Orientation...and the rest of my life...

I got up yesterday morning only to discover that there were some problems with my financial aid at UK. I'm sorry, UK, but I can not afford to pay my tuition without financial aid. I'm not that loaded. Hopefully though, I have that back on track. Now if I could only get logged into my student email account...

Anyway, so after doing my daily shenanigans at home, I headed out a wee bit early to Richmond. I had some running to do before my orientation. Dad doesn't have any checks yet (thank you slooooow check order people) and so I had to transfer some funds to my account so we could pay the bills. Oh joy of joys. I just LOVE dealing with the banks. I also managed to finally get over and get my cousin Ashlee's birthday present. I had meant to do that last week (you know, when her actual birthday took place) but as with everything else in my life at the moment, I'm a day late and a dollar short.

After all that I headed on up to Lexington.

Now, I've driven in Lexington before, but I like to keep it simple up there. I go from one shopping place to the next shopping place, but I never, ever, ever venture into downtown Lexington. I'm too big of a chicken. Sure, sure, I've driven in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and San Antonio. I've sailed through Dallas, Houston, Austin, Atlanta, and New Orleans. But for some strange reason, I get just a wee bit nervous at the thoughts of Lexington, KY. Go figure.

So after several encouraging texts and phone calls from friends, I made it to UK's campus. No accidents. No foul language. No threatening horn blasts from other drivers. All was well with the world.

After walking around helplessly trying to find the conference room I settled in with a really dry turkey sandwich and some fruit and waited for the learnin' to commence. A few hours later and a lot of blah, blah, blah, yakety, yakety, yak later, I was more than ready to hit the road and head on in to work. Trust me, getting the heck outta Lexington is much easier than getting the heck in!

I did learn a few things from my MSW Orientation though: 1.) UK charges ridiculous prices for crappy parking. 2.) Sadly, I did not escape "clinicals" when I dropped out of nursing school. I have to have three semesters of the social work equivalent of clinicals. 3.) Social work professors are super long winded.

I'm a Big Girl Now

Today I took my first step towards complete independence. Okay, okay...so really, if you want to get technical, I've been working every summer since I turned 12 and I've had a full time job every year since I was 17. Sure not all those jobs were ones that the government could tax (I work for cash, I have no shame), but it was still work. Technically speaking I've been paying for my own bills and buying my own food (except when Mom cooks, because let's face it, I don't care how old you are or how independent you become, there is nothing in the world like your Mom's home cooking - not if you are Southern anyway), for 11 years now.

It is a common misconception that just because I still live at home, my folks pay all my bills. This has been a bit of a sore spot to me through the years. I've always had part-time or full-time jobs while attending college and still managed to pull off a 3.5 GPA, thankyouverymuch! But people have made comments throughout my life that have caused my already usually ill temper to flair in a matter of seconds.

I don't like for people to think I can't take care of myself. So, for example, when someone suggested my Mom use my silver Cavalier several years ago without asking me first, because "you and Eddie pay for it anyway", it kinda rubbed me the wrong way...because, guess what? They didn't pay for it.

The only time my parents have ever been out any money on a vehicle for me was when I got my first car at 16. Dad bought my Aunt's 1987 Ford Tempo for $500. I drove the poop outta that car until I started paying payments on a 1999 Chevy S10. That's right. Me, myself, and I paid the payments on that truck. Paid the insurance too. Paid for it anytime it had to go to the car doctor (automechanic in non-April terms). Same goes for the silver Cavalier I drove (until I wrecked it) and the white Cavalier after that (until it completely gave out on me).

Sure, sure, Mom and Dad banded together to get the white one because after the silver one was gone I was car-less for about 3 months and I needed a way to get back and forth to school. But guess what? That $1,800 they spent on the car? Within a month, I had paid them back in full. And Cherry Darling (again...she died due to a wreck) and even Maisy (my current love), I pay for those as well. So all this amounts to is that it is a sore spot with me when someone either a) presumes to tell me how I should spend my money and b) assumes that someone else is "keeping me up."

