Hell-o Kitty

My cat is a bad one. When I first moved back in with Dad, after I got married, my cat didn't seem to have any trouble with the neighbors. Then I got an apartment, got attacked, and moved back in with Dad. Now, he is contantly fighting with the cross-eyed kitty next door. My dad discovered that the yard next door has a catnip bush, so we think that he's getting into trouble over the stash. Here's the dialogue as I imagine it.

Jiji (my kitty): Awwww yeah! This is the shiznit!

Elmo (next door kitty): Yo, G! Why you always up in here? Get-cho broke ass back over that fence before I got's ta pop your black ass! (yes, my kitty is black)

Jiji: What! What! You got a grip a this shit. Why you gots ta be all stingy an shit? Man, I'll take what I want and your cross-eyed ass ain't gonna do shit!

Elmo: Bitch! Just cuz yo mama was a chow dog don't mean you can chow on my shit, man. I'll snatch you up and put you over my knee, son!

Jiji: I hear you talkin' but I don't see ya walkin'.

Elmo: That's it, punk!

Then the two cats proceed to chase each other around the neighborhood, leaving unsightly clumps of fur everywhere.

The whole point of this post being that I had to take my cat to the vet last night, because Elmo bit a hole through his ear. Like most pets, I imagine, my cat doesn't appreciate my efforts to look after his welfare or the fact that I'm going to get reamed on the bill. He was so unruley, the doctor had to call in an orderly to help keep him still so he could have his ear cleaned.

Now, I've got this liquid antibiotic crap that I'm supposed to administer through a syringe twice daily. Ha! I tried in vain this morning and just about got shreded alive. As you all know, I'm not in the best of moods at any time that ends with "AM". As I'm trying to chase Jiji down for the third time, my dad pipes up with his little words of advice. "You just have to grab him and shove it in his mouth." No shit, Dad. Really? I told him that if he was such a freakin' genius, he could give it a go!

Long story short, kitty didn't get his meds this morning and I was late for work. We'll try again tonight.

Hell - O Potato

Hot one, commin' through!

http://www.passthepotato.com/potato-2.php?potatoid=050627134706-956297

Hell Hath No Chicken

When you think of hell, you might think of evil. When you think of evil, you may think of chickens. Well, here ya go....

http://www.savagechickens.com

Pay particular attention to the segment on evil. EVIL I SAY!!!!
(if this link doesn't work, I'm gonna look like a complete retard.)

Party Like Hell

There's only one thing wrong with winning an all-expense paid trip to New Orleans and having the most incredible, fantastic, unbelieveable time of your life. That problem is, when you get home, you realize what a smoldering, reeking, pile of shit your life really is and don't particularly want to live it anymore.

Hell's House of Reptiles

Ever drink Sobe? Flavors I once found refreshing, recently make me nauseas. The one flavor I currently still enjoy is Cranberry pomegranate. So, the other day, I pop open my customary bottle and flip the lid to see what quip the Sobe company has in store for me. Under the filmy plastic seal, the words, "Bathe the Stiffmeister" are emblazoned.

Bathe the Stiffmeister? I'm not a hundred percent certain of what "the Stiffmeister" is, but I have a pretty damn good idea. If I had a stiffmeister, I would hope that no reminder to bathe it would be necessary, especially from the lid of a juice bottle. In fact, I'd probably be spending a great deal of my time "bathing the stiffmeister".

Another word for "stiffmeister" might be "lizard". Is it a coincidence that a lizard happens to be the mascot of Sobe? Does the lizard need to wash his "stiffmeister"? If the Sobe lizard is the creature responsible for these liquid refreshments, he had better damn well wash something.

Then there's the fact that the juice bottle itself is gently reminiscent of what a "stiffmeister" might be shaped like. If I'm going to wrap my lips around and drink from the stiffmeister, it should be a clean stiffmeister. It sure tastes good for stiffmeister juice. Hmm.

What exactly is Sobe trying to suggest? Is this something appropriate? Should I be bathing my stiffmeister, or someone else's? And why does the lizard think that the stiffmeister needs it in the first place?

Hell Bear

This is my bear. I rock, but I don't really care.


Nihilist Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
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Hell's Other Shoe

Remember a while back (see "Hell Comes in Threes") I mentioned car trouble, and then driver's license trouble? Well, I knew the other shoe was going to drop before long, since we all know that these things happen in threes.

