Sunday, December 12, 2004

Burger King Sucks Anyway

If I were her, I would have just stolen something else to put on eBay just to tell them to bite me. She would have had to work 166.66666666666 hours to make the same amount of money as she got for the balloon.

Note to self: must bid on Sponge Bob balloon... Could put Santa hat on it next Christmas and be bestest house in the hood.

Other note to self: Next time I get fired, make sure it's for something cool like stealing a Sponge Bob balloon, not for "differences in philosophies" and "on-the-job drunkeness."

Love,

Catwoman.

Uhm... OK...

This is fascinatingto me...

You're depressed... So you decided to cut off your penis... You don't change your mind when you grab the ax... You don't change your mind when you whip out your unit... You don't change your mind when you lay it down on a log... You don't change you mind when you hand is halfway down with the ax... But once you see the blood, you finally realize "gee, this isn't going to make my family any richer because it's against eBay's policies to post human parts."

Do they even have eBay in Serbia? I sure couldn't move there if they didn't.

I'm just happy about the whole penis detachment due to money troubles. It makes my dealing with financial uncertainty (a.k.a. sticking it to the credit card companies by charging more crap I don't need) seem a lot more balanced. A lot less painful too. If you consider threatening calls from collection agencies less painful than cutting off one's sex organs.

Which I truly am of the believe that it is. I can always hang up on the collection people or claim they have the wrong number. With the penis, well... You just end up losing all of your friends because they think you're psycho. And you end up being a story on msn.com.

Just not good.

Love,

Catwoman.

Monday, November 29, 2004

I'm Pessimistic and Argumentative...

Which really just sucks.

In his book "What Flavor Is Your Personality?" Dr. Alan Hirsch,
neurological director of the Smell and Taste Treatment and Research
Foundation in Chicago, outlines the key personality traits associated
with liking a particular type of ice cream. Here's what your favorite
scoop (and mine) says about you:

Vanilla: Ambitious, impulsive and colorful with a busy schedule
Chocolate: Charming, engaging, creative and attention-seeking
Butter Pecan: Orderly, fiscally conservative and ethical with a strong
competitive drive
Banana: Laid-back and generous
Strawberry: Shy, detail-oriented and self-critical
Chocolate Chip: Successful, generous and competitive
Rocky Road: Interesting, charming and professionally goal-driven
Mint Chocolate Chip: Pessimistic with an argumentative streak
Coffee: Lively and flirtatious, but often stretched too thin

At first, when I saw vanilla, I'm like, yup, vanilla's my favorite. And then I saw chocolate and thought, well I love chocolate even more, and I am charming and creative, although I'm not certain about attention-seeking. Shut up, I can play coy.

But then I got to mint chocolate chip, which truly is my favorite and my stomach dropped. This is bull****. All of them say really nice things about people, except for my flavor. Obviously the supposed Dr. Hirsh hates mint chocolate chip. Or even worse, his cheating bitch of an ex-wife who slept with his brother, cousin, father as well the mailman and pool boy loved mint chocolate chip and ate it all the time and his feelings for her are coming out in this retarded quiz of his.

I hate stupid quizzes that make me look bad. Stupid quiz on Monday morning... Now I'm really feeling down. Way to go stupid Dr. Hirsh.

Love,

Catwoman.

Sunday, November 28, 2004

F****** Stupid Game!!!!!

Some people go to church on Sundays. Here's what I've been doing all morning.

I've only been able to get to the booby stage. Here's a hint: you must have at least two lives when you get to the 8,000 point level, or else you'll never live to 10,000 points when the booby reveal happens. Also, stupid ho does nothing but prance at the 6,000 and 8,000 point level.

Somewhere in a small village, German parents are weeping that horrible people like me are making their daughters strip online. But to me, it brings back happy childhood memories. When we got our first computer in 1986, it had the cool green screen. The concierge at my dad's hotel gave him all sorts of games on floppy disks, including strip blackjack. My dad, not computer savvy, gave us all of the disks and never supervised our playing on the computer. My sisters and I soon discovered the strip blackjack game and I was the only one who seemed half good at it, so my younger sisters would make me play while chanting "Take her top off! Take her top off!"

It's really not that disturbing when you realize that I was 11 and they were 8.

Oh, wait... It is that disturbing.

Anyway, this game reminds me of those happier times. I just wish I could get to the beaver stage, like I did when I was 11. Maybe I could have my sisters fly in to chant me on. Maybe that's the missing ingredient.

One more thing... The blonde ho is the easiest one. The other two wear way too much clothing. I mean what the hell is that all about.

Love,

Catwoman.

I Wonder If I Should Drink More...

I'm only worth
$2,212,454.84. I wonder if I drank more and had less premarital sex if I'd have been worth more.

Sigh... I wish Koree hadn't made me ponder this so early on a Sunday morning, when I'm trying to gather up the willpower to get on the scale when I haven't followed my diet all week...

Love,

Catwoman.

Saturday, November 27, 2004

Now This Is Heaven...

Today, Sweetie Pie left me. Not in that permanent, marriage over kind of way. Just in that "I have to leave for the day to look at ranches with my dad" way. Which I have to say was fine by me, because the thing I loved most about being single was having me days. And I had them once a week and I have to say that being married, me days are what I missed most, besides the electricity that precedes a first kiss with a new love.

Me days aren't very exciting. But they're my favorite. Me days are also not cheap. Because very often they involve shopping.

I told myself I wouldn't buy any new clothes until I lost another 10 pounds, but today I broke my rule and I have to say, I'm mighty glad I did. Because right now, as I'm sitting here in my new jeans, new tanktop, new bra, new jacket, new socks, with new nailpolish on my fingers and toes, I look pretty damn hot if I may say so myself.

The thing is that after Sweetie Pie left very early this morning, I needed to go to Blockbuster and return two very overdue movies. And once I was out, I decided to remain out. So I went to the post office and that made me want to go somewhere more exciting. So I went to Bed Bath & Beyond where I fell in love with... are you sitting down for this? A trivet. Two in fact. This is the kind of purchase that you deem exciting when you're an old married bitch like myself. When you're single, sexy lingerie is exciting. When you're about to turn 30, all of a sudden your heart leaps at the sight of a gorgeous trivet.

As crazy as it may sound, that trivet made me see a whole new way of life for me. If I could be the owner of a gorgeous trivet, then I had to become gorgeous myself. And so the trivet led me to the Mecca a.k.a. Ulta.

Now most men probably won't know what Ulta is. When you're a woman, it is only the greatest store on Earth. Even non-girly women like me see stars and hear angelic music when we step into Ulta. Ulta has make up and beauty things that you didn't even know you needed until you see them.

And so I grabbed a basket and I walked into Ulta with greasy hair that hadn't been washed in two days in a non-sexy Gap T-shirt and I walked out a goddess. Well, not quite, since my hair was still unwashed, my eyebrows still not tweezed and my skin unmade up, but the point is that I bought the supplies to turn me into a goddess.

Ulta is the kind of place that you walk into and think to yourself "I'm going to cash in this coupon for a free mascara" and then you walk out 60 dollars lighter. I bought shampoo, conditioner and smoothing cream specifically made for brunettes. I never knew that as a brunette my hair had special needs, but Ulta has taught me that it does. I also bought four nail polishes because they were having a two-for-one sale. I also bought eyebrow mousse. I never even knew eyebrows had their own mousse, but it was only four dollars and my eyebrows never seem to want to stay put, so I thought I'd make an attempt at domesticating them.

Well, after that, the shopping demon in me was released. I couldn't possibly have gorgeous hair and a gorgeous face and not have the clothes to match. So off to Willowbend mall I went to the clothes mecca: Forever 21.

I love Forever 21, because I figure that as long as I shop there, I can feel forever... well, you know.

The bad thing about Forever 21, is that despite the fact that its name sounds like they're targeting 30-40 year old women who are desperate to be ID'd once again by bouncers anywhere they go, in fact, the clothes can only fit prepubescent girls, so that those of us with curves, even on a diet, need to buy clothes two to three sizes larger than what we wear.

But the clothes are damn cheap and they actually make me look like I have some kind of fashion sense, so I love the place.

And I tried and tried and tried some more clothes on. I found the cutest pair of jeans that make my butt looks like anything from quarters to pennies can be bounced off it. Of course, if I was still single, some poor sucker would pick me up based solely on my butt in those jeans and boy, would they ever be in for a sad surprise upon the removal of said jeans. But the great thing about being married is that your other half understands that it's all an illusion and is just pleased that you're fooling his buddies into thinking you're hot.

I have to say that the makers of prozac have some competition with jeans. There is nothing that can make your worse day become your best day like the perfect pair of jeans. When you put them on and turn around and there's a butt that doesn't look like yours smiling its sideways grin at you, it's enough to make you weep. But of course, on those days where you try on 30 pairs of jeans and all of them make your butt look like two pancakes or two wobbly water balloons, then there is nothing that can make you consider suicide faster.

Jeans are definitely the ultimate friend or foe. You never want to piss off jeans, because they will crush your self esteem the next time you need them if you dont' treat them with respect.

So what have we learned today children?

1. Sweetie Pie will never leave me on my own for a me day ever again once he sees the credit card statement.
2. My ass looks great. Next time you see me, you better say so, even if you think otherwise.
3. Don't apply nailpolish in a dimly lit room, especially when you don't tend to wear nailpolish.
4. Shop at Forever 21 and cut out the tags so you never have to think about what size you're forced to wear.

Love,

Catwoman.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Half-Baked... Yes I am

Well, the good news is that my pecan pie didn't burn. The bad news is that Thanksgiving is upon us, which means that I've decided to make recipes that are way too complicated for me and that I've lost a whole day and a few hair trying to impress people who really, being family have no choice than to pretend to be grateful if I'd bought a pie bought at Walmart.

Even though I have no baking talents and only recently developed passable cooking talents, I volunteered to bake two pies for Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law's. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I'd gotten two recipes that just sounded oh so yummy: a sugared latice apple pie and a maple pecan pie.

