Juno: My New Favorite Movie and CD

Okay...saw this last night, yeah I know it's been out for awhile. Jamie and I actually saw a movie in the theater without a child in attendance. Loved, loved, loved it. She (Juno) reminded me of a more sarcastic version of the youngest Callison-Burch and the boyfriend reminded me of Ryan Quinn, it was kind of odd.

But, seriously, if you haven't seen this one, go now I say. It's fantastic, and the soundtrack is awesome. It had me and Jamie making a late night trip to Folsom to hit Borders, because, of course, Wal-Mart the only place to buy music around here didn't have it. And do you know what's right next Borders? Petsmart. And do you know what they carry at Petsmart? Yup...rats.

So, we go into Petsmart five minutes before they closed to "look" at the ratties. And they had the cutest dumbos...We might have been able to resist them, but then the Petsmart girl shows us this little dumbo guy no one wanted because he had pink eyes. Which is kind of strange because lots of rats have pink eyes and I never really thought bout it. They only time it creeps me out is when they're hairless and have pink eyes, and even those guys are kind of cute.

So, two came home with us and became Badger and Bleaker respectively. They are set up in the spare cage...partly due to lack of room in the boys cage, but mostly because Popkin, our agouti rex(think big sewer rat with a perm), is a complete punkass and tried to kill poor little Bleaker on sight.

But I digress. I was talking about Juno. The soundtrack is just as fantastic as the movie. Very fun and folky-guitary. My new favorite song is Tire Swing by Kimya Dawson.

Oh and I voted today, and Jamie and I cleaned out the laundry room which was a chore and half. I'm feeling fairly good, obviously, which is a nice change.

Only Me

In the latest chapter of the only Laura saga, I had a tick bite on Friday (gosh, I just love living in the woods) which by Saturday had turned into a raging infection in my leg. That, combined with the fear of Lyme disease prompted a late night emergency room trip as soon as Jamie got home from work.

Luckily, the ER was not too busy and the oncall doctor was one of my favorites. He gave me a shot of penicillin and a prescription for zithromax, plus pain pills. Today, which was supposed to be spent cleaning cages and doing laundry was spent in bed and on the couch due to the extreme pain that any infection causes me. Fun, fun, fun.

Technical Difficulties

Well, the new year has been full of technical difficulties...actually the difficulties began before the new year, but let's not get nit picky. See, the day before New Year's Eve, I spilled milk from my cereal onto the as yet not fully paid for laptop. And much to my horror, lost the ability to boot up the four month old computer. So, I get on my desk top to discover that I should have immediately turned off and taken the battery out of my laptop to prevent frying the motherboard, and that the inability of said laptop to boot has probably been caused by my dumb mistake. Shit...okay, don't freak out, I tell myself, and myself does not listen of course.

I called around to find out if anyone was open, and of course they weren't it being a Sunday and they weren't going to be open the Monday and Tuesday due to the holiday. And as I've gotten totally spoiled by not having to sit at the desktop to be on the computer, this completely bummed me out, not to mention the fact that it was likely that I was going to have to replace the as yet not fully paid for laptop, which is financially not an option at the moment.

So, eventually, on Wednesday I get the damn thing in to the repair place, and they call me on Thursday to tell me that when they went to start it up to figure out what was wrong it was miraculously cured. Apparently it just needed to dry out, thankfully, because if I had completely fried it, I'd still be crying and Jamie might still be kicking my ass for being so careless.

So, I had the laptop back and all was good until the power went out Friday, so of course that means no internet at all. Also, because I live in the boonies and we have a well with an electric pump, no running water. For twenty-four whole hours, actually it was more like thirty-two hours, but who's counting? In the midst of this, Jamie and I were moving the desktop into our bedroom so that we could move the rattie boys cage away from the fireplace because of the need to stop using the heater due to the five hundred dollar gas bill. Also, the heater doesn't work without electricity and it was getting damn cold in the house, much to the dismay of the snake who spent much of Friday in my and Jamie's shirt. And guess what I learned about dsl? Apparently you can't just plug it into any old jack in the house, so I have to come out and have Volcano Telephone (who I pay a small fortune to for completely crappy dsl service) do their magic to the tune of 60 dollars an hour. So, I'm writing this on my laptop which I can't move from the front corner of my living room because that's the only place I can get reception from my mom's wireless.

