My home has literally become a zoo. And now at least two people have told me I need another kitten so that Wormy Kitty has someone to play with. My mom is one of those people.
By the way, my mom also thinks I should get in control of my shopping addiction, and then tells me in the next breath about a new Home Goods opening up about five miles from my house. It’s like taking a drunk to the Buck & Ruck and telling them, “No, don’t get any booze. Oh, but here’s a lime!”
So I’m thinking of getting a “friend” for Wormy Kitty. I am hoping that this will make her a bit less wild. Right now, she is hanging by her front claws on the side of my sofa. I give it a month before I have to buy a new one. Little fucker.
UPDATED: It seems I may end up being over the limit for animals if I do. Fucking sucks, because Wormy Kitty really needs an outlet. My boring dogs are kinda sick of her now.
I am quite addicted to analgesic rubs. Much like Windex in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” I think Ben Gay and Icy Hot are a cure-all for most ailments. Sometimes, though, I overdo it and end up burning my skin. Like tonight. I really should not be left alone to my own accord most days. I look like Richard Dreyfus in “Close Encounters.” Look it up, youngsters.
The non-BF and I are pretty much polar opposites when it comes to going out. I did all that shit in my 20s and got quite tired of it. (Honestly, I did enough “going out” in my 20s for about three or four people, so I bow out of any public appearances now if at all possible.) Not that I am the Least Fun – NO. Apparently, I am “fun” enough to get tossed out of a bar a couple months ago. I just limit my going out to events where I know one of my girlfriends will be there and we can make fun of people.
Why is it that all the psycho strays end up in my front yard? Wormy Kitty has beheaded the silk flower arrangement the dogs gave me for my birthday this year, and now it looks like that guy from Silence of the Lambs sewed its head back on. “It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.” Little jumpy bitch just ruined the last present I ever got from Mr. Swirly.
No, I don’t particularly care for silk flower arrangements. However, this one was modeled after Mr. Tail and I super-glued a plastic Rangers baseball hat on its head. One that the non-BF got at a game filled with ice cream. It was awesome. Thanks a lot, Wormy Kitty.
Normally, I cannot go home at lunch to let out the bad furbrats for a quick piss, but today, I had the opportunity to in between meetings. Normally, my parents get that pleasure. [By the way, you ungrateful curs, I used my lunch hour to do that shit!] When I arrive at my house, there is a huge box on my front porch and immediately, I’m pissed because fuck you, UPS, someone could steal that shit! I just knew it was my new printer. I huff and puff my way into the house with this huge box (I can’t lift it so I just kinda kick/scoot it in) and I’m all excited about the printer. Using some scissors, I open the box. Motherfucker, it’s not a printer, it’s a dozen
servings bottles of wine. I’m completely disappointed.
How very sad is it that I’m less excited about free wine than I am about getting a new printer?