I found the perfect welcoming sign to hang on my door to the apartment. If my neighbors weren’t concerned and confused by this
I can only imagine how they feel about this:
despite being a lady, he insists on calling me “dad”
And the boy that I am referring to?
My bouncing baby cat-son.
Happy Father’s Day, ya’ll. And happy Father’s Day to me, Liono calls me “Dad” after all.
It’s really easy to let things slip your attention when you live in a glorified shanty town of an apartment, resplendent with kitties.
So it was awesomely kind of Facebook to remind me of this:
How could I have been so neglectful toward my “hubby.”
I can’t imagine what I am searching online that continuously leads Facebook to believe that I am married with a husband I love, and not a cat-obsessed spinster that spent last night drinking cheap beer and reading comics.
Unless they were, of course, referring to this husband:
Since I can’t get a husband, I’ll just get some cats. My relationship with them is similar to a legally binding contract that tells my friends, family, and whatever God that one chooses to believe in that we will love and cherish one another until the other dies. Except with my cat husband he agrees to love and cherish me until I die in my sleep and he eats my face for survival.
This is a universal truth.
Have you ever had the feelings for someone? Me too!
I am pretty shy at expressing my emotions, so I found the best way to share how I feel with that certain someone is to send a handmade postcard.
Like this one that I mailed to that special person recently:
nothing like drawing that person an adorable kitty
to let them know how you really feel.
Which, in this case, is disgust and disdain.
It’s the You Life version of Hallmark, always sending the very best. Also, cats.
It’s a very special day in a young woman’s life when she gets to explain to people that the black eye that she is sporting is because an overweight cat jumped on her face while she was sleeping.
This will make the boys come a-runnin’
I would love to claim that this was the first time that I was bruised because of my cat. But, of course, that wouldn’t be true.
And I would be lying if I didn’t say I was mildly concerned about what Liono’s actual motives are these days.
I’m coming for you
Yesterday, on Christmas, I spent an entire day on the train traveling back to my apartment. I purchased myself some holiday PBRs and got ready to have a full blown solo Christmas pity party. All of my intentions were focused on feeling totally sorry for myself because I was spending Christmas alone. However, George had other plans.
His plan?
Dying
This is exactly how he wanted to go, on Christmas: a day usually reserved for family, and happiness, and joy. Those are all of the things that he hates and stands against. Misery? Pain? Mournful tunes on the banjo? The last chapter of Oil? Ruining gift giving holidays? George knew that those were the real simple pleasures in life.
And, obviously, hating you. That was another of his favorite things.
Except, of course, there is more pleasure in dying. So, after a hundred and fifty thousand years of life George went to meet him maker.
I think we all know who George’s maker is
And I, for one, will miss the ever loving shit out of that miserable cranky cat bastard. And, while his cold dead body rests in the space heater box in my living room while I am at work (HE WOULD HAVE WANTED IT THAT WAY DON’T JUDGE ME), later on I will be memorializing him in the best way possible: playing The Ballad of Georgie on the ukulele and whiskey drankin’.
Bye, littlest evil.
I love Downton Abbey. It’s phenomenal and gives me the ability to indulge in several of my favorite things: large hats, British accents, and over dramatic longings.
flossin’
However…there is ONE thing it might be missing.
Kitties singing the theme song.
Obvy
Well hello. Are you familiar with this masterpiece of a music video?
Are you familiar with this beverage?
If you mix these two things for several hours and happen to be me, you will get this as a result:
I was going to write more…but I think that’s enough.
Oh actually, there is more. I am wearing the same “outfit” from this post:
https://youlifeisnotsogreat.wordpress.com/2012/01/12/style-is-as-style-doesnt-get-off-the-couch/
I look more like a consumptive child than usual today.
It’s always bad when my bangs are pulled back
Here is a brief email exchange as to why my eyes are larger than normal and I’m dressed like Small Wonder (nah, I just like dressing like Small Wonder).
> —–Original Message—–
> From: Janie
> Sent: Thursday, November 15, 2012 12:34 PM
To: Zachary
Subject: RE: We still on?
Fever – check, swollen tonsils – check, achy – check,
freezing – checkToday I was supposed to get the flu shot – I love the irony. I feel like I am going to cry/die
And hurled the gifting of some French fries by a coworker in the middle of writing this.
Whine
Yes – read correctly, I got the flu on the day I was supposed to get the flu shot.
— On Thu, 11/15/12, Zachary wrote
From: Zachary
Subject: RE: We still on?
To: “Janie”
Date: Thursday, November 15, 2012, 1:18 PM
I hope you feel better. I’m pretty sure Tundy is a doctor, so confer with him forthwith
To whom is he referencing?
Only paging Dr. Liono – that’s all
From: Janie
Subject: RE: We still on?
To: “Zachary”
Date: Thursday, November 15, 2012, 1:25 PM
Poor shirt storm! I have listened to Joanna Newsom on loop and loop and felt so sorry for myself and melancholy and sick that I went into the bathroom and wept for my own self pity. As it turns out I am the worst sick person in the world, certainly the most over dramatic.
Peach, Plum, Pear is also quite sad.
And truthfully, the National didn’t help either.
But then again I also cried listening to Mighty Ducks III, which I have spelled Mighty Fucks so many times today I lost count.
But on further inspection….
My Adam Banks…how you’ve grown….
I have a new neighbor.
As it turns out we want different things in our apartments
amirite? (to break that up for you it was “am I right?” and we all know I am)
And if you were curious:
1. That’s a water stain from when the upstairs shower leaks.
2. One of those welcome mats might be a pizza box.
You life is not so great 