And then there was the spree of vacuum deaths. My little dog, Charlie likes to chew things up. We've lost a PS2 controller, a couple pairs of shoes, many, many shoe laces and underwear and even a few pajama bottoms. But then he escalated to killing appliances. He chewed the plug off of my vacuum, and then threw up on our bedroom floor which is when I discovered that he also chewed the plug off of the spot cleaner I had stored under my bed. However, the lovely chew toys he got for Christmas are in pristine condition. He's becoming quite the expensive little dog, between the groomer and the chewing up of items that don't belong to him.

On a side note, I discovered that the chinchilla I've been trying to talk Jamie into for awhile is simply not an option as I'm painfully allergic to the volcanic dust that they must bathe in regularly. I held one at Petco, where we went to stock up on water bottles because the foster girls (who have finally found a new home) decided to chew through three of them. My intention was to show Jamie how awesome they were, and from that five minute contact, I spent the entire ride home with my eyes swelling and leaking. I had never experienced anything quite that uncomfortable in my entire life. So the chinchilla's out, but that just means I'm going to have push that much harder for the tarantula I've been wanting...

I Need Zoo Keepers

As you may know, I'm a bit....highstrung, shall we say. I'm also a magnet for madness and mayhem. Cassidy comes by her drama queen title naturally. So, while tonight's happenings are not really a surprise, it's just all a bit much given that it's Christmas time and my house is in it's usual state of messiness and chaos and I have eighteen thousand things to do tomorrow.

So, at twelve thirty, I decide that it's time to feed the rats and go to bed. So, I feed my boys and the foster boys and the bitey boys, then I head into Cass's room to feed my girls and the foster girls. The first thing I notice when I go in Cass's room is that Cera (the three-legged wonder dog) is, as usual, sitting at attention trying to get her tongue bitten for the eighteen thousandth time. Then I notice that the board that sits atop the foster girls cage preventing them from opening the cage and escaping is on the floor and one of the fosters is on top of, rather than inside of, the cage. I do a quick headcount and come up with seven foster girls, but no, that's not right....there's eight foster girls. Math isn't my strong suit, but ten times later with the same result and it's clear that only seven girls are left in the cage. So, I do the frantic search around the cage, around Cass's room and find nothing.

I head back out to the living room to decide what to do and what do I see but Rainbow, the fat white kitten inside the snake's enclosure. Wait...yup that's what I said, inside the snake's enclosure. The dumb cat had broken through the screen top and was sitting on the snake's hidey log. At this point, I about lost my shit, because what the hell am I going to put the snake in at twelve at night that will keep him safe from the cats and dogs and keep him from escaping and wandering into the nearest rat cage and getting eaten. I awaken Jamie and share the dilemma with her, and she remembers we have another terrarium on the porch.

Now, it's about thirty degrees outside, and it rained all last week, so when I go out to the porch to drain the six inches of rain water from the terrarium, what do I discover but that the lid is frozen in place. And I'm proud to say that I neither screamed nor cried when I made this thrilling discovery, but instead send Jamie out to do the dirty work. She brings it back in and I finally get it cleaned out and set up to house the snake.

So, now it's one thirty in the morning and I'm wide awake trying to figure out what to do about the missing rat. Assuming it hasn't already been eaten by Cera, it isn't going to last long what with the two dogs and four cats that live in this house. And I have to be up at my aunt's house at eight in the morning to wrap my neices' Christmas presents since we're doing presents tomorrow, but I have to take my cousin, her baby's daddy and my soon to be former sister in law down my friend Ron's tattoo studio by ten so they can all get tattoos and we can get back in time for dinner and presents. Oh, and the festivities are not only going to be attended by my soon to be former sister in law, but also my brother's new girlfriend, a Jewish girl, who I'm sure is perfectly nice though I've yet to meet her, but since my brother and his wife are still, after all, technically married and both in attendance it's bound to be a bit awkward...

And somehow, in amidst all this, I've got to find out from my sister and my other sister in law whether they think we should get a small gift of some kind for the new girlfriend. What is the gift etiquette, exactly, for your brother's Jewish girlfriend while his wife is also in attendance?

I'm hoping like hell to have the energy to attend the annual holiday party thrown by my dear friend Darcee, because while none of my friends is a poster child for sanity, they definitely have the edge this year over all the family insanity.

I think the little rat is on her own...





