Weds' Thanksgiving

All though Thanksgiving weekend in Atlanta, I kept telling Nev, "I hope the cat is alive when I get back," and "If he's alive, I hope the cat hasn't trashed my apartment."

I had good reason to be worried. I'd poured him enough water to last, I hoped, the four days I'd be away. But he'd splashed half of it out before I even left, and I was having nightmares that I'd return to find him flat on the floor, parched and panting, at best. And if that hadn't happened, he usually tore apart anything he laid his paws on when I was home. I couldn't imagine what he might do left to his own devices for days.

So it was with a fair bit of apprehension that I opened the door to my apartment yesterday. "Wednesday," I called out. No answer, and no excited cat came bounding up. That was unusual. A feeling of dread came over me. "Wednesday," I called again, as I walked in, my suitcase forgotten outside. I made my way through the apartment, peering under the couch, looking on top of the fridge, peeking into his little tent--all his favorite hiding places. But no cat.

Then I heard mewing, pitiful and scared. "Wednesday?"

The mewing grew louder, and I realized it was coming from inside. . . my bedroom.

My heart froze. I rushed to my bedroom and flung the door open. Weds sprinted past me. I stared at him in shock, and at the mess covering the floor. The items from the top of my dresser and nighstands were on the floor, the trash can's contents spilled, and drawers stood open. The curtain covering my window had collapsed, and bits of cat puke were on the bed and floor.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded of Weds. He mewed back, and rubbed himself against my legs. In my utter confusion, one thing was clear--I vividly remembered shutting the bedroom door, and seeing Weds in the living room as I left the apartment. And he had used his litterbox--so he couldn't have been locked inside my bedroom the entire time.

Then I thought, "Someone broke in and locked Weds in the room." This was too much. The confusion, the thought of someone else in my home, and the mess in my bedroom overcame me, and I collapsed in tears. I recovered after a few mintues, and looked through all the drawers, but nothing seemed to be missing.

I sighed, went back out to retrieve my suitcase, and set about cleaning up the mess. I was still confused, but Weds seemed completely untraumatised, and I managed to calm down.

As the day went on, my confusion lifted. I kept shutting the bedroom door only to find it open a few minutes later, and the industrious little feline sitting serenely inside. I examined the doorknob, and the answer dawned on me. I had hung a couple of bags on the doorknob before I left, and realized that when I turned it to open the door, the weight of the bags kept it that way. So, when I shut the door, the doorknob didn't turn back to secure the door, which allowed Weds to push it open. I realized that, once inside, he must have playfully pushed the door shut, and was then unable to get out.

The mystery was solved, and I thought no more of it. Until today, when I told The Rock the short version of the story--the cat somehow locked himself into my bedroom. "Wow," The Rock responded. "That must have stunk like crazy."

"Actually, no," I told him. "I think he may only have been inside for a couple of days."

"A couple of days is enough," he replied, laughing.

"Hmmm," I said. That was true. If he'd been inside for any length of time, the damage would have been much worse. So I guess he let himself in, or at least locked himself in, the previous night. Thank God for small mercies.

David Blaine: latest antics

David Blaine is, as of now, suspended 40 feet above Times Square in a three-ringed gyroscope, spinning constantly. His challenge (sponsored by Target): To free himself by 6 a.m. on Nov. 24. If he succeeds, he will take 100 children chosen by the Salvation Army shopping for free at Target on Black Friday.

Here are pictures I shot of him on my way back from work. He looked like he had freed one arm. We may have a Houdini in the making :)

I am thankful. . .

. . .for the long Thanksgiving weekend. SO thankful. Because it means a respite from the mountains of paper spread out all over my desk and the numbers and graphs floating in front of my feverish, head-achy eyes. Because, if, after today, I have to look at another company's SEC filings, I will poke my eyes out and run around the building screaming. You just wait and see!

My name is Ini and I love Lucky Charms

Is it wierd that I am almost 26 years old, and my favourite cereal is Lucky Charms?

I was standing in the kitchen at work today, pouring some milk into my cereal, when a colleague walked in. "Is that Lucky Charms?" he asked me.

"Yes," I told him. "But shhhh! Don't tell anyone."

"It's ok," he went on. "Although. . . we only let our kids eat Lucky Charms on special occasions."

"Well," I said, defensively. "I only let myself eat them on special occasions." Really, I do. I just happen to have lots of special occasions. And of course, if you open a box, you have to finish it. The fact that I buy the huge, ginormous boxes of Lucky Charms, and the puny little boxes of other cereals--you know, the ones that finish in three days--doesn't count. And anyway, Lucky Charms have way less fat than even "healthy" cereals like granola. Check the nutrition information on the box--just don't read all the way down to the sugar content.

But anyway, back to our conversation. "Oh, it's ok," he said. "I love Frosted Flakes. It's just one of those things that you get used to as a kid and then continue to like as an adult."

Silence.

"Did you have them as a kid?"

"Ummm, no."

"Oh."

Awkward silence, and an abrupt end to our conversation.

I believe I am now the wierd adult in the office who eats kids cereals.

Cozy Sundays. . .

I've been hunting for cozy little coffee shops--you know, the ones with the comfy chairs (ok, space, and hence huge sofas, are a rarity in New York City, so that might be asking too much), and frothy cappucinos in the humungous cups. With the weather turning crisp, I've started looking forward to spending Sundays curled up with a hot cup of coffee with the paper or a good book. Here are my finds. Please feel free to add suggestions (or to join me:)).

