The reasons why I hate living in Gainesville are numerous. They grow with each and every day. Today, however, the reasons why I hate living in Gainesville have to do with trash/recycling.

• We got our utility bill the other day and with it came a notice that if you had a "secondary" (meaning, presumably, not your primary) freezer or refrigerator, you could get $75 by asking the city to come get it. They provided a phone number. As luck would have it, we do have a secondary freezer that we're wanting to get rid of. I called the number. The person on the phone, after being wildly suspicious as to why I wanted to get rid of our freezer, then shuttled me to a different office (ie, not the utility office from whence the notice emerged), and then the next person shuttled me to yet a third person. That person promised that "someone" would be by to pick up the freezer "sometime" tomorrow between 7 am and 9 pm. Well, that's a handy 14-hour period that I'll be sure to be home for.
• We put several bags of leaves out for yard waste pick up. Let's go ahead and say that there were about a dozen bags. Not too strange, considering that we live on about a third of an acre and have a veritable assload of trees. The yard guys picked up about half of them and left us a note saying that we had exceeded the number of bags that we were allotted for a single pick-up. Now the guy across the street had roughly the same amount of leaves, but in bags twice the size of ours (therefore using half the number of bags we used). Needless to say, all of his bags were duly taken away.
• Finally, when I hauled our trash can off of the curb tonight, I noticed that only 1/4 of the trash had been taken. It seems that the handy robotic arm that dumps the trash can into the trash truck really isn't so handy at getting all of the trash. As it's after 5:00, I'll have to call tomorrow to arrange another pickup.

There are times when basic living in this wretched town is so frustrating, I feel like we should have been given a big-ass book of rules and regulations to follow. "Welcome to Alachua County. Here's your phone book, your map, and a rule book to help you maintain your sanity. Call us if you have any questions. Please note, however, that our offices are closed on weekends, federal holidays, state holidays, imaginary holidays, and between the hours of 6 am and midnight. Have a nice day!"

Since I'm always the one on the other end of the phone saying, "Oh, not much is new here," I thought I'd write a post telling you all that a few things are new here:

• John has given his two weeks' notice at his current job. He plans on taking up kayaking and lace-making. (Kidding.)
• I am furiously studying for my qualifying exams, to take place on the 19th and 21st of February. That's next month, for those of you keeping track at home.
• Edgar's jaw is mending nicely and although we had been promised that he'd be a nicer kitty after his accident, he seems to hate Lydia even more than before.
• Tomorrow is Luke's third birthday. We have a wild party planned. (Kidding.)
• We are in the market for creative flooring solutions. Our carpet needs to be replaced, but given that we have... erm... a few animals, I'm thinking that carpeting might not be the way to go. Bamboo sounds nice, but awfully expensive. I've suggested polishing the concrete and laying down a few area rugs. Any suggestions?
• John's dad has announced, again, that he plans to come visit. Panic ensued.

According to the New York Daily News, Heather Mills McCartney will get $62 million from her divorce settlement with Paul McCartney. The paper goes on to add that the sum is equal to $2000 for every hour of their four year marriage. What would Hallmark say?

So I'm trying to become a PhD candidate. In order to be admitted to candidacy, I have to pass my qualifying exams over my major and minor fields. Problem is, here at UF the process for said exams is cloaked in mystery and secrecy and the more people you ask to explain it, the more confused you get. You start to get the sneaking suspicion that qualifying exams might involve small animal sacrifice atop a Mayan temple, after which you may or may not get asked questions about US history. But I've got a secret weapon: my advisor, who is brilliant at cutting through the bullsh*t and finding out what really needs to happen. And she and I thought we had a pretty good handle on the whole exam thing. But yesterday we found out that we were wrong and that, in effect, the exams that I'll be taking in one month's time are markedly different than we had expected. So yeah. That's fun.

Across the country, Americans are keeping a careful watch on many dangerous wars: the war on in Iraq, the war on terror, the war on drugs. But here in Florida, many Floridians are fighting another war: The War on Leaves. Every morning, our backyard neighbor (the one who has gotten rid of every scrap of grass and xeriscaped her property) unleashes the power of her leaf blower for four solid hours, carefully moving the night's accumulated leaves from her backyard into the street. And every afternoon, our nosy 87-year-old neighbor walks around his yard methodically picking up any rogue leaves that might have fallen in his yard by way of our oak tree. Every geriatric in our subdivision, it seems, wields a leaf blower, determined to keep the irksome foliage at bay. It requires daily attention and while today's battle is over, tomorrow's is just waiting to begin.

On Saturday, John and I went furniture shopping for two upholstered chairs. When we bought our couch a few years ago, we had to wait eight weeks for it to arrive because it was a "special order" (translation: they don't have a warehouse onsite). So I figured we were in for another long wait until the chairs arrived, if we even found chairs that we liked. As luck would have it, we found two chairs that we liked and not only that, they were buy one, get one free! We got to take them home that night and they are awesome. See below:

Has anyone else noticed that female love interests in Hollywood movies get younger and younger while their male counterparts get older and older? Take Hugh Grant, for example. In 1994, he starred opposite Andie MacDowell in Four Weddings and a Funeral. She was born in 1958 and he in 1960, making her two years older than him. So far, so good. In 1999, he made Notting Hill with Julia Roberts (seven years his junior). In 2002, he made About a Boy with Rachel Weisz (eleven years his junior). And, coming out this Valentine's Day is Music and Lyrics, a romantic comedy he made with Drew Barrymore, who is fifteen years his junior. (Incidentally, I think putting this on a chart would illustrate the point much better, but I can't be bothered. You'll have to use your imaginations.) My prediction for his next leading lady? Lindsay Lohan. Born in 1986, at twenty-six years his junior, she'd be the ideal love interest for his next film. Just think: if they made a movie together in 2010, she'd be 24 and he'd be 50. I think it's brilliant. I intend to call his agent.

41-14, baby! We live about seven miles from the heart of campus and stepping outside just now, I could hear the roar of the crowds celebrating the win up there. Go Gators!

John and I are now back in Florida, from 12 days of visiting in Kansas. We picked up Luke this morning, who was beside himself with excitement to see us. Then we went on to our vet to pick up Edgar (see previous blog post). Honestly, I was expecting the worst: a maimed cat who was so doped up on pain killers that he didn't even recognize us. What we found was just the opposite: Edgar is completely off pain meds, he's happy and mending and he's completely affectionate. One of the vet techs told us that some cats, after a traumatic event (which, I suppose, a broken jaw qualifies as), become sweeter and more friendly. That certainly seems to be the case here. He can't go outside for two weeks and he's supposed to eat nothing but soft food for three weeks. For a cat that is used to spending his days coming and going as he pleases and eating his favorite crunchy food, this will be no small task! But he's alive and thriving and that's all we care about. Amos is adjusting to his new haircut (pictures to follow), Lydia is as noisy as ever, and Luke is blissfully happy to be sniffing kitty butts once again (don't ask). Otherwise, John and I are getting better. We both got sick the night of Christmas and were so sick, in fact, that we had to cancel dinner plans with friends (sorry, Sally and Ben!) and miss out completely on catching up with others (sorry, Carolyn and Jim!). Other than Edgar's broken jaw and our respective illnesses, we had a divine time in Kansas. For those who opened their homes to us, we thank you and we had a wonderful time. For those whom we missed, we'll catch you next time! I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season. Here's to a peaceful and happy 2007!