Cat Shit and Text Messages

This is Oscar:


Pretty cat, no? He’s a Persian that I got from a shelter and he bears a strong resemblance to Oscar The Grouch, thus, the name. He’s snuggly and friendly and thinks he’s a dog. He follows me around. He actually likes to be petted. He seeks out affection. He sleeps on his back and sometimes he drinks from the toilet. I love this cat. Right now, however, he is pissing me off. He has shit on the floor four times in the last three days. His litter box is clean. He has food and water. Sometimes he just shits on the floor.

So I thought I’d share this picture. Because if he’s gonna piss me off, then I’m going to give it right back.

Doesn’t he bear a strong resemblance to Nathan Lane in The Birdcage?


See the resemblance?

My cat, the drag queen.

Today I got a text message, from someone named Jay. Here’s how it went:

Jay: Hey, how u doin?
Me: Who is this?
Jay: Jay, from Ultra 88.
Me: I think you have the wrong phone number (yes, I spelled out number. Because I’m a geek.)
Jay: Dana?
Me: No, Julia.
Jay: Ok did I meet you at Ultra 88.
Me: I don’t even know what that is.
Jay: The nightclub at Mohegan sun.
Me: Nope, not me.
Jay: We danced all night long, it was great.
Me: Not with me – My lawyer advised me not to dance after the last “incident.”
Jay: LOL So how old r u? (Fantastic. Txt spk)
Me: 40. And very married. With four children.
Jay: Whoa. OK. Well, enjoy your new phone.

These two things? The most excitement I’ve had all week.

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Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

But first, let’s talk about me.

So, anyone who’s been reading this blog for any amount of time knows that I hate the way I look and that I want, and let’s not kid ourselves here, NEED to lose weight. Andrea, over at Little Bald Doctors, has been raving about Eat To Live, by Dr. Joel Fuhrman. I finally picked up a copy and have been reading it with much interest. It honestly sounds like something I can live with. It’s a predominately vegetarian diet, with the goal being to get only 10% of your calories per day from animal products. I know there’s a lot of disdain among foodies *coughJokecough* for vegetarians, but there’s some heart disease in my family and I figure it can’t hurt to cut way back on meats. Cheeses are going to be difficult but I’ll manage.

Yes, yes, this is all leading up to talking about sex, keep your knickers on.

Therefore, starting Sunday, I’ll be keeping a running tally of my weight and pounds, if any, that I’ve lost. I don’t want this to turn into a weight loss blog, thus just the tally at the bottom. I promise not to witter on (too much) about food and dieting.

Now, to the sex bit. I apologize in advance, it’s not all that exciting. Just more of me and my fucked up brain.

TCBIM was home for a couple of hours yesterday, in between sales calls. The babies were both sleeping and O was at school, so naturally, he says the first thing that pops into his mind, which is, “Do you want to go have afternoon sex?” This said with a leer and a gleam in his eye. I said no. This evolved into one of those “We’d better not become one of those couples that only has sex twice a year,” conversations that happen whenever it’s been more than a week. This is where the age difference comes in to play. He would like to have sex approximately every 8 minutes and I’m good with once or twice a week. It’s typically never longer than a week, sometimes 10 days, if it’s been a particularly bad week with sick babies and/or sick husbands and/or general exhaustion on both our parts.

I am generally tired all the time. It’s a combination of being too heavy, having a baby who still nurses at least twice during the night and me staying up too late so that I can have some time to myself. But the biggest obstacle to my inhibitions about sex is my weight. I am embarrassed by how I look and how much I weigh and no matter how often TCBIM says that he doesn’t see it (ha, right), that he loves me for who I am, not how I look, it still makes me cringe to be undressed in front of him.

So yesterday (instead of having sex), we talked about this. About how my weight makes me embarrassed and how I’m really hoping this new way of eating will result in some significant weight loss for me. He said that he’d be happy to go along with whatever will make me feel better about myself, that he’d eat whatever I put in front of him. I brought up the fact that he sometimes sabotages my efforts – the last couple of times I’ve tried Weight Watchers, he’s come home with bags of chips or candy bars or ordered pizza and wings for dinner. He’s not doing it maliciously, he’s just forgetful. This time, though, he really seems to be supportive. He actually listened when I talked about how I feel when I weigh too much. How he’s like most men – he doesn’t care that he’s carrying around some extra weight because he knows that if he eats salads for two weeks, he’ll drop 20 pounds (the bastid) and how that’s going to piss me right off. Ah well, he could stand to drop some weight, too.

Besides, it’s a win-win for him if he is – I lose weight, I’m happier, he gets more nooky. Prizes for everyone!