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Photo on 8-1-14 at 6.59 PM #2

I work from home. And yes, Captain Obvious, it’s awesome. 

I’m going to make you jealous. And you’re going to hate me. Because these are the things I can do, and, unfortunately for you if you do NOT work at home, you cannot do. Well, you might be able to do some of these things. I am not sure. Probably not this first one though, but MAYBE:

– wear or not wear clothes. As Jessica Day would proudly say, my boobs don’t have to go to boob jail today! But the girls usually end up going there anyway, mainly because when I don’t wear a bra during the day I feel like a super weird and awkward human. Well, more than usual. Or that I’m staying home sick from school like a 12-year-old. HOWEVER, everything else is optional. Yes, everything. I’m usually wearing last night’s pajamas complete with pizza stain. It’s the most unsexy thing you’ve ever seen. 

-hold concerts. Intimate, beautiful, heartfelt concerts. Concerts that put Barbra Streisand herself to shame. Buy your tickets in advance, these little ditties tend to fill up fast. A keen listener outside my door might hear any of the following: a selection from the RENT soundtrack,,,,or the entire RENT soundtrack. No, that’s not a typo. Maybe the Wicked soundtrack if it’s a good green day in Oz. Dance recitals are sometimes plugged into this spot if the day is extraordinary and I’m feeling limber. 

-eat at will. This can be both a GOOD and BAD thing. Usually bad. Very, very bad. I can meander over to the fridge to get carrot sticks, hummus or orange juice…but I can also grab an ice cream sandwich. You see the struggle here. 

-fawn over my fur babies. ’nuff said. I love animals, so that = perfect work environment. Feeling sad/overwhelmed/stressed? But look at that kitty!

-take showers during my lunch break. Hey, sometimes it’s necessary. 

-wake up and walk over to my computer. It’s like seven feet away. No commuting, no traffic, no asshole drivers. I know, this is usually where people are like, “I hate you.” And then, “No, I really hate you.” Because on the top ten things that suck most about life, traffic isn’t number one, but it’s damn close to it. In turn, my road rage has improved. As in it’s not so intense and terrifying anymore and people aren’t like, whoa, that girl really hates me for cutting her off. I still have my moments, let’s not get carried away. 

-keep my germs and, in turn, not receive the germs of other humans 🙂 🙂 🙂 KEEP YO NASTY. 

-have everything I need at my disposal. I used to say things like, “Gee, I left that at home today, darn” at my office job. Not anymore, ya’ll. Not anymore. 

——–

I’m sorry, I had to. Don’t hate me really though. Working at home has definite perks.

~Serious Moment of Blog~… but sometimes I get lonely. Humans/human contact can be cool and fulfilling and special, too. I met some of my co-workers for the first time in person on a work trip to Atlanta in May, and I was like “your face! it’s here! we’re in the same room! this is awesome!” An odd feeling when these are people you work with daily. So there’s that. Sometimes I feel out of touch. But mostly, working at home is just really, really nice. 

 

 

 

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Don’t make me go back!

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Photo on 7-30-14 at 7.00 PM

I feel like a third-grader that doesn’t want to come in from recess.

Guys, it’s July 30th. August is like, this week. It’s on Friday.

Which MEANS, for all of us that have spent our summer waving our Chicago flags high and mighty and proud…it’s almost fucking winter. Insert gif of a frowny-faced celebrity or a New Girl character being sad and mopey.

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. Why.

July 30th. And it’s almost winter. Let that sink into your humidity-muddled brain for a sec. “Summer just started!” We think this to ourselves in a fierce collective, and we’d be right. It did. Technically it started a month ago. And now it’s ending. Bye, bye!

Sure, maybe I’m overreacting. Being a Whiny Wilma. But then again, maybe not. Because, in about, eh, 40 days or so, we’ll start to notice that familiar crispness in the air. That welcoming twinge, something’s changing, look at those leaves! How pretty! It’s like a Thomas Kinkade painting! We’ll need a cardigan, so we’ll grab one as we rush out the door to a bonfire. Or maybe you’re the type that proclaims, it’s hoodie weather! We’ll start drinking hot toddys. (What the hell is a hot toddy, though) Pumpkin-spiced everything, ciders, costume parties, colorful leaves, spooky haunted houses. I know, I knowwwwww. Those things are cool.

But all of that lasts for about two.flipping.weeks.

And then it’s winter. Fall was just purgatory, so painfully temporary. Fall is mean. It’s there and then it isn’t. Why fall, why!, why must you leave us so abruptly every year, only serving as a gateway for that cruel horrible nastiness we call winter? Fall is that cool friend that moves away to Istanbul after graduation. Must be nice, FALL, to just pack up and go like that. See ya! Great, now winter’s here…for like 8 months. I’ll just lay over here, on the couch, hibernating and wallowing with a bag of Doritos until I can wear a romper again.

