Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

I've been working hard all year for little or no pay. I'm finding myself exhausted and depressed pretty often, even though I do love working with the animals. I just find myself pooped and stressed a lot.

So, imagine my delight when Mrs. Nator said we should take a vacation. As is our usual way, she gave me a budget, and I researched places we could go. Then she upped the budget, and I gave a rundown of more places we could afford. We narrowed down the list, and I started to get excited. Maybe we could be on a beach for a week - even one with sea turtles!

But then she went away for a week. I told her to do it. She'd been unable to focus at work with all the crazy stuff going on there, shortly after her grandmother's passing. I told her she needed a week off not thinking about work, just relaxing and bonding with her mother down in Atlanta. And so, after much prodding, she went. She slept. She swam in the pool. She read by the pond. She went shopping and saw a movie with her mother. It was just what she needed.

And then she came back and decided that we couldn't afford a vacation, with our finances and employment (and the economy) all in flux, nowadays. Maybe we should just both take a week down at her mom's to relax, she suggested.

Her mom's is nice. But it is not really a vacation. Her mom and I love each other, but it is still her house. We still would be guests of hers and her husband's, subject to whatever their schedule and car availability allow. And forget feeling comfortable walking around scantily dressed, much less having any real couple time, with both Mrs. N's mom and the rather conservative stepfather in the house. Yes, it may be considerably more relaxing than staying in Brooklyn. A vacation? Not so much.

So, I am disappointed. So disappointed, I feel a little sick. I knew realistically that we shouldn't spend the money, and was surprised when Mrs. N even suggested it. I know that most people I know aren't even fortunate to be going on a vacation this year, much less those who are students. Still, I spent several weeks researching and planning, and I got my hopes up. Now I am sad, and I'm not sure how to readjust my expectations, however realistic and sane it may be to do so.

Moreover, I don't want to get Mrs. N all stressed out again by pouting and whinging about something I know it would be unwise to spend our money on, anyway, especially since she is the breadwinner of the family, now. But I kind of can't help it. I don't even know how to face my next semester, where my schedule and classes are going to be considerably harder than this year, without getting some quality relaxation time.

Perhaps vacation is just a state of mind, and I should be able to have one right in my living room. But I'm not feeling it.

May Your Life Be Interesting

What do staring up at a giant whale shark, joining in with a sing-along in a nursing home, getting frisked in an airport after losing your i.d., getting scheduled for a root canal after experiencing blinding pain, purchasing a dissection kit, being called by a NY Times reporter for an interview and having sudden onset diarrhea on a mass transit train all have in common?

These are just a few of the things that have happened to me in the last few days.

I'm going to take a nap now.

P.S.: My cat has just decided for the first time in her life that she must watch me from atop the monitor. What is God trying to tell me?

P.P.S.: Please don't say it's "vote Romney."

P.P.P.S.: Go read Water for Elephants now. It will make you forget all of this kind of shit. Really.

Homebound Lesbians

It's that time of year - it's sit on our asses time!

Yes, we always plan to do festive stuff, but it seems that every year we are so exhausted from the stress of finishing stuff up at work (or school), that at least one of us gets sick, and we both lie around like cold-stunned sea mammals, intent only on resting and building up our blubber.

Despite our limited budget, we found a cheap performance of the Messiah to go to last weekend. But we ate the tickets, because Mrs. Nator didn't feel well. Then, this weekend, we had tickets to go see Jollyship the Whizbang do a dirty pyrate-themed holiday puppet rock opera. But we are so brain dead that we showed up a day late.

It's Christmas eve, and we don't even have a tree, yet. Mrs. Nator is starting to sneeze. And we keep turning to each other and asking, "do you want to do something," or "what do you want to do," and then replying "I dunno... (snifflemopeshnort...)"

But at least we're doing it together.

Here's some pyrate puppet ridiculous to cheer up your holidays. And remember, Santa likes rum in his milk.

