The Naughty List

It's days like today that I wish I was a Jehovah's Witness.

Or Muslim.

Or Jewish.

It's days like today that I wish I lived in some third world country where they've never heard of Santa Claus, where they haven't been playing Christmas carols and showing Christmas movies for the past four months, where they don't encourage people to buy $30,000 cars as Christmas gifts, and where I wouldn't be haunted by the same blinking, caroling robot Santa in my dreams every night in December. If I lived in a third world country, I'd be too busy worrying about when my next meal was coming to concern myself with finding my missing Rudolph sock.

But no, I live here in America. And I'm an Atheist (or, if that makes you uncomfortable, "A Terrible, Terrible Sinner"). Which means that ALL this holiday represents to me is a celebration of excess. It's all about how much food I can eat, how much money I can spend, and how many presents I can get.

And this year has been especially excessive. Six-thousand-nine-hundred-eighty-five Christmas carols and another three-hundred Christmas themed movies later and I THINK I GET IT!!!!, this is a magical time of year. But you know, I've been looking everywhere for present-bearing elves or talking reindeer, ready to settle even for some flying broomsticks or magic potions, but as far as magic goes, I have yet to find any. In fact, things feel so far from magical over here that I haven't once felt the Christmas spirit. So in honor of the un-merriness I feel tonight on this eve of the day that baby Jesus may or may not have been born depending on your personal beliefs, I have compiled my own Naughty List, of people, places, and things that have pissed me off as of recent:

1. Pantene Pro-V- Because I have tried no less than 75 different products on this hair:

and the only thing that I've found that produces shiny, bouncy, natural curls is Pantene Pro-V's leave in conditioner for curly hair (product not used in photo). But when I went to the store the other day to refill my supply I found that apparently Pantene has stopped making it.

2. Dunkin Donuts- Because I have a sinking suspicion that they have decided to discontinue their Vanilla Chai drink. Damn you Dunkin Donuts! What? The twice a month I go and buy a small Vanilla Chai isn't enough to justify continuing the product? Now how am I going to fulfill my warm-caffeine-that-tastes-like-a-sugar-cookie fix, huh? How?!!!

3. My Period- Because it never knows when it's coming or going. It starts and stops any ol' time it wants then waits until I'm standing in the middle of the supermarket on the busiest shopping day of the year, wearing white pants to decide that, 'Yes, now is the time I will come gushing out like Niagra Falls.'

4. The Lady In Front Of Me In Line At The Supermarket- For insisting on teaching your child how to pay for that $4.94 gift in exact change using only nickles, dimes, and pennies while I stood there getting period all over my white pants.

5. The Litterbox- For not being self-cleaning.

and finally,

6. Christmas Itself- Because I have spent close to $300.00 on things that are not for me. And I'm pretty sure I won't make that money back selling all the presents I receive on Ebay come January.


December 21, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Some days you just can't hide the crazy inside no matter how hard you try. It just starts creeping out of your eyes, nose and MOUTH without warning, for the whole world, and more importantly, your boss, to see.



December 18, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: For the record, if you send someone a message on myspace and then erase it from your sent-box before they read it, they will still get the message. So put that wishful thinking aside, little bird. You don't have a chance.

And didn't we talk about this already? Stop freakin' myspace stalking him!!!!! NOW!


December 17, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
Ex-boyfriends make no sense. It can be argued that this is true of all men, but ex-boyfriends in particular are very good at being senseless.


A Recent Conversation About Boogers

"Ewww your nose is full of boogers."

"I know. Did you know that sometimes you can suck the boogers back into your mouth and swallow them?"

"Uh that's disgusting. You're supposed to blow them out, not suck them in."

"No, I can blow them out of my mouth too. Look I'll show you."

And then he demonstrated.

Ughhhh..... six year olds are so disgusting.

Hugh Hefner's Son

Hugh Hefner's Son

Actually, I'm pretty sure Hugh Hefner is a better person than his real father.


And It's Time To Take It Off Now

Yeah I wore my sweater backwards all day. I realized the mistake halfway through but made no effort to change it. And that's just how I roll.


I'll Take Kitchen Appliances For 500, Please

Dear Ex- Boyfriend,

there'll come a day
when I can give
the things you left away.

There'll be a time
when your stuff I pack
you'll get your toothbrush
and your t-shirts back.

I'll let go of the photos,
love letters and cards,
your deodorant, your books,
no matter how hard.

