I was awakened this morning by the sound of my phone, alerting me to a new text message coming in.
I was feeling quite shellshocked, sadly, after a beer and two martinis. I had myself in bed at a decent hour, I drank bunches of water throughout the night, yet I still awoke in a state of total confusion, feeling as if I was wearing socks on my teeth.
Ow, my aching head.
I read the text message that was sent circa 63O am - "Tiny little shiny ones."
For some insane reason, I imagined that my boyfriend had just taken a poo, and he was announcing the state of his bowel movement that morning. I wasn't sure why he was announcing this to me at 63Oam, but hey, we've had stranger text conversations, for sure.
I took myself back to bed and tried to fall asleep. My mind wandered back to the night before. Drinks with my good friend S&M. S&M and I don't go out nearly as much as we used to, but when the two of us get together, it's always a good time. He is the instigator of thought provoking conversations, and we almost always end up talking about porn and sex. No matter how hard we try not to.
He had just finished describing the pin-up girl underwear that one of his ex's used to wear for him.
I recalled him going to the bathroom, and I pulled out my phone, to drunkenly punch out the message to my BF, "If you could dress me up in any kind of underwear you wanted, what would it be?"
It seems, the answer would be "Little tiny shiny ones."
D'oh!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Such a Girl
I am a total cliche of a girl when it comes to watching sports, ie, I am completely clueless.
Years and years of watching football with boyfriends, man friends, and other women who "get it" has gotten me nowhere.
To this day, I am still the asshole who's not quite sure what "first and 1O" means, and I couldn't tell you the difference between a field goal and a kickoff.
I can appreciate going to see a live game, however, for what it is. I enjoy sitting outside, being amongst the crowd, people-watching and being part of the ruckus. It's fun, man. Watching it on tv, not so much. Unless it's at a bar. And there's beer. Yea, I can do that.
All this talk about the World Series, and Joe Torre's resignation, and A-Rod's departure, makes me think of a baseball game I attended over the summer.
As I said, I do really like going to live games--and baseball is something I understand for the most part, so I can follow and get into it.
I'm not really familiar with most of the players on the Mets, having always hung out with Yankees fans, so I tried to familiarize myself with who was who, and thought I had done pretty well. I always sort of start with who I think is cute, followed by the ones who seem the most popular.
It seemed really strange to me that, everytime #18 went up to bat, people appeared to be booing him. He was a Met, and we were sitting at Shea Stadium, so why in the world did everyone hate him so much?
I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to ask a stupid question. Yet the booing continued. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Why do people keep booing whenever that guy goes up to bat?" I asked innocently. Cringing at my stupidity.
I was looked at with curiosity, and asked why I thought they were booing him.
"Well," I said, "Everytime he steps up to the plate, people yell out BOO! BOO!"
Yea. Not so much. #18, aka Moises Alou, had a lot of fans who liked to yell out "Alouuuuuuuuuuu".
See? I have a lot to learn!
ps - Baltimore By Way of Brooklyn , you can stop laughing at me now!!!
Years and years of watching football with boyfriends, man friends, and other women who "get it" has gotten me nowhere.
To this day, I am still the asshole who's not quite sure what "first and 1O" means, and I couldn't tell you the difference between a field goal and a kickoff.
I can appreciate going to see a live game, however, for what it is. I enjoy sitting outside, being amongst the crowd, people-watching and being part of the ruckus. It's fun, man. Watching it on tv, not so much. Unless it's at a bar. And there's beer. Yea, I can do that.
All this talk about the World Series, and Joe Torre's resignation, and A-Rod's departure, makes me think of a baseball game I attended over the summer.
As I said, I do really like going to live games--and baseball is something I understand for the most part, so I can follow and get into it.
I'm not really familiar with most of the players on the Mets, having always hung out with Yankees fans, so I tried to familiarize myself with who was who, and thought I had done pretty well. I always sort of start with who I think is cute, followed by the ones who seem the most popular.
