I went in to CVS this morning to pick up a birthday card for a classmate, and I came out with 7 cards and a king-sized kit kat bar. Damn card organizer. I blame it. (With the exception of the kit kat bar. That is not the card organizers fault. That is my torts class' fault). Anyway, I was thinking to myself, as I waffled between two cards for my friend, "hey- I could get both, and put whichever one I don't use in my card organizer for next time!" And it was all downhill from there. I found a couple cards that my sister would love, good ones for people's upcoming birthdays... I doubled my amount of unused cards that need to be organized in one day. I am a marketers dream.
On my way to class moments later, I was passed by a guy walking a huge doberman pinsher on one side and a minuature pinsher (or minsher pinsher as I call them) on the other. It was like Dr. Evil and Mini-Me. I tried not to laugh as I passed this guy (after all, he was walking two dobermans), but I was thinking that he looked ridiculous with these two dogs. Almost as ridiculous as I looked with 7 cards and a kit kat bar.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
I know I've been missing for a while, and my loyal fan (hi Mel!) has probably been wondering where I've been. To celebrate my return, I thought I would write a (hopefully) non-law school post. Maybe it will be good enough to get me linked to my sister's blog.
So mom got me this Hallmark card organizer to help separate the piles of cards she seems to think I have laying around the house. It's very nice, and almost as worthless as extremely expensive receipe box she got me last Christmas. It turns out that I only have about 5 unused cards, and the organizer came with 3 of those. It makes me want to acquire cards so that they can be organized. This is how Hallmark gets you. They convince you that you will be considered the most put-together and thoughtful person on the block because you always remember every little occasion (have you seen those commercials? Advertisting brilliance) and then shame you into buying unneccessary cards because your organizer sits empty. It reminds me of my favorite advertising ploy: create a problem and then offer a product to fix it. No one even knew they were sufferers until you came along and told them how to get better. Genious.
My sweet little Tobey (see above, isn't she cute?) has been a model litter box user ever since we moved to MA. It makes me wonder what it was about my old apartment/roommates/city that made her want to wet the bed. Still, she wouldn't be Tobey if she hadn't developed a new quirk in the mean time. Tobey has decided, after a year and a half of never doing this, to become my morning alarm clock. Apparently she has finally learned that I get up at approx. 6:00 am every day. She has made it her mission in life to be sure that I don't sleep in by howling the howl of a dying animal in my face at 5:58. If I hide my face from her, she chews on my hair. It's hard to be angry at such a thoughtful kitty, although I manage to do it every morning at 5:58am. As annoying as this is on work days, it is even more annoying on the weekends, because Tobey becomes more and more concerned that I am sleeping in as time passes on a Saturday morning. She begins wailing promptly at 5:58. I can usually calm her down by saying good morning and rubbing her until she lays down again. We sleep peacefully until her snooze alarm goes off at 6:18. She wails. I rub. At 7:00 she bites my hair and puts her wet nose on my eyelid. I get up and go to the bathroom. I check her food bowl to be sure this isn't a cry for help (it never is). We go back to bed. At 7:30 she stands on my chest and meows stinky cat food breath in my nostrils. I surrender and get up.
I can't get her to stop. I've tried ignoring her, I've tried tossing her off the bed. I've tried locking her out of the room (this results in wailing, pushing against the door and putting her little white-toed paws under the door as if reaching for me. It breaks my heart every time). I've tried rubbing her. I've tried holding her (she doesn't like that, she wants me to get up, not her to lay down). Basically, I have tried everything except the Patrick method, which consists of holding her up in the air until she squirms enough to fall back onto the bed and run away. I think this is mean. I try to tell him so, but he invariably falls back asleep before I can get in a good chastisement. I think he plans that.
All in all, she is really turned out to be a good cat. She loves to play, has never coughed up a hairball on the carpet, uses her litterbox and is kind to visitors. Now if only I could convince her that I have an alarm clock; what I need is a napping companion.