I'll learn to deal
without your smile
I'll erase the messages
and all the old emails.

But dear ex-boyfriend
Not to talk smack
but there's one thing
you won't get back.

You left it here
so I could cook for you
I wasn't sure
but it's proven tried and true.

And now my feelings
for it are hot
and you ain't getting it back,

Soups and puddings
porridge and stew
It does things no other
appliance can do.

It's made for ease,
supports my lazy ways
I can leave food cooking
in there for days.

In closing, my dear
whether you come back or not
plan on buying yourself
a new Crock Pot.

-Yours Truly

(And yes, I realize I just wrote a poem- albeit a poorly written one, about a slow cooker. But it was totally worth the forty-five minutes it took. It really is that awesome.)

The Shortest Reindeer

Are Those Christmas Bells I Hear?
Wait, are those Christmas bells I hear?


What The Note "The Kid" Just Wrote And Gave To Me Says:

"I know you think I am young but I am more powerful then the powerfulist superhero."

Captain Underpants

And now he's trying to prove it by beating the wall with HIS BARE HANDS and roughing up his bean bag chair while roaring on the top of his lungs.


December 6, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
When all else fails, go out for Italian.

(And I mean the men of course, not the food.)

Letter to Man-Friend, 12/6/07

Dear Man-Friend,

I have to tell you that I take issue with the fact that you feel the need to tell me to stop drinking. That you call me selfish and irresponsible for it. I have to tell you that it really makes me want to tell you to go fuck off for even daring to tell me how to deal with this situation that you've put me in.

And while we're at it, how dare you come into my life, prancing around with all your fancy suits and flowers and Big Macs? How dare you wiggle your way into my heart and Jacquai's heart without even giving us any warning? How dare you make me love you and not even tell me what was happening until it was too late for me to stop it?

And then to leave. How dare you pick up and leave like that, out of the blue, just one day, get up and go and take my heart with you? And then tell me you miss me. Well guess what? I miss me too. I miss the woman who enjoyed getting up in the morning, the one who was laughing all the time, the one who would sigh whenever she heard your name. That woman was something. She was going places, she was going to make it. And now, right now, I can't seem to find her. Hopefully she'll be back soon but for now, it appears that she left right along with you and forgot to leave any forwarding address.

And now I wake up every morning in tears with you on my mind, plagued with the dreams of you I had all night. Whether they're good or bad, whether you're the whole dream or you're just there walking besides me, you're always, every night, there. And I wake up and have to accept that it was just a dream and you're not really here. And I have to drag myself out of bed and crawl across that floor and pull myself up every morning and just try to breathe.

And life goes on. Sure it does. My world keeps turning, my kid keeps laughing, work keeps coming. But every day I go around with this little cloud hanging over my head and my god, if it won't stop raining on me! And I know it'll all be okay and I'll get through this. But right now I'm just waiting. Waiting for something, for anything. Waiting for the night time, hoping maybe you'll call. But you don't call. And then I lay my head down on that pillow and cry. And sometimes, sometimes when it's all just too much, sometimes I have a drink. And then I close my eyes and dream of you all over again.

So fuck you for feeling like you need to lecture me and to come here and tell me that I need to stop drinking because this is not how I should be dealing with the situation. Fuck you for laying in my brand new sheets and comforter and leaving them smelling like you. Fuck you for hugging me and holding my hand. But most of all, fuck you for leaving. And for making me have to let you go all over again.


Was Taking A Very Nice Nap, Thank You Very Much

Sophie Napping
Until that lady started flashing the lights in my eyes.


Ba Humbug!!!

I know, I know, this is my fourth post today. I'm on a freakin blogging role! But I just felt the need to point out that my son just informed me that he likes Santa and me 'the same'.


That guy brings you presents once a year whereas I bring you presents all the time! Sure, sometimes my presents are socks and school supplies, but come on kid, the thought is there. And Santa Claus sure as hell don't kiss and hug you all the time or FEED YOU for that matter! But no, the guy drops down the chimney and leaves you a scooter one time and all of the sudden we're equals. Well ba humbug to you my dear son! Ba humbug to you!!!

Also, if anyone wants a real live paper Christmas card with our pictures :) on it!, email me your name and address and I'll send you one if we have enough left over, and since I ordered 150, I think we'll probably have enough left over.