Quandaries of a Privileged White Girl

So, the holidays are upon us. While I should be spending all my time looking for a job (okay, okay - I've started!), I am equally sentimental, hidebound and and premenstrual enough that I've decided to dedicate a few hours to making cookies.

Like many families, mine has a tradition of making Christmas cookies. My mother used to make dozens of dozens, filling large boxes full to send to people as presents (particularly the kids when we went off to school) and keeping plenty on hand to snack on for months. Sometimes there would still be some stored in the freezer by the time the next Christmas rolled around.

For a few years, I followed her example and would wind myself up into a tizzy of cookie making. However, eventually, she and I both realized that, while cookie making is fun in the short term, once you get past a couple hundred dollars' worth of ingredients and a half-day's worth of cooking, it gets overrated real fast. Neither one of wanted to have stress-related breakdowns over whether we'd get all the damn cookies done, or who burned what, or how to get them shipped in time, anymore. And so, every year we try valiantly to resist making too many cookies. Yet, every year, the urge to bake returns.

So, what to do? I want to make a few cookies - enough to make us feel cozy, indulgent and satisfied as we loll around over our break, despite not exchanging presents due to a tight budget. But which to make? When you have multiple kinds of cookies enshrined as family traditions, how can you choose just a few?

It's puzzling enough that Mrs. Nator and I are setting aside a particular time to talk about it. I happen to know that Ma Nator is making gingerbread and chocolate chip, and Sis and Bro-in-law Nator usually make pinwheels and ranger cookies, so those are out. For me, I think I'm going to set the rule that I am not going to make any cookies just because they're someone else's favourite. If the Mrs. & I can do without 'em, they're off the list. Also, we don't need multiples of particular flavours. One kind of chocolate item, like brownies, will do, as will one fruity item and one buttery item. And for heaven's sake, no kinds that have to sit around for several days, or be chilled overnight, or what-have-you, just to get done. Let's keep it simple, people. This is supposed to be fun and fulfilling, not a chore.

So, my short list this far? Brownies, macaroons and jewel brooches (a buttery cookie with jam in the middle). And possibly those white trash concoctions made of Saltines, butter, sugar and chocolate chips that my ex-roommate introduced to us. That's it.

Now watch me break these rules just because we "must" bring those pecan sandies and/or lemon cookies to Mrs. Nator's family in Atlanta, or everyone will cry and think we don't love them.

What are your holiday cookie musts?

Hot Hot Hot!

What's so hot around here? Is it the fact that I just found out that I got all A grades in my courses this semester, despite the hospitalization?

Is it these views of the Pu'u O'o vent and flowing lava as taken by me from a helicopter over Kilauea volcano in Hawai'i?

(clicky makey biggy)

(clicky makey biggy)

No! It is my stepsister and old friend Liimu and the rest of Patti LaBelle's choir on Clash of the Choirs, 8:00 PM on NBC, tonight and tomorrow! I mean, sure, the show's a little cheesy, but watch them tear it up in this video. Be sure to watch and vote, Vote, VOTE as Liimu is supposed to have a solo on one of the last two nights. Note: she's the one in the front left, light skinned with a black skirt and sparkly top, dancin' like a natural-born foo'.

W00000T!!!

Tired Old Lady

How is it that I am pooped just from traveling to MD see my family this weekend? My dad's wife got sick, unfortunately, so he couldn't make it, and it was just me and my sister, bro-in-law, niece and nephew hanging out. Mostly I made the young'uns happy by watching their favourite videos with them, so it wasn't like we were out running marathons. So why do I feel like it should be Saturday on Monday?

Also, am I a terrible aunt because my nephew seems to have a meltdown every time I visit? I think our family is just genetically predisposed to wanting our usual, secure, homebody routines. Here I am exhausted just from being away for a couple days, and every time I visit my nephew seems to be thrown off track and act out, and then his father gets cranky, and then my sister gets quiet. (My niece does just fine, as long as she's not the one getting in trouble.) I had a really nice time with them most of the time - because, let's face it, my sibs are fun and my niece and nephew are adorable - but I think we all need to figure out a way to be less routine-bound. I guess it's not surprising that no Nators have been world explorers or astronauts, yet.

