Operation "Kitty Rescue"

So there we were, one Sunday afternoon, my boyfriend, one of my best gal pals and I, riding our bikes in a vast provincial park, enjoying the warm weather and great company. We have this one route we really like where we bike a few miles in the woods to a beach on a large lake.

On our way back, we spotted what, from afar, looked like a rabbit, hopping across the bike path. As we got closer, we realized it was a kitten. A very small, very young kitten, alone in a huge forest. We looked at each other and realized we had to try and rescue the little critter or it would not survive for very long.

We got off our bikes and tried to approach it but it immediately bolted into the woods. We tried to track it down but to no avail. So we came back to our bikes to deliberate our next move. After a few moments, we spotted kitty a little further down the path. This time we tried a more stealth approach but, again, as soon as one of us got close, it ran away into the woods.

We searched through tall grass and dense bushes, wading through swamp-like damp earth, looking for this terrified little creature, so out of place in this setting. After our second failed attempt, we stood on the path, unable to leave, but not quite knowing what to do next. We suspected it would make its way back to the path, so we waited, and it did.

The boyfriend suggested we try one more time before giving up. Kitty was now on the bike path, running up a hill as fast as its miniscule body would allow. My boyfriend cautiously pursued it. It ran into the woods once again but the boyfriend had it in his line of sight. My best friend and I approached the wooded area with caution.

This is when we got into military ops mode and decided to triangulate, and close in on the little critter. As we got closer and closer, it ran past me, but somehow the best friend got behind it, as it was running back towards me and the boyfriend came up the side which made kitty freeze in place. Bingo. Best friend picks up kitty.

We immediately make our way back to our bikes and wrap kitty in a towel to keep it warm, all the while wondering how this vulnerable creature made it out here in the middle of nowhere. We shuddered at the thought that it was purposely dropped off in the woods because it was unwanted. But it's possible.

Anyhoo, we make it back to the car and my best friend and I are trying to decide who should take it home. Ultimately, we decided kitty should come with me and the boyfriend as the best friend already has a 16-year-old cat at home and we weren't sure how it would react to another cat.

Ironically, earlier in the day, as we lounged on the beach, we spoke about pets and I had said I 'd probably wait at least a few years before getting another cat, after having to put down my beloved Phoebe last August which was, quite frankly, devastating. I guess the Universe had other plans.

The next day, we brought kitty to the vet. Turns out our rescue was in pretty good shape considering its ordeal. No fleas, ticks or ear mites. It was dehydrated so they administered some fluids. The vet figured kitty might have been out there for about three days or so, and had it not been found, would probably not have lasted much longer.

We were also informed that the provincial park we were in is often used as a dumping ground for unwanted puppy and kitten litters, even exotic pets like iguanas and snakes. I don't know how people who do that can sleep at night. Anyway... we're not sure how kitty got there considering where we found her is uninhabited for miles.

Turns out our little feline is a girl. We named her Romy. She's incredibly sweet and loving, and we're  absolutely thrilled to have her as the newest member of our family.

Wanna be my "Crack Spirit Guide"?

I love it when I stumble upon a gem of a new TV show. I'd seen a commercial for HBO series Girls and was intrigued. It looked kinda funny. So one night when perusing our On Demand service,  I suggest to the boyfriend that we try out this new series.

Holy f*cking crap. It is SO f*cking good. It's like Sex and the City but with better writing and real people. Lena Dunham is the creator/star/writer/director of this show.

This girl, she's amazing, which kinda makes me feel bad about myself, 'cause she's 26, ridiculously talented and has her own kickass tv show, but whatever. I'm reaping the benefits of her talent by being thoroughly entertained. "Crack Spirit Guide" - that's comedy gold right there.

If you haven't seen this show, you must watch it. The people cast in it look like, well, people you and I would know. They're not all statuesque models living in impossibly expensive New York apartments with a wardrobe worth millions.

Nope, these are your typical 20-somethings searching for meaning and identity in what can sometimes be a shitty f*cking world. However, this show never strays into melodrama. It's quirky, funny and refreshingly honest.

Lena has now officially been placed on my girl crush list along with Tina Fey. HBO must renew this series. It's too good not to continue, and they should also pay me to write reviews. Just sayin'.