December 5, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
Thou shall make a conscious effort to do anything you need to do in the bathroom before The Kid goes in there. Because after he's done doing his business, you won't be able to enter (or walk by the door for that matter) for at least forty minutes.

Conversing With The Angels

Conversing With The Angels


December 4, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
Sometimes, something bad happens and you can deal with it by looking on the bright side and seeing the all the good that came out if it. Other times, something bad happens and you kick and scream and learn to fight back. And then there are those times when something bad happens and there's nothing you really can do except say "Fuck it" and start drinking at noon.

The Place Where Toys Go To Die

The Place Where Toys Go To Die


December 3, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
Tying leaves back onto the branches will NOT prevent (stupid, stupid) winter from coming

Mission Unsuccessful

My Efforts Were Obviously In Vain

My efforts were obviously in vain.

Oh winter, why do you treat me so cold?


And I Swear This Is The Last Time I'll Talk About It

Although I know I've talked about my brand new bedding here, here, and here, which, even by my standards is a bit excessive, especially since I've only had it for a week, there's one thing I feel I haven't made clear enough. My new comforter is DOWN. Which means goose feathers. Having only experienced regular comforters until now- the ones that come in a bag with matching pillow cases and sham, I was never aware of what I was missing. But being the kind of person who needs at least 11 hours of sleep each night in order to form coherent sentences and not mumble things like "Biggle Muffer school bus, ready bubble get gum kid Now!" at my son in the morning, I felt like it was time to make my bed a little more conducive to that activity. Especially since it appears that sleep will be the only activity taking place in my bed from now on. (Can you hear my girl parts crying? I can.)

So I went to Linens and Things last week because they were having a sale on down comforters and I'm a sucker for sales. I spent two hours in the down comforter aisle discussing fill power and Hungarian Down with three other ladies and a very bored salesgirl. I really wanted the extra warmth blanket but they were all out of those so I had to settle on the medium warmth one. This really worried me because I'm an unusually cold person. Seriously. Unusually. Cold.

I've been sleeping with three blankets and a coat every night for the past month.

I've been known to sit in a sauna with fleece pants and a long sleeved shirt on and not even break a sweat. While everyone around me melts into naked puddles of flesh, I'm sitting there thinking that this must be what heaven feels like.

I spend the months of September to June constantly checking the tip of my nose because it's so cold that I think it might have frozen and fallen off when I wasn't paying attention.

Seriously. Unusually. Cold.

But as I soon learned, one medium warmth down comforter by Eddie Bauer is comparable to FIVE regular comforters, and not only do I not need to wear a coat to bed, I can now wear nothing to bed. And since naked is my absolute favorite way to sleep but is something that I'm normally limited to doing only during the month of August, the thrill of this is almost too much to bear. And I swear to you, I can now understand why toddlers carry around those ratty little blankies all the time, because I am now filled with so much love for my new comforter that I too have considered taking it with me everywhere I go, sucking on the corner, and calling it my 'Wubby'.

Will Taste Better After They're Cooked

Will Taste Better When They're Cooked
Apple pies baked for the clients at this wonderful organization.

And for the record, I had nothing to do with the making of any of these.


December 1, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Some people are just always going to be idiots. No matter what they do or don't do, it won't change, they'll just be idiots. Forever.

Say it with me now. "I WILL NOT be one of those people."

Right After He Stuck His Finger In The Electric Socket

Right After He Stuck His Finger In A Socket



So I'm giving you fair warning, I'm working on updating this website. Why? Because it keeps me from actual work.

So I'm making a FAQs section. So please, ask me something. Anything. The stupider, the better. Write it as a comment or send me an email. Even if you don't normally comment on this blog, ask a damn question or I'll have to start asking myself questions. And trust me, no one wants that.

Because I'm Super Bad

My Beer
I drink my Honey-Raspberry flavored ale STRAIGHT OUT OF THE BOTTLE.

Yup. That's me. Bad ass.


November 29 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: No matter how much the six year old tries to convince you and no matter how much you'd really like to agree with him, 3 scoops of chocolate ice cream with whipped cream and caramel sauce served in a waffle cup is NOT a healthy after school snack.

The Saddest Branch On The Block

Crying Branch
I was going to post something different here but then I saw this branch outside. And this branch?...well it describes me today. I'm tired and sad and still missing him quite terribly. Maybe missing him more even than I was last week. Should that be possible? It's supposed to get easier right? Not harder? Ah well, maybe I'll go shopping.

