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Sorry. Can’t be bothered to come up with a theme.

6 Oct

I have a half-dozen, half-baked posts that I just don’t have the attention span to finish. So instead, I’ll regale you with snippets.

…

Snippet #1:

On Friday I made fresh tortilla soup for dinner. The recipe called for a diced jalapeño, so I went to town on the pepper. Unfortunately, my allergies were also going to town, which apparently caused me to brush my nose/mouth at some point after I’d finished chopping.

Alan arrived home from work to find me in tears (from an especially pungent chopped onion), ranting that my face felt like fire ants were attacking it. Pretty sure neither of us wants me to bookmark that recipe for a repeat performance.

…

Snippet #2:

At work, my battle with the woman who pees on the toilet seat continues. Last week I had to pass over three separate stalls because they had either been dribbled on or had a paper toilet seat cover still stuck to the toilet. Enraged might be a tad strong to describe my reaction, but it was enough to prompt me to post the following sign in the bathroom:

© 2013 pithypants.com

And guess what? No more pee on the seat for the rest of the week. Uh-mazing. Apparently she can read. Just not wipe.

…

Snippet #3

Alan and I picked his kids up yesterday for his mom’s birthday celebration. On the ride to their house, this was the conversation:

Son (playing a video game): Sweet! I just made this camel spit!

Daughter: I’ve seen a camel.

Um, happy birthday?

Um, happy birthday?

Me: Did it spit?

Daughter: No, but it had diarrhea.

Me: Seriously? Where was this?

Daughter: At my friend’s birthday party.

Me: Were you guys at the zoo?

Daughter: No. They had a petting zoo thing come to their house.

Me: So a camel had diarrhea in your friend’s backyard?

Daughter: Uh-huh. It was gross.

Me: That’s awesome.

Son: Now I’m riding a cockatrice!

Me: Was there one of THOSE at the birthday party?

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I thought people were supposed to LOOK like their pets.

8 Sep

Image Source: http://www.hilarioustime.com/images/04/Well-butter-my-butt-funny-cat-with-bread-on-its-head.jpg

Let’s start with a list:

  1. Gratitude.
  2. Condolences.
  3. Feelings.
  4. Shipments.

That’s pretty much the exhaustive list of things I believe should be expressed.

However, now that I’m the proud owner of a cat rescued from Methatopia, West Virginia, I’ve learned there’s something else that requires expressing: Anal Glands.

That’s right. I didn’t even know that was a THING.

Image Source: http://funnyfilez.funnypart.com/pictures/FunnyPart-com-r2d2_cat_home.jpgUntil one night when I was kicked back in my chair, reading, and Miss Moneypenny emerged from her litterbox. She strode confidently over to me, then sat down and proceeded to pull herself around on the floor using only her front legs, moving in an oddly fluid way, as if she were channeling the ghost of R2D2.

Obviously I had to burn and replace the carpet. But before doing so, I googled, “Cat Dragging Butt.” And because Google knows me, instead of pulling up helpful medical references, the first results displayed animated gifs. Which, admittedly, slayed me. But did nothing to help me diagnose Miss Moneypenny’s malady.

My next query was more fruitful, and was confirmed by my sister, who ALSO just adopted a vocal cat with butt issues. Apparently we’re scat magnets. “Sounds like her anal glands need expressing,” Alicia wrote. She then sent me a how-to video. I gagged and called the vet.

When I arrived at the vet, it was after working hours, so the waiting room was full. I approached the receptionist and tried to be discreet. “I’m hoping there’s a vet tech who can look at my cat,” I said.

Before I could get any further, she said, “What’s her name? Your cat?”

Me: Miss Moneypenny.

Receptionist, loudly: Oh yeah – she’s the one who needs her ANAL GLANDS EXPRESSED, right?

Me, softly: I’m not sure. She’s just started scooting around on the floor a bit.

Receptionist, loudly: It sounds like her ANAL GLANDS. Let me see if I can get a Vet Tech out here to EXPRESS HER ANAL GLANDS.

Me: Um, thanks.

I took a seat, sheltering Miss Moneypenny from the prying eyes of other patients who all seemed to be there for non-embarrassing routine procedures, like teeth cleanings and rabies vaccinations.

A vet tech appeared shortly, and asked a few more questions. The unwitting audience of other pet owners started making the sign of the cross on their chests, praying that they never had to bring their animals in for ANAL GLAND EXPRESSION.

