But they're cousins ...

A meeting of the minds occurred last night. Or should say, a family meeting took place.

Chachi and Pickles finally met face to face.

For those who don’t follow my life chronicles, or creep my mom’s Facebook page, Chachi is my cat, and Pickles is my brother’s new kitten. Cousins.

Ever since Danny brought Pickles home, I’ve been dreaming of a play date. I figured they wouldn’t like each other at first, but after about five minutes, they’d be wrestling and snuggling. I forgot that Chach and Pickles are CATS. Not babies. Not even dogs.

I grew up with a dog. I’m still in the mindset that Chach will act like a dog. But time after time he knocks that notion out of my head (i.e. the infamous attempt to take him for a walk).

Pickles is about 12 weeks old and rocks the long and lean look you get from Pilates. Chach … well it’s been suggested he has a weight problem. But he’s had a belly that has dragged on the floor since he was a kitten, so we like to say he’s just big boned.

I brought Chach over to Danny’s condo in his kitty carrier. Danny and my mom went in first to make Pickles comfortable, while Chach and I waited in the laundry room. I brought him in and just let them look at each other through the cage. Pickles was very curious while Chach tried to pretend she didn’t exist.

Then I took him out and held him while Danny held Pickles. Still, Chach would not acknowledge her. At one point I said, “Maybe Chach is blind?” So Danny and I moved closer and closer until Chach finally looked at her, and they gave each other some Eskimo kisses.

Don't be fooled. This was not love at first sight.

Then Chach wanted to get down, so I put him on the floor, and he was wandering around. Meanwhile, Pickles continued her curiosity and just followed him wherever he went. Then, she turned into a bad ass and started hissing at him. Chach ignored her for awhile but finally went behind the couch and hissed back. Then he hissed at anybody who came near him. This was interesting, because he has NEVER hissed at me.

I put the kitty carrier near the couch, and he walked right in, “I’m ready to leave now. I’m uncomfortable.” I then put the carrier on the kitchen table, and my mom held Pickles so she could look in. Tough Girl started some shit again, and chaos ensued. Chach had had enough and freaked out hissing and swatting in the carrier. It was time to leave.

In the end, Chach remains a cat with no friends but a knack for revenge. I woke up this morning and a metal tray full of papers that was sitting on top of the fridge was on the kitchen floor. Payback.

Nothing mystic about it

I’ve always been a cross between Snow White’s mousy, loud-mouthed sister who gets the kitty cat and not the prince and someone who’s so flushed I look like I’ve been drinking all day (which sometimes is actually the case).

I’m always the girl who gets sun poisoning on the fourth day of vacation, which forces me to either move inside or find another activity besides baking. I’m also the girl who should buy stock in aloe vera gel and has taken many an apple cider vinegar bath (sooths sunburn). The picture above is a good illustration of sun bathing gone bad.

But today, I actually look tan. I’ve been “tan” before. I spent a summer in Florida and fit in a Hawaiian vacation during that time (rough life), which culminated in a nice glow. But my natural tan from the sun is more of a red tan. For me, it’s tan. But when I put my arm up to my parents, who, in this instance look like a couple who took in an abandoned albino child, I still look red.

I’ve done the tanning bed thing and HATED it. I come out with a decent color but also with added claustrophobia. A lot of people find tanning beds relaxing and fall asleep. I spend the entire time plotting an escape and checking the timer. Music doesn’t relax me, and there’s no way in hell I’m falling asleep in there. Singing my body and tempting skin cancer is not my idea of relaxation.

So I got a spray tan yesterday. I’m in a wedding next weekend, and the dress is green (a cross between lime and clover), and I would look much better with some color. I wanted to first try a spray tan before doing it the day before the wedding, just in case I had a Ross Gellar episode (“Friends”). Tuesdays are $10 mystic tans at Ultramax, so I gave it a shot.

For those who have never done it, here’s how it works:

-You’re totally naked. My chichis and my cupcake were in on the fun.
-You put this lotion on the palms of your hands and your nails and on the tops of your feet and your toenails.
-You put on a hairnet (I’ll get to this in a bit).
-You walk in the booth and push a button and stand in place. You spread your arms and your fingers, close your eyes, and it sprays your front for about 12 seconds.
-You turn around and it does the same, then you’re done.
-You step out and wipe your hands on one towel and blot yourself with the other.
-You can’t shower for four to six hours afterward.

So I’m standing in the booth, and, to quote Lauren, “feeling like I’m about to be gassed in a concentration camp,” and I realize I forgot to put the hair thing on. Meanwhile, I’ve got my eyes closed and my mouth closed, and I’m not breathing, bordering on hyperventilation.

I rush out and try to blot my hair, which, luckily, was tied in a bun so it really didn’t get anything on there. I raced home and washed my hair in the sink just to make sure I didn’t have a streak of bronze highlights.

I was pretty dark last night and felt disgusting, like I hadn’t showered in a day. Today, I’m a little blotchy at parts but overall, I’m satisfied.