Tag Archives: #leahwouldblog

How NOT To Open the Convertible’s Roof

“It couldn’t be that difficult; we’ll figure it out!”

I was so optimistic! So genuinely happy……so fucking clueless.

Heather and I were looking around the dash of the Camaro SS Convertible for a button that would put the top down.
Our luggage was crammed in the back seat, and after over three hours on a plane, we were ready for some fresh air! (Or at least some free-flowing air, considering I don’t know how “fresh” the air is in L.A.)

We found the button that depicted the car’s roof and knew we were in store for some fun next.

Heather pushed it.

Not a damn thing happened….OH…except the car yelled at us through its illuminated screen to tell us the roof wasn’t unlatched. (Pretty sure it’s bright, red letters read, “Unhook the roof first, dumbasses.”)

Oh!! RIGHT!! ON IT!!!

Immediately we see the handle above our heads. Heather tried pulling it first…and pulled, and yanked, and struggled.

Nothing.

It was my turn to give it a go. I pulled….and yanked….and pulled again…and just when I thought my hand was about to slip off, the handle turned.

“A-ha! You have to TURN it, too!!”

At this point, we’re both feeling like the car almost outsmarted us.

So then we push the roof-retracting button again. It begins to make a sound like it will go down, but then immediately stops and flashes some message on the dashboard screen. Another SOMETHING has to be latched.

“WHAT??? (Looked around in bewilderment.) There IS no other SOMETHING TO latch!”

So we begin searching all around the dash again, and after a few more minutes, Heather pulls out her phone.

Yup…we had to Google how to open the rooftop. It turns out that you have to move some cover back into some grooves INSIDE THE TRUNK before opening the ROOF.
Fine. Way to be DIFFICULT!!!!

So now the search was on for the trunk release…which turned into another 3 minutes of our lives used looking for buttons in this car. We found it…pressed it…

Nothing.

At this point, we are at the verge of becoming like chimps and just pushing ALL THE BUTTONS and slamming our fists into the dashboard, as if that will take care of everything!

I grab the owner’s manual from the glove compartment, in search of our answer, when an middle-aged gentlemen who worked for the rental car agency noticed our struggle, and stopped to offer his assistance.

We explained that the trunk wouldn’t open, but we needed to get in there so that we could hook up “the thing into the other thing” so we could open the ROOF!

Pretty sure the guy was convinced we were both airheads as he asked for the keys to the car. We unhooked them from the ignition and handed them over. He proceeded to continually press the trunk button on the key-pad, but to no avail. Then HE started pressing the release that was inside the car, REPEATEDLY…and began scratching his head.

“YES!!! WE’RE NOT DUMBASSES!!! IT’S NOT JUST US!!”

Inside, I think we were dancing with joy together, and throwing imaginary flowers into the air and lifting our hands up to the sun in glee!!!

“Look at us and how we’re not total ditzes! YAY!”

But then, after a few seconds, he says, “OH! You have to hook the roof latch back down before the trunk will open.”

**sad trombone** Waaah Waah Waaaaaah…

So then we struggle with THAT latch again, manage to hook the roof BACK onto the car, pop open the trunk with ease, stretch and insert the bar w/ the trunk cover into its place, UNLATCH the roof AGAIN, press the button….and then it opens.

It only took us about 25 minutes to figure out how to open the damn roof on that pretty car!

Sheesh.

Hefty Buffet Bags

This is just a typical email conversation, as of late….all direct quotes.

 

Me: Okay, I’m going to be a Shitty person now.   I just got a call from Shan…he says “Do me a favor…meet me in the lobby…  NOW.”   So I do…. He brought me cheesecake.  Tiramisu cheesecake.  And I’m really hoping you’ll come have a bite or two of it…………because you gave me truffle yesterday.

 

 Heather: Uh, YES. Partially so we can chat about this with our mouths full.

 

Me: Good…I already grabbed a spoon for you. Come now!!!

 

(This is the part where we stuffed our faces with deliciousness and whipped cream and joy-ness….then Heather retreated to her desk.)

