Random questions about life

Why is sitting in front of a computer all day so bloody tiring?

Why do cats line up to use a litter box 30 seconds after you clean it?

One of my closer friends programs her cell with different ringtones for different callers. When I call, the phone plays the theme from The Exorcist. Should I be offended?

Why do men seem to find a neglectful woman a turn-on?

Why do I stay in Texas even though I particularly hate hot weather?

I haven't visited my mother in a long time as most of my weekends are spent doing unmentionable things with DD. Will I go to Bad Daughter Hell?

Will I ever be able to escape The Money Pit and find a nice cheap condo or duplex?

The incredible journey, Chester-style

One reason I haven't posted any new, self-serving rubbish here the last couple of days is that I've spent my after-school hours searching for a lost cat. Chester is a scrawny, FIV-positive cat from the shelter who I brought home a few months ago to treat for ringworm (I have an odd, 100% immunity to ringworm fungus). Like other unadoptables, I ended up keeping him. He's a quiet boy, not demanding.

Last week he somehow ventured into the back yard when I was at work. I am guessing my new lodger let him out; he is nice enough but not the sharpest eyebrow pencil on the cosmetics counter. Later in the day, I realized Chester was outdoors and brought him in, observing that his day out seemed to have helped his chronic sniffle. He didn't seem interested in leaving the back yard so I put a collar and ID tag on him, and let him out.

The first few days were fine. Chester spent about half his time outdoors with Smokey, the 19-year old tabby who "runs" the back yard; the rest of the time he came indoors and camped in his bed. But sometime on Sunday he got out.

I searched the back alleys Monday evening, then called Pamela the pet psychic the next day. She reported back that he wasn't too far away, just a few doors down northwest. So I spent Tuesday evening exploring the area, but no Chester.

Today I spent most of the day thinking that some harm had come to Chester and I should never let him out. I finally called the city Animal Control facility, who said that I would have to come look for him. Since Animal Control makes no effort to pick up strays, and Chester would have run from them anyhow, I decided not to go. (Also, had I gone into the viewing area at Animal Control, I would have ended up pulling/adopting every death row stray I could fit into my car.)

Not wanting to come home to another Chester-less Chez Melina, I stayed at work cranking out GetaLife press release templates. Finally I headed home, already beginning to snivel at the realization that Chester was most probably gone forever.

But then my phone rang, and it was a woman saying she'd found a dirty orange cat on her porch, and was it mine, so I said yes and went to her house some six blocks from mine (northwest of me, like Pamela said!) and claimed a hungry stinky Chester. So I'm happy again, and Chester had a big dinner of $1.39 a can Wellness cat food like I promised him. But he ain't going out any more.

I kissed a girl

Not in a long time, if truth be told. I think it was about 20 years ago. But when surfing earlier today, I noticed that a song called "I Kissed a Girl" had recently become popular.

I immediately thought "Oh, crap," thinking that someone had done a terrible remake of the Jill Sobule song from 1995, but thankfully that was not the case.

Perhaps I should try humming the 1995 song next time I'm lusting after the petite blonde in my office. She finally returned from her honeymoon. I wish she'd skipped the tan; I liked her better pale. Sigh.

Anyway, for those of you who missed Jill Sobule's song from around 1995, here it is in all its delightful kitchiness. Sorry I haven't figured out how to center it:

Condemned to a wet kitchen

The nice a/c repairman has come and gone. He was hoping that cleaning the a/c drain lines with co2 would help, but it didn't. The drip resumed less than an hour after he left.

The real problem lies with the positioning of the a/c system itself. Instead of giving it some breathing room underneath, it's sitting right on the floor of the attic. This means you only have a 3-4 inch gap for a drip pan. Combined with the lack of angle...therein lies the problem.

According to my trusty repair guy, the proper fix would be to raise the entire a/c system off the attic floor. But this would probably cost me about $1,500, which I don't have. Well, I'd have it if I skipped a mortgage payment I suppose. I think it's time for another eBay frenzy.

Will my a/c repairman ever forgive me?

After two weeks of unsuccessfully dealing with an overflowing a/c drip pan, which resulted in the loss of a big chunk of my kitchen ceiling, my date with the a/c repairman has finally arrived.

I'm dreadfully embarrassed at the state of Chez Melina. My new lodger can't seem to put anything away, so the place looks like a yard sale explosion. I can't even clean the floor properly as there's not enough of it visible. Suddenly I'm desperate to sell this shack and find a nice, secluded, cheap condo somewhere. With the exception of a cat or two (two max), I want to be alone.

Well, not all the time. Earlier today, I finally mustered the spine to ask DD about our relationship. Turns out it's all cool. I'd forgotten he's headed out of town in a few days to photograph a sailing event, and he's working nonstop to get through the latest projects at the day job.

He was, however, grateful for my concern and had been feeling occasional twinges of guilt about my nose collision. So bringing it up turned out to be a good idea. I felt kind of like a magician's assistant - even if you're not in charge, sometimes you have to chase down the rabbit and return it to your boss.