Guest Columnist: Roxy the Cat

It is Day 1,067 of my captivity and still, this female human shows no signs of allowing me to escape.

Do not let her appearance fool you--she can be cruel and heartless and downright loud. Dear Food God, when will this torture end?!
I suppose it's not such a bad setup. This female, who calls herself "Mommy" in a really annoying voice, feeds me twice a day, though not nearly as much as she has in the past. She recently brought in a new bag of food that smells and tastes different from my usual gourmet fare. I've heard her call it "indoor weight and hairball control"; I don't know what it means but if it has anything to do with my unfortunate coughing up of various furballs, she'll just have to deal with it as it's something I can't change and wouldn't if I could. I wasn't sure if I'd like the new food or not, but I'll eat it because she obviously doesn't understand that even royalty will stoop to eating whatever is put in front of them when they're held against their will.

Mommy leaves me alone most of the day (unless I yowl or cry, in which case she comes running and soothes me though there's nothing wrong, I just wanted attention). But ever since I was a kitten she's put me on her right shoulder. I've claimed this spot as my own, and I get pretty irritated if I smell other creatures' scents on it. That is MY spot to perch upon, MY chin to headbutt, MY chest to roll over on. I will also lie on whatever part of her I wish. As my human slave/captor, it is the least she can do.

She recently put me through a torture that happens a few times a year. She goes into a strange room with a horrible basin full of water. She removes everything from the room except a small plastic cup and a bottle. She then proceeds to remove all of the fabric from her body, because as per previous discussions I will get her all wet and she will be forced to take a shower after this particular torment. I've heard her call it a "bath". I've told her, in my yowling dulcet tones, that I do not like this procedure and will scratch her and not deign to give her any cuddles if she keeps rubbing that disgusting crap into my fur. I swear, it takes me hours to put my luxurious coat to rights again. 

Mommy likes to take pictures of me. This one was taken as I was trying to get her attention long enough to have her pet me.

 

 This next one was taken when I was a kitten, when I had nice flexibility and was quite the acrobat in my day.

 We recently took a trip back to where we are from, the Tri-Cities. I'd like to mention that I don't like to travel at all, I have a very delicate disposition that requires me to lay in the sun on a very comfy piece of kitty furniture all day. Mommy told me we'd only be gone a week and we'd have to deal with a puppy, but she lied. We stayed much longer and the alleged "puppy" was an almost full-grown black lab who seemed to be called "Boomer". His name is irrelevant; during this agonizing trip, to me he was called "The Bane of My Existence". I was finally able to make him cower at my presence, hissed at him every time he so much as breathed, but allowed him to sleep on the bed with the humans and myself because he was so annoying if I didn't. Mommy will try to tell you that I once took a nap right next to The Bane but that is slander and she will be punished if she keeps telling such vile fictions.


The Bane is pictured here, being contained by a male human who Mommy calls "Uncle Mike" (he must be from the same litter or something). I like Uncle Mike because he feeds me every now and then when Mommy abandons me. 

Yes. The Bane really does hold that tongue outside his head at all times. He tried to lick my ass a number of times, but he's totally not even my species. Get a life, loser. 



I've heard true horror stories about others of my kind, how their captors treat them like pets. But here, I'm honored as the queen I am, second to none, though Mommy has told me she wants another animal when we move to our next home. Like I'd ever let that happen. I will put this supposed new animal in its place. 

I pray to the Food God that I will find the path of escape soon so that I may reconnect with my true queen-ness, though I will miss Mommy's pettings and cooings (when I want them).

A Heavenly Shower of Epic Proportions

Photo courtesy of buildmart-bath-and-shower.com

This latest cold is finally on its last legs. I woke up this morning still a little congested but at least I could breathe for the most part. Even the sinus headache had subsided enough to let me open my eyes all the way and view the world for the first time in a week.

I'd promised myself that today I would go to the gym and at least try to practice some more yoga, knowing that I could be kind to myself if my nostrils didn't cooperate and could just get on the treadmill for a little while. I ended up making it all the way through (although I recently strained a groin muscle--I know, hilarious--and I didn't do certain lunges and poses so I didn't aggravate it), only having to blow my nose three times.

