A Loss

Yesterday afternoon, my Biggs went to cat heaven. While I'm not sure what happens to people after they die, I am absolutely positive that there is a cat heaven, where Biggs is now living with Kitten, Fluffy, and Boo. I imagine them trading stories about the misery they had to endure while living with me. I imagine them trading days of who gets to choose the entertainment. Mostly, I think of that artwork of the dogs playing poker, but with my cats (playing poker themselves, not dogs using cats as ante).

I love you, Biggs.

I still love you, Kitten, Fluffy, Boo, and Biggs.

I need a drink, and some time to catch up on my thoughts and photographs so I can post a proper eulogy.

Billing

Like everyone else around the world, GPOM and I are actively trying to figure out how to decrease some of our bills. We've reduced our Netflix to streaming content only, because my DVD player doesn't seem to work anymore. Figures. It's adorable and pink and girly. Also, the last movie I saw was Bridesmaids, and that was at the theatre. I simply don't have the patience to watch movies. Oh, I watched The Social Network in November sometime. That was good.

Anyway...I mention the Netflix because every so often when we go over bills, GPOM gets this look in his eye when he notices the TiVo bill. Now, I love my TiVo, I use it every single day, I can barely stand to watch on-time programming anymore, I've had it since 2005, and I think the fourteen dollars a month it costs is well worth it. I watch a lot of TV, folks. A LOT. And I am not ashamed.

So I spoke with TiVo today after looking at subscription rates on Ebay to see if I could lower the cost of the subscription. No such luck. Even though I saw someone selling a box with a ten-dollar subscription rate, I couldn't get anything lower.

Now I'm considering this: Get an upgraded TiVo box, keep the current monthly rate, upgrade the internet service to a higher speed, begin to use wireless networking to update TiVo (mine currently uses a landline connection), and get rid of the home phone, which costs about forty dollars each month.

Current:
TiVo - $13.95
Internet - $33.95
Phone - $40.00
TOTAL: $87.90

New thought:
TiVo - $13.95
Internet - $56.95
TOTAL: $70.90

OK, so about fifteen dollars less each month. But I love my home phone. I don't want to get rid of my home phone. Also, I have to factor in the cost of a new TiVo box. A quick glance tells me it's about one hundred dollars. Plus I'm noticing some wireless adapter which seems to be about twenty-five dollars. Let's say an initial investment of one hundred fifty dollars (shipping, you know). It would take ten months to come out even, before I see a savings at all. Now I'm seeing that the upgrade is HD, which may mean I have to buy HD for the cable as well. If memory serves, HD is an additional approximately fifteen dollars each month. Looks like I'll come out even.

Thoughts, you guys?

I Am Respecting Your Feelings

The other day was Valentine's Day, and let me tell you guys, I had a lovely day. I got roses the night before, which GPOM thoughtfully trimmed and arranged for me. (All the varying jobs he's had over the years come in handy around the house, and working for a florist means my cut flowers last longer than your cut flowers.) The next day I got a sentimental (well, for him) card and a black-pearl-and-diamond necklace. I love it. It's perfect, and I wear it every day despite it having the tiniest clasp I've ever seen. We broke open a bottle of Prosecco and toasted and generally enjoyed being around each other.

But earlier that day, I saw a post on my Facebook timeline that mentioned that maybe we lovers should be more sensitive to the feelings of those who lost someone, or is single, or is currently separated from their loved one. It was a gentle reminder, and I understood the sentiment. But because I am me, my reaction was

FUCK THAT.

If you'd like to be sensitive to every single person's feelings on any given day, good fuckin' luck with that. There are approximately two hundred "friends" on my Facebook. You think I can protect all of them? You think I care to? Sheesh, for most of those people I'm a strange memory from junior high, or that girl in college who could actually roll a spliff without making a mess.

So, in the interest of not having my feelings hurt, I'd like to politely request that from here on out you don't share with me your glorious news of pregnancy, including sonograms, pictures of the wee widdle one fresh out of the oven, obvious remarks about the HAHA moments of parenthood, or even oblique references to babies, toddlers, or children under the age of ten.  I want a child badly and it doesn't seem to be in the cards. So all you parents out there, unless your kid's acting like a pure horse's ass, you'll have to keep precious inside.

Because it hurts my feelings.

Crossfit

In my wanderings around the internet, wherein I was trying to find a local place that teaches Krav Maga, I found this list on Gawker. You'll note that Crossfit is #8 in the list of working rankings. It reminded me of a time I went to a Crossfit introductory class with Cita.

Cita is in fantastic shape, and is a certified fitness instructor. Pre-baby thoughts, pre-baby pregnancy, and not too long after the arrival of the baby, Cita teaches classes in how to kick ass. As in your own flabby one. I do not attend her classes, but should, as my flabby behind is the source of my own self-derision.

So I joined her in an hour or so of this class, taught by her good friends who do everything I don't do - eat well, work out, care about their bodies as the machines of awesome that they can be. I felt a little bit like a freak being there, as the others who were trying the class were also clearly more concerned about their health that I am. But I went.

And had my ass roundly handed to me throughout the experience. It got so I wouldn't even try the jump-on-a-board exercise. I do not jump. I routinely question the need for curbs so I don't have to raise my knees. This being said, I did manage to defeat Cita in a rowing test. People, I can row. I have alarming upper body strength, which comes from carrying six or seven grocery bags, full of two-liter bottles, into my place. For almost eight years now.

So there's that.

When Sorry Isn't Enough

I'm trying, you guys. I'm trying to build again. I'm trying to remember to focus on work and to bring some interesting stories home, to be supportive, to listen, to try to remember the advice I often give others: That it's rarely about you, it's about the other person when there's unsettledness about.

But last night I found out, after doing some Inquisition-style questioning, that GPOM's been lying to me. Lying. I hate lying. And not about important things, but about small, dumb things, like where he's been eating lunch. He's been coming home and telling me about the Subway(c) sandwiches he's eaten, how he's not having cheese on them because he's watching his weight but how he just couldn't resist a meatball sub one day, about the multi-generational owners and the chit-chat they share now that he's a regular at that restaurant.

But there's one small problem: I can see all the bank accounts, and I know he's been living off of Taco Bell and Chick-Fil-A. And I don't care, you guys, I really don't. My only concern is that eating out every day gets expensive fast, and we're trying to live on a rather tight budget for a while (car insurance is due this month, on two cars). But why lie about where you're eating? Why tell me lies about conversations that never happened?

Last night he said he went out for post-work cocktails with coworkers, but he didn't tell me because he didn't want me to be mad. Why would I be mad about drinks with friends? I asked him if he ever intended to tell me, and he said no.

I don't know. I wish I understood why he feels the need to lie. Am I that scary; have I been that overbearing?