It wasn't just for kicks

Apparently I did not really explain WHY we shaved Zadie. It wasn't just so we could point and laugh. She had a little matted fur problem that we could not fix. We tried to brush her, but she can be a little jumpy, to say the least. The razor was our last resort. And now, even though she is not as pretty as she once was, she is just as sweet. Maybe even more sweet. She's being awfully cuddly and nice. But she might just be cold. She did lose a lot of fur (I wonder if they weighed her before or after the shaving . . .).

You've got to see this.

Words really can't adequately describe the new Zadie. In case you missed it, she got the lion. And a little Valentine's Day bandana. And she smelled like baby powder. Seriously. I didn't know cats could smell like that. But enough talk. Let's get to the good stuff (the photos).

True to form, Zadie went straight for the food bowl as soon as she got home from the vet. In her defense, she hadn't eaten in over 24 hours (since she was getting anesthesia, the vet said no food).


I'm not sure if Gary didn't visibly recognize Zadie or if she just smelled different or what, but Gary was very cautious around this "new" cat. Gary kept peeking around doorways and watching Zadie, but every time Zadie got too close, Gary hissed, poofed up her tail, and ran away.


Without her fur, you can definitely see the blubbery rolls on this cat. They weighed her at the vet's office, and she is a hefty 18 pounds, 8 ounces. They suggested she lose about four pounds. Do the math, people. That's a huge percentage (I didn't actually do the math, or I would tell you exactly what that percentage is. But I bet it's a lot.).

Who took mah fur? I can has fur back? Kthxbai.

Do you see what I see?

I put those silly Google ads on my sidebar and it has finally paid off. No, not in actual money. But in awesomeness. I don’t know if you can see the same ad that I can, so I am putting a screen shot of the ad I can see. Clearly it is the best ever. Except no one was supposed to know about those pics...

Shave and a Haircut... Definitely Not Two Bits

Guess what is happening today? Perhaps right this minute, as you read this? Our darling kitty is becoming a lion. Or more accurately, she is getting a lion. Not sure what I am talking about? Getting a lion is like getting a mullet or a bowl cut. Yes, now you’ve got it. We are shaving Zadie, by which I mean the vet is shaving Zadie, by which I mean the vet’s assistants are shaving Zadie. Pictures will come soon. She will have fur on her head and around her paws, and probably nowhere else. I wonder if she will still love us...

Guess what else is happening today? I am getting my hair cut. I know, I know, booooorrrriiiiing. But I had to mention it since I put it in the title. And FYI, the entire day’s hair/fur loss will not cost two bits, but more like 104 bits (dollah dollah bills, y’all). And Zadie is the lion’s share of that (get it? the LION’S share? Ha!!!). Forgive me; it’s early.

Harder Better Faster Stronger

For Christmas, I asked for a few sessions with a personal trainer, and I got them. Three of them. Last week I had my first appointment with my new trainer, Nicole. Since I have a gym membership and Nicole is not employed by the gym, the plan was that she would work up some kind of weightlifting-stretching-etc. routine for me to follow when I’m at the gym.

Despite barely being able to walk for three days after my first appointment (the squats and lunges very nearly killed me), I think I’m going to like this plan. I have a list of exercises, and I do them. No standing around in the gym wondering which mysterious piece of equipment I should attempt to navigate next. So far it’s all going well. Andrew has gone with me and done the same exercises, which is awesome. I’d like to think he’s there to motivate me, but he’s probably doing the routine to get himself in better shape. But it’s nice having him there. Who else would count for me and make sure I’m doing all the reps?

My next appointment with Nicole is in three weeks. I’m hoping that by then she sees some improvement. Send good exercisey thoughts my way, please. Working out is hard.

Hi Emo

This morning I got a request from my-best-friend-since-kindergarten Emily to update this so that she would have something to read. So here you go. I’m not convinced that this will be the most enlightening thing to read, but it might help pass the time.

Since I’m writing for her, I’m also going to write about her (aren’t you glad you requested an update now?). I’m going to use my preshus blog space to pimp her loft. Emily and her husband bought a hip urban loft in the crossroads district of KC. They need a renter. Do any of you know anyone in the metro area who is looking to rent a hip urban loft? Could it be you? Or one of your coworkers is looking to move, perhaps?

Emily, if you send me some pictures I will post them. And trust me, people, you’re gonna want to see it. It’s very fun. Reasonable rate. Nice balcony and fantastic landlords included.

Leave a little comment if you’re interested. Or just because.

Like he showered in Windex

Andrew just got back from a five-day bachelor party. (Yes, that’s right... No, really, it was five days... I know, that’s what I said... Uh huh... Uh huh... I completely agree.) He was in Salt Lake City, which is not where we live. It is not even the same time zone. So (keep up with me here) he was out of town. Standard operating procedure for out-of-town spouses says that the out-of-town spouse should give the stuck-at-home-feeding-the-cats spouse a phone call at least every other day. These don’t have to be long, rambling phone calls, just a simple “Hey, I haven’t broken any major bones while snowboarding. How are the cats?” kind of thing.

