It's Happening!

Tomorrow-- Jamie and I load up the Volvo and embark on our oft talked about journey to Kansas City, AKA The Greatest Romance Trip of the Century for Lovers Only! We hear they've got some crazy little women there and I'm gonna get me one...preferably, a Kansas City Chiefs cheerleader who will be amenable to the idea of doing odd jobs around the house. In 3 days time, we will begin our new life of affordability and pastimes of the landlocked. We've planned out a route that will provide us with the most hot springs stops. If there's anything I like more than eating boiled, white foods, it's having a therapeutic soak!

Jamie and I sold off much of our furniture and lesser electronics at a garage sale on Saturday. Rachel, eyes clouded with tears, took many of my old clothes, probably hoping to fashion some sort of bizarre shrine or icky doll in my likeness.

I'll disclose my new address soon. Please send Mexican food, the beach...

Hey! I Collect These!

Go ahead, buy me these for every birthday, Christmas, anniversary, housewarming, boat christening, or "just because" present for the next 5 to 10 years!

Left paw up= luck
Right paw up= money
Both paws up= protection for the home
Having over 25 of these placed in every room of the house= no cancer ever, getting good at gambling, Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes winning, learning to turn negative feelings into bricks of REAL GOLD, levitation, depilatory ease.

Apologies All Around

Recently, I removed my dad's blog from my list of links. I was embittered over the 9 month period that went completely update-less. During that dry spell, he spent most of his time training the dog really, really well-- she is nearly well behaved now! He's started writing his blog again, using his typical "gonzo journalism" style to keep us abreast of Fredenburg family travels to places where there are an abundance of white people, observing them in their natural habitats (Canada). You may view it here.

Julia Turns Down The Alley... Tornado Alley

After thinking about it for an agonizing three hours, I decided that all my San Francisco plans should go the way of yesterday's paper. I sacrificed the prestige that comes from being a Petco photographer and quit my job. I'm moving to Kansas City, Missouri, instead.
San Francisco is too expensive. Additionally, San Francisco does not have enough tornadoes or general inclement weather. There is not enough gingham. There are not enough kitchens decorated exclusively with Mary Englebreit cutesy kitsch (I never tire of her "life is just a chair of bowlies" malapropisms!) I want to be closer to that midwestern axis on which my world turns-- Chicago Public Radio's This American Life (Ira baby, I'mma comin'!). In Kansas City, open containers of alcohol are allowed in the street. This is information that hardly applies to a teetotaler like me, but is strangely enticing nonetheless. Fratboy friends I haven't yet made will feel inclined to visit, I'm sure.

While my California friends are biting their nails reading The Omnivore's Dilemma and pretending that the organic kale they bought at the under-the-freeway farmer's market doesn't taste exactly like dirt, saving every last dime to afford their basement-level tenderloin apartment that they share with a pot dealer inexplicably named Sandalfoot, I'll be slathering strip steaks in K.C. Masterpiece, wearing a Kansas City Cheifs starter jacket and drinking beer out of a red party cup downtown, suddenly feeling a strange pride in an Irish heritage I may or may not even have.

My only fear is that in my absence, Rachel may become more like this guy.

Apple Not Falling Far From the Tree Department

Julia "Maui Tan" Fredenburg here with a special report on mother daughter time. It being nowhere near her birthday and with Mother's Day long past, what better time for a salute to dear Mama? After all, there's no one like mother to me-- which is why I dismissed the whole "struggling to form my own identity" thing as whiny teenage rebellion and have wasted no time in becoming just like her! Below is a list of the ways that I've succeeded so far.

1. My mom and I go running together, with matching running shoes and a single ipod shuffle between us, playing the latest podcast of This American Life. Though I haven't discussed it with her, I'm willing to bet that she shares my crush on Ira Glass. I mean, he is the closest thing NPR will ever have to a heartthrob, and we Fredenburgs are put at ease by other people in quirky, thick-framed glasses.

2. We compete over whose shoes are more "sensible." Are those Danish clogs? You win this round, Mom!

3. We both fall asleep after a meat based meal watching English mysteries on PBS. Oh Poirot, but you are fussy!

Cat Urine Agogo!

I have been moved out of my adorable Santa Cruz apartment for a couple of weeks now, marking the true end of my college days. No more late nights bent over the math book (or toilet). No more polite gatherings for pie (check your sense of abandon at the door; inhibitions welcome!) in the breakfast nook. It is truly the end of an era... an era that ended for most of us a year prior. I would like to be able to report that, after a month of frustrated searching, Rach and I have finally found that illusive San Francisco apartment, sans cat pee, not in Bayview, and with a window, but that would be a lie. I am now pseudo-homeless, apportioning my time among Sacramento (because I find temperatures above 100 "pleasant"), San Fransisco/Oakland for my jobs, and Jamie's Santa Cruz apartment, which only serves to remind me of the S.F. life that could be with the fragrant aromas of the neighbor's "incense" and the urine of about 50 cats wafting through the window. It seems the one thing that isn't hard to come by in this rough-and-tumble world where jobs and houses are scarce is cat pee. Whose cats are those anyway? Seriously.

I've compiled a sort of "Best Of" here...
CAT PEE ON THE 'NET
1. This site suggests that there are underlying causes for this cat urination problem-- mainly anxiety about other cats. So I should have a "bit of a sit-down" with all 50 cats; see if I can get them to open up. Chances are they will say, "Look Julia, I'm needing to constantly re-establish my territory through urination because there are 50 of us and not much territory to go around, see?" To which I will reply, "I understand where you are coming from, Mr. Boots, I mean, hell, we've all been there." Then, logically, I would lift my own leg on the apartment, as an act of solidarity...
2. This self-proclaimed cat pee expert knows a few handy concoctions of household products you could use to cover up/eliminate the cat pee smell. Recipes double as mouthwash or salad dressing but not both.
3. The South Park "Cheesing" Episode. Only click on this link if you aren't my parents or grandma.

Art Degree Still More Useful Than Lit Degree Somehow: Field Of Study Provides Related Job

While you losers were out having heated, yet unimaginative discussions about Obama at the local dive, spilling Stella Artois on your slacks as you move to pound your fist on the bar, or inside playing Scramble on Facebook for days on end, forgetting what toothpaste even tastes like, I was out making a name for myself. That's right-- job acquired. I'm now Petco's Official Pet Photographer, serving those members of the community who would have their portrait's taken at Sears, if Sears was a little more lenient about fecal matter. After doing this for one day, I'd say the key to capturing images of pets is to emphasize the bond between animal and master through a nurturing, holistic approach involving both patience and threats of harm and punishment. Keep bringing those untrained, highly excitable german shepherds my way, folks, and I'll keep snapping portraits that you are guaranteed to treasure forever. Finally, life is on the upswing. Only thing left is to find an apartment.

I think puncture wounds from dog teeth probably heal pretty fast.