Sunday, July 10, 2011

So, What Do Cat Ladies Do When Not Reading Personal Ads Anyway?

Most of you enjoy reading my ramblings because of the strange things I find floating around on the internet, but I often get the question of, "What exactly do you do when you're not scouring dating sites for poor schmucks to make fun of?" I think that's a reasonable question to ask. I am positive that I do other things than lurk on the internet waiting for some socially awkward individual to post a plea for passion. But, the more I thought about it, the less I could come up with for my "wild personal life." But, you deserve an answer, so here you go. Last night was a prime example of my night life.
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Yesterday, I decided to do what any girl would dream of doing on a Saturday night; I organized my shoes. In order for this story to make sense, I will have to come clean and tell you all that I deviate from the standard "cat lady" in a few ways; one of the ways happens to be my deep lust for shoes. I yearn for them in a way that is almost creepy. Normally, the shoes I desire have four inch heels or higher, which causes me to be even more disinterested in dating (if that's possible) due to the fact that Cat Lady + HIGH heels = 6'2"+. And, while that is hawt on some of the women of my acquaintance, I don't really have an urge to see over the head of every single person in SF.

Anyway, back to my story. Last night I finished organizing my shoe collection in the bookcase I just put together to store them in. Yes, I had to put my shoes in a bookcase to store them. I also have a slide-under-the-bed organizer for my flats, and I'm trying to figure out what to do with my boot collection. "What's wrong with a standard shoe-rack?" you  might ask. Let me tell you...

My darling baby cat thinks he's a dog. He plays fetch, follows you around the house, and... he chews on shoes! Yes, you heard it. In less than a month he went through my entire shoe collection. He chewed the heels off the high heels, he chewed the straps off the sandals, he chewed the SHIT out of my flip flops. My gym shower sandals have tooth marks all over them and a big chunk missing out of the right one's toe. Now, most shoe lovers in my position would be forced to skin the cat for such a malicious attack, but I am particularly fond of him. And, it gave me a reason to do what pleases me most... buy more shoes. But this time I had to keep them in their boxes, and the Leaning Tower of Stilettos that was forming in my bedroom was becoming somewhat dangerous to the health of small creatures that like to climb on things. Something had to be done. *ominous, yet exciting  music*

When I embarked on my quest to put my shoes out of harms way I had only planned on putting together my cheap, press-board bookcase, and loading it up with the multitude of shoes I will never have an occasion to wear. Halfway through this project I realized that I needed to put my new sheets on my bed. I ordered a new comforter set (yay Amazon shopping) because my current set looks like the cats have been cutting out strips to slowly build a little satin ladder to use in their daring window escape. (They're still working on how to get past the screen). My new set should be here next week, but it was time to change the sheets anyway (the cat litter was building up) so I stripped my bed down and prepared to change the bedding.

I'm going to have to back up a little bit to have any of this make sense. About a month ago, the far corner of my box spring slipped off the frame and started pointing down. Last night, I decided that I might as well fix that while I had the bed stripped down. (I wanted everything to be perfect for my new comforter set. I would hate for it to feel unwelcome). I remembered being able to maneuver a queen size bed around without much difficulty back when I lived in a quad, but that was before I had the metal headboard and footboard and the whole shebang. And... my bed is HEAVY!!!

No one else was home last night so I figured it would be an excellent idea to do some heavy lifting. First, I dragged the mattress off the bed and with the help of my shoulder, my head, and a conveniently open door I managed to prop it up against the wall. (Please bear in mind that my room isn't exactly what I would term as "spacious"). Then, I pulled the futon that I keep between the mattress and the box spring off. I think whoever made that thing lined it with lead; I think the damned thing weighs more than I do. I was out of room at this point with the mattress and the pile of discarded bedding taking up all available floor space, so I folded the futon up into a cylindrical sack of rocks and pushed it onto the floor at the edge of the bed where I could stand on it. Now I could finally see my saggy box spring and the corner that had slipped off the frame.

