You know this is my safe space and the receptacle for all my deepest thoughts and memories--it's my pensieve, if you will. (Will you????) So I feel like I can tell you that yesterday afternoon I spent much of the day looking at photos of cats.
Yes, cat pics.
Ever since I became a stepmom to Jewboo's cats, I've become such an animal lover! Nothing makes me feel better than a cat cuddle and I never want to leave the house. The obese cat and I have some issues (mostly cause he shit on the mattress last week and his food issues hit too close to home), but when he rolls over for a rub, looking like a little baked potato, my heart just melts a little bit.
What prompted this was my coworker telling me about the cat she's going to adopt. Apparently she's 5 years old, been in a foster home, and "struggles with her weight." AKA, she's obese like my stepson. I passed along some suggestions, but mostly questioned this cat's history.
My coworker didn't like it when I asked, "is she the Precious of cats?"
She sent me a link to the cat's photo on petfinder.com, a website I hadn't even heard of (it's basically a match.com for pet lovers). Well, let me tell you, I'm officially hooked. I mean, look at these frackin' kittens:
COME THE FUCK ON!!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO MY DAMN JOB WHEN THESE CUTE-ASS BITCHES ARE EXISTING?????
And they even have a video of the momma cat and the babies playing:
Seeing all these cats in need of a home, I can sorta see how those ladies on A&E end up as cat hoarders. I mean, the ad says that the momma cat is just over a year old herself!!! That's basically the cat equivalent of 16 & Pregnant, and you know how much I want to help those girls. And these cats lookin' all cute and bi-racial--who knows what man cat knocked her up! Is there a cat version of Audre Lorde or Lucille Clifton that I can read to her to lift up her soul??? I'd totes change her name to Shiloh and and call the rest Maddox 1-3.
If you like cats and live in NYC, they're a great pet to have. Go and adopt one from this website or foster one until it can get a permanent home. And then let me come over over day and play with them.
Oh, and FYI: Tonight at 11pm I'm performing at The People's Improv Theater (The PIT) on Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting's monthly show. Come on down!
I wake up after a fitful sleep to check my email and discover that the VH1 show I shot a segment for has been pushed back to August! AUGUST!! That’s practically fall—who’s going to care about celebrity beach bodies then?! What if they don’t end up using me at all???!! And my main-gay contact there is no longer going to be working on the show, so there goes my in to future opportunities as a talking head. Ugh, I’m never going to become famous ever. I guess I’m going to have to work on becoming a basketball wife.
After getting ready, I head downstairs to the living room to tend to my houseguests. You see, I’ve been hosting the Jewboo’s two cats since Monday, and it’s turned my whole world topsy-turvy. Although I had a cat for a few years, two have two large rambunctious, heavily shedding animals running amok is not something the blacktress is used to. And to have them for a week and make sure I don’t accidentally traumatize them is just too much. Their names are Squee and Prembley (yes, Squee and Prembley), and Squee is totally energetic and spastic, and quickly acclimated himself to his new environment, and wanted to explore beyond the confines of the living room where I had them quarantined. Prembley, on the other hand, is rather…um…big boned and super lazy, and loves to fit his large self into tiny spaces. When I enter in the mornings and after work, Squee instantly pads towards me, waiting to be petted, while Prembley looks at me from behind the bookshelf with eyes that say, “You’ll never be my real mommy.” I’ve been keeping them in the rather spacious living room, to both avoid the spread of cat hair everywhere, and to keep them from getting too overwhelmed and getting caught in madness…and also because I’m scared they may be carrying bedbugs.
Ah, yes…bedbugs.
This is why I’m holding the beasts.
You see, the Jewboo has bedbugs. His roommate found them last week. Ever since, he’s been in a pit of despair. I’d go into detail, but why don’t you watch this funny video of the two of them being sad and ranting about it on their stoop on their latest episode of “Cookies and Bookies,” their video podcast in which they review cookies and give betting advice?
(note the reference to the "girlfriend"--that's me! Yeah, I buy him cookies. You know, the key to a man's heart is through his stomach. I figure the best way to buy an unemployed Jewish man's love is through kosher treats).
I love how he’s looking such a hot mess in this video, hair all askew, bespectacled and washed out. That’s my guy!!