****Edited at 5:30 am to add that luckily for the little rat, though unluckily for me, the insomnia that has plagued me this past week has continued and I located and caught the little rodent and returned her to her cage with her sisters.

This Is a Pain In The...Well, Everywhere

Update on the state of my health. So, I had an appointment with a rheumatologist at Stanford. I met with the rheumatologist who said he didn't think I had Lupus, and that I had Fibromyalgia. This was good news as Fibro, while painful and incurable, doesn't destroy internal organs. However, I got a phone call a few days ago saying that my test results indicated lots of inflammation, an indicator of Lupus.

So, they've decided that they're going to treat the Fibromyalgia, and keep testing me for Lupus. So I'm in this weird half limbo place that I really hate, because I'm no good with suspense. I need to know things. But no, I get to have blood drawn every three months and visit the rheumatologist every six months. This is in addition to regular appointments with my regular doctor, my endocronologist, my shrink and my therapist. These are my new friends that I see way more often than I see my real friends.

The last few days have been hell. I've got this crappy cold that will not go away and it's just sapping all of my energy. I'm in pain, I'm exhausted. I cleaned two rat cages today and it took all of the energy I had not to cry and stop in the middle.

All I can say today is hallelujah for pain pills.

Wait...Is This How It's Supposed To Feel?

Thirty feels a bit like a rip-off, I have to say. Certainly not what I imagined 30 would feel like when I was a kid. Thirty was sort of the "it" age for being an adult. And whatever I am, I don't feel like an adult.

There are times when I alone with my little monkey and I think to myself...geez, does anyone know that I'm responsible for a whole other person? It's insane to make decisions about someone else's life when I'm such a mess.

I literally don't feel any different inside now than I did when I was 18. Maybe a little sadder, but that's not really true, because eighteen year old me was an even bigger mess than thirty year old me. At least now I can look up from the middle of a wallow in self pity and say, "Come now, Laura, aren't we feeling a bit more sorry for ourselves than is strictly necessary?"

And in case you're wondering, yes I do talk to myself in pretty much exactly that way. As though there are a group of me and we're all kind of laughing at the others. And if that revelation's not enough to get me put in a nut house...

But, seriously. At what point am I going to feel like a grown up? You know I've paid rent and had a car payment and all of that for years. I've changed diapers and sat up in the middle of the night with a sick child puking all over me and every damn dry cloth in the house. I've even made meatloaf...on purpose. I've done all this stuff that signifies grown up, and I still feel like I'm teetering around in my mom's heels and at any minute someone's going to figure out I'm just a kid playing dress up.

I mean, okay, the average life expectancy is 76. Thirty is pretty damn close to halfway there, and I still don't feel grown up. Or is it a third...crap, why wasn't I ever any good at math?

My point is, when do you finally say, yeah, okay I'm a grown up and I've got this whole life thing figured out. How old am I going to be before I finally get that feeling?

War on Words

As a writer, I spend alot of time thinking about words. Words as symbols, since that's the basis of all language. Words have power, and depending on how they are used the power invoked by a single word can shake you to your core.

War is one of the words I've been thinking about alot lately. It should evoke fear, anger, outrage and despair. But it doesn't. We toss the word around so freely, throw war around the way we throw just any other word around.

It started in the eighties, with the Reagan administration's War on drugs. It was meant to signify that finally the government was going to get serious about drugs and drug related crimes. That we were going to have a "take no prisoners" sort of mentality. Drugs were supposed to be as heinous as Nazis or something, I suppose. So, I like everyone else in my generation, I grew up thinking drugs were a serious problem. Which they are, especially when you think of the connection between drugs, poverty and crime. But, drugs all alone are hardly worthy of the term war.

And these days every where you turn, we're at war. Still waging a war on drugs, not to mention one on terror and one on crime and one on illiteracy. War no longer refers to the utter desolation of the human condition that causes us to kill and destroy each other. Any situation that calls for problem solving, the most basic of human abilities, we call a war, which should only ever refer to the most appalling of human conditions.

In The Fifth Element, a bad science fiction film starring a model and an action star, there is this scene where the perfect creature is learning about us, about human beings, and she comes across the word "war" and it shocks and disgusts her. To the point that she almost fails in her task to save the human race. And that's what that word should do. We should hear war and stop breathing. We should always remember that war means that people die. That people do the worst possible things to one another under the guise of fighting for their beliefs, or for the freedom of other people, or for their own freedoms.