It seemed really strange to me that, everytime #18 went up to bat, people appeared to be booing him. He was a Met, and we were sitting at Shea Stadium, so why in the world did everyone hate him so much?
I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to ask a stupid question. Yet the booing continued. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Why do people keep booing whenever that guy goes up to bat?" I asked innocently. Cringing at my stupidity.
I was looked at with curiosity, and asked why I thought they were booing him.
"Well," I said, "Everytime he steps up to the plate, people yell out BOO! BOO!"
Yea. Not so much. #18, aka Moises Alou, had a lot of fans who liked to yell out "Alouuuuuuuuuuu".
See? I have a lot to learn!
ps - Baltimore By Way of Brooklyn , you can stop laughing at me now!!!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Time to Start Wearing Breathe Right Strips to Bed. Hot.
Lately, it seems that I have been waking up around 4am, for one reason or another, and then never getting myself back to sleep. I try counting sheep, watching bad infomercials, reading, diddling myself. Nothin'.
Over the weekend, it happened a few times, due to Beehive falling asleep on the couch and then making his way back to bed...or Beehive getting up to go to the bathroom.
Monday am, I found myself awake, yet again, at 4am. Strangely, there was nothing going on to have woken me up, but true to form, I was unable to get myself back to sleep. Never fun, but on Monday it sucks even more.
On the subway going in to work, I mentioned that I had a hard time sleeping.
"So weird," I said confused. "I woke up at 4am, expecting to hear you in the john. But it was quiet as can be."
There was a pause, and then my boyfriend, always honest, confessed, "I actually had gotten up to pee, but you never moved. When I came back, you were snoring really loudly, so I shoved you, and you stopped snoring."
"You shoved me?"
"Yea. I had to. You were snoring."
Dude! You so could have saved yourself! All you had to do was play dumb and shrug!
{but of course, being honest is always best} {so thank you for that}
Over the weekend, it happened a few times, due to Beehive falling asleep on the couch and then making his way back to bed...or Beehive getting up to go to the bathroom.
Monday am, I found myself awake, yet again, at 4am. Strangely, there was nothing going on to have woken me up, but true to form, I was unable to get myself back to sleep. Never fun, but on Monday it sucks even more.
On the subway going in to work, I mentioned that I had a hard time sleeping.
"So weird," I said confused. "I woke up at 4am, expecting to hear you in the john. But it was quiet as can be."
There was a pause, and then my boyfriend, always honest, confessed, "I actually had gotten up to pee, but you never moved. When I came back, you were snoring really loudly, so I shoved you, and you stopped snoring."
"You shoved me?"
"Yea. I had to. You were snoring."
Dude! You so could have saved yourself! All you had to do was play dumb and shrug!
{but of course, being honest is always best} {so thank you for that}
Monday, October 22, 2007
Baby Fever
So, two good friends of mine had a kid over the weekend.
Well, the wife had the kid. The husband, he just stood around and smiled a lot.
It wasn't a surprise, this kid, I mean, I knew she was on her way. It's just weird to realize that nothing in the world can prepare you for the fact that these two people made a little person and then let the little person come out to play.
I was never that fond of little people.
Not that I hate babies or anything, but I just never really got along with them. They sort of just sit there and stare, and make smelly poops, and cry, and sort of disrupt all sense of life as you know it.
Over the last several years, just from the fact that friends my age are starting to have kids, paired with the fact that my boyfriend has a niece and five nephews {all who I adore}, I have gotten used to the idea that babies are a fact of life, and by golly, I might even like to have one someday.
I digress.
So I got the call today that these friends had this kid. And I was very happy for them. And figured that, when they got home from the hospital, and got settled in their home, like, in a week or two, I'd go over and visit and welcome the little monster to their family, along with a bunch of our other friends.
Except that, these people love me SO much, that they insisted that I stop by the hospital. Tonight.
I panicked. I hate hospitals. And the kid, she was only a day old. What was I going to say to her? She barely speaks English, for God's sake!
But I knew that the right thing to do was to pay a visit to the litttle newbie, and that I did.
