On Dating like a Dude.

A few years ago, I dealt with a horrible break up. Afterward, being that emotionally close to someone again was unfathomable, so instead, I began to date...like a man. And I dated a lot. I enjoyed the company, but I was noncommittal. When I was done dating someone, I just stopped calling. I told one guy to, "Call me when his period was over." Although I was a bit hardened, frankly, it was kinda fun.

There were a few guys I dated with whom I attempted to build something more, but for some reason or another, they weren't right for me. This continued until last fall when *gasp* I opened up and started to really feel again. Long story short, the feelings weren't mutual and that's why I'm back to dating like a dude.

There's something oddly comforting about dating this way. It creates a shield that protects me from the pain of a break up by not letting anyone really affect me. I'm strong and a staunch defender of myself. I know what I will and will not put up with, and I'm vocal about it, whether it's right, wrong, positive or negative.

This doesn't mean that I'm a cold, calculating bitch. One of the nicest compliments a boyfriend gave me was that I was one of the most affectionate people he knew. I'm loving...I just might not fall in love with you. For now, that's not bad. It's not what I ultimately want in my life but until I'm ready to open up again, and this time, with the right person, my shield is up.

My Love/hate Relationship with my Cat.

Although this blog is mainly about my misadventures of being single and passing the time while job hunting, today's post is about my love/hate relationship with my cat...and she seemingly feels the same.

From the very beginning, Miss Cleo was a handful. She was a stray and at her first vet appointment, they told me A) he was a she B) she was pregnant C) she had tapeworms and fleas. Ew. She went in for a kitty abortion (yes, I'm terrible but I didn't want to witness the miracle of cat birth and then have 5 kittens to take care of), but it turned out she wasn't pregnant. She had a terrible infection and the procedure saved her little kitty life.

So the way I see it, she should be eternally grateful, and for the most part, she's a great cat. She's talkative and oddly cute. We snuggle when she lets me. She plays games - like flicking up a single piece of food, batting it around and then devouring it like she finally captured her prey. She runs around with a toy mouse in her mouth. An elastic hair band provides hours of entertainment. She's well taken care of, healthy and safe.

But occasionally, this happy home life gets rocky. She LOVED hanging out in the dirty attic with fallen insulation everywhere. At first, I put a few heavy books in front of the door thinking she couldn't move them. But then I'd come home, the door would be wide open and Miss Cleo was nowhere to be found. The spray bottle was ineffective because I couldn't quite catch her in the act. My only option was to install a lock to keep her out. I'm sure it was a sad day when she realized she could no longer hangout in the cobwebs and insulation.

Miss Cleo is shedding terribly but hates to be brushed, so I decided she was no longer allowed to sit and shed on the couch. I reinforced this new rule by squirting her with a water bottle. She let me know how uncool this was by pooping in the dining room.

I took a trip to Arizona and returned to find one shoe completely drenched in pee.

Most of you are probably thinking, "Oh cats! That's just what they do," so I'm keeping that in mind, but her random acting out has to stop. I've started a system of positive reinforcement where she receives cat treats after I do something "mean" like try to brush her or give her medicine. And since I'm home more, I've been spending a lot of quality time snuggling with her. I'm hoping we struggle less with the love/hate and just love. That is, until the next time I find one of her little surprises.