After much worry and consideration, my friend S. told me that it was in fact ok for me to make the pies the day before Thanksgiving. Although I was doubtful, I figured that it beat getting up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

And so I began baking. The first recipe seemed simple enough. And it was. Until I had to take the pie out 20 minutes into its cooking time and apply foil around the rim to make sure the crust doesn't burn. Especially since our oven gets its power from Satan's own personal supply and burns any food that even passes in front of its glass door.

Since I don't have a pie protector thingie and the recipe said I could use foil, I ripped little strips of foil to wrap around the edge.

Sounds like it would work right? Except that the pie plate is at about 450 degrees, the foil won't stick and everytime I put another piece on, the others fall off the pie. Which led me to say all sorts of words that begin with the letter "f" and I don't mean "Frankfurt" or "Fido."

20 minutes after the pecan pie had come out of the oven and was probably close to room temperature, probably forever affecting the chemical balance that even heat for 50 minutes was suppose to create, I finally got the foil haphazardly straddled on and the pie went back into the oven.

It came out and I have to say that it looks pretty good. Well, the top of it is a very dark golden, think... Hmmm... What's a dark golden... Oh, I know, think of a beautiful blonde who's hair has just been blowtorched. That kind of dark golden.

Anyway, overall the pecan pie turned out ok.

So then, it was time for me to get started on the apple pie. And if you think slicing thinly six apples sounds like it's an easy job, let me just tell you that it somehow took me close to an hour. Thank God my husband has a small family, because there was no way I could have possibly found the time to make two pies of each.

My friend M. after telling her of my pecan/foil frustration told me that I was supposed to create a ring with the foil before putting the pie in the oven, so that I could just place it on top when the time came.

Huh. Who knew my friends had freaking Nobel prizes in baking ideas. And why the hell would they not share their expertise before the neighborhood children all began to sound like they had Turrette's syndrome from my influence?

Tomorrow I make the Mac & Cheese. No, not the kind that comes out of a blue box. Really fancy kind with fancy ingredients like "gruyere" and "prosciutto ham." It's very delicious and very fattening as all great foods should be. I've made this before and it has become somewhat of a tradition for me to make it. I don't even know if Sweetie Pie's family enjoys it. I just know that I do and when I tell them I'm going to bring it again, they seem to frightened to suggest otherwise.

Happy Turkey Day everyone! And be thankful on this day that our white ancestors brought disease to the Indians and stole their land even when they were invited to dinner, so that we may have the opportunity to stuff our faces and blow our diets. Isn't the world fantastic?

Lots of love,

Catwoman

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Well There's a New Sensation...

I'm always up to experiencing new things. For example, my diet said I was allowed to eat five wheat thins with a certain recipe. I can't recall which one, but I did buy a box of wheat thins. Although the diet specified that I was supposed to buy the low sodium ones, I decided to buy the ranch flavored ones instead, because they just sounded better. And boy did they ever.

I have a new love: Ranch-flavored wheat thins. Which is funny, because I don't really like ranch dressing. I like Cool Ranch Doritos though, so I thought that if the wheat thins were half as good, I'd be ok.

Well, they're not half as good. They're a hell of a lot better. I have since amended my diet to allow me to eat a box throughout the day and skip the other meals. I'm calling it the wheat thin diet. Although I didn't lose any weight last week and had to lie on my ediets profile, I didn't gain any weight either. So I think it'd be a good maintain my weight diet. The trick with the wheat thins diet is to eat a handful every five minutes, so that you're grazing all day. It keeps your metabolism up, while your tongue has the opportunity to kill taste buds one by one as they get overexposed to the fabulousness of the ranch flavoring.

But Ranch-flavored wheat thins are actually not what this post is about. Even though I really could publish a whole book about my love of wheat thins.

No what this post is about is a new sensation I experienced this morning in a torture class called Body Blaster.

First of all, I have to say something about the name. I love to have a blast. Because that means I'm having fun. However, the words "body" and "blaster" just don't sound like they should be together. And this class was anything but fun.

Now when I say anything but fun, I don't mean it was boring. Oh God, how I don't mean it was boring. I mean it wasn't fun in a "holy shit my whole body hurts" way.

And I kept thinking to myself as we worked each muscle until it snapped off from the joint so that I couldn't move it anymore that it was almost over.

But just when I thought I'd experienced everything I ever was going to, a new sensation took over my body. It's called a butt cramp.

Actually, I don't know for a fact that this is the official name for it, but that is what I have decided to name it. I've never experienced a butt cramp before. I've had gas, and other feelings in the buttocks area, however no cramp. You see, I'm not certain I've ever used my butt for anything except to remain in the seated position as long as I can.

But today, it was forced to move in positions that I didn't think were possible until it finally cramped up. Now the thing with a cramp butt, is that you can only work one cheek at a time, which means that while my right cheek stood rigidly like an old man on viagara, my left one was having a cigarette and a cup of coffee.

I had to stop the horrible cruel exercise the instructor was asking us to do, but then I realized I couldn't just stand there and massage my butt...

And here is the really scary part. As I sit here, waiting to get sorer and sorer with each passing minute, I realize that this class could be what I've been looking for and will definitely go back. Anyone got the phone number for a good masochist club?

Love,

Catwoman.

Monday, November 22, 2004

Do I look Mystically Tanned, because I sure feel that way

Well, thanks to my job as a secret shopper, I had the opportunity last weekend to do an assignment in a tanning salon and I was given $10 to tan. Since I didn't have to pay to tan, I figured, what the heck, I would try the Mystic Tan. For those of you not familliar with Mystic Tan, think back of the Friends' episode where Ross goes into this booth to tan and faces the wrong way each time, so that only his front side gets sprayed with the self-tanner. So he comes out looking like a massive freak.

Why I'd choose to try this after seeing that episode is beyond me. But in my defense, the Mystic Tan people think that Ross's hijinks were great publicity, because they list it under their coverage section on their Web site. That would be like me mentioning in my blog that I was called a pizza face by my supposed best friend in grade 9. Being in PR I'm not absolutely 100% sure about this, but shouldn't you only list the positive things that were mentioned about you? But what do I know...

Anyway, I decided to do the Mystic Tan thing, because after years of laying in a bed feeling like I'm beginning to smell like a roast chicken, I have begun to worry that my boobs are going to look like the ones of the old woman in There's Something About Mary.

I know, it's all about shallowness in my world. But dang it, it makes me happy.

The girl at the tanning place was very nice. She showed me the video about Mystic Tan and then decided 30 seconds into it that it was too boring and that she'd explain it all herself. I had been taking copious notes until then and I became worried that this 20-year old very tanned girl with five percent body fat would leave something important out and that I would turn glow-in-the-dark orange like John Kerry did (note: Sweetie Pie only told me after I got home and told him what I did that Mystic Tan was why John Kerry was that odd color for a week).

Putting my life in the hands of that perky 20-year old girl was a leap of faith, but I felt ok with it. After all, I work from home now. So more than likely, I wouldn't have to see anyone but my husband for a week if I needed to.

Thirty minutes later, I felt qualified enough to be sprayed down like a cow at an auction. I began to undress (yeah, I know, I should not have put that horrible visual in your head) and without my glasses on, began looking for the barrier cream and the nose plug and the goggles and the biohazard suit that were all supposed to protect me yet allow me to be evenly tanned.

Well, here's what I've learned. If you're going to put something that sounds as important as "barrier cream," keep your glasses on. No questions about this please, just take my word for it.

Now here's the problem. I couldn't find the goggles or the nose plug anywhere in the room. Even once I put my glasses back on.

So here I was, naked as a plucked chicken wondering what to do.

And so I had no choice. I put my clothes back on over the barrier cream and went to find tanned girl to ask her about the goggles and nose plug.

"Oh, you don't need those," she replied.

I DON'T NEED THOSE???? What the hell is she on???? The video and the brochure both mentioned them. And then they both said something about how it would take inhaling 500 sessions of Mystic Tan to begin growin a furry tumor on the side of my neck.

I didn't know what to do. So I just crawled back to the booth, gulped and went into the torture machine.

There I stood in the weird position that the girl had demonstrated, my arms sprawled out like some inactivated puppet, naked, goggle-free and noseplug-free.

An ominous voice told me that my tanning would be activated in 5-4-3-2-1 and just as I was taking my last breath, an icy cold stream of some liquid began spraying me down from top to bottom. And just when my lungs felt like they were going to explode (a.k.a. 30 seconds) the ominous voice told me to turn around and that my tanning would be activated in 5-4-3-2-1 and then my backside was sprayed down.

Now here is why Lakik surgery is a good idea. Blind as a bat, I stood in front of the spray. Not in the back with the non-slip strip like I'm supposedly supposed to do.

This didn't cause death or anything like that. But it did cause me to develop racing stripes on the back of my leg. As weird as this might sound, it's really not that odd looking. And I'm pretty sure that if I chose to go for a run, I would be very fast now.

So how did it turn out? Well, when I woke up Sunday morning (the tan takes 6 hours to come in), I asked Sweetie Pie how I looked. He was blown away! All he could say was "whoah..." Which I think is a good thing. He told me my face was awful dark. Which really, is the best compliment a girl can get, right?

I have a white spot on my right arm, like I've been hit by white paint, but besides that, the tan is very even.

And no, I'm not orange.

The craziest part is I'm definitely doing this again. I'm looking about 2 pounds lighter tanned, so I'm thrilled.

Love,

Catwoman.

Amendment to my post on Saturday...

Well, I was wrong... (don't expect me to ever say this again...)

Ends up Sweetie Pie wasn't freaked out by my pseudo-slutty past (which really, compared to just about anything on TV these days is oh so tame). Ends up he was drunk. As in sickly drunk.

Apparently while I was getting ready for bed, Sweetie Pie went outside to put something away and threw up. And apparently, that one puking incident led to many more. Which after I passed out led him to grab a couple of pillows and lay down on the couch so he could be closer to the guest bathroom.

Yes, I'm paranoid. And no, my husband is not a drunk because of me.

Love,

Catwoman.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

How to Turn a Relationship to Crap in One Evening Flat

Well, Sweetie Pie slept on the couch last night. I have to say that in 2 1/2 years of mariage and almost six years of knowing each other, that's a new one. I think I slept on the couch once when I was sick as a dog. Oh and a couple of times when I was really mad at him I went to bed in the guest room, but Sweetie Pie came and got me.