As human beings, we should always remember what we are capable of, both good and bad, and we should never allow someone to diminish the power of our most basic symbols. Stop using this word to mean anything other than what it means: bloodshed, horror and desolation.

Rats are cool...

So, check out this great video on you tube that shows just how fantastic rats can be. My rats have all mastered the fine art of looking pitiful for yogies. Who cares if other rats can climb ropes and do hurdles? Mine are cute!!!




And this video shows I'm not the only rat freak out there!!!!

Your Modern History Lesson

Presenting the latter half of the 20th century in less than five minutes. Courtesy of Billy Joel.

Grrr....

I haven't talked much about my health, lately. Mostly, because there aren't any new developments and I don't have any new information, so what's the point in going over the same old stuff.

However, today I lost an opportunity to have lunch with Craig, of Craigorian Chant, due to my crappy health. I've had a rough weekend, tired and achy and tight, heavy chest. I suspect there is some sort of infection going on, which is usually what causes my body to do this. It's not bad enough to rush off to the ER, but I will be calling my GP tomorrow to have some blood work done.

I've gotten used to certain things, like that working is sort of just not going to happen for me right now. I know that when I do too much or get too little sleep I'm going to pay for it. What I hate, hate, hate is when out of nowhere I get waylaid and spend two or three days on the fucking couch rather than hanging out with friends.

I don't cry too much over the things I've lost, because I presume that I will one day work and hike again. I presume that camping and swimming and spending an hour out in the park will one day be possible without paying for it for a week.

However, losing something so simple and so essential as spending time with people I care about really fucking pisses me off. I don't see friends that often, being that my friends have scattered to the four corners of the world, so even though I thoughtfully stayed in the town where all of their parent's live so that I would see them when they were home for visits, I still don't see them anywhere near as much as I'd like. And when I have the opportunity to spend time with one of them, and can't because of this thing, this crappy illness, I get really fucking pissed.

And this isn't the first time it's happened. I've missed visits with lots of other friends. Grrr....but how do you fight something that you can't see or predict? Gah!! I just don't know.

It Hurts to Love Rats This Much

Literally. Physical pain here, people. I got a new tattoo...first in about three years or so. It's really cute...a couple of rats. On my chest. Yeah, I'm crazy, but that's a whole other post.

Also, I'm nursing a very sore finger right now, as I got a rather vicious bite from my project rat who is having some "issues" adjusting to life as a pet. He and his brother were scheduled to be put to sleep due to their aggression issues. Thumper, the more aggressive of the two, has a broken tail due to human mishandling. Flower, his timid brother has yet to show any signs of aggression. And really Thumper shows more fear than aggression. They'll take yogies from my hand, but then they run back and hide. I got bitten tonight for pushing socialization just a bit too far.

He's bitten me three other times, all of which were my fault. At the shelter I reached into his igloo to grab a cornered rat, never a good idea. And the two other times I forgot to wash my hands after handling my other boys, and since they are so fearful, he reacted out of fear. And he's fast, and I'm not.

I also noticed tonight that he has a slight list to the right, which I'm hoping I didn't really see, because that added to aggression usually indicates a pituitary tumor, and there's not a whole lot you can do for a pituitary tumor in a rat. Lots of other tumors can be removed, but a pituitary tumor is basically a death sentence. Which would be heartbreaking because he's had such a crappy life. He's only a year old, and he's spent the last 6 months being mishandled by shelter workers who know nothing about rats.

You know, I know a lot of people will say, eh, it's just a rat. But this is an animal that was born because of human intervention, and has spent it's whole life at the mercy of human whims. I don't cry when I watch animal shows and the weak baby elephant dies or something like that. That's nature, and nature does what it does for a reason. But, when humans get involved in animal breeding and keeping we are basically being god. You have the power of life and death over your pet, and to not choose life, and a good one at that is just sadistic.

And doing what I do, as far as dealing with rat rescues (and hopefully, someday, other animals) I hear the lamest excuses for not taking care of animals. My least favorite is "Oh, I'm just too busy, now." What the fuck is that all about? You know, I wasn't doing anything exciting before, so I got this here animal to liven up my life, but now things are looking up, so kick rocks little rattie (or kitty, or puppy.) Aargh. Animals aren't just play things. You would never have a child and then say, you know this whole parenting thing puts a crimp in my fabulous life style, so I'm taking her down to the orphanage. She's pretty cute, so I'm sure she'll get adopted. Okay, actually some people do that too...but they're not people I'm inviting over to Sunday dinner, ya know what I mean?

