Your girl on the run.

This may be the busiest summer of my life- which isn't saying much, of course. I remember when I first entered high school and my mother first insisted on summer jobs. I languished in a hair salon for 30 hours a week for four years- getting my hair chopped and colored and reading gossip magazines. I was the receptionist and shampoo girl, and my disposable income went towards cds and chocolate milkshakes, trips to Chicago and too tight tops at the mall.

My college summers were much in the same lackadaisical vein, and retrospectively, I think that treating them as a luxury, a lazy one, was the right call. Good job, young me.

These days, I am the picture of responsibility. My job eats 45-50 hours of my life each week, and I have started to get overly excited about things like clean laundry and my Netflix.

But your girl has been having a series of adventures this summer, what started with a jaunt to Colorado for my brother's wedding will climax* with a road trip through Maryland and Pennsylvania in two weeks.



To prepare for lengthy periods in the car with Louis, I have placed a few holds on audiobooks at everyone's favorite city library. I'm talking about Atlanta-Fulton County.

You are no doubt wondering about my choices. I won't keep you waiting any longer.

1. Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
A classic that Louis hasn't gotten around to reading- and a particularly good audio recording as I recall. I am excited to rekindle my crush on Ford Prefect- he's one frood who really knows where his towel is.

More than that- this series is summer to me. I have never been one for reciting lines from the Simpson's or 30 Rock. It's not my thing. But I can, on-cue, give you a number of my favorite parts of any of these books. I am that hopeless fangirl, and I have read every scrap of paper that Douglas Adams ever wrote.

2. Summerland - Michael Chabon
Don't judge- I am not some lit scenester who has thrown in with the Chabon groupies. It just sounds so promising, doesn't it? Epic YA fantasy that gets American where Narnia just turned so damn English. Baseball's better than Cricket. No diggity, no doubt.

3. Wind Up Bird Chronicle, or After Dark - Haruki Murakami
It's a question of if we need 27 hours of entertainment or just 5. Murakami will fill the bill either way.

I am more excited for the drive than I ought to be- a veteran of long drives west in my family's minivan- the road trip holds that cliched romance for me. I'll give you a report on my frolicking when I return.

* Seksi.

Shaq and a Panda

Oh noez!

Sweet and Lowdown

You may already know I was a cat person. For two decades, I Bond-Villained- reclining on my daybed with Midnight at my side and a library book on my chest. I was that girl, that cat lady in training. I would have sniffed dismissively at your golden retriever, sneered at your labradoodle. I would have fiercely argued kittens over puppies, and made the case for purring over licks. From the ages of 8-13, I spent the bulk of my $5 weekly allowance on cat treats at Valpo's Pet and Hobby.

Midnight was magnificently spoiled and fat for all of my youth. Flecks of orange and brown ran throughout her black coat. She was a smug, demanding, green-eyed creature - a pretty cat who knew she had it good. Most importantly, she didn't like anyone but me. Not my family or the rest of our menagerie. She was all mine, and she slept in my bed while I grew up. From kindergarten to my high school graduation.

And during the summers, in college, she would return to my side. I would dangle my legs out my window, smoking secret cigarettes, and she would sit on the sill next to me.

I thought, that first year out of college, of bringing her to Atlanta. By then she was an old cat- she had skinnied, shrunk. The decision to keep her at home, where she had always been, made sense to my family and me. Dating my way through a series of boys with allergies, I went out and adopted the most cat-like dog of all time, my dear Penny. And then I realized I was a dog person. That I liked the bounding, unconditional joy of puppies. That I was no longer sleek or secretive. It was then that my heart committed the real betrayal, and that is, I think, when Midnight finally gave up on me.

When I would go home on my own for holidays and visits, I would make a point of spending time with her, but she was over me by then. Desperate for any attention. Our old confederacy broken, we were old friends who had once been better.

She died this morning, and my mom buried her in the backyard. All our childhood dogs long dead, I realized only today that Midnight was some last tether to my enchanted, pretentious, cat-centric girlhood. I miss her now, more than I had for years. Of course, my grief is also selfish- you know, it is Margaret I mourn for.

But really, kitty, I miss you the most.