Well, there was no getting anyone for me. Because really, I was already asleep in a red wine haze when Sweetie Pie decided me he hated me so much he couldn't stand to be in the same bed as me.

The thing is, that technically, I'm mad at him. Well, not really mad. I was irritated, but now my head pounds and I'm over it. Point is, I was never mad enough to even consider sleeping in another room. Or maybe I was just too drunk for the idea to cross my mind... Either way, this wasn't my doing.

Let me explain what happened... Last night, good friends of ours, A & B came over for dinner. It was a nice dinner. We had beef wellington with scalloped potatoes and I made a caramel nut tart for dessert. Everything was homemade and everything turned out fantastic if I may say so myself!

We were having a great time. The wine that A & B brought over was drank rather quickly and the boys went out after dinner to get another bottle and get some cigars. Beer was drank as well. Everything was fine, until we started playing one of the games that I carry in my other gig. It's called Bottoms Up. It's made by Hustler. 'Nough said.

Basically what it is, it's a dirty version of the famous Cranium game. So categories are "Perverted Pictures," "Sexy Charades" and things like that. There are also truth or bare squares around the board. And one of those caused the end of my marriage.

You see, Sweetie Pie and I have always had a rule that we don't need to know about each other's past when it comes to sex. We have a don't ask, don't tell rule. Well, last night he broke that rule. And I can guarantee you that should our marriage survive this, he will never ask me anything else again.

The question the boys decided to ask us was how many guys have we slept with. I'll be honest with you, since you've faithfully read my blog this whole time, despite the large gaps in between postings. I lied about the number. Actually, that's not entirely true. I responded that I didn't know. Which the response I received to that answer made me realize that just saying any number, even if it'd been 10,000 like Will Chamberlain, would have been better than that answer.

But see, I always had a rule back in my single days that I would not keep track of the number of guys I've slept with. I figured out that as long as I didn't know it, I could never be called a slut.

Now some people who've only slept with one or two people would say "uhm... It's not hard to know." But the thing is, once the number reaches eight or double digits, unless you have a notch system in your bedpost, you don't really keep track. I'm sure most people on a rainy Sunday afternoon have sat there and counted out there guys or girls and have figured out their number, but not so for me, because of my rule.

So anyway, Sweetie Pie was really freaked out by this, so much that I finally said, "it's definitely lower than 15." Now here's the thing... I don't know if my number's 15, but just on casual estimations, I think it might be a little higher than that.

Well, apparently 15 wasn't the right number to say either, despite Sweetie Pie earlier saying that he'd slept with 12 women before me. So see, his number isn't far off from mine and yet I'm the whore. When will those stupid stereotypes stop?

So flash forward to the end of the night and Sweetie Pie saying a number of times that he didn't know his wife is a whore and I went to bed without saying goodnight. Once company had left, of course.

I fell asleep right away, since it was 3 in the morning and Sweetie Pie at this point decided he didn't want to share a bed with me, for whatever reason.

Which really, if the whole number thing is the reason, I don't even want to talk to him. I mean, I can't change it, you know? It's what it is. Why do couples choose to do this to themselves?

Love,

Catwoman.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

I'm the Biggest Loser!

Those people on that crappy NBC show have NOTHING on me! I lost five pounds overnight. Yup, that's right, just like that. With good eating and thoughts of exercise, I lost five pounds.

Well, ok, that's not the whole story. But it sure sounds great that way. See, what happened is I joined a weight loss site a week and a half ago now. And when I joined, I couldn't weigh myself because it was the middle of the day. I know some of you (well, with how few people are now reading this, it's probably one of you) are rolling their eyes at me. But it's true, you have to weigh yourself at the beginning of the day, or else you weigh like 10 pounds more because you ate and drank a lot. So rather than have myself be 20 pounds heavier, I guesstimated my weight. I knew I was the heaviest I've ever been, so I added five pounds to my previous record and that was that. Well, then last Thursday, I go to weigh myself for the first time and I'm thinking I've lost weight and it won't be as traumatic to look at the number.

Except that the evil scale said I was five pounds heavier than my guess. A WEEK AFTER STARVING MYSELF AND EXERCISING ONCE!!!!

No freaking way.

No freaking way.

Then I realized that there's something really wrong with this scale. You see, it was my mother's. And it's been moved five times since she owned it. When she first got it, she noticed that it was 10 pounds off. So you don't set it on the zero, you set it on the ten as the starting weight. So I made the only choice I could. I threw out the scale.

Then I headed to Target and bought a new one. An electronic one at that. It says on it that it's guaranteed to be accurate. I believe you baby, I believe you.

So I took my new scale home and weighed myself. In the middle of the day. After I'd eaten two tomatoes stuffed with three ounces of tuna, three teaspoons of fat free mayonnaise and half a small diced onion. Note that I deprived myself of the stalk of celeri that should have been minced and incorporated in the tuna. Not because I have amazing will power, because really, it's celery, negative calories. Don't even try to give me the credi. It's because I hate celery and refuse to support that evil celery empire. I'd rather starve to death than eat celery and its putrid after taste.

Anyway, so I had just eaten my two stuffed tomatoes with at least a gallon of wather. And I'd had my half a Zone Perfect bar only an hour before my lunch because I was running late in my meals. So obviously that was still in my system.

Point is, that despite all of these dozens of pounds of food in me, my new scale told me I weighed five pounds less than the other scale told me yesterday morning on an empty stomach.

Five pounds in one night. I can't wait to weigh myself tomorrow.

On another note, my little company had a really good day today. I just landed my first client. I get to be a publicist. I'm going to be representing this singer who's in high school and is about to be signed by record companies. Her manager wants her to tour Texas and guess who gets to be her publicist?

No, not him.

Uhm, I haven't heard of her, but no, not her either.

OK, just give up before you hurt my feelings. It's me!!!!

I'll be whisking her on the red carpets of the Grammy, American Music Awards, MTV Music Awards and Maxim parties before I know it! And when it happens, I'll have Harry Winston begging me to wear their diamond necklaces and I'll smile with my perfectly done hair as I stand in the background looking over at the star that I helped create.

And I've already decided that Sandra Bullock and I are going to be best friends. She doesn't know it yet.

Maybe I should send her a Christmas card, because that's what best friends do.

Actually, I just got my cards yesterday. They have a baby panda on the front walking through snow. I swear they're the bestest cards ever! I got them from the World Wildlife Federation, so money goes back to save the pandas. Instead of making Mr. Hallmark richer, why not do the same?

Well, I think that's enough lecturing for one day!

Here's the most exciting part of my day. I ordered myself business cards. Now, I've had business cards before, but these have my last name on them twice. Once because I've got my name on there and once in my company name. I mean, how cool is that! Makes me feel all official and everything.

Life is really good today.

And did I mention Target had Zone Perfect bars on sale for 80 cents a piece?

Sigh, if this day got any better, I might start thinking I'm dreaming.

Love,

Catwoman.

Monday, October 18, 2004

The World Is Very, Very Sick

My friend M. just sent me this...

My first thought is this was so made in Japan. I don't consider myself an animation expert by any means, although I have watched quite a bit of the stuff to know my Pixars from my anime from my Disney.

Enough to say, Pixar was not involved in this little ditty in anyway. Unless there was a crazy office party that involved heroin and whisky. Then I could see it producing the egg song.

But my biggest problem with the whole egg song is why do the eggs keep turning black? And how horrible that the egg sacrifices itself at the end to stop that hideous baby from crying those freakishly large tears.

Shudder...

Love,

Catwoman

Hello Face of the Earth? It's Me Catwoman...

Well, since two of you complained that I wasn't keeping my blog updated, here I go again. I have to warn you, I think the love affair between me and the blog is over. You see, in every relationship I've been that's faltered, I've just gotten to the point where I didn't have to say anything else to the other person. And that's when I knew it was over. Well, that, and usually the sex wasn't good enough for me to stay.

And that's how it is with the blog. The conversation, not the sex. Minds out of the gutter people!

The truth is, not much happens to me anymore. I wake up. Do a little work. IM with friends. Watch Y&R and Bold & Beautiful while having lunch and then sometimes I'll shower at two, and other times it'll seem like to much effort and won't.

Eventually it gets to be dinner time. I make dinner, watch TV with Sweetie Pie and then go to bed by 10 where I slather unsexy emolient cream all over my hands and lips and roll over and fall asleep.

So how in the world is anyone supposed to write something funny or at least witty every single day. You people should be happy. After all, I managed to write 54 posts, some of which were slightly entertaining. Most of the new TV shows this season won't even be on that long.

Well, not much to report except that I am on day two of a new diet. Which I've discovered something interesting about diets. It's very exciting to start a diet. Because then you get to tell people "I'm on a diet." And right away, they think you're cool. That you have willpower. That you are going to look supermodel hot within a month.

And the first day, you're excited. You buy the special foods. You plan your menus for the week. You try to decide when you're going to exercise. Hell, on that first day, you even do exercise. It's just magical.

On that first day, you feel great. At the end of the day, you think to yourself that you already feel thinner. You eye your skinny jeans knowing that within a few weeks, you'll be looking mighty fine in those acid washed puppies (in case you haven't fit in those skinny jeans since the 80s).

Then day two arrives. You wake up. And you don't so much feel skinnier as you feel like you are starving to death. You look at your menu for the day and wonder if you can get away with eating your three meals and two snacks in one sitting, because that's the only way you'll get this famine headache out of you.

But somehow you tough it out on that second day. You drink your 200 calorie shake and try to pretend it's mighty tasty. In fact, it tastes just like the Steak & Shake milkshake you had as your last hurrah on the night before your diet. Then five minutes pass and your stomach begins its pathetic begging. It's not fooled. Hell, you're not fooled.

But the problem is that at this point you've spent more than twice your regular weekly food budget buying all of the specialty foods you were supposed to buy to follow your diet for the week. In my case, it was $112.58. I couldn't believe it. How could tomatoes, yogurt, nectarines and powdered crap cost so much?