I wouldn't put it past niece Nator, in the future, though. She's a firecracker.

Anyway, I'm knackered, and I have school work to do, and today is my first job interview in, oh, say... nine years? EEEEEK! I need to figure out a way to wake up and put on a charming, positive exterior without slipping into some disturbing rictus of a false smile. Wish me luck!

Hello, Old Friend

One of my major problems has been that I seem to cling to negative emotions. There are stupid slights and embarrassing situations that happened to me as a child that no-one else would still remember, or hold against me if they did. Yet, excruciatingly detailed recollections of them will spring to my mind unbidden, and the rush of emotions that come with them will leave me stunned. It doesn't help that I had a rather odd childhood, with plenty of opportunities for bad feelings and embarrassment.

This is why, over the last couple years, I had decided it was alright that I had fallen out of touch with my closest childhood friend. Yes, we had taken different paths in a number of ways, and changed. She has become a great believer in and advocate of twelve-step programs and a mother of three, while I have a bohemian lifestyle of lesbian partnership, rejection of traditional work and religion and too many cats. But I came to feel that, as it seemed I would never be able to view my childhood calmly, from a distance, much less with affection, it was for the best that I detach from childhood friendships that remind me of it.

For a while, it seemed to work. I felt guilty about the ebbing of the friendship, but relieved to be able to blank out on memories that fed my angst. I tried to tell myself that this was a natural evolution and the way of the world.

But when I checked my voicemail and found a message from her while I was in the hospital, I was excited.

The truth is, I missed her. Not only was she my friend, but my stepsister. We shared a checkered and difficult past within our dysfunctional family, different in some ways but, in many, similar. And as many awful, disturbing memories and feelings we may share, we were also always there for each other from our single-digit years through our early twenties. Even though we have changed, we still know each other's cores better than perhaps anyone else, save our partners.

So, despite knowing it would dredge up old wounds, I called her back. We've been in contact many times over the last few weeks, and have shared some biographical writing we've both been working on. It has been difficult facing some issues, and I can't say it's been easy. I'm also not completely confident in the return of our relationship, yet. But I'm so glad to hear her voice on the phone, and I'm hoping that, together, we can put together the stories of our past and learn to be a little bit kinder to ourselves.

Art for Art's Sake

I've finally got some more photos of my mom's paintings up at her art blog site. Some of the ones that weren't yet up were older paintings, so I put them towards the bottom.

If you know anyone in the Mercer County, NJ area, tell them to go by and take a look at her exhibition at Orpha's coffee shop in Stillwell... maybe even buy, if they're that type.

But don't order the Toffee Frappeccino. It sucks.

P.S.: Next stop: MoMA! Chaaarge!

Well, Then.

So, remember how I said I was back from the hospital? Well, that lasted all of about three hours.

Yup, I took a nap and woke up with a high fever and my leg all inflamed again. I do not know why they discharged me, but I don't trust that hospital anymore, so I went to my regular doctor. He took a look at it and sent me immediately to another hospital, where he is friends with the director of the ER. Fortunately, this meant I was able to get in pretty quickly.

Long story short, I was admitted, tested and given many more rounds of antibiotics. On top of that, a surgeon was called in to look at my wound and, after making all of the disgusted faces that everyone seems to be compelled to make when they see it, he said I needed the stitches removed immediately, and to have it debrided. This meant that they knocked me out, opened that puppy back up, and cut out all the worst parts with a scalpel. Fun, fun, fun!

After that, it's been a few days of more antibiotics, wound cleaning, monitoring and Percoset as they saw how things went. It was not until yesterday, Friday, that I was finally allowed to go home, much to my relief (and Mrs. Nator's and Ma Nator's, who had come in to visit me). Now that I'm home, however, I still need a visiting nurse to come in every day for a while to clean the wound and change the packing (yes, packing - it's basically an open trench in my right shin about 7-8 inches long and 1-2 inches wide, and down almost to the bone, stuffed with loose gauze). Plus, I'll be on antibiotics and the occasional narcotic, as well as restricted movement, so I'll be out of classes for at least another week.