I got to the hospital, and the first thing that struck me--after I got over the fact that the new mommy, freshly c-sectioned, was walking around, and even answered the door when I got there--was that the baby was so incredibly tiny, sitting in her daddy's arms. She didn't even look like an alien, like I imagined she would, but was cute as a button.
Once I stopped worrying that I was going to trip and fall and squish the little tyke, I started to relax. Another friend showed up, and it almost began to feel like a party.
Except for the fact that, I guess once a woman has a baby, her body is not her own anymore. You know--suddenly your boobs are not just for sexy time, they actually have a function. And it's ok to pull them out at a moment's notice, cuz the kid needs to eat.
So you're trying to just have a normal conversation and not pay attention to the fact that your friend is sitting there, with a tiny mouth attached to her tit. And you try to continue the normal conversation, and to not think it's inappropriate that your friend wants to talk about her nipple chafing, or her uteral contractions that she is still having. I mean, she's sitting there, literally half naked, chatting away like nothing...I don't know if I'm going to get used to this.
Me, when the time comes, am preserving these fun bags of mine. Yes indeed, I'm going the bottle route.
Well, the wife had the kid. The husband, he just stood around and smiled a lot.
It wasn't a surprise, this kid, I mean, I knew she was on her way. It's just weird to realize that nothing in the world can prepare you for the fact that these two people made a little person and then let the little person come out to play.
I was never that fond of little people.
Not that I hate babies or anything, but I just never really got along with them. They sort of just sit there and stare, and make smelly poops, and cry, and sort of disrupt all sense of life as you know it.
Over the last several years, just from the fact that friends my age are starting to have kids, paired with the fact that my boyfriend has a niece and five nephews {all who I adore}, I have gotten used to the idea that babies are a fact of life, and by golly, I might even like to have one someday.
I digress.
So I got the call today that these friends had this kid. And I was very happy for them. And figured that, when they got home from the hospital, and got settled in their home, like, in a week or two, I'd go over and visit and welcome the little monster to their family, along with a bunch of our other friends.
Except that, these people love me SO much, that they insisted that I stop by the hospital. Tonight.
I panicked. I hate hospitals. And the kid, she was only a day old. What was I going to say to her? She barely speaks English, for God's sake!
But I knew that the right thing to do was to pay a visit to the litttle newbie, and that I did.
I got to the hospital, and the first thing that struck me--after I got over the fact that the new mommy, freshly c-sectioned, was walking around, and even answered the door when I got there--was that the baby was so incredibly tiny, sitting in her daddy's arms. She didn't even look like an alien, like I imagined she would, but was cute as a button.
Once I stopped worrying that I was going to trip and fall and squish the little tyke, I started to relax. Another friend showed up, and it almost began to feel like a party.
Except for the fact that, I guess once a woman has a baby, her body is not her own anymore. You know--suddenly your boobs are not just for sexy time, they actually have a function. And it's ok to pull them out at a moment's notice, cuz the kid needs to eat.
So you're trying to just have a normal conversation and not pay attention to the fact that your friend is sitting there, with a tiny mouth attached to her tit. And you try to continue the normal conversation, and to not think it's inappropriate that your friend wants to talk about her nipple chafing, or her uteral contractions that she is still having. I mean, she's sitting there, literally half naked, chatting away like nothing...I don't know if I'm going to get used to this.
Me, when the time comes, am preserving these fun bags of mine. Yes indeed, I'm going the bottle route.
Today I Came Across Ralph on the Subway
Coming home from work tonight, I squeezed myself onto a packed 4 train.
The a/c wasn't working, unbeknownst to me. I thought I was just having my usual I-have-too-much-hair, I-sweat-a-lot moments.
As I stood there, sweating, cursing, and wishing I had a private chauffeur to get me home, there seemed to be a lot of commotion coming from the back right corner of my car. There were a bunch of rowdy teenagers, jumping around, yelling, and generally intimidating others. I did my best to ignore them as I dove into my people magazine to read about Brit Brit and her sad, sad life.