And so now it's day two. The temptation to weigh myself to motivate myself to keep going for a third day is extremely strong. Except that should I actually weigh myself, I actually won't have lost anything. No diet can shed twenty pounds in one day. Except for the ones in the back of the National Enquirer. Which at this point, I'm fine with shelling the 200 bucks or whatever they want. My kingdom for a supersized order of McDonald's fries. Hell, I'll settle for a half dozen of Krispy Kreme donuts.

My diet's called The Zone. Jennifer Aniston has been on it since the second season on Friends, so roughly ten years. I think that Jennifer Aniston is a masochist freak who should be banned from this country.

What kind of example is self-mutilation Jennifer? She probably beats Brad Pitt to a bloody pulp constantly from the crankiness.

Love,

Catwoman.

Saturday, September 25, 2004

Did Ya Miss Me?

All two of you who might have read this blog regularly must have thought I got hit by the mail truck as I did my one physical activity of the day, which is, get the mail.

But truth be known, the reason that I haven't blogged in a week is that it began with me being way too busy and then getting to the end of the day and being way too tired. If you think that installing glue-down flooring is easy, well, I would have liked for you to have spent a week at my house. Imagine being covered in glue from head to toe to the point you're convinced your hand will just rip off from your wrist and stay stuck to the next board you touch. Imagine being hunched over for hours. Imagine rubbing your knees raw on the concrete you are laying the floor on, despite wearing jeans. And imagine having your feet look like they've been dipped in a bucket of concrete and allowed to dry and think that you may never be able to get all that glue off of you.

We were so beat every night. Let me tell you, absolutely no insomnia on the days/nights we worked on the flooring. Now all we have left is to seal it, which I'm supposed to do the first half of the room today. I feel like doing that about as much as I feel like walking into a wild pack of dogs after being sprayed with cat urine. But our living room is disaster Central right now. And considering that I'm hosting 6 girls next week, well, I guess it just needs to be done.

Plus, it looks like next week is going to actually be busy for me. I've learned that the best thing besides good friends is good friends who take you on as a charity case but convince you that you'd be doing THEM a favor if you did the "favor." I've got one good friend D. who's going to have me staff the flu clinics that she would normally do for very good pay if you ask me, since all I have to do is greet people and smile. Two things that I kind of do for free everyday anyway. Well, at least on those days I'm not PMSing. The days I'm PMSing, I think I expect to be paid to be nice to people. So it works out that I actually will be. And then another friend, A., her boss needs a PR freelancer, which wouldn't you know it, I am! So she has already gotten me to do a couple of hours of work for her this week and I have a meeting with her on Monday to go pitch a new big consumer account on Tuesday and then I've got more work for her to do on Wednesday. The funny thing is that the day the call came in that she needed my help, I was looking at job postings at Stonebriarmall.com thinking that even though I'd rather work at another store, since The Disney Store had openings, maybe it wouldn't be THAT bad to hear "It's a Small World After All" eight hours a day. Although the Web site did seem to allude that I'd be replacing the last person who went on a killing spree humming the tune.

But now, no Disney Store job necessary, since I'll have more work than I know what to do with until at least Thanksgiving.

The big reason that I didn't write last week is because I couldn't think of anything to write. I had blogger's block. And I just didn't want to write something really laim up there when I really had nothing to say. So I figured "I'll just write tomorrow." But then the next day, I'd pull up the blogger Web site and same thing: white space. By day four, I stopped going to the site altogether to avoid that horrible feeling.

Maybe I need to get out of the house more so that I actually have material...
Love,

Catwoman.

Friday, September 17, 2004

A Tumble Down Memory Lane

Ever just been going about your business when all of a sudden an odd memory that has nothing to do with what you're doing just comes flooding back? The other day, I was putting dishes in the dishwasher when all of a sudden I got pounded on the head with a horribly embarrassing memory.

I don't know exactly how old I was, because my entire early 20s kind of run together, but I would probably have to guess 21 or 22, since I met Sweetie when I was 23.

Anyway, I met this guy named Gerard. He was a flight attendant with me and he looked a lot like that actor Tom Everett Scott (the guy in that show Philly and An American Werewolf in Paris). One thing led to another and I ended up going home with him when we got back to Toronto. I don't know how I forgot this, but now, I will never forget it until the day I die! After we had sex, Gerard left the bed and came back with a huge binder. He told me he wanted to show me something. Thinking I'd found a man who actually wanted to open up after the deed, I was impressed. Well, Gerard begins to flip through the pages of this binder telling me about this amazing direct selling experience he's part of that carries only Tea Tree Oil products. It took me a while to figure out that he was trying to rope me in as one of the sellers under him in a Mary Kay type company that sold Tea Tree Oil products which until that day I had never heard of.

I was absolutely horrified. I don't know how I sat there in bed naked and listened to him. I should have gotten dressed and left.

So why did that memory come back and hit me so vividly as I was standing in my kitchen seven years later while Sweetie Pie did whatever in the living room (probably just watching TV, but I felt that wouldn't help my point)? I think it was to remind me of the number of jerks, morons and dildos I had to go through to find the imperfect person that I will spend the rest of my life with. I think the divorce rate would be a lot lower if people remembered the number of morons they had to go through when they were single. It's no wonder that single people will find the least disturbed person and hang on to them for dear life. They know that if they don't, someday, they could end up naked in a bed being solicited for 500 dollars to receive a 1,000 dollar starter kit of Tea Tree Oil products.

Whatever happened to Gerard you wonder?

I did see him a couple of more times. I guess there was nothing on TV those nights or something. Once, I went to a Tea Tree Oil meeting with him. These people were such fanatics, it looked like a cult to me. I lied and said I forgot my credit card when they held me down and tried to make me a distributor.

A few days later, Gerard called me and said he'd come down with some weird skin condition and his whole face was broken out and he looked horrible. I think I subconsciously thought to myself "I've got to see this!" but I think that the real reason is that he was hot. And I thought "how bad can it be?"

Well, the leprecy he'd developed definitely reduced the hotness factor. When he showed up at my door, he had hundreds of pussy wounds, some of them oozing, on his face. And he, ugly disfigured man, actually had the gall to tell me that my Levi's jeans didn't make my butt look as good as it was.

That was the last time I saw Gerard. I'm sure he told the people that he sold the Tea Tree Oil product that the oozing wounds on his face had nothing to do with the stuff he was peddling. And I swear that I didn't do anything to him. Or maybe that memory will come back later...

Love,

Catwoman.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

That's Why I Never Leave My Dog The Keys

I love this story...

And how many cops do you know put out funny press releases about incidents like this? Go Canada!

And we won the World Cup of Hockey? Man, I really wish I'd cared enough to watch! A perfect opportunity to rub in my Canadianism completely wasted! Oh well, the winter olympics are only two years away...

Love,

Catwoman

America Would Hate Me If I Was a Reality Show Character

I've decided that it's probably best that I don't go on a reality show. As much as I love to cheer my favorite person on and boo te evil people on those shows, I've decided that if I was going to be on the show, I would make it way too easy for Mark Burnett and Company to just string a bunch of bad Catwoman moments together and make me look like I'm completely psycho, evil and just an all around horrible person.

The first reason is really stupid things come out of my mouth sometimes, ok, regularly. You see, my mouth is a completely self-operating device that I don't really have any control over. The only time my brain has anything to do with my mouth is when it says something horrible and my brain immediately sends a lightning bolt of pain through the rest of my body with a message of "oh oh." But by then it's too late, the damage is done and people are laughing at me. So Jessica Simpson may think tuna and chicken are the same thing, but I'm sure te cameras could catch something that would make many viewers think that I've ridden the short bus at some point.

Secondly, I have absolutely no patience for stuff, especially in stressful situations. Which, I may not be an expert on this, but I get the feeling that reality shows purposely try to make your life difficult and situations anxious. So basically, the cameramen on whatever show I'm on would have hour upon hour of video tape of me just having complete meltdowns because of little things. I think America would recommend that I be sponsored by Prozac if all of my little moments were put back to back on TV.

I also complain way too much. I think it's a sign of old age, now that I've turned 29. Because I seem to write to customer service people more and more. Yesterday, I got my long awaited order from a catalog company that's normally very expensive. They had a clearance sale, so I stocked up on really nice stuff for my family. I basically got three of my family members' Christmas done and then one of my sister's birthdays. Well, when I'd ordered something for myself the month before, it came in a beautiful gift box, just waiting to be wrapped. This time, my items came in a giant Ziploc bag, despite my checking each page with "add gift card," which I thought would alert them to the fact that they are, well, gifts. So I got very very mad and wrote quite the off-the-cuff nasty email to customer service. If I have it my way, those cheap bastards are going to Fed Ex me just the gift boxes. And I don't care that they are located right in the middle of where Hurricane Frances hit. I want my gift boxes.

And lastly, I don't always treat Sweetie Pie very nicely. My friend M. was telling me the other day how much she hates Collin and Christie (who are Texans! Go Texas!) on the Amazing Race. See, I love them. Because I really think that Colin is just like me. He's a good guy about 23.5 hours a day, and the producers have three days of footage of him losing it to play for us once a week. And so he may tell Christie "I hate you." But notice her lack of reaction. She knows he doesn't mean it. She knows that he's just stressed out and wigged out and can't possibly deal with it. And her method of dealing with stress is just to pick at him and tell him "you're doing it wrong." So she comes off looking bad too.

The reason I'm such an expert on Colin and Christie's relationship is I'm married to her. Well, I'm not ACTUALLY married to Christie on The Amazing Race. But I am married to someone just like her. Someone who can drive me up the wall at the most stressful times and cause venom to spew out of my little body like I'm on The Exorcist. Take the other day. Sweetie Pie and I are working on the floor, which if anyone out there thinks that putting glue down hardwood floors together is easy, please give me your address so I can come over and beat you senseless. Anyway, Sweetie Pie and I have had at least one blow up each day. Tuesday's blow up was particularly bad, with Sweetie Pie hovering over me, making me screw up everything from the stress of him staring and then tellig me how to do it. I finally snapped and said "Why do you insist of making my life a living hell all the time?"

