March 27th, 2010 | 16 Comments »

One of my readers requested that I update my blog, and just in case I was out of ideas, she suggested that I explain what I had against cats.

Oh, the cat lovers will so hate on me now.

Have you cat lovers ever noticed that cats are not obedient? Am I the only one who has a problem with that? If I am feeding you and looking after you, couldn’t you at least deign to abide by some basic house rules? Apparently not, if you’re a cat.

One of my basic house rules? You do not jump up on my counters or table if you have litterbox feet. Do I need to elaborate on that? Do we need to discuss the vile smell of cat excrement? It’s so overwhelmingly unsanitary to have litterbox feet walking around on the surfaces where food is prepared. When you’re done grossing me out kitty, why not show me how much you love me by shredding my furniture with your claws? Because, clearly, you do not want me to have nice things. Or how about jumping up to my eye level, lifting your tail up straight, and presenting your lovely cat arsehole three inches from my nose? Does anyone really find this appealing? Because the whole cat arsehole thing? The fun totally eludes me.

When you come home from work, does your cat act all goofy happy to see you ? No? Do you, instead, get yelled at because they’re all “Where’s my food, bitch” ? Because cats will do that. They are used to having servants.

You might think your cat is being affectionate when it rubs itself against you. You might, but you would be deluded so very wrong. What your cat is doing is depositing saliva to mark you as its very own personal servant. Just so the other cats will know that it has dibs on the giver of food.

Look, I know that dogs roll in dead things and will eat turds, but they also will submit to a bath, if you understand dogs at all. They are always wicked happy to see you. They want to please you, and can be trained. And when a dog fucks up? It has the decency to at least look ashamed.

You just ask Bill Clinton about the pluses of having a dog. During all that Monica business, when he came home at the end of the day, the only member of the family who was happy to see him was the dog. Even if your wife and kid think you’re an arsehole, your dog is all “OMG! I missed you SO much! I’m so glad you’re home!”

And for that? I can endure the slurpy sound of a dog licking its own balls.

Cats? Not so much. Besides, I’m allergic.

Posted in What's this?
March 14th, 2010 | 17 Comments »

I was going through my old pictures because Loralee posted pictures of her various haircuts. Not one of them was particularly embarrassing. And that was just so wrong. I not only had embarrassing hair, but look at the clothes and shoes!

Nowadays, I have so many different looks and body changes that people seem to only recognize me when I speak. Think Marge Simpson’s older sisters. Yes. Like that.

But I do have strange looking pictures of when I was younger. I was a bit surprised to recall that I wore a few wigs back in the day. Who knew?

Age 16, almost 17. Daisies in hair for wedding of my father and mildly amusing OCD stepmother. She was 23. I’m pretty sure we had our hair done professionally for this event. But I wore this do in a less poufy way for quite a while.

This is mildly amusing OCD stepmother’s (MA OCD SM) signature hairstyle for others. Ringlets. It was my prom. Even the ringlets didn’t stop me from getting naked that night. I shudder with embarrassment at the dress. Check out the shoes.

Evidence of the ringlet-making. This would be Dizzee’s first wife the night before their wedding. Nobody looks happy here. Foreshadowing.

And this would be the result. See? MA OCD SM was all about the ringlets. And Dizzee’s bride was all about the boobies, cuz she was knocked up.

This would be me, with hair in rollers night before Dizzee’s wedding. Note how hard I was trying to appear sober and no fun. That’s because I was posing with my father. Totally wasted.

Self-styled hair. Note the prom shoes. Many years later. Hey, I have Sasquatch feet.

I thought I had uploaded the bedhead photo, but instead, I give you the having a poop photo. Any mother with a kid that young never gets to poop alone. Not all husbands document this, however. Especially when his wife is wearing a Superman t-shirt and leather clogs. Notice how he cleverly distracted me with a cute baby before ambushing me with the camera.

I had a fondness for wigs at one time. And apparently, for over plucking my eyebrows.

The wigs got beat up a little. It was fun to wear them drunk, like here.

One more wig and I’ll stop. This was the mighty afro, which Dances With Shrapnel (also in picture) loved. He said:”Oh, Mommy, I love your hair. It’s aaaallllll MESSY.” So cute. He was coming down with chicken pox there.

Then there’s the matching hair. His was real. Mine was a perm.

My 50th birthday. You’d think I would have Photoshopped out the red neck, but you would be so wrong. The hot flash queen. And? It’s close to the cut I had with the daisy hair at 16. Only less poufy.

My green streaks. I really like green streaks. This was taken last summer or the summer before that. I’m old and don’t remember stuff so well anymore.

Thanks, Loralee! That was kind of fun.

Posted in it's all about me