Jane got fed up with the month-long writing thing and how people bitch about having to write every day (WE’RE A THIRD OF THE WAY THROUGH THE MONTH, WOOOOOOO!), so she offered up some subjects to write about. Which I have stolen for my own self, just for shits and giggles. Write about your day! My day… hasn’t really gotten started. I’m going to go kick my own ass on the elliptical and then I’m going to clean the house from top to bottom and then I’m going to refuse to cook dinner in hopes that I can have the turkey sandwich and salad bar combo at Ruby Tuesday’s and in between there will be plenty o’ kitten snuggling. Analyze your cat! Spot: Neurotic, old, always starving to death, makes me want to kick him when he squeaks incessantly at me when I’m standing in the kitchen. Always ratty-looking, always needs a good brushing even when he just had one. The gentleman of the bunch unless you get between him and some food. Spanky: Spazzy, oldish, will talk back to you if you “mrowr!” at him. Very soft, silky fur. LOATHES the can of compressed air. Such a sweetheart, but so not the brains of the operation. Miz Poo: My bebbe, but good CHRIST she annoys me when she climbs all over me and rubs her nose on me. I like waking up to find her curled up against me, purring loudly. Mister Boogers: Douchebag who has not left the back yard since Fred figured out how he was doing it. HA! Also, if he is curled up against my legs at night and I accidentally touch him, he growls bitchily at me, and then I kick him off the bed, ’cause Momma don’t play that. Sugarbutt: Secretly my favorite, but don’t tell anyone. The happiest cat ever, patient and sweet and kind of a badass when he needs to be. Tommy: The ambassador. He puts up with shit from the other cats that he doesn’t have to. I mean, he stands up for himself if he has to, but for the most part the other cats tromp all over him, and he doesn’t care. Everyone’s friend. Stinkerbelle: Soft, silky fur like Spanky’s. Bitchy little thing who secretly wants to be loved but is scared of everything. Except the other cats – she won’t hesitate to start a fight with any other cat. Maxi/ Miss Momma: All teeth and claws. She wants to be petted, but is overwhelmed quickly and brings out the claws. She wants in… no, she wants out. No, in. Out! In, please? OUT! OUT! She’s a badass, but she backs down when the other And3rson kitties try to start something. Newt: Sweet, shy, a little nervous about being inside. Just a little food and a belly rub, please. An excellent hunter, our Monsieur Newtles. Tell me what you had for dinner and why! We had subs for dinner last night because it was Friday night and we almost never eat home cookin’ on Friday nights. Bitch about television! I actually didn’t know much about the writer’s strike ’til recently, so I went and educated myself about it, and… eh. Whatever. There are so many shows I want to check out (that are available on DVD) that if everything goes into reruns it’s not going to hit me too hard. I’m peeved that they’ve canceled 24, though, I’ll tell you that. Recount a celebrity sighting! Many years ago, my sister, her then-boyfriend and I went to see the Rock Bottom Remainders at the Maine State Theater in Portland. When we came out, we got our car and pulled around the side of the building so that we were near the alley that led to the back door. As we sat there, Stephen and Tabitha King walked across the street to the hotel, and someone up the street yelled “Mr. King!* An autograph?” and Stephen King yelled “Sorry, no!”, and they went into the hotel. Then we sat there, and not long after, a minivan came out of the alley, and Dave Barry was in it, so we followed it, and then we lost it, and then I do believe we got stopped by a cop, but I don’t remember why. An illegal u-turn or speeding, I’d guess. All I remember is saying to the cop “Do you know who Dave Barry is?” in trying to explain what we were doing. *I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again – the only correct way to address a celebrity is by their first and last name. “Stephen King”, not “Mr. King” or “Steve.” “Jennifer Lopez”, not “J. Lo.” “Britney Spears”, not “Skanky Ho.” Etc. Talk about your first date. It’s interesting that this is one of the questions. Recently, my first boyfriend (with whom I had my first date) friended a friend on MySpace (he remembered her from high school), and she told me about it and so I friended him, and he did not friend me back. And I was all, what the hell, man? I’m just curious what he’s up to, why is he not friending me so I can see his profile? And then I remembered that he was kind of a douchebag back then, and also when he kissed, he’d come at me with his mouth open wide and his jaw all unhinged and his tongue sticking out and he broke up with me AT SCHOOL and I was so distraught I had to leave and go home for half the day (because I was only heartbroken for half a day, not the entire day because he wasn’t THAT much of a heartbreaker) and mere days after he broke up with me he was dating a girl who lived up the street from me (and COINCIDENTALLY he had just given her a ride home the week before he broke up with me) and really, he was just an all-around ass, so I remembered that and I shrugged and forgot about him ’til just now. I hope he’s done some work on his Predator-like kissing technique, for the sake of the wimmins in Maine. Anyway, first date. We went to the movies and then he brought me home and we talked for a while and he criticized some poetry I had written (douchebag) and then he left and did not kiss me goodnight, the end. Where were you born? What story did your mom tell you about it? On the Air Force base in Bangor, Maine – I’m sure the base had a name, but I don’t know what it was. All I know is that it was the coldest day of the year. I’m sure she’s told me other things, but that’s all that sticks in my memory. What was your first pet’s name! For my 7th (I think) birthday, when we were living on Guam, I got a little black kitten and named her Suzy. Suzy was a hussy and got pregnant pretty quickly and had herself a litter. We kept one – an orange tabby I named Charlie, who would kick off my lifelong love of orange tabbies – and my mother found homes for the other kittens. Suzy went to live on a farm. I have NO idea if she truly went to live on a farm or not, and honestly I don’t want to know, thank you. Charlie was a sweet little whiny baby who I loved with all my heart, and then one night he just never came home. Poor Charlie.
Guaranteed, if it had been Miz Poo, she would have hissed and smacked all those little kittens before she high-tailed it for the door.
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“Pls not to be looking at me unless it is snackin’ time, thx.”