GooGooBooBoo

Hi kittens,

And hello to you guys too, but I’m mainly talking to my expansive kitten audience.

I haven’t been feeling very well (kittens, come lay on me please) so that’s why I’ve been mysteriously been absent from WordPressistan. 

But lots of crazy things are happening! Like…

I painted my nails black!

I downloaded a song!

I brushed my hair!

I AM very excited to tell you some big news coming up, but not yet, I don’t put out on the first date. Or the 108th blog post. I don’t know if this is 108, but it should be. It’s a nice number.

I’m working on getting pictures together for my post about my Showcase. My mother is sending me all the pictures she took, but she doesn’t have a smartphone so I’ll probably be getting them sometime in the next 6 months. 

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing with no owning a smartphone. But when you own a piece of shit and you don’t know how to work the piece of shit and your house is a dead zone then the results may vary. 

Also, if you’re wondering, which I know you’re not but I don’t care this is my blog so I’m going to tell you anyways, I titled this GooGooBooBoo because I’m being a big baby and taking a nappy because I don’t feel good. Please someone wipe my ass for me. I’m tired and sad. 

Okay! That’s all for me. 

See you next time, my Hooked-on-Bonnets!

Yes, Pigs Do Have Bank Accounts

Hey. Hi. How are ya?

Good. I’m happy. I sucked down a bunch of coffee and I’m wearing a men’s tank top because fuck the establishment. I’m not really sure what that means because I had a meatball sub yesterday instead of going to the gym because that’s all that matters.

Am I crazy? I don’t know, do pigs not have 401Ks? I think the proof is in the partridge in a pear tree.

But back to my tank top. It’s of outer space, which I’m feeling resentful of, but it has kittens riding slices of pizza. Nothing has ever felt so right.

Still with me? Good. Enjoy that beef ravioli.

Until next time, chapstick lovers!

 

Ouchies

Hi kitnips!

I tore my leg out of it’s socket today. You would think it might have been from the twenty minutes I spent doing mountain climbers, or the hour of boxing, or maybe even rolling over the hood of my car trying to get away from the mob. All valid excuses and I’m sore from all of those, but I really did some damage when I bent over to pick up the M&M I dropped. I didn’t think before I leapt into action, I just couldn’t risk it rolling under my desk or beneath my dresser. I couldn’t take the chance. I’m at least 80% sure that was dust and not cat litter.

In other news, I’m too lazy to do laundry so shorts it is! Fifty degrees can be beautiful providing the wind doesn’t blow over  2mph.

I’m burping up Chinese food, that means it’s time for bed.

Until next time, my bodacious breadcrumbs!

Cats

As I’m waiting for my hair straightener to reach white dwarf temperature levels, I’ll tell you a tale about how me and my cat were handcuffed together. This is our story.

Okay, so we weren’t “handcuffed” per say, but let me paint this rolling landscape for you. When I got home from work today, I wanted nothing more than to face plant onto my couch and recover from the last 9 hours spent without break (and without feeding my kitty faces). I walked in, turned off the alarm, and  saw Litty, my 14 year-old princess tabby, sitting like an angel from Kitten Heaven. Before I even had time to dive underneath the couch cushions, I was distracted by her soft fur, her big whiskers, and her cute meow-face. Naturally, I cooed at her and slung her over my left shoulder. She gripped her furry fingers into my shoulder blade as I scooped her bum in my hand. I was Rafiki and she was my Simba. That went on for about 30 seconds until the music stopped and  I hunched forward so she could help herself down.

Then disaster struck. One of her  jagged little claws snagged  in my H&M nine dollar pullover. A familiar tale that has only ended in peril.

I set my elbow on the arm of the couch, so she didn’t have to dangle from my shoulder, like Rose on the back of the Titanic. I knelt, she sat, staring at each other like arm wrestlers do before the match starts. Now normally, a stuck claw can be relieved by simply holding the kitty’s paw and pulling the shirt away from it. But your cat isn’t Litty. What should have been a quick fix was a seven minute foray in a Chinese finger trap hell. She pulled, I pulled, she pulled, I pulled. An intense tug-of-war. The minutes passed and I began to wonder who would die first. Would my mom come home to me laying lifeless on the floor, Litty sitting on my dead face?  I tried desperately to grab her paw to release us, but when I touched her tangled foot, she slapped me with the other one.

I contemplated taking my shirt off and  letting her keep it, but we were in front of a open window and my neighbor was out standing by his mailbox.

Then came the moment of clarity, I draped myself on the arm of the chair. Litty sat staring at me like it was somehow all my fault. I looked up at the clock, 7 minutes. “We can’t stay here forever, Litty. One of us has to make a sacrifice.”

She looked at me as if to say “Whatever, bitch” and turned to look out the window.

It was my only chance. She had looked away, and I took things into my own hands.

I grabbed her paw and ripped my shirt away and screeched, “WE’RE FREE!”

Her ears went flat and she whipped her head around, staring at me wide-eyed. I did a few victory kicks and said “What? No ‘thank you’?”

She stared at me, farted, and jumped down.

So there you have it. My straightener is sufficiently hot enough to murder curls and you’ve now heard my tale of woe for the day. Did you learn anything from it? Hopefully that love conquers all,the good guy always wins in the end, and that cat farts are the worst.