A rather flurried catch up

It’s been appallingly, disappointingly, inconsiderately snowy here in NYC. Which means, for the most part, that Delta and I have been hunkering down indoors, spending significant stretches of time prostrate on the couch.

Not the ideal way to spend a winter. I wouldn’t quite say I’m proud of watching a ten hour marathon session of Law and Order. Even Queen Jaffa started casting us worried glances from time to time, no doubt wondering if her parents had spontaneously metamorphosed into slugs.

On the other hand, our sloth has allowed us to do a flurried catch up of all the Oscars nominations for this year. After a year replete with films devoid of any merit, Hollywood pulled a typical stunt and released all the quality stuff en masse right at the very end.

Which would not be a problem in itself, except for peeps like Delta and me who get disproportionately competitive about predicting the Oscars results. If you’re going to do that, you need to watch the films. Ergo, the flurried catch-up.

Five years ago, Delta swiped six plastic, golden Oscars award figurines from Nooj’s apartment. A long story, perhaps for another day, but needless to say it left us with six gold figurines, and Nooj without. Every year since then, we’ve been holding an Oscar’s party and giving away one of the figurines to the winner who predicted the best. Because – even if one can’t act oneself – there’s nothing to stop you from judging others, of course. To date, rather infuriatingly, Bobbis has won the award almost every year. Now there’s only one figurine left, and this year, I’m determined to win.

Ergo, the flurried catch up.

A peopleish weekend

This past weekend will go down in the books as a rather social one.  A couple birthdays and a reunion of friends is apparently what it takes really to beckon the McDeltas out of social hibernation. Both birthday girls  had chosen restaurants in the East village, which peaked my excitement, not least because we could use the Select Bus. Everything about the Select Bus is enthralling to me, but nothing more so than the flashing blue lights. Never said I wasn't infantile like that.

Friday night it was Cafe Mogador, and for Saturday, Ilajna chose Boca Chica. I mention them only because they were both great, and I want to actively recommend them to anyone who cares to listen.

Delta and I typically suffer from a case of extreme homebodiliness that keeps us physically tethered to our neighbourhood. Which is a shame, because really with the advent of the Second Avenue Subway, our neighbourhood rather leaves something to be desired. It typically takes a special occasion of sorts to lure us out, and this weekend, the occasions did not disappoint. The food had a unique flourish unto it's own chef. The wine came in hefty prohibition-era glasses whose quantity boggle eye. The atmosphere had flair and exuberance.

And of course, the company. Always, the company.

A cat to be proud of

Lately, Queen Jaffa had taken to licking the one spot in her body where she really shouldn't. She had mastered the yoga move inolved. In truly ungainly fashion, she would lay on her back and splay her legs in the air, and then do a sudden sit-up and lean forward to bring her head between her back legs, at which point she would start licking her privates assiduously.

Delta and I were, at first, so horrified by the appalling lack of propriety that we forgot to consider her potential ailment. Were we really to be saddled with a bottom-licking kitty?

So yesterday, we took QJ for a dreaded visit to the vet, Dr B.

Now, I always think of QJ as a rather docile kitty, seeing as she spends about 18 hours of the day sleeping, and the remaining 6 either eating or cuddled up in our laps. Not an ounce of hostility in that cat.

Except when we go see Dr B. For whatever reason, the Doc, who I personally find to be rather charming myself, unleashes the wrath of gawd in QJ. She unfurls all her latent feral felineness, puffs out her lungs, and releases a crescendoing opera of hiss and yowl.   

Delta and I just stood back from the cacophany, alternately apologizing to Dr B and trying to pacify an obstreperous QJ.  It was all rather disconcerting, really. The entire time we were there, QJ yowled in the horrific tones of fighting alleycats, although Dr B was barely even touching  her at all. Drama queen.

She created such a racket in fact, that when we opened the door of the exam room to leave, we found we had company: All the other patients in the clinic (a huge great dane, a tiny chihuahua, and five cats), flustered by QJ's yowls, had gathered together in collective alarm behind the closed door of the room, to investigate what all the yelling was about.

There was a moment of awkward pause while we all stared at each other in embarrassment - two comical dogs, five cats, Dr B, QJ, Delta and me. Suddenly realizing that the examination was over, and that she had an audience, QJ brushed us off with a disdainful shake, and jumped into my arms soshe could be carried out with her head held high.

Nothing, if not a cat to be proud of.