So, bottom line...if you get an animal, you are responsible for that animal for the rest of your life. You don't get an out just because you got a boyfriend, or had a kid, or fuck, I don't know, any of the eight million other excuses people make to rationalize their shitty behavior. If you aren't willing to guarantee that come hell or high water you and Fido are in it together, then get your fuzzy animal fix by volunteering at a local rescue or shelter, and let Fido go to someone who is willing to make that commitment.

Oh...and spay and neuter your damn pets.

Kids Today...

I feel sorry for the generation that is growing up today. The things they won't know, and the fact that as a society we're overprotecting our children. We want to make everything fair and safe and make all the kids feel good about themselves all the time. It sounds great, in theory, that no kid is going to feel bad, ever.

But the thing about kids is they don't stay kids. They become adults, and if adults know anything, we know that life simply isn't fair. Sometimes the idiot who has none of your brains and works half as hard as you do gets the promotion. Sometimes the one you love more than any other doesn't love you. And no matter what your mom may have told you, not everyone worth knowing is going to be interested in taking the time to know you. So, what happens to these kids who've been taught that everything should be fair and that they should always feel good about themselves?

As a parent, I try really hard to keep two things in mind; first of all, my darling little drama queen only has one childhood, and I want her to have a good one, and second (and most important) the whole idea is not to raise a child, but to raise an adult. You know, they're kids for such a short time, so you don't want your seven year old worrying about her weight or something foolish like that, but you also need to prepare them for the world which isn't always a good and wonderful place. They need to be protected, but at the same time, aware that bad things can and do happen, and that, in fact, bad things will undoubtedly happen to them.

For some reason, there's this idea that it's important to protect kids from all the ugly in the world. But, if kids don't know about the ugly, we aren't going to be raising adults who want to change it and do better. Even the history we teach our young children is sanitized. It's no wonder that children today don't understand the importance of Martin Luther King Day...to them it's just a reason to stay home from school, play on their playstations and listen to their Ipods.

I worry especially about the message we are sending our little girls. If you've walked down the girl's aisle of a toy store recently, you'll get what I mean. All the toys out there are so materialistic...Barbie doesn't even have careers anymore...it's all about fashion. The girls in Mean Girls aren't pathetic and stupid, they're role models because they're pretty and have nice clothes. And I think about how far women have come in the last few decades and I wonder if this isn't like thirty big steps backwards, to be raising girls who know alot about Paris Hilton and the latest trends, but knows nothing about things that matter like, poverty and war and Christ, a million fucking other issues that are so much more important than whether or not you have the right shoes.

My generation has been defined as apathetic to social issues, particularly following my parent's generation which fought so hard for social justice. And what will the next generation be? Self centered, self indulgent twits who are shell shocked because they grew up to discover that the world, in fact, does not revolve around them.

So...if you have kids or know kids...don't let them win every game they play. And don't give them everything they want, even if it means that someone won't like them. And if someone doesn't like them, don't call a big conference with the principal and the other kid's parents (unless, of course, some bullying or violence is occuring), teach your kid to accept it and move on with their lives. Remember, these kids are going to be running the world when we're adult diapers...we want them to give a shit about something besides themselves.

I Can't Sing

I used to dream about being a singer. Until I was 12 or so and discovered the record button on my stereo. Dream shattered. Anyone who's been stuck in a car with me for any length of time will tell you why. I couldn't carry a tune if you held a gun to my head. I'm like one of the funny rejects you see on American Idol, not just bad, but really, really bad.

That being said, I have a fairly good ear, and a deep abiding love for music and spoken word poetry. For the rest of my days I will sit in audiences and wish I could put my words into pleasing sounds. Really, I can't even recite poetry. Not good when you write poetry. I've got one of those voices that sort of grates and sounds always like I'm alot younger than I am and I have some kind of cold, and my mama should have taught me to blow my nose or something. It's truly wretched.