Okay, some of winter is fine: cuddling, Santa Claus (which is an umbrella term for everything Christmas), hot cocoa, […] wait, that’s it. That’s literally all I like about winter. I am a woman of reason. I prefer to walk out the door and not say, “shiver me rotten icy timbers, it’s cold as a popsicle out here!” Car problems become second nature, snow is slippery so we fall down and embarrass ourselves, we need to wear like 47 things just to go outside. God.

So I’m sitting here thinking: WHY AM I HERE. Should I move? Should I go somewhere? I could do it. Pack my backpack, bundle up my kitty cats and book it down to the Gulf. Hang out there for a bit on a beach towel, sippin’ that margarita. Maybe I’ll say to California: California, here I come! Or go to like Denver or something, where the winters are picturesque at the very least. But then I realize I’m poor. Problem numero dos.

Bottom line is that I want to sit and enjoy the summer while I can, light my tiki lamps and have rooftop drinks. But it’s fading, soon. And I know all you guys busy summer-lovin’ feel me.

I just don’t want to stop doing these things:

Exposing my legs.
Going to bars where there’s just one big window in front and it’s OPEN.
Running outside and getting chased by little dogs.
Riding my bike.
Enjoying the absence of shivering.
Seeing green things that are growing in the ground.
Hanging out at summer festivals.
Being asked if I’d rather sit inside or outside. OUTSIDE, always outside.
Listening to Ke$ha with the windows rolled down.

Sue me.

The Furry Culprit

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The Furry Culprit

So this blog is about how I let my cats walk all over me. Both literally and figuratively, and I’m going to explain how so ~watch out~!

THESE CATS.

They do. They walk all over me. They do it good. They are so crafty, these feisty felines of mine.

Yet, if you think about it, ALL pets do that. Dogs, cats, birds: anything that’s cute and small. They just walk the hell over us and we stand there, taking it like cowering pledges in a fraternity. Because what, may I ask, are we going to do about it? Are we going to stand up, a human army and say, “We’re not going to stand for this anymore!” and walk around with painted picket signs saying defiant things? Have a sit-in? We do nothing because they have furry faces that stare back at us. Furry, little, baby, approval-seeking faces. Those damn whiskers.

Here is what is prompting me writhing my animal-loving fists in the air, stomping my feet on the ground and saying “stupid human! You fell for it again!”

Seymour, my debonair tuxedo cat, peed all over the clothes that were (we’ll say, clumsily) placed upon my VINTAGE chair. I know, I KNOW. BUT SRSLY (…I like that chair. SUE ME) Hashtag firstworldprobz.

Anyway he did it. And I marched around for a little while, saying things like, “that damn cat!” and “Grrrrrr” (attempting to imitate, I don’t know, a dog?), grabbing my urine-soaked clothes and shaking them at him. Though i’ve suffered through this attack, this affront on my Humandom numerous times, I’m always confused.

“YOU…YOU. YOUUUUUU are in big big trouble mister.”

“[…]” – because he can’t respond.

“YOU, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS AGAIN.” Again!

“[…]”

“Do you know what kind of big, big trouble you’re going to be in, Mister Man?”

“[…]” Staring up at me, big gold eyes puckering out. At this point, he might have even crossed a paw, that little bastard.

“ME EITHER.”

Because that’s exactly it. I have no idea what “big big trouble” is. I mean, would that entail exactly? That I’d put him in a kitty time-out, take away his t.v. privileges for a day, make him sleep on the floor? No, I can’t very well do those things. So I just fume furiously around the room and curse his little furry baby ways. It’s evil sorcery.

And he does shit like this all the time. Pushes me, shoves me, sees how far he can take me into his furry kingdom of domination where he sits with a sceptre.

Exhibit numero two: I’ll be working, right, concentrating on somethin’ real hard, eyebrows are furrowed at the computer screen, it’s something real tough and taxing on the brain. And he’ll just walk right up onto my desk and right the fuck over my keyboard. Boop, boop, boop, little paws on my now distracted fingers. Consonants spilled everywhere. And I’ll take him, place him down and the floor and say “No, no Seymour,” only to have him bounce back up onto my desk again. It’s a constant assembly line of putting the cat down onto the floor. ^ v ^ v up down, up down. Over and over and OVER again.

He also does these things:

Drinks my iced coffee when I’m out of the room.

Breaks expensive teacups and bowls.

Stands in front of my face, like, right in front of my face, and meows at me.

Continually knocks over his hefty cat tower. It sounds like a shot through the heart.

Licks his butt in front of me and smiles.

Wakes me up at 4:30 a.m. so that he can race around the room like Jeff Fucking Gordon.

Oh! I said I had cats (plural), so my other cat, you ask? To which I dejectedly mumble the equivalent of the phrase, “Same shit, different day.” I love them though, PROMISE.

Because so what, right? What am I going to do?

Well, here, here is what I’m going to do. Here is what YOU ALL are going to do. You’re going to look that little animal in the eye, unsuccessfully spot any weakness and cave like the pussycat you are.

Stupid human.