There was absolutely no place in my room to put the box spring if I removed it from the frame so I could tighten the screws holding the frame together. So, I did what any normal person would do.... I tucked the Allen Wrench and the pair of pliers I needed to tighten the bolts into my bra and lifted the box spring up so it was supported by my shoulder and the other end on the frame. It was at this point that Mischka couldn't watch his mommy do this alone. So he climbed up the box spring to peer over the top to see what was going on. (Effing cat). Once I finally jostled the thing around enough to get him off the damned thing, I worked my way over to the corner, retrieved my tools and crouched down (box spring still supported on head and shoulder) to tighten the bolts and relocate the slats to where they needed to be to support the box spring.

As I heaved my way back to the edge of the bed where I could military press the box spring off my shoulders/head and start to lower it, Mischka decided to climb across the slats on the frame to inspect what Mom is doing. Did I mention how freaking heavy this thing is??? At this time I was holding the box spring a foot or so above the frame and trying not to drop it on my (retarded) cat. Merely hissing "shoo" at him wasn't registering that he was in the way. In fact, he seemed to be attracted to the "get the eff out of here" noises. I couldn't let go of the box spring with one of my hands to move him because it was too heavy and he was just out of reach. I then decided the best possible action was to nudge him with my foot. (Remember I'm standing on a rolled up futon at this point). So, with all the grace and dignity of a newborn colt I lifted my right leg off of the futon and stretched it to the full extent I could reach to shove the cat in the ass and hopefully inspire his moving off of the slats I wanted to drop this metric ton of box spring onto. Mischka looked indignantly at me and stepped off the slat to drop down to where just his head was poking up above the slats. (Giving me the stink eye the whole time, mind you). That was good enough for me, as I lost my balance and fell on my ass on the futon, dropping the box spring on the frame and gaining victory over the downward-sloping bed. Mischka merely stepped out from under the bed and proceeded to jump on top of the newly situated box frame to look at me face to face. Then he rolled onto his back to demand belly rubs.

That was about how the rebuilding of the bed went after I collected myself from the pile of knees and elbows my graceful futon dismount had turned me into. I would do something, Mischka would inspect and mess it up. Rinse and repeat.
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So there you have it. The exciting life of a cat lady when not playing on the internet. Try not to be too jealous. I also have the joys of scooping cat litter, brushing unappreciative cats to help them deal with the heat, and vacuuming up the drifts of cat fur that summer causes to be left around the house.

Envy me.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Really Amazon? Really???

So, as many of you know, I am an avid Amazon shopper. I love it! It appeals to my inner cat ladyness of not wanting to go anywhere. Especially the store. I HATE the store. In fact, I ordered toothbrush heads the other day because I was that against going to Target. I'm a Prime member, I'll get them in two days... it's perfect. Forget that store-going bull shit!

In addition to loving Amazon, I also love smoothies. They help curb my deep need for sweets by convincing me I'm getting dessert and dinner at the same time. This deception helps quite a bit, as my sweet tooth is more demanding than Chrissy at 5am begging for gooshy food. The unfortunate part of this story is that smoothies require blenders. 

You see, I have a normal blender that happens to be the size of Lebron James' ego (and just as loud). In order for me to have my evening smoothy I have to unplug all other electrical appliances in the house and pass out earplugs to my roommates. The joy of a morning smoothie has never been experienced by me. I deeply desire one of those single-girl sized smoothie makers. I was flipping through one of my Fitness Magazines the other day and saw one that was a blender and a smoothie cup in one! It was amazing; Angels sang and a spotlight shone down from the heavens onto the page that displayed that beautiful piece of equipment. I had to have one.

In a manner completely unlike my normal M.O. I researched many blenders looking for the right one. I rarely read user reviews (because, really, who goes online to say something nice anyway?) but I scoured every user rating available. I needed a specific type. Every blender I looked at on Amazon was a single-serving, blender/mug in one blender. I finallly decided on one and sent away for it. I am quite excited to try it out.