Fortunately for me, I've had the great fortune to have relationships with a couple of musicians, so even though I can't create music myself, (because in addition to having no voice, I've got no rhythm either, so playing an instrument's out as well) I get to be around it alot. Not that I'm always all that appreciative of the music in my life. In fact, I spend alot of time talking about the pitfalls of being a musician's girlfriend. Aside from the continuous Yoko jokes, there's the constant sense of being excluded from something. It's sort of like when you sit at a table with people much, much smarter than you. (Another common experience in my life.) While it's fascinating and certainly an enriching experience, when you are as dramatic as I am, and have an innate need to be the center of attention, it tends to make you feel about as useful as tits on a bull.

But, I can write. I can put words together in a way that sometimes make a person go...wow...or go, you know, I've never really heard someone say it like that before. I can, from time to time, put the jumble of thoughts in my mind into a form that other people find entertaining. So, you know, if 30 years on the planets teaches you nothing at all, it teaches you to find ways to use what you have to your advantage.

What's all this leading up to...you might be asking yourself. Or if you're not, you don't know me all that well and aren't all that familiar with the long explanations I have for anything I do. Rationalizations really, that usually are way longer than whatever it was I was going to tell you. So, here's the thing. I've been making myself write, either taking little zygotes of ideas and trying to expand them, or going back over old journals and poems and rewriting and rewording, and I found this little, well not so little, poem/song thingy I wrote some years back that I really liked and decided to share with you all.

See, even when you know you can't do something...sometimes dreams don't go away....

Anyway, this here is called Anything But Fine, hope you enjoy it.


Anything But Fine

honey you know i was never much to look at
but lately i've been looking really bad
cause i've been staying up all night
thinking about that last fight we had
there's so much i should have said
so much that went unspoken
and i wish i could tell you now
cause i'm tired of being broken

and i know i never held your heart in my hands
though you know you always had mine
but i really think that if you had to leave
you could have left it behind
after everything we've been through
i can't believe you'd say goodbye
and i don't think i can live this way
this is anything but fine

it's a hard road to walk
when you're walking it alone
and everyday i become more weary
weary to the bone
there's so much i never told you
so many things i never said
now it's all driving me crazy
feeling trapped inside my head
and the path from you to me
is getting longer every day
and i have fallen oh so many times
along the way
don't think i'll ever find my way back
or that you'll find your way here
and all i seem to know anymore
are emptiness and fear

i've been so busy trying to remember
the girl i was before you came
driving down another lonely highway
realizing i'll never be the same
and every time i see you
and every time you call
i get closer to the truth
that we never really knew each other at all
and the road keeps stretching onward
and time keeps ticking by
and i still don't understand
why you ever let me say goodbye

yeah, i know i never held your heart in my hands
though we both know you always had mine
but baby when i left
i left my heart behind
and after everything you've been to me
i don't want to say goodbye
i won't do this anymore
cause this is anything but fine

Still Scarlett

When I was about 12, I discovered what remains to this day my all time favorite love story, Gone With the Wind. And because I was 12, and no less dramatic than I am today, I desperately identified with Scarlett. The Scarlett who was not beautiful, but made people (especially men) overlook that. The Scarlett who was clever enough to manipulate people and situations to suit her. Who trusted only two women in her entire life, and who clawed and fought to survive.

And nevermind that she never took the time to figure out who she was, what she really wanted, what was best for her, or what would make her happy. I didn't understand the implications of her "I won't think about it now, I'll think about it later when I can stand it..." mentality. Those of you who know me well, know that's always been my M.O. Only, I think I've finally figured out what Scarlett never did...that later never comes. That some doors, once closed will never again open, and some opportunities don't come back around. And that actually, that can be okay. Because no mistake comes without at least the benefit of a lesson learned, or at least a fantastic story to tell at the bar when you meet up with old friends.

It's funny how sometimes you look back with the benefit that comes with hindsight and say, ah, I see now how I thought I was running towards something when I was really running as fast as I could in the other direction.

And of course, I'm still Scarlett, when I'd be smarter to be Melanie. I'm still more fiddledeedee than I'd care to let on, but with a bit of self awareness that would have been fabulous ten years ago. So, I guess the question is, did Scarlett figure it out in time, or is the habit of thinking about it "later" so ingrained that it's too late? Of course, it's not Scarlett I'm all that worried about...

Snake Poo...

We recently acquired a baby ball python. It's a beautiful thing, and ultra fun to watch. I feel slightly guilty feeding him, since he eats mice, the smaller cousin of our lovely ratties, but hey, snakes gotta eat, too...right? The process is slightly gruesome since, for a myriad of reasons, I am feeding frozen mice. You have to set the mouse on the counter for about an hour for it to defrost, then put it in a cup of hot water to bring the body temperature up to something that a snake will find appealing. I try to be furtive and hide my actions from the ratties so as not to disturb them...though since they're predators and just as likely to eat a mouse as the snake is, maybe they would just wonder where theirs was.

