Monday, June 6, 2011


So two things happened in the last few days that just made me think that I must be on candid camera.

The Library Card Incident:
I joined a book club about a year ago.  It's with some ladies that I work with.  I bring the average age down considerably.  But it's great fun.  We meet in one of our conference rooms after work one Wednesday a month to eat take out, dessert, and discuss our book.  But everyone in the office calls it "Wine Night."  Admittedly, sometimes the discussion is not that much about the book, but I digress.

Anyway, buying all these books was getting expensive and we don't have that much shelf space, so I decided to get a library card (I'll upgrade to a Kindle one of these days, but I'm not ready yet).  I had a library card in L.A., but when we moved to Lake Forest, I never got one.  So I went on the OC Public Library website and signed up for my card and set my pickup location for the local El Toro library.  I stopped by on my lunchbreak on Thursday to pick it up.  I gave her my driver's license, but the lady who takes her job very seriously said, "Ma'am [yeah, ma'am - I already dislike her, but she was old so I'll give her a pass], do you have anything that has your current address here in Lake Forest on it?"  So I pulled out my address change card that I printed off the DMV website.  Unfortunately she informed me that if I'm going to use that I need the whole page (yeah, like that fits in my wallet); I made the cardinal sin of cutting it down to a wallet size.  Or she suggested that maybe I have a piece of mail in my purse or car.  But since I don't leave anything in my car because it's not a storage locker (I know that will change when I have kids, but for now) or carry mail around in my purse (am I the only one who gets it out of the mailbox when I get home from work and sort it when I walk in the door?) I was out of luck.  Really?  It's a library card (I could get some medical marijuana easier than this - I only know this from my line of work, not from personal experience).  I'm being punished for being tidy.

I left the library defeated and wasted 20 minutes of my lunch break with nothing to show for it.  I went back today.  I was prepared.  I am now the proud owner of an O.C. Public Library card.  But I'll be careful when I go to the library from now on - they don't mess around.

You Found The Cat Where?:
So our cat Patrick is anti-social.  He's so adorable and sweet, but he is scared of everything...other people in his house most of all.  It's our fault; we haven't socialized him properly.  I wouldn't call him well behaved, but litter box trouble is something we have never had a problem with until...people started trying to make him social.  Someone tried to pull him out from behind the couch while they were pet sitting for us "to make sure he was okay" and he was so scared he peed.  One day some of Sam's family was over and they wanted to see him (because he is stinkin cute and so fun to squish).  Knowing what happened last time and with my insistence that this was a bad idea and my pleas to just leave Pat alone, Sam pulled him out from behind the couch and guess what? Yeah.  So we learned our lesson, right?  No.  This time we took a different approach - we held Patrick before the guest walked in and as soon as he did...Patrick peed on Sam (at least this time it was on tile - by the front door).  So fearing that he had it on himself, we put Patrick in the garage.  It's small - there's not much in there but the car and some stuff in one corner, so he can chill in there while we clean up and then go get him and clean him up.  Well of course he hid under the car.  Wanting to shield my poor cat from any further trauma, I suggested that Sam and our guest leave (they were on their way out anyway) and just leave the garage open and Patrick will come out when he's ready (he always has before after people leave).

But he didn't.  I went to check on him and he's not under the car.  I tear the apartment apart.  No cat.  I look in the corner in the garage.  No cat.  I pop the hood and look into my car with a flashlight (I have heard about cats doing that - something about the engine being warm).  But still no cat.  I am annoyed by this point and give up.  He'll come out if I'm patient.  But Sam came home a few hours later and still no cat.  So Sam tears the apartment and garage apart (that I had already put back) and no cat.  By this time I am panicking.  He's gotten out, I'm sure of it.  I'm a bad kitty momma for not protecting him so he ran away.  Sam is sure he did not get out so he looks in the car (under the hood) and no cat.  So he lays under the car and searches...and found Patrick shoved up in the rear bumper.  And he is not coming out.  Sam spent the next 20 minutes laying under the back bumper (my car is pretty low) sweet talking the cat, trying to coax the cat out from inside the bumper.  I am sitting next to them cooing to the bumper in my most soothing cat momma voice asking my kitty to come out.  Finally with a firm push (literally) and some treats, he came out.  Covered in dirt/grease/oil (whatever car dirt that you'd find inside a bumper) and he has naturally gotten it all over us.  So now we all have to shower...including Patrick.  Sam took one for the team and did the honors.

So we are relieved to have our Patrick back safe and sound, but REALLY??  Can having kids really be worse than this?