 

Heather: I am now eating a milk chocolate truffle.  #becausefatLA

 

Me: That hashtag is so much better than our previous one.  Heather….I’m supposed to go to a pool on Saturday…I don’t know that I want to be seen in a bikini though!! WAAAAAAAAAH

 

Heather:  Sundress over swimsuit, my friend. That’s my go-to.  Or I may just start wearing a full on trench coat. So I can eat whatever I want.

 

Me: Why don’t we just start wearing giant garbage bags?

 

Heather: I’m just worried we will look homeless. I’m like, “Do I want to look dangerous and fat? (Trenchcoat.) Or crazy and fat? (Giant rain poncho.) Or homeless and fat? (Trashbag.)”

 Fourth option: Actually lose weight.

Just kidding, that’s a horrible idea that takes too much of a time commitment.

 

Me: I don’t even know what that fourth option MEANS……I don’t think it’s possible……So, I guess dangerous and fat….. (trenchcoat)….but I am going to keep a trashbag in the pocket….for leftover food scraps…like bones from Peanut Wings, and wrappers from candy bars, and leftover, whipped-cream covered spoons……

 

Heather: Better yet, you could put more food in it for later and bottomless buffets.

 So it’s settled. Trenchcoat + trashbag.

 Dangerous and crazy. We sound like 99% of women on earth, honestly.

 

 

 

Lizard Lint

This morning, I did THE ULTIMATE impression of a lizard, in the beginnings of its shedding cycle. 

That’s the thing about new bath towels–even if you wash them beforehand, the first few times you use them to dry off after a shower, you WILL be covered in tiny, lint balls.  If the towel is white, then those lint balls look like bits of dried up skin.  Hence, the “Shedding Lizard Effect”.  I had forgotten this tidbit of information just a little too late this morning…..

Have you ever tried rubbing lotion on your skin when it’s covered in lint?  It makes the little fluff balls stick to your skin.  I wouldn’t recommend it, because then you turn from lizard-like into a wet sheep, and you have to spend ten to fifteen minutes using a hairdryer over your entire body to blow-dry all the lint away.  AND THEN you have to sweep the lint up off the floor (or leave it there for later)…

Of course, if you DO leave it there for later, you’ll probably just see the pile of white fluff, say “Fuck Lint!”, and have a beer instead.

Then you might tell a friend your lint story the next day, and if anyone religious overhears your exclamation, they’ll take it out of context and think you’re just some heathen who doesn’t respect their religious choices.  They might call you out on it, and then you’ll start blurting out nonsensical phrases like, “No! It’s the towel-lizard-skin affect!!  I only washed it once! Wait! Don’t walk away angry, you just don’t under-….awww….dang it.”

Just, don’t tell your lint story in public.  Or, don’t buy new towels. 

Gurgling Is A Language

When it happens, it gives a disheartening feeling……one that almost destroys my morning…almost.

Meandering over to Susie’s desk, where my African Cinnamon flavored brew was waiting, I awaited the happy feelings that come along with consuming the wonderful drink.

I pressed the top button of the coffee carafe, and after my mug was merely a third full, I was met with the burble and spitting sounds of an empty pot. I’m going to go ahead and say I’m fluent in the language of “gurgling”, because I CLEARLY heard the words “Fuck you! Ha ha ha!” come out of that carafe!

I WAS APALLED! To CUSS at me in a place of business—it’s downright rude and ridiculous!  SHAME ON YOU, GIANT COFFEE DISPENSER!  Shame…on…you!  (Never mind the fact that I had intended on consuming your insides and turning them into coffee-scented pee…..you’re the one with the shame, Carafe….YOU.)

After being thoroughly disappointed at the audacity of that hot beverage distributor, I stomped to the kitchen.

I was still fuming, offended, disappointed, and above all, IN NEED OF CAFFEINE.

I planned on topping off my cup of cinnamon-Joe with the regular stuff…and so I pressed on yet another carafe.

“Gurgle, spit, fuuuuhhhck yoooooou, haaa haaa haa…gurgle”

 

**Shocked face, mouth agape, moment of defeat**

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Me, now: Back at my desk…drinking what coffee I happened to obtain…and plotting revenge.

