It's my sinuses that are plugged, I guess. I should know that.
When I was a kid, I would get a cold and lay there, feeling whatever it is that plugs up the sinuses shift from one side of my head to the other. You know that shift? Sinus shift? Is this even real? Am I making this up? I could probably google it, but seriously, I'm too lazy. Anyway, I'd do that when I was a kid and now, when I'm sick, I torture myself with it. I'll lay on one side all "Uuuunnnngggghhhhh...." and then I'll flip over and I'll feel the shift and there will be sweet relief and I'll be like "Ahhhhhh...snrrrghhhkkk!" Oh yeah. It shifts backwards too.
And there's this constant desire to sneeze. I'll feel one coming on and prepare myself (by removing all sharp objects that could go flying and puncture my thigh or chest) and my eyes will water and then. . . nothing. At all. It's like being constantly arroused and never climaxing. You should hear me sneeze. After I sneeze I'll be like "Oh, baby! Yeah!" And the whole room is smoking a cigarette.
Speaking of watery eyes, nothing makes the Baby Jesus cry harder than sick baby animals. Especially baby Elephants. There's a baby elephant at the Calgary Zoo that's been rejected by its momma. Not only its momma, but its grand-momma, too.
Okay, everybody all together now: Awwwww!
Seriously. Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard? How could anybody reject this little, grey, wrinkly wreck?
Sniff. Sorry. I just think animals are so cute.
All animals except my cat. My cat can go to hell.
When I came home the other day, I found the Chairman Meow curled up under all my blankets. Now, he really had to worm his way in there because unlike some of you hosers, I make my bed every day. Anyway, he was all in my bed under the covers, purring like he'd been into my Jackson Triggs Chardonnay, so I kicked him out. Cause I'm mean like that.
It was kind of funny at first because he was just this round lump. So I threw the covers back and he got up and did that thing cats do where they stretch while sitting and dig their claws into things and licked his lips and blinked into the sun all "I'm not ready to be awakened yet. Unless of course, there's some Fancy Feast in my bowl." To which I wittily replied: "There is no Fancy Feast in your bowl, you big, fat, fatty. You could live for three weeks on your stored fat. Go eat the dry food that is chemically enhanced to slim you down to a svelte, panther-like physique." I'm not positive, but I swear, if cats could snort derisively, mine would have. He was probably thinking "Too bad there's nobody who doles out your food twice a day, bitch."
Then he jumped down from my bed and I put the covers back, not thinking anything of it. I thought about it plenty when I got into my bed later that night and was confronted with a crapload of kitty litter rocks that rode in with the Chairman.
Now, I'm sure not all of you have cats, but let me give you a little rule: if kitty litter sticks to your cat's feet, it is wet kitty litter. Wet kitty litter drys and eventually falls off. In your bed. And it still has dry cat pee on it. Or it has absorbed the pee, but the pee was once there and it is now in your bed � maybe on some molecular level � but it is there, dammit. And that's just gross.
Sometimes, I feel bad because I don't really talk to my cat except to say "Move, fatty," or "Soup's on. But then, you knew that because you've been standing here by the cupboard where your food is stored, meowing like a whiney, greedy bitch for the last half hour." Perhaps I should rephrase my earlier statement of regret. Sometimes I feel bad because I'm a sarcastic bitch to my cat. But then, he plots to take over the world, so I really think it's a fair trade off.
Text: Fahrenheit 451
Tube: My grad video, which is an hilarious ode to beer and hot tubs. Remind me never to write that entry.
Tunes: Vertigo by U2. Oh yes I am. And you know what? I LOVE it. Bono is love, bitches!
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