Since this post was pathetically depressing, I feel like it's my duty to send you HERE for some funnies.


November 28, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: If you do a search in amazon.com's book section for 'Disney', you will find that there are 498 Disney-related books under the 'Gay & Lesbian' category.

Apparently those dwarfs were doing more than sharing a house.

Can someone PLEASE tell me

what the fuck is the big deal with Donny Osmond?

Seriously, he's everywhere!!!!



Apparently this little guy was very impressed by my awesome new pillows too. And because of his exquisite taste, I named him Larry and told him he could stay in the house all winter if he wanted. But that he'd better get the hell out of my bed before Sophie, The Cat ate him.

November 27, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: People with PMS should be locked in a room with no human contact* or connections** to the outside world for at least three days.

*and by human contact, I mean ex-boyfriends.
**and by connections I mean telephones, computers, or vehicles by which to contact ex-boyfriends.

Mr. Wonderful

Conversation between Man-Friend and myself circa September '07:

"Maybe I should call Jacquai's teacher."


"Well, I'm not sure if she knows how wonderful he is. Maybe I should call and tell her."

"He is pretty wonderful."

"Yeah, I mean, I know everyone thinks their kids are the best kids in the world. But sometimes I wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"If they know that they're wrong and that in fact it's my kid who's the best in the world."

"Okay, good night Yvonne."

"So I should call her?"

"No, Yvonne."

And I did not call her but today was our parent teacher conference and it turns out that not only is my child borderline genius but is also the sweetest and most wonderful kid EVER. And his teacher is well aware of it without me having to say a word.

Obviously Confused

Bed Hog
by all the wonderful new bedding, she'd forgotten that this is actually MY spot.
Move it chick!


November 25, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Money can't buy you love, but it can buy you new sheets, pillows, down comforter, duvet, and featherbed after the one you love leaves and you're finding it impossible to sleep alone in the bed where the two of you used to sleep together. Just a warning though: lying in this new very comfortable bedding may cause you to fall asleep at 8 pm and not be able to blog. Proceed with caution.

Guarding The Castle

Guarding The Castle


November 24, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Eat a plate of seasoned curly fries dipped in Ranch dressing, chased with several glasses of Diet Dr. Pepper and soon You Too! will be able to produce burps so grotesque that they will make a six-year old boy cringe in disgust.

An Abstract Study In Home Goods

Time To Clean
Needless to say, it's time to clean my stove. And that's what I'm doing today.


November 23, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Soda bottles come with an expiration date. This date is not a joke and it's not a suggestion. The date on the bottle is fair warning that if you open and attempt to consume the contents after stated date, horrible, horrible things will happen in your mouth.

Something To Be Thankful About

Something To Be Thankful For

And why, you ask is this not a photo of my own child? Because he hides from the camera. Runs and hides and covers his face. Little crapper. Still, he's the thing I'm MOST thankful for.


November 21, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Remember when you were three years old and your mother ever so gently scooted you up onto her lap and rubbed your hair and asked you if you'd like a baby sister? Remember how you answered yes? You should have said no.

Just So You Don't Forget

Last night, after brushing his teeth and jumping into my bed for his story, this is what "The Kid", who I must point out, is still blissfully unaware of the recent breakup between Man-Friend and myself, said:

The Kid: Mommy, smell my armpits.
Me: What? Why? Oh god, what did you do?
The Kid: I put on Jimmy's deodorant.*
Me: What?! Why would you do that?
The Kid: So you don't forget him.

Right, like that's a possibility.

*So sue me, I haven't taken his deodorant out of the bathroom closet yet! Guess what, I also haven't taken out his toothbrush, or his soap from the shower or the cookbooks in the kitchen, I haven't taken his shirts out of the drawers yet, and I haven't changed my relationship status to single on Facebook. So sue me. So FREAKIN sue me!

Coming Soon!

I'll be adding two new characters to my blog soon. I won't tell you who yet but here's a preview:

The Pooper


November 20, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: If, while eating a chicken sandwich at a popular family style restaurant you find a hair on your plate that looks like it could only have come off of a penis and you’re so digusted that when the waitress asks if you want her to bring a new sandwich, you, who is so cheap that NEVER once in your life have you denied free food, say “No thank you, just a barf bag please” and vow to never eat there again, but then forget because really, you have the memory of a dumb puppy and not only do you come back to the offending restaurant a few weeks later but then order the same sandwich, well, you can’t really be surprised when history repeats itself can you?

