Everyone has their own signpost that spring is right around the corner. Could be seeing a green leaf on a tree that's been naked for months. Could be going out for the first time without scarf, gloves and hat. Or three days in a row where the sun actually shines and you start itching to take your lunch breaks in the park.

Like you, I have my own sign that the winter highway offramp is just up ahead: my little cat sits in the windowsill and chatters. "Chchcha! Chchcha!"

It took most of a summer to figure out what it was he was doing. One day, I listened more closely.

A bird tweeters somewhere outside the open window. "Eep! Eep!" The cat, his eyes wide with sunshine, returns the call with a chatter. "Chchcha! Chchcha!"

"Eep! Eep!"
"Chchcha! Chchcha!"
"Eep! Eep!"
"Chchcha! Chchcha!"

It will go on as long as the bird keeps singing. This game never gets boring to the young kit.

Eventually, the bird will stop singing. My handsome gray boy will wait for a few minutes, hoping the bird will come back or another will take its place in the chorus. When the skies grow quiet, he'll slip off the sill and find a new distraction among his toys and my dirty laundry.

Now, wouldn't you know it, I'm itching to take hour lunches in the park, I didn't wear my hat most of this week, and the feline fella has started chattering.

My birdcalling cat tells me, Spring is here.

Fun Link: Pandas are the new trucker hat.

Where's Robert Stack When You Need Him?
If I drop my Netflix in the slot inside the post office, they arrive at the Netflix depot two days later. If I drop my Netflix into the blue mailbox outside the post office, the Netflix oompa loompas process them the next day. What is this Wonka, some kind of funhouse?

I'm a 5th Grade Word Problem
I have a fantastic roommate. Part of the fantasticness is that we have completely different schedules and we almost never see each other. In the nine months we have lived in the same apartment, I'd only once had to use the bathroom while she was in there. But in the last two days, I've had to pee while she was showering, we both were trying to make a meal at the same time in the kitchen, and we were even on the same car of the subway commuting home. Call it the train going east at 90mph and the car going west at 60mph: they're bound to pass one another at some point. Mind you, I'm not annoyed. I love the girl. Just funny the way the world spins sometimes.

Speechless
I'm too mad about the amendment thing to even talk about it.

Which Reminds Me ... A Boast
I work for a news web site. And we have a kickass homepage tonight. Incredible coverage of the hottest topics. I'm so proud of us. Do you care? ... Heh. Um, moving on ...

What Are You Smiling For?
I've recently remembered the sensation of having a crush. A constant happy thought in your peripheral mind. Coworkers may catch your eyes glance at the ceiling—at nothing—thinking that happy thought—and then you smile a joyful smile. All over a silly thing. ... I remember being a more optimistic person. I like how it feels.

I'm obsessed.

From: RichardCoyle.com

Last night I went out to do the grocery shopping. I popped a tape into the VCR to record a show while I was out. I watched the tape when I got home and finished unpacking the grapefruit and rainbow sorbet.

I don't know whether this is:

a.) A sign of maturity that I did not stay in to watch a TV program, but rather carried on with the responsibility of keeping my tummy filled on a semi-regular basis.

b.) A sign that I am watching far too much television that I feel I'll be missing something by not watching it.

I'm tending toward the latter. And it does get worse. I won't say which show it was that I taped, but I will say that I called in four votes for my favorites once I finished watching the tape.

I had a life once ... where did it go?

* Someone came here looking for "picture of naked girls 12 years old." Is this something I should report to the police? FBI? If so, how would I go about doing that?
_____

Later ...
Now that same term has been searched for three times in two different time zones, and with the same search engine (one I'd never heard of before all this). What is going on?

She sat in the open window and smoked her cigarette. I lay on her bed nearby, covered in a blanket.

“Sunglasses?” I asked.
“Two pair.”
“Moisturizer?”
“Got it.”
“Pajamas?”
“I almost forgot them, but they’re now packed on top.”
“Ummm … Flip flops? Sunblock? Tickets?”
“Five pairs, yes, and Beth’s got them.”

I had come over to give her my floats, three swimming pool inner tubes that I’ve brought along on many sunny vacations. The one pink and two black plastic bubbles have bobbed in the waters of the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans, dipped twice in the Caribbean, and several water bodies in the contiguous 48. I love them. Anyone who has gotten to use them loves them. Now, Goober and her friend Beth will love them.

