You Can't Take Me Anywhere

I believe I've mentioned before that my husband plays cricket with a group of local mens. They are quite passionate about the sport and host an annual cricket match between a Nashville team and a British contingent. Each time the English group comes over for a tournament there is a semi-formal dinner/reception hosted by a socially prominent member of the Nashville cricket club. I say "semi-formal" because although evening gowns and tuxedos aren't required attire, I can assure you this is most definitely a pinkies-up type of affair. Big ass house, valet parking, fully catered dinner, open bar... you get the idea. And if you're thinking that this sounds like my type of scene then you have obviously never met me and the sweatpants that I wear everywhere I don't get paid to work.

I don't know what the opposite of a social butterfly is, but I am it. I like to sit in corners by myself. It takes a very deliberate, painful effort on my part to interact with strangers. I am notoriously bad with names. I'll meet someone named Charles and within thirty seconds I'm calling them Wilhelm. I don't know how I manage to do it. It must be some sort of gift from above designed to ensure I remain a social pariah for the rest of my days. And just when I think I have embarrassed myself in every way possible I find a new, more innovative way to bring shame to me and, in this case, my husband. Case in point: a recent cricket reception with the British squad:

Me: That was a good dinner!

The Mister: Yes, it was. I'm glad you liked it. I didn't think you liked Indian food.

Me: I don't, really. It tends to make me gassy. But that's probably better discussed at another time.

TM: Yes, preferably when I'm far, far away.

Me: Eh, whatever. Anyway, where did Earl go?

TM: Who's Earl?

Me: The dude I was sitting next to during dinner.

TM: Uh, you were sitting next to Jimmy.

Me: No, I was sitting next to Earl. I paid special attention when we were introduced. I wanted to make sure I knew the freaking name of the person I was sitting next to during dinner. I may only be able to remember three names at a time, but I know that I got his name right. Anyway, he was really nice and we had a good conversation!

TM: I know who you were sitting next to. His name is Jimmy.

Me: Quit yanking my chain, buttmonkey! I know his name is Earl because that's how were were introduced and I called him that all during dinner and he answered me each time. If that weren't his name he would have said something. So quit trying to make fun of me because I know this time I got the name right.

TM: Are we talking about the same person?

Me: He was the tall guy in the blue shirt sitting to my left during dinner. Nice looking guy... strawberry blonde hair.

TM: That's Jimmy.

Me: Give it a rest. He was introduced to me as "Earl something-or-other." I KNOW it.

TM: Oh... oh. Ha!

Me: What?

TM: Did you two have a nice conversation?

Me: Yes! We have the same birthday!

TM: Did you call him "Earl"?

Me: Duh, of course I did. That's his name.

TM: [snicker]

Me: He seemed quite entertained by me, if you'd like to know. Especially when I asked him what was shaking. I think he found my candor refreshing!

TM: HA!

Me: Oh, whatever. What's so funny?

TM: His name isn't Earl. He is an earl. His name is James, Earl of [somewhere-in-England].

[...]

Me: Oh, sweet Jesus.

TM: Ha! Ha ha!

[...]

Me: Do you know the coat closet in the library?

TM: Yeah, why?

Me: Come get me before you leave.

TM: What are you going to be doing in there?

Me: Lying on the floor in a fetal position sucking on a bottle of tequila.

I Wield Some Mean Canned Goods

Earlier today I noticed that Maggie the cat's left eye wasn't quite right. It was red and the little internal eyelid thingy was halfway covering her eye. (What's that thing called? In reptiles and amphibians it's called a nictitating membrane. Is it the same for cats? Clearly that biology education has paid off handsomely!) She's had that happen before, but the vet gave me some ointment to put in her eye and it cleared right up. Unfortunately I no longer have that ointment, so after keeping a close eye on her today and noting that her eye didn't appear to be getting any better I decided to take her to the emergency vet clinic.

Shortly after arriving I began to feel like maybe I'd jumped the gun. I saw a dog who had been attacked by bees, one who was on the losing end of a skirmish with a lawnmower, and one poor little fella who had suffered a stroke and could barely stand on his own feet. I dejectedly surveyed the carnage while Maggie rolled around in her carrier, enthusiastically batting around her catnip mouse.