Of course, I’m not missing the hour-long trek to Greenpoint, but I also don’t want him shuttling these critters to my house, starting their own Harlem Renaissance in my crib! I also need to stop treating his cats as though they are actual houseguests, rearranging my schedule so that they’re pleased. I also need to stop calling them “sir” and talking to them for extended periods of time. It’s getting creepy. This morning, when I went to change the water bowl, not only did Squee race out the door, but even the normally comatose Prembley darted out, and I simply could not spend my morning trying to wrangle them back into the living room and making sure they were secure. I just had to make sure the living room door stayed open, so they could get to their food and their little box, and go about my day.
Who knows what I’ll come home to. The night before, Squee had managed to get out of the living room, but because it’s a sliding door, he couldn’t get back in, so lord knows how he spent his day. All I know is, he wandered in reeking of booze and shame....and refused to look me in the eye.
So, while I sit here at work, slightly worried that the cats are spreading bedbugs all around at best, and at worst, stuck in a crawlspace, I just saw that my friend’s bf has the following gchat status message: RIP RUE.
Instantly, I know this can only mean one thing…..BLANCHE DEVEREAUX HAS PASSED ON!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
THIS DAY IS UTTER DARKNESS!!!
WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?????
Only B-White is left standing. I don’t know if I can handle this. Blanche was the original cougar, y’all. She was a cougar before there was a word for it! She was a cougar back when it was just creepy.
Look at her--she's probably thinking about who she just slept with--or planning who to sleep with next!! She taught us that geriatric sexuality was okay. OH GOD, the aforementioned BF just informed me that Gary Coleman died!! This is what happens when I’m in the Vermont woods and dating a man who doesn’t recognize the lyrics to Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” (you know, when he’s asking directions, and I sing “to the left, to the left”—I’m cut off from civilization. How could I have missed this?!
What other bombs are going to drop on me today? I thought bad things come in threes. Wouldn't Gary Coleman make 4? But, I guess that already happened and I'm just behind. This day's bound to turn around, right?
You know, just when I think I’m ready to pack it up and quit this plantation, something comes in the mail or a voice squawks in my ear, and I remember to find the laughter. Today is no exception.
I was sorting the mail for the massas when a letter addressed to no one in particular hit the pile. I open any piece of mail with no direct recipient, and usually toss it in the garbage because it often involves an organization asking for money or someone with questionable talent looking for exposure. Today’s letter featured a 1-page single-spaced letter, and four photographs of the artist’s work attached. I have retyped the greatest moments from the letter below, leaving in all typos and other errors so you can really feel what I felt while holding this cold piece of parchment in my hands. You must forgive my inability to scan the accompanying images—something about “being illegal” and “dangerous” came up, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, here it is: Dear Magazine Editor, It feels strange approaching you. Then again We Artist’s have to promote ourselves sometimes…. [Note the typos. I’m uncomfortable. I think part of promoting oneself should require the use of proper grammar and spelling.]
I was tired of painting my usual flowers and landscapes. “Done to Death.”
[Um, why is that in quotes? I know he’s not really dead, or else he couldn’t write to me. Or could he??????]
I wanted to do something different, stimulating, and enjoyable with a “Fresh subject matter.” Pondering, what could be interesting that would get people into the gallery to at least look? I came up with the idea of “Cats.” A lot of people like cats. That’s it! “Cat’s doing outrageous human things.”
I kid you not. This is my job. Read on. Why cats? Cats have a mischievous behavior anyway, and do what, when, and where they want on there own terms. If cats could, they would be doing human things… I must admit, I was giggling to myself as these ideas flourished. … As I was painting, other ideas came to mind that would make the painting funnier, so I would change them as I went along. I was very excited to get out to the studio every day and work on these paintings. They were “FUN” and made me laugh out loud!! I figured that If they made me laugh (in my warped sense of humor) they would make others laugh, too. (Maybe I am related to Gary Larson- Far Side Cartoons)”
I think Gary Larson would probably take away his acrylic if he saw this. The six paintings he provided pictures of include: -A cat doing a handstand on a surfboard. -A cat lounging in a bed of various balls of yarn. -A cat dressed as a grocer, selling things that only cats like: smoked sardines, yarn balls, goldfish. -And my favorite: A dog dressed as a doctor, performing an ultrasound on a cat's belly. The wall of the doctor's office features the sign "Canine University: Feline Obstetrics." The caption under the painting reads, "you're going to have siamese twins!!"
This man and the sock monkey guy should get together and put their animals in crazy situations.
Does anyone mind putting my resume on monster.com?