Blind Tiger
281 Bleecker St (Cross Street: Between 7th Avenue & Jones)
New York, NY 10014
(212) 462-4682
"Once you walk into the place, you wouldn't want to leave. Luckly enough, they have FREE wi-fi and friendly staffs who don't mind you staying there forever."

71 Irving Place
71 Irving Pl (Cross Street: E 18th Street)
New York, NY 10003-2220View Map
(888) 710-3844
Cozy little neighborhood cafe.

Full City Coffee
409 Grand St (Cross Street: Clinton Street)
New York 10002
Phone: 212-260-2363
Cute little cafe, great coffee, has sofas, tables, music & books.

Gotham Coffee House
1298 2nd Ave, (At 68th St)
New York 10012
Phone: 212-717-0457
A cozy, indie feel, great for studying, reading the paper, or catching up with old friends.

Ceci-Cela
55 Spring St (Cross Street: Between Lafayette Street and Mulberry Street)
New York, NY 10012-5727View Map
(212) 274-9179
Oversized coffee mugs! But some complaints about service.

Caffe Reggio
119 Macdougal St
New York, NY 10012-1202
(212) 475-9557
Reviews say it has a real "Italian cafe" kind of feel, but the chairs aren't very comfy.

Hungarian Pastry Shop
1030 Amsterdam Ave (Cross Street: 111th Street)
New York, NY 10025-1724
(212) 866-4230
"Old style campus coffee shop; delicious desserts"

Broken Cup Cafe LLC
342 E 22ND St
New York, NY 10010-5732
(212) 473-5002
Reviewers say it's a "diamond in the rough," but a bit cramped.

'sNice
45 8th Ave (Cross Street: W 4th Street)
New York, NY 10014-5117
(212) 645-0310
Laid back place with wifi, and vegan friendly

Housing Works Used Book Cafe
126 Crosby St (Cross Street: Houston Street)
New York, NY 10012-3326View Map
(212) 334-3324
Cozy, used book store with cafe, proceeds go to charity Housing Works.

Black butterfly

little black butterfly
with a few white spots
flying, searching
for a flower to sit on
every one she sees
turns away from her
until finally she finds
a beautiful flower
smiling up
the stem strong
the petals inviting
the scent caressing
carefully she sits
the flower rocks gently
in the summer breeze
sounds of laughter
cheery voices
a shadow falls over
a hand approaches
the butterfly flutters
as the flower is picked
and taken away
the butterfly cries
and one more white spot
slowly turns black

by Eadwine Rose

My not-so-safe haven

I became aware of a very disturbing fact today--all that stands between my sanctuary and the big bad world is a very-easily-opened-from-outside window.

I was doing my errands as usual this morning, and decided to run out to the corner shop for some paper towels and cereal. As I walked back home, I reached into my bag--and realized I had left my keys in my apartment.

Now, I don't live in a typical apartment building. There are two two-storey buildings, between which is an open walkway, onto which about five doors open from each building. In my unit, the outer door opens up to a flight of stairs, at the top of which are two apartments, and to the left of which is the door to the downstairs apartment--mine.

I buzzed and woke up my neighbours--whom I've never met--and managed to convince them that I actually did live in the apartment downstairs. I tried the doorknob to my apartment, hoping that I might have left it unlocked, and cursed my obsessive door-locking. I felt bad disturbing my neighbours again, so I went back outside, to see if I could find someone who knew where the building superintendent lived, hoping he might have a spare key. As was to be expected on a Saturday morning, the place was pretty sparsely populated, but I did manage to accost a couple of people--no one knew.

In between startling people I'd never spoken to before, I fiddled with my living room window, which looks onto the walkway. I removed the screen covering one side, trying to pry the window, prepared to sacrifice my fingernails. Nothing. I had no idea what to do--my phone, along with my spare keys, was inside, and I didn't know where the super lived.

I walked around for a bit, lost. Deciding to give the window one last shot, I leaned up against the glass while pushing it to the side, convinced that it wouldn't budge. To my shock, it slid open smoothly. I pushed the curtain aside, revealing a startled Weds and my keys sitting in plain site on the coffee table. "This is SOOO not good," I told myself. I reached in, grabbed my spare set of keys from the book shelf next to the window, and let myself in--all the while thinking, "OMG, OMG, this is not good. This is not good at all." Good thing I don't have much of value, but still.

I think I need to consider renters insurance. And a window lock.

Aaaargh!!!

To whoever or whatever you are/it is that enjoys banging away on whatever-it-is-you-bang-on every night above my bedroom: You need to STOP!!!! Because it is in your own best interest that I don't turn into a RAVING maniac and climb out of the window in the middle of my sleep-deprived night and come hunt you down. . . coz, I can assure you, that WON'T be a pretty picture!

Ugh!

Gah! I'm having a royal foot-in-mouth week, characterized by bouts of verbal diarrhoea and head-slapping gaffes at the most inopportune moments, punctuated by panic attacks about the meaning of life (well, my life mostly) and occasional bursts of worry that Weds might indeed be the one I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with (although Okia, my old roommate and his rightful owner, might have a slightly different take on that).

Sigh! I guess some things just have to run their course.