The Weekend from Hell 2: Hellier

Hi friends!

Remember my last post, when I exhausted the topic of "fly-type things" and my slaughtering of them? WEEELLLLLLLLL, guess what? I had the honor of discovering what these fly-type things are. This is what they look like:

Accurate Portrayal

If you are stupid like me, you would simply have basked in the rays of winning a battle against evil nameless bugs and would have needed to wait until you got a tenting notice for your apartment to tell you that you did not win the battle against these mighty bugs. In fact, you lost. BIG TIME. Because those are fucking termites. And if you don't know about termites, apparently, they're bad and stuff. At least, that's the word on the street, and words on the street tend to be legit (example: "crack is whack"--well known words found on the street).

I stared at the notice for a good 10 minutes. Not totally sure how this was gonna work. I have my cat, Mimi, as I'm sure you all know since I mention her in every post. And the landlord was offering to put us up in a hotel that didn't allow animals (and, subsequently, happiness). So, Mimi and I packed our bags and drove south for the border (of LA county) to be with our BFF, Lairin Paris, in Redondo Beach.

Let's just say Mimi hates car rides about as much as I hate the Twilight Series. However, Mimi's hatred manifests itself differently than mine:

Why don't you just write a paper deconstructing the subject matter to appease yourself, Mimi?

As with all car rides, in which Mimi sits in the passenger seat, I try to calm her. I soothingly remind her that I love her and I won't let anything bad happen to her. In between shifting gears, I put my hand on her carrier and attempt to pet her through the plastic. I probably should be getting in a million car accidents when I drive with her, but miraculously I don't, Ceiling Cat is obviously looking out for me.

Interior of car doesn't look this awesome.

At a certain point, I just give up with the comforting attempts. This was a long drive down to Redondo Beach. And in between the breaths of each useless cry emanating from Mimi's little mouth, echoing in my head, I realized I should never have children. I think a dog is as far as I can go on the sole responsibility-dependent spectrum. I know I'm young or whatever, BUT HOLY CRAP, THE STRESS AND THE ANGER THAT RISES FROM IT.

Because this was the longest car ride that Mimi has been on (since she's been with me), she decided to go slightly (and by "slightly" I mean "totally") ape shit. Rather than simply continue on with the pleading meows--each one a kitten dagger in my heart (worse than regular daggers)--Mimi decided that this was the appropriate moment to reenact a scene from the illustrious film, Alien.

Cat Carrier= John Hurt's belly in film

Reference for you n00bs out there.

Now, I'm not sure who showed her this film (or why she would be a fan of it) but she was reenacting the shit out of it. It was an homage of sorts, which successfully scared at least one year off my life span.

I had decided, prior to our exodus to Redondo Beach, that on my way back home I would take Mimi to the veterinarian-- just to terrorize the bejesus out of her (and also because she had some rash-type stuff going on). So, the plan was stay with Lairin for a few days, drive back up on Saturday, go to the vet, then return home to my termite-free apartment. It became abundantly clear while at Lairin's place that Mimi wasn't suffering from benign rashes, but from fleas, exacerbating the probs. And I know what those megalomaniacal assholes look like and I was not pleased to see one practicing its dance moves on Mimi. Unlike the termite debacle, I knew that I could not win this battle on my own. I didn't have a cathartic smashing of fleas like I did with the termites, at least in that situation, I felt like I showed them who was boss by punching them in the face.

Naturally, I trick Lairin into coming to the vet with me using my tricksy ways. I was prepared for Mimi's antics in the car ride and decided to not care, letting Lairin bear that burden:

 

We go to the vet definitely looking like a lesbian couple with their cat (see: Zuzu and Sparks). This may not have been in our favor as we happened to sit next to a forty-ish-year-old man with an awesome dog. The man in question was not super attractive, but then he started to speak... with a Scottish accent. And all of a sudden, he was silver fox stud muffin. While talking to us about how his dog liked to lick feet, Lairin sent me this text:

 

But then he went away and we were able to focus on the issue at hand. The whole debacle turned into a vet bill bigger than how much I paid for Mimi in the first place. And I was informed that I needed to give her a special allergy, flea bath. I looked at Lairin with pleading eyes (my tricksy ways weapon of choice). And she had no way out, I had the sweet ride that would drive her home and I bribed her with food (sealed the deal). 

Upon our return to my apartment (still smelling of noxious fumes), the cat bathing commenced:

 

So, en sum, that weekend was off. da. chain. It also happened to correspond with my first year anniversary with Mimi as my cat and she was seriously thinking about breaking it off, but then really thought about the consequences of that, so she's sticking with me, but only after we "had a talk." [She really just meowed at me and my eyes glazed over and I just said "mmhmm" a bunch of times--seemed to placate her].

Here's her looking surprisingly serene after the bath:

...which scene from Alien should I reenact next?

Special Connex

So I am heading to Croatia this evening. This past week has been a daily insanity of wrapping things up before I leave for nearly three weeks. Hours and hours of errands. Finally, today, I'm doing my packing. My cat has been watching me, swiping at things, smelling things, and stepping on my computer periodically throughout this process. I decided to double check my packing list I had on my computer when I finished:

Yeah, that about sums up how I feel inside.

Procrastination Station

In an effort to avoid writing a paper on the Legend of Good Women by Chaucer, I am doing this post.

