Tuesday, November 28, 2017

If Wishes Were Chalets...

There are a lot of things to be thankful for.

Thanksgiving Day was 70 degrees, beautiful and sunny, so I took Tess for her annual Thanksgiving romp. California Guy and Surina came too. And as I watched my dog frolic in the river, and sniff around for all her news, I thought about how grateful I am to have her.

I also realized there won't be many more Thanksgivings with her. She'll be eleven in March.

And the Holiday Spirit for me quickly took a dark turn.

There might be a lot of things to be thankful for, but I have fallen headfirst into the Holiday Blahs.

I call them the Holiday Blahs as opposed to the Blues because I just feel blah about everything.

Well, I guess I feel blue, too.

I just can't seem to get it together.

I have a ton of Christmas decorations I should put up, and part of me wants to. The other part of me just wants to run screaming from my life to go hide in a chalet in the Swiss Alps like in that movie, The Beautiful Beast, sans handsome mysterious American doctor, because I just can't deal with him right now. The movie was actually kind of cute, but I think I enjoyed it because it took place in Switzerland. The main characters were British and American, and the only Swiss person in the whole thing was badly caricatured and sounded Swedish. But it was still cute.

The appeal of that movie was the setting. The chalet was hidden in the woods of the Swiss Alps, surrounded by snow and bird houses, and the closest neighbor was thirty miles away. Plus, it just kept snowing, so without a snowmobile there was no getting out of there.

I think two weeks stuck in a cabin in the Swiss Alps with my dog would be great. I could skip the Holidays, I could hike in the snow with my dog everyday (and hopefully not get lost in the Swiss Alps), I could write, and maybe then I'd start feeling like myself again.

Perhaps the problem with the Holidays is the expectations. Everywhere you look, you are reminded to count your blessings, keep Christmas in your heart year around, don't be like Scrooge, be grateful, God bless us everyone. And if you don't, you're an ungrateful Grinch. Those of us that can't seem to get to that cheerful happy place end up feeling really bad about ourselves because we know we have a lot to be thankful for, we know we should love thy neighbor, we know we should bake that pumpkin loaf (or ten) and share it with everyone.

Not only do I feel blah around the holidays, I feel blah for feeling blah.

I want to curl up with my dog in that Swiss chalet and just forget about the world for the next three weeks, but there are gifts to buy, carols to sing, cookies to bake.

And I am lousy at chopping wood.

I do love doing all those things. At least I used to. I love picking out gifts for my nieces and nephews. I love singing carols (nobody else does, so I just listen to them on the radio). And I love baking Christmas cookies and making truffles. I even like to bake that pumpkin loaf.

Perhaps my problem is that I'm so far away from my family. I haven't spent Christmas with my family in years because traveling by plane around the Holidays is for the birds. The one year I did manage to make it home by plane, I ended up stranded in Denver because my flight from O'Hare was late and I missed my connection. It doesn't help that I live in the back of beyond in Wyoming, and my parents live in the back of beyond in Indiana, so there are a lot of connecting flights just to get close enough so they can drive to pick me up.

Then there's the fact that California Guy absolutely hates Christmas. He does not want to sing carols or watch silly Christmas movies (like a handsome, mysterious American doctor living in a chalet by himself in the Swiss Alps), or bake cookies. He'd rather just play video games under a blanket, watch Star Wars, and drink until it's all over. And I guess I can't blame him. The Holidays tend to be a circus. Most people I talk to feel the same way anyway, so it's really hard to feel all Christmassy and happy and blessed when everyone else is also snarling.

Every year it's harder and harder to capture that Christmas spirit. Christmas has become too commercialized with capitalism making you feel bad for not spending thousands of dollars to create the perfect Christmas (I love that mom in A Bad Moms Christmas, who believes exactly that). I used to love Christmas. It was my favorite holiday. I had fun shopping, I would jump into the Christmas Stroll every year (my town's annual Black Friday street fair), and I would bake up a storm to share with my friends and coworkers.

