Tag: kat

Arg.

I have this ongoing conflict with Mr. Kat 2.0 about his dog (his dog before we were ever married, not a pet we got together), and I guess I just have to suck it up and accept that this is my dog now.

One of the 9012 reasons Mr. Kat 2.0 and I are not together would be that he is not responsible for anything…even if it actually is his responsibility, he will play the victim and lay on the “oh, I guess it’s just one more reason for you to hate me, one more thing I can’t do right.”  Arg.  Whoever you are in my life whether you are friends, family, coworkers, soccer teammates, whatever: take responsibility for yourself, your choices and your actions and you earn my respect, even if I don’t agree with your choices—at least own them and own the fallout that comes with them.  Playing victim makes me wanna puke on you.

When Mr. Kat 2.0 and I parted ways, he moved in with a buddy of his and he couldn’t take his dog right away.  I was understanding of that situation, knowing he needed time to get some funds together and come up with a plan of action, so I kept the dog for him.  He did not pay for dog food or anything else for his pet during this time.  When Mr. Kat 2.0 finally moved into a place of his own after more than a year of being shacked up with his pal, I approached him about taking the dog.  He blew it off with oh not right now, haven’t even got my stuff unpacked, etc.  Ok, still I was understanding, gave him more time.  Asked him again, and again… Stopped asking, started telling him to come get his dog.  When it comes right down to me being ready to drop the dog off on his porch and drive away, I find out he’s living somewhere where he’s not even allowed to have a pet.  He chose to move somewhere that has a no pets policy.  Lovely, lovely fellow, that Mr. Kat 2.0, so responsible!

Called Mr. Kat 2.0 this evening and asked what he was going to do about his living arrangements and his dog.  He starts in on the “oh, well I’m not there anymore to take care of him, wish I was there to help” passive aggressive victim shit that makes me want to scream.  I point out that he deliberately selected a place to live where he couldn’t have his dog, so he should either move or find a family member to take his dog.  His reply is the usual “I guess I can never do anything right, you just find more reasons to hate me, I can never fix this” yadda yadda.  My reply (at a volume so loud that a phone probably wasn’t even necessary at this point) was something to the effect of if he wanted to do something right, he could take responsibility for something as small as his dog, take the full responsibility and burden of that one situation and if he did something like that, then maybe for one second I could stifle the urge to kick his testicles into his tonsils.  This was met with more helpless victim yammering, so I hung up on him.

Arg. Arg. Arg.  I am mad at myself, because I knew before I even picked up the phone that he wasn’t going to be an adult…if he were an adult, he would’ve already driven over here and picked up his dog months ago or at the very least, offered to pay for the dog’s food.  So mostly right this second, I’m frustrated with myself for thinking that someone who always behaves the same (the helpless victim when not busy being the badgering complaining fight picking bully) is going to behave any differently today.  What the hell was I thinking?

I guess I was thinking that I’m tired.  I’m tired.  I’ve wrangled kids, worked all afternoon and the frustration of that senile little old dog trying to bite me for the 745th time today when I’m just trying to put him on a leash for a walk to keep him from pissing in my house again pushed me right over the edge.  And being so damn tired to the bone, I just wanted some help with a problem that shouldn’t even be mine to manage in the first place, so I foolishly called Mr. Kat 2.0 looking for that help and here I am now, even more tired to the core than I was before I called him.  He’s not going to help.  Ever.  Doesn’t matter that the dog was his before we were married.  He left the dog, he won’t take the dog.  I have to accept that the dog is mine now because I won’t send it to the shelter, won’t give it away to some random stranger in the newspaper—–Mr. Kat 2.0 in this instance is certainly taking advantage of my kind heartedness toward animals, and that, too, makes me angry, that he knows I just can’t make the dog disappear, I can’t do that, he’s managing to still use and manipulate me and that pisses me off.  Arg.  Mr. Kat 2.0 is not going to step up and be a man, be a grown up, take responsibility because that’s not who he is.  I can’t expect people to be who they aren’t.

SMACK IT!

So I had a little more work done recently on one of my tattoos, and I’ll try to blog more about that soon.  Post-ink, there’s about 2 weeks of healing where you can’t swim or soak in water (omg, no bubble baths, no wonder I’ve been cranky) and somewhere in that span of time as the area heals, it will get itchy.   Crazy itchy.  A million ants crawling all over me itchy.  Today, I itch horribly.