Meanwhile, Miss Moneypenny cowered in her vented duffel bag carrier, growling. I could hardly blame her, especially when the vet tech grabbed the duffel and said to me, “You wait here. She’s going to be very mad at us. Better that you’re not in there…”

The rest of the appointment was uneventful – for me. I don’t even want to know what happened in the back. From the howls, I think it’s safe to surmise that Miss Moneypenny was not a model patient.

Later that night, I chatted my sister.

Me: Good job with the long-distance diagnosis of my cat’s butt.

Alicia: Was it her glands?

Me: Yes. They said it’s common in dogs, but pretty rare in cats. It’s weird that we BOTH just adopted cats with this issue.

Alicia: Hmmmm…

Me: Unless this is cats’ version of a gluten allergy? Maybe it’s suddenly trendy?

Alicia: I guess we’re just early adopters.

Me: We should get out ahead of this wave and write a cookbook. PAYDAY!

…

Image Source: http://payload.cargocollective.com/1/3/125736/2175893/THE%20CAT%20COOK%20BOOK-1.jpgCOMING SOON: You’ll be able to purchase our Cookbook for Kitties, called, “EXPRESS YOURSELF: Healthy Meals for Happy Cats.” 

<–Not to be confused with THIS book, which seems to advocate COOKING cats. I guess we’re not the only trend-setters.

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List: Acceptable Christmas Creep

11 Jan
Holidays: Creating more AwkwardFamilyPhotos than school picture day.

This is NOT the kind of Christmas Creep I’m talking about. 

I’m squarely in the camp that thinks the Christmas season should begin after Thanksgiving and end on New Year’s Day. Even one day in either direction and I’ll judge you if you have holiday lights up. And every year, I get a bit more judgmental.

However, now that Christmas is behind us, there are a few things I kind of miss. I might be willing to make a few exceptions to the “acceptable holiday window” if it meant I could find these seven things outside of December:

  1. Envelopes in my mailbox that don’t contain bills. It’s like a month of freakin’ summer camp, coming home to find real mail in there every day. Now? Back to my crappy pen pals: AmEx, Pepco and Wells Fargo. Bleh. 
  2. Pretzel Chips in holiday flavors. If you haven’t tried them, you really need to hunt down a bag of dark chocolate + peppermint bits. Two words: Holy. Shit. Actually, on second thought – HORRIBLE idea. I would need a forklift to get me off the couch if these were available year-round. (Note: Being a hoarder, I currently have four bags of these in my cupboard. Which should last me until approximately Friday.) 
  3. People helping each other out. Sure, it’s great that people tend to hop in and help out the less fortunate in December, donating Christmas meals or gifts for families or volunteering at soup kitchens. But think how powerful it would be if we acted that way all year round?
  4. Trees in our living rooms. I often think, “If aliens ever landed on Earth in December, how would we explain that a fair chunk of the population has randomly chopped down trees and dragged them into their homes?”  Anything you couldn’t explain to an alien is, well, kind of awesome. 
  5. Random airings of classic holiday movies. Basically, I’m talking about National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and Christmas Story. A random scene here and there is like comfort food. Although – what am I talking about? I don’t even own a television.
  6. Party lights! I don’t even put up a Christmas tree, but I do love my little string of white lights. In fact, I love their little glow more than that of the table lamp on the other end of my couch. Perhaps I should just adopt party lights as a year-round means of lighting my place. Oh wait. I did that in college. To accentuate my beer can pyramid. Nevermind. 
  7. Cinnamon Brooms at the door of Whole Foods. Definitely beats the smell of urine that usually greets me. Frankly, I think hanging even ONE cinnamon broom near the entrance would help.

That is all. Now pardon me as I go string my MLK Day lights. And decorate my Valentine’s Day tree.

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The Nutcracker: Bah Humbug!

7 Dec
Image Source: http://b5media_b4.s3.amazonaws.com/28/files/2006/11/nutcracker-girl.jpg

Boring. Sigh. Zzzz….

I’m just going to put it out there, even though I realize this isn’t going to be a popular statement: I’m not a fan of the Nutcracker.

I’ll add this to the list of things I don’t like – such as pumpkin pie and babies – that make people regard me with some combination of horror and disgust. Get over it. More for you. (Note: My friends’ babies are exceptions. Their pies are not.)

Anyway… I had a vague recollection of being bored stiff when seeing the Nutcracker as a kid, so I was curious to see if I’d enjoy it as an adult. Alan’s daughter is dancing in it for the first time, so we went to watch her performance last week.