It's all so strange. Who knew a shopping cart could be so deadly? The good news is, I can walk - just not for long distances - and it doesn't hurt terribly most of the time. The bad news is, THERE'S A GIANT FREAKIN' HOLE IN MY LEG!

Not only that, but from what I learned from the surgeon, the first hospital did pretty much exactly the wrong thing with my wound (which - did I mention? - he compared to a "serious shrapnel wound"). Stitching it up tight and sending me home without making sure I was on antibiotics - then, later, discharging me after one night and keep thing the stitches in - made everything work. Now we have to talk to a lawyer friend and consider taking some action, which is not something I'd ever expect myself to do, but CARNFARN IT, I'M MAD!!!

Ahem. Anyway, I'm back and all that, for now. Perhaps I'll post next time on Percoset, just to make it entertaining.

P.S.: Shopping cart = my new KHAAAAANNNN!!!

This Just In - Pigs Can Now Fly

My mother, a woman who, after seven years of not being able to get her computer to work properly, finally gave up on connecting to the Internet, is on YouTube.

Finding this out yesterday was a total surprise. I was doing a search on her in order to decide some things about how I want to update her art blog...

Let me back up here a minute and explain: my mom did not set up the art blog, nor does she know much about it. I set it up for her, when she started painting again after many years, and was considering showing her work to galleries and/or selling it. I think she's only looked at it a couple times. It's also due for an update, which will happen after next weekend, when I visit her to photograph her new works and help her hang them in her first show. Go, Ma Nator! I'm proud of her.

Anyway, long story short, during the search I found that my mother came up in some videos on YouTube. It turns out that she appeared in some short videos the massage school she works at produced, and the videos were posted on YouTube to educate viewers and promote the school.*

Once I got over the shock at seeing my mom on the Intertubes, I called her up.

DN: "Mom! I didn't know you were on YouTube!"

MN: "I am?" (Well, this sounds more like her.)

DN: "Um, yeah. I saw you in those massage videos..."

MN: "Oh, yes. I knew we made the videos, but I forgot they put them on YouTube. How did you find them?"

DN: (Still surprised that she even knows what YouTube is,) "Completely by accident. It's a great video."

MN: "Oh, thank you - I'm told I have thousands of hits!" (Here we both giggle, somewhat incredulously.)

DN: "Yeah, and you have lots of great comments, too. Everyone says your voice is very soothing."

MN: (Chuckles) Really? Well, I have been told that before. I'll have to remember to go check it out, sometime. I've never looked at YouTube before." (Now that sounds more like the Ma Nator I know.)

So, now I have to adjust to a world where, although my mother still hasn't ever actually seen YouTube, she not only knows (sort of) what it is, but is becoming something of a CeWebrity. Now if only I can track down and beat those assholes who are commenting that they want her to give them a blowjob...

*I'm neither going to bore you nor threaten my usual semi-kinda-anonymity on this blog by posting the videos she's in, but if you really want to, you can see one of them here.

Fuck. We're Back.

Fresh lychee breakfasts while watching sea turtles and tropical fish frolic from our balcony.

Snorkeling, snorkeling and more snorkeling.

Semi-successful sea kayaking (sure, we tipped over, but at least we didn't try to drown each other in a panic like one of the other couples).

Scenic hiking to a secluded spot ringed by lava rocks, coconut palms and basking green turtles.

Reeeeally good potato-mac salad.

SCUBA diving for the first time (with sharks!)

Sunset tropical cocktails at Don the Beachcomber's.

Frolics on scenic and secluded beaches.

Traversing several climate zones to partake in scenic views (mostly of cows).

Minor nervous breakdown while realizing one's own universal insignificance while hiking across a huge volcanic caldera full of baby Earth.

First helicopter flight - over flowing lava!

Approximately one squillion photos and videos of trip to go through.

