Pussy (Cat)

We got back from Aruba on Saturday night. It's been a blur ever since. I still have not uploaded any photos, nor can I find my good hairbrush.

I slept for many, many hours Saturday night, Sunday morning and straight on into Sunday afternoon, when it was time to pick up the pets from the Yuppie Pet Palace Hotel That Ended Up Costing As Much As Our Plane Tickets, Even Though We Supplied All Our Own Damn Food.

Ceiba was...confused, as usual, like she sort of remembered who we were and that occasionally we fed her turkey bacon and oh! look! floor lint!

She's a bit constipated and is having periodic yet dainty sneezing fits, but otherwise is doing just fine.

Max surprised us by not being a royal bitch about everything. He's never been boarded before...usually our neighbors would just come over and feed him but they moved away and our new neighbor is absolutely terrified of Ceiba so I'm not even going to introduce her to our 15-pound Gigundocat. Anyway, every time we come home from vacation he gets a prissy funk about it and ignores us for days.

I don't think Max enjoyed the Yuppie Pet Palace Experience, despite residing in a luxury four-level kitty condo with fresh lambswool bedding (changed daily) and the fact that I provided food from home AND suffered the embarrassment of presenting "Puppy" to the kennel staff, which they all totally laughed at, because Puppy is, without a doubt, the most pathetic-looking stuffed toy you have ever seen in your life.

(Puppy once resembled a knock-off of the Taco Bell chihuahua, back when he had eyes and a nose and the ever-loving shit hadn't been kicked out of him on a daily basis. He has also been re-stuffed and re-sewn about a dozen times, and each time I ended up using whatever extra thread had come with my most-recent clothing purchase, which means Puppy has several oddly-colored seams that resemble gangrenous wounds.)

Max was very, very glad to see us. Max was glad to see CEIBA, and even curled up with her on my newly-diminished lap during the car ride home. But every once in awhile he'd stand up on his hind legs, put his front paws on my chest and stare frantically into my face, like, "IS IT REALLY YOU? CAN IT BE TRUE? OH, DAY OF GLORIOUS JOY!"

And he's been all cuddly and loving and clingy ever since. I'm thinking we need to dump his ass in the kennel more often. Perhaps we can board the baby at Yuppie Pet Palace Hotel too, since I'm still no closer to finding a damn daycare center than I was a few weeks ago.

Hell, they give them fresh lambswool bedding every day, how bad could it be?

The Post-Christmas Pre-Birthday Drunkening

Merry Day After.

I can't give details on our Christmas Day right now, mostly because I'm a littloe bit drnuk. But tomorrow is my birthday! Like, in an hour! Happy birthday meeeeee. I will be 27. Which means I am still young and youthful, so suck it, older people. And younger people? Well, I probably make more money than you, so you can suck it too.

(druuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnke.)

OKay, enough typing about me rationalizing my birthday as being not that old even though, ogh my God, I am so in my late 20s and not totally world-famous yet, which blows.

HERE ARE (wHOOPs) some Christmas-y-ish photos to fill up some space. I am going to get more wine now. Or maybe some like, extra dry sherry, because I'm FUCKING OLD.

Amy's Mom + Craftiness - Real and Actual Grandchildren = Stockings For Pets

Cat + Catnip + Wee Stocking = We could help him get his head unstuck, but we'd rather just laugh and take pictures.

Christmas Tree + Wine + Tripod = The last time I'll do this damn mathematical-type photo caption, I promise

I got a My Little Pony for Christmas. Did you? I was going to keep it in the box for display purposes, but was overcome with desire to comb its hair within five minutes.

(I got lots more than this, though. Like Coach bags! Many things Coach! And Tiffany's! Because I am loved and spoiled.)

Good God, I fucking hate you. So very, very much.

I would hate you, but I'm too stupid to grasp the concept. Instead? I will just poop on the upstairs carpet.

 

Ceiba: I will save you!

Max: Hey HamsterDog, I hate this hat, but I hate you more, so fuck the fuck off, mm'kay?

Christmas is hard work. And I totally cashed Max's bag of catnip. Sweeet.

