If you want more, I have a flickr account.  Yeah, I know…I know..

http://www.flickr.com/photos/frinukinu/

Word,

I am BACK and ready to BLOG.

So, I don’t even know where to start so I’ll start by talking about my inspiration.  My very own monster cat, Bill.

Bill is one of those pets that has become a full blown obsession.  Is he the screen saver of my phone instead of my boyfriend? Yes.  Does he come up in conversation within the first 10 minutes? Yes. Does my camera roll on my phone consist of about a million pictures of him sleeping and staring? Yes.  When Sting sung, Every Little Thing, he was singing about my cat.

Now that you know my cat shit’s gold, I’ll tell you about how we got together. 

Bill is not my cat.  I am in the process of stealing him from a former roommate.  It all started when my friend and former roommate asked me to watch Bill for the week while he went to Australia (waaaaaaaa).  But before we got there, let me explain.  

My darling, wonderful man of a boyfriend has been the best sport.  It only take 3 or 4 dates for me to let it slip that I wanted a house with 12 cats.  His natural reaction to this was, “12?!” I panicked and said, “no, not 12! Gross! 5.” “5?!?” “NOO! Like 2 or maybe 3!”  So basically he knows.

After the incident which has gone down in our relationship history as, “the time you told me you wanted the dirty dozen,” I felt open enough to begin my master plan of get a boyfriend, get a cat.  

I began dropping subtle hints like, “hey, that little nook up there is perfect for a kitty!”  SInce my baby grew up with a favorite family pet, a stone cold killer indoor/outdoor cat named Fluffy, he’s soft for things that meow.  Knowing this I figured I had a chance, especially after, once steered to the topic of cats, he would glass over with nostalgia and begin a tale, “Yeah, Fluffy used to…”

So when my friend and former roommate offered a babysitting gig for Bill, I jumped and then jumped on the boyfriend.  He was down, as long as I did “all the cleaning, feeding, and responsibility shit.”  This was 3 months ago.  Now, we are a family of three, all of us fighting for room on the couch and space on the bed.  Bill fits right in with our tall statures and insatiable appetites, and has taken quite well to adapting his napping to new residence. 

And what originally began as a joke about writing a whole blog about a cat, comes to a close as an entire blog about a cat.

You’re welcome.

Hey, so, I’ve been away for awhile.

So lemme tell you some stories.

First off, I want to bitch.  When I say bitch, I mean BIATCH.  

What is the easiest thing to bitch about? Relationships. Everyone has one, even if you aren’t in one.  You’ve got the one with your family, your friends, I dunno, maybe even your significant other… They are really all the same.  It is trying to match two personalities together, and no two personalities are the same, so this is pretty much hard as nails.  Like the nail polish, Hard as Nails.  So here’s my shade: Dark black withe grey and amber highlights. 

I can’t help but get terribly frustrated with myself, who can fight that feeling of “I did this to myself” with much success?  Truth. I didn’t, well I sort of did… I pretty much did, fine, I did.  However! It takes two to tango, so BOOM. Eat it self deprecation. 

It’s a familiar desire to rip another person apart, bit by bit, or word by word.  But, does this tactic every work?  My roommate and I were trying to answer this doozie, and we came up with “Who the Fuck knows.”  On the one hand, you have the purging of your emotions, you are set free from the little monkey on your back that seems to give you a wet willie every time you see the other person.  On the other, you run the risk of trading your monkey, for a giant elephant.  The awkward giant grey thing that follows you where ever you go.  Instead of dealing with the brief uncomfortable wet monkey finger in your ear, you are left with the gentle hot breath of the elephant, which is constant.  I really don’t know which is worse.

There is one time that I acted on this desire, I swapped my monkey for the elephant, and truth be told it was totally worth it.  Then again I was stoned off my rocks when I wrote the message.  I actually suggest that if you do intend on spilling your emotions like marbles all over the floor, be good ‘n “fuggedup” as the kids say.  It eases the flow.  But! Then please for the love of all that is holy and pure is this world, wait till you sober up to send it.  The last thing you want is a letter that goes like this:

Dear _____,

You fucking asshole, I hope you get run over like thedog you are.  ILook,’m only saying this because I fucking love you so much youdontevenknow. and you’re just a fucking asshole.  Why? Why are you always such an asshole? I just wanted to luv u. And what didd you do? fuckn threw that shit back in my face like you ddint’ care for two shits in a shit house. But its totes fine. You know whwy? Imma tell you why. Cause i’m over it. I Am Over Tits.

I miss you,

_______

C’mon, you know that shitzgold.