The Only Acceptable Part of Fall...

The Only Acceptable Part of Fall...
happens to be in my back yard. This tree is the only thing that makes the transition to winter halfway bearable. This tree's leaves turn from a dark maroon color to this gorgeous bright red.


November 19, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
If the canned Potato, Broccoli, & Cheese soup looks and smells like vomit, you should assume it will probably also taste like vomit.

Spaghetti & Meatballs

Spaghetti & Meatballs

I feel the same way when I eat Italian food.


The Anatomy Of A Future Alchoholic

I would like to point out that, though I've been of the legal drinking age for almost four years, this afternoon was the first time I've ever gone out and actually purchased alcohol for myself. This is for two reasons. One being that I'm not much of a drinker and two, my father MAKES BEER FOR A LIVING. So there's always some sort of something that I could get drunk on lying around if the need arises. For example, this is a photo from the bar, not 100 feet from my bedroom door:

Notice those two taps on the side? Beer comes out of them. Two different kinds. At all times. Yeah, I have a sink that pours beer. I'll wait while catch your breath in envy.

Okay. Now to be truthful, normally I'd prefer if those two knobs had chocolate milk and diet Coke coming out of them but at times like this when you've lost the love of your life, beer becomes a good friend, if not a suitable replacement for the warm body that used to lay next to you at night and sniff your hair. And I know, I know, you're not supposed to drink to get drunk, you're supposed to drink because nothing compares to the smooth taste of a cool brew at the end of a long day, but to me, EVERY alcohol I've ever tried, whether it be beer, tequila, rum, wine, or wine coolers has had the distinct taste of death in a bottle. And therefore, the only reason for me to drink is to get drunk. And since normally I'm a well adjusted, happy lady with a well adjusted, happy life, that need very rarely comes up. But when your boyfriend leaves you because "I'm not sure I want to marry you" even though you've never once asked him to marry you and really, never even had any intentions of asking him to marry you, secretly thrilled with the idea of living in sin for the rest of your life and just happy to have found such a wonderful guy that if you never got married, it'd be okay as long as you could just hear his voice everyday, and if your cat WOULD NOT SHUT UP and just today declared war on the bathroom rug by attempting to pee on it, and if your six year old son just casually mentioned to you that perhaps you should check his head for lice because it was a little bit itchy, well you might start drinking to get drunk too.

Which is precisely what I've been doing and in the past week I've probably consumed more beer than I have in the entirety of the past two years. It's not actually all that much though, before you go calling AA on my behalf, since I drink so little normally, half a beer usually gets me tipsy and a whole beer- well a whole beer might make me start touching your boobies. So yesterday morning, after calling my friend Emily to ask when the acceptable time to start drinking is and learning (surprisingly) that there is, in fact, an acceptable drinking time and that I would have to wait another 8 hours to reach it or she'd call AA, I bided my time by washing my hands in the bar sink and then licking them, because, technically, that's not drinking, it's licking. But at 5:02, while humming happily, I skipped into the bar and attempted to pour a glass from tap one. When it sputtered and only foam came out, I tried tap two. When that one did the same I laid down on the floor and cried. Apparently there is an end to the fountain of beer and apparently I'd reached it.

So being the resilient optimist I am, today I went to the supermarket and bought some beer of my own rather than tell my father that I'd depleted his supply. And it was weird. I didn't know which to get because I knew that I wouldn't like any of them and spending $8.49 on six bottles of death seems a little silly to me but finally I settled on a Honey Raspberry Ale because honey and raspberries are two of my most favorite foods in the world and so I had high hopes that they would mask the bitterness of the ale. They didn't. But maybe if I drink enough, it won't really matter anymore.

The End. That's all I have to say about that right now. Back to drinking.

Also, I was going to write a blog about the stupidity of the word "melty" and perhaps one day I will but for now, this guy already appears to have covered the subject just fine and there's nothing left for me to say about it right now. Except that it should be outlawed and the use of it should be punishable by death. That's all.


It's High Time For A Nervous Breakdown

When I was a sweet young thing, I got a cat named Tiger. Actually, I'm incorrect in saying that I got her because technically it was Tiger who got me. She showed up at the back door one day and was all like "Yeah, I'm here now bitch. Worship me."

And so I did.

