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The Princess and the Pee

Issue Date: Tuesday, Oct. 16, 2007

Good morning poppets. I am ranty. I had a very strange day/evening yesterday that has bled into a strange morning today. Not too sure how many of you out there are into reading about the random minutiae that is my life but I have just about had it and want to share this award-winning bullshit with you, because that is what I do. I give, I am a giver.

Let me back up a few days. Over the weekend as Mister and I were being as slothful as we could (we were going for a record) I made mention that I needed to clean out the cat box. You know. One of those things you know you need to do but just the thought of it makes you throw up in your mouth a little bit. Right?

Max is a clean boy. He doesn’t even like to get in the litter box. He perches. He is a percher. He puts all four paws on the rim of the opening to his litter box and balances there precariously. It is like a mini kitty circus. Only trick? A cat taking a shit while on the tight rope.

He’s also not very bright. Don’t tell him I told you this or he would be mortified. He may be a little stupid, but he is prideful (and pretty). I had to go to an enclosed litter box many moons ago because sometimes he would perch... and have his ass facing the wrong way and just shit on the floor.

He also doesn’t like to touch the litter. So he doesn’t cover anything. He perches, does his business and then does that kitty-rake move on the inside cover of the litter box, the floor, the wall next to the litter box, the dryer... anything and everything that does exactly the opposite of covering his... waste. Nope, it just moves the air around better so we can all share in his gift of cat ass.

Which is lovely. And probably what brought up the thought in the first place. [As I walk by the laundry room.] ::Sniff:: “Hmmm, I need to clean out the cat box. Thanks for sharing Max.” “Mrow.” “No really, it’s lovely. Makes my eyes water and wonder why you won’t cover your own shit... but... thanks again man.” “Mrow. Purrrr-chirp.”

So the weekend goes by. Guess who doesn’t clean out the litter box? Me. You got it in one.

Okay, now that we’re up to speed, I will get you guys caught up on what happened yesterday.

Yesterday morning I was getting dressed and mind you, it had been storming all night. Massive lighting shows and thunder crashes. Huge rain drops pelting the windows and the roof. It was so loud. I was having some seriously jacked up dreams and they kept getting interrupted because of the light show and subsequent BOOOM!’s that were going on outside. Mother Nature was upset about something and showing it. So as I was getting ready I thought that I would take a bag, throw my make up in it (so I could leave early to help with the mess of traffic that I was sure was awaiting me outside), throw the shoes that I wanted to wear with my outfit in the bag, turn up the hems of my pants to my knees, wear flip flops and arm myself with a golf umbrella and make a mad dash to the car.

I did just that. Well, I tried to do just that. I left the make up off, folded my pants up to my knees, put on the flip flops, alarmed the house, stepped outside and locked the door then turned and opened the golf umbrella. It was coming down like... did any of you ever see “You, Me and Dupree”? You can admit it. I’ve seen it. But you know that part where it is a torrential downpour and the other two are in a car and they come to a T intersection and there in the headlights is Dupree sitting on a bench sopping wet? Then a bus comes by and sends up this massive tidal wave of nasty street water? Well, it wasn’t totally like that. But close.

It was coming down in those big fat raindrops that splash when they hit the ground so I was all sassy and thinking that I was so smart to wear flip flops and roll up my pants (which is totally a hot look) then I got to the sidewalk, the rainwater washed over my feet so I stepped into the grass and looked into the street. There was a mini creek of rainwater that went out to the ass end of my car, it was the same size on both streets and too wide for me to jump, so I just stepped into it and when I took my second step and tried to lift the foot behind me there was a sucking noise and the little mini creek took my motherfucking shoe.

I watched as it got washed under my car and then I was frantically trying to get to it before it washed down a gutter or something. So I had a bag slung over my arm, Elvira on my shoulder, a massive blue and white golf umbrella... one motherfucking shoe and I was chasing a flip flop down the street.

I got it but by that time I was soaking wet all over, what with all the splashing and the rain and the bent at the waist running to try and catch a renegade flip flop.

So I finally got to work (and hour and 15 minutes to go 11 miles) and I rolled down the legs of my pants and put on my cute shoes and went into the office. I put on my make up but not before taking a picture of myself pre and post make up that some of you have seen. Scary huh?