BUT...the problem is that I still live at home. It doesn't matter how much land I am in debt for or how hard I've worked to get my little house fixed up. It doesn't matter if I help pay bills at the house or if I pay all my own bills. Because I still live under my Mom and Dad's roof, society doesn't see me as nearly as independent as I could be. Maybe society is right. Maybe not. I don't care much either way, but what I do care about is moving out on my own because I'm tired of driving 100 miles everyday to work. Yes. One Hundred Miles. 50 miles up there and 50 miles back from my family home. Five days a week. Plus, in a week or so I'll also add another three days a week to Lexington for classes.

Anyway, there are a lot of reasons to finally bite the bullet and move out on my own, but I've already gone off on enough tangents here and griped about enough things, so I'll not bore you with those. Instead, I will tell you about my new apartment. :-) Its small but I'm excited about it!!!

Its a one bedroom deal about five minutes from work and about two minutes from I-75 which will take me to school in about 30 minutes. Much better travel time than living in Jackson County. I have two large windows in my living room (which is the biggest room in the apartment), but not much of a view. I can see my bank, Wendy's, the bypass, and all that jazz from the windows, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. The apartment used to be an office of some sort. One of my windows still has the smudgy imprint of some random business name stuck to it. I'm hoping that the maintenance folks can get that cleaned off nice and pretty before I move in. Its carpet, so I'm gonna have to get a vacuum cleaner...especially with two cats moving in with me. I was tickled to be able to bring my critters. :-)

There is a small room with two doors that I am certain is really a closet, but I intend to make that the bedroom, because I don't want my largest room to have a bed taking up all the space. My living room is for entertaining and studying and all that jazz, not to have random people that have nowhere else to sit, putting their nasty feet in my clean bed. I'm weird about stuff like that. I'll let my hairy cats sleep in the bed with me, but Heaven forbid someone's dirty feet be under my covers. Ugh. Gives me shivers just thinking about it. Anyway, so the closet will become my bedroom. Its big enough I should be able to fit a full size bed in there and possibly a chest of drawers or something along those lings.

I have a tiny cute kitchen. No cabinets on the walls but plenty of cabinet space on the bottom. The cabinets need some contact paper or something put in them. I mean, they probably don't actually NEED it, but I feel like it needs it and I intend to put it there. Later, I may put up some shelves to sit glasses and whatnot on, but for now I'm not worried about it.

Beside the kitchen is a small bathroom with a door. The toilet and sink are in there. The shower (and here my friends is the tricky part) is outside the bathroom. Its in the middle of my dining room. Yeaaaaahhhh.

When you first come in the apartment, there is a small room and I intend for that room to hold my kitchen table. So its my dining room. The tricky thing is that when you open the front door, the door knob, if left to swing aimlessly, will actually hit the side of my shower stall. So...not only do I need a shower curtain, but I also have to put up something that will hide the shower stall a bit. Its weird, but I find it quirky (or at least that is what I'm telling myself), and so I guess it suits me fine. :-)

Just be warned...if you ever need to shower at my place, you need to either a) have a large towel or bathrobe handy to hide you from your walk from the bedroom to the shower or b) not be ashamed of your body.

Whichever works for you, works for me.

Party @ My Crib

As some of you may already know, I will be moving out in a few short weeks. (FINALLY!!!) I'm headed to the big city of Richmond (well, to be fair, anything is BIG compared to Gray Hawk) or quite possibly, Lexington. At the moment I am apartment hunting like crazy and already packing up for the impending move.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family and there are things about Jackson County that I absolutely LOVE with all my heart, but its finally come to the point that I really just have to move. Have too. I've been working in Richmond for over a year now and although the drive isn't the most pleasant thing in the world, I have managed it pretty well (I mean, as long as other drivers don't decide to run over top of me, which, mind you, has happend twice in my travels to work). The winter time is always a little chancy. I never know if I'm going to get snowed in at Gray Hawk or Richmond. I have family in both spots (and a few spots in between), but I hate feeling like a bum when I have to sleep on someone's couch. :-( But the main reason I have to go ahead and suck it up and move NOW is because I'm starting graduate school soon. I have classes three days a week in Lexington, plus my regular five day work week. Quite frankly I'm not willing to be on the road that much. I mean, I love to drive, but only when its somewhere fun. :-)