For 13 years she made it her life's mission to teach me how to love, how to forgive, how to be alive. Once, when she was only a few years old, she had a stroke and her back legs became paralyzed and she couldn't walk. The vet said that the only solution was to put her to sleep and she probably wouldn't last another month. I couldn't bring myself to do it though and eventually she miraculously made a full recovery and lived many more happy years. Through thick and thin, lost friends and broken hearts, pimples and growing pains, Tiger loved me unconditionally and when she died of cancer shortly after "The Kid" was born, I was sure that not only was the world over, but that I'd never be able to have another cat again (because you can have cats in heaven you know).

Eventually though, even the most devoted of spouses moves on, and I was so young, damn it. I couldn't just give up on my love of felines yet. And Tiger wouldn't have wanted me to be alone. So eventually we got Sophie, The Cat. She'd had her share of heartbreak too so we made a good couple. As the story goes, she was found in some housing projects in town and arrested by the 'animal police' for a crime that I can only assume was comparable to selling crack to schoolchildren. She was then adopted by a mental health facility but didn't last long there either because she kept attacking everyone (you can take the cat out of the ghetto but you can't take the ghetto out of the cat). She ended up in a "Kitty Foster Home" and when I finally met her, she'd been living in a closet for six months because every time she tried to leave it, all the other cats in the house, and believe me there were several, would jump and gang rape her. So the kid and I took her to our quiet, warm home, with a comfortable bed, no other cats, a huge backyard, and two doting humans guaranteed to adore her and shower her with treats and we all lived happily ever after.

The End. (I wish)

The best thing about Sophie, The Cat, is her undying and devoted love for me. She tolerates The Kid. She respected Man-Friend. She'll allow almost anyone to admire her beauty. But me, well she loves me. When I sleep at night, she makes it a point to get so close that sometimes I wonder if she's mistaken me for her mother and is trying to get back into my womb. If I get up, she does too. Even if she was fast asleep only seconds before, I move and she's all "Oh are we getting up now? Okay then, let's go." If I go to the bathroom, she goes too. I mean that literally by the way- her litter box is in the bathroom closet and any time I go in there, for any reason at all, whether it's to pee or brush my teeth or just to stare at the wall, she follows me in and goes directly to her litter box. It amazes me how much urination one's actually capable of in the name of love.

Which is why I can overlook the many annoying/crazy parts of her personality. I can understand and respect her complete and utter fear of anything that even slightly resembles another cat. This includes but is not limited to small dogs, babies, her reflection, and, of course, sneakers. Sometimes I even thank her for this unreasonable fear because knowing that getting another cat would be like Judas betraying Jesus all over again keeps me from becoming that funny old cat lady who spend all of her Social Security check on kitty litter and kibbles because she has sixty-five cats at home and by golly Frisky has sextuplets on the way!

I have learned in the past few years that it is as necessary as breathing to Sophie, The Cat, to hunt rodents and bring them into the house, whether dead or alive, because that is the only place she's secure enough to really be able to enjoy her victory. I don't like it, I bitch about it, but I forgive it just the same.

And I can even put up with the fact that she occasionally feels the need to take a good swat at The Kid, though it seems like for no apparent reason, I know it's just her way of making sure he stays in line and behaves. And with the lack of a steady father in his life, god knows, a little preemptive behavior management can never hurt.

The fleas, the snoring, the painful kneading she does to my lap while trying to get comfortable, the need to have every door in the house open AT ALL TIMES!, I can deal with all of these things, just because she loves me and I love her too.

But the thing about Sophie, The Cat, that I'm having a very hard time with is her constant meowing. It hasn't always been this way of course. At first she was quiet, unassuming, and charming. Now however, she's become comfortable, complacent, and demanding.

And obnoxious.

It is of course, partially my fault. I won't let her come in and out as freely as she'd like to, due not only to the unwanted house guests she brings in but also, it's getting pretty cold out, damn it, and I can't just leave the door open constantly because you have to go outside NOW OR I WILL DIE! only to realize five minutes later that you forgot to check on your food before leaving and you must now come back in and make sure it's still in the kitchen where you left it but will be heading back outside as soon as you do that and take a quick bath in the middle of the living room. So please stand by the door and be ready.

Plus, I'm pretty sure that she thinks when she's meowing, that I understand her. Which makes sense because when the people make noises at each other, things happen, so why shouldn't it be the same for her? And at first I was fondly willing to indulge this fantasy of hers but after a while, when for example, it's two in the morning and she's sure it's time to go outside because I rolled over, which is the same as getting up, right?, and so she sits at the door and whines until i throw a pillow at her, the fun and games have suddenly stopped.