(I started this post at 11 p.m. on December 26th. It is now 12:38 a.m. on December 27th. So Happy Birthday to me, and also, photo essays are hell damn time consuming. Am too old to be wasting my life like this.)

There Are Pet Photos at the End, Promise

SMALL TRAGEDY OF THE DAY #1: My hosiery had an unfortunate encounter with my car door, so I had to take them off. I'm wearing knee-high boots, but you can still see my knees, which is asbsolutely SCANDALOUS at my office. Bare knees! With no nude nylons to preserve my modesty! Can pasties and g-strings be far behind?

This tragedy is further tragidized, however, because I did not shave my legs. Thank the lord for blond hair and all, but eesh. I feel yicky.

SMALL TRAGEDY OF THE DAY #2: Red pen. Explosion. Carnage. Permanently stained skin. Bah.

And now, a bonus Wednesday(ish) Advice Smackdown question, as it is of the utmost urgency:

Dearest Q to the E-

Tonight I am making Jell-O shots for a bachelorette party this weekend.  While they may be an immature and trashy shot, they are liked by many participants on the bachelorette bus.  My question is, how do I make these and still make them tasty and not taste like you just drank a liter of vodka?

Your follower-
Tonya

An impromptu Recipedown! Awesome!

Okay, Jello shooters are easy peasy. One small package of Jello (I prefer lime), one cup boiling water and one cup vodka. Mix the Jello and the water, stir, add vodka, stir again, pour into wee souffle cups and chill. Or freeze.

The seekrit is DO NOT USE SHITTY ASS VODKA. This strips the shooters of all camp value and demotes them right down to trailer trash nastiness and visions of frat boys passing around the Mad Dog 20/20. So buy nothing that comes in a big plastic jug with the name of your local liquor store on it in a medieval-looking font.

You buy Grey Goose. Or Belvedere. Expensive, but for real, the rest of your party essentials are freaking gelatin and paper cups. You can splurge here. Also, put the vodka in the freezer for a few hours BEFORE making the shots. Vodka kept anywhere other than the freezer is Vodka Cruelty and I believe we can end this horror in our lifetimes. We just need to work together.

Next weeK? A Very Special Thanksgiving Recipedown, as I show you how to make the World's Very Best Thanksgiving Everything, or at least how to make your husband do it.

And for now? Some random photos from my camera because I can't think of anything else to write about, and oh my God, did I honestly start off this entry by talking about LEG HAIR?

Jesus. This entry was doomed from the start. Gimme a Diarist award! Send money and book deals! I am the next Bridget Jones! Only skinnier! And hairer!

Only Max is aware that the evil Vacuum Cleaner lurks behind them, creeping ever closer, waiting for the perfect chance to devour them all. Your only hope is to blend into the couch.

Jason: The fear is his eyes amuses me. Mwa ha ha.

Ceiba: I wonder if I left the iron on.

(Well, yeah. She's pretty in sepia. Shut up.)

Ceiba: *dreams of shoes, maple syrup and becoming the Ultimate Fighting Champion*

Ceiba: Look! I'm a mummy! Look! Kitty! Look at me!

Max: *will not look*

Amy: *will kill camera operator*

Care Bear PJs: *are adorable*

Amy: HA! Let's put my "I Voted" sticker on the dog's butt. I bet that has NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE.

Jason: Yeah! And let's put my Livestrong bracelet around her neck, because we are SO FUCKING TRENDY.

Ceiba: *chomp*

Baby Max and the Unbearable Cuteness

So I was going to do this whole Max-related post to preface the following, but I? Do not have time. Plus it's starting to sound all cutesy-wutesy crazy cat ladyish, so obviously I want to punch myself in my own damn face now. Maybe some other time.

For now? I think this is all the cutesy-wutesy-ness the world can handle. And by "this" I mean Max's baby pictures, from when he was all brand new.

These were taken in the dark times. The pre-digital camera times. They've been preserved on a FLOPPY DISK. They're old. And blurry. But still? So cute.

So very, very cute.

CLICK HERE FOR THE CUTENESS, SUCKERS

Um, Yeah?

Max would like to know why y'all gotta be all up in his grill.