B.O.R.E.D.E.R

To compound the boredom and really challenge my ability to not do what I should be doing (namely, pack), I am locked in my apartment today.

My front door lock is broken, in that it will not lock from the exterior, so I really can't go anywhere without leaving the door wide open. The door doesn't latch when not locked, so just leaving it and hoping no one breaks in is not an option. Is this a sign from god to stop procrastinating and start packing? If so, am I really going to start listening to god now, especially about something as inconsequential as packing? Probably not.

B.O.R.E.D.

I'm so friggin bored and boring lately. All I do is avoid, avoid, avoid. Need to pack. OR, I could take a bath, take a nap, watch this movie so I can return it to Netflix, re-read In Touch Weekly, take another bath, read a trashy novel, shave my legs, take a nap, and on and on ad infinitum.

With all the things I COULD do, where's the time to do the things I SHOULD do?

If nothing else, I'm clean, well-rested, and caught up on pop culture. But then, when isn't this the case?

Ok, so I'm not always clean.

I'm only in NY for about another week and than it's back to the TC. I'm mostly excited, but also a little sad. I'm starting to be unnecessary at work, people have already stopped asking me to do things, I'm realizing all the things I should have done when I lived here and had the chance, but never did and now don't have time. Like go to the top of the Empire State Building, or visit the Frick, or take the train all the way to Coney Island.

The things I'm excited about moving back to the TC for, though, make up for what I'm missing here, namely - my friends! But also, in no particular order: driving, and being able to haul multiple bags of purchases home without having to carry them many, many blocks. The greatest consignment store ever in St. P. My sweet new pad two blocks from Lake Nokomis and three blocks from BK. Directionless North Shore camping with K-Wa. Weekly movies with TDog. Brunch at the Highland Grill. Quarterly drinks with Mueller at the Groveland Tap. Quick and easy access to nature both within and without the city. Midnight disco bowling at Park Tavern Lanes. Rama dish at Taste of Thailand.

I'm sad and excited. I guess this is what they call Bittersweet. Both sweet and bitter. Bitter and sweet. (Please note completely ironic, deadpan delivery of lyrics.)

I think I just got MJ'd

There comes a time. When we heed a certain call. When the world must come together as one.

This lyric has been in my head all day and I just now realized it's We Are the (fucking) World. I don't know if the lyrics are right, so don't correct me. I don't care.

I was told once that the only way to successfully remove a song from you head is to attempt to replace it with Tina Turner's Private Dancer. Your problem isn't solved simply by replacing the song you can't stop repeating over and over in your head, but Private Dancer has some magical, anti-stick in you head quality that prevents it from, uh, getting stuck in your head. At the same time, it erases the memory of the original song, leaving you with pure, clean silence.

If you believe, it will be true.

In the meantime, There's a choice we're making. We're saving our own lives. It's true we'll make a better day, just you and me. Woo woo woo woo.

I love you cupcake

There is a bakery in my neighborhood that makes insanely good cakes and assorted baked goods. As I'm trying to maintain my girlish figure, and I have no willpower, I avoid this place at all costs.

Now that I'm leaving my neighborhood is Astoria, though, I'm inclined to partake of all the local delicacies I will no longer have access to in a month. Which brings me to the red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. This thing is sick. It's moist and delicious, and when I bring it to parties it's gone in seconds.

I definitely wanted to revisit this delightful treat one last time, but I could hardly justify buying myself a cake, even a small one. As I passed by this afternoon, lamenting that I had no one to share a cake with, what appeared in the window? Not a cake, but a cupcake! A red velvet with cream cheese frosting cupcake.


It was so delicious it's making me rethink my decision to move out of state.

New Neighbors

I looked outside my window this afternoon and saw these guys who have taken up residence on the fire escape.


The kitties LOVE to sit on the windowsill and watch them.

Jack White's a Dick

So, I was hanging out with Jack White at a bar in the lower east side and learned a couple things. What I learned about Jack White is that he is not a monkey, but he may be Albert Einstein.

I asked him to wish my friend a happy birthday (it was her birthday, we were celebrating) to which he replied, "What do you think I am? A monkey in a cage?" I had no response as this seemed a little illogical, so I just asked him again, and he asked me, "If I were Albert Einstein, would you ask me to reconfigure the atom?" Huh?

It got me thinking, though. If Jack White were Albert Einstein, would I ask him to reconfigure the atom (whatever that means)? And if not, what would I ask him? And if Jack White were another dead physicist, what would I ask him? And I realized the potential here is limitless.

So what I'm thinking is, this is the beginning of a great concept album. If Jack White were a dead physicist, what would I ask him? The problem is that I know dick about physics, so I'm going to need some suggestions. So let me know who your favorite physicist is and what you would ask him/her if he/she were Jack White and I'll write a song about it. Or maybe write a poem.

See this belt? Snake belt.

I love me some white boy rappers. Specially when they be rapping bout some Snakes on a Plane.

