Ghosts and Things

Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Describe the ghosts that live in this house: Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

I’ve never done one of these inspiration prompts, so pull up your bootstraps, Sally.

This ghost clearly has self-esteem issues. Do you see how tiny that house is? If it was a lego house it was be 3X5 blocks. It doesn’t even look like there is enough room for a bed. Sure, if the point is to scare people out,  but this isn’t even going to be a challenge. All he has to do is be like YO. GET DA FUQ OUT and people would be like “Oh my God! Look at how small this place is, it doesn’t even have central air!” (Runs away in horror).

Why doesn’t he move to an old abandoned manor with a lot of libraries in it and fireplaces he can start up? That would be spooky. He could vanish through walls and breeze by his victims but only enough that they see him in their peripheral. He can’t even play games like that in the little house. He just has to sit there on the floor waiting for someone to look in the doorway and see what a shit-hole it is that they’ll show themselves out. They won’t even see Barney Ghostman hanging out playing cats cradle with a spider web.

Lazy. It’s lazy ghostmanship.

Animow

I’m wearing a jacket and leaned my elbow on the desk and it made a farting noise. Hehe.

But back to Animows. Today I was sitting at lunch, eating my second bowl of fiber cereal, which isn’t the best tasting, but it’s cereal and no one can just eat one bowl, unless you’re a witch.

I got to thinking about how fitness trainers and diet planners say not to reward yourself with food, because you aren’t an animal. Pardon me, while I hate all of that and drink a gallon of smashed up McDonald’s french fries. Firstly, yes I am an animal and secondly, I don’t think I want to know a person who doesn’t treat eating like a reward. That’s the whole point. Sure, it sustains life and that’s great but that only comes second to how fantastic shoving your mouth full of soda and strawberry doughnuts and pouring chocolate syrup down your face feels.

That’s how I start my day. I reward myself for getting out of bed and going to work by stopping at a coffee place and getting the largest vat of mocha iced coffee they have. If I didn’t do that, I’d be crying at my desk all day. Useless, sad, alone. But with my scrumpsh reward, I can somehow find the strength within me to live and do things like check my Facebook and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race and answer phone calls.

Another point is, it’s April. Everyone knows that April is the crusty butthole of the 12-month calendar year. It’s April, it’s raining, and it’s a Tuesday. Monday’s are better than Tuesday because you know they are terrible. Wednesday means we got through the bad part, Thursday means we can say YAY TOMORROW’S FRIDAY LET’S DRINK, and Friday means we get to sleep in Saturday. How can a person even live through a Tuesday without rewarding themselves with gourmet microwave popcorn their mother planted in a movie theater butter popcorn box because she’s a dirty trickster.

I see no other reason than to celebrate food and be enslaved by it’s glory.

Until next time, Wondersluts!

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.