The Cat

I feel like our cat may be getting the short end of the stick on my blog. And while there's a few excellent reasons for this (she's mean, she's ugly, and I generally try to pretend she doesn't exist) she is an entertaining blog subject. I got her for Danny when she was 5 weeks old from a box of kittens someone left in the parking lot at my work. When I heard there were kittens available, I went into the medical records room and found everyone cooing over an adorable kitty. I picked up a blue eyed, white and black spotted cat that licked me and mewed soft nothings into my ear. I was all ready to take this little bundle of lovey fuzz home when I heard "they've all be claimed. Except the one in the box" at which point I hear a slightly scary ripping noise- and a bat-eared orange striped/black spotted cat climbed it's way to the top of the box and said "meerrrrrrooooowww".

This was Catsby.

I exaggerate when I say she is ugly. She's unique looking. She is primarily a tortoiseshell pattern, but with some patches of tabby thrown in. I think mama-kitty got around a bit, because Catsby also has the tone and vocabulary of a Siamese. She's quite the conversationalist, especially at 4 in the morning when she decides it's time to play.

She is not affectionate. She does not curl up in your lap on cold evenings and purr while you stroke her ears. Periodically she will get close enough for you to scratch behind her ears for a couple of minutes before she gets bored and bites you. That's her thing- biting. Sometimes she'll come up and bite you for no reason. Sometimes she'll roll on her back and expose her yummy furry soft tummy, and then lures you in close enough to bite you. She doesn't break the skin, but it's annoying. She also likes coming up behind me when I'm sitting on the couch and fighting with my ponytail or eating my hair. Yes, eating my hair. While it's attached to my head. Catsby and Hiccup get along pretty well. Meaning, Catsby sneaks up while Hiccup is sleeping and tries to bite his jugular. Fortunately he has amazingly thick fur so he usually doesn't even notice. Sometimes they chase each other from room to room and Catsby's tail gets all poofy. Before he was neutered he tried to hump her a few times, but you can just imagine how that went over.


But Danny always wanted a cat, and she would have been yet another homeless cat wandering around South Tucson if I hadn't taken her. And it's kind of fun coming out of a room and encountering a creature crouching on the floor, waiting patiently to pounce on you. It's a miniature "Wild Kingdom" with her around.

There's No Surrender in the Battle of the Sexes

While driving around town yesterday, I studied for my upcoming final by telling Danny about each concept:
Me: Deborah Tannen's theory of differing communication styles states that women tell people about their problems to get empathy, but men think that women are looking for a solution, which often causes conflict.
Him: That's true. When you tell me about a problem, I'll give you a solution. Then you'll stop complaining about the problem.
Me: So the goal of your conversations with me is to ultimately get me to shut up?
Him: No, it's to get you to stop complaining and be more positive.
Me: So I complain all the time AND I'm negative?!
Him, finally figuring out he's on thin ice: ......no.......

So, later, while walking through the street fair:
Him: People keep trying to sell me cinnamon roasted almonds and they freak me out.
Me: I'm sorry, are you complaining?
Him: I guess I am.
Me (irritably): So ignore them. Now you can shut up because I've given you a solution to your problem and you can stop communicating with me.
Him (cheerfully): Hey! You're right! That's great!

Shooting Myself in the Foot

I'm one of those obnoxious people who, if the teacher forgets to collect the homework, I'll raise my hand to remind them. Or, I'll complain because my teacher didn't grade me hard enough. I like to make life difficult for myself. For instance today: I was driving down the street and saw a little sign on the sidewalk that said "traffic being photo-monitored". 50 feet later was the photo-radar van. Normal people think "Whew! Thank goodness they put up a sign so I had time to slow down!" Instead, I became indignant. Why spend all this taxpayer money on a photo-radar system, when they publish the locations ahead of time, and even put up signs warning drivers right before the van. That doesn't prevent speeding. People will slow down for 20 yards and then probably speed more because they know they've passed one of the only vans in Tucson! The logic of it all escapes me.
My morals are too high for their own good, apparently.

