Awkward moment of the day:
Walking onto the bus to see all the black people in the back and the white people in the front. I thought we went over this already, America.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Tales from the Bus Stop
There's nothing quite like sharing the bus stop at 6:30 AM with a mentally handicapped man who is telling me he needs to find a new girlfriend because his cheated on him. He keeps eyeing me. "I had one woman come to my door and said she wanted me to be her boyfriend" uh sure dude. Keep your eyes to yourself. Mmmkay? If nothing else, at least I can credit an interesting morning to him.
Monday, May 6, 2013
A demon spews forth
So I couldn't find my keys (they were in my backpack) and I missed my bus (looked for 25 minutes). While I'm in the throws of a Monday morning panic meltdown, Milo here is sitting on the top of the recliner meowing at me (in an incessant and irritating manner) to feed him. I may have snapped the words "SHUUUUT UPPPP!!!!!!!" at him. And by snapped, I mean growled as though a demon were spewing forth from my body. Full on exorcism demon. Soooo yeah. It's gonna be a great day.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Dear RTA,
Dear RTA,
Bill Cosby called. He wants his sweater back.
Dear RTA,
Zach Morris called. He wants his pants back.
Bill Cosby called. He wants his sweater back.
Dear RTA,
Zach Morris called. He wants his pants back.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Revenge of the Ute-ute
Roughly every 30 days my body exacts revenge upon me for not getting knocked up. It's really quite rude. I don't get knocked up so therefore, I get to bleed for days on end and be doubled over in pain until I puke.
Wait. Not until, because it's not like a normal sick where you puke and feel better. This is a puke and still feel like shit thing. This is being doubled over in pain even though you've vomited all over the staff bathroom at work, splattering vom-vom everywhere, and still doubled over in pain even though you've spent all evening puking every chance you get.
Fuck you, uterus. That's some serious bullshit.
What if this happened to men? I think it's quite funny to imagine. What if, once a month, a man's body took revenge upon him for not knocking some chick up? "You have not successfully procreated this month. As punishment for your failure, you will now bleed through your penis for the next week and your sack will hurt as though someone dropped a brick on it, causing you to puke for hours on end."
Yeah. THAT would be the day.
Also, I would like to give a big fuck you to whoever told me "working out helps with cramps" because that was probably the worst idea since giving Justin Bieber a recording contract. The only thing working out did was make me more shaky, dizzy, and pukey than I was before I started. My ute-ute hurts even more and now other parts of my body that weren't hurting ARE hurting. Thanks for the extra dose of vomit there, comrade.
I shall now return to my regularly scheduled program of kitten cuddling and heating-pad reveling.
Wait. Not until, because it's not like a normal sick where you puke and feel better. This is a puke and still feel like shit thing. This is being doubled over in pain even though you've vomited all over the staff bathroom at work, splattering vom-vom everywhere, and still doubled over in pain even though you've spent all evening puking every chance you get.
Fuck you, uterus. That's some serious bullshit.
What if this happened to men? I think it's quite funny to imagine. What if, once a month, a man's body took revenge upon him for not knocking some chick up? "You have not successfully procreated this month. As punishment for your failure, you will now bleed through your penis for the next week and your sack will hurt as though someone dropped a brick on it, causing you to puke for hours on end."
Yeah. THAT would be the day.
Also, I would like to give a big fuck you to whoever told me "working out helps with cramps" because that was probably the worst idea since giving Justin Bieber a recording contract. The only thing working out did was make me more shaky, dizzy, and pukey than I was before I started. My ute-ute hurts even more and now other parts of my body that weren't hurting ARE hurting. Thanks for the extra dose of vomit there, comrade.
I shall now return to my regularly scheduled program of kitten cuddling and heating-pad reveling.
Friday, June 3, 2011
My Feeble-Minded Feline
I have a routine in the morning. Hit snooze alarm untold number of times, then pee, then feed Milo. You'd think after three years of never deviating from this routine, that Milo would understand this. Alas, it is not so. Every morning, Milo becomes so verklempt because he thinks he is starving within an inch of his life.
It starts with the snooze button. A normal cat would understand this is part of the routine and accept it. Milo is not a normal cat. To him, the hitting of the snooze button is a sign of the apocalypse and therefore, his impending doom via starvation. Milo's mind doesn't seem to think past the current moment and remember that hitting the snooze comes first, food later. All he knows is that I am not actively getting out of bed and putting food in his bowl RIGHT THIS SECOND so clearly, I am choosing to make him starve to death and I will never ever ever ever ever feed him again and OMG!!11!1!eleventy!! He chooses to express this distress by sitting on my bedside table and leaning within inches of my face and meowing. When this doesn't work, he paws at my face, claws extended. When that doesn't work, he proceeds to pace around my body, working himself up into phase two.