Chicago: Part 1, The Scary

I had inadvertently risked my neck by behaving like a “typical girl”.  But, it was GIRLS’ WEEKEND!!!  Over-packing was a necessity, in my opinion.  I didn’t realize that when I filled my TWO suitcases (for a three day trip) in order to have various “options” in apparel and footwear, I would be lugging them downwards towards possible doom just hours later.  Not ONLY would I be carrying the 30-40 pound bags to (maybe) imminent death, I would be doing it in high heels.  This was the scariest part of Chicago. 

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Heather and I left straight from work on Thursday.  I had already packed my two suitcases the night before, and swiftly moved them into Heather’s vehicle for our ride to the airport.  Leaving straight from the day job meant I would be donning my work outfit all night.  This is the reason I was wearing heels when we landed in Chicago, a little after 9pm.

Once we arrived at Midway, H’s friend, Lisa, met up with us at the baggage claim.  The three of us trekked out of the terminal and headed towards the station for the “L” (Chicago’s public transportation train system).

I had never ridden the “L” before, and by the way I became entangled in the metal arms of the turnstile, one would think I’d never walked through one of those either.

“What?? You mean a woman and two suitcases won’t fit through this entrance AT THE SAMETIME???”  (My thoughts.)

I struggled for what felt like ten minutes, backing up and retrying to pass through the thing, angling my body and suitcases in various positions.  Eventually, I figured out that if I chucked my suitcases through first, I could walk through afterwards like a normal human being.

Pretty sure the security guard was shaking his head a little bit and feeling my shame radiate like the rays of a thousand suns.  After surviving the metal monster, we boarded our train…..

The walls were covered with advertisements for some YouTube “celebrities” who I had never heard of, showing off their fancy cupcakes and makeup.  Various strangers entered and exited the “L” as we journeyed to our stop.  At one point, a gentleman walked in, sat down, and proceeded to blatantly stare at me for a solid ten minutes.  I can only assume that he could see my “turnstile shame” from earlier and was laughing hysterically at me in his head. 

“Look at all the klutz-shame glowing in this girl’s face!! Ha ha!! She must have recently done something idiotic in public…it’s shining off of her like the RAYS OF A THOUSAND SUNS!!!!!!!”  (The Stranger’s thoughts.)

several stops later, we exited…..

And there it stood…..

in all its scary splendor. ….

(pause for effect………………………………………..now read the next line in a booming, exaggerated, echoed voice….)

Bum, bum, buuummmmmmm………..The staircase from HELL! 

It glared at me with it’s grate-like steps, and I am fairly sure I heard a sinister laugh emanating from its depths.  I peered down into the dark and wondered if I would survive.

For a moment, I contemplated removing my heels…but the thought of stepping barefoot onto the unknown Satan-metal was too unnerving.

I took a few deep breaths and began my descent.  In my mind, I could see myself toppling head over suitcases over heels to the cement, breaking my ankles, arms and neck.  I am pretty sure that not even Heather or Lisa would have been able to help me if I fell.  In fact, since they were ahead of me, I would have most likely knocked them over the railing on my way down, and we would all end up as splatters on the street!

Still, I continued…..

Three steps done….stop, gain balance…..three more steps….twist ankle slightly sideways…..catch my balance….two more steps…..stop, gain composure…lean against the railing for DEAR LIFE…(repeat this about four times)….

Finally, after an AGONIZING 3 minutes, I was safe on solid ground.  I won…I beat it…..I WAS UNSTOPPABLE!! 

The stairway didn’t lead to death after all!!!  It merely led to the streets of Chicago.

RandoThoughts

A couple random things..

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I have this BAD habit of leaving a mug half full of coffee on my desk, undrank….unused…sad…and forgotten.

Not today. Today, I am chugging it so that I won’t have a caked-on-goopy mess in my mug, come Monday! 

Besides, I smile every time I pick up my mug, because it rests on a coaster that holds the face of Ron Burgundy, and when I see it, I then quote “Anchorman” in my head while drinking my bev.  Good times….Stay classy, San Diego.

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Sometimes, I get the urge to walk around with something on my face, just to see if anyone will notice or point it out to me….