Now tell me that wouldn't have made the climax of the promo if we were on a show. Of course I didn't really mean it. I don't think Sweetie Pie makes my life hell all the time. I just happened to blurt it out when he was driving me up the wall, I was covered in industrial strength glue that was quickly drying making my pushing on the one little plank of hardwood harder and harder by the second and I was getting stressed.

He of course got his feelings hurt and said something about how he's the luckiest guy alive, who's wife tells them such horrible things and we both went our separate ways, slammed the doors and then went back to everything five minutes later and we were fine. And so when I watched Colin tell Christie he hated her that Tuesday night, I cheered them on. Because I know that when the cameras are off and the stress is gone, they love each other dearly and once in a while, they even laugh.

Love,

Catwoman.

Monday, September 13, 2004

What I Learned On My Birthday

Well, another birthday, another sweet romantic mushy card from Sweetie Pie. Which once again makes me feel bad that six days ago, I got him a birthday card with a fart joke it it. It was pretty funny, in my defense.

Anyway, looking back on my birthday, and already seriously missing being 28 when I hated being 28 for 365 days, I realize that I've learned a few things this Saturday. And here they are in no particular order.

Lesson #1: I may have Tourette's Syndrome. The good thing about mine is that it only shows itself when I'm very annoyed, aggravated, irked, or pissed off. Which of course, between all of these words, they describe my state of mind about 80 percent of the times. See, on Saturday I went to a bridal shower for a cousin of Sweetie Pie's. I didn't really want to go, which right there makes me sound evil, because the father of this cousin has literally been trying to destroy Sweetie Pie and his dad's company. If this were a movie, he'd be the evil guy who ends up falling of a building at the end of the movie and the audience cheers. But anyway, it's not his daughter's fault that that's her dad, and for Sweetie Pie's grandmother, who's in her late 70s and just wants peace in the family, I decided to go. The woman buys me nice jewelry for Christmas every year, it's the least I can do!

Anyway, I get there with Sweetie Pie's sister right on time (I know, that never happens with me, right?) and we're told by the other guests there that the bride-to-be hasn't arrived yet. Hasn't arrived? At my shower I was ordered to be there half an hour before it started to greet all of my guests. The bride-to-be/spawn of Satan finally shows up almost 40 minutes late for her own shower. Then, there were probably 25-30 people there and hardly any food. I was starving. No breakfast, shower started at 11, we finally got to eat close to noon, I'm ready to eat, right? Well, there's hardly any food! Only four individual items of food cut into very small squares. An anorexic would have begged for seconds!

So then, we all sit around the bride to watch her open her gifts and she acts like we're going to steal them from her. She literally would open the gift boxes, peak into them and then go "Oh, thank you so and so!" The rest of us who didn't buy her that gift were left just thinking that so and so had bought the bride a gift box. Because that's all we could see. And so I was just really pissy by that point. It's like why am I here staring at a bride-to-be looking into boxes? I could be home enjoying my birthday! So finally the bride's mother told her to read the card that she'd written her daughter out loud and my Turrette's kicked in and I yelled "yeah, and show us the presents!"

How loud did I yell? I'm not sure. But it sure sounded very loud in my head. The room didn't go completely silent and the bride started showing us her gifts, so all was well that ends well. Which goes to show, when you have Turrette's Syndrome, you always get your way.

Lesson #2: Talking to your Mother-In-Law naked in the bathtub isn't fun.

People kept calling me to wish me a happy birthday Saturday morning, which is always a nice thing to get. But as I was running late for the bridal shower (see above if you don't know what I'm talking about), I drew myself a bath and decided to have a quick soak before showering. Well, the phone rings as I'm relaxing my weary muscles (I had painted the living room the night before and started again at 6:30 the morning of my birthday) and I answer it. Wouldn't you know it, it's the mother-in-law. Well, as much as I enjoy speaking to her, I felt very dirty doing it naked in the bath. I don't care that video phones aren't common yet and she can't see me. I sure as heck wouldn't want to talk to her while she's in the tub. The funny thing is, I used to talk to people when I was younger while I peed or did number two all the time. I was very good at doing it quietly or my friends were too polite to say anything. Either way, I miss my carefree days of doing anything I wanted while I was on the phone.

Lesson #3: Nothing beats 50 Cents on your birthday.

There's probably nothing whiter than a 29-year old white woman singing "I'm going to party like it's my birthday. We're going to sip Bacardi like it's my birthday" to her tablemates in a sushi restaurant, but hey, I'd had two watermelon martinis that tasted just like jolly ranchers and turned my blood stream into pure vodka in about five minutes flat. And it was fun dang it.

Lesson #4: No 5'3" woman should eat 25 dollars worth of sushi by herself.

And if she does, she'll get automatic stretchmarks on her stomach, have to be rolled out of the restaurant and squeezed through the trunk door of the Jeep. And then she'll intestinally pay a high price later that night.

Lesson #5: Enjoy your current age, because the next birthday feels even worse.

Love,

Catwoman

Friday, September 10, 2004

I Know I Already Blogged Today But...

I completely forgot to share something...

Yesterday, I clicked on one of those scam offers of if you shoot the duck, you get a $50 gift certificate to a favorite restaurant. And so for half an hour I responded to crappy offers from spammers and pretended that I was excited about their offers. And then finally, I got to the point where it said that all I needed was to respond to one of the following offers and I would get the gift card.

Well, one of the offers was two weeks free to Blockbuster Online, which is basically Blockbuster's very late response to Netflix. Now, I tend to root for the small guy, but in this case, Blockbuster bribed me with two free weeks and two free in-store rentals per month and, well, I'm a cheap slut when it comes to free stuff. What can I say...

So next thing you know, I spend two hours creating my Blockbuster queue.

When the dust had settled, I had 102 movies in my queue.

Now think about that for a second. Considering that many of those movies are TV shows like Sex and the City seasons one, two, three, four, five, six and Nip/Tuck and so forth, each one of the DVDs is about two hours long.

So I have just comitted myself to more than 200 hours of DVD watching. That's eight days, 24 hours straight. Without pee breaks. Eating breaks, talking/seeing friends/spouse breaks. Sleeping breaks. Blog breaks. Oh and work ever so often breaks.

What was I thinking?????

Love,

Catwoman.

When the Moon Hits Your Eye, Like a Big Pizza Pie, That's Aaaaaaaamoooore!

Well, I know this will keep you on pins and needles and make you want to check my blog ten times a day to read the latest and greatest, but we've found our floor.

No, not in that we looked down and noticed that we were standing on something called a floor. That'd just be a dumb and retarded story now wouldn't it?

No, we found our floor as in an even duller we were looking to rip out our nasty ass carpet and have been looking for the perfect replacement and after many trips to different stores, we found it.

Now here's the best part. As you know, with me living the high life of an unemployed person, it means we don't have the money to buy an expensive floor. Sweetie Pie's parents are giving us a really good chunk of very generous change that will help us be able to buy a cheap flooring. And from the beginning, we knew we wouldn't be able to afford hard woods. And we'd accepted that. So our mission was to find the perfect affordable laminate that looked like wood. So that people would come over to our house and go "wow! Love your hardwoods." Rather than think to themselves "since when do trees look like this?"

And so we'd found one this past weekend that we liked. But I wanted to make sure that this was the best we could do. So earlier this week, we went to Lumber Liquidators and saw another laminate that was half the price of the one we'd found at The Floor Store. Quite tempting right...

Well, while I was there, there was also another pattern that was beautiful, rich and looked just like wood and was a very dark and rich color.

When we got home, with sample number one, Sweetie Pie thought that maybe we should have tried the dark color that I was looking at. Nuh duh!

So yesterday I went all the way back for the sample of the darker "wood." And as I was feeling it (which sounds really dirty, but really isn't) at the store, I asked the salesman what kind of laminate this was.

"It's not," he said. "It's hardwood."

My heart stopped. I checked the price again. "Is there a digit missing in this price?" I whispered, knowing that I'd probably jinxed myself.

"Nope, that's right," he responded. "It's an as is lot, so some boards may be damaged, but there's no warranty on this. So you'll want to buy about 10 percent more just in case."

I nodded at him hoping he wouldn't tell me "you've been punk'd."

I raced home, my heart pounding. "SWEETIE PIE!!!!! SWEEEEEEEEEEETIE PIE!" I screamed before I even got to the driveway. "We can have hardwoods! Not a picture of wood on our floors, but an actual piece of wood that's hard and serves as our floor!"

We looked at that 0.5 inch by 0.0001 inch sample. We put it next to the recliner. Then we put it next to the door. Then next to our forehead. Yup, it looked good even next to our sallow complexions. Anything that sample was placed next to automatically looked better. And so we knew this was the one.

At this point it was too late to drive all the way back to the store since they close at five to be able to sell hardwood floors to us at ridiculous prices. So Sweetie Pie said "You can go and buy them tomorrow."

Well that was a mistake. That means that I spent all night staring longingly at that sample, holding it in my lap like a newborn kitten, snuggling it ever so tenderly. And then came that horrible moment when I had to go to sleep.

Like a child who knew that when she wakes up, Santa would have come, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't go to sleep. I know that eventually I did finally pass out from exhaustion, but at 4:30 a.m., my mind and body were awake, ready to get to the store. Which, since it does not open until 9 a.m. might have been just a tad early.

So now, I've been out of bed since 4:46 a.m. playing backgammon and dominoes on Yahoo, just waiting until the moment I can go hand my credit card to the kind folks at Lumber Liquidators. I don't care that the next three weeks will mean living in disarray while our living room gets redone piece by piece. None of that matters to me. What matters is that I now know what true love is and no one can ever take that away from me.

Love,

Catwoman.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Must... Focus... Even... If... It... Kills... Me...

I am really all over the place these days. I mean, I don't think I can even manage to complete a single thought. Being unemployed and a part-time freelancer is really either the ideal situation for me or it will be what officially sends me over the edge. You see, as before work would force me to complete a couple of thoughts a day, now, I have the freedom to just bounce from cloud to cloud, like I'm never going to come down. Huh, that's a song with a guy and Santana. See? Not a complete thought.