This year I kind of just want to skip it, and that makes me blue. I already bought all my gifts, and I did bake a few cookies (because I love cookies), but I might just skip putting up the tree and decorations. I have several strands of Christmas lights wrapped around the railing in my kitchen that need to be replaced because the cats pulled out several of the tiny bulbs. I actually caught Puckett in the act. She chewed and pulled and chewed and pulled until one of the bulbs popped out, and now the lights don't work anymore.

Apparently, she doesn't want to celebrate Christmas, either.

And I just don't have the energy to go to Walmart and buy the replacement strand because then I will have to unwrap all the burnt out lights and rewrap the new lights.

And also, I don't have the energy to go to Walmart.

And I'm fairly certain the cats will just ruin those as well. They are only $2.99 a strand, but still.

I didn't even feel much like wine this past weekend, and that is unusual for me. I lost interest in the wine after a glass on Saturday night, and didn't even bother on Friday. Friday, incidentally, being the night I was supposed to attend the Christmas Stroll, and would have had I given a damn.

I wish I had given a damn, but I didn't, so I stayed home.

And that's the kind of thing that makes me feel the most blah. All the things I used to love doing, I'm avoiding. There's a dance this coming weekend that I am going to with my friends, but I actually happen to be dreading it. Why? Well, you got me. It's a band I enjoy, I used to go to all their performances when they came to town. I want to see my friends (and bring them truffles), and there will be a lot of people there I haven't seen in a while.

And yet, that Swiss chalet keeps hovering in my fantasies.

Remember when Christmas fantasies were about hot Sam Worthington-lookalikes in nothing but a pair of jeans and a Santa hat? Now my fantasy is hiding under an extremely large, extremely plush fuzzy blanket with a mug of hot cocoa (no wine), ensconced in a Swiss chalet somewhere in the Alps where nobody can find me. That's my fantasy. Hiding away. From everything. From everyone.

I guess that's what I want for Christmas. A Swiss chalet. That shouldn't break the bank, should it?


I'll take this one.


This one will do, too.

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

My Kingdom for a Good Night's Sleep

The animals have lost all respect for my need to sleep.

In fact, they could care less for my authority, too. Never mind if I think I'm in charge. They all have other ideas. And it doesn't matter what I do or say, all I get for my troubles is a look of quiet disdain, like "How dare you even think you can boss me around, human."

It started this weekend with Surina. She burst through my front door Saturday, galloping up and down the stairs until California Guy let her outside where she immediately began to whine. That one was in rare form. Usually she whines and throws a fit because we put her outside. When we let her in, she usually gives it a rest. This weekend, when we let the dogs inside, she lay on the floor of living room while we watched a movies, just whining. For no reason. Whining because she was inside, I guess.

Tess gave her dirty looks, then gave me a dirty look. She kept getting up and standing by the couch, like she wanted us to do something about the whining nuisance. I think we must have told Surina to shut up about five times, not that it mattered. And I must have told Tess five times to go lie down and stop staring at me, for all the good that did.

This went on until we got around to feeding the dogs at the extremely late hour of five thirty.

I'm not sure how Surina handled not eating for that long, but she must have been ready to expire on the spot.

Miraculously, the whining stopped after she ate. But the galloping up and down the stairs and through the house every time California Guy or I took a step in any direction got worse. If I made a move towards the kitchen, she was on her feet, barging past me to run up the stairs. Tess, of course, followed her. If I felt the need to use the bathroom, once again, they both barged past me to run up the stairs. Both dogs got in the way of cooking dinner until I finally yelled at both of them to get the hell out of the way. Yes, California Guy did most of the cooking, but it drives me nuts to have dogs dancing around in the kitchen, trying to grab any morsel that happens to drop on the floor.

Meanwhile, the cats were not impressed. Puckett must be particularly cross with me as she has taken to chirping for food whenever I am in the middle of something in the kitchen. Usually she eats three times a day. Once in the morning, then in the afternoon, and then dinner. She doesn't usually randomly come into the kitchen to demand her bowl. I think she's making a point, to prove that whenever she wants her food, Goddamnit, she's going to get it. I was making cupcakes. I was cracking and separating eggs. I had an eggshell full of egg yolk in one hand, and the egg separater in the other, trying to keep the egg yolks out of my egg whites.

