I'm Finally A GrownUp!

Until I checked my mail today, I was always under the impression that becoming "Grown-Up" was contingent on getting my first permanent honest-to-god job. Man, was I way off. Today I was blind-sided by the feeling of being grown-up when I opened my mailbox, and found *gasp* my very own honest-to-god VISA card. Gone are the carefree days of irresponsibility. Today, I became a woman.

Don't get me wrong. I have credit. Lots of it. Mainly because I have spent the last 10 years on various University campuses. If you've been on campus at any point over the past 20 years, you know what I'm talking about. You walk by a table, feel strangely compelled to own the compilation Jazz CD or black baseball cap that says CANADA across the front, and decide "Sure, I could use another Mastercard". However, you are an honest person, so it doesn't even occur to you that your first name can become "Joey Joe Joe Shabadoo" residing at "123 Fake Street". Next thing you know, you have 36 Mastercards sitting in your wallet, and a closet full of crap that you could have bought at the Sally Anne for about 7 cents. Yes, getting a Mastercard is about as difficult as confusing Paris Hilton with hyperbole for a University student.

But Visa cards are a different story. Visa doesn't recruit the average University student. They don't have to. Visa instead caters to the upscale businessman working on Bay, the soccer-mom who drives her Suburban to pick up milk, the rich kid whose parents want them to have access to cash "just in case" (cosigned and paid for by Daddy dearest of course) . Visa is the card that my parents used as I was growing up. Visa is "The Credit of the Responsible".

So now I join the ranks of the responsible. I own a Visa card. And I have a decent amount of credit on it. I will be responsible, as Visa has so deemed, and will remove one of my several Mastercards from my wallet and replace it with the card I affectionatelly refer to as "Visey". And if I am ever in a situation where the vendor will accept Visa but not Mastercard, I will no longer have to worry about walking away in shame (although that has only happened once, and it was in Estonia). Yes, I will face the world tomorrow as one of the responsible.

But I will never forget how, when the rest of the world saw me as an irresponsible student for 10 years, Mastercard saw me as an investment. As such, Visey will stay in my wallet as an alternative only. For everything else, there's Mastercard.

Why SuperNanny Would Not Approve of the Way I Raised My Cat

Eek on Powerbook
Originally uploaded by Lemmiwinks.

My newest favorite TV show is Supernanny. Partly because of the title. She's a "Super-nanny". My personal goal is to become a Super-something (Superpsychophysicist doesn't ring right), and so I use Supernanny as a role model. But, lets face it, I mostly like it because because I like to see rotten kids and Laissez-Faire parents get told that they suck in a British accent. Finally, somebody pointing out that discipline is required for normal social development.

I love watching Supernanny walk into houses and point out (seemingly obvious) things that the parents are doing wrong. And, being schooled in the tradition of behavioural science, I am shocked and amazed how little parents know about simple conditioning. You don't want your kid to whine about going to bed? Then don't reinforce the behaviour. This is not rocket science, people. I, being childless, of course feel that I will do a better job with my kids.

And then I look at my cat.

She's a really, really cute cat (Fig. 1). Everyone loves her. She's white, and really loves people. She has adorable blue eyes. And when she snuggles, she has the softest fur ever. I never thought I was a cat person (I'm still not), but Eek the transcends her feline counterparts.

And boy, is she a bitch.

Everything that Supernanny criticizes parents for, I am also guilty of. Example: most parents don't spend enough quality time with their children. When I get home, I spend an hour putting my stuff away, cooking dinner, and eating dinner in front of the T.V. All Eek wants is some quality time from me. She head butts me for about 15 minutes. And she's fat, so she's got some momentum behind those head butts. She demands food whenever she wants. If I have my head on HER pillow when I'm falling asleep, then she pokes my face. She really rules the roost, and I'm exhausted. I constantly second guess myself as to whether or not I am raising a happy, well-adjusted cat.

But what would Supernanny make me do to rectify this situation?

1. I would have to set up a detailed schedule in my kitchen. And I would have to schedule Eek in. If I walked into someone's kitchen and saw their cat scheduled into their day, I would slowly back out of their apartment and talk about them behind their back for years. Not going to happen.

2. If Eek was sassy with me (as she often is), I would have to send her to the naughty mat. For 9 minutes. If I told Eek to goto the naughty mat, she would give me a good-old-fashioned "fuck-you" flip of the tail and lick herself. If I physically tried to put her on the naughty mat, she would walk off. Why wouldn't she? She's a fucking cat.

3. To try and establish better sleeping habits, I would have to start ignoring her cries at bedtime. I learned in 1997 never to ignore Eek. She scratches. And bites. Did I mention she's a bitch?

4. I would have to implement a more rigorous feeding schedule. As such, Eek would have to eat when I tell her. Again, please refer to the comment above for reasons why this would never happen.

So, in Supernanny's eyes, I basically suck. My cat is an obnoxious brat. I am an uber-indulgent parent. But at least she looks good.