You can’t scratch your new tat, don’t want to accidentally make it bleed or anything like that that would pull out the color.  Can’t put any kind of anti-itch ointment on there that might react in a crazy way with the ink. 

When it itches, you can smack it.  Slap it.  Smack smack smack it.

I’ve been smacking myself so much today I look like I’m having a seizure, some sort of psychotic episode…but gawd, it feels so good!

Gwar

Gwar was awesome, incredibly good fun!  Hell yeah!  I have the bruises to prove it.  The folks at the Candler Waffle House weren’t exactly sure to make of us as we strolled in wet, green and blue, soaked in Gwar juice…but they served us anyway.  I suppose when you’re open 24 hours a day, nothing’s weird anymore.

One thing I did not expect from the blood, jizz and miscellaneous gore that spewed upon us was the smell.  Not the smell of the liquids, not at all.  What was sprayed all over us didn’t have a smell (or a taste—it was running down my face several times, so I got more than one taste of it).  The problem is that when you add moisture of any kind to the unwashed population of Ashevegas, you get a freakin’ stench like you wouldn’t believe…like a sheepdog that rolled in equal portions of sauerkraut, dung and patchouli.  It was…unholy, horrible, overwhelming at moments.

And then, one other factor that I didn’t consider before the show is that when I am soaking wet and sticky from all the Gwar fluids, the hair of other people flailing about will stick to me.  Ohhhh hellllllllllllll, talk about creeped out: not only was my sense of smell being assaulted by the odor, but the crawly feeling you get all over when you see hair plastered to your arm that is not yours that won’t flippin’ come off…ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.  Eww. Ewwwwwwwww!

But anyhooooooooooooooooo, Gwar was rockin’ and hysterical and outstanding!  A wild, moshing mess we were as we bounced around the front of the Peel covered in who knows what.   Good times!!  Next year is the 25th anniversary for the band, so hopefully they’ll make it back this way again.

you should get a gold star for patience

if not a gold star for patience, maybe like a special hat you could wear.  or a sash.

i swear if anyone called me and launched into a conversation about how they took some quiz online and wanted to delve deeply into the profound life-altering multiple choice meanings, i would hang up…and then tear the f-ing phone out of the wall.  your patience is astounding.

and it further illustrates why i don’t like to answer the phone! don’t answer unless you’re positive what awaits you on the other end.

what does Prince wear around the house?

Yes, I’m supposed to be studying, but sometimes these random thoughts are very important to consider.  What does Prince wear around the house?  Historically, he’s always been a very fashion forward, chic sort of person.  While I’ve seen photos of Madonna, for example, looking like hell on a stick as she goes out for coffee, Prince is always neat, presentable, elegant.

So.

It’s Sunday, late morning.  What do you think Prince is wearing right now?  Do you think he’s wearing yesterday’s tshirt (like me!) and some semi-sketchy-not-sure-when-these-were-last-washed flannel pajama pants (like me!) as midday approaches?  Do you think his significant other has to be all up in his face like “Prince, you’ve been wearing that Lakers sweatshirt for what, 3 days now? What is that on the front, nacho cheese?  You’ve got to put on something clean before my mother comes over and for god’s sake, brush your teeth!”  Yeah, it’s hard to imagine his Royal Purpleness sniffing at his cheese-stained 3 day old sweatshirt and going “But honeyyyyyyyyyyyy, I smell fine!”  Do you think he has some nasty hole riddled pair of sweatpants or flannel pj pants that his woman would set on fire if she could just get him parted from them for any length of time?  I’d like to think that Prince is a regular guy.  That thought comforts me.

Ya’ll make out over by the deer urine and duck calls

Hey, I think it’s awesome that ya’ll are so hot for each other that you can’t resist making out right there in WalMart.  I think it’s just terrific, good for you!  Heck, I’m pretty sure there’s at least one man on earth who could reduce me to sucking face in a retail mecca, so I certainly understand and support you there!

In fact, in my twisted little mind, I like to think you planned ahead to swap spit right there in WalMart…”Jed, it would jazz up our marriage so much if you felt me up at WalMart.” “Sally Sue, I think you’re right! Let’s do that on Sunday when we pick up some antifreeze and some of those frozen cream puff things I like so much.”