Suddenly, the commotion seemed to pick up pace. With said commotion, a strange sound seemed to permeate the train. It was almost like a spray of water was gushing out of a fountain.
Oh motherfucker.
One of the little bastards was puking, all over the 4 train.
Never fun, even less so on a rush hour, jam packed subway car.
We were in between stops, and true to form, the fucking train operator was driving slow as molasses, taking his sweet ass time getting us from Brooklyn Bridge to Fulton Street.
In the meantime, commuters were running for the hills, making gagging sounds, covering their mouths with Kleenex, not exactly knowing where to go. Me, being the 12 year old boy I sometimes can be, had to check out the puke.
Why, God, why?
I quickly regretted my decision, having been met with the sight of what looked to be something that had been ingested at the Olive Garden, paired with some red fruity drink. A slushie perhaps? Or maybe a wine cooler?
EIther way, the red fruity drink was coming my way, dripping across the car faster than I could say "projectile."
"WATCH YOUR FEET" one of the teens screamed out.
At this point, and not a moment too soon, the doors opened, and the majority of the car scampered out and ran to the next car over. An air conditioned, half empty car. Ah, the relief.
I'm skipping dinner tonight. And maybe forever. Blech.
The a/c wasn't working, unbeknownst to me. I thought I was just having my usual I-have-too-much-hair, I-sweat-a-lot moments.
As I stood there, sweating, cursing, and wishing I had a private chauffeur to get me home, there seemed to be a lot of commotion coming from the back right corner of my car. There were a bunch of rowdy teenagers, jumping around, yelling, and generally intimidating others. I did my best to ignore them as I dove into my people magazine to read about Brit Brit and her sad, sad life.
Suddenly, the commotion seemed to pick up pace. With said commotion, a strange sound seemed to permeate the train. It was almost like a spray of water was gushing out of a fountain.
Oh motherfucker.
One of the little bastards was puking, all over the 4 train.
Never fun, even less so on a rush hour, jam packed subway car.
We were in between stops, and true to form, the fucking train operator was driving slow as molasses, taking his sweet ass time getting us from Brooklyn Bridge to Fulton Street.
In the meantime, commuters were running for the hills, making gagging sounds, covering their mouths with Kleenex, not exactly knowing where to go. Me, being the 12 year old boy I sometimes can be, had to check out the puke.
Why, God, why?
I quickly regretted my decision, having been met with the sight of what looked to be something that had been ingested at the Olive Garden, paired with some red fruity drink. A slushie perhaps? Or maybe a wine cooler?
EIther way, the red fruity drink was coming my way, dripping across the car faster than I could say "projectile."
"WATCH YOUR FEET" one of the teens screamed out.
At this point, and not a moment too soon, the doors opened, and the majority of the car scampered out and ran to the next car over. An air conditioned, half empty car. Ah, the relief.
I'm skipping dinner tonight. And maybe forever. Blech.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The World is Shrinking
The other day, I was in my company kitchen, heating up my new obsession
when I hear someone calling my name from the hallway.
I looked up and saw one of my co-workers who I don't really know that well, other than to chit chat about food when we're heating up our respective lunches. I don't honestly know if I would recognize her outside of the office.
"Were you driving on the NY State Thruway on Sunday?" she asked me.
I was indeed.
"And were you driving in a Zipcar?"
Why the 2O questions, man?
"I totally saw you on the highway! I drove past you, realized it was you, and then hoped you'd catch up to me so I could wave!
But, you're a SLOW driver!"
I will have you all know I was doing 7O consistently the entire way. Not exactly crawling!
Either way, how the hell did she pick me out, on a highway of a zillion people? It's not like she knew I was going to be driving upstate in a big, conspicuous silver Outback with the name ZIPCAR emblazoned across the side of it.
Weird, right?
when I hear someone calling my name from the hallway.
I looked up and saw one of my co-workers who I don't really know that well, other than to chit chat about food when we're heating up our respective lunches. I don't honestly know if I would recognize her outside of the office.