It was a strange day with many interruptions and organization and throwing away of stuff from 2002/2003 and getting ready for the upcoming gauntlet that I call October-December. Basically here is my “I’m Gone” schedule. 10/19/07, 10/21-23/07, 10/29/07, 11/7-9/07, 11/25-27/07, 11/28-30/07, Mister’s company party on the 1st of December, 12/2-5/07... not to mention department staff meetings, full company wide staff meetings, and the Thanksgiving Holidays. Suffice it to say, yesterday was kind of full.

I got home last night after stopping by Wal*Mart (shudder) for some packaged salmon, sun dried tomatoes in oil, that awesome Champagne salad dressing and filling up my tank with gas. (Remind me to give y’all that recipe for Salmon Pasta Salad. Easy and yummy!) When I walked in the house I (have an issue and have to clean the kitchen before I cook... anything... it’s a sickness, I know... but just let me have my thing... deal?) cleaned the kitchen, made the salmon pasta salad* and then let it cool in the fridge for a bit.

*When I went to drain the noodles I had to use a spatula to knock the strainer off of its’ perch on the third shelf. I can not reach it so I use tools. Like a monkey using a stick to get termites out of a mound or an otter using a rock to crack open a clam or something of the sort.

Mister and I ate as we watched parts of Jumanji (don’t judge me) and as I got up to go put the plates away and to check on the laundry situation. I noticed it. A smell. I have a nose like a blood hound and I normally notice things WAY before other people. A reason I don’t smoke until after work is because I don’t want to smell like cigarette smoke all day. I don’t do many perfumes... don’t like the strong smell of a lot of things. Mister had walked by this smell on his way in from the garage and didn’t notice it.

It wasn’t cat ass. It was pee.

Okay, let me back up again. The laundry room light is one of those fluorescent thingies that has been flickering (seizure inducing flickering... migraine causing flickering) since... Oh, since we moved in last March. One night it decided that, “Sure, I’ll come on when you flick the switch, but... eh, not all the way. I think I am going to go with a dim setting. Okay with you? No? Whatever. I’m a tired fluorescent light.” So I went to my little desk and got this desk lamp. It is a cheap desk lamp but I didn’t care, I needed to do laundry.

It takes 60 watt bulbs. Guess what I have on hand? 100 watt. I stuck one of those 100 watt bulbs in that lamp, plugged him in, put him on a shelf and turned it on. It was like doing laundry on the surface of the sun. I could see microscopic lint, I can wash the hell out of clothes and now I can see while I am doing so.

So.... I noticed this pee smell. I don’t like the pee smell. So I put on my flip flops (the same escaping flip flops from yesterday morning) and went into the laundry room. I flipped on my little 100 watt lamp, squinted and noticed that the cat had either decided that he didn’t like the state of affairs in his litter box, or he had his ass turned the wrong way when he went to relieve himself. He had pee’d on the little rubber mat right outside his litter box.

This will not do, pig.

I cursed because I figured that this little mess could have been avoided if I would have just cleaned out the litter box on Saturday. But nooooooooo.... I had to watch Fight Club and um... several awful programs (and by awful I mean awesome) on Discovery Health Channel (there should be a lock on that channel... I should never watch it... I end up blubbering like a hot wet mess by the end of each program. Like this... go ahead, click on it. I dare you.).

So there I was cursing. I pulled the laundry basket-sorter thingy out into the hallway, I pulled the vacuum cleaner out into the hallway, I went back into the laundry room and then noticed that I needed a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess and the paper towels were on the.... third shelf in the laundry room. Can’t reach. So, like an otter with a fucking rock, I took a clothes hanger and pulled one of the paper towel rolls down off the shelf. The roll came down and hit the little 100 watt in a 60 watt bulb lamp, the lamp tipped over and I went to catch it as not to add glass shards to the things I had to clean up. But what I actually did was, catch the paper towels, knock the lamp further over and burn the shit out of my right hand on that super hot mega watt bulb in the lamp.



So the moment my supple flesh touched the surface of that bulb the bulb shorted out and I was plunged into darkness with a burned hand and cat pee somewhere around my feet.

Mister had previously retreated to his office to “look up directions for a class he has to attend in the morning” and all he heard coming from the back of the house probably sounded like a rhino getting caught in a painting scaffolding with a very loud and verbose vocabulary of obscenities.

I got the pee cleaned up, emptied and threw away the bad litter and refilled the catbox with pretty sparkly litter that is made up of angle dust and bunny humping rainbows. Which apparently is the only thing that Max deems worthy enough for him to shit on. Shit upon? Whatever.

Let’s look for a silver lining to this cloud.


Um. Nope. Fog.

There better be some amazing sex or some really fantastic cheese in my future. I’ve earned it.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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