Cat

Cat

Meet my neighbor, Cat!

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When did I become so uncool?

What I most love about my friend Rebecca is that she’s a word nerd. I’m serious. She gets giddy when she adds to her vocabulary. It’s infectious and I will admit her little oddity has improved my lexicon, so I won’t complain, at least not today.

Yesterday, Rebecca texted me a “Dear Abby” article about a mother who overheard her 17-year-old son talking about “twerking.” The mother wondered if twerking was similar to “catfishing,” “getting high,” or “tripping.”

While Rebecca and I thought it was sad the mother didn’t have the type of relationship where she could ask the son what catfishing meant, we both thought is was even sadder that I never heard of catfishing. I Googled, and it has nothing to do with fishing.

When did I become so uncool?

I didn’t hear about twerking until Miley molested a married man on national television with her butt.

Language is ever changing and if you’re a parent, you probably want to educate yourself on the latest slang. Trust me, “dexing” is not the same as texting.

My cool years are definitely behind me. Imagine my surprise upon hearing the latest Good Morning America promo: “Teenage girl catfishes an entire town. Stay tuned.” Thanks Rebecca.

Sometimes loss is about acceptance…

The stages of grief are universal. Trust me when I say that death is not just for loved ones.

Three years ago, my more than10-year PR career became a job.  Sorrow was etched on my face and in my jaunt as I was forced to leave my office and join a cube farm. The privacy every writer deems necessary to create, to write, to think flew out of my now windowless coop.

Anger reared its head quickly as I purposefully turned in assignments late and half-heartedly. “What’s the problem?” I was asked. Honestly, I didn’t know. I didn’t understand that I was hurting, or may be I couldn’t accept the loss of my career for what it was…death. I suffered in silence because the salary was decent; silence lead to isolation and overeating.

I began bargaining with God everyday. “Father, if…” became my mantra.

I became depressed when God answered my prayers. Why? Because leaving an unsecure job with benefits definitely was not the answer I was expecting.

Honestly, I’m still depressed over my career, but I am smiling, joyful and scared as I daily accept that I am on a new journey to be a published novelist and screenwriter.

Acceptance is the final stage of grief and while I’m not totally healed, I’m well on my way. Thank you Father.

Fear and loathing in Mississippi…

Yesterday ended week one of Jillian Michaels’ 30 Day Shred challenge. I lost one pound, but most importantly I lost my fear of doing hard-core exercises. Let me explain.

Like a lot of individuals, I do the same exercise nearly everyday. Good for the heart, but not for weight loss (at least, not in my case). My three-mile daily walk wasn’t moving the scale or changing my measurements.

The 30 Day Shred incorporates endurance, strength, balance, and flexibility. It only took one workout for me to realize doing only cardio was not enough. Last week I could barely touch my toes, complete 20 seconds of jumping jacks, or do five pushups with perfect form. Day one meant dusting off a pair of three-pound weights and struggling to complete a minute of static lunges with a bicep curls.

On Day 7, I could do a minute of jumping jacks and jump rope, and I traded the three-pound bells for five pounders.

In three days I advance to Level 2 of the challenge and I’m ready ‘cause Level 1 is getting easy. Whoa, did I just write that? Yep, I did. Sure, the next level will be tough, but I’m not afraid. Are you?

I wondered: Who am I most like? Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte or Miranda?

I skipped Super Bowl XLVIII and watched the “Sex and the City” marathon on E! Admit it, you still love Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda.

The funky spunk episode!!! The marathon was great, although I could’ve done without the constant “Keeping up with the Kardashians” adverts. Next Sunday, Kanye pops the big question. Just in case you missed it, Kim said yes—again. I’ll skip the show, and wait for Kanye’s post divorce album. It will be epic!

In honor of Kim’s third trip down the aisle, I wondered: “Is it really so hard to find the right one?” Carrie didn’t snag Big until season six. Charlotte searched for love for years before finding hairy Harry. The career-minded, slightly Type A, and extremely cynical Miranda eventually found love with Steve. Samantha was the only one to not find true love.

As I re-watched the finale, I realized SATC wasn’t just about sex. It was about great sex and relationships. And, “the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself.”

Seems I was wrong about Samantha. She always knew true love started with loving yourself, “And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that’s just fabulous.”

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Here kitty kitty…

When I opened my door last night, Cat sprinted in, sniffed around, and then sat down. I cooed “here kitty kitty” until I was blue and she wouldn’t move. I had to resort to leading her out with a piece of chicken that she quickly gobbled down. She sat on my porch for nearly two hours meowing for more.

It’s 2 p.m. and I’m trying to sneak out of my house for a daily walk. The problem? Cat is waiting to run inside. She’s really fast for such a fat feline. Yes, go ahead and laugh ‘cause the situation is truly funny.

