Of cats and men

Well, my eldest cat Matilda (the one in my profile picture), has chronic bronchitis. This means M. and I must give him cough syrup at least twice a day. (And no, it's no mistake. Matilda IS a male cat, the mistake having really been made by the vet all those
years ago when I had already chosen a name). Anyway, have you ever tried to give a cat anything orally? Unless I've dipped my finger in
ice cream, Bailey's, or pizza my cat won't touch it.
It's about as easy as getting him to go where I want.
So...we get around the difficulty, so to speak, by injecting syrup down the poor feline's throat
with a syringe. (No needle of course). Problem with this is you need to be steel-nerved and quick...two things I definitely am not.
The cat will squirm, look horrified, hiss, and bite. My hand trembles and Maurizio yells. So imagine the scene, me sleepy as hell both morning and evening trying to coerce
the creature into immobility all the while wielding this syringe and praying I don't miss. My bad aim means I get a forearm full of strawberry syrup for breakfast, and I have to wash myself, the cat, and the bedspread.
On a good day it all goes down smoothly and then in the morning rush I probably lose the syringe. I've had to buy 3 new ones in as many weeks, so now I am
quite sure the pharmacist thinks I am a junkie. I got that look the last time I went in. The raised eyebrow "another one, eh?" look, sneaking a peek at my arms while
wrapping up my purchases.
Bastard. Now I am terrified of losing this one and so I diligently replace it into the box with the syrup.
On another note, it stopped raining and has turned into a warm day.
I have noticed that my overall patience with people has grown extremely thin. I have been counting to ten...a LOT.
Perhaps it's the fact that the general population is rude, ignorant, selfish, and stinky? Public transport and the supermarket have become real trials for me. I came this close to telling an old woman to fuck off today. She kept line hopping at the registers...and putting herself NEXT to me in line when it seemed that the one I was in was moving quicker. Finally I turned and bit my lip...but something came out anyway. "Which line are you in ma'am?" She stared back at me, befuddled, oh how I know and hate that look. "What does it matter?" she replied stupidly in a half-laugh. I wanted to say "It matters because if you move again I am going to shove my umbrella up your ass." Instead I found it was safer to say "I am the next in line here, and so I would appreciate you not queueing next to me. Unless you want to pay for my groceries."
Someone grant me the serenity to NOT kill all these people I keep running into.

Just because

Ok. So I have no real reason for this. But I don't really need one, do I?
Anyway, it's time for a caustic post.

I dislike Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal.
I used to be neutral on her, and I've always hated him, but now that
they are supposedly together it turns my stomach.
He may have been a gay cowboy and I appreciate that, but I could barely sit
through Zodiac. I don't like him and I don't like his acting.
It's like that guy who did Spiderman. (And he could have really spared us that
last installment). I hate him too. I lump them together in a category I call
"better to lose 'em than keep 'em."
Jake's a caricature to me, not a real person.
And speaking of caricatures...Reese could stop a train with that chin.
You know, come to think of it, I hate Ryan Phillippe as well. That's her
ex-husband.
She has poor taste in men, and they obviously like horses.
Since I'm on a roll...Melissa Joan Hart. You know, of Sabrina the Teenage Witch fame. The one
with the fucked-up eye. How did she get on fucking television???

Now a man who's really attractive...Ricky Martin. I know he's a closeted
Latino singer but I have loved him since Menudo. The man is hot, sexy, and
has a voice that could melt glaciers. (Did I mention the ass that won't quit?)

So there you have it. Since I ran out of coffee today, this is what y'all get instead.

He

He was the befuddled kind.