When BK posted this on her blog, I thought to myself, "self, this shizz cannot be for real." Oh, but it is. And how.

There are motherfuckin snakes on this motherfuckin plane. God, I can't wait for summer.

what the hell?

The cats are trying to kill me, or run me out of town, or make me questions my sanity and purpose, or something. They are pure evil (not from concentrate!).

Tonight's evil presented itself in the form of electrocution!

I'm on the phone with my mom, watching the Gilmore Girls (the height of innocence I dare say), when all of a sudden fireworks start going off to my left and down.

"Whatever could this be?" I ever so innocently inquired?

Well, the baby retrieved a ball of picture wire from a box in the pantry, unraveled it, dragged it to a surge protector, wrapped the wire around the prongs of my battery charger, and proceeded to nearly electrocute herself and myself.

How, you ask, could a twee little kitty have accomplished such a feat? I have no reasonable explanation to that very reasonable question. Evil comes to mind.

I will sleep with one eye open tonight.

Shitstorm

Somehow, while I was out of town, the kitties were unable to access their litterbox and a shitstorm ensued.

As a result of this, I would like to kill myself, but apparently, were I to do that, god would be displeased with me.

I am currently living in an outhouse. I got home last night at 11:00 and was up until around 4:00 am tracking down and cleaning up the poo. Today I disinfected the apartment and disembowled the kitties as punishment.

I did not disembowel the kitties. They would be completely right in punishing me, as it's ultimately my responsibility to make the litterbox fully accessible to them. I guess the poo bombs I encountered in nearly every nook and cranny of my apartment are punishment enough. God, I hope so.

I want this cat.

When google image searching "cat poop," one comes across unexpectedly magical things, like this and this. Anyone who eats this deserves to be killed. Painfully.

Please, think of the kittens.

This is old, but I will never get over how genuinely funny it is.



I first came across this like 5 years ago and thanks to the power of google image search it is now readily and easily retrievable just by entering "god kills kittens" into my google search bar. I love technology.

Can't Buy Me Love

To anyone who says money can't buy happiness, I offer you this:


First off, let me tell you, Sex and the City is a lie. You cannot maneuver around Manhattan in 5" Manolo Blahniks and a) survive the day, or b) have a decent pair of shoes at the end of said day if you do successfully maneuver.

Unless your primary mode or transport is a cab, which is just not reasonable for the average person, you wear comfortable shoes. You live and die by your comfortable shoes. You spend ludicrous amounts on unattractive shoes that offer even the slightest edge in the comfort department.

These shoes are comfortable. They make my feet happy. And happy feet = happy LA. Yay comfy shoes!

Boo on the Left

I'm unhappy with Olive. Not the cat, but the name. It's not sticking.

So, I'm changing her name to Boo. She's my boo. And there are many layers to this name, because she's freakishly skittish, and petting her is basically the equivilent of saying Boo. So, there you have it.



Boo on the left. Respect.

Big Buckin' Chicken

The new BK commercial is hilarious. I have the Big Buckin' Chicken song in my head at all times and it doesn't bother me.

I'm trying to find a link to the commercial, or even just a screenshot, but having no luck.

When did BK start making cool, funny commercials. I guess it all started with the Subservient Chicken, which I still find hilarious.

Now they've got the Whopperettes, the Whopper house with Jr getting into trouble and telling Whopper, Sr. to get his head out of his buns.

Good job BK. I still prefer McDonald's overall, but you're slowly winning me over. Start making delicious french fries and I'll be all yours.

Callin' All My Homies

I can't believe I didn't get a single response to my request for naming of a friend's cute as hell puppy dog.


Bring it, bitches.

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

Baby's got a name. She will henceforth be known as Olive, aka Monster, aka Baby Kitten.


These kids are so friggin cute, but totally destructive. There's nothing I can put on a surface that won't end up on the floor by morning. Things are broken. Things are everywhere. Things are a mess.

This shizz is b-a-n-a-n-a-s.

Pink in the Sink

The pink in the sink commercial freaks me out. I don't know exactly what it sounds like it could mean, but it sounds dirty, and not fun dirty, but like fecal fetish dirty. Everytime it comes on, I cringe and shudder and I long for the day it's out of rotation.

Kittenwar!

This is a fun site. Claude and the baby are in there somewhere. If you happen upon them, VOTE RIGHT!

Sick

I am sick. Hence, the recent lack of posts. Don't give up on me, though, I'll be back on the horse again.

And by horse, I mean heroin.

Am I Cute, or What?

My friend Andrew has the cutest, sweetest puppy and he doesn't have a name! Andrew is having the same problem I am in that he cannot find the perfect name for his new friend.


So, here is your second pet naming assignment of the month. Leave your suggestions in the comments and don't hold back.

Kitty Porn

I'm faced with the uncomfortable fact that my kitties are incestuous lesbian lovers. I love and accept them, but their public fornication is getting a little out of hand. Here they are enjoying post-coital exhaustion in the middle of the living room.




I wish they'd get a room.