My stamina is basically gone, and it's really irritating to start all over again. I got on the treadmill intending to stay on it for 30-45 minutes, but I could only do 20 before I felt my eyelids drooping and my snot dripping. I headed into the locker room to have a shower.

A little background before I move to the best shower I've ever had in my entire life (not including certain sexual episodes): living at my grandparents' house with some extra relatives seems to be more than the poor pipes can take, because a few days ago my grandfather found a really big leak that had water flowing down the street. Since then we've been "going green" with the water use--really short showers if you must have one, don't use the dishwasher or the washing machine, etc.

Because I was sick I was allowed to have a slightly longer shower to help decongest my poor sinuses, but I still wasn't able to wash everything I wanted to. I figured, since the gym has showers, why not use their water?

Some of you wonderful readers know me pretty well, so you know that I have a tendency to avoid using public restrooms (ask me about the Fred Meyer trip some time). So using a shower at the gym may come as a shock to you.

I'm here to tell you, people, that when you haven't had a shower in a couple days, you're feeling gross and the brain matter currently leaking out of your nose looks an awful lot like ... well, anyway, suffice to say I was desperate.

The shower stalls have the shower as well as an extended portion with a curtain so that you're able to shower and get undressed and redressed with some privacy. I chose one, got naked, hung up my towel where I could easily reach it and turned on the water. At first, I was a little surprised because the pressure of the water turned out to be just right--it wasn't like needles where if you try to stick your face in it, you come out looking like you just had a facial. Yet it was still enough pressure to fully soak through my thick hair in only a second or two.

I must have stood there under the hot water for a good ten minutes before I actually started washing anything, the water felt that good. (I know, I'm a horrible un-green person who just wastes water like it's nothing.) I blew my nose a few times (disgusting but necessary, and thank God for soap) and immediately felt better. Going through my routine of shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse, lather loofah with soap, scrub body with it, rinse both loofah and body and oops, forgot about the stupid face wash again, was an absolute pleasure because the water was just right. Between the pressure and temperature--and dear God, never, ever, underestimate the power of being clean--I felt very much renewed.

The shower was such an obvious cleansing experience--body, mind and soul--that I was almost sad when I was done and it was time to get out. As I toweled dry, I realized that my body felt looser from the yoga stretches and my legs felt stronger than they had. This trip to the gym had definitely been worth the two hours I ended up being there.

I know it was just a shower, guys, and that getting really clean after both being pretty sick and just sweating a ton is a good idea, but I really did feel so much better that it was the best part of my day. I didn't sleep very well last night, and so the fact that shower both relaxed and invigorated me (and perhaps the fact that I don't really have a social life here quite yet) was an experience I won't soon forget.

September = Wash

Between being absent during the first part of September, getting a cold, having to go to the Tri-Cities for at least two weekends, getting yet another cold, I feel like September was basically a wash.

The entire month was spent doing something other than what I was supposed to/actually wanted to be doing, like working out. Yeah, I've pretty much lost some weight, as measured by my new pant size, but I don't know how much and since I'm probably fluctuating a lot due to illness, I see no point in trying to weigh myself. I have noticed that certain parts of my body are getting smaller and tighter. My upper arms, for instance, are definitely smaller and I feel like the skin there seems less fatty than usual. My calves, too, are smaller, which my grandmother's boots can now testify too. Perhaps I just needed some time for all the exercise of August and small parts of September to catch up? Or is that wishful thinking?

I also learned, during September, that I'm apparently going to Maui. Woo hoo! The trip was scheduled for either November or December, but because of scheduling conflicts, it will probably be more like February. Not complaining though--at least I'm going.

The California trip, however, is a different matter. Scheduled for late October, Grandma and I were supposed to fly down there, spend ten days doing whatever we wanted, then come up just in time for Halloween. But because Grandpa recently had some abdominal pain (another setback of September), Grandma doesn't want to leave and, let's face it, it probably wouldn't be any fun to go by myself. So, the California trip has been postponed, probably until Christmas-ish.

Talk about utter disappointment.

I fully intend to make it up to myself though. Even my trip to the coast was just an appetizer; it only whetted my appetite for more travel. I want to experience life, the life I denied myself for so many years for God knows how many reasons. I feel more creative when I'm even just planning trips, or trying to find ways to go to a place I've never been.