This morning I had to work at the car dealer's. No biggie, I enjoy it here. So, I came to work and settled into my normal, hard-working routine of playing on the internet and sewing. After an hour or two of mindlessly perusing Facebook I decided to see what was going on with my Amazon account. So I logged on, went to my little homepage, and this was the first recommendation for me (and it stated right on the front that it was recommended to me because of my blender):

Because this is exactly what I should have based on my purchase history

Really Amazon? This makes me sad. Although, a friend of mine in Portland, OR did suggest that I just remove one of the seats and replace it with a basket and then I can have my cats ride with me. I'm considering it.

Why I Can Never Sleep With Clint Eastwood

Dear Mr. Eastwood,

May I call you Clint? I do hope so, I am such a huge fan of yours. In fact, you come up in conversation among my friends and I quite frequently. Alright, I admit it it, I bring you up; my friends laugh and agree what a stud you are. I just thought that I should write to you to discuss a few key points that were decided on during a very serious discussion over pomegranate cider at the tasting room we visited.

I'm sure you hear from women all the time about how amazing you are. I've seen many, many, MANY of your movies, and I am quite a fan. In fact, if you were pictured on the front of romance novels I would probably give up reading books with substance and taste altogether. I might even consider sex!

In order to consider all angles on the discussion that we were having I had to do extensive research on you. On GOOGLE!!! Reading your Wiki page was quite enlightening for me. You have had some exploits haven't you, you naughty man?! How many children do you have? With how many women? You give Flavor Flav a run for his money! Well, except for the fact that you're not broke, have talent, and are by far one of the most beautiful men in the history of the entertainment industry. You're 80 years old and are still damned sexy! (In my own humble opinion that is). Although, who knows what you've come in contact with since you became sexually active; you've been having sex with women since the time when Syphilis was common. I can only imagine what kind of crotch rot you could have been exposed to. (And I have a very good imagination, by the way).

The original consensus of our "Phoebe sleeping with Clint Eastwood" discussion was that it could not happen because I would never want to be responsible for the death of an icon. I mean, you are 80 years old, and I am an energetic, physically active, feisty, blonde in her mid 20's. Can you imagine the death threats and hate mail I would get for that? Not to mention the awkward discussion with the press about how I was with you during your final moments. Sure, I would probably get a book deal and an interview with Barbara Walters, but it just wouldn't be worth it. Or would it? It almost sounds like a movie; we could write a documentary and call it "The Woman Who Brought Down an Icon". *insert dark, ominous tones here*

After quite a bit of thought into the matter (several months in fact) I have finally come to a conclusion on why I cannot ever join you between the sheets. Unless it's to spoon. If it's to spoon I will climb right in there, but I get to be little spoon! I refuse to be your human backpack!

Anyway, back to the subject at hand, I have come up with five solid reasons on why we can't have sex...

Top 5 Reasons I Can Never Sleep With Clint Eastwood:
  • If I gave you a heart attack I would never be able to forgive myself. You mean that much to me.
  • I'm afraid you would give me some sort of disease that doctors don't even remember anymore and I would be stuck with some sort of weird growth on my girlie-bits.
  • You are obviously incredibly fertile, and the idea of bearing your illigitimate offspring is somewhat terrifying to me. Although, the child support might be quite lucrative.
  • After the list of women you've been with, I'm afraid I have a little bit of stage-fright and I'm afraid of being somewhat inadequate in the bedroom department.
  • Last, but not least, I would have to have sex in order to have sex with you. I hate to say this because I love you, but I'm a cat lady! We don't have sex!

So, Clint, I am going to have to tell you that we will just never engage in sexual activity. I hope we can still be friends.

All my love,

The Future Cat Lady

P.S. We really can still spoon if you want to!