"Were you driving on the NY State Thruway on Sunday?" she asked me.
I was indeed.
"And were you driving in a Zipcar?"
Why the 2O questions, man?
"I totally saw you on the highway! I drove past you, realized it was you, and then hoped you'd catch up to me so I could wave!
But, you're a SLOW driver!"
I will have you all know I was doing 7O consistently the entire way. Not exactly crawling!
Either way, how the hell did she pick me out, on a highway of a zillion people? It's not like she knew I was going to be driving upstate in a big, conspicuous silver Outback with the name ZIPCAR emblazoned across the side of it.
Weird, right?
Monday, October 15, 2007
Overeater's Anonymous, I Need Your Help
So, today I was feeling a bit on the melancholy side, it being Monday and all, and I decided that I needed a "food is love" moment.
It happens (once a day) sometimes that I just need a sugary snack to quell my anxieties. I'm a chick with a sweet tooth, and a derriere to prove it.
Today I couldn't pass up the most giantest of cupcakes--I knew it wasn't going to even compare to
these little balls of heaven, but hell, it was the next best thing. So I bought it, and sheepishly snuck it into my office.
I knew it was a stupid thing to do, because I knew I was going to get "caught". Not that I am a closet eater or anything like that, but the last thing someone who looks like me (read, not skinny) wants to do is be seen with a cupcake the size of my right tit (read, big) so that all the anorexic women in my office can look at me and sneer.
I took a bite of the cupcake and pushed it aside, almost hiding it behind a folder rack. Maybe I wouldn't even eat the rest of it. One bite was all I needed...
...and then, one of the aforementioned anorexic women decided to pay me a visit.
I could feel my palms get sweaty. I lost my train of thought. I tried to position myself in front of the cupcake so that she wouldn't be able to see it, sitting there, big bite taken out of it. I felt confident that the cupcake was hidden from sight, until...
"What the hell is that?" she giggled and pointed. Maybe she's talking about my parrot tiki mug?
No such luck. I followed her gaze. She was giving my cupcake the evil eye.
"Jesus. That thing is huge. Look at that pile of frosting!" she shrieked. Oh I didn't need to look. I knew how big the pile was. It was the size of a giant's fist.
I stammered, "I...uh...sometimes I just gotta....you know.....stress eat....going to gym...later..." as if this could make up for the deadly sin I was commiting, eating more than 1500 calories, in one sitting.
She continued on an on, discussing the sugar, the fat, the jitters I would get, the diabetic coma I was going to go into. She pulled another co-worker aside and said "Look how stressed out she is, she needs to eat such a thing."
I snapped back to my senses and finally started to get annoyed. "The only thing I'm stressed out about is the fact that you are insisting on analyzing my food."
She finally got the message, and she and her bony ass left my cube.
I then proceeded to finish off the entire fucking cupcake, paper and all. When that was gone, I ate my desk, my phone, and my cubemates.
The only thing that is left is this laptop, but rest assured, once I finish typing, it's going down the hatch, mateys.
It happens (once a day) sometimes that I just need a sugary snack to quell my anxieties. I'm a chick with a sweet tooth, and a derriere to prove it.
Today I couldn't pass up the most giantest of cupcakes--I knew it wasn't going to even compare to
these little balls of heaven, but hell, it was the next best thing. So I bought it, and sheepishly snuck it into my office.
I knew it was a stupid thing to do, because I knew I was going to get "caught". Not that I am a closet eater or anything like that, but the last thing someone who looks like me (read, not skinny) wants to do is be seen with a cupcake the size of my right tit (read, big) so that all the anorexic women in my office can look at me and sneer.
I took a bite of the cupcake and pushed it aside, almost hiding it behind a folder rack. Maybe I wouldn't even eat the rest of it. One bite was all I needed...
...and then, one of the aforementioned anorexic women decided to pay me a visit.
I could feel my palms get sweaty. I lost my train of thought. I tried to position myself in front of the cupcake so that she wouldn't be able to see it, sitting there, big bite taken out of it. I felt confident that the cupcake was hidden from sight, until...
