the cat who drank too much

(this post is best enjoyed while listening to everybody’s got a hungry heart)

basically you should look up that book (title above), because it is pretty much the most mind blowing story of all time. unfortunately i think only like two copies were ever published, and one of them was probably thrown away in the late 80s, but the other one is in the 362.292 section of the professional library at my work.

ok, i’m just going to summarize this book for you, because you’re never going to find it, and if you come to my work to look for it i’ll be scared because you’re a stalker, and then i’ll have to call terry, from the warehouse, and ask him to tell you a bunch of his weird stories about the 70s when he was a “free spirit” and played a lot of jazz music, and raised a seal point persian show cat on cottage cheese and supplemental vitamins, until you give up and leave.

anyway, this book is basically a cat version of go ask alice, which i read last summer and highly recommend if you’re into the mormon farce literary scene. the cat starts by drinking “a little with meals” (it appears the cat is actually just drinking water, which is a little confusing) and then starts drinking (water) all the time. he ends up being cranky, passing out a lot much to the disappointment of other cats, and hallucinating. the end kind of devolves into this choose your own adventure type of thing where you get to decide whether you think the cat will eventually seek help at an “anonymous organization”, a private clinic, or just give up and jump out the window.

in other news i have a cat now, but don’t worry i will not be providing it with anything to drink, ever.

xoxo

drunk cat

movingmovingmoving

it’s something i do every 12-24 months, and it’s happening again soon. it’s a lot like childbirth in that i always forget how much it’s going to suck until i’m in the midst of it. but my new house seems pretty great so that’s something, no word yet on whether this place is rapist proof, but that’s what staying up all night holding a knife and a can of pepper spray is for. yay!

armful of frost

for every parcel i stoop down to seize
i lose some other off my arms and knees,
and the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns,
extremes too hard to comprehend at once,
yet nothing i should care to leave behind.
with all i have to hold with, hand and mind
and heart, if need be, i will do my best
to keep their building balanced at my breast.
i crouch down to prevent them as they fall;
then sit down in the middle of them all.
i had to drop the armful in the road.
and try to stack them in a better load.

-robert frost

this stresses me out, it’s how i feel all the time. thanks for putting it into poem form you wonderful old guy, who is dead.

you have to draw the line somewhere

i choose to draw that line when clogs are involved. apparently.

craigslist is a great way to meet new friends!

a couple of weeks ago some guy totaled my car and then ran away and hid in his garage, like a total pussy. so now i’m left with this vehicle art piece thing i have to get rid of  so, i posted it on craigslist, and life has been pretty rad since then. i now have all these fun new people to talk with and i’ve met lots of really cool ones like this guy:

I have a candy machine, you know the ones at wonderland where you play until you get candy?
they are 2100 new and mine is used because it used to be in safeway. you can make money off of these things. i need a car. let me know what you think.

steve

what i think is that steve fucking rules!

the perils of basement employment

i have a new job, located on the second level of a basement, cool right? they only put the most precious and beloved library people down that deep, it’s a preservation thing i guess. other types of people are down there too, like ones who work in records, the warehouse, and the mail-room. and there’s this one guy who works in the mail-room who happens to be the extra large super cranky sort, daryl. the other day this woman who works in my basement came up to my co-worker and me and asked if we knew cpr, because daryl had been falling asleep at his desk a lot lately and was looking extra gray and bloated like he’d been retaining fluids, and generally creeping people out (not really that last part, but his heavy breathing totally creeps me out)….. a wave of panic and annoyance flooded over me. the concerned woman felt we needed to come up with an emergency plan for daryl’s imminent collapse. one person needed to call 911, two people needed to race up to the main level to wait for the emts and the fire department so they could be directed downstairs, one person needed to get the defibrillator, and one unlucky soul needed to stay behind and give daryl cpr. in the days following the debriefing i thought a lot about how this would all play out, and at the end of each imaginary scenario i ended up alone with daryl’s frowny corpse in the poorly lit hallway near the candy machines. fortunately i only work three days a week… i’m hoping he’ll have the decency to die on either a monday or a tuesday.

quoting you

a son is a son ’til he takes him a wife, but a daughter’s a daughter for all of her life.

coffee how to

see that picture of the extremely small french press? i call that the passive aggressive coffee pot. at first glance you might think it was more of a sad single person coffee pot, but it makes such a very small amount of coffee, like barely a cup, that i imagine a single person would probably only keep it around for display purposes, like “look how alone i am” type of stuff. really i think the true purpose of this press is for if you live with another coffee drinker and you want them to see that you have gone to the trouble of making just enough coffee for not them.

gwendolen grandcourt

ok, so i’m not the type to complain about getting a free massage… actually i am totally the type to complain about getting a massage, free or otherwise, so here it goes: basically i’m going to the chiropractor like twelve times a week, or at least it feels that way, and it’s not just a chiropractic place it’s also a “wellness center” and i have to do embarrassing exercises and get “therapy” and adjustments and also i get back massages, which sounds nice, but in reality it is very upsetting. first of all the masseuse’s name is “charl” does this make sense to anybody? second of all it’s so confusing, for instance the first time we had a session he told me to get undressed to my “comfort level”, what in the hell is that supposed to mean?! so now i have no idea if i’m not taking enough clothes off, or even worse if i’m taking too many clothes off. argh. next he wears crocs, and i’m forced to stare at them the entire time through the table hole thing, very disconcerting. and charl loves to talk, like about every tv show he watches (he watches them all) and classic rock, and xbox, and playboy magazine, and ladies, seriously. for christmas he got some speakers for his ipod so now we get to hear his random playlist for an hour together three times a week, it’s extremely random, or at least he alludes to that fact a lot. random classic rock playlists make for really weird massage background music, and the banter tends to really go downhill. last time “she’s so cold” came on and charl (ugh) was like “so, are you cold?” and i honestly did not know what he meant by this, i decided to go with “no” but i’m not sure if that was the right thing to say or not. turns out that massages are as disturbing as i always imagined they would be, even more so. so in that regard (the regard that i’m pretty much always right) i guess i feel pretty good about things.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrRSEVRgqVY

my family does not fuck around when it comes to scurvy