And here comes Puckett, dancing around and chirping, rather insistently like, how dare I ignore her in her time of need.

Never mind that Puckett ralphed up her entire breakfast earlier and then ate it.

Willow decided to join the fun of cupcake making, by wandering into the kitchen and shrieking for her food. She doesn't chirp, like Puckett. Both wind themselves around my ankles, trying to trip me when they want food, but only Willow squalls at the top of her lungs so that she can be heard down in Cheyenne.

The neighbors must think either a.) I'm killing her (I want to at this point), or b.) I never feed my cats. They go two hours without food, and it's like the world is ending.

Then Tess got in on it. Here is a dog who has always stayed out of the kitchen when I cooked or baked, never got in the way. Suddenly, there she was, right behind me, every time I turned around with a bowl or a spatula, glued to my ass and trying to herd me towards the food cabinet to give her a cookie.

I swear she's learned this hovering in the kitchen from Surina. She has never done this before. She steered clear of the kitchen, but now because she's seen Surina get away with it, she's decided to get in on the action. "Oh, my owner is cooking, now is the perfect time to start bugging her for food."

I nearly tripped over her ass and landed head first in the oven.

I'm not proud of this, but I hollered at her to get the hell out of the kitchen. She slunk upstairs and parked it in the bedroom. When I looked upstairs, she glared back at me, like "Well, Surina is allowed to do it."

Fuck.

Percy has been the worst. In the space of one night he got in the box seven times, scratching. Every time I started to drift off to sleep, I was jolted awake by "scratch, scratch, scratch!" A couple of mornings before that, he woke me up early with scratching. I laid in bed, waiting for him to finish, drifting in and out of sleep because it wasn't quite time to get up yet. A half hour later, I kid you not, he was still scratching, and again, I'm not proud of this, but I hollered "Oh my God, would you STOP!"

There was a pause, then I heard him hop out of the box. A moment later I heard the pattering of little cat paws as  he scurried off. Too late, though. I was awake, so I got up and got ready for work.

The night of the seven box trips - this was Saturday night - Percy got in the box as soon as California Guy and I went to bed. For once it wasn't the dogs pacing back and forth in their stupid "Dog Bed Wars." I swear, just find a fucking spot to sleep and lay the fuck down. But no, Surina has to have Tess' bed because it's softer, and if Tess or a cat is on the bed, she paces back and forth until we yell at her, or she annoys Tess off the bed. Tess could care less where she sleeps. That night Surina got to Tess' bed first so she at least was quiet.

So Percy decided to pick up the mantel of annoying bedtime behavior, and started scratching in the box. Half an hour later he was back in the box. We drifted off, then were both awakened by yet another bout of scratching. There were a few more box trips that may have come to me in a dream, but California Guy heard them too, so I'm assuming they actually happened. I think the last time was at 2 a.m.

I think I got about four hours of sleep because at 6 a.m., the usual morning box trips happened. First Percy, then Puckett, and then Willow.

I was exhausted and crabby from lack of sleep. If it's not the dogs' pacing keeping me awake, it's the litter box scratching.

Seven trips is excessive even for Percy. Turns out he wasn't feeling good because he'd decided it was a great idea to eat the rope fraying from his scratching post. He barfed up a bunch of it.

No wonder he couldn't poop and kept having to try.

I swear, he and Surina have no sense of self preservation. They'll eat anything and everything and then be sick for their troubles. Then they just do it again. No big deal, I'll clean it up, right?

Five animals is five animals too many. Especially when all of them are spoiled, and one of them is used to being the one and only and getting her way all the time. They are all going to be the death of me, eventually. Yes, Tess and Puckett are elderly, and Percy and Surina should kill themselves eventually by ingesting something that will not agree with them, but I really think they will all outlive me.

They'll either kill me in my sleep, or kill me by causing a lack of sleep.