Then, the urge passes….

And I remove the fake mustache.

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Password Changes

If you’ve worked at an office or on any sort of computer for your job, you’ve probably seen the annoying “It’s Time to Change Your Password”  message that pops up from time to time.  The first time this message comes up, it normally gives you around 14 days in which you can decide on a new password.  This is a good thing.  Personally, I need that mental preparation for such a big change.  After typing the same thing in, day after day, for months and months…to make me change it seems almost cruel. 

But, at least there is that cushion……..unless……..

YOU ACCIDENTALLY HIT ENTER ON THE “YES” BUTTON, BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T HAVE YOUR COFFEE YET AND BASICALLY, THE WHOLE “ABILITY TO READ” THING HASN’T QUITE SETTLED IN FOR THE DAY!!!

They should have a second option after hitting “yes” that reads, “Are you sure?  That wasn’t an accidental finger tap, right?”

Then maybe even add a third pop-up message that says, “You’re seriously ready to do this?? I hope your finger isn’t spasming!”

But no…there are no second or third chances.  THERE’S ONE….ONE chance to make that mistake!

So you undergo that moment of dread, anger, and ultimately PANIC!!!!!  Because no one wants to be the person who changes their password and then forgets it the next day, resulting in a call to the IT department, and cementing the fact that in those peoples’ minds, you must be an idiot!!  NO ONE WANTS THAT!

In the past, this has happened to me, and in my crazy, angry state, I changed my password to:

FUCKP@S$WORDS$UCK!T

…..and after a few minutes, and a few deep breaths….I realized that I was going to be stuck typing in my anger for months.  Not only that, but I would probably forget which symbols I used to sub in for the different letters!! 

**SHIT**

So then, I wrote my password down, and I hid it under my keyboard, just HOPING that no one would happen to find it and think I was a psychopath.  I also crossed my fingers in hopes that IT would never need to ask for my password for any reason, because if I told them what it was, they would assume I was cussing them out, and again, I’d just look like a crazy.  I COULD claim to have Tourette Syndrome…then MAYBE all would be forgiven.  (Yes, this crossed my mind.)

By the way, this happened several years ago, so no….my current password is not an angry one…..maybe not.

Have a happy Tuesday…and don’t let your pinky slip onto that ‘enter’ button too hastily!

Power…Jinxed.

All I really wanted was some morning caffeine.  Just a little bit of energy….Oh! Who am I kidding?? I wanted ALL THE ENERGIES coursing through my veins!!!!  I wanted to be able to SLAM THROUGH WALLS, to TOPPLE DOWN THE ROOFTOPS, to……

Okay–Not really………I had no desire to smash walls or buildings or any other “Hulkish” activities.

My desire, TRULY, was to consume an energy drink…of ANY sort!  Sure, typically I prefer to drink a Monster, but since I had no time today to run  to the store to buy one, I mentally settled on purchasing whatever drink was available in the first floor’s vending machine.  My mind was set…even though I didn’t want to be tempted by all the beautiful junk items downstairs, I had to take that risk….for me….for caffeine…..FOR MANKIND.

I forced Heather to join me in my trek…no one wants to endure a “walk of shame” alone.

The elevator ride down the eleven floors was electric with anticipation; I smiled at what I knew would be coming my way.

One minute later, Heather and I stood before the glorious, food/beverage-giving machines.  I quickly skimmed the rows of drinks, and my hopes began to diminish….I couldn’t see anything but soda, juice, and water.

BUT THEN………..

There it was.  The row on the bottom left held the power.  The drink stood proudly in a shiny, red can with the word, “VENOM” plastered across the front.  The words continued around the can, and all I could see of them was “Death Adde…..”

This….was…THE ONE.  It was death in a can, and I WANTED IT.  I could almost feel the energy flowing through the vending machine glass….

A smile spread across my face as I read the price: $2.25; I had brought $8 with me.  I was FULLY prepared.

I fed the appliance my three dollar bills and pressed the designated Letter/Number combination for the can of joyness.

The arm-like apparatus for retreiving beverages began moving up…..it passed the row with my drink….then it moved back down…passing it again….then it moved up and stopped, as if it was contemplating its life.