Yesterday my books came in the mail. I was VERY excited! You see, I joined the Writer's Digest book of the month club or whatever those things are called. And for the low, low how-do-they-make-a-profit price, I got like six books including "how to create a plot," "how to write children's books," "writer's digest markets 2005," "you're boring your friends with these titles" and some others I don't recall.

So far I've read two pages of the one about writing children's books. And of course, I have decided to write a children's book. You'd think that would be perfect for catwoman, considering those of you with parents know that young children's books are only like 15 pages long. Perfect with someone who has the attention span as long as hurricane season in South Dakota.

And yet, I've already bounced off to something else. I've once again signed up for classes with Barnes & Nobles online. You see, the folks at Barnes & Nobles offer this free university! They have all of these cool classes and they're all free! Which of course always leads me to sign up to too many (I signed up for three yesterday) and then I realize the books that go with the class are above my budget (especially right now) and so I try to read the lectures but only get about 1/100th of the value of the class and then the next week I'm bored with it and then get annoyed everytime I find another reminder email about some lecture or assignment in my Yahoo account.

I mean really, they should know me better than that!

I'm taking a class on fiction. But it's already boring me because it's all about the characters in the Great Gatsby. You know what? I'm an avid reader. I've been studying characters in books since I was three years old. So don't give me this crap. What I need is someone to teach me how to be focused enough to actually write a book.

If this blog was any good, I could eventually get to the point where I would have enough entries to just print them out, bind them together and call it a book, but unfortunately, I don't think that America at large will want to read my whinings and musings. I mean America will watch a show featuring 15 people living in the equivalent of an IKEA box with nothing to do but bicker and vote each other off for three months. But I just don't think my blog is as interesting a concept as the lame concept of Big Brother.

Which of course, because Sweetie Pie has forced me to watch it all summer, I'm addicted to as well. Especially last night's episode. It was actually interesting to watch these people of small intelligence actually come up with a strategy that 1) Made sense and 2) Would work.

I was very impressed with their success at completing a thought. Maybe instead of learning about characters in stupid books that don't help with my Adult ADD, I should learn from the ways of people like Diane, Drew and Cowboy.

That sound would me reaching a new low.

Love,

Catwoman.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

And on Labor Day, God Said Let There Be Light

I know what the statistics say. They say that the number one cause for fights between married people is money. And I'm sure that people fight about money quite a bit, because let's face it, there's never enough and the evil advertisers are always convincing you that you need a larger TV or a cooler car.

But I think the statistics are wrong. There is something that couples fight about even more than money. A force so evil that most people don't even think of mentioning it during polls about why people fight. And that's home improvement.

I'm sure that even if home improvement was to make it on the list of why couples break up, the kind folks at Home Depot and Lowe's would throw money at the scientists to bury that fact, after all, I'm sure 90 percent of people at home improvement stores on the weekends are naive couples who are getting along just fine and don't know they're about to put their marriage in jeopardy.

This is how a typical married couple's weekend day (and it's three times more likely to happen on a long weekend) begins.

Wife:
- Yawn! (stretch, stretch, scratches cellulite). Honey, I was thinking I hated the wall in the living room. I think we need to tear it down and build a new one by lunch time when we have people coming over.

Husband who's still asleep:
- Whatever you want dear. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

And so begins the trip of two wide-eyed innocent people on their way to whichever of the home improvement giant is either closest to them or they feel they have a loyalty to. They buy the stuff they need, they might even be smart enough to ask one of the experts in the store about the right technique and then they head home where the mix of ingredients will cause an explosion strong enough to compete with a nuclear holocaust.

I really think that the people who make the stuff that gets sold at Lowe's and Home Depot are sadists who hate the world. These are the people who's adds on Match.com are so bad, that people forward them to their friends to laugh hysterically at them ("check this out! His hobbies include peeing and petting his 32 cats!"). And so these unhappy people are so bitter, they feel they need to destroy others' happiness.

But we didn't let the sadists win yesterday. I decided yesterday that I'd had enough. We have had these ugly ass light fixtures in our entryway and hallway ever since Sweetie Pie moved in. I hated those light fixtures. Every time I walked past them, I'd glare at them, but like bad guests, they wouldn't take the hint and leave. The kind folks at SBC sent us a $25 gift card and I said to Sweetie Pie yesterday "We are buying new lights."

And off we went to Home Depot, our first choice of course. Except the lighting selection was disappointing and we stood there for a while deciding which fixture in our $25 budget was the least worse. We finally gave up and packed it up for Lowe's who I have to say has a great selection of light fixtures that are pewter with that Alabaster glass (I like to call it a la bastard glass myself, for those of you going alawhat? It's just a fancy word for frosted glass with swirls in it) under $25. We picked out two light fixtures and went home very excited with our purchases.

Well, once we got home, we realized how sadist the sadists who made the lamps were. You see, you had to somehow feed two screws through the bottom of the lights and push them through very thick foam and then somehow, blindly find the two small holes in the electrical outlet where the screws are supposed to go while holding the fixture against the wall. Oh and the best part: the electrical box was made for the previous light fixtures (which by the way both Home Depot and Lowe's carry for the low price of $4.96. Could the builder have spent ANY LESS money????) so that the screws in our new fixture have no way of ever magically finding the holes. Oh, and with a popcorn ceiling, dust is flying in your eyes as you argue and give each other looks of death.

Hours of entertainment! And we finally realized that the second fixture would never fit and had to return it for another one, ensuring that our fun would never end. As I said to Sweetie, with SBC picking up $25 of our lighting fun, we got a whole days' worth of laughter for only $10! Lasts even longer than fun in Vegas!

Next stop: flooring! That should be weeks of fun. If we don't need marriage counseling after that one, we are unbreakable!

Love,

Catwoman

Monday, September 06, 2004

I'm Turning Into Will Ferrell

Anyone who's ever seen Old School will remember the scene where Will Ferrell is at the first frat party and one of the kids offer him a beer bong. "Oh, I can't," says Will's character. "I'm not drinking. I have a busy day tomorrow." When the kids ask him what he'll be doing, he answers "Well, first we're going to go to Home Depot to look at flooring and maybe find a new rug, and then, if there's any time left, maybe go to Bed Bath & Beyond."

Well, I've turned into Will Ferrell, because literally, our busy day yesterday revolved around picking flooring at Home Depot. Sweetie Pie's parents have decided to give us a VERY generous gift certificate to Texas' home improvement warehouse so that we could rip out our nasty carpet which has been harboring illegal germs for five years now (it was inherited from the previous homeowners) and replace it with hardwood floors. Well, since we're low budget, laminates that LOOK like hardwood floors. And so after searching and searching, we ended up at The Home Depot's Floor Store in Plano which I highly recommend for anyone looking to replace some flooring and decided we really liked one particular color and pattern.

But here's the thing with flooring. Just because it looks nice in the brightly store with no hairballs and matching furniture doesn't mean it will look good in our house. Well, the great thing about The Floor Store is that they let you take out a one square inch piece sample with a deposit of 30 dollars. Which is really ironic to me, considering that the flooring costs less than three dollars a square foot to buy, but the deposit on a microscopic sample is 10 times as much.

So we took our sample home and laid it in different parts of the house. We put it up against the armoire. Looks good there. We put it next to the recliners, yup it'll work there. We put it under the coffee table where it promptly disappeared and we thought we'd lost it, yup it looks good there as well. And so, just like that, we'd found our floor. Of course, I have to say I'd be lying if the idea that our real floor will be 1,000 times bigger than that little sample and so it may not look as good.

But the thing with flooring is that you have to commit to it and just hope that it works out in the end.

I remember when we decided to get the tile for our kitchen. We brought one tile home and (after bringing home five other tiles) thought, yup, this'll look good. And then I remember coming home that first day when the guy had laid the tile on the mortar and needed to come back the next day to grout. There was our tile with dark grey mortar in between them and it looked horrid. And I thought to myself "Oh God, this was a huge mistake." Sweetie Pie asked me what I thought and I said "Looks great!" Because the way I looked at it, at this point we were commited.

And then I came home the next night and the grout was done and it looked unbelievable! It looked so good I must have stared at that floor for two hours straight. On that night, it couldn't have mattered less what was on TV, because I was in love with that floor.

So hopefully our laminate flooring will be my next great love story. I just wish they called laminate flooring something better. Hardwood floor has such a great sound to it. And then laminate, even though it looks just like hardwood floor and most people can't tell the difference just sounds white trash.

But what can you do? We're on a budget!

Today's big project: Getting a new lamp for the entryway! Whoo-hoo! Excitement!!!!

And then people wonder why if I have a few too many drinks in me I'm willing to yell "let's go streaking!!!!" When you have home improvement excitement like this in your life, you can't help but develop a wild side.

Love,

Catwoman.

Saturday, September 04, 2004

How is this possible!!!!

I just went to my profile to look at my blogging average (I know, the important issues of the unemployed) and it says that my average of postings/week has dropped to five from six! Now I know I didn't post on Wednesday, but still! How did this happen! So now, I'm going to have to post twice a day just to make up for whatever screw up I did, just to be able to get my average up. Oh the horror...

Sob,

Catwoman.

Life is Wonderful

Right now, all of the stars are aligned, there is magic in the air, life is at it should be. You see, one of the greatest days of the year came a little early this year: it was yesterday.

Those of you who know my friend M. might know that her blog recently listed her excitement about cbs.com listing the new Survivors. Yawn. Who cares about a show that's been on seven seasons, is dated and only brings out a mix of silly stupid people. Sorry M.

Well, my idea of the greatest day is once a year, when Entertainment Weekly puts out its Fall TV Season Double Issue. Sigh... Hundreds of pages of interesting information to read and the opportunity for me to plan my whole life around TV. The kind of publication that can bring grown men to their knees.

For those of you who don't read Entertainment Weekly, let me tell you how much you're missing. It's so much better than those gossip magazines like In Touch or People. Entertainment Weekly is full of informative reading, wry humor and entertainment trivia, which many know me as the fountain of useless knowledge. Well, to me, Entertainment Weekly is the encyclopedia I read cover to cover each week, making my brain just a little smarter about Hollywood every time.

