Recently it has been harder to find the words.
My next scan and oncology appointment loom. It’s nerve-wracking.
And I have been feeling, literally feeling, so much about the Inauguration. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth. My neck hurts to move, and my head feels like it weighs too much to lift sometimes.
I try to relax, thinking back to my beautiful vacation. But it’s hard. What lies ahead? I am worried.
You bet I marched.
If there’s a bright side, it includes this: wonderful feminist, progressive arts and entrepreneurs to get them in our hands. I’m shopping and supporting.
I belatedly bought a pink pussy hat from Feminist Wrath.
My friends at PS9 Pets in Williamsburg, Brooklyn (more about them here) are hosting a special event on Saturday to help find homes for puppies rescued from becoming food.
The pups – and their mums – are extraordinarily cute. Pics here.
I hate to miss it but I’ll be visiting Mom back home in the Scranton area.
I have a pair of tickets to the most popular show on Broadway and I’d like to give* them to you.
You’re probably wondering why I’d give up my tickets. In the interest of full disclosure, I have a pair of nosebleed seats for a November show so don’t feel too bad for me.
But more importantly, I knew having an asset like Hamilton tickets would allow me to do something special in memory of my Dad (more about him here).
And if you don’t win, you can always buy some Hamilton swag for enjoyment at home.
Bidding ends 8/24/16. Bid early, bid often, bid now! SOLD! Thank you so much for your support.
*In exchange for a winning bid on ebay. This is a fundraiser for science, after all.
I approached Sunday’s arrival with nerves but excitement. Why? Because I told my friends at PS9 Pets that I would take Serge home with me on a foster-to-adopt basis.
After a few days, I would then see how my allergies did and how I felt about the responsibility of having a pet. Growing up, I never had a pet–unless you count tropical fish where were mostly cared for by Dad. Continue reading
I take a deep breath as I open the door.
“Will they think I’m a creep?” I worry. Jeez, I hope not.
Because I’m going in anyway.
“Careful,” I think. “Don’t push the door too hard or too wide.”
I can see that today there are a few little ones running free, drinking from a fountain and playing with toys.
Here I am again at PS9 Pets, a store in my neighborhood that also finds homes for cats and kittens.
I’m not stopping in to get a pet. Or to buy supplies for a pet I don’t have.
I’m just here to look at sleeping kittens and playing kittens. I’ll take pics of the lil cuties and show them to my friends who might take one home.
And if someone suggests it, YES I WILL CUDDLE A KITTEN. Because this is my therapy: kitten therapy.
I’ve been really sad of late, and for obvious, real reasons. I miss my dad.
Right now, the sweetness of a kitten trumps my allergies. And it’s preferable to crying.
If anyone from PS9 reads this, thank you for tolerating me.
Sorry, I totally click-baited you. This post is about a cat. I’ll bet you thought was about everybody’s current lady crush, Ruby Rose of Orange is the New Black.
Maybe another day. Continue reading
Staci and I met in new employee orientation. She was about to start work as a marketing assistant for the magazine. I would be the newest advertising sales assistant, joining a team of twelve. In the beginning, I envied Staci–the other women (and they were all women) in my position were a few years older than me and I found their existing friendships intimidating.
Plus I looked goofy like this:
Staci and I were the low women on the totem pole, just weeks removed from college graduation.