I want to go for a walk, not a run. I definitely don’t want to chase a cat. Plus, I don’t run fast, not as fast as Cat. But guess what? I can do 20 pushups. No, not 20 in a row, and yes, it’s the girly pushups, but yeah me! It’s day four of Jillian Michaels’ “30 Day Shred,” and I can also do 20 jumping jacks and two sets of leg squats while holding three-pound dumbbells. Like I said, yeah me!

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I plan to stick with Michaels’ workout for 30 days. Maybe then I can outrun Cat. Geez.

I’m not your buddy or your friend…

It seems I’ve adopted a cat named “Cat.” I’m pretty sure Cat belongs to someone in my little cul-de-sac. She has a nametag and she’s fat. Cat has only gotten fatter this winter because I’m feeding her too. Don’t judge me, I hate to eat alone.

In an effort to fight fat and winter malaise, I purchased Jillian Michaels’ “30 Day Shred.” Yesterday was Day 1.

I hate Jillian and not because she has an AH-mazing figure. No, I also hate her for yelling, “pick up the pace,” and for calling me “buddy,” for well, picking up the pace. Actually, it’s “buuuuddy.” I want to kick box her in the face.

Today is Day 2. It’s a repeat of yesterday, but maybe I can get through the entire workout without stopping to catch my breath every 30 seconds. Geez, Jillian, what’s with the freakin’ jumping jacks? I haven’t done those since I was 10.

I think she’s trying to kill me. In fact, I’m sure of it, but I’ll let you know on 30 days because that’s how long I have to suffer through this exercise regime. But no worries, I have a will that leaves my house and my food to Cat.

The friend of my enemy is still my enemy…

It’s 2014 and I’m turning 35 years old (uh, make that 40). It’s my lie and I’m sticking to it. Anyhoo, one thing I know for sure is that friendships shouldn’t be painful at 42 years old (43?). Hmmm, I think it’s time to call my mom ‘cause I’m iffy about my age.

Another thing I know for sure is that it’s time to rethink a friendship. Yeah, I know that’s easier said than done, even when you’re in your 40s, but that’s why it’s so important.

A quick Google led me to my favorite new word, “frenemy.” Frienemy or frenemy is a portmanteau of friend and enemy. While the term has come into vogue lately, Wiki notes the word appeared in print in 1953. One thing is true; frenemy is still hard to define.

Some sites claim frenemy is someone with whom you enjoy spending time, but don’t completely trust.  Wiki defines the term as someone who “pretends to be a friend but actually is an enemy.”

I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer my enemy to just be a wolf. I’m serious. It would save me from buying Tylenol and keep you from buying sheep clothing.

Ol’ school savvy or tech stagnant…

Jelly is getting a lot of notice. How could it not with celebrities including Al Gore and Bono backing the app?

The concept is simple. Take a picture of say Ole Miss’ basketball arena, then ask a question such as, “Who’s the best SEC team right now?” Click “send” and get answers.

Will I buy this app? No, but I’m definitely what you’d call, “Ol’ school savvy.” I keep my writing assignments and family birthdays in a Filofax. I jot my doctors’ appointments on a wall calendar and not in iCal (sorry Peter). If I want to know who’s the best in the SEC this week, I call, well, Peter.

I know I’m not the only high tech stagnant person out there. Today my sister was flipping through a dictionary when her co-worker said; “There’s an app for that.” Danielle replied, “I guess I just like looking words up the old fashioned way.”

I’m that same way, sorta. I use my Mac’s built-in thesaurus daily, but recently purchased the latest American Heritage Dictionary. I prefer a hardcopy, but I download (upload?) books to my Kindle too.

So, am I tech resistant or ol’ school stuck? I think I’ll tweet this question.

Yahoo Tech.

If it sounds to good to be true…

The call came at 7:55 a.m. I answered without looking at caller ID. That was the first mistake. Michael Washington from American Sweepstakes said I won $65 million. Hell yeah, Thursday morning looking awesome!

The second mistake was not hanging up, and the third was entertaining the scam artist who claimed my money arrive in an hour. The catch, yes, there was a catch; I needed to purchase a check card for $1050. Wait, what?

At this point, I’m not longer entertained, plus my coffee was cooling, so I hang up. This should be over right? No, it’s not. Washington called back 15 to 20 more times. He cursed me when I finally yelled, “Just send my freakin’ $65 Mil!”

Again, this should be over? Again, it’s not. Washington called today at 7:55 a.m. His accent was the giveaway, although he gave a different name. I yelled at him and he cursed at me. Is he angry I refuse to be scammed? I put the phone on silent. When I checked the phone log several hours later, it showed Washington had called me every five to 10 minutes until 10:51 a.m. What the French toast? Definitely time to go to the police.

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