Oh clothing tag, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways...

Why is it that clothing companies sew tags that feel like sandpaper into their clothes? This material rests against our SKIN, people. WTF? I admit it, I'm a full-fledged taggist. I hate tags and have paid the price.

Just yesterday, I went swimming in a new bikini top. I had forgotten to cut the tags off and it distracted me from fully enjoying the activity. So, once we got home, I pulled out my scissors and thought I was carefully removing the collection of multiple tags on the inside of the top. Once I was done, I looked in horror at my lovely new bikini top. I had somehow punctured it with my scissors and there was now a gaping hole where I had removed those nasty tags.

This has happened more than once. I have a lovely shirt I had to sew back together after removing a tag. If I wanted a skin exfoliant, I'd use a bath product. I wouldn't have it sewn into my clothes.

I though I'd found the mother of all sewing tools when I finally realized what some strange looking hook was for - it was a stitch remover. Ah-HA! I could safely remove tags without ruining my clothes! This will revolutionize my entire life, thought I to myself.

But not all tags are created equal. Oh no. Some are sewn right into the seam of a garment and the only choice you have is to carefully cut away what you can with a pair of scissors and hope for the best, like in the case of my bikini top, and a brand new shirt I recently bought. Except I didn't cut a hole in the shirt. I did, however, obsess about the feel of the material on my skin where I had cut the tag for, like, an entire f*cking day.

I ruined two tank tops by essentially ripping them apart to remove what was left of tags I had cut. Even the leftover tags were driving me crazy. Now there's a hole on the side of each tank, and they still feel weird. They'll be relegated to the general use household rag category. 

Perhaps my skin is ultra-sensitive and I can't tolerate what the majority of people consider normal. Would it be so hard to print washing instructions right into the material of the garment? Can't we eliminate tags altogether? Wouldn't that be good for the environment or something?

I can't tell you the utter joy I feel when putting on a tag-free garment. The softness, the smoothness... And I don't have to wreck a piece of clothing by hacking it apart to remove uncomfortable little squares of material that drive me to delirium because they're so f*cking ITCHY or they downright hurt by STABBING MY SKIN.

So, fashion world, here's a little suggestion: no more tags. Period. And if this continues, I'll start walking around naked. Ok, maybe just in my house, when no one's watching, not even my boyfriend. But it will be in protest! So THERE.

G-strings, hamsters and global warming

I realized yesterday I've become one of those girls, you know, the ones whose G-string pops up over their low-waist pants every time they sit down or bend over. Yep. That's me.

I've managed, however, to avoid the full-on plumber's butt 'cause, I mean, I have standards. They're pretty low (waisted) ha! but not trailer trash low. More like upper middle class suburban pot dealer low. Not that I deal pot, 'cause I don't, Mr. Policeman. (They're watching me.)

I bought a couple pairs of jeans at American Eagle the other day and got their AE Rewards card, so I get points whenever I buy stuff there, and I also get 15% off purchases during the entire month of my birthday. Man, these guys know how to turn you into a consumer whore 'cause you know I'm gonna eat that shit up and be there EVERY DAY of my birthday month. Suckers.

Did you know hamsters eat their babies? I thought of this as I was pondering how much I dislike menstruation. Go figure.

Know what I hate? When you get a flavored Starbucks latté and all the sweet stuff sinks to the bottom. It tastes pretty good until you get to those last few sips. Then, your face contorts as an unexpected onslaught of syrupy flavoring overwhelms your taste buds. It's gross. Starbucks, please fix this.

Why do people get headaches when it rains? They say it's because the pressure in the air shifts or something. But aren't we always under pressure, you know, 'cause of gravity?

If a fart is silent, does anybody hear? Like those dog whistles that only dogs can hear.

With about 7 billion people on the planet, why haven't we suffocated from our own gaseous emanations?  I mean, with that many people, someone's farting every second of every day. It's like the cows and their methane.

That shit is so toxic, it's causing global warming, mostly so we can scarf down Big Macs. If fast food didn't exist, there would be less cows, and therefore, less methane, leading to less greenhouse gases causing a reduction in global warming. Holy shit, did I just solve global warming? I ROCK.