“Wait for it…..waaaaait for it……”  I began to drool.

*kerplunk, kerchink, ding, ding, kerching….*

Those are the noises the machine made when it spit $3 of quarters back at me.

“WHAT THE—-??  NO!”

I couldn’t believe it…I WOULDN’T stand for this!  I began to furiously insert the quarters into the machine…25 cents…50…75…1 dollar…1.25…1.50….I smiled as I force-fed the machine….but then….

*kerching*

Puzzled, I tried to insert a different quarter.

**KERCHINK**

I then began rapidly thrusting quarter after quarter into the machine…It only needed three more quarters to reach the desired price….Just…three…more!!!!

**Ching, Ping, Plunk, Plink…**

“WHY WON’T YOU TAKE THE QUARTERS THAT YOU JUST GAVE ME????” I yelled at the machine.

Heather is sitting back in horror, and probably wondering why she agreed to travel downstairs with a crazy person.

I kept INSISTING on trying again and again! 

“It’s jinxed!  It HAS to be!! SOMEONE JINXED this fucking thing!!!”

I press the button for the machine to give my quarters back to me again….and attempt to bribe the thing once more….but TO NO AVAIL.

“It’s right THERE! It’s staring me in the face!  MY SOURCE OF POWER IS TRAPPED IN A GLASS CAGE! Whyyyyyyyyyyy!!????????????”

I resist the urge to bang my head on the glass and then slump down into a pile of defeat.

Retrieving my handful of quarters from the spiteful vending jerk, I turned to leave, my face covered in mortified disappointment and anger.

I could feel the pity from Heather glancing at me, but it gave no consolation.

And now…….

I DO want to smash something!

How Does Numbers…?

 “Come on ibuprofen with pseudoephedrine!  DON’T FAAAAAIL ME NOW!!!!”  (That’s me, talking—or yelling, rather –to the medicine that I just placed into my stomach.)

60 minutes later…

JUST…WORK!!!!  TAKE AWAY THE THROBBING TEMPLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Takes another ibuprofen-cold medicine.**

You know that point where sinus pressure gets so strong that you feel like if you pulled all of your teeth out, it would give you relief?  Yup….I am there….WHERE ARE THE FUCKING PLIERS!!!???

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Who had the first cold ever?  Who STARTED this shit??  I would say that someone needs to smack ‘em in the face, but I’m sure they’re already dead.

20 minutes later…

The 2nd dose worked.  PHEW!

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60 minutes later…

Now I feel all loopy.  It COULD be the fact that I took cold medicine AND drank a Monster this morning….but I’m not sure.  All I know is that everything seems slightly funny and nonsensical at the moment.

Numbers? What is…numbers……..and ……….dollar sign?  Is that number?…………2187++1+1+4+-/4++1+=? 

**Plays calculator like a piano.**

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60 more minutes later…

Just when I thought I had a firm grasp on numeric figures again, I decided to go to cardio class.  People…noticed a difference in my behavior, I guess.  And suddenly, I forgot how to count again. 

“Hold a squat for 20 seconds and 10 seconds and 10 times? …. What? What does that mean?…..  A year of squat holds?  No! I’m standing up!…I said I am STANDING UP!!!…Why are you counting on your fingers…What? Squat-hold?  Fine….. Who are you, again?”

**Slightly neurotic laughter for 2 minutes straight**

(By the way, Readers, my trainer’s website, www.hardcortraining.com ,is now live.  So definitely check it out!  He’ll even put up with you if you’re all hopped up on cold medicine!)

 

Why I Shouldn’t Play Pranks

I am in a rush to work out today.  Running later than usual to my cardio session, I still have a smile on my face.  This is not just an average grin, but one of the ornery variety.  It reflects the feelings of pure joy I have at my previous creativity! 

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Ever since Christmas-time, I have had a bottle of Elmer’s Washable Clear School Glue at my desk.  This was originally used for a fun/silly contest that involved the decorating of a Christmas tree picture.  Obviously, the “season of giving” is over, but I still have an almost-full bottle of glue!

