran into the hallway.

"Um," said the guy, "But can't they just jump over it?" He didn't want to be rude, you could tell, but he saw the flaws in my lie immediately.

Well, especially since my cat was already in the hallway, having jumped over it.

"Oh, not that cat," I said, trying to sound not lying. "His brother. And um, it's not that he's just...he sits at the door a lot, trying to get out. And um, claws at it. And I think this might make it less desirable now."

And even as it was coming out of my mouth, I realized I was essentially telling my neighbor that my cat claws at the door in an effort to escape from me.

I am pretty sure the conversation ended swiftly thereafter, as I reclaimed Sherlock from the hallway and they retreated down the stairs wondering about the batty recluse cat-torturer they're sharing a building with.

* * * * *

I end this entry now saying it's five days later and the tape has worked so far. Unfortunately, it has also attracted a bug who is now lying dead in the middle of it. I may have to work on an upgraded system this weekend.

In the meantime, to prove that I may be a crazy cat lady but am not a horrible cat-mommy, I bring you this video. Because I'm proud.