I do kindasorta think that I should go ahead and air my grievances, get it all out in the open.  I mean part of the reason I ended up in this doody storm to begin with was because my “wise” mouth decided to bet him pitchers of margaritas that he was wrong about something, which he was.  How did I boast my victory?  ”OOO! Suckah! Guess what, you better get yourself some new shoes.  That’s right, cause imma puke all over those once I finish my winner’s pitcher, I hope you like lime green buttface!”

I am a lady in every respect.

In truth, my thoughts are like this:

Sad, you make me sad, it’s so bad, that I’m so sad.  Please hurry up and move so that I can get you out of sight out of mind, the sooner the better. I’m so angry this has become such a big deal in my head.  Even more angry that I’m wasting my blog spot on you. I think you’re selfish, rhymes with shellfish.  I know every relationship is for something, but I haven’t figured out what you gave me, other than an oath to not make the same mistakes again (which I’ve already broken, so we’re back at square one, squat).  So, get it packed, and get going.  I’m done caring.

Hello.

As I sit here sipping my Jack Daniel’s on the rocks in my leggings and sweater, after getting almost next to nothing done today except watching more bad cable TV than I have in almost 3 years, I come to the realization of two things.

1) I may love alcohol

2) Jack Daniel’s is nobody’s Jamesons

How I came to own airplane bottles of Jack you may ask? Well let me tell you.

My family likes to drink, hence I like to drink.  When we get together, we drink. My father lives in DC, there is a liquor store in walking distance. My brother and I walked there. I saw a special for airplane bottles “5 for 5”. I was sold. No matter what the booze offered, I knew I just couldn’t walk away from an offer like that.  So I searched, I rummaged, I strived, I shifted through so much Smirnoff Raspberry I wanted to vomit just remembering the days of my youthier youth, downing Goldschlager, and Stolirazzzzzzzz.  I made it through though, because I’m a champion, and I had my eyes on the prize. That prize being booze of at least mediocre quality. And I scored! I left that place feeling like a million bucks, with my little paper bag filled with airplane bottles of magic.

These bottles have mostly been for show as I wanted to save them for “special emergencies” or “special occasions”.  two of which have already happened and now I’m left with only 1 bottle of Jack left to my 3 Beefeaters.

The first time I felt the heat of crisis was after trying to deal with emotions head on as opposed to veering right, ducking left, or just steering clear all together with I believe most people do. Most SMART people do. Don’t worry, it’s all cleared up now, but after opening my email I reached, grabbed, guzzled in record time. Then tried to function in life. It was an epic fail as you can imagine.  Not to say that one little airplane bottle could do so much damage, more to say that the stresses of that pending e-mail had disarmed me of my one defense  towards alcohol. Food. My love for food usually helps in those times of crisis where you have two choices, food or more booze.  Food wins pretty much 98 percent of the time. But being emotionally impaired I had lost my appetite and with that, any cushion I would have had to guzzling Jack on pretty much a 3 day empty stomach.

Well, that was a depressing story.

The next one is short and sweet.

I wanted that bottle and I wanted it bad.  I start school on monday.  It’ll be the first time I’ll have required reading in pretty much four years. And prior to that it had been another 3 years. So I’m pretty much terrified. So I called my old friend Jack up and asked if he liked to party? He said, YES! So we got down with our bad selves watching shit TV and thinking about how we could do so much better, only to push back the thought that in order to do much better, you have to apply yourself, meaning Jack and I would not be hanging out on the couch in spandex.  But that’s what schools for right? There’s got to be a reason for going a trillion dollars in debt right?

Yes, yes there is. I’ll tell you all about it once i figure it out.

So sorry to my 4 whole followers, it’s been about a month since I’ve made a peep on this silly blog I’ve got going on.

Let’s get down to business.

First of all. I want to talk about an interesting experience I had on the subway today.

I was sitting there listening to music, reading my book, and minding my own, when a kid comes and sits next to me.  This is normal, kids like me.  However, the kid then reaches into his bag and pulls out something.  I can’t tell what it is as it’s out of the corner of my eye but it looks like a DVD. I go about reading. The kid pulls out the DVD looking thing again and holds it up in front of me, like he’s comparing it to something. Naturally my brain is thinking “oh my god, he thinks I’m famous. That’s sooooo cute” and as my ego is inflating I see him pull it out again and decide to steal a look. I’m thinking, it’s someone brown, someone young, someone famous. I was right! But so wrong. The kid was pulling out Precious. And the DVD cover is just of Precious. Rock bottom kids, rock fucking bottom.

This made me think of other interesting subway ride experiences.