Five Reasons I’m Not a Fan:

  1. I have no tolerance for mimes. I know, the thing is a ballet, so they’re primarily dancing, but a lot of the first act relies on people acting without talking. Also known as miming. I find it physically painful to watch a family of characters cross the stage pretending to have an animated conversation, moving their mouths like they’re chewing on the largest hunk of bubble gum known to man in an attempt to show us they’re talking.
  2. The story is lacking.  In case you’re not familiar: a rich family throws a Christmas party, their daughter receives a Nutcracker that she loves, her brother breaks it, a magician mends it, the Christmas tree grows like it’s on steroids, and then she dreams that a bunch of people are dancing for her. Someone needs a lesson on plot development. And less LSD.
  3. The Sugar Plum Fairy is full of herself. The one thing the Nutcracker does pretty well is provide an opportunity to showcase a LOT of dancers. The scenes can accommodate a seemingly limitless number of dancers, so it’s the perfect show for making sure everyone has a role. Until the Sugar Plum Fairy takes the stage. Once she arrives, it turns into her show and you realize that all the other parts were just humoring the parents in an attempt to sell more seats. She single-handedly undermines the adage that, “There are no small roles, only small actors.”
  4. Really, a NUTCRACKER? When is the last time you saw a child get excited by a nutcracker? Probably NEVER, because they are inherently boring and hardly qualify as a toy. I know this story was developed long before American Girl Dolls were on the scene, so I’m not proposing they replace the title character with a modern toy. But SURELY there’s something more compelling from those days. I mean, even a corn husk doll (circa Little House of the Prairie) would be more exciting. Which says a lot.
  5. The Magician is creepy. I find it interesting that a holiday/children’s classic includes a character who is clearly a pedophile. His arrival with a trunk full of tricks would’ve been only marginally creepier if he’d pulled up in an ice cream truck. And has no one ever asked why he’s hiding behind a clock watching little Clara sleep?

So I might revise my opinion of The Nutcracker if someone would stage a version where Chris Hansen (from Dateline’s ” To Catch a Predator” series) made a cameo and busted the magician, and Kristen Wiig repeatedly photo-bombed the Sugar Plum Fairy’s scenes. Until that production is available, I’ll stay home.

Unless, of course, Alan’s daughter remains a ballerina. In which case, I’ll dutifully attend and clap during her scenes… and secretly try to enlist her in my battle against the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Now *this* I would pay to see.

Now *this* I would pay to see. (Image: courtesy of my sister, Alicia.)

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Let’s (not?) rush to judgement.

24 Jul

Willie Wonka, Judgement

I saw a quote on Facebook that said something like, “Don’t judge someone because they sin differently than you do.”

Sorry. Gonna have to beg to differ. Here’s a partial list of what I will judge you for doing:

  • Holding open the fridge/freezer door for prolonged periods while you assess its contents and decide what you want to eat. Guess what? It’s not a magic trick! Chances are – unless you live with teenage boys – the contents haven’t changed dramatically since you last opened the door, so figure out what you want – then open the door. Do you have any idea how much energy you’re wasting because you’re either indecisive or have a shitty memory? Shameful.

  • This dog is cooler than you.

    Using a foot-propelled scooter if you’re old enough to possess a driver’s license. Double judgement if you’re closer to retirement than the legal drinking age. Why? Because scooters are about as dumb as those little beanie hats that have propellers on them and the only people who should sport them are those who don’t yet have their own bank accounts.

  • Standing around with your mouth hanging open. While I appreciate your effort to catch flies, unless you’ve just physically exerted yourself and are gasping as you try to to speed oxygen to your brain, you look like an idiot when you breathe through your mouth. I mean, you’re welcome to do it, but don’t be offended if I try to snap a helmet on your head.
  • Walking four-across on the sidewalk. You know, when people allow their entire group to cover the entire swath of sidewalk, forcing solitary on-comers to step into the street to get around them? I will not only judge you, but also jab an elbow to your ribs.
  • Asking questions you should be able to answer with your eyes. If I email you instructions and you write back asking me something I included in the email, I will send you “Hooked on Phonics” instead of an answer. Because I believe in teaching a man to fish. And also, to make sure you realize you’re a dumbass.
  • Peeing on the toilet seat. It’s called a seat because you can lift it up, ladies. It’s intended to be sat upon. So if you’re not sitting on it, lift it up. Let me reiterate: this one is for the women. Also known as the squatters. Guess what? You wouldn’t need to hover and squat if YOU didn’t pee all over it. Also? You’re not a lady if you pee on things.

All right. So I’m restricting myself to only six things that drive me to judgement, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a sequel. Or that this won’t become a daily column.

Because really, as I think about it, the world would be a better place if people had a copy of the rulebook. So help me write it.

What drives YOU to judgement? 

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