To make up for not going to California soon, Joe and I are heading to Leavenworth, WA, towards the middle of October. It's some sort of Bavarian-themed little town that has lots to do and even more during the winter. Since I've never been here and it's only a couple hours from the Tri-Cities, why the heck not?

Ironically I'm trying to make that something of a motto: why not? Why not try something? Who cares if I do or don't? Nobody--exactly.

With this second stupid cold almost done, I'm going to throw myself on the mercy of my personal trainer. I'm going to throw myself into writing my novel. I'm going to throw myself into traveling all over the Pacific Northwest, since travel outside it probably won't happen until I have more money.

And now that I have a friend who is currently on her way to the East Coast of the U.S., I may just head that way too (after the money thing). What the heck is this year for, if not to find different ways to amuse myself?

I find that I cannot dedicate everything to just weight loss and writing. Frankly, my writing would be pretty damn boring if all I wrote about was weight loss and how emo I am. So travel it is, experiencing life, throwing myself after everything and everyone.

With a few exceptions, anyway. My experiment is mostly to examine who I am without being something to somebody. I've come to realize that some of the pressure I was feeling was playing so many roles to so many people that I had no idea what I was just to myself. I'm not looking for a one-word definition here. I just want to cruise through different experiences and see how I react to them.

For example, I've never done extremely well in crowds for long periods of time. I'm not necessarily a people-person and probably never will be. This is why I'm not entirely sure I'm liking the idea of being in New York City on New Year's Eve. We're talking millions of people in the same space that I'm going to want to occupy. This very thing is the reason it's never been an event that makes me say "oh my god, I have to do that".

But when my friend planted it in my head today, I was so proud of myself. Because I said "why not?"

Just because there will be millions of people there shouldn't dissuade me, right? I can't be a hermit my whole life, just because it's what I know and what I tend to do when left to my own devices.

Why not?

So Leavenworth: baby, here I come. I'm going to eat tons of your chocolate, probably drink a German beer or two, consume tons of those sausages even though it's probably not a good idea, and I'm going to pick up a nutcracker. Just because.

New York: you and I will have to come to terms about cost and all those people you have crawling all over you, but I think we can work it out. I look forward to checking out your ... ball. ;)

California: darling, I know that we've been planning our rendezvous for over a year now, but unforeseen circumstances are keeping us apart. Soon, babe, soon.

Maui: you know, I had no idea I was going to get to see you any time soon, but now that the plan is in motion, I'm really looking forward to the time we'll spend together.

And the other places I've been wanderlusting about, like Seattle, Portland, Vancouver BC, etc.: darlings, it won't be long before I have you on the list too.

I suppose this is what they were talking about when they said that sailors had girls in every port. My ladies will be the cities themselves.

And baby, either I'm going to rock your world or you're gonna rock mine.

Perfetto Day

Very rarely do I experience a day so close to perfect as this.

Today, my friend Joe and I decided to take a little day trip and go somewhere I've heard about but have never visited: Goldendale, WA, where a replica of Stonehenge and a museum of art stand.

It's a beautiful drive. These wind turbines are clustered across the land, adding something interesting to look at while you're tooling along. Make sure you roll down the window and get the wind in your hair while you check out the Columbia River and the beauty of the sunlight dancing over the water.

The Stonehenge replica is a war monument dedicated to those of the county who died serving in World War I. I don't know about the other tourists, but I could sense the sacredness of the place, the ground made holy by human hands, the deaths caused by war and the ancient knowledge of those who watched the sky and the stars invoked to create a lasting memorial.

When you stand outside the ring of stones you feel like the normal outsider, the tourist here to see the American copy of what was made so long ago. But when you walk into the ring, you suddenly become a part of a cycle that has been in motion since we humans looked up and suddenly realized that we could see the divine.

Joe made the comment that there was no trash around; even the teenagers had seemed to withhold their normal disrespect. This was, of course, before we found the graffiti. But even the tagging is accepted as part of the memorial as a matter of course--the dishonor of youth that will be slowly washed away by age, time and nature.

They still leave flowers in this enormous tribute to the dead.

Just me tring to be artistic.

Joe and I showed our respect, and I was happy that I'd finally been able to come see something I've wanted to for such a long time. Aside from beginning the day at IHOP with strawberry pancakes, visiting Stonehenge was the start of that rare, damn-near-perfect day.