Yesterday, I earnestly messaged Heather for a stroke of inspiration.  What should I do with it??  I wanted to use it so badly!! 

I thought to myself, “There must be SOME fun thing I could do with this, something that needs mending or decorated!!”

No clear thought came to me until today.

Even though I was busy all day, I was able to find a few minutes this morning to boost my office morale and USE MY AWESOME, CLEAR GLUE!!  The plan was masterful, yet subtle.  I could tell you what I did here, but on the off chance that the victim reads my blog, I shall leave it out.  I only hope that my little prank isn’t so subtle that it doesn’t get noticed for a week—this is possible. 

But, I can wait….oh yes….I am patient.

But I digress!  Back to the locker room–where I’m quickly changing into my workout garb and hoping that the next round of exercises won’t be in full swing until I emerge.

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I’m dressed.

I grab a pony-tail holder and begin to sweep my hair up and out of my face.

THIS is when I realize that my simple little prank somehow went awry.  There, just above my ear, I feel it.

Something as hard as rock…something……………….. stuck in my hair!

An expression of utter puzzlement crosses my face, and then the epiphany slams into me like a ton of bricks!!

I HAVE GLUE IN MY HAIR!!!

At the very moment this realization hits, a pounding begins…

It’s not my head…

It’s not my imagination….

It’s the fitness trainer!! 

Cory’s knocking on the door to let me know that “HEY…..WE WERE GOING TO WAIT FOR YOU, BUT YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY TAKING AN HOUR IN THERE TO CHANGE!”  (At least, that’s what I imagine is going through his head….)

But everyone who is out there waiting on me–they just DON’T KNOW!!

I have a horrible “Something About Mary” type of situation, and the only way to remedy it might be too awful to imagine!!!

I begin to panic, clawing at the clump, to no avail!  I pull out my brush and swipe, SWIPE, SWIPE at the glued hair!!  It finally begins to come loose, and I start picking at it again, like some desperate sort of caged animal who is close to escape!!

It won’t all come out….it’s somehow managed to BOND ITSELF to my hair!  The glue has completely engulfed my DNA, mated with my hair follicle, and it is a part of me!!  There’s only ONE WAY TO BE RID OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**YANK**

**TEAR**

**SCRAPE, SCRAPE**

**RIIIIIIIIIIP**

It is done. 

A triumphant smile returns to my face as I waltz into the fitness room.

This is why I shouldn’t play pranks.

Today’s Random Thoughts, Non Sequiturs, Etc.

The boss man leaves to acquire some Chipotle.

I stare at my half-eaten grapefruit…and its juice stings my papercut.

THE DAY IS FULL OF INJUSTICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Stabs Grapefruit.*

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I remember the first time I did my own taxes, when I was seventeen.

The manual forms were found at the library.

It was EZ!!!!!  Ha!! Ha ha ha!!!

(Pretty sure I’m the only one laughing at my made-up joke.)

**Crickets Chirp.**

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Someone is coughing incessantly across the room full of cubicles.

They must be eating a grapefruit, too.

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I have an orange bell pepper in my lunchbox today.  I cut it up this morning; half of it gets added to my sandwich, and the other half, I eat on the side.  One of the pieces had some seeds left on it.  I debated on eating it anyways, but then remembered that in OTHER peppers, the seeds are the hottest part! 

So, what if this mild bell pepper had a secret HOT KICK…found…in its evil seeds!!!!!???

I threw the evil seed into the trashcan.

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(20 minutes later)

**Googles Bell Pepper Seeds.**

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Cat Ass Trophy

My morning began with the rude awakening of gagging sounds.  To be more precise, what I heard was my cat, retching and ATTEMPTING to cough up a hairball…..

ON……………………MY…………………….HEAD! 

Even in my fuzzy state of sleepiness, I realized what was about to happen.  My eyes bolted open wide as I swooped my arm around LIKE A SAMURAI wielding a sword, and flung the offensive animal to the floor.  I shot out of bed and followed him quickly, then snatched him up and ran him to the bathroom.  I opened the toilet and willed him to barf into it, but instead, he took the “stiff legged/claws out/kitty panic” approach. 

