Ode to Oskar

Not the Grouch, or that brand of broom that was popular a few years ago. I'm talking about Oskar the cat. If you read Schmutzie or Palinode, you will know about Oskar. In fact, he is the most highly searched topic on Schmutzie's blog. And if you are acquainted with the topic of Oskar, you will know that he is an over-caffinated, yowling hellian who likes to paint on the walls with his own doodie. What you may not know is that I volunteered to take care of this little freak for two weeks while his parents are living it up in the wilds of Costa Rica. In exchange, I have been promised a fabulous sushi dinner filled with witty banter from the Schmutz and the Node, as well as the endangerment of some element of plant or animal life in the rainforest. Preferably a species of insect. Hey, I like to make my mark on the world.

At first, I was going to go to the Pickles' abode every day or so to check in on the little nutbar, but I thought it would be far more fun to do social experiments on him and my animals: the smartass, the dumbass and the freakbot. I figured we already have Savia's House of Pets going on at my place - what's one more?

It's actually been going pretty well. Oskar is much less of a brat when he has other cats to chase around, which he seems to be enjoying so far. But he's still a character. And so, for your reading pleasure, I present to you a list of strange and interesting things that you may or may not care to know about Oskar.

Oskar:

-is the only cat I know who can cry. I'm not talking "meow meow", I mean he actually cries big crocodile tears when he's afraid or stressed out. His eyes fill up with a thick, syrupy liquid that spills over his bottom lids in big globs.
-does not like dogs. They make him cry.
-is an animal, not a mineral.
-is hungry all the time.
-is more than eight months old and still looks like a kitten.
-potentially humped my grey cat. I'm not sure. There was a lot of yowling and it was 5 a.m. I half opened my eyes and said, "Oskar, if you want to hump my cat, please do it at a reasonable hour."
-thinks that walking across your face is a perfectly acceptable way to wake you up in the morning.
-leaves skid marks on the litter box.
-likes to cuddle in the morning.
-has a purr like a jet engine.
-'s shit does stink. Lots.
-always has eye boogers.
-is a lover and a fighter.
-will shove his head into a pot of food cooking on the stove.
-drinks bath water infused with neroli, ylang ylang and blue glitter. He thinks it's tasty.
-knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good. But he doesn't really care as long as you feed him.

Meditations on a pen

I wrote my first final as a grad student last night, and I think it went well. The class, overall, wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. I had this idea of grad school as this insanely intense place where you were worked to the bone with tons of reading and writing and people read literary theory textbooks for fun (okay, there may be some of these in my classes, but I haven't encountered them yet). It's actually been a positive experience and I've been getting higher marks than I did in my undergrad degrees. This fact should keep me from freaking out when writing future assignments and tests, but it won't, because I'm a neurotic mess and I tend not to believe it when I do well - I feel like I've pulled the wool over everyone's eyes yet again. It doesn't make sense, but it's me.

So, I was on my way to my exam last night and I thought, hey, I should probably find a pen with normal coloured ink to write the exam with. I had been writing my notes all semester with a funky light-blue ink pen, with backup pink and purple pens in my purse. I looked through my drawers and came across a really nice pen - one of those metal ones with the grip and the refillable ink inside. The only problem was that this pen was embossed with the name of a particularly evil corporation that I used to work for. Working at this place was the worst six months of my life. The company was chaotic and disorganized and no one would return your calls or help you out when you needed a task done that would benefit the whole company - everyone just looked out for #1. My boss was abusive and ran me into the ground every single day, tearing into me for even asking a simple question to clarify what she wanted. It was a rare night that I didn't come home after a 10- or 12- hour day sobbing. I turned into a zombie after a few months, going through the motions of the job and my life in a daze, only pausing to cry or sleep. Notice that I didn't mention eating there - I was so stressed that I didn't do much of that at all. I didn't have time for lunch while I was at work, and my stomach was so in knots from stress that I barely ate at home either. I eventually could no longer function because of all the abuse, and had to leave the workplace. It's one of the only times in my life that I haven't done well at something, that I felt like a failure, so it was particularly devastating to me.

Seeing this pen brought all of that back. And yet, I took it with me to the exam.

In the car on the way, I mentally bitch slapped myself. Why are you taking this pen that is a symbol of your failure to this exam? Are you trying to jinx yourself or something? Then another voice chimed in: It wasn't your failure - it was theirs. They were the ones that chose you for the job that wasn't right for you and they were the ones that ran you into the ground so bad that you could no longer do the job. But seriously, why would you want to remind yourself of that whole experience? What's up with the pen, Savia?