And they both look so innocent...

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Twin Flames?

I have recently been introduced to idea of "twin flames."

I've heard of soul mates - and whether or not you believe in soul mates, we have all heard of this particular term.

But I had never heard of a "twin flame." Apparently I read too much Elephant Journal, which, incidentally is also the website where I learned all about empaths. I like Elephant Journal, don't get me wrong, but sometimes even I have to pause and wonder what the hell they're talking about.

Now I don't want to poo-poo anyone's belief in woo woo stuff. I believe in some woo woo stuff. I have empathic abilities and believe in the power of dreams, and I'm also one of those lunatics who has a relationship with a higher being (in my case, Jesus, but whatever).

But believing one is destined to be with another person on a higher plane of existence - and possibly a person they've never met, like that guy sitting across the way on the subway, or even a celebrity - rings the crazy bell, even for me. I mean, really, if we can all play this game, can I be twin flames with Bryan Adams? I did have a dream about him the other night where we were planning the biggest wedding this town has ever seen, and everyone was attending. There was a decent amount of detail in the whole thing too, and it was one of those vivid dreams, where you feel like you are actually living it.

Or even better, my twin flame can be Chris Evans. But not really Chris Evans, Captain America.

Actually, if there's no stopping this crazy train, my twin flame will always and forever be Luke Skywalker. He is destined to be my forever, and if the two of us ever have a kid together, it'll be Will Byers on Stranger Things. I love that kid.

See, we all have fantasies, but I guess the difference between those of us living on this plane of existence, and those living actively in Fantasyland is that we are aware of the fact they are just fantasies.

Maybe if I believe hard enough, Luke will come in and sweep me off my feet. But it has to be seventies Luke, not this bullshit Disney has cranked out in their newest movies.

But I digress.

Being ever fascinated with and a connoisseur of human folly, I had to satiate my curiosity by looking up exactly what twin flames are. They aren't as simple as soul mates, I guess. And there is a list of signs that let you know if you are twin flames with someone including such gems as:
  • You're convinced you're meant to be, though your relationship keeps not working out.
  • They come in and out of your life.
  • They feel like home.
  • You are the epitome of Yin and Yang.
  • Though you experience incredible passion with this person, there is an equal amount of worry and uncertainty.
  • It seems like you have this profound connection that must be destined, but you come into each others' lives at the wrong time or something else stands in the way of you being together.
  • It seems like you're always pulled back to them.
These aren't all of them. They are just the ones that sounded particularly horrendous to me.

And as I read through this list, the increasing dread of "Well, fuck," enveloped me as I realized they were basically just talking about the Drug Dealing Felon.

Because, sure, you want your twin flame to be a drug dealing felon.

You ever notice how people's twin flames tend to be some colossal douchebag who will never amount to anything? Why can't a twin flame ever be someone nice and normal, like one's current significant other, or the White Knight I dated from two summers ago, or even Bob the Brain on Stranger Things? Incidentally, I love Bob the Brain. I love Sean Astin. I think Sean Astin's wife is a very lucky woman, he seems like a solid guy. A bit boring. Nice. Absolutely nothing exciting about him, and he has love handles. But I bet he'd give anyone the shirt off his back.

Here's the problem I have with things like this. It's like soul mates, which I do believe in, but they are not necessarily romantic. My soul mates include my two best friends, and a morbidly obese cat. These are healthy relationships where we all bring out the best in each other, care about each other, support each other (well, as long as I keep Puckett's food bowl filled), and have mutual respect for each other.

This twin flame business gives me pause as it romanticizes something that is extremely toxic and unhealthy. I guess, let's say someone has this profound connection with someone and they are just meant to be and their relationship is actually healthy. But according to the above list, this really sounds more like a codependent relationship between two people that can't admit to how dysfunctional they really are.

Let's break this down.

1. You're convinced you're meant to be, even though the relationship keeps not working out.

Okay, well, how fun is that? All this does is cause a bunch of anxiety and cuticle biting, because you desperately want to be with this person even though you know ultimately the relationship will end. Several times if you keep going back to them.