Apparently, scaring a cat by holding it over toilet water will momentarily CURE it of hairballs.

He was a NEW CAT….nothing bugged him whatsoever, and his throat was clear!! 

“What’s a hairball!?? MEOW!  Eff you.” (That is what I imagine he was saying to me.)

By the way, this lovely affair happened at 4am.

(Fast Forward to this evening.)

I arrived home, ready for a quick workout and to prepare my grocery list.  When I walked into the bedroom, however, I found that our sweet Buddy-cat had decided to FINISH WHAT HE STARTED! (Read this in a booming voice, with an echo.  It’s dramatic.)

  Not only was hairball vomit dried into the carpet next to the bed, but there was more on the comforter.  That cat must’ve KNOWN we had just washed the comforter two days ago.  HE MUST HAVE KNOWN!!!

A few ACTUAL phrases that were yelled to Buddy Van Bizzle Dizzle today:

“NO, Buddy!! Quit licking the soy sauce!!”

“Maple syrup isn’t for cats,either…and damn it, quick licking the soy sauce!!!”

“Leave the fish alone!! JUST LEAVE them alone!!”

“That is NOT your TV…No…No, it’s not!!  I said NO!!!”  (He was arguing by screaming mews on that one.)

“No biting, you little mew-mew!!”

“You can’t have the sink water…get down.  Buddy…get…down…..No!  Your bowl is full of fresh ice water! Get off the sink!”

“Leave the dog’s balls out of it…..Just do the karate roll down the stairs instead!  I said no ball! NO BALL BITES!!!”

Now, I have to go….before our cat manages to knock over the fish tank.

Bunny Boxes

Remember being a kid?  There was no need to pay bills, no need to work.  Your biggest worries were how to hide the play dough that fell into the carpet and what ingenious way you could come up with to avoid cleaning out the animal cages.  (At least, in my case, this was something that concerned me, because we had several pet rabbits.)

Cleaning the rabbit cages was a daunting, three-hour long task.  (As an adult, they would have been a ten minute task, but as a child, you know how we liked to stretch those things out, because THEY ARE THE WORST THINGS IN THE WORLD AND THEY WERE RUINING OUR LIVES IN THAT ONE MOMENT.) 

Maybe that’s just me, but I’d like to think I was perhaps a somewhat normal kid.

During the process of cleaning out a bunny litter box, I apparently thought that swinging was involved.  I’d go to the back yard with the offending box, along with a trash bag, and I’d begin to dump it.  Halfway through the stinky chore (about 20 seconds into it, to be exact), I would decide to take a break and go swinging.  I only swung back and forth on the swing-set a few times. (In other words, I spent about 20 minutes on it.)  Then, I would return to my task.  The litter would be dumped, and the next step involved soap and a hose.  These were the days where clumping litter either didn’t exist or we just weren’t going to spend money on the expensive litter for a few little rabbits.

Did you know that rabbits can pee and poop the equivalent of twenty cats in ONE DAY??? I don’t have the actual back-up for this, but I’d say it’s fairly accurate, based on my “research” and experience.

Obviously, that much crap is HEAVY for an 8-year-old, and generally speaking, it called for another break (aka more swinging).  Then, while swinging, it was a requirement in my mind to sing EVERY DISNEY SONG I HAD EVER HEARD at the same time.  This really didn’t take too long.  (Fine…it actually took another hour….but it was nice weather outside, and bunny boxes were….”Wait…what are bunny boxes?  Was I supposed to be doing something else?…..I just remembered another song!”)

Eventually, I returned to my chore and finished it….see how this awful task takes three hours??? 

I’ll never own rabbits in my adult life.  They’re soft and cuddly, and sometimes they play fetch (seriously, one of our bunnies played fetch with one of my stuffed animals), but until they can clean up after themselves, forget it!

Now I have to go…because the kitchen needs cleaned….

I think we should purchase a swing-set.

I Will Personify ANYTHING.

When I was 7 or 8 years old, I misunderstood what that button on the hairdryer plug was for.  I knew that it had something to do with the outlet and electricity, so automatically assumed that it was a dangerous button to push.  Even though I know better now, I still have my reservations when pushing it these days.

