While discussing and noshing on the sweet treat of Toaster Strudel I’d brought The Mc (because he was Mr. Potty Pissy Pants during/after the move) and how it was the naughtiest thing sold in a grocery store, the conversation turned to Alli.

I’d asked my physician about the drug once - because I really *do* have a friend who will buy any quick weight loss drug on the planet up to and including horse asthma medicine. That conversation went like this:

Her: Do you remember WOW! chips?
Me: The ones with olestra that caused anal leakage?
Her: Yeah. It works like that. Your body expels anything that’s too high in fat.

Flash back to present day.

The Mc: You’d basically have to eat these on the toilet.

That’s pretty.

Let me just give you a quick summary of the last few weeks, and why for the first time in nearly 6 years I haven’t blogged an average of once every other day:

Met with builder finalized plans for construction started looking for fans light fixtures paint appliances televisions couch kitchen island tile grout blinds/drapes mirror frame make copies of keys drop keys off for builder find out keys don’t fit get new keys made schedule and host Tweet-Up look for new second lock for front door call cable company arrange install have power turned on call movers and schedule debate every item five times with The Mc look at couches agree on couch but The Mc has to go back and sit on it one more time then we debate the color all over again but HEY we haven’t picked the paint color yet butt heads on which came first the chicken or the egg the couch or the paint pick up tile samples at lunch drag them back to condo to find they don’t match counter (what does) start all over go by salvage yard and look at grates to use for pot rack go to fabric store to look at fabric for draperies and have labor priced give birth to a five pound turd when they quote $1500 for labor alone go home and scour interwebs finally agree on paint color buy washer and dryer schedule delivery for same day as cable install schedule next tweet up make plans to meet California Closets lady find stools for island are we ever going to buy the island The Mc buys the island after several calls and ridonkulous shipping quotes buy grate and drink. *breathe* Pick out tile and grout and spacing pay for tile and arrange pick up pick out paint color start looking for light fixtures again heavens open up (via Kayron and Daily Candy) with link to lady who does jumbo curtains and can help HALLALUJA oh crap what about all that stuff in storage we need to throw a few of these bikes in there anyway lets swing by and get boxes OMG where did all this crap come from schedule appointment with drape maven oh yeah and did I mention The Mc’s mom has an anurism and is having surgery the Wednesday before we move oh yeah so okay let’s reevaluate everything because really he needs to be there and I can move solo priorities people okay so still haven’t picked a ceiling fan search on line scour local stores nothing nothing nothing a few phone calls later okay one is on the way and will be here by Monday when the builder needs it b/c his electrician will be there pick up new kitten try to introduce him to Grayson without bloodshed pick up kitchen island (solo) and wrestle it out of the back of my truck then carry it down the hall to the condo (this should totally be a party trick) try to pick a name for the new kitten go by The Container store and start to look at Elfa racks to figure out how the pantry is going to work look on line at floor solutions for the library loft what is The Mc going to use for a desk? Drive OTP again pick up 300lbs of tile deliver to loft carry four loads up stairs and down the hall before I figure out I could probably re purpose a dry-wall dolly thing finish loading it all sweat half my weight try to pick a name for the new kitten buy nifty bow shower curtain rod thingie make plans to meet California Closets lady meet California Closets lady and back and forth about handles agree on closets sell big TV to friend and couch to colleague call builder we sure have a lot not yet done and we’re moving next week oh yeah crud I thought you said first week of October should we change the move date no okay go to reorganize storage unit for easy access to stuff coming to condo/loft (as opposed to cabin) The Mc crashes my solo party and TG b/c I never could have moved some of this stuff myself okay three hours later go by IKEA buy fun chandelier for the bathroom still haven’t measured mirror or found other light fixtures including those for kitchen get call about couch one piece is back ordered can’t deliver until Oct 2 okay and the closet not until October 11 so okay move tiny love in fine oh and we have two days left to move and Grayson’s mewer broke rush him to the vet with flashbacks of Amber and breakdown crying worrying about him and feeling like a horrible mother only to find out it’s just stress (maybe what we’ll name the kitten?) come home and climb in bed because some days you just need to walk away from the “gottas” and make time for yourself. So we move in three days still don’t have light fixtures or televisions and I gotta have the builder get and install conduit for the drapes (you’ll see) and buy boxes and finish packing the the apartment and oh gee it sure would be nice to see my friends again one day.

As for Grayson, the vet says its stress. No kidding?

So yeah um. Sucks that I haven’t had time to write. I miss it. I miss you guys. Looking forward to a return to normalcy and for feeling for the first time in three years like I’m not living out of a suitcase.

Less than an hour ago, I woke up to Grayson nuzzing me. Purring, kneeading, drooling - and a smile spread across my face in the dark. We brought the new kitten home Saturday night and said LP has put the kibash on our lolling about every morning, the routine where he wakes me with purring and I thank him with superdupersnuggletime has been suspended.

The purring and cuddling is a huge bonus for both Grayson and I, and brought to your in part by the letter K and the number 8, but mostly because The Mc got up with CrapStain Jr.

I bellow “thank you!” to Sweetie McSweeterson who is in the living room with (Higgins? Ronan? Chip? Biscuit? Cricket? Einstien?) the new kitten, and has been since 4am. The last three days I’ve been on call - and Grayson has shown his displeasure at not having our “us” time.

Ahhh…a flashback to normalcy.

I shuffle out to sit with the PFL and Grayson trailing a step behind, hippy hoppy happy. The Mc is on the couch trying to eat his breakfast with a kitten in his lap, and he looks up at me with something in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

“We had an R. Kelly moment.” He says, looking horrified.

My brain blinks.