Welcome to my world

Well, it's Tuesday. The weekend passed by as quickly as usual, though I found it extremely relaxing.
Except for the part on Sunday night when I got an ear infection. An ear infection! I mean, what am I? 2 years old?
Doctor thinks it's all the running outdoors...wind blowing and colder temperatures have taken a toll on my
fragile ears. I think there are too many people in the world, and as a result too many germs everywhere.
I have mentioned my fear of germs, have I not?
So now I am on antibiotics which I despise because a) I allow pharmaceutical companies to make money off of me
b) I can't drink c) They make me feel icky and spacey
When you are trying to explain the intricate differences between the present perfect simple and the continuous
to a group of sleepy, inattentive bankers you need to be somewhat lucid.
I am literally counting the days until the coming weekend. After 2 doses my ear still throbs and I am looking forward
to a two-hour lesson this evening with a person I don't know. A stranger with an unknown, untested level of English
knowledge. Will he be good, thus 2 hours fly by? Or will he stare back at me befuddled and every minute will seem like eternity?
I will let you know tomorrow. Now I have to fix myself that Xanax cocktail.

not much to report

Today the Tube smelled like boiled cabbage. Of course I live in Milan, and so it's not called the Tube, I am just beguiling my mind into thinking I live in London.
So, in the metropolitana today it smelled like golombki. And for those of you who haven't had the fortune of being raised Polish in a place with a very cold winter,
golombki are cabbage wraps. You know, stuffed cabbage. Filled with...well, every Polish mother does it differently. At my house it's more or less a mixture of minced meat, fried cabbage (because you can't have enough of those Cruciferae!), onion, spices, and rice or barley. All of this is nicely baked in a tomato or mushroom sauce and served piping hot.
Hungry yet?
On another note, while waiting patiently at a bus stop today a sweet old lady told me I had a nice ass. Swear to god. Well, she didn't use those precise words. She said I had a nice "bottom." What ensued was my (very) embarrassed reply of "Thanks?" and then her telling me all about her youth, and how she had had a nice ass too and so there was hope for me in my old age, because, you know, she still had it at 77. I won't deny she was a good-looking 77-year-old, but I wouldn't go so far as to say she "still" had "it," unless "it" meant dentures and age spots.
Suffice it to say the day has been amusing. I just returned from a long run, I have a bath drawn, and later dinner with friends. Not a bad Friday at all.

Oh it never ends

My bad.
It seems my mentally impaired neighbor with a proclivity for musicals is a television star. And here I was making fun.
Not only that, as his webpage illustrates, he is also a dj and presenter. Well, I'll be damned. He seemed like a plain old serial killer to me.
It was Monday evening, around 9pm, and we were just getting done with dinner when a program called "Distraction"
came on. The show is light and entertaining, a quiz of sorts where the contestants attempt to answer questions while
being tortured. By this I mean getting hit in the face with eggs, having to snap a rubberband against their noses, and so on.
The host is an excellent showman and makes it work.
This year, they have a boy band singing on the show. And I use the term very loosely. 5 middle-aged men, all possessing some kind of
"peculiarity." Who happens to be one of these fab five? That's right, ladies and gentlemen. My neighbor.
So hats off-- who am I to judge? I guess I should feel honored to be listening to him "rehearsing" on a Saturday morning.
Buddha save us.

Now it's war

He did it again.
Manic-Depressive Speech Impediment Boy's rousing rendition of "O Sole Mio" was NOT appreciated by the staff.
Not at 2pm on a Saturday, when I already had been rudely startled into the world of the conscious and animate by
his morning set. I was only trying to take a nap...
You can't imagine how long someone "not altogether there" can amuse himself by singing the same 4 songs repeatedly.
Apparently Accountant Brother was not present, leaving Brother #2 the run of the house. I could just seem him hustling
about his living room in tight white underpants and a wife beater.
Well, I didn't want it to come to this. It is a last resort, a secret weapon of sorts which has worked for years in situations worse
than this.
I am going to have to pull out the big guns.
Wagner.
Sure, he was an adulterous racist with a penchant for pink silk intimates, but you have to admit the man could pen
a really LOUD opera. And I just happen to have surround sound in the bedroom, and my speakers are mobile.
Now, as I rub my hands together in sheer delight I am trying to imagine the scene. He'll plug in the karaoke...and at the first
measure I will be at the ready with my cd, an opera-wielding Lady Deathstrike.
I wonder how Old Boy will feel after 12 hours of Das Ring des Nibelungen. I might just throw in Parsifal at the end to make my kill.