Also, something unrelated: I don't like Jennifer Love Hewitt. She too cutesy, her boobs are too big and unnaturally perky, and she always looks like she's squinting. And her hair is always perfect. Blech. However, I admire her refusal to apologize for having a normal looking butt instead of a barbie butt. I just wish that instead of saying "a size two isn't fat" to "a size 12 isn't fat", because that's the size of the average American woman. So, Jenny Love isn't quite so bad anymore. But no matter what kind of social or political stance that other girl from Party of Five takes, I will always detest her. Remember her? The youngest girl who was adorable and precocious and a virtuoso violin player or something. God, she was awful.

Tucson vs. Polynesia

Saturday was Geoff's birthday. We went to Kon-tiki, Tucson's Polynesian restaurant/bar. The decor consists of palm fronds stapled to the walls and sea shells hanging from plastic lamps. That, and an enormous monitor lizard that lives in an enormous glass case. However, the native species of Kon-tiki are scantily dressed women. Like, practically naked. Whenever we go there we end up whacking each other and discretely shrieking under our breath "look at that one!!". It's only a matter of time before we get punched in the face.

When I think of tropical isles, I think of relaxing beaches and friendly natives. Apparently Kon-tiki is more along the lines of a tropical isle that has been invaded by Nazi Germany. Because they have some mighty stringent rules in this paradise. Our three friends arrived about 30 minutes after us, and were within reach of our table when they got turned away by a massive bouncer. Now, at first I figured they mistook us for celebrities and were trying to protect our privacy. But when I went up to the front to rescue them, I got told by a snooty pseudo-Polynesian-whore-hostess (aka whorestess) started explaining something about how there were two different types of servers, and differences between dinner and drinks, and sometime about a rip in the space-time continuum that would swallow people whole if they attempted to sit with the "dinner" people when they weren't having dinner. Eventually a rather inebriated Geoff came over and charmed the whorestess into letting them sit with us, with a stern reminder not to allow anyone else to come to our table and spend money on their establishment

This was our general response to their decrees. We retaliated by becoming drunk and disorderly. Eventually Geoff psyched himself up enough, he decided he needed to channel the Ramones. He did a fabulous rendition of "24 Hours To Go", including waggling tongues, and exhortations to the various ladies to get in on the action. Eventually, however, he was ready to go home. And possibly vomit.

I had several entertaining conversations throughout the night:

Me: *talking about something intellectually stimulating*

Teresa: "You know who you remind me of? Buffy."

Me: "Why?"

Teresa: ""You know, she has....a face....and that high pitched voice....and blond hair"

Me: "Do you realize you just based that comparison on the fact that I have a face and an annoying voice?!"

Teresa: "I didn't say annoying, I said high pitched. You know, like you're from California."

Me: "That's even worse!!!"

While Geoff and I were standing at the gas station waiting for Danny:

Geoff, sounding outraged: "Mia, why are you not in Norway chopping down trees?!"

Me: "........"

At the Depot:
Phill: "Is it rude to stare at the waitress' tits?"

Me: "Yes."

Phill: "What if she doesn't notice?"

Me: "Phill, you're drunk. You may not be as subtle as you think right now."

Phill: "What do you think Danny would say if I told him you have nice tits?"

Me: "He'd probably say he knows."

Danny walks in

Phill: "Danny, Mia has a nice rack."

Danny: "Thanks, I know."

So, happy birthday Geoff. It was a pleasure driving your drunk ass home :)

Must Get Out of this Neighborhood!

I'm sitting here trying to study for my last final exam (okay, so I'm really on tmz.com getting caught up on all the celeb gossip) and I hear the following from our charming white trash neighbors.
Guy1: I want a beer!
Guy 2: I just had two beers, I'm trying to make my stomach ache go away
Guy 1: Did it help?
Guy 2: yeah, I think the beer helped. Plus, I just popped three percocets. Because that's how I like to par-tay! (this is at 2:30 pm on a Sunday)

These are neighbors that we've called the police on because they're screaming at each other in the front yard, and the mother threatens to beat up her teenage daughter. Even when they aren't drunk and fighting, they're constantly yelling. That seems to be their normal tone of voice. And they're always in their front yard, which means we're privy to all kinds of lovely conversations like this one.