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Three Reasons to Live in Cambridge

Note: all events described below happened in one day.

Reason to Live in Cambridge 1: Yard sales.

My faithful steed, Gray Donkey.
I was on my way back home from having some blood tests done (update 9/19: I am not anemic, not iron-deficient, not B12-deficient, and my cholesterol is excellent) when I spotted giant signs for a nearby yard sale. I zoomed over and started wandering around the items. A very nice man gave me a giant Macy's bag -- clearly, he is very savvy and knew I would compulsively try to fill it up. I got the tiniest, cutest little steel dish drainer ($1), a few long-sleeved tops ($2 each) for the fall, and an unopened Kinerase Gentle Daily Cleanser ($1). That last item retails for $30+. Wheeee!!!

Reason to Live in Cambridge 2: Cyclist Culture.

You can't really see it, but the photo above shows that my bicycle seat is really messed up. So I popped over to the Broadway Bicycle School, which was super busy at the time, but I got helped right away! I got a new seat, and the guy also greased my gears and inflated my tires properly. I also made the dude go up a ladder so he can show me the spanking full-head helmets they had, only I didn't like the color (I want light-colored helmets so I'm visible and don't get run over) so he had to go up the ladder again and return it. Kyahaha, evil deed for the day complete!

Reason to Live in Cambridge 3: Vets are available in case the internet did not cure your pet.

When I woke up on a glorious Saturday morning, the sun was shining and my cat was compensating for the lack of birdsong by mewling incessantly. She hadn't eaten since Wednesday, so I checked the opening times of the two vets in the area -- yes indeed, we are two-timers -- and filed their Saturday hours away in case my internet fix did not work. What the internet said was, you feed one tablespoon of honey to the anorexic cat per 20 pounds, meaning a dollop of honey for the 6-pound Sheba. Man, did she ever fight. She hates it when I pry open her mouth and try to force-feed her, but she's such a gentle kitty that she grips my hand with her paws and tries to push me away, instead of, say, opening up my veins like a normal cat. To my delight, about twenty minutes later, she was at her food bowl. Thank you, internet!

~Now, to balance out all the sugar and rainbows above, here's the sucky crap that happened to me on the same day: twisted my ankle halfway through hiking, kept going anyway, and then the damn thing looked like a golf ball six hours later. I just did an X-ray this morning, and the tech told me it looks okay. Sure feels okay. It's a lot better than Saturday night, when I was hopping around in secret pain. On Sunday, I was doing such a good job of hiding my discomfort that Boyfriend kept blissfully walking ahead, way too fast for me to catch up, and I was too womanly to whine about being left behind. Derp?

This post had no point. I'm really just rambling. Ramble, ramble, ramble...

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