Isn’t sharing love a beautiful thing? Those inner tubes carry with them nothing but happy memories: goofing with my brother after an afternoon of surfing on Waikiki; easing into the chilly pond behind a friend’s vacation cabin; taking a nap on a breezy Aruban morning.

Everyone seems to be jetting off. The engaged couple is laughing back Hurricanes in The Big Easy as I type this. The female half of that very same wedding-happy duo will be dashing off to Barbados in a few weeks. Some friends are meeting up in Miami pretty soon, and my mom is making plans to take a Florida break of her own.

And Goober and Beth are cabbing to the airport at dawn to get their pasty and deserving little butts onto the beach in Jamaica.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m working on my New Year’s resolution to pay off my credit card debt by the end of this year. And what I look forward to most, once the plastic’s paid, is to planning a great getaway. Destination: unknown. But I have plenty of time to spin the globe and fantasize about Prague, Rio de Janeiro and Cape Town.

For this week, though, when I’m sitting in front of my monitor at work, and I hit that awful 2 o’clock slump, I’ll channel my old college mate Goober. I’ll imagine her: floating over a shallow white sandbar, feet hanging into the clear water off the edge of the pink float, sunglasses shading gently closed eyes. I’ll channel that tropical bliss for just a moment.

Then I’ll get back to work and smile, knowing my good friend is having a fantastic time at that exact moment.

Oh, and if you ever want to borrow my inner tubes, you’re more than welcome. And if you can remember to bring me back a postcard for my postcard collection that would be great. Thanks, be safe, and bon voyage!

The Sex Discussion
There was brie. And a big dildo.

Our hostess is an artist. "Be careful, that one's wet," she said to everyone who arrived about the painting near the door. It had roses on it. Apparently, she painted it for Rosie Perez, who was going to pick it up in a few days. The discussion was great—and a little emotional—until the hostess's two drunk friends showed up. They sort of ruined it for me, but I still had an overall great time.


My Uncle's Killer
He got seven years in jail. I told a few coworkers.

"Your uncle was killed by a drunk driver?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"So was my mom."

Whoa. Losing a parent is very different than losing an uncle. I felt weird that I'd brought up the subject of drunk driving; I didn't mean to surface bad memories.

He said his mom's killer only got four years in jail.

Another coworker overheard.

"You lost your mom?" she asked
"Yeah," he said. "You lost your dad when you were a teenager, right?"
"Yeah," she replied.

A somber moment at work. Except I seemed the one most at ill-ease. My mom lost her mom when she was a teen. My cousins lost their dad. ... I'm sorry I brought it up.

Don't drink and drive.


The Lunch Date
I had lunch with an old coworker last week. I was never sure whether I loved him or hated him. Because I did both. I wondered whether this lunch would be a love him or hate him day. It was neither: It was hilarious. We remembered that we make each other laugh. A lot.

But he can still drive me crazy.

A few years ago, I asked him what he thought about a particular book. He directed me to open the book and look at one of the reviews behind the front cover. That was his review he'd written about the book for a large newspaper. Gah! Couldn't you just tell me what you thought about the book instead of stroking your ego, getting me to stare at your review in the book itself? Augh! ... And I'll never tell you how impressed I am right now.

See. Love and hate.

On the lunch date, since he's the most well-read person I know—though I wouldn't tell him I say so—I asked him about another book I loved. He said I can check out his review inside that one too. Gah!


The Set-Up
I'm being set up on a date. All sounds good.

But his name is Matt.

"I thought I'd tell you about all the good things first, before telling you his name," setter-upper said.

Bad news: I've been with Matts. Friends have been with Matts. The population of Matts in this country has had their reputations summarily sullied by a bad dozen or so on the eastern seaboard. Beware.

Then again, my brother is Matt, and he's a good dude.

We'll just have to wait and see.

Glenda glides in on her pink bubble and asks, "Are you a Good Matt or a Bad Matt?"

I’m going to a wine-and-cheese party tonight. Brady’s hosting it. She’s writing a book about sex, and this party is for research. She’s invited a bunch of women to come and talk about their sex lives.

I told her that I don’t think I have much to add on that topic. Yeah; no, I don't have much to say about that. Not to strangers.

Brady said she wants me to come, and at the least, meet her friends that I’ve heard so much about.

I think it will be fascinating to listen to, but I doubt I’ll have much to say. She said that’s fine; she just wants me to meet her friends, which I am happy and excited to do.

And there’s nothing wrong with a little wine and cheese—or a lot of wine and cheese.

(I've also been invited to an ex's friend's new boyfriend's friend's party. I'm not sure if I'll make it to that one.)