But I have to assume that I was not part of your spice-up-your-love-life fantasy.  I really can’t imagine that you hoped a grouchy gum-chewing thirty-something wearing the clothes she slept in would hover around your foreplay-fest.  I doubt you thought about me standing there, saying “excuse me,” and tapping my foot.  While it’s certainly reasonable for all of you to picture me in all your steamiest imaginings, I sincerely doubt you envision me in the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for the last 18 hours, rubbing my itchy allergy eyes, cracking and popping my Big Red gum…of course, if that is how you like to fantasize about me, we need to get together soon!

Jed, Sally Sue, the problem with making out right there in the candy aisle at the super mega mondo WalMart is that your united pelvises and your cart are blocking the chocolate Twizzlers.  I had a few things on my list today that could unfortunately only be found at WalMart, and chocolate Twizzlers were a priority item; I can’t find those at any of the grocery stores close to my house but I can count on WalMart when I need a fix.  I truly hate shopping at WalMart, so for me to be there at all is a big damn deal.  For ya’ll to block the Twizzlers is a travesty.

I did say “excuse me.”  I did take a moment to review my shopping list.  I tapped my foot and waited, even stopped and checked my email on my crackberry.  I did say “excuse me” again…so there was no reason for ya’ll to look so damned irritated when I gave up and reached around your lovefest to get my chocolate Twizzlers.  Sorry to pop your bubble of sex magic, but you just can’t block the chocolate Twizzlers, ok?

Next time ya’ll are gonna work yourselves into a frenzied fever of lovin’ at WalMart, please choose a less busy aisle.  I’m gonna suggest that you check into the hunting section; it looked pretty free over by the deer urine and duck calls.  You might also consider the artificial flower aisle; I cut through there earlier in my shopping and there was no one around.  If you’re feeling extra frisky, why don’t you just park yourselves right there on the display futon and make yourselves at home for a bit before you go pick up the frozen cream puffs Jed likes so much?

Ya’ll feel free to get your freak on, more power to ya, but don’t stand in the way of me and my chocolate Twizzlers.

Marilyn Manson completely rips off my karaoke song

So I’m not really for or against Marilyn Manson and his eponymous band.  Don’t mind at all to listen to the songs, some I even like, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about what Marilyn Manson wears, looks like, dates.  If you are paying close enough attention to be shocked or surprised at his appearance or his stage show or whatever, you are feeding into exactly what the band hoped for: attention, press, uproar.  Mister Marilyn Manson can call it artistic expression or whatever, but it all boils down to a big fat paycheck at the end of the day—the more the shock, the outrage, the bigger the paycheck.  Anyhooooo…

I like the Manson cover of “Sweet Dreams.”  Eerie, spooky, enjoyable stuff there, especially as the lyrics are whispered in your ear about three minutes into it, that’s fabulous.  I do not like the cover of “Personal Jesus” at all; Depeche Mode’s original version was uber sexy, let’s strip, get on the horse and ride, and even though they made it their own, Manson’s cover is hollow–on a vaguely related note, Rob Zombie’s “Pussy Liquor” has that same “Personal Jesus” type of riff, and it is completely dance on the coffee table and strip-worthy.  Some of Manson’s originals like “If I Was Your Vampire” are quite listenable, marrying the woe, doom and gloom of bands like The Cure with a more industrial flavor similar to NIN.

Marilyn Manson’s “Tainted Love” just pisses me off.  That’s my song.  That’s my on my knees, crawling on all fours, leaving the stage to mingle in the crowd karaoke song.  I do it justice.  It’s mine.  They ripped me off with this song.  It loses all its heartsick bitter jaded wonderfulosity in the Manson version. (What’s also terrible, maybe even worse, is H.I.M.’s cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game”…but that’s a tangent for another day) I think they need to blow it up, remove it from the universe, give it back to me, pretend it never existed and we’ll call it even.

song of the day: i walk beside you

 

Today’s song o’ the day I Walk Beside You, Dream Theater, although I think I prefer the studio version to the live version…the studio version videos were crummy, so tis a  concert recording I must post.

Earlier in the week, I posted I Will Follow live for similar reasons—the original video for I Will Follow is readily available, but Bono’s circa 1980 flailing is downright silly in it.  As he’s gotten older, he flails less dorkily, so the newer live version is easier to tolerate visually.

poetry break!

it’s been a while since i’ve laid any poetry on ya, hasn’t it?  here’s a favorite by ee cummings, something sweet and shmoopy and wonderful…i love the line i fear no fate for you are my fate, my sweet.  so here, take a poetry break with me now, enjoy:

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)