Like Kids, the Best Pets are Somebody Else's

"Now is the winter of your discontent."

I'm not a dog person, but I love playing with pups so long as they aren't stinky pups.

Cats, same boat as long as I don't have to scoop that poop.

Kids, I mostly just like watching them like kindergarten is a zoo. No interest in touching one, or even really being noticed, just hang back with the pedophiles and angry dads restricted by the refs from getting too close to the soccer field.

I love my cats, but only when my mom was around to feed them. Dogs at my dad's house are a distant second, my cousin's kids and babies at work come in third an astronomical distance behind. Still, I get joy from these things.

Which is why I look forward to my roommate being able to bring her cat when we move into our new place. I love having a cat to pet and love and cuddle, I just hate fish smell and cleaning poop.

Let somebody else worry about sanitation and responsibility.

I'm going to be the "Fun Uncle" to animals everywhere.

Maybe to humans too, one day, but only once they're big enough to be cool.

A Little Nerd Association

As I left the house today, I crossed in my path a complete, fresh goose turd. Our geese have barely left, stupid climate shift. So I cursed the geese.

"THE GEESE!!!" I said.

Then I thought "THUGGEES" What was a thuggee?

It was the cult from Temple of Doom.

Thulsa Doom. Conan. James Earl Jones. Also Darth Vader's voice. Back to Star Wars, via George Lucas.

Conan also had Arnold Schwarzenegger. Who was the father in Jingle All the Way, with Jake Lloyd, also the younger Anakin Skywalker. Star Wars again. Everything always comes back to Star Wars.

Freakin' geese, man.

The Magic of iPhone

One of the greatest features of the iPhone has always been left out of the user guide.

I know it's uncouth, but everyone, soon enough, grudgingly admits that the iPhone changes forever the way they go to the bathroom. It's a Doo Doo Revolution, folks.

I don't get to have a phone on me at work, so locked up in a cubby, my baby doesn't do me much good on a bathroom break and I feel … disconnected. Not just because I don't have email to check or Birds to Anger, I think it's honestly because suddenly I have nothing to do or think about except what I'm already doing.

Honestly, I don't need to be so keenly aware of what happens while I'm sitting on the toilet. I don't need more than cursory sensory input of the whole process. I know what's going on. If there's a problem, I'll notice. I really just don't need to be involved with this process every step of the way.

Distract me with games or information, anything but what I'm siting down for.

That is the beauty of my magic glowing rectangle. That is why I love it and desire to never be apart from it. Thank you, Steve. And Gods bless you.

Blame That Smell On the Cat

I've been seeing cats recently. Honestly, if I haven't been seeing way more raccoons, I'd swear they were my spirit animal following me around, trying to warn me of impending life lessons.

Few while driving, one clearly an outdoors-pet, two or three today I named "Dumpster Cat" at a horrible, low-income, ghetto-style apartment complex, which had a propensity for tricycles strewn about the property.

And this:

Yup.

That's a litter box training kit for your cat. If you live in a city, it's inconvenient to have to keep a small box in your tiny apartment. Obviously, the solution is to turn your toilet into a litter box for a few weeks, which you will likely poop in by mistake at least once in the middle of the night, then make it a little dessert oasis with a hole in the middle, such that the cat poop falls into the bowl beneath and you have to clean less, and then finally just have your cat pooping in the toilet like a normal person.

Except it's a cat.

My mom used to have a friend whose cat learned to do this on his own, but didn't figure out how to flush. This friend was terribly distraught at the notion of some weird person sneaking into her home every day, only to poop in the toilet and not flush it. Then she caught her cat doing it and that was that.

But yes, I'm sure it's much more convenient to only have to flush the toilet a dozen more times a day than cleaning a stinky box once.

Plus, it forever ends arguments about who left the seat up.

On Snow Days

I had had a plan for yesterday, or rather, I had a plan for a good snow day activity and I just wasn't in the mood for it yesterday. Perhaps if I elaborate you'll understand why.

A while back I came across a recipe for cookies. As you can see, part of that recipe includes functionally prepared cookies. No, it's not some trick, that's a recipe for a chocolate chip cookies with a prefabricated cookie inside. It's a cookie with a delicious other cookie center. Marvelous.

And yet, I just wasn't prepared. I had things to do, people to see, conversations to be had and materials to read. Honestly, I just wasn't in the cookie baking mood. Really, up until this point in my life, I never imagined there was such a thing.

Of course, the last time I ate a dessert that had an Oreo on the inside, I didn't poop for four days, so maybe that had something to do with it.

On Telemarketers

So I yelled at a fireman today.

I feel pretty bad about it. I'm not one to support any sort of Brawny-Paper-Towel-Guy prototypical "manly" careers, chiefly because as a small, weak, brainy individual I'm sort of stuck with believing these jobs stress physicality over intelligence and that is horrible. Either that or I admit I'm a genetically less appealing specimen, and we all know that's not the case.

Anyway, the guy called about donating to the Fireman's Something Or Other, and there was a lot of noise in the background and I really wasn't having any of it.

The reason being, when this particular firefighter called I was mid-poop.

And I don't want to get too graphic, but when I say mid-poop, I mean right in the middle. Like the baby wasn't birthed yet, but he was crowning.

I had rushed out to phone in case it was one of my many ailing relatives of advanced age and was none too thrilled in hearing Mr. Fireman Guy on the line.

I had to interrupt to tell him that I was sorry, but my family does not donate over the phone. We give when the mailings come in but not over the phone.

He said that he just wanted to make sure we were still interested in receiving the mailing, which had to be a complete lie because why waste a phone call that will round up to the minute when you can waste a $0.00 postage exempt charity postcard?

Anyway I yelled, "SORRY, GOODBYE!" and hung up on him.

I felt really bad for the rest of my poop, especially because it really didn't take all that long. I could have pooped with him on the line, if I'd been a terrible person.

So yes, I yelled at a heroic firefighter today, a man large and strong enough to kill me if he wanted, but who has dedicated his life instead to the pursuit of saving lives.

And I'd probably do it all over again tomorrow. I'd rather the man hate me than tell him he caught me with my pants down.





Pooping.

On Thanksgiving

I'm going to keep this short as I am, much like most of you probably are right now, still fending off the tale end of a food coma.

But I'm still surprised I never realized it before. In addition to a shopping clusterfuck, the day after Thanksgiving is probably also the biggest pooping day of the year. Oh, Black Friday….

Family Brunch

So I held off on updating today until I'd finished brunch with my family, assuming I would encounter something constituting comedy gold.

I was totally right to do this.


Turns out my cousin's husband, a fairly normal guy, intelligent, a doctor, has a bit of an issue pooping in a fully-carpeted bathroom.

Just those little area rugs? Not a problem.

Wall-to-wall green carpet? Nope. "It makes him feel like like he's crapping in the living room."