Let me tell you what I got. Thursday afternoon, I got a voicemail on my cell phone, which is sort of problematic in itself because Andrew knows (believe me, we’ve been over it) that if he wants to reach Megan during work hours, he must call Megan’s work phone. But I digress. Saturday morning, I called Andrew and left a nice little message and asked him to call me when he got a chance. To his credit, he returned my call promptly Saturday afternoon. We talked for ten minutes (TEN MINUTES!) and he says he’d better go because he needs to grab lunch before meeting back up with the guys. He says, see you tomorrow night! And I said, well, seeing as how your plane doesn’t land until almost midnight and it is a work night, I will probably be asleep.

And then when I woke up on Monday morning, there he was! Like magic!

But I hadn’t forgotten that over the course of FIVE DAYS we’d only talked for TEN MINUTES. Which, clearly, is not adequate. So of course I brought it up. I said that I didn’t feel like ten minutes was long enough, that I wished when he was out of town he would call a bit more, or talk for a bit longer. Fifteen minutes, maybe, or even twenty!

He looked me in the eye, paused just a second longer than necessary, and said, “I missed you too.”

A Little Trip to Tucson . . . the Photos

Look! We're in the desert! With cactuses!
(or is it "cacti"?)

Whoa! Look how big that thing is!
(that's what she said)

It's my adorable husband in the desert!

This one looks like asparagus!

Yikes!

This one's called the Three Amigos saguaro.
(Wherever there is injustice, you will find us.)

Water! In the desert!

Thank you, Jessie and Alex, for showing us around Tucson!

Project Uninspired

Normally I hesitate to write at work. Write for this, I mean. Obviously I have to write at work; it is a large part of my job. But today I am just not doing much, so the blog-writing has commenced. I’ve only been in my new position for a week and a half, and I’m still learning the ropes. (They’re not big on training here.) And today, my manager is out because his daughter is at the hospital getting some kind of tests done, and my co-editor is also out because her car is being fixed. Which leaves me to my lonesome and my lack of things to do.

So I’m writing about something I’ve been thinking about writing about (whoa, too many “abouts” in this sentence and I’m only halfway done) for awhile, but I haven’t yet written about it because I’m afraid it will be dull (because it has no story arc) or that you will think I am lame. That really makes you excited for this, doesn’t it? I can tell you are on the edge of your seat. No, wait! Don’t click away to another page! My Google Analytics page loves it when I get visitors!

Where was I? Oh yes, my potentially lame subject matter: The Project Runway fantasy game. It’s like fantasy football, sort of. Except no sports involved. Only Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn and their fabulous team of fashion designers. It works like this: I pick three designers to be on my team. I can change up my team each week. I earn points if any of my three designers does something noteworthy, like cry, get bleeped, win the challenge, get in a fight with another designer, have sewing machine troubles, etc. I lose points if anyone on my team loses the challenge and gets eliminated. It is different than fantasy football in that anyone in the country can have the same designers on her team.

I have a Project Runway team (I bet you didn’t see that coming, did you?) and after several weeks of episodes, I am realizing that I suck at this game. This is the first season I’ve ever really watched Project Runway. I’ve seen it before, but only the reruns Bravo shows constantly. After last night’s episode, I am in 2,723rd place. Sweet, huh? My team includes Ricky, Jillian, and Christian. I got 12 points in last night’s episode: -1 because they told Ricky his piece was poorly constructed, 2 points for Jillian having trouble with her sewing machine, 2 for Tim telling Jillian to “carry on,” 6 points for Christian winning the challenge, and 3 points for Christian getting bleeped three times (you can always count on Christian for this). The leaderboards show that the winning team this week included Christian, Chris, and Sweet P for a potential 25 points.

Why do I never pick the right team? If I came in first, I could win a Tim Gunn bobblehead! And who wouldn’t love one of those? So this a cry for help—if any of you watch Project Runway and have insight on who you think will win/cry/cuss/fight etc., let me know. I might even share my bobblehead with you.

Someone needs to ’fess up

So, faithful readers, which one of you was it? And why? We don’t get it. I guess it could be a joke? But why is it funny? Seriously. Megan and Andrew = Confused.

But I have gotten ahead of myself. Let me explain. About eight weeks ago (or maybe some other number of weeks; I actually have no concept whatsoever of how much time has passed), Andrew started getting Newsweek. Or rather, Adam Langhofer started getting Newsweek. At our address. And it just kept coming. And we just kept reading random Newsweek articles, even though we weren’t particularly interested in their subject matter.

But now, Adam Langhofer no longer gets Newsweek. And Andrew has read every article in our most recent issue five times. People, you can’t just dangle something in front of him and then snatch it away. That is just mean.

Who is dangling something? It is time to play, yes?

I have to assume that someone we know signed Andrew/Adam up because of the obvious hilarity of it all. Since pretty much everyone we know reads this blog (or knows about it at least, because come on, it’s not that interesting), or at least all of the funny people we know, I want a signed confession from whoever it was on my desk first thing in the morning. Oh, and would you mind explaining the joke?