The drive during the three miles separating Stonehenge from the Maryhill Museum of Art is pretty.

But the chateau-style mansion/museum is prettier.

Not nearly as pretty as I am, but still pretty.

Anyway, the museum is definitely worth the trip. It holds art by Augustine Rodin and features lots of furniture, jewelry and various other extras once owned by European royalty as well as modern sculptures and, surprisingly, a bunch of comic book art created by Pacific Northwest artists.

It was Joe's idea! Upstairs is an exhibit that features fashion and theatre. They had these cut-out dresses. Of course we were going to pose with them.

We tried to go a little further down the highway to see what else we might have missed, but since we aren't wine drinkers and aren't particularly interested in the Maryhill Winery, we felt like just heading back to the Tri-Cities.

We weren't quite hungry when we started chatting about where we would have dinner tonight, but I told him that I didn't want to go to any of the spots I'd been in the last few months. "Surprise me," I said.

And he did.

In downtown Kennewick on 1st Avenue is a house/business that I'd always known as a limo service. It is no longer a limo service. It is Little Italy recreated in Carmine's image in Tri-Cities, America.

It's a very small family-run restaurant where you have to reserve a table or hope to get lucky with one of the tables they reserve for walk-in customers. It serves one meal per day--today was rigatoni--and they serve it to you in one dish, creating a communal, familial atmosphere that the Italians are, of course, famous for. Joe told me that the family comes in the morning to cook all day.

The ambience reminded me of Venice (Ah, Venice...), how they gave me water in glass bottles, the Italian music piping through the speakers, the sounds of conversation and laughter and silverware clinking against the dishes in the vain attempt to get every single bit of sauce into you. It was nonstop bread, wonderful salad (I had all the croutons, Joe found only one for him, I'm a greedy bitch) and the pasta with the red sauce that has made the number three slot in my top favorites. (The first is my mother's sauce, the second is the spaghetti sauce I had in Venice.)

Then came dessert. This was no ordinary dessert. I'd ordered something I'd never heard of before: ice box cake, a graham cracker chocolate pudding thing (this one had vanilla pudding too) that was so wonderful I immediately wanted to ask for the whole thing to take home. And while I really did enjoy it, it was what Joe ordered that truly won my heart. It was, I kid you not, the best cheesecake with blueberry-raspberry sauce I've ever had.

Be sure to check out Carmine's because the food is true Italian everything. No, I don't get free food because I'm promoting them. They really are that good.

As I write this, I'm sitting on Joe's couch, using his laptop, while he, my brother, my sister and her boyfriend wait for me to come join them in playing a dominoes death match, a winner take-all tournament that will end with someone holding back the desperate need to pee because they are laughing so hard.

Rarely, very rarely, do I experience a day of travel to a new place, see some beautiful scenery and art, playing with a new camera, hanging with one of my best friends and spend time with my siblings before going to bed.

I was once told that I have a tendency to hum Christmas music--usually the song "Deck the Halls"--when I'm happy and content. While it doesn't happen often, I was caught doing it again on our way home from Carmine's. Today was so fun and great that there's not a whole lot that could mar my happiness right now.

Fa la la la la la 'Tis the season to be jolly!

Rediscovering the camera

While I did know that I took pictures on my coastal trip (I did take most of them, after all), I have rediscovered my camera in my luggage.

Photography has long been an interest of mine, dating back to when I was a wee lassie who was given a kid camera at the tender age of eight. I'm definitely not the best photographer ever, and I have not a whole lot of talent for it, but I definitely love to play with the shots and see if I can outdo myself.

So to make up for not posting any entries about the trip--because my entries were slashed down to the point of not being worth reading by my wonderful followers :) --I'll post them here. Maybe you'll forgive me? Just a little? PLEASE?
 

This is me being squished in between two of my aunts, who live in California with their families. I know, I don't really look like them, but the family claims that we do have the same blood so whatever. It was great to reconnect with this part of my family, since I haven't seen them in years and I never met some of my cousins. With my aunts, I was able to talk about women stuff and not to be too left out on some of the family activities that required their in-laws and not me.

Stop laughing at my hair. It was windy.

In the house we stayed was this sunroom that faced the Columbia River. Gorgeous sunsets at dinner time. While my little picture doesn't do it justice (especially since I was too busy eating mahi mahi, which is a predatory fish that is delicious when grilled just so and served with a special ginger sauce), at least you get an idea of some of the colors we enjoyed.

