creamer vs. creamer

flight or fight: automated response

The following is a work of fiction, an imagined transcript of exactly half of a telephone call placed to an automated flight information system. Any resemblance of characters in this work to real persons living or sleeping in the next room is purely coincidental.

KELLY dials phone. Waits.

KELLY: One.
KELLY: I don’t know.
KELLY: Arrivals.
KELLY: Today.
KELLY: Minneapolis.
KELLY: New York.
KELLY: New York LaGuardia International.
KELLY: Next.
KELLY: Next.
KELLY: Next.
KELLY (exasperated): Details.
KELLY (urgently): No, back up!
KELLY (hanging up): Screw it.

Tula doesn't want to live with the cats

On our recent trip to Zion National Park in Utah, Scott and I found our wedding bands. We found them at a Native American art gallery. They're two layers of silver with black markings symbolizing water made by the Hopi tribe. Very simple and they matched! Our two goals were met.

We returned home triumphant! I pulled the two jewelry boxes out of my bag and placed them on my dressing table. Since I'm in the process of moving into Scott's house this month I did mention to Scott that he should take them home so that the rings didn't get lost in the move. What fateful words those would turn out about to be.

Friday morning proceeded as normal. I got up, got ready for work, Scott came to pick me up and off we went. I did pick up on the fact that Tula seemed slightly peevish about our leaving. Granted we had only been home two days and had jump right back into work completely ignoring her needs (this is her opinion, not mine.) So I braced myself for finding some level of destruction upon our return home. Usually Tula manifests her unhappiness by eating part of a houseplant and then throwing it up on the living room rug. Annoying but not fatal.

Of course you see where this is all going.

We returned home Friday night to find a chewed up jewelry box and a spit-saturated blob of tissue paper on my bedroom floor. Wrapped within the tissue was my wedding ring. Now with more character! Tula must have chewed on the tissue a number of times before she decided that I had been thoroughly punished for leaving her home that morning. The ring was still wearable but no was longer completely round. It was slightly bent on one side and had multiple teeth marks.

Needless to say I was distraught! "Is it a sign?" I asked Scott and Jen who witnessed the discovery. I mean, both rings were on the dresser but she chooses to chew on my ring, not Scott's. Did this mean that Tula doesn't want us to get married? Or maybe it means she just wants Scott all to herself. She goes crazy whenever he arrives and if we come home together I get ignored while she jumps on and licks him with abundant joy. Or she doesn't want to move to Scott's house. Tula simply can't bring herself to cohabitate with another species. A species so foul and evil. Tula doesn't want to live with the cats.

In reality I know the real reason she chewed up the jewelry box and ring are because of one or all of the following:
1. She was mad that we left that morning and thus was going to act out in some way.
2. She discovered the jewelry boxes at perfect muzzle level. Heck, she didn't even have to work to get at them.
3. There is the possibility that the boxes smelled like food. They had been in my backpack co-mingling with chocolate covered espresso beans and yogurt covered almonds.

I think #3 is the real reason.

The ring has been sent back to the gallery in Utah and now we're awaiting word about its status. The owner was very kind when I spoke to her. Either the artist will be able to repair it or they'll replace it with a new one. Either way, it'll turn out fine.

Now getting Tula to live peacefully with the cats...that's another story.

simulated haircut

Enjoy this audio simulation of the haircut Kelly's getting right now at Moxie. As you listen, let your imagination run wild. See the orphaned clips of her hair floating gently to the floor. Feel the warm afternoon sun streaming in the windows. Hear the robust hubbub of Snelling Avenue traffic. Smell the Paul Mitchell hair products, bottles all neatly lined up in their racks, ready for action like a really stylish militia. "They gave us these raw kids, and we turned them into fashion soldiers," says General Mitchell, his voice husky with repressed emotion, his eyes teary beneath the shining helmet of his hair. "They didn't think they had it in them, but we knew they'd go far. I have to say, this group really gelled."

We have two urgent search objectives these days: a suitable chew toy for the Bucket, and an officiant for the wedding. For the former, we're looking for something that will give her a legitimate outlet for her oral fix and redirect her from chewing on cardboard, paper, or Flea. What is she, a dog? Apparently so. Anyway, she's been on a real paper-shredding tear lately. Hello? PetCo? Do you stock titanium mousies?

For the latter, we're thinking of something affordable, maybe with a dab of flair, and preferably in a non-denominational or secular model. Gender is not an issue. A meaningul connection to our lives would be nice. Friends who've always wanted to pursue their internet M.Div. are encouraged to apply.

flashback, spring forward

Daylight Saving Time. Tonight, for many of us, our fathers will wander the dark halls of our memories in their tighty-whities, resetting all the clocks in the house.