The ghost in our kitchen
Our kitchen appears to be haunted. Cipher, the world's most amazing cat, screw you if you don't agree (TM) is suddenly afraid of the corner of the room where her food is.

The first appearance of the ghost came three weeks ago. She was fine at breakfast. Come dinner, however, she wouldn't get anywhere near her food. She backed away like we were trying to feed her live cobra for a snack. If I picked her up and tried to put her down near the food she squirmed like an eel. Her food is right near the fridge, and we traced the source to some highly spiced leftover Chinese food that she apparently didn't like the scent of. (Memo to self: cat does not like Mongolian beef.) We cleaned out the fridge, opened the window, and she was fine.

Until Wednesday, that is.

Wednesday night, same problem. A dubious look towards the food area. A refusal to go near it. If we moved her food out a few feet, she dove in with her usual lack of table manners. But the ghost of the food corner had returned and nothing would induce her to confront it. And it's been like that ever since. I've cleaned out the fridge, but there wasn't anything there particularly fragrant. I've cleaned the area around the food space. And still she's skittish. I'm thinking next time I'll clean with Holy Water, maybe that'll do the trick.

So we're moving her food dish out when we feed her, but it's hardly convenient to have it in the middle of the room. We've debated moving to another area of the kitchen entirely but it's currently in the only spot that doesn't get a lot of foot traffic. Any other spot and we're likely to be spending a lot of time mopping up spilled water. But we can't have the poor thing afraid to eat. Although I suppose she'll confront the ghost when she's hungry enough, it's just kinda sad to see her looking at that area like Jacob Marley is standing there.

Why do they always wear pearls?
Enough with the trotting out the loyal political wife for these "I have sinned" press conferences! Of course I'm talking about Gov. Spitzer, the latest in a long line of "can't keep his pants zipped" politicos who got caught with his penis in the cookie jar.

But what I can't understand is why they always make the wife stand there like a shell-shocked zombie through the whole thing. Why can't she just say "listen fuckhead, you screwed up, you take the heat. I'm going to the Bahamas." I suppose they're trying to show he's not a total sleeze; that if the wife will stand by him, why can't the voters, that kind of thing. But it still seems surreal, pointless, and just plain mean. The poor lady has just found out that after all her sacrifices on his behalf he turns around and spends thousands on hookers. That's bad enough, but then she's got to be on the front page of cnn.com too?

I think the women of America should take a stand in the whole "sisterhood" myth by saying "OK, screw the politics. Give the wife some privacy and dignity. No more stoicism in the face of sex scandals."

I am not every woman...
This kind of goes along with the "I am not fashionable" post, but I am so sick of phrases that begin "every woman."

"Every woman dreams of her wedding day." (Overheard on a news program about the cost of weddings.)
Nope, not once. I didn't play "dress up bride" as a child. I didn't spend hours in high school designing my perfect dress. I never poured over Brides magazine and daydreamed about flowers and limos. Never. And I'm sure I'm not alone in this. Blanket statements like this piss me off, because it makes it seems like there's something wrong with women who don't go along with the pre-conceived flow. But there's nothing wrong with not dreaming about your wedding. I mean look at me. I never have, never did, and I'm still happily married -- even if I didn't start planning the day when I was 7.

"Every woman has her own beauty secrets." (Overheard in a commercial about some beauty product whose name and purpose eludes me.)
Again, no. I have no beauty secrets. I have no beauty routine. I brush my teeth. I wash my hair. I bathe. I use prescription lotion on my face because I have some minor skin problems. That's it. No eye liner tips. No super-special lipstick. No hints for the best way to pluck your brows. I think the only beauty secret I have (and it's not much of a secret) is "don't care what other people think."

"Every woman wants a Prince Charming." (Overheard in a cheesy movie.)
Oh God, spare me! Are we still, in the 21st century, perpetuating the myth that women are fairy princesses who need big, strong men to rescue them? Come on, ladies, grow some balls! I can't think of anything worse that perceiving of myself as a helpless flower waiting for the knight on the white horse. I don't need a man to rescue me. And I'm not sure what I'd be rescued from. There aren't a lot of dragons in the SF Bay Area. All I ever wanted was a nice guy who'd treat me well and whom I could love and respect in return. I wanted a best friend, not a romance hero. And I got exactly what I wanted in Husband.

"Every woman needs the perfect little black dress." (Read in a magazine while waiting at the doctor's office.)
Why? Why do I need a black dress? Why does it have to be little? Will a little red dress do? Will a big black dress suffice? What if it's not perfect? What if it's only marginally acceptable? Oh the pressure! I can't stand it! My head will explode! You know, not once in my 40+ years of life have I ever gone anywhere where a "perfect little black dress" was required. And guess what? I survived. I'm happy. I have a great marriage and good friends. But do I deserve all that happiness if I don't have the dress? Is my happiness just a sham?

No, I must believe I'm happy....even without the dress, the prince, the beauty tips, and the dream wedding. Pity me.

And how was your Saturday?
So what did you do with your day? Me? Well...any guesses where I spent Saturday night? Anybody?

Yes, that's right, ER!

I'm OK. Just spent 8 hours zarfing and was really dehydrated and generally miserable. So, two IVs of fluids later, plus two shots of painkillers and anti-nausea medicine, and I was home. Today I feel fine. Really weak; kinda shaky, sort of just this side of absolutely no energy at all, but not sick. Going into the kitchen for water (trying to load up on fluids if I can) pretty much wipes me out for about 30-minutes afterwards. But so far, no zarfing. No nausea. No incapacitating back pain.

Once again, Husband was my hero. Driving me to ER at midnight. Holding my hand. Giving me lots of TLC and even managing to make me laugh. How in the world did I get so lucky?

Anyway, I'm trusting you all had a better Saturday than I. Today's plan is lots of rest, some juice, bland food, and trying to get my feet back under me.

Oh, on another topic. The other night Husband and I watched the most recent "Die Hard" flick: Live Free or Die Hard and our review is surprisingly positive. Completely unbelievable on so many levels, but pure escapist fun. Bruce Willis can still carry of balls of steel action hero, and Justin Long was charming and really funny as a young hacker in over his head. Great fun.