My cat, Mimi, whom you have met, likes to just crawl over my keyboard when I'm on the computer. I have been tempted many-a-time to just turn in a paper with Mimi's efforts all over it. Another thing she likes to do is sit on my chest when I'm on my computer, so it's impossible to type, but it's so cute that I can't move her:

[Note: this is mostly done in the morning when I am checking my email and haven't gotten out of bed].

Anyway, so the other day she decided to crawl on my keyboard and I was on the interwebs. Her typing opened up a new tab in Firefox, which offered help and this image:

Now, I know it's supposed to be a fox of sorts, but that to me is sexy cat nurse. Mimi knew what she was doing when pulling up that page.

And on that note, I'd like to share this delectable photo of Little Girl whom you've also met, as she just looks like a grade-A bitch and it's hilarious:
Now, unlike Mimi, she just doesn't give a fuck about that cat nurse.

How To Hate An American Quilt

So I know I just did a post about my highly scientific method for making a quilt, but I needed to share the following pictures. I don't know if it was the fact that I was giving a lot of attention to the quilt or what, but my cat, Kipling, basically hates the quilt now. Literally, the second I put it down he tried to body block me from picking it back up. This resulted in some interesting pictures. Again, this post is mostly for Dodo and Kleine...


Kipling had only been living with us one week at this point.

I should have seen the signs. 

Subtly telling me to go screw myself.

 



Skidding to a halt on top of the quilt.

 



Sparks trying to help me get a Kipling free picture.

Pretty much he owns this quilt through squatters' rights or something.



You will have nightmares.

And I don't think it's just Kipling who has a problem with the quilt. Our family's dog, Heidi, didn't seem to happy about me working on it either...

Heidi hating on the quilt.



The quilt seemed to depress her more than Kipling, though.

Okay, I am now officially done talking about myself for a while. Also I apologize if any part of these two last posts sounded anything like this, because I do not want to go to there.

xoxo
zuzu

Sweat. Sweat Everywhere.

So, I am an English major and decided (yes, DECIDED) to apply to the honors thesis program. The honor being--to write a thesis. I asked to do this, it was not forced, but of my own volition. Which, I sometimes need to remind myself when I'm up to my neck in books focusing on 16th century lady times.

There are 11 of us in the program and we all have to do a presentation. And the first round of presentations happened yesterday--naturally, I was the FIRST to present. AKA super scary times. I actually was a bit taken aback at my own nervousness. I usually pwn at presentations (and talking, in general). [Fun fact: I won the English Department's poorly-titled, "Oral Communications Award" TWICE in high school].

Thankfully, Dodo was there for moral support and provided copious amounts of enthusiastic head nods when I looked out into the audience. Now, once I hit the front of the room, my nervousness decided to take its form in PROFUSE SWEATING. I guess, it could have been worse, I could have had a shaky voice, stutters, just straight-up collapsed, or vomited on myself. And, let me tell you dear readers, the sweat floweth mostly from my arse, which I suppose has its perks. It would have been far more noticeable and embarrassing if I was sweating all over my face. But, I guess I never knew how much an ass could sweat in a not-hot environment. Literally, a drip went down my leg in the middle of the presentation. Luckily, I was wearing a skirt that went past my knees, so no one saw (I also distracted the audience with an impromptu nip-slip).

I, for sure, left the podium with pit stains, so I refrained from doing my victory dance, which was a personal disappointment, but also confirms my suspicions that deodorant is giant, fucking scam.

I know this post has no photos, so allow me to give you this one, which is totally unrelated and just displays my 7-year-old cat, Mimi, being Cutez McGee on my backpack:

In relation to Zuzu's post about animals and their being wild and likely killing you...my boyfriend has been away for several months, with a few visits here and there. My first time really living alone for extended periods of time.

A few weeks ago I was eating something and it went down the wrong pipe, crazed coughing ensued and it sounded like a lung would come up. I drank a ton of water and then I was fine. Then I thought, what if I had croaked! My cat totally would have been like "Oh no! Foodbowl filler died!" and then in about a day or two would have eaten my face or something that they show on 60 Minutes. People try to act like this isn't a likely truth about their pet, but I kind of know it's true about mine. I think this picture says it all.

Cats, In So Many Words

Zuzu, Dodo, and I grew up with a cat named "Little Girl." When I found her, at the tender age of 8, she weighed less than a pound and fit in your hand. She has since blossomed into a bodacious babe, so the name is more ironic than descriptive.

Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:

Now, Little Girl lives a lavish life with my mom. Because of the size of her body, she has trouble jumping up on beds (her space), but if attempt to help her up, she acts as if she doesn't really need the help. Point is, this cat has got some attitude--not an attitude that results in scratches or bites--just straight 'tude.

Anywho, I was home for approximately 3 seconds this past weekend as it is now my Spring Break. While home, I noticed a new tradition in the world of the big LG. My mom gives Little Girl treats before she goes to bed. On my first night, my mom handed the bag to me and told me to give her the treats in my room (at the other end of the hall). When I went into my room and shook the bag, I saw a sight I had never before seen--Little Girl running (and, by running, I mean trotting) down the hall with excitement, her large belly sweeping the floor as she went.

When telling Dodo, Zuzu, and Sparks of this event, they insisted I get video evidence of this. I was able to do this successfully on my last night. This is really only meant for those who know, and appreciate, the greatness of Little Girl.