catheroominations

First, to celebrate our first date two years ago today, Matte and I are going to see this:

Then, as a thank you from Shawn and Rachel for watching their house/dog/cats last weekend, they’re treating us to this:

How about you? What are you doing today?”

Last weekend Matte and I got out our set of 120 dominoes we got from his nephews as a wedding gift (the only item we registered for at Target).

I’m pretty new to the dominoes thing, although I did play it with Matte and his parents last Christmas (and lost miserably). When Matte and I started playing last Saturday, I won like five hands (do they call dominoes games “hands?” I dunno.) in a row. I was quite pleased with myself. When we started the next game, Matte put down his doubles tile and I looked in my tiles to find something to play on it. I had nothing, so I had to draw a tile. And another. And another. And still another. And one more. And then again. And again. and again. Until the thirty-second tile I drew was playable. I drew thirty-two tiles on one play, giving myself a total of 39 tiles in my hand before I had a play. Now, I’m not sure we’re playing right, because I think there should be a limit to the number of dominoes one can draw before the other opponent lets them cheat or something. But I eventually drew something useful, and having more than quintupled the number of tiles in my hand, I had plenty of dots to choose from throughout the game.

So, guess who won this hand?

No, not me.

Matte won. But he cleared his last tile, and only got 19 points from my hand. Nineteen measly points. That, my friends, is what they call strategy.

My driver’s license photo improves with (my) age.
Before (photo taken in 1994 and recycled in 2003):

Bad hair, excessively round face, and rounded back and shoulders. I look a bit like a turtle. But, at least this guy would like me.

After (changing to my new name requires changing my photo too):

Better, yes?

Today in my continuous quest to change my last name, I took a trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles. And I learned my lesson the last time, when I went to the Social Security Administration Office to get my new card. This time, I had an appointment before I showed up at the office.

And the appointment? It worked like a charm. Fifteen minutes, in and out. Awesome. I even got to take a new picture for my license so I won’t look like I’m 18 anymore.

I had a weird thought though, when the clerk had me press my thumb into the scanner to check my fingerprint. The machine needed a few tries to scan the tiny lines on my thumb. For just an instant, I thought, “Oh, she’s going to tell me my thumbprint doesn’t match the one on file for me. Like someone stole my identity, and my one-of-a-kind thumbprint. I imagined her saying I’m sorry, you’re not Catheroo. I can’t process your license for you.” But then, just like that, it recognized me.

Whew. That was close.

(Note to readers: this is uncensored. And these are my honest feelings.)

DearLook, you…you…no words can describe what you are,

So, you targeted my dad this time. I won’t ask why because there is no reason good enough. Nor was there reason to attack Julie, John, Val, or Jamie. With each of them, I tried to find a reason. I came up empty every time.

First, there was Julie, a new mom to a cute baby boy, and you infected her while she was pregnant. Have you no shame at ALL? A mother/wife/friend/aunt/sister/daughter, creating a sweet new life inside her and you poison her. With an innocent baby RIGHT THERE. She tried to kill you with doses and doses of chemo, staying positive and not letting you turn her into a bitter, resentful person because of what you put her through. But you showed no sympathy whatsoever. Instead, you took her. More than 600 people came to say goodbye to her. Did you feel at all guilty? No, of course not. FUCK YOU.

And what about my ex-boyfriend John? Just when he was newly married and the happiest he’d ever been? How long had you festered in his bones? Were you there when he and I went skiing in the 90s and his hip was hurting? Was that you? Did you just lie there waiting to strike until the best time of his life? Well kiss my ass, because despite all the chemo he had to endure to try and kill you, and despite the fears of becoming sterile, he still was able to create a new life…a baby boy. John’s memory lives on in that little boy, and in our hearts. FUCK YOU.

And little Val. How the hell did you find her? Stage IV Lung cancer in a woman who never smoked a day in her life? She didn’t party, or drink, or even eat unhealthy foods. She was the most sincere person with a huge heart of gold. She’d never hurt anyone. Ever. But you struck her body with a force so fierce that no one could handle, let alone a woman just under 5 feet tall. She couldn’t fight you, and she lost. She was my friend. FUCK YOU.