Another time I was riding home late-ish at night, and was in the middle of reading Lord of the Flies.  My edition has Piggie and broken glasses on the cover. This guy plops down next to me starts slowly looking over and my book. You know how people lean over and think that you can’t tell that they’re trying to read what you’re reading and secretly judging you if it’s poor literature? Oh wait, maybe that’s just me. But this woman was so engrossed in She’s a Hoe Bitch that I just had to see what the fuss was all about. Back to the story. So he’ looking over my should and reading my book, I can tell he is because he’s practically putting his chin on my shoulder and I can see him move his lips out of the corner of my eye. Then he takes it a step further. He starts reading aloud. I’m trying to decide if I think this is funny, or fucked up. I’m still on the fence when he suddenly drops his head in between his knees and I realize he’s looking at the cover of my book. I want to add here as I should have before, that I have my ipod in and can still hear everything that’s going on because he’s just that loud. He pulls his head up and yells at me “Oh yeah! I got dat movie! It’s crazy good, that guy on the cover he..” then I lose it “IF YOU FUCKING RUIN THIS BOOK FOR ME I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL THROW YOU ACROSS THIS TRAIN SO HELP ME GOD” *added finger pointing to really get the point across*

The train is silent and I realize only too late, we have caused a scene.  Then it was my stop. That’s Jesus! You did me another solid! I totes owe you one.

Last story.

In the middle of swine flu, I got on the train and sat down. Spit went down the wrong pipe and I coughed a bit. The guy next to me reaches into his coat inside pocket like I don’t notice, and pulls out a face mask.

THANK YOU NEW YORK! GOOD NIGHT AND I LOVE YOU!

Sassy cats knit into fall/winter wear.

The best idea ever.

I’m watching Rescue Me and thinking about how personally involved I feel in each of the characters lives.  I’m also thinking that that’s just a tad sad.  But I’m so into it it’s insane so I don’t even care, these guys need hugs all around.

This one time I met the cast.

Let me tell you the story.

So, I’m wandering into Williamsburg for a photo shoot (please note: I am not a model, don’t think I’m a model, will never be a model. Three words “Ass Like Dat”)

So I’m wandering right, trying to figure out where I am without asking directions because I’ve got this man complex when it comes to directions and men don’t need no Goddamn directions thank you when you got the fuckin sun, hello. Tell your compass to suck it.

Yeah, so I was lost, but I saw a bunch of movie trailers so I figured something was cooking, also, my Spidey Senses were going crazy.  I see a guy with the head phones/walkietalkie thingie that means he’s on set and part of the crew, so I ask him what they’re filming.

“Rescue Me”

Fist pump and “YES! I KNEW IT!”

I see a fire truck in the near distance and my pace quickens as does my heart rate.  As I get closer to the truck the air thickens, and I peek around the engine I see *gasp* the entire cast minus Denis Leary (my love my life) sitting around in a circle in their actors chairs in full bunker gear.

Hot.

I’m peering around the corner like a creeper and they look over at me and I just stare.

they stare.

I stare.

“hi”

“hi”

*cough/ trembling voice/three octaves higher* ”I’m a HUGE fan”

and next thing I know I’m over their shaking hands and spouting gross amounts of verbal diarrhea.  They’re super cool and awesome and friendly, I’m going on about how super cool and awesome and friendly they are and trying to keep my cool (ha HAAA). I ended up telling them about the photo shoot, about my tattoo, and blah blah blah I think I blacked out a couple of times.  Finally I tear myself away from their beautiful faces and personable characters before confusing real life with entertainment any more than I already had. And before I began trying to whore myself out. I honestly kinda regret the last one…

It happened and have a photo to prove it.

I also realize now that I’m a total giant.

And that I want to date a Fire Fighter.

And that I’m too attached to these characters then I should be, and that it may or may not be healthy to look into all open fire house doors and passing trucks with the hopes of seeing Tommy Gavin…just once…his boney Irish ass…

*sigh*

Happy post thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and it leaves me with these thoughts…

1) Is this the year where I puke at the table (dropping the F bomb has already been achieved, as is burping, just raising the bar one social fopaux at a time)

2) What bus should I take since I can’t get off of work? Do I risk the waiting game in Chinatown for whenever I get off of work, or book a 1:30am bus that will have me sleeping a hot 4 hours before it’s time to get picked up.  Con, no sleep, Pro, I get to make my brother wake up at 6am.

3) Was the guy at the bar a homosexual? Wait, sorry, wrong list..

3) Will my mother and my aunt drink too much wine and give us another fabulous display of professional passive aggressive disputing? Will I be placed as mediator once more? Is there enough wine?

4) We need more wine

5) Will my brother’s new girlfriend need extensive therapy post family meal?

Oh my god, these and so many more have been plaguing my thoughts…

I mean, the guys jeans were tight, but he seemed really interested in me so I’m all confused, damn our gender bender generation.

I leave you with this thought: I wish I could eat that bag of cookies in my other bag (how many bags are involved in this?) without having my gut spill over my jeans or feel like my love handles are made of jello when I’m running down the stairs (gross I know but don’t even pretend that you don’t know this feeling), I wish i could eat them. I really do.

The end.