This morning, my hairdryer wouldn’t turn on.  I unplugged, re-plugged, pressed that little button with hesitancy…nothing.  I unplugged it, re-plugged it into a different socket, pressed that creepy button again…..AGAIN–nothing. 

I was left standing undressed, hair sopping wet, and no hair dryer….and I had to leave in 5 minutes for an appointment.

“CRAP!”

I threw the failure of a dryer back into its holding spot (aka the towel rack, because we have hardly any counter space in the bathroom) and called it names! 

“You’re a dirty dryer, and you FAIL AT LIFE!!!  Why can’t you just DRY, stupid dryer!!!”

(I also made some sort of nonsensical angry noises, in case the dryer doesn’t speak English.)

I’m pretty sure it smirked back and stuck its tongue out at me.  Obviously, my habits have rubbed off onto it.

Sighing at my bad example being picked up by lifeless objects, I had an epiphany!

There was salvation in my gym bag in the form of a teeny-tiny hairdryer, one that was originally made/sold for traveling purposes.  (Or, maybe it was made for small rodents after a rainy day….)

THIS THING SUCKS AT DRYING ANYTHING! 

But, it was all I had.

I cursed my other drying device, and went about the task of styling my hair with a brush and the squirrel-sized bathroom appliance.  I wondered if any of my backyard squirrels would like to borrow it sometime…it would be perfect for their TAILS.  Then again, they don’t have electricity in trees.  This thing is practically worthless.

About a hundred years later, my hair was dry, I was dressed and walked out the door to my car.

I turned the key.

Guess what else didn’t want to start this morning!!!  THE HAIR DRYER AND MY CAR WERE IN CAHOOTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  There was NO OTHER possible explanation!!!

I felt frustrated; I also felt that someone should install one of those hairdryer buttons on cars, because generally they work.  (Just not today.)  I may be afraid to push it, anyways….

Luckily, the second try at turning the ignition key convinced my car that the hairdryer is actually a crazy bitch, one that no one should be in cahoots with, and it started right up.

“Take that, you stupid hairdryer!!!!!!  You just lost your PARTNER IN CRIME!!!!”

 

Zombie-Mode

During the week, I feel like I am a responsible person when it comes to eating, for the most part.  I pack my lunch, making sure to have my proteins and veggies and nuts, etc for each meal.  I plan on what to make for dinner (unless I’m working that night), and I tend to steer clear of dessert.

Then, the weekend hits.

Generally, I think my brain goes into “zombie mode”.  I know that when most people refer to this, they may be talking about someone who hasn’t slept much and isn’t thinking clearly.  In this case, I’m talking about the “I see what I want to eat and I will chase after it and bite anything and everything in my way” mode.

This is my only explanation for last night.  After working during the afternoon/evening, then going to band practice, and THEN heading home, it had been a full NINE hours since my last meal!!  That is 20 days* in Zombie-time!!!!!

I arrived home and stormed through the door.  I saw NOTHING around me!! Not my husband, not my cutesy kitty cat, and not even my furry pup-dog!  I COULDN’T LOOK AT THEM, LEST I TRY TO EAT THEM!!!!! 

The first thing I could grab to devour was a bag of chips!  AND CHEESE!—We had a jar of SALSA CON QUESO! 

What “zombie mode” person could resist something that looks like it has BRAINS mixed in it!!!??  

And FUCK a plate!!–I was eating that stuff STRAIGHT from the bag and jar!  I would have stuffed my face in the bag if I thought I could get away with it.  (Or DID I stuff my face in that bag?  I don’t rememember.  I blocked that out, if I did.)

“Crumbs on the couch?? What couch?  WHAT’S A COUCH??  I only see food here!!!! AND IT SHALL ALL BE IN MY STOMACH SOON!!!!!!!!!!” 

I even stuffed some into the Hubb’s mouth.  (“Here, Honey…..EAT THIS NOW!!! RAWWWWWRRR!!!!”)

 

 

*I may or may not have an evidence for the ratio of people time versus zombie time.  This has yet to be proven.

Also, the ending of this blog may or may not be a SLIGHT hyperbole.

Have a nice day. :)