“He peed on you?” I’m excited in a twisted parent way, I mean human babies are known to let fly when having their diapers changed…right? At least one incident per child? I figured The Mc was being christened, but the logistics are all wrong. What was The Mc doing in the litter box?

“No…” he says, and I tilt my head like the RCA dog. I’ve been out of bed 3.3 minutes and I’m really confused.

“You peed on him?!”

He nods, shame and embarrassment seeping out of his pores. “I was going and he just jumped up and in.”

I snicker a little but it’s way too early for the laugh this deserves. “Wait. He jumped in the toilet? Not through your stream like a sprinkler?”

“Yeah. You might want to give him a bath if you have a chance today…”

Yeah. I’ll get right on that. Right after I blog about it and compound your embarrassment/upset.

Kitten has been here four days and this will be his second bath. The first? From a foot encrusted in poo and litter that resembled an almond roca.

Craptastic.

We’re running away from home, Gwennie and I. We’re sick of your collective crap.

OK not really. We’re both just love spending long weekends in the middle of hurricanes/tropical storms.

OK not really that either.

We’re each aching for the beach, the surf, the salty air. We’re each taking control of our pending and existing nervous breakdowns and making a choice to get away from it all together for a few days.

We’ll bring books, and spend hours on a quiet beach on the coast of Gerogia near Sapelo Island. If the weather cooperates, we’ll kayak and visit nature preserves. If it doesn’t, we’ll play Scrabble and watch movies.

Right now though? Hanna - that dirty pirate whore - appears to be headed straight for the cottage we rented, and there are talks of evacuating the area.

Hmpf.

I happened upon a writing spark that suggested “How I met my…” Hmmm. Boyfriend/love monkey/PFL? Yawn. gynecologist? TMI. Sister? Yes! Trouble is, I don’t remember how I met her; but I imagine I was probably screaming about something. Air, food, a crap filled diaper.

One of my earlier memories of her is when I was around 7 and I called my brother fat. We were standing at the bottom of our stairs in the sub-basement where our bedrooms and the “rec room” were and she retorted: “you’re ugly.” I argued with her and she introduced me to a new meaning of the word. She was always so smart, and she always knew how to shut me up.

My next memory wasn’t long after. She was going away for a week or more that summer and I was beside myself. Inconsolable. We’d shared a bedroom most of my life (once I’d graduated from the dresser drawer. Seriously.) and I couldn’t fathom being without her. Scratch that - I didn’t WANT to fathom being without her.

When she finally left, she told me I had to be good and brave, that she’d left me a present if I was. I was. And I got the present - mom pulled it from its hiding place on top of the fridge. I think it was a charm…hell it could have been a Monopoly piece. There was a note that my mother read me that day with the present that made me feel less lost. There was another prize and another note the day after, and the day after that.

I came to understand as well as I could with that tiny brain still trying to learn to count to 100 without using my fingers that even when she wasn’t with me, she was thinking about me…and in that way, she was with me.

With eight years between us, I was still rocking bifocals and a Dorthy Hamill do when she left for Northwestern to grow on her own terms.

I visited her there one summer when my mom was in the hospital and they needed the little ones (Kevin and I) to be taken care of. He went to Montana with family friends, I visited Evanston for a week during the rest of the summer I spent in Nebraska with my aunties.

That summer Jennifer educated me on the wonder that is sunscreen (errr…Coppertone), put makeup on me, and let me wear one of her fancy, hip, 80’s belts. It was green and I felt soooooo grown up. We went to a production of Don Quiote and she made chicken Kiev for dinner. She introduced me to Cinnamon Toast Crunch, she brought me to the place that served the best deep dish in town, from which I’ve never fully recovered. I thought I was in Neverland.

In 1998 when we were together at our family reunion/immigration anniversary, we showed up with the same handbag. I don’t mean that in a “omg we’ere wearing the same dress…I have to leave!” kinda way, because she and I are one handbag and one handbag only kinda girls. No swapping to match your outfit. Of all the purses in all the towns…she got hers in LA and I got mine in Atlanta.

Crap, I’m boring myself.

We have a lot of history, she and I. Memories of squabbles are buried under memories of so many other good things. She was a was a stand-in mother when my own couldn’t be, but a sister through it all. She’s a wonderful woman, a great friend, a brainiac and an inspiration.

I could have done worse.

I’m old.

No. Srsly. I’m gettin’ up there. 18 years of fresh air in Alaska has been compromised by 14 years of harsh southern sun (with a few west coast years thrown in with a dash of smoochies for good measure) and a lack of love for sunscreen.

Look! It’s the sun! And in Atlanta, it’ll actually change my skin color and make me glow!

Ugh. The sun, she has left her mark. Specifically, marks in the form of sunspots on my cheeks as pointed out by the otherwise lovely anestitician at Pura Vida last month.

So what am I doing about it? Besides wearing sunscreen as of a few years ago?

I went to Ulta, of all places, and I bought make-up.

Ladies, work with me here. You’ve either seen the commercials for Bare Minerals or you know someone (with seemingly flawless skin) who uses the product. I’ve succumbed. I want skin like that! And apparently, I’m delusional enough to think that $60 worth of crap in a pretty box will give it to me.

Instead of feeling confident and as though I’m about to reinvent myself into a magical, mythical creature with creamy perfect skin, I’m like a thirteen year old, bringing home a box of make-up I’m totally not allowed to wear yet. I open it up and there are all these devices and packages inside I can’t begin to comprehend. Did I even get the right color? Who knows. Oh look! A DVD!

Guys, I spent part of my Saturday last weekend watching a DVD that tells me how to put make-up on.

What is WRONG with me?

I’m still clueless and completely terrified of the contents of that box.

Blog? Have a uterus? Live in or near ATL? C’mon out and play…