Phase two is where Milo is so completely emaciated that he can hardly function. Phase two is always initiated by my choice to pee first, feed second. This choice is the breaking point for Milo. When I finally sit up in bed, Milo thinks his meowing, pawing, and pacing has worked and "ALLELUIA! She will feed me!" He leaps off the bed, runs into the kitchen, jumps on the counter, and leaps on top of the fridge, where his holy grail (food) lies. Then, he turns around, to let me know where his food is and *gasp* I'm not there. This is where my cat's puny little head implodes. His world ends and he longer understands anything. He forgets how to jump, how to meow, and that he is a cat.
Somehow, through the haze of confusion, he comes and finds me on the toilet and proceeds to let me know how distraught he is. He starts by sitting in front of me and attempting to meow. I say attempting, because at this stage, he can't. He has himself convinced he is so weak, he can't meow properly. He opens his mouth and little creaky sounds that resemble nothing of a meow, come out. Sometimes, his mouth opens and closes and no sound comes out. When my cold, cold heart doesn't respond to this, he gets even more desperate (as if that is even possible). He reaches a paw out (claws extended) and attempts to hook my hand and bring it to him to pet him. "If only you would reassure me that this fate that is about to befall me will be okay. Never forget me." Alas, I have no room in my sleepy, sleepy heart to console him. His next step in his attempt to demonstrate how he is weakening (by the moment) with hunger is to attempt to jump on the counter, to give himself a higher vantage point in order to emulate superiority. This attempt always ends in failure as Milo jumps into the counter, further dislodging precious brain cells, before he finally makes it on top of the counter.
The entire time I'm in the bathroom, Milo has to keep up a constant barrage of creaking and pawing, lest I forget for a second that feeding him is the most important thing in the world. This cat believes he is actively dying and will go down fighting every step of the way.
Finally, I get around to feeding him, and he runs in between my feet, tripping me all the way to the kitchen and getting distressed when I slow down and fall because he tripped me again. Then, he eats, and the few brain cells left in his head rejoice and re-energize and hopefully restore some form of temporary sanity in Milo's bleak life.
It starts with the snooze button. A normal cat would understand this is part of the routine and accept it. Milo is not a normal cat. To him, the hitting of the snooze button is a sign of the apocalypse and therefore, his impending doom via starvation. Milo's mind doesn't seem to think past the current moment and remember that hitting the snooze comes first, food later. All he knows is that I am not actively getting out of bed and putting food in his bowl RIGHT THIS SECOND so clearly, I am choosing to make him starve to death and I will never ever ever ever ever feed him again and OMG!!11!1!eleventy!! He chooses to express this distress by sitting on my bedside table and leaning within inches of my face and meowing. When this doesn't work, he paws at my face, claws extended. When that doesn't work, he proceeds to pace around my body, working himself up into phase two.
Phase two is where Milo is so completely emaciated that he can hardly function. Phase two is always initiated by my choice to pee first, feed second. This choice is the breaking point for Milo. When I finally sit up in bed, Milo thinks his meowing, pawing, and pacing has worked and "ALLELUIA! She will feed me!" He leaps off the bed, runs into the kitchen, jumps on the counter, and leaps on top of the fridge, where his holy grail (food) lies. Then, he turns around, to let me know where his food is and *gasp* I'm not there. This is where my cat's puny little head implodes. His world ends and he longer understands anything. He forgets how to jump, how to meow, and that he is a cat.
Somehow, through the haze of confusion, he comes and finds me on the toilet and proceeds to let me know how distraught he is. He starts by sitting in front of me and attempting to meow. I say attempting, because at this stage, he can't. He has himself convinced he is so weak, he can't meow properly. He opens his mouth and little creaky sounds that resemble nothing of a meow, come out. Sometimes, his mouth opens and closes and no sound comes out. When my cold, cold heart doesn't respond to this, he gets even more desperate (as if that is even possible). He reaches a paw out (claws extended) and attempts to hook my hand and bring it to him to pet him. "If only you would reassure me that this fate that is about to befall me will be okay. Never forget me." Alas, I have no room in my sleepy, sleepy heart to console him. His next step in his attempt to demonstrate how he is weakening (by the moment) with hunger is to attempt to jump on the counter, to give himself a higher vantage point in order to emulate superiority. This attempt always ends in failure as Milo jumps into the counter, further dislodging precious brain cells, before he finally makes it on top of the counter.
The entire time I'm in the bathroom, Milo has to keep up a constant barrage of creaking and pawing, lest I forget for a second that feeding him is the most important thing in the world. This cat believes he is actively dying and will go down fighting every step of the way.
Finally, I get around to feeding him, and he runs in between my feet, tripping me all the way to the kitchen and getting distressed when I slow down and fall because he tripped me again. Then, he eats, and the few brain cells left in his head rejoice and re-energize and hopefully restore some form of temporary sanity in Milo's bleak life.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
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