So, I've decided to find a little apartment of my very own. True, I have a house that I've been trying to fix up for a few years now, but I've finally come to terms with the fact that its not going to get finished anytime soon and besides, unless I can magically transport Adkinstown to the middle of Madison County, then its really not going to help me in my travel time either way. So...since I am terribly excited to finally pack up my belongings and my two cats (Bart and Emmie will be coming with me...and quite possibly so will Angus, so it may be three cats), I thought I would give ya'll a glimpse of what it will be like in my new Bachelorette Pad. Stop by for a visit anytime you like. :-)

Things You Will Find in My New Apartment:
1. A bean bag. Just one, but one is enough. Yesss, I realize I'm too old for bean bags, but I can't help it. I love them and its my apartment and dang it, I will have one if I want it.
2. The Sims 2 and my computer. Its the only video game that I really actually play. It entertains me on dreary days. I can't help it.
3. Books. Piles and piles and shelves and shelves of books. I intend for there to be books in every room and hidden in every corner possible. I love books.
4. Magazines such as "Bust", "Bitch", "Ms.", "Supernatural" (the show...obviously), "Progressive Farmer", and "Mother Earth News". Be prepared to be bombarded with feminist, environmentalist, farming, and fangirl wonder.
5. DVDs. Lots of DVDs. I like movies. You can come watch a movie with me anytime you want. Promise.
6. Beer. 'Nuff said.
7. Fresh flowers. All the time...fresh flowers.
8. Pictures of front (and back) porches. I love porches and apartments don't really have them, so I'll make do with what I can.
9. My Dad and my Aunt's cedar chests. I'll be using them as tables. They store stuff, they are antiques, and they are just full of awesome. They just are.
10. Other old family stuff. I have a picture of my Uncle Leonard and a white pitcher that are pretty old and will be making the journey with me. As well as an old afghan that some random family member of mine crocheted together way back when. Quilts that my Great-Aunt made and a couple of wardrobes that have been in the family for years. None of this stuff has any value to anyone else I'm sure, but they have extreme value to me. If I decide they have so much value that I don't want them in the apartment (you know, in case someone accidently ruins them) then they will be stored safely away back at the place they came from...HOME.
11. Pictures of family and friends. As well as pictures taken BY family and friends. I know some purdy talented photographers out there and I will frame their work and hang it on my walls.
12. A painting my mother did back in high school. Yes its some sort of Native American chief and I have no idea who it is or why she painted it, but I've kept it all these years and its time to finally frame that bad boy and hang it up somewhere.
13. Cats. As well as assorted cat items.
14. Did I mention beer?
15. A signed photo of George A. Romero. I don't have this yet, but I will get it in November and it will be framed and hung up for the world to see.
16. A framed portrait of Wonder Woman. Yes. I said Wonder Woman.
17. Music.
18. A treadmill. You know, cause everyone needs an overpriced coat rack. ;-)
19. A television without cable. I only need it for movie nights, folks.
20. Beer. Or did I say that already?

So see, the only thing missing is Y-O-U and I do indeed expect visitors throughout my time at my new abode. Stop by any time folks. As my welcome mat says, "We're so excited to see you, we don't know whether to pee in the floor or tear up the couch." :-D

Pre-New Year Resolutions

Everyone I know makes New Year's resolutions, only to break them around the second of January each year. This year, I've decided to make my resolutions a wee bit earlier. These aren't actually resolutions mind you, but things that I want to accomplish between now and August of next year. We'll see how it goes...

1. Give John Goodman a hug. (Because he just looks so huggable. This may not be too far fetched either, I hear he lives in New Orleans and I go there every year.)
2. Meet George Romero. (He's gonna be at Scarefest this year!!!)
3. Go to ComicCon.
4. Learn to crush a beer can on my forehead.
5. Learn to juggle.
6. Ride on a unicycle. (Even if its only for a few seconds.)
7.  Finish up a few semesters of Graduate School with at least a 3.5 GPA.
8. Go on a road trip all by myself and don't tell anyone where I am.
9. Go to Disney World.
10. Sky dive.
11. Bungee jump.
12. Move out on my own. (FINALLY!!!)
13.  Join a roller derby team.
14. Dye my hair completely blue.
15.  Babysit for each of my friends and family at least one day...for FREE!!!
16. Climb a tree.
17. Find a church that I actually like attending.
18. Get my bar tending license. (Even if I never use it.)
19. Get a few more tattoos.
20. Write a short story that is worthy of publication.