Amazing that a brain this powerful can even fit in my small head.

Anyway, the fall TV schedule looking mighty good. Monday night is once again crappy. The options at 7 p.m. are between Fear Factor (the most useless show on TV if you ask me. "Let's eat a rotted out carcass of roadkill"), The Benefactor (Mark Cuban for an hour???? I don't think I can do it without trying to slash my wrists with the remote) or Still Standing (which the real name of the show should be Still On Despite Two Years of Lame Ass Jokes). I mean how can the week start off so badly? I don't understand how TV programmers always let one night be the crappy night of television. CBS is wasting the Amazing Race on Saturday nights. Hello!!!! Most of us don't watch TV that night! They are going to kill that show when Monday night is allowed to run free with crap. So looks like that I'm going to have to somehow convince my Sweetie Pie to watch 7th Heaven, the only show that won't give me an aneurysm, but which will send him into a sugar coma.

VERY frustrating. I need to become a Hollywood Consultant. I've always wanted to be one of those Nielsen families. Because I want my TV watching to count. I think that the families who are part of the Nielsen TV are for the most part useless. Why are they all watching crap like Life With Jim or Something About Jim or whatever that stupid cookie-cutter sitcom is called with Jim Belushi. I mean, it makes me want to stab myself with a plastic teaspoon.

Here are the shows that I am VERY excited about watching this season. Please watch them with me so that they're not replaced by some crap reality show called "Shave My Dog." All times are Central Standard Time. So if I happen to have any non-Dallas readers, do the math for your time zone.

Monday:

7 p.m. Watch what you want, it doesn't matter, they all suck.

8 p.m. Las Vegas. We found it mildly entertaining last year and Monday Night Football is against it, so if I try to switch us to another show, football will take over. Cannot risk it, especially when nothing else is that worthy of switching. Everybody Loves Raymond hasn't been funny in years and I just haven't gotten into Two & a Half Men.

9 p.m. CSI Miami vs. LAX. Although I know men find Heather Locklear hot (which I admit I do too. How can she still look this fabulous at 40 + when I look this crappy at - 30?), LAX just doesn't look very good. And CSI Miami will have the death of one of the characters, so I am hooked, no contest there.

Tuesday:

7 p.m. No contest. Last Comic Standing. When that is done, then I guess I'll throw Sweetie Pie a TV bone and switch us to Navy NCIS (shiver) or as I like to call it, the manly ripoff of CSI.

8 p.m. Another bad time slot. Oh, just realized that stupidly retarded show is called According to Jim. I guess we're going to be forced to watch Clubhouse. Not that I really wanted to. But the other options are Father of the Pride or the Fox reality boxing show, which they ripped off from NBC, The Next Great Champ, which sounds more like The Next Big Bore.

9 p.m. The only thing worth watching is Law & Order SVU, although I do enjoy Judging Amy ever so often.

Wednesday:
NOW it's starting to get good... A lot of conflicts that night that make me sweat. What to watch, what to watch! If only I had a Tivo!

7 p.m. It's between Lost on ABC about the people who are in a plane crash on a deserted island and Hawaii. Entertainment Weekly names it Best New Drama and they're always right. I'm afraid that it has one of those concepts that will mean people won't watch right away and unlike movies that have a chance to build a buzz, this could be on three weeks and then yanked. So please watch Lost! I will. We watched an episode of Hawaii this week and it really wasn't that good or that entertaining.

8 p.m. This one's hard too. The new Bachelor? Probably not. That show's been kind of done, although I did watch the last one because there was nothing else on and Jessie was hot AND Canadian. A deadly combination. The West Wing is more like The Boredom Wing now. Why is that show still on? I was really into it at first, but now Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. The King of Queens is on at this time, which I ABSOLUTELY love, but Sweetie Pie hates sitcoms with bitchy wives and dumb husbands. Must remind him too much of real life I guess! UPN has a new show on that everyone is raving about and everyone is saying that it could do to UPN what Buffy the Vampire Slayer did to WB, which is put it on the map. That really hot guy Taye Diggs who seduced Angela Basset in How Stella Got Her Groove Back and he was a love interest for Calista Flockhart on Ally McBeal is going to be on a new show called Kevin Hill. In it, he'll be a smooth attorney guy who's a real player who inherits a ten-month old girl after his cousin passes away. Apparently it's really good and I think I'm going to turn my TV onto UPN for the first time... ever I guess.

9 p.m.: Well, start spreading the news... I'm leaving Law & Order... CSI New York will be in this time slot and damn it, it looks awesome. With people telling Sweetie Pie that he looks like a younger Gary Sinise, it means that I have to watch everything he does. Besides, how is a bad CSI possible?

Thursday
Thursday, Thursday. How you break my heart... Why oh why has FOX decided to put The OC on the strongest night of TV???? SOB! This one is REALLY hard for me... But after a lot of pondering, here is my final lineup. Well, until something gets cancelled or moved.

7 p.m. I've decided to watch The O.C. and tape Joey. This is a survival vote for me. I figure that Joey will be fine. Entertainment Weekly named it Best New Comedy, admitting that it was funny and they were surprised by how good it was for a spinoff. But up against Crappy Tired Survivor and the Joey/Will & Grace one-two punch, I think my very loved The O.C. will suffer. So I'm going to be loyal and hope others, especially those with a Nielsen box will follow my lead.

8 p.m. The Apprentice vs. CSI. This is kind of a tough one, but it isn't. I LOVED the first Apprentice. I was completely obsessed with it in fact. So I've been waiting for season two forever! CSI will be on in repeats all season. I have plenty of time to catch up with Grissom and the rest of Las Vegas, but the Donald? It's a one-time thing.

9 p.m. If any of you haven't discovered the greatness of Without a Trace during its first two seasons, hopefully this year's desperate ploys on ER bring you over to CBS. It's an amazing, amazing show. ER has gotten to be so tired. I mean, how much more can those doctors take?

Friday:
The great thing about Friday's lineup is that there's nothing really worthy of seeing until 9 p.m. So that gives you plenty of time to go out to dinner, come back and turn on the TV.

9 p.m. It's between Dr. Vegas and Medical Investigation. I was really interested in seeing both, and obviously they got put up against the other. The lead guy from Medical Investigation who was also in Boomtown is very hot in an albino way. But I also love Robe Lowe. This one is hard. Entertainment Weekly says Medical Investigation is very boring, so I guess I'll watch Dr. Vegas and tape Medical Investigation and then adjust my thinking from there.

Saturday:
Worst night of TV of the week as always. Only thing worth watching is The Amazing Race at 7 p.m. For the rest, I recommend Blockbuster or getting out of the house.

Sunday:
It's interesting to me how Sunday has gotten better and better as a TV-watching night. And this year is no exception. FOX haws moved Malcolm in The Middle to 6:30 before The Simpsons this year, so the evening begins at 6:30.

6:30 OK, are you that out of it? I just said, Malcolm in the Middle.

7 p.m. American Dreams. We really got into this show last year. Light, fluffy, entertaining and with family members who actually have flaws. A very strong show with a great cast.

8 p.m. This is the timeslot I am most excited about, because the new show that I most wanting to see is on. Desperate Housewive on ABC looks AMAZING!!!! Like Melrose Place but on Speed. It casts a whole bunch of recognizable actresses including Dr. Kimberly from Melrose Place (who tries to kill her husband for some reason in the previews), Teri Hatcher from Lois & Lane and others. It looks like great curl up on your couch drama and Entertainment Weekly agrees with my feelings about it. They say that it even has a touch of Twin Peaksness, since the whole show is narrated by a housewife who commits suicide in episode one. So for the rest of the series, a dead character will be narrating. We need to watch this show, because ABC with its bad track record will kill off shows way too quickly.

9 p.m. It's got to be ABC again, with Boston Legal. The Practice was such a tired show, with characters that were just beginning to be highly disliked by me. But there was never anything else on. Until last season, when all of a sudden James Spader rips the show up from the inside out and creates this interesting new alien show, then William Shatner appears as one crazy dude and the show was so interesting again. Now that the show can be featured on only the new firm of Spader/Shatner without being bogged down by the boring main characters of Boston Legal, things are going to be great once again. Very excited about this one.


Well folks, that's it. My TV line up for the Fall 2004. If you're still reading this, someone's either holding a gun to your head, or you're a very, very good friend of mine who will read anything I write.

I'd like to leave you with a couple of predictions. Almost every year, I have been able to predict the first show to be cancelled. This year, I believe it is going to be Life as We Know it on ABC, a teen show that likes to call itself the My So Called Life for Boys. Right... Because teenage boys are all about feelings of confusion and all that other girl crap. It's on Thursday nights from 8-9 p.m., so against CSI and the Apprentice. The only thing that could make this prediction wrong is if someone from another network pulls the trigger and cancels something before October. Which if that happens, then I predict it will be Medical Investigations. Networks always put shows on Friday nights expecting them to make people stay home and then when the show performs just as badly as last season's shows, it gets pulled.

The one bonafide hit that I predict will still be there at the end of the season is Joey. There is no way Joey gets cancelled unless Matt Leblanc is in some horrible accident or is jailed for selling crack cocaine to senior citizens.

As my friend J. would say: and scene.

Love,

Catwoman.

Friday, September 03, 2004

Things That Drive Me Nuts...

After I wrote my blog, I decided to make myself a cup of coffee. Most of you would assume that means ground up coffee beans, a coffee maker, water and turn it into a pungent black cup of grossness.

Well not me. I'm just too good for that. I instead enjoy the sweet flavor of a cup of General Foods International Coffee French Vanilla. I'm not sure why they call it coffee. I'm not sure if one of the ingredients even is coffee. But what I do know is that Mama likes. It's like a little cup of sweet heaven that makes you feel all warm and tingly. And then the ensuing sugar rush makes you feel like the whole world is one big jawbreaker.

Anyway, I'm totally off track again. The point is, that I went to put the kettle on the stove to make me a cup of coffee and as I was filling it up with water, I noticed the annoying "max fill line" on my tea kettle. Now, the max fill line is an important thing. You see, if you go past that line, when you pour the boiling hot water that approaches 500 degrees Fahrenheit, water will spew everywhere, punishing you for not respecting the powers of the max fill line. Think of the max fill line as the John Gotti of the tea kettle world. You don't listen to him, you lose a hand.

