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bloody shit and other diversions
2003-09-26 @ 7:27 p.m.

So. It's been three weeks since I've written here.

Quite frankly, I was thinking it was going to be longer, but the guys from our internet provider managed to get us back online today. Third attempt, third set of guys: third time's the charm, I guess. Of course, in the process, they mucked up my settings and the wireless wouldn't work. Just on my computer, mind you, not on my beloved husband's. (And Elvis thinks I'm being paranoid and unreasonable about letting other people mess around with my computer. Whatever.) They spent an hour faffing around with it and making phone calls, and managed to get it working before they left-- although not until after I got cheesed off and sort of swore at them. I feel kind of guilty about that, but then again I told them they didn't need to be fucking around in those files, so maybe that's what they get.

And they did give me the Chicken Dance ring tone for my mobile phone before they left, so I'm holding no grudges. Nice guys, really. Not like plumbers at all.

Our connection hasn't been down for the entire three weeks, however. Oh no! That's only been for the last week or so. What follows is the exceedingly brief version of some of the other things that have been keeping me busy.

The Parental Visit

We've been living in Europe for over six years now. And for the last six years, I've been after my parents to come visit. For the last two weeks, they've been visiting, and it's been great. I took them all over the place, we went out for dinner every night, and we've just generally had a lot of fun. Couple of problems, though.

The whole thing started three weeks ago, when I got an email from them stating they could fit a trip to see us into their increasingly busy social schedule at the end of the month. I emailed back that that would be great. Then I got an email back stating that they would be arriving the next Friday, which is less than a week's notice, but what the hey! Seems Dad is getting into online travel planning in a big way, and they managed to get a great deal, undoubtedly because they left on 9/11.

Which would have still been fine-- a bit rushed, maybe, but fine-- except for

Meeting at My Apartment

Thirty women! At my house!

There's the baking. The shopping. The digging through all my landlord's stuff I put in the garage because I hate it and have no space for it in a desperate attempt to find more coffee cups. The cleaning, both fore and aft. All that in more, in the relentless build up to

The Special Event from Hell

Or, as I not so lovingly began to refer to it: That Fucking Fair.

There was so much to do, as there always is for a thing like that. I fought a lot with my printer, but I won in the end, so that was all right. The phone rang constantly, to the point where I acquired a Pavlovian wincing reaction every time the damn thing rang. I still have it. In fact, it will probably be years before it goes away entirely. And someone gave one of our advertisers my mobile number, so That Damn Woman (as I not so fondly call her) could call me anytime, anywhere. Not only that, but if our landline was busy, she'd call me on the mobile. I'd tell her I wasn't able to talk since I was on another call, of course, but she'd just say she knew that. Her issues, of course, took precedence over every one else, in her mind if nowhere else. I still don't know who gave it to her, but I'm not actually angry about it-- it's difficult to resist the onslaught that is That Damn Woman.

The SEFH went OK, actually. We didn't get all the tables we asked for, mainly because there was great big fucking stage in the middle of our display space that we did not ask for, did not want, and chewed up half our space. I knew we were bound to get screwed somewhere. Add in some unconscionably pushy people, and the upshot was unhappiness over the size of display space. This was only two people, though, one who had a point and was unfathomablely nice about it, and one who really didn't and would have bitched about something anyway.

Other than that, everyone seemed pretty happy, and it seemed more spacious than last year (probably still was, even with that damn stage), and with the addition of plants on the stage things looked nice, and the food at the luncheon after was fantastic. (Unlike last year-- snarky, I know.) Betty told me that she's heard only good things about it, and that some of those who couldn't make it told her that they regretted it since they heard it was so good this year. I find that highly gratifying.

Oh, and I came in way, way, WAY under budget, and we gave 500 Euros to a breast cancer charity, so go me!

Best bit: It's over.

The Trips to the Vet

The evening before Special Event from Hell Eve, I noticed that the cat had quite a bit of blood in her feces. A vet had told me that a little bit from time to time was normal, and probably a result of eating a bit of bone or something. This was more than a little, so I decided I would take her in to the vet first thing. Not that I had time to take her in to the vet on SEFH Eve, but you have to do what you need to do.

Calliope is not an outdoor cat. I do let her out on the balcony, however, and I know that she does get down onto our neighbor's terrace. I think she likes to sit on the wall in the corner and enjoy the view, and they are on the second floor (the third for Americans). It's been unusually hot here, so I've been leaving the balcony door open.

Still, when we came home from dinner and a night out with my parents, we didn't expect to find her waiting for us, crying and traumatized. Her back leg was all bloody, and her entire rear end was dirty and bedraggled.

Somehow or other, Calliope managed to get into a fight.

We were up late, trying to calm her down and clean her up. She had a puncture wound, like a bite mark, and some scratches. When I took her into the vet, she said that she had probably been attacked by some tomcat, who didn't know that she's been spayed. Since Calliope has been spayed, of course, she really wasn't in the mood for sex and tried to fend him off. The vet said she couldn't be sure, but it looked like he'd succeeded: in other words, some horny male cat raped her.

Poor Calliope. She had to wear a cone on her head, and I had to take her back to the vet for the next two days for more shots. She also was running a high temperature from whatever was giving her the bloody poop, so she needed to be treated for that as well. Poor little thing was depressed for days, and you could hear her plastic cone scraping along the floor in the hallway because she refused to hold her head up high.

She's back to normal now, personality-wise, if maybe a bit subdued. The cone is off, and the bite hasn't quite healed, but she's looking good. I take her back next week, so we'll see. The vet said she probably would develop an abscess, which is normal, so if she does we'll have to treat that and I doubt Calliope will like it at all.

Balcony privileges have been recinded.

None of these things were so bad in and of themselves, but since they all happened concurrently instead of consecutively they ended up sucking up all available time. What little left I used to pay bills, run to the grocery for the bare essentials, do laundry, and clean. Elvis has been working late, since the deadline for their project is imminent. Not his fault, it's just the way life is, but his stress and lack of time made my stress and lack of time seem even worse. We did make it to the Late Night Bar of Evil a few times. Quite honestly, I found myself in a position where I could really use a drink more often than I would have liked.

Did you notice I didn't say sleeping in the above paragraph? That was kept to a bare minimum, and I must admit I am exhausted.

Still, things are getting back to normal. The cat is getting better every day, the SEFH is over, the internet has been restored. My parents left yesterday. I've been casting my mind back over the last six years, trying to think of a worse two weeks for them to come visit. Aside from two weeks in Germany that Elvis spent in the hospital, I can't think of one-- and that one occurred to me right now. I wish I would have had more time to spend with them. There are so many things that I would have liked them to see, and so many things that I would have liked us to do together. They understand, though, and I think they were kind of glad to have a chance to rest up a bit. My mom did, in any case. My dad, since he retired, feels like he has to be doing something at every possible moment. He's got to have a goal, he's got to be achieving something. It's driving my mom a bit nuts, and I must admit that his attitude got to me at times, too. I like sitting around, hanging out, enjoying the scenery. Dad, on the other had, has to be physically restrained and have the scenery pointed out to him, because he's so busy getting from Point A to Point B that he'd miss it entirely. Can you say Type A Personality? Then again, if he had slowed down, he wouldn't be my dad. At least my mother has-- I wouldn't have had the strength if the both of them were still like that.

That's enough for now. My wrists are killing me, and I'm out of practice at the typing.

I'll write again tomorrow.

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