How to Tell If Your Cat Has Committed a Hate Crime

This is how I spend my goddamned Fridays…

I’m downstairs, watching Museum Secrets, not a care in the world and I keep smelling a gross, poop smell. So I follow my nose up the stairs, through the bedroom and into the closet.

FUCK

YOU

CATS

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One of the cats pooped in my laundry basket. It’s like they were trying to say “YOU HAVEN’T FOLDED THIS STUFF YET!?!”

WELL, JOKES ON YOU, ASSHOLES! That was the dirty laundry basket!

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I’m yelling at them while Matt cleans it up and they just keep looking at me like “Hey, don’t you have some poop you should be cleaning up?”

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Free cats to mildly soiled hobo.

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On the upside, the dog is trying to pretend she is really cute, like “Remember that time I ate the couch? It still isn’t as bad as shitting on your new silk shirt.”

photo

I’m the favorite now

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See You Next Wednesday

So after having 5 different lasers shot in to eyes on Friday I’ll hopefully have some news soon about why I’m going blind. I’m going for more tests next week and this time it’d be nice if all my eyelashes didn’t fall out. I did get a super cool picture of my retina:

It sort of looks like Mars in a weird way

To make up for last years horrible-apocalypse flu-pink eye-friend borrows our car and totals it- birthday there was a lot of money riding on this year making up for both of them. And oh boy did it ever deliver.

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Not only did Matt get me a Batman Snuggie

BATMAAAAAN!

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But he also finally, FINALLY agreed to dress up like a zombie with me and go look like an idiot in public. Do you want to know how many people we traumatized? I hope a lot. Because our costumes were amazing. We went French Revolution zombies/ Marie Antoinette and Napoleon.

I cobbled together a collection of photos that people took from it, we didn’t get any because we were so covered in fake blood and slime there are still gross brain patched dried to the cars upholstery. I had this really grody wad of slime I played with the who time that people thought was ground meat but it was actually Metamucil mixed with fake blood. You should have seen the looks every time I ate some of it.

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Photo by Eliza NoEnbridge Jayn
https://www.facebook.com/love.is.a.radiation

Photo by Eliza NoEnbridge Jayn
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Photo by Jody Blair Correia
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Photo by Geoectomy Photography
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Photo by 2Five-O Photo & Promotions
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Photo by DrinkVictoria food and drink deals in Victoria
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Photo by Wohoo Photography
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 As you can see we looked pretty fucking rad in out costumes. They were such a huge hit and it was tons of fun, but I don’t think we would do it again because I was so gross and uncomfortable. I just wanted someone to take pity on me and hose me off.

You know how the saying goes though. The couple that eats brains together, stays together.

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Worm Cooties

I had to give up my car a couple of months ago. This is the conversation with Matt just after when I had some serious sad face going on about it. It was a pretty amazing car.

God, this car made me feel sexy

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Matt : “You know what, I’m just going to buy you a pony. His name will be Sprinkles.”

Me: “Can he be white so I can paint rainbow polka dots on him?”

Matt: “Obviously. Why else would his name be Sprinkles? Also, you have to put racing stripes on him because everyone knows that racing stripes make things go faster. They add 5 horse power, which is a lot when you only started out with one little pony. The only problem is that then you have 5 extra horses worth of poop to clean up but that’s the price you pay for speed.”

Me: “But the he would poop out awesome things like brownies or fudge. OR SKITTLES! He would fart skittles and every time you ate one a leprechaun would magically appear and scream TASTE THE RAINBOW while staring at you with his with his beady, judging eyes. Then you feel all bad because clearing human farts don’t do anything for society except make riding the bus really uncomfortable.”

Matt: “Wow, I’m never riding the bus again…”

So You Are Going Blind…

SPOILERS: This has absolutely no funny in it, feel free to skip this.

 

My computer is an asshole and decided to restart just as I finished writing this post, which is actually probably really good since it was long and sad and had a lot of sappy woe is me stuff and who needs to hear all about that.

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It’s been 8 months, or longer, since I’ve written here. Things have been a weird.

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I became an accountant, it gives me nightmares. Not cool. I think it makes me less funny. That’s probably debatable to all the people who laugh at me.

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I started having some problems at work, driving, at home. Went to a doctor and it turns out I am rapidly going blind and there is nothing they can do. So that sucks. A lot.

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But I’ve decided enough is enough and I am tired of being sad. I could still big time use a hug though. A really really big hug.

 

So as best as I can be, I’m back. I’m not promising anything but I’m sure I have some funny stuff saved up from the last who knows how long.

 

 

 

 

His Name is Paul and He’s Imaginary. That doesn’t Mean He’s Not Real.

I know that I shouldn’t be putting this out there for you to judge because the internet is full of angry alpacas who are all like WHY CAN’T WE OPEN JARS!?! but I need you to settle a bet/ fulfill my need for validation.