Kara....what???

I woke up this morning (or rather, I was woken up) to the sounds of my neighbor singing karaoke. It was 7:20am. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.
Now, these neighbors are new. I live in a building made by someone who should have been strung up by his ankles. The walls are rice paper and when someone sneezes next door, I say "Bless You." I spend most of the time in my flat conversing in near whispers out of terror of being overheard. Ah...I skipped a detail. My bedroom shares the wall with the neighbors' kitchen/living room. Grand.
Why don't I move? Well, the aesthetic of the exterior is very nice. The neighborhood is wonderful. I bought the flat two months before the Euro currency took over here, meaning I spent very little for what is now an expensive flat. I can't afford to move.
The neighbors I had before were a crazy couple, who then had a crazy child. She yelled all the time about everything, and I passed a good 6 years listening to her screams at 7:30 am on Sunday mornings. Once the baby came, I heard Mom shout and the baby. Poor baby, what did she know? As the years passed she grew into a mini version of her Mom, shrieking became normal for her too...hey, Mom always did it. I was a nervous wreck.
When they told me this fall that they were moving, I was overjoyed. And then a sense of dread washed over me..."My God, who will be moving in???"
Well, two brothers moved in. In their 50s, unmarried, and even crazier than the family living here before them. One is seemingly normal...accountant type. The other looks like a serial killer, dresses funny, and slurs his words when he speaks. Speaking...this is rare for him. To him, it's normal to scream at the top of his lungs. This is the brother singing this morning. Imagine for a moment what that sounded like. He was singing..."Pazza come una terrazza." Crazy like a terrace. God how ironic!
So, it is with heavy heart that I face each evening. Will they scream and blaspheme all night? (Yes, I forgot to mention they LOVE to blaspheme). Shall I be able to get to sleep before 1am?

I didn't think so many people were nuts in the world. And they all seem to be living in this building.

Alprazolam you are my friend

I don't know what's happened to me over the last few months, or maybe it's been years, but I realize that I have become painfully shy and socially awkward. I was always quiet and a bit detached, but I notice that I am withdrawing further and further into myself as time passes.
My anthropophobia and agoraphobia/demophobia have got worse, and I have begun to dread attending any function where there are people I don't already know, but even a trip to the supermarket or the bus ride to work can get me anxious. I fear strangers speaking to me or insulting me. (And gratuitous insults actually happen quite often here in Milan. People are crazier than I am). In an effort to shield myself from this I am perpetually attached to my mp3 player with my nose in a book. I try to look as unapproachable as possible. Generally it works.
I think a lot of it does boil down to my living here in Italy. Even though years have passed, and in many ways I have assimilated into this sometimes strange culture, I still don't feel it my own. I feel alone and "different" and the strength of these sensations makes me externalize my discomfort. As a result I fear I either intimidate people, wrongly look snobbish, and/or scare the bloody hell out of everyone. I would really like to go for being ignored.
It takes a long time for me to open up with new people, and once/if I do I still feel like I am constantly under scrutiny. The pressure suffocates.

Strangely enough, my job allows me to "play" a different person for an hour and a half at a time. The classroom is my stage and I fear no one for I am QUEEN. Step out of line on my time and hell will break loose. But when the bell rings, and my curtain drops, I am yet again locked in a closet with my monsters.

I don't spend enough time in the States to understand if my timid nature extends also to being with my long-time friends, though I don't think so as they are people who knew me at my worst (and so there would be no need for me to fear judgment from them now). Still I am amazed that in my condition I was able to make any friends at all. There must be something in me yet if my old friends remain.
Drinking helps in overcoming the shyness, and so does Xanax, but I have recently radically reduced my intake of both and so in the future I won't be able to count on my Alprazolam cocktail to give me the courage to socially interact. My best behaviour at parties is to hold a glass of wine, sit in a corner, and smile. Making me look like some mental patient released on parole for her monthly "day out"...