You probably recognize this dock as the same from the picture before it. This is because I couldn't resist taking pictures of the dock belonging to the property next to us. Excuse my small obsession.

Females, please respond with the appropriate hysterical laughter.

Okay, okay, it was probably meant to be serious, but still, I got a big chuckle out of this sign. And it's not a horrible shot either.

If I thought Cathlamet and Puget Island views were gorgeous, imagine my ecstasy in going to the beach in Seaside, Oregon. It was so much fun looking through the shops, where I bought my luggage (an African safari themed suitcase and carry-on, all for $30!) and awesome fudge.

Okay, so you know by now that I'm a chocoholic. What you don't know is that there is a very amusing story behind the fudge. You know, beyond the whole Nessa-salivated-until-the-other-tourists-were-swimming-in-the-fudge-shop thing.

There I am, salivating at the various candies and checking out the fudge counter. I'm not paying attention to my own grandmother or my aunts, let alone the guy behind the counter. This explains why I had almost no awareness of the conversation between the four people until my family all pointed at me.

I knew that the guy--who has been dubbed Fudge Boy--was playing up the whole cute-shop thing because he was flirting a tad with my grandmother and aunts. When Fudge Boy asked if anybody was single, they all pointed at me, which of course got my attention (finally). He started flirting with me and was making us and the other customers laugh. I played along and flirted back (just to see if I had any flirtatiousness in me anyway); I told him that if he gave me a nice, big piece of chocolate, I'd give him a kiss.

Fudge Boy immediately cut me a decent-sized piece, handed it to me and puckered up. With everyone laughing and me not wanting to back out of a semi-promise, I pecked his lips and then bit into my chocolate with relish (not the food type).

This so entertained us for the next few hours that when I decided to go back for more fudge (my aunt was taking hers home to California with her) I went ahead and gave Fudge Boy my cell phone number (it was the aunt's idea).

For those of you who are curious, yes, he ended up texting me and we had a semi-date a couple of days later when I was forced to stay an extra few days at Puget Island.

All in all, it was a fun trip. I had new experiences, met some really nice people and ate weird things I normally would have avoided with a cheeseburger and fries.

I'm glad I went, but I'm really looking forward to a planned trip to California in the next few weeks. I've been wanting to see San Francisco for a long time, have new experiences, etc etc.

But I'll let you in on a secret: since I'm more of a hermit than anything else, I'm not entirely sure how to meet new people and, more importantly, how to stay in touch when they become friends. How in the world do I ditch the shyness and let shine the new Nessa?

Just another path towards WW, right? Self-discovery can be a pain in the ass, let me tell you.

Have a Little Faith ... This is Life We're Dealing With Here

What is it about faith that makes us both wise and stupid, often at the same time?

I don't speak of any particular recent incident, though I could mention plenty just within the last few months. I find myself dwelling on it, especially on days when I've just come out of yoga class and someone makes fun of it.

I've been there. I've done that. I even admit to a certain amount of prejudice against certain religions. So I try not to take it personally. I don't follow any religion of any kind. Why should I, when all religions seem to have at least one truth in them? And isn't the point of any religion to find your own connection to God or the world or whatever? Does it even matter?

Yes. Because I have found a certain kind of faith in my new life here in Clarkston, with grandparents who love me enough to let me stay and stuff my face. It's the kind of faith that apparently can only be found after a major, traumatic experience--perhaps many traumatic experiences and no rest in between.

I speak of the faith that I now have in my ability to survive. I can survive just about anything. And now, I find, I can survive the very treacherous journey that I'm about to embark on that will take me to the very depths of whatever is left of my shredded soul, to the very height of pure humanity--both of which might very well kill a lesser person. Like I was even a few weeks ago.

This journey isn't necessarily a physical one. It's the one we all try to take, consciously or not, to find that unnamed, unknowable force that some describe as God, others Allah, still others as themselves. I don't know if I'll find any of those things, though through my yoga practice I tend to believe that I will find the first two already residing within me, as me, as myself. I'm able to quiet my mind, to hunt the stillness until it has no choice but to come to me, weakened.