I am not a crazy cat lady.

That’s not to say I don’t own a cat or anything. I have a cat. OK, there are two cats, but that’s ALL THE CATS. I just think cats are fucking great. It’s not even a thing. But I have my mom’s voice from lunch ringing in my ears while she chants “CAT LADY! CAT LADY!” while pointing at me. God.

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This morning I’m standing in the kitchen in my pyjamas cutting up lemons and daydreaming out the window when I see a cat running up the road. Then a couple seconds later I see the mean cat of the neighborhood  run past, and is actually chasing the first cat.

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So I think “Aw, HELL no!” and I go running down the street after these two cats.

By this point they’ve gotten a block up the street and the mean cat has cornered the first cat under a car. I come puffing up and start shooing the mean cat back down the steet (picture crouching and shooing hands) when I look down and realize…

I’ve just gone sprinting down the street, leaving my door *wide* open…

I’m shooing a *strange* cat home…

While wearing my pyjamas

Carrying a lemon in each hand

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Actually, you know what? Maybe you should agree with my Mom. What the hell, me?

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PB and J and Condoms

That’s it, that’s right, I did it!

I made it alive, drove 2000kms in 3 days and I only mildly entered into a state of shock ala Troy meeting Levar Burton.

And I met Adam West.

It was *amazing*

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We drove overnight Thursday, forgot about the time change (whoops!) and still got there too early Friday to check into the hotel and too grungy to go to the convention so we went to Red Lobster.

 Do you know that people go there dressed really nice and I went after a sleepless 13 hour drive looking and smelling like a hobo? Shrimp dont judge me!

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I quickly scrub with bleach, get pretty and… there he was. Being all awesome and shit. I went and got a random comic book that I’d bought for the occasion signed and then Adam West read it to me while I stook there in such a level of shock that I could’t talk for like half an hour.

I figured this would look coolest on my wall

Oh, and I got to drive the Batmobile. Because Batman fucking rocks.

Parachutes instead of brakes. Because it's safer

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And then Wil Wheaton saw me and was like “Um… are you wearing an R2D2 skirt? Did you make it your self???” and then started jumping and squealing  and I went back to my catatonic state.

This is my camoflage

So he signed a book completely unrelated to him while I gaped like a moron and he asked me to spin for him.

This is the second most excited I've ever been about this book

Then I smashed into Levar Burton because I can’t possibly watch where I’m going and reverently stare at my Adam West signature at the same time. He sang Reading Rainbow. It was amazing.

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They oversold the event and 50,000 people got let in a 35,000 space so the fire marshall shut things down and instead of hearding everyone out they just locked the door to whatever room you were in. I happened to be in a nearly empty theatre with Adam West. Obviously my Karma is up to date or something. He spent the whole time trying to distract up by telling us hilarious stories. I’m not sure if he was shitting us, but he talks like he really thinks he is Batman.

AW: “HEY! I’m on Family Guy. Did you see my cat launcher? That was HI-larious!”

AW: “What do you think I carried around in my Bat Belt? Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and condoms. Because you never know.”

AW:”I was known for defeating bad guys with my humous. That’s why I’m called the bright night. Do you like that? I made it up myself.”

AW: “The brakes on the Batmobile were really terrible and I used to whip that baby around corners just to see Robin wet himself!”

Im sure there were tons of other funny thing he said but I was too busy laughing and crying and peeing. And not just because there wasnt a bathroom.

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So, all in all, it was awesome. I was too nervous to ask Adam West to come to my birthday party, but that’s fine. I just sat in my hotel room and ate a cupcake alone. And by “Ate a cupcake” I mean drank booze. Because I’m classy.

 

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Holy Rusted Metal

Yesterday I got bored and decided to become a cheetah.

I'm camoflauged. You can't see me.

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In other news…

 
TODAY IS THE DAY PEOPLE!
 
As of now I am on my way to meet Adam West. The Adam West.
 
Batman, with the batmobile and a large assortment of other incredibly cool people of which I will most undoubtably embarrass myself in front of.
 
I got all freaked out by the fact that most people will be wearing insane costumes they spent a large amount of money on so I decided to sew myself a costume that would somehow both make me fit in with the comic people and the normal people.
 
I think I succeded

For those that can’t tell (Re: everyone) it’s an R2D2 skirt, inpired by a lady that makes them on Etsy.

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So, if you are at the Calgary Comic Expo and you see a girl in a Star Wars skirt and various mustaches, then come squeal with me about the fact that I totally am inviting Adam West to my birthday party.
 
There’s going to be a piniata. And cupcakes.

Nerd Fail, Puny Human

Carrying in groceries from the car yesterday

Me: “Wow, this bag is heavy… I’m strong like! Like! … Ah, crap…”

Matt: “You mean Hulk?”