Airplane breakdown and weather resulting in over 48 hours of travel home, including a forced layover in scenic Pittsburgh, PA.

Return to very happy cats and very stinky apartment.

Mrs. Nator's newly hired staff member emailing that he won't be able to take the job after all, as his partner has been transferred.

Landlords claiming that we will have to pay for damages to the drop ceiling of the apartment below due to a minor amount of water getting through the floor that they've known for years is hole-ridden subflooring that funnels any spills right through.

Trying to figure out if I'll get student loans, how to register on Wednesday and how the hell I can start making at least $400 per week immediately.

... any questions?

I'm Still Here

... and alive, y'all. I've just been busy, what with the mother-in-law here until last Thursday, and getting everything ready for school, the big trip and around the house before we leave this Thursday. Whew!

For those who asked, the MIL visit was fine, bordering on great. Mrs. Nator had some lady issues and had to work some, so MIL Nator and I hung out a lot, going to see the frogs at the American Museum of Natural History together and such. We actually have a lot in common, such as a love of natural science and taking photographs, so we get along great, besides her being a (non-proselytistic) born-again Christian and me being a Godless lesbian who has sexual relations with her daughter. We especially had fun going to Roosevelt Island to watch the fireworks in a rainstorm on the 4th of July, and despite her seeming a bit worn out and stressed at times (which makes sense due to other things in her life) and me needing a bit of alone time now and then, I think we all had a good time.

Alas, the Meeting of The Moms did not occur, because my mom's car broke down on her way here. I was disappointed they didn't meet, but more bugged by the fact that my mom is officially a senior citizen now and still never has a car that is reliable. The fact is that she just can't afford a new car and on her relatively low income, which makes me worry for her safety and the future. Mrs. Nator and I even talked a bit about getting all the kids together and contributing to a decent car for her in the not-so-distant future, although I'm not sure how we'd afford that, much less with us planning to throw her mom a big surprise party for her 65th birthday. It sucks not to be rich. Not enough for me to go work in the corporate world or anything, but, yeah.

Still, everyone is reasonably well, our new bed seems to be great for both Mrs. Nator's and my chronic back problems, I'm almost all set to go to school in September, it looks like I may have a new gig working for my friend's cat-sitting business when we get back (how perfect for me is THAT? I am tres excited), and, oh yeah, where will we be getting back from? HAWAI'I, that's where! Have I mentioned that enough?

I should have a buttload of photos up soon from my roaming photography sprees with MIL Nator shortly, as I want to try to get them up before I have 12,000 photos of lava and green sea turtles to process. Oh, yes - I'm trying SCUBA diving while there AND taking a doors-open helicopter tour over the volcano vent, y'all. Do not expect a coherent post beyond something like "OMGSOAWESOMES!!!1!!1" for awhile, mmmkay? If ever. Assuming I survive, that is.

Enjoy the rest of July, Natorettes. I'll be thinking of you, and wishing you could snorkel with me...

Mother-in-Law on Board

Mother-in-law visit: so far, so good.

July 4th will herald not just our first trip to Roosevelt Island to watch the fireworks, but the first Meeting of The Moms.

More later...

Update

Good news! The doctor has okayed me to go SCUBA diving, and I think I've almost convinced Mrs. Nator to let me do it. Keep those WooOOOnnns coming!

In other news, I still have to clean the entire house tomorrow. That's over 1100 square feet of cat fur, kitty litter dust and highway grit. And that doesn't even count the de-pornifying. I love my mother-in-law and we get along famously, but damn.

Have I mentioned the new bed is HUGE? The cats still haven't figured out a way to get up on it.

Later, taters...

Sundry

Giant-Ass Bed

Well, we done dood it. We finally got a new bed. King size, in fact. Simmons firm plush top, so it's steady with all those little coils, but the top gives.

It is HYOOOOGE. Like, I have to hop up to get my butt on it, and my legs dangle way off the ground. It's not a California King, because apparently 1-800-MATTRES leaves those on the West Coast, along with leaving off the last S for Savings. I think it will accommodate Mrs. Nator in all her lengthy glory, however. She can make up the couple inches of length by lying more diagonally.

