Sunday, February 27, 2011

A is for Agoraphobia

This weekend was one of those weekends that remind me of this oft-forgotten scenario: if I really, really, REALLY put an effort forth, and as long as I crush and mix a few extra Adderalls into my morning cocktail, and assuming that I'm not suffering from some sort of explosive diarrhea due to eating expired Twinkies again, AND as long as I don't have a really good pile of magazines to catch up on (Thank baby Jeebus that Dog Flosser Aficionado only comes out bi-monthly!)...

...only then am I capable of being a productive human being who actually invites contact with other human beings and does "stuff" and "things". This was one of those golden weekends.

Here is some of the "stuff" and "things" that I did this weekend, in no particular order, and in bullet form as I know that non-bullet form gives you a rash in your crotchal region:
  • Friday I was supposed to be subjected to a full day of work-related lectures and "breakout sessions" (which I found out- both to my relief and disappointment- had nothing whatsoever to do with pimples).  An hour and a half in, I decided that my time would be better spent doing pretty much anything else.  Seriously- I could have spent the rest of the day thinking of creative uses for cocktail weenies and I could have chalked the day up in the "win" column.  I could have given my cats cornrows and I would have felt that I had accomplished more, such was the suck.  So...In an effort to recreate the 1987 me, I ditched class and went to the mall.  I also took up smoking and renewed my love for Aqua Net hairspray, but that is neither here nor there.  I bought a bag (extra 30% off), had cocktails with my girl Blondie, bought a straw hat I may never wear, had a boring quesadilla, and then I went home and ordered the treadmill that my winterized, doughy butt needs and my lovely tax return will provide.  A good day, overall. 
  • Saturday was a bit more lively.  It was snowing and slippery here, and here you can see the result of running errands in snowy, slippery weather: 

  • Shortly after Ninjacar's concussion, I was due to judge a cake decorating competition at Mystic Lake Casino- a place I mistakenly thought was 20 minutes or so from my house, but it turns out it is halfway to Iowa and in the middle of a cornfield...or something.  I had also forgotten the smoky, sad, lifeless grossness that most of these casinos have in spades.  I walked in and breathed in the barely recycled air that could only be best described as "thick".  Between the "bong-bong-bong!!!" of the slot machines and the overabundance of NASCAR-related clothing, my poor little brain almost esploded.  I also forgot how, back when people smoked pretty much everywhere, there were little "smoker conveniences" everywhere you went: Ashtrays in armrests, cars actually had electric lighters and not MP-3 jacks, restaurants gave away matches, etc...  Well, that spirit is alive and well at Mystic Lake Casino!  Behold:    
An ashtray firmly secured between the toilet paper dispenser and the Sanitary napkin/tampon litterbox in the little girl's room.  I guess if I smoked, much like writing my memoirs and practicing air guitar, this too would be something I would enjoy doing whilst on the can.  Convenience!

  • The competition was pretty uneventful, other than the fact that there were two (2!) Einstein-related cakes, neither of which I thought to take a picture of, such is my idiocy. A few pics of some I liked: 
 I like peacock feathers.  Pee-cock- teehee. 

 The creatures on this one reminded me of The Oatmeal, which I love. 


 Fish cake.  Mmmm...I hope it's tuna-flavored. 

And I thought this one was just "disco" enough for me. 

  • Other than that, the rest of my weekend, in no particular order so as to not make sense because I like to fuck with you like that:  cat grooming, wine, cleaning, cursing Mother Nature repeatedly, discussing a friend's dog's poo in great detail, buying losing lottery tickets, teaching myself various styles of "jazz hands", polenta for breakfast, shoveling, laundry, ordering pizza, forgetting that I was wearing a white t-shirt with no bra when answering the door in my cold front porch when the pizza guy came and wondering why he looked so happy, having the "birds and the bees" talk with Bubs, texting Gwen, and eating approximately 4.5 pounds of various cheeses in various forms.  
Happy Sunday, my jazzy little fish-flavored cupcakes.  Happy Sunday.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

The one where I become my own punchline. (insert embroidered-sweatshirt joke here)

Yeah.  so...

Did I mention that I have now inherited yet ANOTHER cat due to my sister's house burning to the ground?

(Bitch loves purses almost as much as I do.)
Yeah.  That brings us to four, if you're counting (Which I'm hoping you aren't, for my reputation's sake). 

This one?  She's antisocial, chubby, and smells like smoke. 

Yet I still love the shit out of her.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???? 

Due to her overwhelming odor in the first few days, we named her Bakine.  As in, "Bacon".  She's all hickory-smoked and such.  Is that cruel?  I don't really give a fuck.  She's a cat.  I love kitties.  I give them stupid names- just ask T.J O'Pootertoot and Troubleman.  Such is life.  Live with it. 

And for the record, if you're wondering where I am or what I'm up to these days, just follow the scent of cat litter and look for the girl whose forearms look like she recently escaped from a Taiwanese torture chamber.  I'll be the one who looks like she needs sleeves, FYI.   I have no life beyond scooping litter-covered turds, it seems.
Pray to the baby Jeebus of the sacred used cars for my soul, will you?  I think I need it this time.