"What the hell is that?" she giggled and pointed. Maybe she's talking about my parrot tiki mug?
No such luck. I followed her gaze. She was giving my cupcake the evil eye.
"Jesus. That thing is huge. Look at that pile of frosting!" she shrieked. Oh I didn't need to look. I knew how big the pile was. It was the size of a giant's fist.
I stammered, "I...uh...sometimes I just gotta....you know.....stress eat....going to gym...later..." as if this could make up for the deadly sin I was commiting, eating more than 1500 calories, in one sitting.
She continued on an on, discussing the sugar, the fat, the jitters I would get, the diabetic coma I was going to go into. She pulled another co-worker aside and said "Look how stressed out she is, she needs to eat such a thing."
I snapped back to my senses and finally started to get annoyed. "The only thing I'm stressed out about is the fact that you are insisting on analyzing my food."
She finally got the message, and she and her bony ass left my cube.
I then proceeded to finish off the entire fucking cupcake, paper and all. When that was gone, I ate my desk, my phone, and my cubemates.
The only thing that is left is this laptop, but rest assured, once I finish typing, it's going down the hatch, mateys.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
How I Almost Died Doing Good
Some of you may not be aware that I spend one night a week volunteering for a cat rescue organization.
It all began about 6 years ago when circumstances out of my control forbade me from having a cat of my own. I happened to walk into the giant pet store where this organization is housed, and found myself surrounded by cages and cages of abandoned cats. The sight saddened me so much that I decided to begin volunteering right then and there, and I've been there ever since.
This atmosphere, as you can imagine, is rife with "crazy cat ladies". I'm sure many of you have experienced walking into this very store, innocently looking for the dog treat aisle, and were accosted by an old lady wearing cat ears, waving a donation jar in your face, chanting, "a little food for the kitties. pennies, nickels, dimes..."
They mean well, the crazy cat ladies.
The other night, I and two other volunteers were struggling to care for all of the cats and kittens that were in the store that night. We basically have to feed the cats, change their litter, and clean their cages, which could mean anything from a quick wipe down to scraping poo and vomit off of the walls and ceiling. While standing on a wobbly ladder. While people, mostly who are NOT interested in adopting a cat, are swarming around, sticking their hands in the cages while we clean, unknowingly spreading kitty germs from cage to cage, or sneaking peeks up my skirt if I've forgotten to change into jeans prior to my shift.
The crazy cat lady that night, with the ubiquitous cat ears, was insisting that every single person that walked by come in and browse. Everyone. Whether they wanted to or not. I kept shooting her dirty looks as it was getting crowded, and I was pretty sure that my cooch was going to end up all over the internets via spycam, as I was wearing a skirt that night, standing up on my ladder, and I just wanted to get the kitties taken care of and get the hell out of there.
A dude walked in while I was scooping food into a bowl, and from the minute I made eye contact with him I was sure we were all going to die.
He had a crazy look in his eye, looked disheveled, moved in a jerky, nervous manner, but the biggest tip off that he was a nutter was that he was topless. Well, topless save for a vest of some sort. I did not think this was just a fashion faux pas. I was sure he was a mad killer.
Crazy cat lady, true to form, invited him in. "Come on inside and look at the kitties," she said warmly.
I shot her a look that I was hoping said, "STOp FUCKING TALKING TO WHACKOS OR YOU"RE GOING TO GET US ALL KILLED."
Apparently my look was not working, because she kept talking to Topless Vest Man, as if he were the Queen of England.
He walked closer and nervously stuck his hand in his pocket, while his eyes darted around crazily. "Let me see if I have some change."
Holy Hell he was looking for a gun! I don't know what the hell he had against innocent cats? perhaps he was a disgruntled ex-volunteer? Or maybe we turned down his application for adoption?
Any which way, I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to yell, in case he decided to turn the gun on me...
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, threw a giant bag on the counter, and ran like a bat out of hell out of the store.