Spending the money was scary, but with both of our backs giving out at times, it had to be done. Now we just have to try to keep the cats away from it, other than when we're in it. They're traumatized enough already by the movers schlepping it in. Anyone know how to rig up a boat horn to a pressure-sensitive mattres(s) pad?

Happy Pride

I guess. I dunno. I am so old and nest-y, I can't be bothered. Do I really want to sweat for hours watching a parade and then wander around trying to find a place to get a drink? No.

Wish Me Luck

on two things coming up. The first is today, when I have my exam to see if it's okay for me to take a beginning SCUBA class. I really want to take one in Hawaii. However, since I fat, lazy, on prescription drugs and have had spinal surgery, I have to get the okay from my doctor. I'll also be getting a blood test to make sure I got my measles-mumps-rubella vaccinations, because I have to verify that before I register for classes. I'm not worried about that, though. I just want my doctor to look at the SCUBA form while I'm there and tell me I'm healthy enough to do it. WoooOOOOnnns, please!

The second is cleaning for my mother-in-law's visit. She's coming on Wednesday, and thus far, I have been having a hard time getting my ass in gear. It's just pure procrastination stemming from feeling overwhelmed at how grubby this place is. There's no cure for my laziness long-term, I suspect, but a little boost of WoooOOOnns for one task couldn't hurt.

And that's it for now. I feel as though I've become rather boring, lately. Sorry if I have - there's just been a lot to do in preparation for school, mom-in-law's visit and Hawaii. My brain is rarely in the now, because I'm so excited about the close future. I guess if you're really bored, 1. fuck you, schmendrick & 2. you can go look at slideshows of my trip to the NY Botanical Garden or my visit with my sister, bro-in-law and the niece and nephew. I'm out!

Tell Me Somethin' Good

I could use it. The title of this post, in it's twisted way, refers to a song by Chaka Khan and Rufus, and I thought of it because we have 2 tickets to the Rufus Wainwright concert tonight that we can't use. Mrs. Nator's back is out again, and not only is she in pain, but she's heartbroken that she can't go. We also spent a lot of money on those tickets!

Anyone know anyone who might want to buy them? Or has anyone ever tried selling tickets outside a theatre? I don't know the legalities or procedure for it, but with our finances the way they are, I'm willing to try...

In the meantime, please send wooOOOnns for Mrs. Nator. Poor baby!

She No Likey

We are well-meaning, we really are. But our critters don't care.

Case in point, our female turtle, Edamame. By all general measures, she has thrived. She has grown to large, may we say giant-ass, proportions, has her own 90 gallon tank (since she evicted Aubergine, the boy turtle, by repeatedly biting chunks out of his butt), a nice, hard shell, a good diet, etc. But the one thing she will not do is lay eggs.

"But Nator," you ask, "why should that turtle lay eggs if she doesn't want to, much less hasn't even been fertilized by a male turtle?" Well, I'll tell you, you ignorant slut. Like chickens, lady turtles produce eggs whether they are fertilized are not. Also like chickens, they like a dry, warm place to lay their eggs. Unfortunately, unlike chickens, lady turtles spend most of their time swimming in water, or basking on hard surfaces. In the wild, they would find a patch of loose dirt or sand not far from their pond, dig down a ways and let 'er rip. But in a captive environment, you need to furnish them with some sort of nesting area, because if they don't lay, the eggs get all calcified and hard inside the lady turtle, taking up space where, say, lady turtle organs should be. Not good.

