Men And Excuses, Sandwiches and Cats, And Saving Lots Of Money With The Internet: RTTR

So, again, Husband has made an excuse not to make the drive from Louisiana to Georgia. I've done it alone with a cranky toddler and a scared-to-death cat. I think he can make it on his own. I'm not into men's excuses. Every guy I've ever dated has always had a plethora of them. It's starting to get old. They wonder why women always bitch at them all the time, and I can't really sympathize with them. They do it to themselves.

When are women ever allowed the opportunity to make an excuse when something they don't want to do is coming up?

Don't want to cook for four extra people that showed up without notice and uninvited? Fuck you! Get your ass in the kitchen and make these people some sammiches.

Don't want to make brownies for your husband's entire workplace or your kid's school bake sale? Too bad. It's your job. Get to it. Don't whine while you're doing it, either, because we'll laugh at you.

House dirty? Put your computer down, stop doing your job, and start doing your real job. Scrub those floors!

What I am trying to say is, I'm not ever allowed to make excuses for not being productive or not doing what people think I am supposed to be doing. I have to work through any illness, irregardless of how I feel; I must make sure everything and everyone is fixed up, all nice and happy and satisfied, no matter what I have going on; I make plans, and they're always iffy because I may or may not have to drop them for someone else. It's a drag, and I hate it.

So, Husband gets to make another excuse, and I have to rearrange my schedule to compensate. When is it my turn?

Hey, I don't feel like you coming home tomorrow, why don't you do it today, when the fuck you said you would, because you've already changed your mind ten different times, and save me the trouble of having to put up with your shit? How's that sound?

I'm not happy. I shouldn't blog angry. He's not so bad.. well, he's a total asshole, but hey, most men are assholes. I'm just tired of excuses. I can't make them, so I think perfectly capable people shouldn't make them constantly, either.


Moving on!

My cat stole half of my sandwich. He drug it right off the plate, carried it off to wherever he goes to hide, and came back smelling like caesar vinaigrette. I guess I made a man a sandwich today, after all.

He also has a thing for poptarts, but only the kind with lots of sprinkles on the outside. Fucking weirdo.


Hershey's Cookies 'n Creme candy has nothing on Palmer's. Palmer's is the best. Nom.


I did a lot of online shopping in the past few weeks. I found a pair of boots for myself and my Mom, a coat for her to wear to work (that has to be returned because, hello, how is anyone supposed to fit into that thing), and a new cell phone case.

I've saved hundreds, and it always feels nice to get a deal. $80 phone case for $11 and super cheap 1-3 day shipping? Yes please! $300 boots for $35 and free shipping? Of course! But in the end, I guess I would've compromised and bought something less, how do I say this, nice, to save money. I just happened to get lucky.

Though, the cell phone case thing was non-negotiable. I won't ever skimp on one again. The cheap one I bought shattered into a couple hundred pieces when I sat my phone down on a counter a little too hard. Insanity.




Still rebelling, one Tuesday at a time. Head on over to Stacy's awesome blog and link up to the fun!

Shocking Developments, The Flu, Work, And A Talking Cat -- RTTR

I have the flu. And it's not because I didn't get a shot, or because I don't use hand sanitizer. It's because I do not possess any winter shoes. I have a pair of aerated tennis shoes, some holy flats, and several pairs of flip-flops. I got stuck in freezing cold rain all day on Saturday, and my feet stayed wet. I contracted a cold, which turned into the flu.

Thank you, being broke, for making it impossible for me to buy a friggin' pair of boots. Also, thank you, tax return, for giving me the extra cash to acquire a pair.. after I got sick. At least I'll have my cherry red Ukala's soon, right? Just in time for more cold rain and yuck.

Anyhow, the flu. It sucks. It makes work nearly impossible. I have used so many eye drops trying to work today it's unreal. And now I'm blogging.. with my eye drops.. and a really sore throat. And a cough. Fuck you, flu.

I have a super bad ass article to write this week. It's about two of my most favourite things: Star Wars and video games. Together. Yay! I get to work with some friends on it, and I am actually excited to get out of the house and do something -- even if it IS for work. It'll go live next Monday, so be checking for that link.

Sunday I took my Mom to church. It was under unusual circumstances, and neither one of us really wanted to go. But we did; me with my chip on my shoulder and her with her strong religious roots. I used to love that place.. not because it was a church, but because it was a second home. I've never been religious despite growing up in that tiny little church a few miles from my house -- I'm still not.