The yoga teacher I'm currently learning from described the process as the same way you would find something to listen to on the radio. Most everything you find is static until you find the one station that's playing your song. That's what meditation--even yoga--is. Your thoughts are the static, the unnecessary that you've programmed yourself to listen to. Then you find the station that plays that song that speaks to you.

That's what it's kind of like, this meditation and yoga business. That's why Americans flock to India and all that, even when they don't understand it and act like the stupidest tourist. That's why the yoga teachers go over there, to learn from the great ones who don't have to put this process into words. Instead, they show you through the strength of their faith and the calmness and serenity flowing through them that is both annoying and awe-inspiring.

But yoga is not enough. While it's a universally human trait, the process of finding the faith seems to be very personalized and so yoga cannot be the only path that seems worth it to me. As a species, I feel like we've become so detached from each other, the Earth, the other creatures living here, and the "divine" by whatever name you call it that it's a wonder any of us manage to claim to have found God in any form.

I have no answers, though I hope to find a few. I don't want to find them all, ever, because what would be the point after that? What I have found is an inner core, this internal sphere inside me that is quiet, solitary, strong and unknowable. It's the unknowable part, this part I cannot name, that tells me it's somehow divine.

It's kind of like the G-spot, this sphere. Many aren't sure it even exists and probably don't believe it's really there. Until you find it. Then you know, you believe absolutely that it's there because you've felt it, and it is gloriously divine.

I know. I'm supposed to be blogging about my weight loss and my writing. And I'm supposed to have already posted about my coastal trip. But this has been on my mind for the last day or so. Isn't this experiment of mine supposed to take all the pieces of myself I can find and put them together like a puzzle, one that is worth taking the time to figure out and enjoy the work after you're done? And isn't this faith stuff supposed to be one of those human pieces you must face eventually?

Maybe not. But since it's obviously on my mind and now I'm bugging you with it, now it's stuck and I have to face it.

Because this weight loss, my writing, even my little trip are all tests of faith. Are you strong enough, Vanessa, to endure the pure agony and humiliation required to go to the gym every day, face the skinny little boys and girls and show them that you were depressed enough, hurt enough, lazy enough, weak enough, to let yourself get this way? Can you, Vanessa, discipline yourself to write for yourself every day and grab hold of the one driving ambition you've had for your whole life? This travel dream you claim to have, Vanessa, is it a must-do dream, willing to spend the money, the time, the effort, the exacting toll it takes on your sanity, or a little pipe dream that you only wish you could have done when you find yourself on your death bed?

Yes, goddamn it! is what I'd like to scream. I'd love to be able to tell you, whoever you are reading this, that I have all that in me, that I can do that, that I'm worth that, that I'm able to set aside all this self-loathing I've programmed myself with and all this ridiculous second-guessing and overanalyzing bullshit long enough to do these things, and more. I'd love to be able to tell myself, with absolute certainty, that not only do I have the ability, I'm going to do it.

But right now, what I have faith in is my ability to survive. I've survived a lot, though I'm only freaking 23 years old. If I have to survive the death and destruction of all my dreams, then I will. I'll even endure the unendurable pain that will come with it. Of this, I am certain.

Okay, enough with the whining. Now go do it. By writing this, I've shown a hint of life in me. Questa è la vita, now go live it. 

I can't be the only one who feels this way, right?

Gettin' Pruny by Peaches

Okay, I admit: I'm just downright lazy with that editing I'm supposed to be doing on the entries from my trip. They'll be up soon, I promise.

It's just that people keep talking to me. And I was waiting on my bestest best buddy Joe

to hurry up and get here.

He's hanging out with me for the next couple of days here in Clarkston, him and his 6-month-old puppy named Boomer.

So blame Joe, because he kept me waiting for a whole three and a half hours for him to get here. If you know me at all, you know that I have no patience whatsoever. My room is now so organized I feel like someone else lives there.

I did get to peel some peaches tonight for Grandma's peach cobbler (I know--I have no idea how I'm losing weight sometimes). My hands got pretty pruny (get it, prune-y?), but at least I'm learning more about baking. 

So, blame Joe for the fact that my coastal entries aren't up yet. And you can blame him for making me shut down my computer this early because he's been forcing me to look up airline tickets and trips to California and Maui. He's a tyrant, I tell you.

A more interesting blog post tomorrow, you have my word.