In our case, constructing some kind of land/water hybrid terrarium was an overwhelming prospect. So, we figured we'd do as some other folks do and get Ms. Eddie a box full of loose earth where she could spend some quiet time laying her eggs. Of course, it can't just be any box of dirt. It's got to be big enough to hold her giant ass and then some, so she can turn around, and full of enough loose dirt that she can dig down all the way the length of her giant-ass shell. And the dirt has to be the right texture, plus free of outside organisms that might put an indoor-raised turtle's immune system into a frenzy, so you have to buy some kind of special amphibian dirt from the pet store. The most common and economical kind is not really dirt at all, but blocks of dehydrated coconut husks, which you soak in water and then dry out to form a loose, dirt-ish, fibrous substance that turtles can dig in. And that's what we done done. Done dood. Whatever.

The problem is, Eddie hates it. She doesn't like being taken out of her tank (and her giant ass is matched by a giant, bitey mouth on the other end), she doesn't like going in the box, she doesn't like the coconut husks and she most certainly doesn't like staying in the box. So, rather than relaxing and laying her eggs, Ms. Eddie tries repeatedly to escape, almost succeeding, until we put something heavy on the top of it. She then gets quiet - ominously quiet - until you think something's wrong in there, like she suffocated herself or something. So you go and check on her and she just glares at you, like she is the most abused creature ever and you are the worst being in the world. Then if you seal her up again she tries to escape some more, until you give up, rinse the coating of coconut husks off her and put her back in her tank. Results? No eggs, no how, no doin'.

Also? After a few days sitting around? Rehydrated coconuts husks smell.

Let me out of thees box, you stupeed human! I keel you! And get thees atrocious, smelly coconuts off me!

Meanwhile, Aubergine has just gotten used to having her big tank to cavort in (where he's gotten play time, since he's normally confined to the small tank, away from her bitey mouth), but now you have to go scoop him out and confine him again, making him fear you like the giant, mammalian, probable turtle-eater that you are. All in all, you are a Bad Mommy, and whenever the turtles get to the turtle afterlife, they're going to tell on you to St. Peter or St. Francis or the Keymaster of Gozer or whoever and generally make sure you become a shish kabob when you arrive, yourself.

I has a big tank!

But, there's nothing for it. For now, we have to keep on trying, to see if maybe she gets used to it eventually and squirts out some huevos. If that doesn't happen, at some point we will have to haul her into an "exotic" specialist vet to get some x-rays taken, to make sure that she hasn't gotten impacted. And if she has? Extremely expensive and risky turtle surgery, or probable death. Hooray!

So all y'all out there who feel for critters, please send us wooOOOOoons of egg-laying, now and then, to encourage Ms. Eddie to freakin' save her own life. We hate to scare her by putting her in the box - fear is not good for turtles' immune systems, either - but we don't have much choice.

Unless anyone out there has a nice, clean home pond they'd want some turtles for? Anyone? Bueller...?

Viva la Revolución

Being a lesbian housewife isn't that hard, really. Oh, sure, you have to do a little cleaning, some shopping, make the dinners, and clean up after the cats... the many, many cats... but it's really not as difficult as I expected. I think the key thing is that lesbians tend to be very sympathetic to labourers, particularly female domestics. Generally all I have to say to the Mrs. if I haven't gotten anything done that day is that I had cramps, or was contemplating my spiritual place in the universe, or I suddenly realized the cats were going to die someday, and it's "there, there" and a drink and a rubdown, when I've lifted nary a finger. It also helps that I have a genetic folding deficiency. If I so much as look at a fitted sheet, my fingers all jump out of their sockets at once. In light of my delicate nature, I rarely have to do more than whimper to get away with being completely useless. However, in case of emergency, I do have my backups: a carefully placed utterance of the word "exploitation," and a simple yet colourful serape. I'm even ready to stand on the kitchen table, holding up a poorly-written sign that says "UNION" if it comes to that.

In actuality I am Doing Things, even if they aren't always obvious. I am reviewing my student loan and admissions paperwork. I am pricing web hosting sites and going over PHP/MySQL tutorials while mulling over the relative merits of full vs. partial-Flash site design. I am even (sort of) "working out" sometimes. Then I am getting overwhelmed by everything and switching gears to peruse the TripAdvisor Hawaii forums or play cell-phone Boggle on the stoop. Hey, somebody's got to keep the stoop warm. This is Brooklyn, you know.