And now so must the meowing.

Which I feel like I must point out isn't just regular old kitty meowing. No, this is like cat-in-heat-after-snorting-some-sort-of-very-strong-upper-while-being-possessed-by-the-devil meowing. Like, "I can make your ear drums burst if you don't do what I want and you know that last string of sanity you're holding onto? Yeah, I'll tear that shit up," kind of meowing.

So I decided this weekend that the only way to get her to stop the unstopable was to ignore it. Because even though she thinks I can understand her, she obviously does not understand me when I sternly hold her up and in my deepest voice, say "NO! You are not going outside right now so shut up and cut the shit!" since she directly goes back to what she was doing as soon as I put her down, which is staring at the door and making noises like a dying seal. And then I want to kill her.

So Operation Shut Up Cat started on Saturday morning. And now all I can think is that my cat is either really dumb or an evil genius because for the past 88 hours, despite the fact that I will not acknowledge her while she's doing it, she will NOT STOP MEOWING!!!!!! Once, around hour 34 I thought she was done but it turns out she only had to clean her butt real quick and after a ten second intermission, was quickly back to the concert. She has persistently meowed while I'm awake, while I'm asleep, while I work, while I cry, and even, just to drive the point home, came into the bathroom while I was taking a (nice, relaxing) bath last night, sat in the middle of the room, and meowed until I splashed water at her. Then, she moved right outside the bathroom door and whined some more.

I am officially going crazy.

On another, unrelated note, someone in Crystal Lake, Illinois really loves me. I don't know if that person is one of the lovelies who leaves comments here but if not, you should. Because you should know that I love you too and appreciate you showing up here and reading my little blog as often as you do. Also to the person or persons in New York City who frequents my page, hello and thanks for stopping by. If the rest of you (and yes there are more) want me to profess my undying love to you too, then come around more. Make my google analytical screen light up dark green and let me know you care. I promise to reciprocate.


November 4, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day: Don't tell your boyfriend that "I want to break up with you" and that "I'll be just fine without you" when what you really mean is "I'm madly in love with you" and "I'd follow you to Mars if it meant I could be close to you" because when he decides to believe your words and that enough is enough and he isn't coming back and sometime during all the begging and crying and ankle grabbing that you're doing, he steals your heart and smuggles it out in his pocket and you don't realize it until afterwards when you go looking for it and all of a sudden MY HEART'S NOT WHERE I LEFT IT!!!, you're going to find it very difficult to eat/sleep/breath/work/smile/or anything that resembles something other than lying in your bed, staring at the wall and crying.

Shit. I think I just lost the love of my life.


Have you ever...

cried so much that eventually all the tears were gone but the pain wasn't? Like your body is saying "Okay lady, time to get over it. Let's get up and move on now." But your heart's acting like a toddler and throwing a fit, laying there pounding the ground yelling "Tears, don't you leave me too! I'm not done crying yet!!!"

It kind of reminds me of dry heaving.


Cookie Delight

I make batches of cookie dough, not to cook but rather to keep in my freezer and eat scoops of it whenever my little heart desires. I don't believe this is any weirder than people who buy the stuff to do the same thing with it, just more cost effective.


When all the nuts are gone

It's that time again...a little early this year. I hope that doesn't mean we're in for a rough winter. I hate rough winters. Although, fall apparently got canceled this year, so maybe we can expect NO winter. I really won't complain.

And if you're wondering what to do with all that yumminess, watch this.


October 4, 2007: Lesson Of The Day

Lesson Of The Day:
If it so happens that your father is your landlord, you should be extra cautious when flushing tampons down the toilet, even if the package specifically denotes that they are "flushable", because when said landlord has to take apart the pipes under your sink and use a specially designed pipe clearing tool because WHATEVER IT IS YOU TRIED TO FLUSH IS SO FAR UP THERE THAT THE F*@%ING PLUNGER ISN'T WORKING! and ends up pulling out a tampon, well, that moment will be a bit uncomfortable for both of you.


September 26, 2007: Lesson of the Day

Lesson of the day: Go poo before you leave for a three mile walk. Otherwise you may find yourself particularly uncomfortable from miles 1.5- 3, especially if you've just recently begun adding more fiber to your diet.