Well the only problem with the max fill line is that it's just a sticker on an opaque blue kettle. Which I'm not Superman. Sometimes I wish I was, except my thighs would not let me look good in those tights. Anyway, unlike Superman, I don't have X-Ray vision that allows me to see through objects. So although I see the max fill line, I don't have any idea what the water level inside looks like. Is it way below? Is it right at it? Or is it painfully dangerously above? I mean are you supposed to weigh the kettle to figure it out?

My question is why bother with a max fill line at all if it doesn't help?

It's like putting signs in front of a cliff that read "watch out blind man, this is a cliff." Exactly what good is that?

Love,

Catwoman.

When You're Good, You're Good!

Well, things have been going pretty darn good here if I don't say so myself. Yesterday was a mighty productive day. I wrote a press release, sent another one out, got a hit in a key publication for my client, met with an insurance agent to get all of our health insurance stuff figured out, got Sweetie Pie's newsletters printed and folded and even managed to pick up my ring from Zales as it was being re-sized.

And get this, I managed to squeeze in a shower in there as well! I mean, if that's not a productive day, then I don't know what is!

I have a new addiction... Months ago, when my friend C. was pregnant, I made this dip that I found the recipe for on All Recipes. I can't remember what it's called now, but it had a name like Basic Mexican Dip. Well, not only was it easy to make, but it turned out so incredible that it was gone in no time at all, while the poor Hot Crab Dip stood there, trying to whore itself out so that someone would eat it.

The Basic Mexican Dip is easy to make. Basically, you take a package of Philadelphia Cream Cheese, let it soften at room temperature for about 15 minutes. You take some kind of oven safe dish that looks like it would be good to make a dip in (I use my Frenchware that my mother-in-law bought me) and you spread the cream cheese at the bottom. Then you open a can of Wolf Brand Chili (any type you want, I get the No Beans Hot, but you wimps can get the mild) and you pour that on and then spread it over the cream cheese. Note that you don't want to blend the two layers together. Then you just take some shredded Cheddar or the packages of shredded cheese that say Nacho or Mexican on it (that's what I use) and sprinkle some of that. You should have preheated your oven to about 350 degrees Fahrenheit and you just stick the dish in there for 10 minutes.

See how easy that was? OK, now you get yourself a bag of Tostito's or store brand nacho chips and dip. Oh, you should have waited for it to cool off a little. That'll leave a mark.

Isn't amazing? Well, now you can join me in my addiction. Because there is nothing better in front of the five o'clock news than that dip. For those of you who work, I guess you can have it at 6:30 and 7 and it would be just as tasty.

Anyway, now I have shared with you my secret dip recipe. You should feel very privileged and honored.

Oh! On another note!!!! I rule the world of secret shopping. All of you who think of me as loud and obnoxious will be amazed to know that I do, in fact, have what it takes to be a secret spy. The CIA's on the other line, hold that thought.

Anyway, I got a nice email from a company that I reviewed a REALLY AWESOME wing restaurant for last week in Addison. I'd like to say the name, but I don't know if I'm supposed to. Oh what the heck. My identity on here is secret, so who will ever know! The restaurant is called Buffalo Wild Wings. They have one in Addison, which I went to and also one in like Grapevine. Check out their Website for the nearest location. Awesome dining area for families, great prices, great wings, awesome bar for you party animals, great staff, basically, I did not have a bad thing to say about the place.

Now some of you cynics will say that's why I got the nice email. But the email did not focus on my positive comments. It focused on the thoroughness of my report and what an asset to the mystery shopping world I was. Brings a tear to my secret eye.

Oh! One more thing! It's official. I am starting my own real company in freelance PR. Sweetie Pie is buying me my own domain as I write this. Watch out world. Here comes Catwoman. I may have lost two lives in the PR world, but I'm coming back strong baby and will scratch the eyes out of my former enemies just because I can. Of course, isn't marriage by definition an institution that declaws you? Maybe all I'll end up doing is being one of those cats that just hisses but can't do any damage. Either way, I'm on my own and I'm feeling good! Anyone who knows of small companies that could use some PR help, let me know! I pay a finders' fee of $250 for any signed contract that was referred to me by someone.

Love,

Catwoman.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

Wow, Atrophy Is Cool

I just realized last night that I must have used up a maximum of 10.2 calories all day. Ever since I've been unemployed, I haven't had a reason to go very far. But yesterday, I think I beat all records. I only went from the couch to the computer twice in the entire day. I was very conservative with my energy. Rather than foolishly go from couch to computer and sit at each one for no more than 10 minutes, instead, I grouped my "work" at each station, so that I only had to do the long 20-foot trek twice.

I looked on the can of Pringles and it states that there are more than 10.2 calories in an entire can, so I think the odds of me losing 22 pounds because of yesterday are pretty slim.

Today is going to be a crazy fitness day though. After I'm done with this blog entry, I will be walking all the way to the shower. And then, I'm actually going to blow dry my hair and straighten it. Then, I'm going to walk all the way to my Jeep and drive myself to Kinko's to make copies of the newsletter I made for Sweetie Pie's company. Then, I'm going to drive all the way to the mall and walk to Zales. Just because I'm feeling drunk from all these upcoming efforts, I might not even illegally park in a handicapped spot, just to force myself to walk more.

Yup, today will be the day that will turn my life around, I can feel it!

Damn. I just realized that The Young & The Restless comes on it 20 minutes. I don't have time to do all of this in time for my soap! Maybe I should just call the whole thing off.

On another note, I've noticed something very cool today. Sweetie Pie has been very antsy for the past few days. I just thought it might be some male itch thing like they always talk about on television and thought it was none of my business to ask. Well, ends up that Sweetie Pie is concerned about money. I'm not sure why considering that I made a whole whopping $400 income in freelance work last month, which pays for almost half of our mortgage. But apparently he is.

And here's the funny part (well, I shouldn't have said that, because it's not ACTUALLY funny, so now I've oversold it and you're expecting to burst out loud laughing, or at least giggle a little). We're actually ok financially. We've got a little savings and what I make in freelance work and what Sweetie Pie is now making from his company is enough to pay our bills, eat low-cost foods from Kroger and even eat out at Steak & Shake once a month.

But this is funny to me, because I used to be the one who'd freak about money when I was the one who had a salary and Sweetie Pie brought in a mere $500 a month. And Sweetie Pie used to tell me all the time "don't worry, we're fine! We have enough money." And I used to want to break his neck so he'd stop saying that. And that way, I might also get the money from his very small life insurance policy and not need to feed him anymore.

And now that I'm the one not pulling my weight in salary, I've become the little chick who thinks the sky is falling (I know I got that kids' story all screwed up, but you get what I'm saying).

If only couples could switch roles all the time. Like maybe Sweetie Pie could be the one who gets PMS and cries for no reason about once a month. And then maybe sometimes he could be the one who spends hours cooking a dinner while I sit there watching TV and when it's done and he asks me how it is, I'd just answer "it's ok." Of course, then that means that he'd be the one who shops and spends too much money while I get mad. Which that just doesn't sound like very much fun to me.

Love,

Catwoman.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Another Day Without a Reason to Bathe...

The best part about being unemployed is that you no longer have to be crushed by the obligations of society. No longer do you have to sit in traffic, smile at coworkers you despise instead of spitting in their eye, or bathe.

I know it sounds really nasty, but I've found myself not bathing on a daily basis like I used to. The thing is, that when you're working, you have a routine. Get up, bathe, go to work, cry all the way home, drink, pass out. and start all over again.

But when you're not working, you get up, go to the TV, watch Regis and Kelly, eat a few Pringles, IM your friends, do a little work when your husband's around, watch your soaps, eat some more Pringles, blog and then next thing you know the whole day's passed and prime time TV's on, which is never a good thing to miss for a shower.

And then all of a second, you've gone through the whole routine again and you realize that you never thought of showering today either.

Well, it can't happen more than one day really, because in my case, on day two, as you go to greet your Sweetie Pie, his nose crinkles in the way that noses crinkle in cartoons and he says "you really should consider showering."

Touche Mr. Obsessive-Compulsive man. And I have to say, if you think a shower a day feels good. Try skipping it. The total feeling of having two days worth of grime leave your body is unbelievable.

But really, when you think about it, if it wasn't for Sweetie Pie, I would easily have four or five days a week where I wouldn't even have a reason to shower. I talk to a good portion of my friends every day, but I don't see them. So really, they couldn't smell me.

It's not like my phone is ringing off the hook with people begging me to come in for an interview, because that would be an occasion worthy of a shower.

And since most of my days are spent with two dogs and two cats who haven't had a bath in so long they're beginning to smell quite rank themselves, I figure what does it matter, right?

Besides, think of the money I'm saving on soap, shampoo, electricity from the blow dryer and straightening iron. I'm also saving the towels from being used up. And really, I'm just being a concerned environmentalist. Do you know what those phosphates in shampoo and soap do to the environment? I must have saved 10 dolphins yesterday alone. And don't get me started on the wastage of water that comes with showering.

I think Sweetie Pie would appreciate it if I showered on a more constant basis. And I have to say, I wouldn't mind if I did either. After all, yesterday, I applied deodorant three times and yet, I could still perceive wafts of a slightly sweaty botanical smell.

So I think what I'm going to start doing is make myself a to-do list. That way, I'll remember everything I'm supposed to do. Here goes:

1. Wake up
2. Get up
3. Pee
4. Brush teeth
5. Eat breakfast (NOT Pringles!!!!!)
6. Check Yahoo account
7. Check Monster.com
8. Apply to jobs
9. IM friends
10. Play solitaire with M.
11. Watch Regis & Kelly
12. Watch first half hour of Ellen
13. Watch Y&R
14. Eat lunch (NOT Pringles!!!!!)
15. IM some more
16. Do a little work
17. Play more solitaire with M.
18. Go get mail
19. Shower

Whew, BARELY fit that one in!

Love,

Catwoman.