So that's it for now. No typical resolutions like losing weight or whatever. Where's the fun in that? Nope, these are my resolutions. I think I can manage. 

Textually Active

I have recently been playing love coach to a couple of different people in my life. This fascinates me because well, quite frankly, I have no idea how to handle romantic affairs. I mean, obviously...I am 28 and single. (Which depending on how you look at it could make me either really sad or really smart.) Regardless I have been handing out relationship advice. I'm no expert but at least I know what heart break feels like, so I can "be there" for someone when they are dealing with that. (Which, in my opinion the best way to handle that little issue is with lots of icecream, booze, and hanging out with the gals.)

Anyway, today I was looking through various relationship articles online and enjoying myself quite a bit. Every one gave different advice. I mean, its no wonder no one ever really knows how to handle affairs of the heart because its so darn hard to get good, sound advice. At least advice without a hint of prejudice. (Same can be said for my own advice to others, because when a dear friend comes to me with a broken heart over some jerk that did her wrong, my first form of advice is, "I know where we can hide the body.")

One article in particular caught my attention, mostly because I like to text people. I'm kinda known for it within my circle of textual followers. (Did I just make up a phrase?) I like to send "Random Thoughts" for the day or "What Is Going Through April's Head Right Now" texts. Those, as you can imagine, can be either highly entertaining or slightly annoying (or both) but I've never gotten any complaints. In fact, both Maggie and Kayla will tell you that they love getting my texts...especially the drunken ones. Maggie says those are "like a puzzle".

Anyway, the article said that the best way to tell if a guy is interested in you through texting is if he sends two messages in the morning, two in the afternoon, and two at night. Really? So there is a mathematical science to this? When did that happen? Is it some sort of concept AT&T came up with or maybe an app for your iPhone? I'm confused. I mean, I didn't realize the amount of text you got from someone meant anything at all. Furthermore, why six? I mean, its my favorite number, but I never really knew it had some sort of magical relationship powers. Hmmm...

I once had a guy text me 15 times in 30 minutes. FIFTEEN TIMES!!! He must have been in love with me is all I know. What ultimately happened though was that the repeated text messages during my work hours just freaked me out and so I texted him and told him to leave me alone. For someone I had never even met, that was WAY too many text messages.

Still though, it makes me wonder what that same article would say about the 15 texts.

Uncle Doug

I have always taken great pride (and joy) in what a family oriented person I am. Its hard trying to keep up with everyone when you come from a BIG family like mine. My Mom is the eldest of five children. Her mother is one of eleven kids. My Dad is the baby in a family of eleven and I've lost track of how many family members I have in my family on his side.

When people ask about my family, I automatically sort through countless cousins, uncles, and aunts in my mind, when really, they probably just mean my immediate family (i.e. Mom, Dad, Dillon), but that is how I think:  family = everyone.

Anyway, the point is, it is VERY difficult to keep up with everyone. I'm pretty sure that even if I didn't have to work or go to grad school or do anything else, it would still be impossible for me to share all the love I have with each individual person within my family circle. I try to plan reunions and gatherings. I try to remember to send birthday and anniversary cards. I try to visit as much as I can.

That is the hard part. Visting...something we like to do a lot of in the country. I don't get to visit much. I apologize to folks for that. Its not like I don't love ya'll, I'm just really, really busy most of the time. Regardless, all that is just to set you up for the star of this particular blog...my Uncle Douglas.

Now, my entire life, my Uncle Doug has lived just out the road from me. When I say, "just out the road" I don't mean five miles down the road. I mean, literally a two minute walk from my house. I can step out onto the front porch, turn right, and see almost into his living room window. Nunn Road is just that...a road full of Nunns.

I have other family members I could blog about (and I probably will someday) but today is for Douglas.The background on him is that he is my Daddy's older brother. My Papaw Bob once taught him how to swim, by picking him up and throwing him into the creek and telling him to learn to swim or sink. We believe in tough love on the Nunn side of my family tree. ;-) Doug is also the father of three of my favorite people in the world: Bridgette, Kayla, and Steven.