Ok. So he didn't have a gun. So maybe he left a bomb on the counter? What the hell? I closed my eyes shut tight and prayed.
The adoption rep ran over and looked at the abandoned bag. "What the hell is that?" he pointed. All of a sudden he tore out of the store after the crazed Topless Vest Killer. I was confused.
I opened my eyes and carefully walked over to the bag that carried the bomb. I looked inside.
Kittens. 5 teeniest of the tiniest of kittens. Abandoned. Left for us to care for.
This is a nightmare for any animal shelter who is full to capacity with abandoned little beasts, so although he did not try to kill me, he is still a bad, bad man. With very bad fashion sense.
And that is how I cheated death while doing good.
It all began about 6 years ago when circumstances out of my control forbade me from having a cat of my own. I happened to walk into the giant pet store where this organization is housed, and found myself surrounded by cages and cages of abandoned cats. The sight saddened me so much that I decided to begin volunteering right then and there, and I've been there ever since.
This atmosphere, as you can imagine, is rife with "crazy cat ladies". I'm sure many of you have experienced walking into this very store, innocently looking for the dog treat aisle, and were accosted by an old lady wearing cat ears, waving a donation jar in your face, chanting, "a little food for the kitties. pennies, nickels, dimes..."
They mean well, the crazy cat ladies.
The other night, I and two other volunteers were struggling to care for all of the cats and kittens that were in the store that night. We basically have to feed the cats, change their litter, and clean their cages, which could mean anything from a quick wipe down to scraping poo and vomit off of the walls and ceiling. While standing on a wobbly ladder. While people, mostly who are NOT interested in adopting a cat, are swarming around, sticking their hands in the cages while we clean, unknowingly spreading kitty germs from cage to cage, or sneaking peeks up my skirt if I've forgotten to change into jeans prior to my shift.
The crazy cat lady that night, with the ubiquitous cat ears, was insisting that every single person that walked by come in and browse. Everyone. Whether they wanted to or not. I kept shooting her dirty looks as it was getting crowded, and I was pretty sure that my cooch was going to end up all over the internets via spycam, as I was wearing a skirt that night, standing up on my ladder, and I just wanted to get the kitties taken care of and get the hell out of there.
A dude walked in while I was scooping food into a bowl, and from the minute I made eye contact with him I was sure we were all going to die.
He had a crazy look in his eye, looked disheveled, moved in a jerky, nervous manner, but the biggest tip off that he was a nutter was that he was topless. Well, topless save for a vest of some sort. I did not think this was just a fashion faux pas. I was sure he was a mad killer.
Crazy cat lady, true to form, invited him in. "Come on inside and look at the kitties," she said warmly.
I shot her a look that I was hoping said, "STOp FUCKING TALKING TO WHACKOS OR YOU"RE GOING TO GET US ALL KILLED."
Apparently my look was not working, because she kept talking to Topless Vest Man, as if he were the Queen of England.
He walked closer and nervously stuck his hand in his pocket, while his eyes darted around crazily. "Let me see if I have some change."
Holy Hell he was looking for a gun! I don't know what the hell he had against innocent cats? perhaps he was a disgruntled ex-volunteer? Or maybe we turned down his application for adoption?
Any which way, I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to yell, in case he decided to turn the gun on me...
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, threw a giant bag on the counter, and ran like a bat out of hell out of the store.
Ok. So he didn't have a gun. So maybe he left a bomb on the counter? What the hell? I closed my eyes shut tight and prayed.
The adoption rep ran over and looked at the abandoned bag. "What the hell is that?" he pointed. All of a sudden he tore out of the store after the crazed Topless Vest Killer. I was confused.
I opened my eyes and carefully walked over to the bag that carried the bomb. I looked inside.
Kittens. 5 teeniest of the tiniest of kittens. Abandoned. Left for us to care for.
This is a nightmare for any animal shelter who is full to capacity with abandoned little beasts, so although he did not try to kill me, he is still a bad, bad man. With very bad fashion sense.