It was awesome to see the people that helped shape me into who I am. They were extra parents and grandparents, the brothers and sisters I never had. Even though I was pretty much the outcast because I was awkward and socially retarded and they didn't really like me all that much, I will still always remember the countless hours spent in those cramped classrooms and that small fellowship hall. It was something I used to look forward to.

No one looks forward to stepping through those double doors anymore. No one even wants to talk about it. There's a new preacher in town, and he's pretty much the worst person I've ever met. I sat halfway back from the front in the same old pews I remember being a lot bigger, and listened to a supposed "man of God" disrespect and belittle every single one of the people that I loved so much. I've never been so appalled in my entire life. His wife, his friends, and some blind followers have turned that place into a den of resentment.

I stood up after I couldn't take it anymore, hands shaking, tears rolling down my face, and made a very respectful stand against his hurtful words and twisted sense of entitlement. I tried to bridge the gap, and in doing so lost the respect of my grandparents. I couldn't even look them in the eyes as I made a heartfelt plea for him to pull his head out of his ass and act like a preacher, or even a decent human being.

How can someone call themselves a man of God if they are going to verbally abuse the members of the church that have been there since before he was an afterthought? I was attacked as I stepped down and went to my daughter. It was ridiculous. The support I received from others was immense, and without them and my wonderful Mom, I would probably be lost in a bottle of something 100-proof. I just couldn't sit there and listen to the snide sarcasm and the accusations.

I really never thought I would be so depressed to be back in that church. His behavior is atrocious, and his little lackeys aren't any better. If that's what it means to be a christian, I'm thankful I'm not one. He ain't neighborly, and he definitely ain't doing what Jesus would do. Maybe he needs to take a few more classes? Maybe brush up on what it means to be a real preacher? Douchebag.

My cat talks. Seriously. I'm not crazy. He will sit and have a full-on kitty conversation. It makes me happy.


And it obviously makes me the crazy cat lady. Judge away.











This has been a really awesome post brought to you by Random Tuesday Thoughts.. Rebels! Stacy at Stacy Uncorked has kept RTT alive for all of us random-ers that can't live without our favorite Tuesday tradition. Follow the button or the link, enjoy my post and hers, grab a button of your own, link up and join the fun!







Enjoy your Random Tuesday!

My Cat Only Loves Me When... A List

Today I want to talk about my cat. His name is Stephen. He's an abused rescue that I shoved in a cat carrier and moved from Louisiana to Georgia. He went from being born and raised by the hard-knocks of the streets, to being a fat and lazy house cat in the course of 13 hours. He's extremely intelligent; you only have to show him something once, and he's got it. He's also a really big pain-in-the-ass.

He knows he's loved, and he knows he's cute -- it's a dangerous combination.

He's still really skittish for some odd reason, even though he's babied like he's king-of-the-castle. I swear sometimes I think my Mom likes the cat more than me. You're welcome, old lady.

I think he's adapted well, and we enjoy the shit out of him. He's a constant source of joy and entertainment, and even when I have to spray him in the face with the water bottle for trying to tear something up, I still can't help but smile.

But.. he's just like every other cat: he only loves us when he wants to, which is never when it's convenient. I have compiled a list of times when he wants love and attention, and I'm going to share it with you guys. If you have cats, feel free to laugh, because you know they do it to everyone. If you have anything to add, add it in the comments.

My Cat Only Loves Me When:

- I have to pee.
- I'm trying to take a shower.
- I'm brushing my teeth.. my back teeth, and I haven't spit yet.
- I'm doing something to my hair with an extremely hot tool.
- I'm putting on eye liner, mascara, or eye shadow.. just the darker shades that are hard to get off without reapplying everything.
- I'm trying to sleep.
- I'm about to get up and do something.
- I'm cooking.
- I have just accepted the fact that he's not going to come be nice to me and I set my laptop desk up.
- I'm drinking something hot.. or cold.. and I just took that first big swallow, but haven't quite swallowed yet.
- I'm on the phone with someone other than family.
- The kid wants attention.
- I'm reading.
- I'm trying to clean up the kid's mess of small toys (meaning I end up digging them out from under things like beds, couches, chairs, and the one table in the house that you're always guaranteed to hit your head on).
- I'm not in the mood.
- He's hungry.
- I just fed him and I'm taking the scoop back to the container.
- While I'm trying to feed him, and I have a scoop of food and am not paying attention to him wrapping his self around my ankles.
- I'm doing laundry.
- I'm trying to wrangle the kid into the bathtub or bed.
- Mom is all "He hates me, he's never going to bond with me, emooooooo stuff!".
- I'm writing... like now.
- He thinks I have food.
- He knows I don't have food, but am contemplating getting up to get some.
- I'm thirsty.
- I'm trying to concentrate.
- I want to practice making babies with Husband.
- Husband is sitting next to me.
- Husband wants to hold my hand.
- I really, REALLY have to get up and go pee.
- I'm trying to play with him, which usually ends up in pouting and biting.
- Mom is trying to love on him.
- I'm carrying something that obstructs my vision.
- My screen saver comes up on my laptop.
- It's time to clip his nails so I feel really bad about holding him down.
- I'm standing in front of the heater.
- I'm getting something out of the oven.
- Did I mention when I'm trying to pee?

I never understood why kids and pets only want something to do with you when it's the worst possible time. It's like they have this sensor built-in to detect when you have something going on, so they can be all up in your shit with their huge eyes and their little noses.. DAMN THE CUTENESS! DAMN IT TO HELL!

And, to leave you wondering why in the hell I even waste your time with my blog in the first place, here's a few pictures of the little rat-bastard. I do love the little shit...

He gets between my legs at night so I can't move... asshole.

This one is from his "street" days...

I SEE U. Y U NO CAN MOVE? OH. IZ CUZ OF MEH.

POP ALL THE BUBBLES!

Why, no cat, I'm not trying to go pee.

Neglect: My Blog Has It

I haven't posted a real, honest-to-god blog in, oh, forever. Well, more like forever, three weeks, and two days. I figure I should probably start doing things right again so I will stop having conversations with my cat and randomly bursting into tears in the shower...

Stop being all judge-y. I feel you being judge-y. It makes me itch.

Here's the slim of what I've been up to for the better part of a year and some days. Enjoy.

1. Living in Louisiana is probably one of the worst fucking things to ever happen to me in the history of fucking ever. I'm so not kidding. Aside from amazing friends, that's about all I got out of that experience. My marriage almost failed, my in-laws pretty much made me want to befriend the Mississippi River.. from the bridge.. like, I wanted to face-plant into it from the fucking bridge. Oh, and did I mention it was so awful that I wanted to punch baby seals with my fist? Because I did. A lot. Because is sucked. Immensely.

2. I finished school and couldn't get a job because, yay, the hospital chucked my paperwork into the garbage. This fact, coupled with the fact that the job market in the area we were living in was complete bullshit, made me even more down and depress-y. I was already down because of the fact that I lived in the gooch of the world; let's add on a really crap-tastic healthcare system and failing local economy. Thanks, universe. Fuck you very much.

3. I decided to move, and, thankfully, my amazing husband was supportive and decided after finishing up the jobs he was already contracted out to do, he would follow me into the great known of my home state/town. So far, so good. I love living here. My kid loves living here. My husband is so stoked to live here in the next two weeks. We're those retarded happy people that I usually make fun of now only we're broke.

4. Moving really helped everything, to be honest. My marriage is better than ever, my kid is happier and healthier than she's been since we moved from here the first time, my Mom is healthier and happier having me as her slave, err, I mean having me close-at-hand... under her roof... no, this doesn't bother me in the least because I have the coolest fucking Mom ever, and living with her is pretty much like living with a bad-ass, older version of me.. and taller... and dorkier... but still.

5. I really don't have a 5, but I am extremely OCD, and I really like odd numbers. Especially when they're multiples of 5. They make-ah me happy...ah. Whatever.


So, in conclusion, here's what we should be taking away from this post. In multiples of 5. Again. Redundancy FTW!:

-I hate the entire state of Louisiana and most of Mississippi. Fuck those places.
-I moved. Georgia = my favourite place to live.. and stuff.
-I like Ass-hat more than I've liked him since the three month mark of our coexistence as married people.
-I have a really awesome kid who's really fucking awesome.. also, My Mom is tall.
-I like odd numbers and multiples of 5.


Thanks.