So, here I am. Blogging again. I guess the best thing to do is just jump right in.
My name is Laura. I’m 25 years old (turning 26 in less than a week), I’m a cashier at a drugstore and a pre-nursing student with a 3.44 GPA (I wanted to go to medical school but it is too expensive and frankly, I don’t know if I could hang), and I live in a one-bedroom apartment with my boyfriend and our three black cats. And I have 12 tattoos.
I am currently in my 4th week of Weight Watchers (for the umpteenth time), and as of today I’m down 8 pounds. Overall, I’m down 24.6 pounds from my highest ever weight 2 years ago. Yay me!
I love to read but I don’t do it as often as I’d like to. More than anything else, I love music. I love listening to it, which I do every day, and I love writing and performing it, which I don’t do every day. My boyfriend and I are in a band (well we are the band) called Shade the Rose. Look us up on ReverbNation or Facebook! I sing and my boyfriend sings and plays guitar. I play guitar a little, but not well enough to play with him. I’m learning, though, slowly. I also love movies, but I haven’t seen a lot of popular ones. For instance, I’ve never seen Schindler’s List, or Say Anything, or Citizen Kane, to name a random few. Before my boyfriend and I started dating, I hadn’t even seen Back to the Future. Now I have 🙂
I have a sister who is 11 years older than me, to the day, and she has 2 beautiful sons whom I just love to death. I have a Polaroid of her 11th birthday (the date is written at the bottom), and I just love it because I know that while that party was going on, I was being born. What’s really interesting about that is that I am adopted, so both of my parents were at this party, and then the phone rang and it was the hospital calling to say, “Your daughter has been born!” My sister said I was the best birthday present she ever got. I’m not sure if she’s felt that way consistently over the last 26 years, but the important thing is that she at least felt it that day.
Speaking of being adopted, I do know my birth family, at least my mother’s side. I met my birth mother when I turned 18, and I am friends with her, along with her brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, and father. Being adopted is a complicated thing for me.
And that’s all I can think of to write about today. There will be more.
Some people have gotten farther in life than this by their 26th birthday, but what can I say? I’m hard-headed.
Happy St. Paddy’s Day! Hope you all get some delicious green beer and an Irish car bomb to drink today!
Every morning when we wake up, the D-Man and I capture each kitty, one by one, and cuddle them until they just can’t stand it anymore. The cat that protests the least is Elvis. He definitely tries to get away, but he’ll stay until we actually let him go. Bebe is next, and least amiable to the whole process is Mooney. He just really doesn’t like being loved on. And being our newest kitty, I keep trying to explain to him that he can’t just live with us without expecting to be cuddled to death, but he keeps protesting. I don’t understand it.
I’m not very good at getting any of the cats to stay. I guess I’m afraid of getting scratched to death. D-Man, however, is a master cat-capture-er, and he can grab a cat no matter where they hide, and force them to stay in bed with us until we are damn good and ready to be rid of them. It’s like he’s a cat master. Or he’s just way less afraid of claws than I am.
Mooney, though. He’s going to have to learn one of these days. I’ve never in my life had a pet (other than a goldfish) that I didn’t hug and cuddle every day to the point of driving the pet bonkers. My dog, Tina? She knew better than to try to escape my mighty cuddle grasp. Unfortunately, she developed diabetes almost exactly 1 year ago, and she has lived with my parents ever since.
I miss that dog.
But, as I was saying. Any pet of mine better fairly quickly come to terms with the fact that it’s going to get loved. And Mr. Moon Moon is no exception. He can cry and meow and chirp all he wants. He’s not getting let go.
That’s just not my style.
Whenever I’m at the sink, whether it be the bathroom sink or the kitchen, one of the cats always has to come and sit on my feet. It’s usually Bebe, but sometimes it’s Elvis. I can’t help but think they’re trying to keep my feet warm, since I never wear socks around the house.
I don’t think they do it to the D-Man, just to me. Don’t ask me why.
Sometimes when I’m sitting on the couch, watching TV or doing stuff on my laptop, Mooney will come up and get on the couch with me, say “Meow meow,” and then flop over and show me his belly. When I go to rub it, he grabs my arm between his two paws and chomps down on my hand/wrist.
These crazy kittles sometimes just make absolutely no sense to me. Little weirdos.