Now, when you have as many animals as I do, you sort of become immune to the ickiness of pet excrement. between vacuuming up rat droppings and cleaning litter boxes, feces really has little ick factor at this point. Except, that is, for snake feces. For those unfamiliar with snake poo, it may be the most disgusting thing I've ever seen/smelled in my life. This I would imagine has something to do with their extended digestion process...but geez...

Luckily for both me and the snake (whom we've named Sal-as in Salazar) this is an occurrence that happens only every three weeks or so. Because if this was a daily thing...he/she/it (don't know the sex yet, and we may never since sexing a snake involves either a blood test or something called "probing" which given snake anatomy sounds rather icky) might find itself looking for another home.

The addition of the snake is just yet another step in my quest to become a hermitess living in the woods since about half the people I know hate/fear the rats and the other half are deathly afraid of snakes. It kinda makes me laugh, though, because the python's a whopping 15 inches long at this point, and it's head is roughly the size of a quarter, but it still freaks people out.

I've got my eyes on a beautiful pink-toed tarantula (which is a strictly look and don't touch pet). Cassidy's father says if I get the tarantula he refuses to set foot in the house...hmmm...kind of a bonus I guess.

Ugh...Bush...

I consider myself a pretty optimistic chick. Despite occasionally indulging in pity parties...I tend to think that there's nothing so bad that it won't look better tomorrow...or you know, after a gin and tonic or two, but even my relentless optimism is fading in the light of this administrations repeated mistakes, missteps and flat out law breaking.

I've been telling myself, well...he's only got x number of years left, and then someone can come along and mop up his mess and we can move on with things. But now, I'm wondering if there is anyone capable of cleaning up after this man. And even supposing that one or two of his messes and mistakes are fixable, 4 years or 8 years or hell even 20 years isn't going to be enough time to fix stuff.

Take Iraq, for instance. We all want the soldiers home. But that means we have to evacuate not only our soldiers, but every American in Iraq and Afghanistan because without the military protection it's going to be open season. And ethically, can we leave behind any Iraqi or Afghan who gave us aid in the last years knowing that doing so is basically signing their death warrants. So, what's the other option? Our army stays in place and we keep bleeding resources into a country that doesn't want us there. Now, I'm no genius, but I'm not exactly stupid either, and I can't find a single answer that makes sense and no one else has proposed one either. Action or inaction, they're both bad choices, how do we decide which choice is the worst.

But, perhaps the worst thing the Bush administration has done is made the American people apathetic to the crimes, lies and other crap they've pulled. In previous administrations, people who broke laws or made mistakes that caused lives were shamed and screamed out of power, in this one, we accept it as a matter of course. There is no longer any power of public opinion. Bush and his pals are going to do what they want, how they want and they don't give a good god damn what anyone thinks. This is dangerous territory, folks. Public outcry is supposed to mean something in a democracy, and it just doesn't any more. What kind of message are we sending to the folks in Washington when we don't have the power as the people to stop our leaders from breaking our own laws? Furthermore, what message are we sending to the rest of the world? You know, all those other countries with whom we've been sharing our messages of "freedom" and "democracy" and "human rights?"

America's become a joke. The worst kind of joke, because the bullshit just goes on and on and there's no punchline in sight.

Too long...

It's been too long, I know. And perhaps no one's even reading any more, but whatever it is that occasionally grips me to regurgitate words for the world to see has suddenly seized me again. We'll see how long it lasts....

Still

still, i am, fixated
full of breathless longing
and anticipation
holding my heart tight
between my teeth
it's been too long now
and wanting becomes my only focus
turned inward
on shades only i can see
my hand eternally held out to you

Rats? What rats? I don't have any rats.....

Okay, it's been awhile. But I've been busy. What started as a single rat for Cassidy has ballooned into monumental proportions. Literally. We have taken in a total of 17 ratties. No, that's not a typo. Five of them were supposed to rehomed as they were rescues, but we've fallen in love with them and we decided to rehome only one. So currently, we have a total of 16 ratties.

