Cyclothymia

Pretty In Pink

A little while ago I decided to stay with a friend for a few days. Well, actually it was more like he showed up at my door and was all, pack a suitcase, woman, you're coming home with me. I was like, I'm not that kind of girl. So he packed for me. Never let a man do that, unless you want to be wearing your itchiest, most uncomfortable lingerie for a while, and have no pajamas to boot.

Preggers was on antibiotics for an abscess from a bite, so she had to come with us. We stopped on the way to get a litterbox and other basic supplies. Which apparently includes a scratching post.

Me: You hate cats, why are you getting her a scratching post?
Him: Just because I hate her doesn't mean I want her to be unhappy.
Me: You know, she also likes automated water fountains and those leopard print snuggle beds.

Night 1: We are watching a movie and Preggers hops up on the couch.

Him: Is she allowed on the furniture?
Me: It's your house, you set the rules.
Him: What's she doing?
Me: It's called snuggling.

Night 2: We get home and Preggers runs over to meet us at the door (like she usually does for me).

Him: Does she always do that?
Me: Yep.
Him: Weird.

Night 3: Friend runs out to pick up dinner, and he's gone for a long time. I'm close to calling to see if everything is alright, but just then he walks in the door with two bags. One's the takeout. The other is a petco bag.

Me: What is that?
Him: A surprise.
Me: For me, or the cat?

He has me grab Preggers and turn around (for the surprise, you know).

Him: Ok, turn around!

He's holding a pink rhinestone-studded harness. For the cat. Thank god.

Him: She's pretty fat, and I think it's because your apartment sucks donkey balls. She doesn't have room to lick her own ass, much less exercise, so you need to start taking her for walks.
Me: You totally love her now.
Him: She's obese. I'm just concerned.
Me: You wanna have, like, 10,000 of her babies.
Him: I'm taking the harness back.
Me: Chubby chaser.

There will be pictures forthcoming as soon as I exchange the harness for a larger size. Because, her size? Let's just say vanity sizing hasn't hit the pet market yet, and it turns out she can't shop in the junior department anymore. I think the problem might be the fat roll under her chin. Or the one on her chest. Maybe her corpulent elbows? Whatever the exact proportional problem is, she's headed to the Lane Bryant section of the kitty world.

Peace In The Middle East?

Sure, it looks like a tranquil domestic scene.

But seething just below the surface is a deep, immortal fury. Pogo's all "It's touching me. GET. IT. OFF." And JJ's all, "Dude, it's YOUR paw on MY paw, don't get all up in my grill."

No Thanks, Send It Back

Pogo spent the night outside last night. The cat is obsessed with getting outside, despite the fact that he has NO SURVIVAL SKILLS and is SCARED OF EVERYTHING. Nevertheless, he clearly sees every open door as an opportunity to escape the brutal regime he's being forced to endure inside my warm, dry, food-filled house. I try not to take it personally, but last night I'd had enough, so I chucked him out the window, yelled some epithets at him, and locked up for the night. Or maybe I forgot the big window doesn't have a screen.

Why was the window open in February you ask? Because my shrew's tit of an apartment has two temperatures: boiling or freezing. The colder it is, the LESS LIKELY THE HEAT IS TO COME ON. I'm not shitting you. I have radiators that apparently are controlled by the building thermostat, which is ridiculous in a building with 30 units, and I'm getting screwed by it. Actually, I'm more worried about my aquarium, I'm pretty sure my fish aren't down with 90 degree water, although they haven't verbalized it BY DYING yet.

I know I'm USING A LOT OF CAPS TODAY, and if you're interpreting that as yelling, GO RIGHT AHEAD, because THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING. Aside from hunting for Pogo at 6am, and then crawling out the wet, thorn-covered window to retrieve him, this day can go suck itself because:

1) On the walk to work I walked straight into a low hanging branch covered in yet more thorns (wtf is up with the thorns everywhere today? Am I missing some metaphorical message the universe needs to get across to me?)*, which caught on my hood and ripped the gortex. The hood of my coat has a visor, which is awesome since it really keeps rain and snow out (or at least it did before I WALKED INTO THE DAMN BRANCH), but it limits the overhead visibility, especially when I'm walking hunkered down staring at the sidewalk in a puddle of self-pity and world-loathing. Thankfully I bet the 5 people around me and the nasty little tree were cheered up by my misfortune.

2) I'm the only one in the office today and I don't have much to do. I should have stayed home.

Note to self: do not drink a lot of sake and get to bed @ 1am on a Monday night, it makes you a bitter girl. Absolutely kick-ass date** though, so I've got that to cuddle with in my misery.

*Can someone with some rudimentary skillz in punctuation please tell me how the hell that sentence should have been handled?

** This "date" thing is new to me. The ex did not take me on dates, except for maybe valentines or my birthday. That should have been yet another clue that I was wasting four years of my life.