And that is how I cheated death while doing good.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Douchebag
The other morning I'd left myself as little time as possible to get to work, which is a pretty normal occurence.
These days, however, I'm trying to eat better/save money by bringing my day's worth of food to work. Which is great, except for when I decide to make a batch of guacamole to go with my frozen Amy's Burrito. And it's already 915 and I still need to put my gym crap in a bag and get my ass on a train.
I peeled the avocado quite easily. So easily that it slipped out of my little paw and started to tumble down the front of my dress. I caught it in the nick of time but a piece of avocado stuck to my black sundress. Fuck. I flicked it off and didn't think twice about it as I proceeded to mash up the rest of the green yummy goodness.
I finally got myself out of the house, and onto the subway. I was feeling pretty accomplished. I'd managed to remember my lunch, my gym stuff, I got some makeup on and my hair wasnt half bad. Not such a horrible morning. Til I looked down and saw the green goo.
Yes yes. Green, nasty, boogery looking goo, all down the front of my flouncy cute dress. Motherfucker.
I held my large bag in front of my body so no one would think I'd been slimed a la Ghostbusters. As much as I knew there was nothing I could do about it, being that I was on the train, I just couldn't stop obsessing about it. What if the shit didn't come out? I was so not going to walk around my office with avocado jizz smeared all over me. The horror.
Thankfully, I am insane about vag freshness, and therefore had a package of Summer's Eve pussy wipes in my purse. You bet your ass I whipped that shit out, yanked a fresh wipey from the pack, and rubbed myself with it.
Not only am I classy, but I am also resourceful.
These days, however, I'm trying to eat better/save money by bringing my day's worth of food to work. Which is great, except for when I decide to make a batch of guacamole to go with my frozen Amy's Burrito. And it's already 915 and I still need to put my gym crap in a bag and get my ass on a train.
I peeled the avocado quite easily. So easily that it slipped out of my little paw and started to tumble down the front of my dress. I caught it in the nick of time but a piece of avocado stuck to my black sundress. Fuck. I flicked it off and didn't think twice about it as I proceeded to mash up the rest of the green yummy goodness.
I finally got myself out of the house, and onto the subway. I was feeling pretty accomplished. I'd managed to remember my lunch, my gym stuff, I got some makeup on and my hair wasnt half bad. Not such a horrible morning. Til I looked down and saw the green goo.
Yes yes. Green, nasty, boogery looking goo, all down the front of my flouncy cute dress. Motherfucker.
I held my large bag in front of my body so no one would think I'd been slimed a la Ghostbusters. As much as I knew there was nothing I could do about it, being that I was on the train, I just couldn't stop obsessing about it. What if the shit didn't come out? I was so not going to walk around my office with avocado jizz smeared all over me. The horror.
Thankfully, I am insane about vag freshness, and therefore had a package of Summer's Eve pussy wipes in my purse. You bet your ass I whipped that shit out, yanked a fresh wipey from the pack, and rubbed myself with it.
Not only am I classy, but I am also resourceful.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Those Wild and Crazy Kids
Sitting in the backyard of my favorite bar, the Zombie Hut.
I'm having my usual Blue Hawaiians, Beehive his Gilligan.
Suddenly, the talk went from safe to sexy, and we were making out in full view of the entire bar. His hand went underneath my skirt, brushed against my crotch. I wanted to fuck him right then and there.
We continued to maul each other like teenagers at the prom. I wanted to throw him into a cab and do unspeakable things to him all the way home.
I happened to glance at the time.
It was barely 7.15.
Rock stars, we ain't!
I'm having my usual Blue Hawaiians, Beehive his Gilligan.
Suddenly, the talk went from safe to sexy, and we were making out in full view of the entire bar. His hand went underneath my skirt, brushed against my crotch. I wanted to fuck him right then and there.
We continued to maul each other like teenagers at the prom. I wanted to throw him into a cab and do unspeakable things to him all the way home.
I happened to glance at the time.
It was barely 7.15.
Rock stars, we ain't!
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