Me: Oh a dead raccoon! That’s so sad!
Mack: I thought you hated raccoons.
Me: I do but that doesn’t mean I like seeing them dead on the side of the road.
Mack: You need to work on your hypocritical two-sided hatred of animals.

Parlor tricks.

(ignore the mess in the background. We’re currently de-cluttering the apartment. Do, however, pay attention to the glaring Brutus in the chair under the table on the right).

Technorati Tags: cats, animal training, cat tricks, free time, funny animals

Me: We need to hit the grocery store.
Mack: Why?
Me: Well, unless you want me wiping my ass on the carpet.
Mack: Oh. I didn’t realize the situation was that desperate.
Me: Yes. We are out of toilet paper, as I said earlier.
Mack: I assumed the toilet paper was the reason in question… unless there is some other reason for you to play scooter across the carpet which is something I’d probably want to know ahead of time.

Technorati Tags: conversations, awkward, relationships, inappropriate conversations

If you couldn’t tell by now, I love writing lists. The more random, the better. When we were still living in Phoenix, I picked up a copy of “Mountain Man Dance Moves: The McSweeney’s Book of Lists“. I can’t remember who suggested the book so go ahead, get offended whoever you are.

Sunday, after a busy day of avoiding a freelance project, I picked up Mountain Man Dance Moves: The McSweeney’s Book of Lists and was cracking up so bad as I decided to read Mack a few.

Here, let a few points from the lists speak for themselves as to why you should get a copy:

Signs Your Unicorn is Cheating on You
by Christopher Monks (page 11)

Seems emotionally distant and uninterested

Wears fancier tail ribbons

Every time you say the word “magic” is sighs forlornly.

Is making a movie with Angelina Jolie.

. . .

Oh snap.

And what is more awesome than unicorns? Did you say dinosaurs?

Eight Reasons Why a Tyrannosaur Caught in Tornado Is a Funny Thing to Think About
by Austin Allen (page 37)

1. The tiny, flailing arms.

2. The helpless “RARRRRRR!”

3. The angry, wild-eyed expression.

4. That dinosaur with the sail on his back floats by and he’s just cruisin’.

5. The landing.

. . .

I could keep listing off the reasons why these lists were having be roaring with laughter as tears came forth from my eyes but seriously, aren’t those examples from a few lists enough?

Check it out

Technorati Tags: recommendations, books, lol, Mountain Man Dance Moves: The McSweeney’s Book of Lists, good reads

In early May, you might recall my mentioning a former co-worker throwing out a cat since she— the coworker—was pregnant and simply couldn’t “deal” with her— the cat— anymore. At the time, I was livid about the situation and, because my boyfriend is a huge sucker too, decided to take in the cat on a temporary basis to save her from the streets. My Mom (also a sucker) will be taking in Gracie the next time I go up there to visit. For the most part since we took Gracie in it has been an… interesting experience.

First off, I don’t really know how to describe how the boys act towards female cats without potentially offending someone. My brother jokingly calls them the “gay mafia” since frankly the boys hate female cats. Like, violently hate them. I don’t know what about them sets the boys off (other than them having a vagina) but there you go. I ended up with Blue because he used to terrorize my friend’s female cats. He is very calculated in his terrorizing of Gracie. Brutus and Bucky was occasionally chase her but Blue? He plots. Frequently, I will find Blue laying about a foot away from Gracie waiting for her to move, daring her to try and get past him without loosing her shit. I guess it doesn’t help that Gracie flips out whenever the boys get near her.

Which is why Bucky likes messing with her at 5AM. Because her hissing? It’s really charming.

Other than that issue Gracie came with a bonus feature: a large collection of fleas. When she first came into the apartment, the ex-roommate noticed that she had them, so we used some flea treatment on her. Did it work? Apparently not, since next thing I know I’m sitting on our bed working and a flea jumps on my leg like “Hey, sup? Where is the nearest cat for me to suck it’s blood, oh, and you know something else? My ancestors were the carrier of the bubonic plague.”

Mack was not pleased to get my text message of “@&*(!&@#)*#!#”

Last Thursday we figured this time we’d have to give all four cats individual baths before the flea treatment. The pictures speak for themselves:

You can see all of them at my flickr set. I can’t look at these without crying in laughter. Luckily, the baths and flea treatment seemed to have done the trick and I haven’t seen any fleas since Saturday. The boys, also, seemed to have forgiven to a degree… at least until my guard is down and they are ready to strike.

In Gracie’s case, however, she pooped on the carpet right after we finished with all four baths.

Mutter.

Technorati Tags: pets, animals, domestic shorthair, domestic longhair, cat baths, indoor animals, fleas, fleabags

Every Wednesday night Mack and I go on date night. We decided that Wednesday would be the perfect night for this since it was the middle of the week and seriously? Don’t you need a pick me up on Wednesdays knowing you still have two whole work days until the weekend?

Yesterday night, we decided to go to Seven Bridges before catching a movie. After every meal Mack will ask me to rate the service based on a scale of 1 to 10 so that we can figure out how much to tip our waiter or waitress. Last night it was agreed upon that she did an outstanding job (especially considering the pair next to us fighting) and we tipped according.

On our way out of the restaurant I ended up ahead of Mack and found myself outside alone. Turning around I noticed that he had stopped to talk with the greeters who were ecstatic at what he said. When he came outside I looked from the greeters and back to Mack curiously.

Me: What did you say to her?
Mack: That she had great tits and should call me later.

He said this without missing a beat as though, truly, it was what he said. After I smacked him hard on the arm he laughed, complimented himself (with I’m sure a mental pat on the back) on a well-played delivery line, and informed me he had told her to tell the manager our waitress provided outstanding service.

Dating a fellow smart ass both keeps you on your toes and very much amused.

Technorati Tags: relationships, conversations, customer services, boyfriends, amusing conversations

For about two months now, I’ve had a serious case of creative block. I know it is mostly due to stress in life and not wanting to write stuff that I would later regret and shouldn’t be written about online in the first place. I’ve wound myself into a ball of pure stress and anxiety about factors outside of myself and changes happening around me that, when I open up a blank text document to write, cause me to draw a blank.

I could write the details of my mundane life and the transition back to being full-time telecommuting but I won’t. The blank document looms before me tauntingly, telling me that no cares what I had for lunch, what I did with my day, or how many turtles my boyfriend and I have saved from the road and certain doom. I wonder if the stuff I write is boring to read. When I read over the posts they often amuse me but, then again, I have a really weird sense of humor.

On more than one occasion, I know I have admitted I can be a perfectionist. When I am doing something creative (web design, writing, photography, et al) I will always mentally berate myself as to the quality of my work and why I didn’t do better. Mack has found me laying in bed moodily staring off into space while I mull over my short-comings and why I don’t get better after so many hours spent reading and practicing.

I don’t feel like the world is against me, or that I need to write bad poetry to represent the anguish and misunderstandings of my life. I’ll save that for the emo kids out there. You need not worry about said poetry since, as an art form, I don’t understand it and think not many can actually write poetry (let alone produce anything good). I’m not a victim of anything and hate when people play the victim card— “woe is me I deserve all your pity”— since, frankly, I’m sure there are people out there with situations a hundred times worse.

Mack tells me, constantly, to stop stressing and stop letting the outside factors I have no control over drag me down. Last week, on more than one occasion, Mack expressed he was concerned about me. While it is natural for me to worry and stress, I was taking it to a new level. I let shit get to me and stress me out, I know. Couple that with the fact I’ve felt not an ounce of creativity in two months?

Out there, somewhere, my creativity is taking a shot of tequila and laughing about its extended vacation.