I know you're all thinking I've lost my mind. And you're probably right. But there was a method to the madness. See, you'd be amazed at how many people get rats, and then decide they don't want them anymore and since our shelter doesn't take rats, and there are no rat rescues, what most often happens is that they take them to a pet store to be sold as "feeders." So, that's essentially like taking your kitten or puppy and deciding you don't want it anymore and feeding it to a snake.

Now, I don't have a problem with snakes. And snakes gotta eat, right. And sadly for rats, what snakes like to eat is rats. But, it seems like the ultimate betrayal to feed a pet to a predator. Especially in an enclosure which offers only one possible outcome for the rat.

Add that to the fact that I LOVE RATS and you have a recipe for madness. But it has to stop. So, in light of that, we rehomed one of the rescue girlies today. And I'm not allowed to go into the petstore anymore. And I'm not supposed to read the ads on craigslist from stupid people looking to rehome unwanted rats. Sigh.

So, I have to content myself with playing with my ratties, sewing warm and cozy hammocks for their cages, and cleaning and rearranging the cages. So, I should be able to fit this whole blogging thing back into my schedule.

Maybe I should change the name of the blog to Laura, Rattie Queen of the Universe...

Gotta Love Those Chicks

I'm a diehard Dixie Chicks fan. Have been for 10 years now. I've bought all their albums, seen them live, have the world tour dvd. But none of that prepared me for the power of the documentary "Shut Up and Sing." Yeah, I finally got to see it. The disadvantage of living in hickville is that they don't show movies like that up here. So, it's out on dvd. And Jamie and I finally rented it today. And OH MY FUCKING GOD...it's amazing.

We're all familiar with the story, at least those of us who haven't lived under a rock for the last three years are familiar with the story. How America's sweethearts went from biggest selling country group to hated media targets over 11 words that every one seems to agree with these days. So, okay, you might think what else can be added to the experience of the media frenzy. But, oh, it's so much more.

First of all, it's a beautiful demonstration of free speech in America. And media hypocrisy in America. But, more than that, it's a demonstration of togetherness and sisterhood that has been so lacking in the American awareness since this idiot president took office. It shows the fear that we, as liberals and moderates, felt when speaking out against this huge right wing conservative spin machine. And it highlights the bravery of these women, who were willing to speak out, even knowing that continuing to do so would irreparably damage their careers.

And let's face it people, it takes balls to stand next to someone who is targeted by the crazy conservatives and say, yeah, we support our friend, our sister. And to do it so publicly when their careers and some might even suggest their safety were on the line. It's not like there were large groups of people agreeing with them. We that agreed were few and far between and it sure as hell wasn't our voices that were being heard.

So, if you haven't seen it, go out and see it. If you haven't heard their latest album, which is so achingly beautiful, go buy it. Bravery like that should be rewarded.

Call Me The Crazy Rat Lady

Okay, so we went back to the pet store looking for a larger cage for our three boys. Because, of course, a cage big enough for one rat is not a cage big enough for three rats. While the pet shop didn't have any larger cages, they did have two beautiful larger siamese rats. Rats that had been pets, but were now being sold as "feeders." Now, I like snakes. I even understand that snakes need food. But, I have a hard time with the idea of feeding pets to snakes. Plus, putting a rat into a snake's cage so the snake can kill the terrified creature seems unsporting to me. Now, in the wild, the rat has the chance to escape and it's more fair. However, in a terrarium, there is no escape, so even if the snake isn't hungry the rat has no where to go until the snake decides to make the rat lunch.

But, I digress. So, of course I bought the beautiful feeder boys. And they are huge. Two handers. They have been christened Niblet and Squish. And the names are self explanatory.

So, then, off we went to the feed store which carries larger cages and we bought a large two story cage, plus accessories, then headed home to set the boys up. Well, we soon realized that the larger cage would accomodate about 4 rats comfortably and the smaller cage would house two rats comfortably. So, Jamie and I spent tonight dismantling the cages and putting them together into one monster of a cage that stands nearly five feet tall. I made a bunch of hammocks, and Jamie and I made them a lovely rope ladder. And now the rats live in lovely rattie mansion. Which is perched atop Cera's crate, because that's the only place we have for it. Cera is not entirely unhappy with the situation because it gives her a legitimate reason to lay underneath the cage and stare in hunger.

So, five rats out of "hey, let's get Cassidy a rat." Sigh...so, I'm not going to the pet store anymore...we just don't have the room.