Cardiogirl: 19% body fat 100% fun

Okay, I think most of my VIPers know I desperately want a cat. And if you know that much, you know I can’t have one anymore since my oldest kid is allergic to cats and has asthma.

*Falls to her knees with her arms outstretched and screams to the sky, “Why Lord? WHY?!”*

However, I’ve recently discovered a loophole. For the last two summers I’ve been pet sitting for my neighbor. He has two dogs and a cat and I let them out twice a day. As you may have guessed, it didn’t take long to win the dogs over. Dogs are so easy they’ll give it up to anyone.

But the cat is one tough monkey. He goes outside and then returns after a while to sit patiently by the back door until I come back to let him in.

It took
almost
two years
but I am
proud to
say that I
finally made my neighbor’s
cat my bitch.

I have been wooing him, on and off, for two years and finally back in September my hard work paid off. I can seriously make him purr on command, gingah. He follows me around the house and will hop up next to me when I sit down so I can pet him. It’s an awesome super power I have acquired and I cherish it. But summer is over so I can no longer see my boyfriend, Boo.

And if you think I’m kidding, you can ask my kids and my husband about my boyfriend.

Anyway, I haven’t had a hook up for about two weeks now and I miss him. So that’s why Emily said, “Your boyfriend is on our porch,” when we getting ready to leave for school yesterday. I was in the middle of making lunches when I dropped the bread and said, “Where is he?!”

“He just left to go next door.”

So I ran outside to the neighbor’s house and got on my hands and knees so I could reach under the bushes to pet him. And he sat there just out of my grasp. I cajoled him, I begged him; I even used my special little cat noise to woo him. Finally, he came out of the bushes and sat on the porch steps while I rubbed his ears and he meowed to go inside.

And then the front door opened and I saw my neighbor’s shoes as the cat scurried inside.

I felt like Jack Tripper getting busted by Mr. Roper as I slowly rose to my feet and raced through my mental Rolodex for something — anything — to say. Finally I said, “Hey, um, those address numbers on your house are really cool. I just thought you should know that.”

Back at my house, I grunted when I opened the cupboard for the peanut butter because I strained a muscle in my lower back trying to reach the cat.

“Seriously, Mom?” Allison said. “You pulled a muscle in your back chasing your boyfriend?”

“Yes. I. Did,” I said full of self righteousness. “I love him.”

And then I realized I had just showed my girls how to be a needy, black sucking hole of a girlfriend.

So I gathered them up in the kitchen, wincing from the pain in my back, while I tried to spin some damage control.

“Hey, you know how I ran out there to see the cat?”

“You mean how you ran out to see your boyfriend?” Katie said.

“Yeah. Don’t do that when you start dating. You should never run after a guy like I just did. It’s really desperate and you shouldn’t do that. Okay?”

They just smiled and Katie said, “Whatever, Mom. We’re gonna be late for school.”

I had an interesting chat with my six-year-old this morning. I was sitting on the floor trying to decide which pair of shoes to wear, when she struck up this conversation.

Emily: “You have a lot Converse.”

Me: “Yep, I do.”

Emily: “You have like 101 pairs of Converse.”

Me: “I wish I had that many pairs.”

Emily: “Which pair will you wear to Heaven?”

Me: “Hmm. I need to think about that.”

I did think about it for a few minutes until I remembered that I’ve already written about this.

So I’ve already picked the pair I’ll wear to Heaven; see for yourself.

And just in case you wondered: yeah, it’s gonna be an open casket.
 
 

I have been waiting to watch TLC’s new show, “Long Island Medium” for a while now. But I can never remember when it’s on so it’s sheer luck if I catch an episode. And, as luck would have it, the stars aligned last night and I saw not one but two episodes back-to-back, gingah!

Two thumbs up.

Here’s the premise, it’s a reality show that follows Theresa Caputo — a psychic medium — around town somewhere in Jersey. I think I’d enjoy myself in Jersey. (Edited: Until Long Island is captured by New Jersey it will continue to be a neighbor to New York City. I can’t take myself anywhere.)

Her full-time job is to send messages to the living from the dead. She’s sort of like a spiritual UPS guy. She says the spirits come to her and she feels compelled to tell the corresponding person what they’re saying.

For instance, she dropped her car off at the garage and she felt a message waiting to be shared. It was for the mechanic who was going to fix her car. His dad was speaking, through the medium, telling him that he knew of his grandchildren who were born after he died and that he’s proud of his son the auto mechanic.

She also surprised him by asking if someone’s birthday was coming. It was the mechanic’s birthday the next day! Yay!

As you may know, I’m one pessimistic monkey. If my brother ever tries to come through, he better offer up some info that no one — and I mean no one else — could know about. And by the time he’s able to convince me, the medium is probably going to hate me and walk away. But, if she can’t provide some serious proof I’m gonna have to call bullshit on that.

Now then, I find this show entertaining and naturally it’s kicked up some questions for me.

• If a spirit can communicate through her, why won’t Jesus pop in to share a message with someone?

• Does a spirit ever ask her to tell someone that it’s *still* pissed off about that time, near those restaurants, the other person ruined her favorite sweater?

• If so, are there many spiteful spirits roaming around in some local coffee shops?

• Can murder victims come through and tell the judge who killed them?

• Will the medium accept a spiteful message from a spirit? Will she go to the other person and tell him that this spirit is seriously pissed and is demanding an apology?

Because if I don’t outlive a few people, I’m hunting them down and sending a few messages through Ms. Theresa Caputo.