And I Broke My Espresso Carafe Too

Work this week has been really shitty. I was hired as a UX person, and I made it very clear that the testing aspect of my role should be kept to a minimum or I would not be happy, and they said it would be, and yet here I am wrapping up my second week of full-time testing. I know we have a build coming out today theoretically, so my hope is that my boss isn't completely addicted to having an extra tester available, so that next week I can back to doing what I was actually hired to do.

Another totally depressing aspect of life right now is hunting for new homes for two of my cats. In some ways all three adjusted to the move quite well, in the sense that no one refused to eat or drink, no one started spraying, and no one hid under the bed for days at a time. In the sense that they aren't trying to slaughter each other 24 hours a day, not so much. There is blood involved, and it's only a matter of time until someone loses an eye. It would be funny if it wasn't a) so concerning, and b) frankly as annoying as being trapped in a cage full of monkeys flinging shit at one another.

Aside from the ongoing ultimate fighting championship, my allergies are going batshit (yes, I'm going to see if I can use shit, or some variation thereof, in every paragraph of this post because cursing makes baby jesus cry, and that makes me feel better). My allergist told me this week that I'm starting to show signs of persistent asthma, and for whatever wacky reason he thinks it might have to do with my having 32 pounds of cat in 400 square feet.

I am broken-hearted that I have to do this. I've had all three of my cats for at least 8 years, and love them all as unique individuals. I'm a little more closely bonded to Preggers, but as far as my responsibility for them goes, they are equal. I was really, REALLY hoping to find a home for them with someone that either I knew or that a friend knew, so that I'd still be able to visit or at least get real updates, and not worry that their new people were going to neglect regular vet care, or give them up to a shelter at some point, or feed them shitty food, or let them wander the streets without a coat on, etc. But, that isn't happening. I had two leads, and both of them fizzled without really getting anywhere, so now I've got the cats listed with various cat rescue groups. After the struggle of finding the right home for them is over I'll never see my babies again.

So, yeah, life sucks, and I'm whining about it. Shit.

I'm Really Famous, I Just Don't Know Where

My co-workers and I were spending the day doing the usual sorts of things: going for coffee, playing darts, discussing our cats, your basics, when I remembered that a long time ago I'd been playing around with the video editing software my mac has, and had posted a couple of videos of my cat Preggers on YouTube. Yes, I actually did that. Naturally, when I remembered that fact we immediately went to YouTube and watched them.

Here is the first one I made, which is basically an homage to Pregger's skillz in the bloodsport of fetching:

You can't tell, since you're probably watching the embedded video rather than going to YouTube, but that video has a perfect 5/5 rating. Three whole people (I'm assuming here, I don't mean to exclude the amputee audience) were involved in the voting, but that's not the best part. My coworker noticed that there were TWO comments. I assumed that that must have been Rachel and Andy, but NO! Two people I don't even know took the time to comment on my video of my cat playing fetch. Seriously. And they said it was both "nice!!" and "funny!"

I was obviously already pretty giddy, but we decided to risk dampening the high by taking a look at my other video. This one is also of Preggers, but this time she's chasing her tail. Well, trying, but she's too fat to reach it.

Clearly comedy gold. It was at this point that I realized that not only do both of my videos have a PERFECT 5/5 rating, but that I'm famous. And I can back that up with cold hard numbers, people. I noticed that the second video had four, count 'em FOUR, links to it. Again, I assumed that probably all four were thanks to Andy and Rachel, but when I took a look, nope. People I don't know. Are watching videos of my cat. And THEN LINKING TO IT.

I really can't convey how bizarre I think that is. Imagine your five year old's finger-painting was featured on the news. Actually, with FOX on the air that's not entirely unlikely, so bad example. Back to the point - I've gotten 11 clicks from one site. I have no idea what the site is about since it's written in spanish, and my spanish is limited to 'quesadilla' and 'chupa mi en los cabres', which is either 'fuck me in the goat ass' or 'can I have the check motherfucker'...really the same thing, hence my confusion on the specifics. Therefore I don't know what this site is about and I'm sooooooooooooo curious. Also, it has a flag (I'm assuming a national flag) in the address bar icon that I can't find a reference to anywhere on the vast information super-highway. I really can't fathom what sort of blog readership would actually choose to watch these videos. I'm sort of picturing some grandma's crocheting circle, except there are no crocheting pictures, or needlepoint, or even other horribly filmed videos of animals doing vaguely amusing things. The title 'Peloton' of course brings to mind Lance Armstrong, but I'm skeptical it's him.

At 450+ views each for the videos, I've personally contributed to over 30 completely and utterly wasted man-hours. I must know how I managed that. I'd love to shoot for 300, or even something really gauche like 2000 (a work year), but I can't do it alone! If anyone has more time on their hands than I do, or speaks spanish, please click on over to http://www.peloton69.com/blog/ and figure out what the hell the blog is about and where it's based so that I can do a properly dubbed version of the video for my fans. And, not that I don't trust my friends of course, but, assholes? DON'T GO GIVE ME A SHITTY RATING JUST TO FUCK WITH ME. My 5/5 is all I have going for me in this world, don't take it away.