Then, I started thinking about it some more. If it weren't for that horrible, traumatizing job experience, I never would have applied for the job I'm currently in, because it's a term position and has no job security. But because I had been through hell, I was willing to take a job in a positive workplace, regardless of whether it was permanent or not. Taking that chance has changed my life. Not only do I have a job that I enjoy, my employer is paying for grad school while I work here. If it weren't for the evil workplace and the satanic boss, I wouldn't be doing my master's degree right now. I'm not planning on taking my abuser out for lunch to thank her anytime soon, but it is amazing to be able to look back on negative events in life and be able to see the good that comes out of them. That job was a turning point for me, there's no doubt about it.

So, I took the pen into the exam. The funny thing is that, halfway through, it ran out of ink. I continued the exam with my funky light blue pen - hopefully my prof doesn't have any weird eye problems that will keep him from reading it.

On the way out, I threw the expensive pen in the garbage, along with a used tissue. It only seemed fitting. Eventually, you have to let the past go.

Two girls, a car and a tattoo place

I have been avoiding writing about this because it's very upsetting, but now that it's happened twice, I definitely have to get it off my chest.

Scene #1: A beautiful autumn day. Schmutzie and I went down to the tattoo place to book my appointment for my birthday tattoo. I parked my car in the lot beside the building and we went inside for a few minutes. There were no signs indicating that we couldn't park there, and we assumed it was the parking lot for the tattoo place. After our business was done, I was about to pull out of the parking spot and looked in my rearview mirror to see a huge red truck driving back and forth behind my car. At first, I wondered if they were trying to block me in my spot, but then I thought, "Nah, that would be nuts. They're probably having trouble getting out of their parking spot." So, I patiently waited for them to be done, and then followed the truck down the adjacent alley to get out of the parking lot.

When we were half way down the ally, the truck ahead of us stopped. Just stopped, at the end of the alley for no apparent reason, blocking us in. Schmutzie and I looked at each other, not really sure what was going on or what to do.

"The spoiler on their truck is so high that I don't think they even know we're behind them," Schmutzie said. She had a point. This was, by far, the biggest truck I have ever seen. It had double the amount of tires that a normal truck needs. It is the kind of truck you would feel safe taking into combat. The kind of truck you really don't want to be stuck behind in an alley.

Starting to feel nervous, I noticed that there was enough room to manoevre around the truck to get out of the alley. I began inching around the truck when it lurched in front of my car, blocking my path. Now, we were really starting to get freaked out. It became very obvious that they knew we were behind them the whole time and they were actively trying to trap us in the alley.

The tinted window of the behemoth of a truck rolled down.

Angry Man #1: Nice way to try and scratch a guy's truck!
Angry Man #2: Yeah, you trying to scratch our truck?
Savia: Excuse me?
Angry Man #1: You're on private property, you know!
Angry Man #2: Yeah, you're on private property!
Savia: surprisingly calm, considering the fact that she and Schmutzie are cornered in an alley in a car that doesn't even reach the truck's bumper (but is very fuel efficient, in case you were wondering) Look, I have no idea what you're talking about. I am just trying to get out, but you are blocking me in. Are you going to move your truck so we can leave, or not?

Surprisingly, the truck backed up and allowed us to pass. But the story doesn't end there. As I was driving away, I noticed that it seemed like the truck was following us. At first, I thought it was a cooincidence, and then I took some experimental turns down one-way streets and realized that it obviously was not. The testosterone-fuelled angry-for-no-reason freaks were following us! I weaved down a maze of one-way streets until I put a few cars between us, then took a quick turn down Schmutzie's street, another quick turn into her parking lot, and yet another quick turn into a hidden part of her lot that isn't viewable from the street, just to lose the bastards. The experience left us shaken and upset, as you can imagine.

But then, it happened again. Two months later. At the same freakin' location!