Which brings us to:
2. They come in and out of your life.

If you are meant to be, wouldn't you just stay in each others' lives? Wouldn't you want to? Wouldn't that be the whole point?

3. They feel like home.
Oh, do they? All that anxiety and cuticle biting and waiting with breath that is bated for them to once again pack their bags and leave in pursuit of the mythical "something better" makes you feel like home? Yeah, the Drug Dealing Felon did tell me that one once, that I was like "home" to him. Well, he ran away from home and never returned.

And remember the old saying, "You can't go home again."

4.  You are the epitome of Yin and Yang.
Not sure what this means other than they are your complete opposite, or else you are the angel while they are the complete devil. And yes, in my situation that would be a fair description of things.

I'm not even touching on the intense passion mixed with worry and uncertainty. That just goes back to extreme anxiety (like, we all don't have enough of that in our lives), and cuticle biting.

5.  It seems like you have this profound connection that must be destined, but you keep coming into each others' lives at the wrong time.

That's not a twin flame, that's just bad timing and a douchebag who wants what he can't have. Because let's face it, coming into each others' lives at the wrong time usually means one of you is married or engaged, and then we are moving into cheaters' territory.

And that's sexy.

6.  It seems like you're always pulled back to them.
Yes, because this relationship is codependent.

Now, again, I don't mean to poo poo on woo woo things since I do like Practical Magic, and I do wish casting spells would work sometimes. But this whole twin flames things just sounds like a bunch of misery that could be avoided if people just admitted that they have an intense attraction to someone who is not a fantasy, just a person, and is probably not going to be a good match. We've all been there. And it sucks. It might be romantic in the movies and TV: Buffy and Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Blair and Chuck (Gossip Girl), Heathcliff and Catherine (Wuthering Heights), Aria and her teacher, Ezra (Pretty Little Liars). And that last one is only sweet and cute on TV. If you think about it too hard in real life, it's fucking creepy.

There are a host more, particularly in vampire lore (Edward and Bella? Damon and Elena?), but again, no one really wants a relationship like that in real life. It sounds exhausting. And emotionally destructive.

I'd rather go back to my fundamental belief in soul mates, as there definitely are people out there we have intense connections with, where we feel like we just landed here from the same planet. But those relationships should be healthy, not toxic. Those relationships should help us grow and become better people. And those relationships should not have us sitting in a corner, rocking and biting our nails when the person walks out on us for the last time.

Because I'm here to tell you, rocking in a corner biting your nails to the quick is not a fun and happy thing that should be repeated over and over. I mean, really, if the idiot keeps coming back into your life, you might be destined to rock and chew your fingers to nubs ten times before you come to your senses and just declare your twin flame the milk chocolate truffles that are sitting in your refrigerator.

At least those will make you happy.

I love my boyfriend. He's not my twin flame obviously, because he does not make me constantly miserable as is demonstrated by the above list.

I also love my obese cat because she makes me happy when she snuggles up to me and purrs, or stares at me with big mushy eyes. She too does not cause neverending misery.

And I love my two best friends who listen to my problems and support me, but also tell me I'm being stupid when I am, and have definitely never left me in a corner rocking and chewing my cuticles.

You can't compete with a twin flame. You can't compete with fantasies. You're better off finding someone not determined to be miserable because they will never be with the twin flame they yearn for.

Relationships are just odd all they way around, I guess.

And for that, there is chocolate.


The truffles du jour are these lovely milk chocolate ganache truffles. I added a splash of Godiva chocolate liquer to the ganache, and coated the truffles with a mix of 72% and 85% cacao dark chocolate.

The result was a beautifully tempered bittersweet chocolate shell encasing a creamy, sweet milk chocolate center with an extra chocolaty flavor.

Unfortunately, I neglected to store my truffles properly (and away from moisture), so they did bloom a little bit, as can be seen by the light swirls on the chocolate. When I really want to impress, I cheat the possibility of blooming by rolling the truffles in cocoa powder. 

But they were tasty, and paired very well with this Italian Rose.