When I was little, Bridgette was my hero. I wanted to look like her, talk like her, be exactly like her in every way. She was my idol. She was what I thought perfection was, but as you get older, you come to realize no one is perfect. We lost Bridgette way too soon and I still think of her often and miss her a great deal. She left behind a son, whom we all call "Little Dylan".

Lil' Dyl' was the first of Douglas' two grandchildren. The other being that sweet, beautiful little ball of perfection known as Story. So that makes Douglas the grandfather of two more of my favorite people as well. 

Child number two for Douglas was my younger cousin Steven. My gawd that boy tortured my very soul when we were little. He has tried to kill me on more than one occasion I assure you. We were born a year apart and during the same month. His birthday is May 13 and mine is May 23, so even though he is a year younger, when we were little he used to tell me he was OLDER than me because his birthday came first. I wanted to strangle him for that. As we got older though, we got along much better and now, even though I rarely ever see him, I still love him a great deal and I'm glad he's a part of my family.

The baby out of Douglas' brood was a snot faced little brat known as Kayla Ray. I know I sound mean when I call her that, but honestly, she was a snot faced little brat. I used to hide from her. Seriously. I'm six years older than the girl and I used to see her coming out the road towards my house and run inside, lock the door, and hide. She was mean. But she grew out of some of that...SOME of that. I wasn't that close with her when she was a teen...I was off doing my own adult thing and she was doing her own teenage thing and it just never really worked out that we could be close. Now that we are both adults however, I am happy to say that she is a very dear friend of mine. I'm certain I get on her nerves quite frequently, but she loves me so she puts up with me. I no longer hide from her either, but to be fair, this might have something to do with her own kid, Story. I hate to lock the door and hide from Story. I'm not sure how such a sweet, timid child came from Kayla, but I'm not going to question it. Why jinx it, ya know?

So anyway, my Uncle Douglas is the father and grandfather of some pretty grand individuals. That's basically what I know him as...the father and grandfather of my cousins. I'm not particularly close to Douglas and although I see him everyday basically, I hardly ever take the time to stop for conversation. No worries though, I am a Nunn, that is how we do things. People think we are strange because we barely speak, but we get each other just fine that way. I have often said that I think we Nunns could communicate just fine with each other through a series of grunts and facial gestures. That's all it would take. :-)

So today I got to spend some quality time with my uncle. He rode with me and my Aunt Ida up to Ohio to pick up my Dad. Douglas didn't say much from his spot in the backseat of Maisy, but I liked having him back there anyway. He took a nap part of the way, until Ida sneezed and it scared him (he thought the tire had blown out on the car). We talked a little bit about immigration laws, smalltown gossip, work, the economy, politics, and Yankees (not the team, but the folks living above the Mason Dixon line). He didn't say a whole lot, but he did contribute. It was nice.

I wish I could say that there was some sort of breakthrough in my somewhat distant relationship with my uncle, but that would be a lie. We aren't best friends now or anything like that, but it was nice to just have the time to sit and listen to his tone of voice, the way he pronounced his words, or the stories he would tell about his grandbabies. :-) Why? Because someday, I won't be able to do that. Douglas isn't old or anything like that, but life moves by pretty quickly and one day when the people you have in your life right now are gone from you, it is the littliest of things that you want to remember...like the sound of their voice or one really good memory with that person. Today I got both. It made the long drive to Ohio not so long, not so miserable.

I hope he can say the same.

Here Kitty, Kitty

I know I blog about my cats quite a bit, but you have to bare with me. I'm not married. I have no children, so my cats are my kids. I am the crazy cat lady. I understand this. I've come to accept it. I've always loved cats. Actually, I've just always loved animals of any kind. I didn't get the nickname "EllieMae" for nothin' afterall.

Right now though, I only have cats. Well...I have a cow but she doesn't count as a real pet because she was actually one of our milking cows that I begged Daddy not to sell because she was the oldest and toughest one in the herd and quite frankly, that gave me a tremendous amount of respect for the old hag. And I do take care of other people's animals as well. I tend to Dad's chickens and dog and my brother's dogs and all that jazz. For me though, I only have cats. Which is strange...cause I've always had a LOT of animals. In fact I've called a variety of critters "pets" through the years (pigs, deer, possums, rabbits, etc....). For now though I am stuck on cats.