Jamie was there for me when Julie, John, and Val died. In fact, we were dating during some of that time. He consoled me on the loss of my dear friends at the hands of YOU. And then. Then you worked your way into Jamie’s abdomen. At first, you acted like an ulcer, or just a bad stomach ache. But then the sign…the enlarged lymph node near his collarbone. I recognized you right away. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew it was you. He tried to fight you. Chemo, surgery, radiation, he did it all. But you are a relentless enemy and he finally grew too weary to fight. You won. Again. FUCK YOU.

Four times you won.

There are four people that I loved who I cannot talk to anymore because of YOU. I fucking hate you.

And yet, you persist.

This time, you’ve found my dad. Again.

Fuck.

My dad?

Do you not recall that you’ve been there before? In the prostate? Well, back then he cut you out and told you to fuck off and die, asshole.

Is that why you’re back? Revenge? Could you not have invaded someone evil? A terrorist maybe, or a mass murderer? The doctor got you out of his colon..most of you. But not before you spread your evil nastiness to other places, you sneaking, slithering snake. So now he needs chemo for six months. Followed by radiation for six weeks. And you couldn’t give a shit, could you? Do you enjoy this? Knowing that you are not welcome ANYWHERE. Knowing that everywhere you go, people want you gone. Dead. People will allow themselves to be cut open, just to rid themselves of your despicable presence. This time, you’d better look out, you fuck. Because my dad can kick your ass. And when there are times when he may not feel so much like kicking your ass, I will remind him of what you did to my friends. What you did to my grandmother, for whom I am named, when my mom was just 10 years old. You took my dad’s wife’s mother, and for even more reasons than just that one, my dad will not let you win this time. So just give up. Christ, can’t you just STOP?

If there was a way for you to become something human, someone that could walk on two legs, have a family you loved, and friends you adored…I would find you and I would torture your family. And I would abuse your friends. I would make you watch this, so you could see what you do to people. And I would physically hurt you more than anyone has ever been hurt before. And this, you would feel. You would suffer greatly. Because this is what you do. You ruin lives. But I don’t have to tell you this.

You are a sadistic piece of shit asshole motherfucker. Stay the hell away from people I love.

I hate you.

Today I felt like blowing bubbles. Daphne used to love these catnip bubbles we have but they lost their bubble-ness from lack of use. I found a tiny bottle of bubbles (that’s fun to say: bottle of bubbles, emphasize the t’s and it sounds really cute) left over from my bridal shower and started puffing at the little dipper thingee.

As soon as the bubbles started spewing, Daphne was fixated. She hopped up and tried to grab them in her front paws. She swatted at them. She meowed for more, when they had all dissipated in the air (or popped on the floor).

But as with everything else, she eventually grew tired of it and went to take a nap.

But I wanted to blow more bubbles and I wanted to get a shot of the bubbles emerging from the wand. That was easier said than done.

I set up the tripod and the camera, and tried a few shots. Either I was out of focus, or I waited too long to blow, and missed the shot entirely, or I had a dud scoop of bubble juice in the wand.

Eventually, though, with Matte’s help in focusing the lens on the right subject (me), I got this shot. It’s part of the 7 Days group I’m participating in on flickr.

Next time 7 Days comes around, you should play. It’s fun. This is my second time participating in it and it really makes me think about what to take photos of. Plus, I get to meet new flickr friends. You can view the rest of this week’s shots here.

Friday is the last day…what shall I capture myself doing?

I worked for 12 hours today. TWELVE hours.

I drank two heart-palpitating venti cappuccinos today. TWO.

Until FDA Audit Week of Oh Seven, I had never had a venti anything, and I nearly never worked a 12-hour day. Today’s added dose (or four) of caffeine and extra hours that were manditorially (is that a word?) added to my Monday got me through the completion of our 5-day audit by the Food & Drug Administration of the U. S. of A.

And we passed, whew! Quite an accomplishment. And I would raise my bottle to that, except I am too tired to lift it. So I will stick this bendy straw into my beer and say: CHEERS!

And goodnight.