Wednesday, September 21, 2005
That darn poog.
Gus is a lush.
This is what he does after I go to bed. He heads on down to George's, orders up a shot and a beer back and tempts some shameless hussy to light a cigar for him.
Gus is a bad dog...
...but I love him, nonetheless.
(Note to PETA: no poogs were harmed during this photo shoot. No poogs became canis intoxicata during this photo shoot. No poogs smoked during this photo shoot.)
I'm a chilly bitch
Most people think you're a cold and forbidding person, but you're actually naturally warm and inviting. People just get scared off by what other people have led them to believe about you. You keep to yourself for the most part, and are pretty good at fending for yourself, especially if water's involved. More people should visit you and find out the truth.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Years and years ago Calamity (hereafter known as 'C'... which can stand for many a great thing) and I worked together at a bar. We became pretty good friends as bar folk tend to do. It was a pretty tight friendship in a very superficial way, if that makes any sense. I can't speak for most women, but I generally get along with guys better. Most women just sort of *bug* me, as C did, but it's nice to have girlfriends. Never know when you're going to need to borrow a navy handbag or get advice on what hairstyle would look best. Besides, the woman was a magnet for men. Me, not so much. C was short, curvy and come to think of it, downright slutty. I, on the other hand, was tall, thin and a bit of a prude. Naturally, we worked well as a team.
So around this time when C and I were being extremely bad influences on the other, the Ultimate Bad Thing happened to our friendship: C got a boyfriend. 'B' popped into the picture and messed up a perfectly fine mess. No more going to wild parties or meeting really cute boyz. Ah well... at least I was able to focus on school once again and become the serious lil' Cooter I am today. About a month after C & B hooked up, C's apartment blew up (really... I'm not making this up). She quickly found a new place and was in the process of salvaging/moving when I left town for a two week vacation.
At the time I was living in a big old family home on the north end of town. The landlord was old and lived on the first floor, rented out four rooms on the second floor, and I had the third floor attic apartment. A sweet little Christian girl who lived downstairs was going to take care of my cat, as was another friend of mine. Yes, one person should have been enough, but the cat I had would become very despondent when I was not around and pull out his hair. Many a time I came home from a long weekend or a vacation to find this feline pert near bald. Trichotillomania in the feline world... who'da thunk? So with assurances from two people that my cat would receive attention galore, I set out for the east coast.
Maybe a week into my trip I called my friend to inquire how piliferous my cat still was. There was a long silence on the other end, then she blurted out: "I can't believe you left your house in such a mess!" Wuh? For those of you who don't me, let's just say that I usually clean my house before a trip so the return home will be all the nicer. To say that I can be (more so back then than now) a wee bit anal about such details is an understatement.
After a short, stunned silence from me, Friend then says (with more than a hint of disgust in her voice), "And I found your dildo lying right next to your bed."
Ok. WHAT THE FUCK?!! MY dildo?!! On the floor? In plain sight where the sweet little Christian girl who lived downstairs, could see it? I don't Think So! After a few minutes of me sputtering profanities to no one in particular, Friend then jabs it to me one last time with, "Oh yeah... nice bondage equipment on your bed, too. Really sweet of you to let us in on your world of kink."
Friend and I were on the phone for at least another half hour while she filled me in on my state of personal affairs. Seems that the sweet little Christian girl who lived downstairs, hadn't been stopping by at all because "some friend of (Angie's) said not to bother because she was going to take care of the cat." Evidently this 'friend' did not know other Friend was also in charge of cat-sitting, hence the mess, the dildo, the bondage equipment. Needless to say, it didn't take long for either one of us to realize that Calamity was in action here. And on MY mattress!! I asked Friend to strip the bed and wash my bedclothes in hot water at least three times. I then called C, called her a 'c' and told her to get her shit out of my apartment and return the key she somehow coaxed out of The Sweet Little Christian Girl Who Lived Downstairs..
A week later I returned from vacation, well rested but pissed off. My apartment had been made somewhat more tidy than I'm sure it was during Calamity's reign, but still, it irked me. True to Friend's word, my bedclothes were washed and left folded on a corner of the bed. After tossing down my bags (and a couple beers), I went over to make up the bed. My birthday sheets these were... less than 3 months out of the plastic. As I spread the fitted sheet over the mattress, certain shapes began to emerge. Indeed, once the corners were tucked and the sheet pulled taut, I could make out several distinct handprints that appeared to be of a greasy origin. That bitch.
Yet another week later, while making my infamous Quick 'n Dirty Spaghetti, I grabbed the olive oil (extra virgin, of course) and the cork was missing. Sure did puzzle me at the time (being a rather compulsive gal and all), but two months later at the hint of spring, I opened the windows and there it was... a cork sitting on the outer sill of a window next to my bed.
Calamity and I were never really friends again after that. After all, it was a $16 bottle of EXTRA VIRGIN olive oil. That and the fact that it was hard to get out of my head (for a long time) that SHE, the C, was the Last Person To Have Sex In My Bed.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
This is my favorite day of the week.
Two weeks ago tomorrow I looked at the house in which I will spend the next very several years of my life.
Two weeks ago we all waited and hoped that Katrina might... well, veer off.
Two weeks ago, I was different person than I am right now. I don't have anything to say about the happenings down south. Other than, DAMN. I have nothing to add to the multitudes of sentiments that have been expressed ad infinitum. What is there to say, really?
I'm not a praying sort of person, but... well, I'm still not. There's still a sense of obligation, however. If you can't fulfill it in one manner, certainly there's another. To some extent, maybe we all feel a little helpless, ineffectual, guilty.
But I'll tell you: there is a LOT to be grateful for in this wide world. Some things put it in more perspective than others, but the truth is: there's always something to smile about. So indulge me...
I smile about:
* my family, without whom my biggest dream would not be coming true;
* my dog, Gus, who truly is the best damn poog on earth;
* my two cats, Felix and Rufus, who keep my life full of fur, puke and catnip mice;
* my friends... we might not always see eye to eye, but I love 'em, and I know they love me;
* my boss. Even though we argue *every day*, respect is still there;
* you. My friends whom I have not yet met.
Smile. Life is good.