Scene #2: On Friday, Schmutzie and I were going to the tattoo place for another appointment. We were stopped at a red light and I decided to turn across the bus lane into a parking lot. I began turning when I noticed a red car motoring down the bus lane (where it shouldn't have been). I slammed on my breaks, and the car swerved to avoid me. Not an ideal situation, but no harm done, right? After the car passed, I turned into the lot. He actually stopped in the middle of his lane, backed his car up and turned into the parking lot to follow us! I'm thinking, "There is no way in hell I am stopping my car and getting out of it with this freak around", so I drove through the lot, through the alley, and through another parking lot. The red car followed. Ironically, I drove down the bus lane, which had caused all the trouble to begin with. The red car followed. I tried to weave in and out of the one-way streets like before, but there was too much traffic, so I settled with a new strategy of circling the same block as many times as I could until the guy got bored or too dizzy to follow. It took him three times around the same block to realize that there was no way we were stopping or getting out of my car. Schmutzie and I were again left shaken and traumatized by the experience of being chased down by a rageaholic.

This whole experience has shaken my view of the world and has made me feel very unsafe. I know I live in a dream world where everyone is intelligent, civilized and level-headed. Surrounding myself with amazing people has made me forget the fact that not everyone is this way. I've sheltered myself, and now, I have to face the reality that there are a lot of freaks out there. Angry, rage-filled freaks who look for any excuse to vent their negative emotions on others. These are the kind of people who believe that by setting foot on another man's property, you are basically signing a waver that says, "Yes, please do shoot me in the head."

I'm not sure what's causing this strange phenomenon; if it's me, Schmutzie, the two of us together, or my car, but man, we should definitely stay away from that tattoo place from now on.

Can't we all be "just friends"?

About a month ago, I went to a lecture entitled, "Can men and women be 'just friends'?" and the question has been swirling around in my head ever since.

In some ways, the answer is obvious. Of course, we all know many people of opposite genders who are friends. But it can get really complicated sometimes, and there's so much societal pressure on men and women who are just friends that it can make things difficult.

Until recently, I was beginning to question if I could ever be 'just friends' with a guy who wasn't my brother or one of my friends' husbands. It seems that every other guy friend I've had who I've trusted and thought respected me as a person has done something (i.e. try to sleep with me) to destroy the friendship and my trust. I've ended friendships with these people, feeling betrayed and violated. This feeling came from the idea that I thought they respected me as a human being, but they treated me like a piece of meat, totally disregarding the special relationship I thought we'd had.

This is why, when the lecturer asked the audience, "How many of you think men and women can't be 'just friends'?" that my hand automatically shot up. It was a knee-jerk reaction that I feel a bit sheepish about now.

But it is difficult sometimes to be friends with someone of the opposite gender. There is a certain sexual tension that exists (and I realize that I'm totally talking in heterosexist terms here, because, well, I'm heterosexual. But for those of you who aren't, please feel free to substitute same sex friends instead). We're friends with people, of either sex, because there is something about them that we find appealing, attractive, magnetic, right? We may not want to jump them, but we are drawn to them in some way, or we wouldn't be their friend. When the person's of the opposite sex, this friendly attraction can get confused with sexual attraction when that's not really what it is. And it gets more complicated because people outside the friendship put pressure on the people in it.

Let me give you an example of this situation that's been bothering me for some time. Cee (female) and M (male) are best friends. They spend a lot of time alone together and really enjoy each other's company. When you see them out, you can tell they are having intimate conversations and you can actually feel the chemistry between them. There's no denying that they have a special connection. If you didn't know them, you would probably assume they are a couple. But they really are 'just friends'.

However, no one seems to be able to accept this fact. I've watched people corner Cee and say, "Why aren't you guys together? You should totally get together - he's a great guy. Why don't you make a move already?" as though she secretly likes him and is going along with this fake friendship because she's too shy to take it to the next level. More than one person has cornered me, asking, "So, what's really going on between Cee and M? They're obviously getting it on. Come on, you can tell me." insinuating that they're lying to us all about their friendship and having this illicit affair that they're obviously not doing a very good job of covering up. (If they really knew Cee, they would know that if she met a guy that she liked, everyone would know about it, because she'd be so happy and excited that she wouldn't want to keep it to herself.)

Why is it so weird for a man and a woman to have a close, intimate friendship that doesn't lead to anything else? The very fact that it raises so many eyebrows says something disturbing about our culture. It seems like people want everyone "figured out" and put into labelled boxes. If you're in a romantic relationship, that fits. If not, you're some kind of freak who needs to be pushed into conforming. It really upsets and agitates me. (I'm twitching right now, I swear!)

Why can't people get the fact that the most interesting things in life defy categories and labels? And why do they feel the need to impose their views so adamently on others? Why, why, why?

If you're still with me, drop me a comment about your experiences with friendships (cross-gender or same sex), and other people's reactions to them.