Me: “Yes! Hulk! I almost said Thor but I knew that was wrong.”

Matt: “Wow, you fail at being a nerd.”

Me: “That’s not true, didn’t I get up at the crack of dawn last week to buy Star Wars tickets?”

Matt: “*Sigh* They were Start Trek tickets.”

Me: “Oh. I guess I do suck. Just like I keep telling people I’m going to meet Spike Lee instead of Stan Lee.”

Matt: “Oh, Earl.”

Me: “Earl? Who’s Earl?”

Matt: “You know, he was My Name is Earl.”

Me: “I think you mean Jason Lee.”

Matt: “What? Then who’s Spike Lee?”

Me: “I think he does movies.”

Matt: “Like Kung Fu movies?”

Me: “No, that’s Bruce Lee. He’s the not dead one.”

Matt: “OOOooooooH. You mean Brandon Lee!”

Me: “NO NO NO! ”

Matt: “Wait,  he directs movies, right? The Hulk guy?”

Me: “Are you sure that’s not Ang Lee?”

Matt: “No, the Foo Fighters Guy. He does music videos too.”

Me: “That’s Spike Jonze.”

Matt: “Well, then. Touche. I guess we both suck at being nerds.”

 

 

 

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Is Naked a Costume or a Suit?

So in preparation for meeting Adam West (and Wil Wheaton) I’ve been making lists of lists and itemized schedules and I am stuck on one big thing… What the heck do I wear to meet THE Batman? One of my friends keeps sugesting a top hat, but I really think the event organizers will kick me out for not covering up the rest of me… Y’know, after everyone takes pictures and puts them on the internet forever.

Apparently there is a costume party and I thought, oh, that’s pretty cool and then I looked at it and it was all like “ALL walk-on performances will have music. If you are performing a skit, please consider pre-recording your skit to make sure you don’t go over time limits

Um…..wow. Count me out of that. Unless,  is there a catagory for “Dressed like a normal person and is here for the free cookies?” Or possibly, if some people have their way “Naked and wearing a top hat, please provide with a blanket and some spiked punch thank-you-very-much.”

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You you ever find yourself randomly telling stories about terrible and highly embarrassing things that have happened to you to complete strangers and then you realise that is how every single one of your friendships has started? I’m fairly certain that all the people I know met me through some regalement of the time I found my moms douche bag or when a deer lovingly named Gimpy started stalking me.

Yeah. You know you want to be my friend because at some point a deer had watched me get naked. And then tried to kill me. Twice.

It’s probably not as crazy as it sounds. I mean, he could have just been fascinated by shiny. Right? RIGHT?

*Sigh*

For a while Matt and I lived in the ground level suite at my parents while we saved up enough to buy a house. It was newly built and I’m pretty sure that all the deer around were very confused by the fact that only a couple months ago this was all forest. God knows I would be.

So we had deer in our yard pretty regularily. And It’s not really like you can easily tell one deer from the other. I mean, it could have been fifty different deer or five of the same deer over and over again. Except for one, Gimpy. I dont know if he was hit by a car at some point or what, but he walked with this crazy limp and ran sideways… Shut up, we’re imaginitive.

 

What are you cooking? Can I have some?

 

He started getting more and more bold as time went on and graduated from chewing the lawn, to the garden, to my window boxes, glaring in at me while he ate all my pretty flowers, watching me do people stuff… sometimes I would look up and there he would be, face pressed against the glass, watching me cook super.

That’s when I started to think he was stalking me. But you know, deer will be deer. That’s the right saying, right?

One summer night, I walked around to the backyard to set up a telescope. Someone had just shown me how to see Jupiters moons on a big telescope and I was pretty excited to try and find them at home.

So, it’s dark, I’ve got my head down as I head around the corner of the house trying to jugle all the telescope parts when…

 *WHAMMO*

I walk right SMACK into the side of Gimpy.

Now, I go flying ass over tea kettle one way, the telescope flys apart in another and the damned deer sceams out of the yard like nobodies business.

At this point, I’m lying on the damp grass with a wet ass and bruised dignity, the telescope has gone who knows where in the dark backyard so I run over to my parents backdoor and try to get in, lest the super meanie bo beanie of a deer come back to finish the job.

Except for the part where it must have been awfully late and my mom was sitting on the couch by the door in her PJ’s, all ready for bed.

And she thought I was a burgler.

She starts SCREAMING, running around, hollering at my Dad, while I keep banging on the locked door, “LET ME IN, LET ME IN!!! THE DEER IS TRYING TO KILL ME!” and my Dad comes running out of bed with the bedside table lamp, ready to brain the person breaking in to the house in the middle of the night.