Once my name was called and I took Maggie in to see the vet I immediately began to apologize. I said I was pretty sure I'd overreacted and normally I would just swing by the vet tomorrow, but I had jury duty and I figured they wouldn't be too sympathetic to my cat's optical needs if I decided I had to leave court. I didn't want to wait until Tuesday and let a potential infection develop, but if they wanted me to go so they could move on to the more serious injuries I would totally understand. The vet said that wasn't necessary, so I stood and stewed in my guilt while he took a gander at Maggie's eye. He asked all the questions about vaccinations, blah blah animal stuff, and said that it might have been caused by a minor trauma of some sort.

I should probably explain here that Maggie, as sweet, lovable, and wonderful as she is, has all the grace of a three-legged camel. I have never seen a clumsier animal. She will stretch with a little too much gusto and roll off the chair she's lounging on or get so excited running around the house that she skids and crashes into a wall because she can never stop in time. So when the vet mentioned the "minor trauma" diagnosis I chuckled and said that she'd probably walked into a door or something. As soon as the words left my mouth I heard the echoes of stories I'd heard about battered women trying to protect their abusers by blaming the cause of their cuts and bruises on falling down stairs or walking into a door. I couldn't believe I'd made that stupid comment, so I blurted out, "I promise I don't beat my cat!" The vet just looked at me for a moment, furrowed his brow, nodded, and went about his business.

Funky-eyed Maggie and I left shortly thereafter, complete with some eyedrops that she is going to LOVE. I imagine the veterinary staff called the Cat Protective Services hotline as soon as we left.

On a related note, how cool would it be to work in the disciplinary division of the Animal Protective Services that exists only in my mind? There's no way I could be one of the people who actually rescues neglected and abused animals, because I would be reduced to a sobbing snotty mess if I saw that kind of bullshit firsthand. But if there were a group that doled out the punishment to the fuckheads who do that stuff? Oh hells yeah, where do I sign up?!?! I'd tie the offenders to a chair and tell them that they were going to get a beatdown for a few minutes and to shut the hell up about it because I didn't feel like listening to their crap, and after I was done I'd throw a can of pork and beans at their head and then run like hell.

That would be awesome.

What I Did Tonight, or Why My Cats Will Hate Me

You are probably wondering how I spent my evening. I can't say that I blame you, because my life is pretty exciting. In between the cat-feeding, the television-watching, the salt shaker-filling, and the walking around trying to figure out where that other tan sock went-ing, it's one nailbiting moment after another here at Casa Sparkles.

I did try to catch a little bit of Supernanny when it came on, because for reasons I will never understand that show is like crack to me. I don't have children, I don't like children, I don't even want to be around children (I'm a real peach, huh?), but I so enjoy watching the parenting shenanigans that are chronicled on that show. There are few things I enjoy more than sitting in pompous judgment of complete strangers in distress.

For the most part these poor overwhelmed parents are battling situations caused by some bad habits that have snowballed out of control and now they're unsure how correct the problem. I can relate to that, as I think most people can. But every once in a while there's a priceless nugget of complete idiocy, and those are the moments I live for.

"I just don't understand why Little Danny doesn't want to go to sleep at bedtime. I'm at the end of my rope!"

"Did you feed him before bed?"

"Yes, I always give him a box of Oreos and a two-liter of Mello Yello. Is that bad?"

Unfortunately Supernanny only occupies one hour of my Monday evening life, so I was forced to find other places to focus my laser-sharp attention. Naturally I began looking for Halloween costumes for my cats. I whittled the superfab selections down to three, which I present to you here:

Birthday Cake Kitty:


Princess Kitty:


Pirate Kitty:
I still haven't made up my mind, but I'm leaning toward Princess Kitty and Pirate Kitty. Whatever decision I make though, one thing is clear: I am a menace to society and must be stopped for the good of civilization.

I'm Incapable of Avoiding Humiliation

For some reason I got the old Eddie Murphy-does-Buckwheat skit from Saturday Night Live stuck in my head recently. I tried everything I knew to get it out, up to and including the dreaded "It's A Small World" approach. If you've still got something buried in your head after singing about how it's a world of laughter and a world of tears, you're in some deep shit and you aren't getting out any time soon.

So there I was in my office, rooting around in a filing cabinet, belting out my own personal version of Fee Tines A Mady when I looked up and saw the owner of the company standing there looking at me as if I were wearing a diaper on my head. I'm here to tell you it's tough to talk your way out of something like that.

On the plus side, at least he wasn't there to hear my rocking rendition of Wookin Pa Nub. I'm focusing on my successful aversion of that crisis. I'm trying to keep positive about this, because at this point that's all I've got.