I won a trip to New Orleans on the radio!! That's right, hotel stay, VIP tickets to a concert, transportation, the works! I even won a CD, a t-shirt, and a stuffed toy. The only problem is, I can't claim my prize without an I.D.!!!! Last week, I waited 3 hours at the DMV, only to be told that I have to take the driving and written tests and that those tests had been discontinued for the day. GAaaarh!

Is there any way to get an I.D. like, tomorrow?

Text me: 1-800-GOT-HELL

On the dating front, there has been no action.
Van was supposed to contact me on Saturday, but did not follow through. Then, he spent about an hour sending me text messages in the middle of the night. What's that about? His excuse was that he had fallen asleep. Is this a plausable excuse? Let's discuss...

Support: A. Van works out of town and for over 8 hours at a time. This would certainly lead one's body clock to be askew and therefore account for odd hours of rest.
B. I, myself, have neglected many a return call due to unexpected siestas.
C. Why would he blow me off only to text me later on?

Defiance: A. I don't have my ID. Therefore, I wouldn't be much fun at any gathering that require proof of age. Thus, a convenient excuse may be necessary so as to mask a night of drinking with "buddies" to which I may have otherwise been invited.
B. Hours before his call was due, he advised me that his mother was visiting.

This is confusing. If he was trying to get rid of me, or blow me off, why would he text me the next night? On the other hand, what a lame excuse. On the other hand, would I rather a lame excuse or a flat-out rejection?

On the other hand, I don't really care all that much. Honestly.

There is an "adult" store nearby, in which I have sometimes found myself a customer. Wait, that doesn't sound right. I'm not a hooker. I didn't find myself a customer there, I was a customer there. Anyway, there's a really attractive guy who works there and, quite a while ago now, I had given him my phone number. He never called. I was a bit disappointed. Not heartbroken - just disappointed. I had written of this to one of my pen pals and she recently wrote back to say, "He probably lost your number." Well, I have had my number changed and disconnected since then. She could be right.

After all, I thought I'd seen all the signals, all the little signs that tell a woman when a man might want some. So, I dropped my digits on him. Oh, I was real slick about it too. I danced deftly around the "you work at a porn store and I'm asking you to call me" akwardness quite nicely. What better partner than someone who recommends your private viewing pleasures? What an interesting way to communicate to someone what your kinks and fetishes are.

I don't know what happened, but I haven't been back to see him since. I did drop by once, but he wasn't working. Since then, I haven't really had the money to spend there. I feel weird going in and not buying something from the guy. Anyway, maybe I should give that avenue another shot. He's really hot!

Another Night in Hell

I promised to tell date 2. Well, there's not very much to tell, so I'm going to give just the high and low lights.

I met Van at his condo last Saturday night. There was no trouble finding his complex, but I spent about 10 minutes knocking on the wrong door. This should have been the first indication that the night wasn't going to go well for me. I got all dressed up again. This time, I went for the school girl from Hell look. Problem was, I wore the most uncomfortable shoes in the world. This whole week, I've been wearing sandals to work so that the cuts on my feet can heal. Would it be so much to ask the world for a hot pair of shoes that don't destroy my flesh? That's what I get for trying to be sexy.

When I arrived, Van had a friend visiting. He already has a nickname - Dr. Smoke. The two of us got along and chatted for about 20 minutes on the subject of music and his punk band. I toyed for a moment with the idea of singing in a punk band. That'd be cool! What a great way to get out all this pent-up aggression and angst. I'm wound so tight these days, I'm liable to just snap on someone - No warning. I guess that's why I'm at a pack a day.

Van and I went to see "Unleashed" with Jet Li. It wasn't a bad movie at all, but there was less action than I expected. I have to say that this is the first made-in-America movie that worked well for Mr. Li. "Romeo Must Die" sucked major ass! Has he been in anything else that wasn't made in HK?

After the movie, I was adamant that the two of us should go and get something to drink. So, I walked several blocks - feet bleeding - to a bar, got up to the door, and suffered humiliation!! No I.D.!! Embarassing to no end, and I didn't hear the end of it from Van all night. I couldn't tell if he was really irritated by the situation, or he was trying to give me a hard time.