Which happened to be me. When they finally turned on the porchlight and realized it was me (and there was no need to call 911) they didn’t even beleive that a deer would be dumb enough to let me walk into it. Strangely, nobody questioned me walking into a deer.

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I didn’t see Gimpy for a long time after that. I think maybe he was trying to keep a low profile. Telling all his forest friends how this crazed human came out of nowhere and attacked him when he was just trying to get a midnight snack.

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Then my birthday rolls around. Don’t always the worst things happen on your birthday?

We went out to the really good comedy club, had a nice night and I got pretty drunk. You know the beligerent kind of drunk where you think you know the answer to everything? Yeah. That was me.

We get home and for some reason I excepted my husband to come around and help me out of the car. It could have been the fact that I was three sheets to the wind, or the fact that I was wearing thigh high stilletos. Instead he nimbly hopped out of the car and let himself in the house, leaving me, in my drunk mind, stranded.

Being at the antagonistic stage of quite drunk, I decided that if he wasn’t going to come help me inside the I wasn’t going inside. I was going to go off and do my own thing, that will show him!

So I clambered, as best one can in my state, off into the backyard (I’m beginning to see a theme) and decided to lie down and watch for shooting stars. 

 After who knows how long I heard a weird sort of.. snuffling noise on my head. Something starts tugging at my hair and I can see a massive wierd shape by me. I shoot up like an uncoordinated bag of sticks and yep, that’s right. Gimpy is trying to eat my head.

To be fair to him, I’m pretty sure he thought I was dead, because he was just as surprised as I was. His reaction though, instead of running away, was to rear up, scream and then canter around me in a circle like the most terrifying devil possessed creature in existance. So then I screamed. And then he screamed and ran some more. It was like a whole neverending chain reaction of screaming and running and everybody poops thier pants. Except neither of us were wearing pants.

And then Matt poked his head outside, yelled at me to shut up and slammed to door, which scared Gimpy away and saved me. I think that might have been my birthday present form him.

Matt never beleived me about the attack. But it happened Matt. It happened

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Good Morning. That’s a Nice Tnetennba.

I thought there was an awesome draft somewhere in here but I guess not. You will just have to be satisfied with my current rambling thoughts. This will probably be a disaster, you might want to back away slowly.

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I have decided I’m no longer funny. You know why? Because I’m an accountant now. Do you know what is funny about being an accountant? Nothing.  Do you know what is boring about being an account? Everything. Or nothing, depending on your views of job related suicide rates. Maybe this is a really dangerous job and one day I will be felled by an errant paper cut that gets infected with some tropical bird pox I got from touching money.

I guess that would be pretty funny.

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If you are wondering where I’ve been lately (when not spectacularily planning to meet Batman. What does one wear to meet THE Batman, anyway? Is it like the Queen? Do I have to curtsey? Is it like that one time when I was 5 and Bryan Mulroney hugged me and I kicked him in the shin and  the police took me away? Hopefully it’s not like that at all) I’ve been on Pinterest. Because I’ve decided to have another wedding. (If you are Matt reading this I totally mean Italian wedding soup. Ignore the rest of this blog)

Apparently Pinterest is a whole website devoted to people finding random things that someone else has made and then motivating them to go out and buy all the thing to make it themselves and then totally not. Or maybe I’ve been using it wrong. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. I might need to quit, because it is making my house look like a disaster. Also, I’ve wrecked like 5 tshirts. Well, not MY tshirts, but people got angry. Or they will when they figure it out.

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Anyone who has ever been married knows that the whole this basically has nothing to do with you and the whole day is going to suck anyway. You might as well get drunk and watch your family member fight it out. So I decided it is high time that everyone can go screw themselves and come get drunk on my dime. Again.

Also, Matt is into it. I mean, I assume that by saying “If that’s want you want, dear.”, with no sarcasm sign what so ever, it means he is super excited about and secretly planning to tie a crap ton of ballons to our house so I can re-enact the start of the movie UP. With less crying and dead spouses though.

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Since the last wedding was black and white (We were being original. Shut up, mom.) I wanted this one to be a rainbow. Except you know what rainbow weddings are geared towards? Gay people. Because Gay people don’t want regular weddings, they want a Unicorn with grillz driving a Cadillac across a rainbow as their cake topper and a piniata of a Garden Gnome wearing a peek-a-boo dominatrix outfit at the reception. Nothing says party like hard core lawn fetishists.

I’m kind of offended that internet marketing doesn’t count me in the ‘likes rainbows’ target group. Is it because I’m an accountant now, Internet? Is that why? I say for shame, Sir!

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I guess what I am really trying to say is I need someone who knows how to operate a puppet minister and is up for officiating a totally regular rainbow wedding while crouched under a table doing an awesome Muppet voice. I will pass you beer during the ceremony. Or rainbow jello shots. Which ever fits under my dress best.

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