P.S.: Did I mention we are going to HAWAI'I?

Progress!

So, things are humming right along here in Natorland, despite my attempts to sit on my ass as much as humanly possible. To wit:

• I believe I can tell you all now that Mrs. Nator is getting a promotion! For quite some time now - say, since she started working there - Mrs. Nator has been frustrated by [something that I've edited out by Mrs. Nator's request]. Over the last several months, Mrs. Nator, who was recently promoted to Assistant Director of her department (of three people, but still, they made a new position for her and gave her a raise), had begun to realize that in order to advance her career (and take the next step in her plan to RULE THE WORLD!) she would have to move up to Director and make more money. She figured this meant that she would have to leave her organization, even though she really loves what they do and the people there. Unfortunately, the Director, who, although a nice enough person, really was thwarting Mrs. Nator's ability to grow by... well, by being the Director.

  Long story short, the Director announced several days ago that she would rather be a second-in command somewhere and quit! In other words, Mrs. Nator used her crazy mental powers and manifested her own destiny! She will now be the Director, with an appropriate raise, and has plans to overhaul the department and hire new people to improve performance within the same budget. Go, Mrs. Nator, go!

  I didn't want to say anything before, because it wasn't sure, yet, and sometimes the board decides to fuck with things because they hate the CEO... and just love to fuck with things. But, although it's not a 100% done deal, the chairman of the board and the head of the finance committee have informed her privately that they will back her hire, so it looks like it will most likely be going through. Whew!

  Keep your fingers crossed, and then how about a hand for my honey?

• It's looking very likely that I will be going to vet tech school in the fall. I've got all my paperwork together, save my high school transcript (I want to see if there are any courses on it that will get me out of stuff like mandatory pre-calc...ugh) and trekked out to school today for an orientation session. Being a city community college, it's not exactly scenic, but it turns out it takes me a little less time to get out there than it did to get to my old job, so that works. Also, included in my tuition will be a membership with their decent gym and pool, which will effectively knock down the price several hundred dollars right there, since I won't have to renew with my gym. It's the little things, people!

  The major thing was, although it definitely felt weird to be the oldest prospective student in the room by far (I mean... far), I kind of dug the whole experience. Sitting in a sterile college meeting room, looking at the facilities, imagining studying in the library or sitting in the student café with a checked-out laptop... It all felt good. I feel trepidatious, but also excited about going to classes and learning and doing new stuff while being a student again. After all, there was a time in my life I thought I would be happy being a perpetual student. I think this all may be a really good thing for me...

• Not that I've made any progress in bringing in money. Shut up. It's my last week of severance and I started it out having a minor breakdown realizing that I couldn't get started on any of the freelance options I'd pondered or look at a job listing without wanting to puke. I just don't want to work, right now, see? I know, I know: who does? But I'm really not feeling it, lately.

  Fortunately, the combination of a talk with Mrs. Nator wherein she said it was okay if I just stay on unemployment a while longer (thank goodness for her raise!), my excitement about school and my excitement about vacation are making me a little more optimistic about the idea of working, now. Now that my goals are a little clearer, I'm more determined about working to attain them. Oh, and "what's that about vacation," you say?

• Mrs. Nator badly needs a vacation, but, for obvious reasons, we needed to set a strict budget. I, however, in all my internet-research wiliness, think I have figured out a way for us to be able to afford to go back to Hawai'i for around the same amount as the discount places we were looking into. And no, it doesn't involve doing a porn shoot. If it works out, I will be one seriously happy camper. Green turtles and helicopter volcano tour, here I come!

• Finally, I actually worked out today, for the first time in a few weeks. I know! And I think I might do it again!

And that's all the news that's fit to print, for now. More updates anon, or maybe I'll decide to write about something other than myself, for a change.

Nah.

OMG

I can't really reveal much now, but some major changes are going down at Mrs. Nator's job. Changes that could be very good for her career. Or... not. But it's intense, freaky and exciting. Stay tuned!