So, we went back to his place and hung out. I finished off a bottle of vodka and a couple Tequilla shots. Still didn't feel comfortable. He turned on the T.V. and guess who's favorite hottie had on-demand videos to watch! For the first time, I saw the My Chemical Romance video for "I'm Not Okay". It was all I could do not to drop to the floor and writhe around in some type of "Gerard Way is the most incredibly hot creature in existence" fit of desire! I did drool. I did gush. I didn't take my eyes off the screen. Probably not the best way to act in front of my date, but I just couldn't help it. I'd run over my own mother to get to Gerard. Sacrafice my eternal soul? No hesitation.

The night was basically boring beyond that point. It's my own damn fault I suppose.

A last item of note: Van did actually hold the car door open for me once this time. Good boy.

Hell Comes in Threes and Who In Hell are You (conclusion)

My god. I've been neglecting the conclusion of date #1 and there's already been a date #2. That, and more chaos of life has been visited upon me.

(conclusion) Hmm...just how much detail do I want to go into here? There isn't much left to tell of date #1. I really like Van's sheets. They have spirals all over them - just like my tatoo! However disappointing the foreplay may have been, the sex wasn't bad for first-time-sex. He "went down" which may have been the first time for me that a man has ever "gone there" on the first date. I, however, did not "go there". Out of respect, I won't go into any dimensions of any body parts. That's just wrong. I'd be really pissed and embarassed if I found out that some guy posted my chest size online. Let it be known that in my world, posting Neko's chest size online fully warrants a smashed windshield.

The next morning, I had to get up early for my weekly yoga class. So, that means Van had to get out of bed and drive me home. Well, he wasn't too happy about that one. I tried to hint that maybe I should stick around a little while or that we should do breakfast. He wasn't having it. On the way home, he turned up his radio and didn't say a word to me! Gasp! Can you imagine the anxiety I felt?

Morning After: 1 strike

I was about to chalk the whole date up in the "failure" column, but at the last minute, everything was saved; my pride, my ego, my vanity, my anxiety. I told him he had my number if he was interested in seeing me again and right away he asked, "How about next weekend?" Yes! That's got to be record response time.

End date 1. Look for date 2 coming soon.

Hell Comes In Threes:

Last week, my father got a new job. Now this doesn't seem like it should throw a big wrench in my flow, but my transportation situation was immediately all jacked up. For quite a while now, I've had "daddy's car", which is a fairly sweet Nissan Pathfinder. Daddy was driving a company provided vehicle. Naturally, with his new employer there came no new vehicle. And so, my sweet ride was suddenly yanked and I was left by the roadside, staring at my own vehicle - unregistered, uninsured and expired tags.

When the ex and I split, he had the truck to himself for about a week. When we were married, I hardly ever drove and he and his no-job-havin' ass ran that poor truck into the ground. Oh, yeah and then there were the 3 "emergency" cross-country trips. During one of which, several of the accesories went missing. Never lend your car to a junkie. For that matter, you sure as hell should never marry one!! Panels were missing, parts were punched out, and a whole lot of "what the fuck happened here?"

Well, what I was getting at with that last paragraph is that my truck held a whole lot of evil spirits and bad mojo for me. That's why I'd been procrastinating for so long before getting it on the road. Besides, I'd become accustomed to piloting a jet-black, automatic, cushy ship with a decent sound system and a CD player.

All at once, I had to pony up the cash and make the junkie truck legal. So, I took 5 hours off from work, drove half way across town to buy insurance, drive back, go for an emissions test, go to get my title changed (I was awarded the truck in the divorce), get it registered and finally, get new stickers. Whew. As if that wasn't enough, I got lost and was 2 hours late picking up my dad from his office. Then, I missed my therapist appointment. Trust me, I need it.

With all that out of the way, I thought I might be able to chill this week. Not so...

On Friday, I went and bought myself a new cell phone (did you get my text Shen?). Well, like an ass, I left my I.D. at the cell phone kiosk in the mall. I remember reminding myself over and over not to forget my I.D. Over the weekend, I was going crazy trying to locate it (more details on this later). Yesterday, I went to pick up my spankin' new phone and I asked the guys if they'd seen it around. Good news: they had. Bad news: they put it in the mail! Having my I.D. mailed back to me wouldn't be so bad, except that I have lived in about 4 different places since the address that's listed on my Texas I.D. Well, good-bye to that. I knew sooner or later I'd have to replace it anyway. At least I'm not still pulling my hair out over where it could be.

So this week's running-around-like-a-chicken-with-no-head task is to get my birth certificate from the county, go to the DMV and try to get a license issued. If all goes well, I can take care of this before the weekend. Do you know how humiliating it is asking Daddy to buy cigarettes for me?