Ya'll already know the story of me and my cat family. How I rescued them from our dairy five years ago when their Mom abandanoned them when they were only two weeks old. How I got up every two hours that summer to feed four kittens. So on and so forth...I'll spare you those details. Needless to say, I was the best cat Mommy I could be for a human.

Sadly, my kitty-kiddos were born with Feline Leukemia, something that they contracted from their biological Mommy cat. Nothing I could do about it and by the time I found out, I was already attached. So I decided to let them live out their remaining years with me and I would do whatever I could to keep them safe, healthy, and happy during the time I had them.

Last year I lost Poop. She got a cold and as is the case with Leukemia, it progressed into something worse. She didn't make it to Christmas. :-( And this week I lost Oliver to a damn spider bite of all things. Said spider also bit my Emmie, but she has been slowly recovering. She's still not her usual self, but she is continuing to drink some liquids and keeps her wound clean on her own. But she is very sick still and very weak. So I stay worried about her.

And now I'm worried about my other remaining kitty, Bart. Usually Bart is the picture of perfect kitty cat health. He's never been diagnosed with Feline Leukemia but I always assumed he had it because he was a litter mate to the others that were diagnosed. Truth is though, even though this particular cat disease is very contagious (and NO, Daniel Clemmons, this is NOT the same thing as Feline AIDS), sometimes cats don't get it. So far, I've been lucky with Bart. I did have a scare once when he got a urinary tract infection and had to spend a week at the Vet's office, but he came out of that okay, and I've not had a single problem since then.

But he's been acting strange lately. I worry its another UTI, but the truth is, the only symptom of that he is showing is lethargy...and that could be a symptom of just about anything. According to my research he could be sick to his stomach. He could have an infection or virus. He could be too hot. He could have a disease. Hell, it could just be that he doesn't like his cat food (because he's not been eating properly for about a day now). And yes, even cats can suffer from anorexia, so it could even be that.

But I've checked him. No fever. No wounds. No teeth problems. No lumps in his tummy. No visible problems in his hind quarters. So I just can't figure it out. I even broke down and finally bought an air conditioner tonight and plugged it in, thinking maybe he was too hot.

I've been giving him Pedialyte as well as Emmie. She doesn't mind sharing I don't think. And so far, Bart is still urinating pretty regularly...he just isn't going number two because he's not eaten since Thursday night.

It stresses me out when I don't know what is wrong! I want to fix everything and I don't like it when I can't. So tomorrow I'm going to try to call the vet and make an appointment for Bart. He needs a check up whether he likes it or not.

In the meantime, my theory on what is ailing him may be far fetched, but it is also quite logical. So here it is...I think my Bartticus is depressed. I know, I know. Seriously though, animals can get depressed too. And he is in fact exhibiting all the signs of depression. But the thing that makes me think its that, is because he was fine up until a few days ago when Oliver died.

On the day Oliver and Emmie got bit, Bart was fine. He went  outside and climbed trees and played around like normal. That evening when it got time to put him back in the house, he had a little kitty breakdown. He came through the front yard meowing at the top of his lungs (Bart is a quiet kitty, he NEVER makes a sound) and when I tried to comfort him, he wouldn't have any of it. You see, Bart was looking for the other cats. By that time Emmie was in bed sick and Oliver had already passed away. That night, well after I had put them back in the house, I could hear Bart at the bedroom window meowing into the night.

The very next day he started acting strange. He sleeps in the same room that Oliver always slept in (eventhough Bart never slept with Oliver when he was alive). He even sleeps in the box that Oliver used to sleep in sometimes.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I've tried everything I can think of and the only conclusion I can come up with is that Bart is depressed. Apparently cats will do that. If your kitty cat has recently suffered a loss of another pet or human family member, they can become depressed. Go figure. And since all this started the day Oliver died and Emmie got really sick, and since I'm not finding any other symptoms, it only leaves me to conclude it is Bart's way of grieving the loss of his brother.

But until I know for sure, its off to the vet I go yet again. Keep your fingers crossed for me and my furry children.