Tag Archives: Cats

Cats Rule…

25 Aug

1800

So….I mentioned to my boyfriend that it’s hard to find posts that are safe to write about because the topics I think would make excellent posts would most likely piss him and/or other people off. “Who cares, do it anyways,” he says. Cool, we’ll see how this horrible idea goes after I publish this.

Being in Los Angeles has made me hate dogs and dog owners. Don’t like that statement? Me neither, but you dogs owners made me that way, so…

bird

And I don’t care. I’m a cat owner, cats don’t care if you like them..they’re not insecure like dogs/dog owners. That’s far too exhausting. Don’t like us, cool, we’ll stay at home, watch Golden Girls and eat Cheese Its. I used to like dogs. I had some fantastic ones as a kids and I still know a hand full of good dogs. If I know your dog and I’ve told you I like your dog, then I mean you, if not, your dog’s gross, get away from me.

dog piss

One thing that really grosses me out is that everything is now a dog toilet. Park your car on the street, there’s a strip of grass before you get to the sidewalk. You have to walk through dog piss before you can go to your destination. And don’t tell me it’s water….we’re in a drought d-bag, that’s dog piss that I’m forced to trek through because everyone in an apartment thinks they should get a dog. Wrong. If you have a yard, get a dog. Dogs belong outside. “No, dogs are inside animals.” Wrong, again. The neighbor’s dog is constantly trying to break out of the studio apartment it’s in because it needs more room… to be a gross dog.

cat drinking

Cats are inside animals. Take a cat outside and see how that works out for you. I only take my cat outside when he has to go to the vet and that’s more than enough for both of us. Cats don’t really like the outdoor thing, because they are smart. They have food, water, your bed and your couch to sleep on…why leave? Outside is hell. I wish I never had to go out there, it smells like dog shit.

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Unlike dog owners, I don’t force people to interact with my pet or me for that matter. Dog people need to take a step back. I don’t want your dog smelling my crotch when I’m just trying to walk to Barnes and Noble at the Grove. I know you think its cute, because you implore me to agree with you so I can get the hell away from you, but it’s not.

hugging lionAfter that Cecil the Lion thing caused such an uproar (har-har) I got to thinking that pure bred dogs are more torture than popping off a lion. And EVERYONE seems to be ok with freaky, weird, pure breds.  Don’t think purebreds are torture…let me inform you on how wrong you are.

bulldogs

Before/After…good job humans, sick bastards.

My boyfriend’s dog is an English Bulldog, they are basically the Frankensteins of the dog world. “Oh they’re so cute.” Shut the hell up right now, your dumb ass is probably thinking of the puppies. I still think they are gross looking but yeah, most puppies are ok. Flash forward to an adult dog. Bulldogs are prime candidates for a sleep apnea masks, they sound like an old man when they sleep because their face look like they were chasing a car that stopped suddenly. They also fart non stop….not cute little toots…again, like being with an old man who only eats cabbage soup and brussel sprouts. Yummers.They also don’t have tails so they leave little shit marks every time they sit down. A true delight. They also can not give birth naturally, they have to have a C-section because breeders have fucked them up so much. Let that sink in….

They can’t even give birth!! Nature is even saying STOP!

stupid bulldogs

Think I’m being a biased asshole…I am, but I’m also not wrong. This is from a NY Times article about how people are over breeding bulldogs, “bulldogs are significantly more likely than other dogs to suffer from a wide range of health issues, including ear and eye problems, skin infections, respiratory issues, immunological and neurological problems and locomotor challenges. (Statistics released in 2010 by the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals revealed that bulldogs have the highest rate of hip dysplasia of any breed.)”

You sound like a real attractive bred of dog.

You sound like a real attractive breed of dog.

The bulldog I have to deal with has eye problems, her ear canals have hardened, she has trouble standing up, her skin is a mess, smells like hell, she gets UTIs all the time, had kidney stones and since April had explosive diarrhea to the point she was always in a diaper. She lost something like 20 pounds in less than 6 months. I know what you’re thinking ladies, where can I catch that disease?

mostly dead

If I were a smarter person, I would have shut the hell up and let that poor excuse for a pet die because, clearly, she was well on her way. But I’m not that smart.  I piped up and the dog went to a new vet and she is “better.” She’s not wearing a diaper but still shits when she eats. Kill me now.

What I’m really trying to say is, stop getting purebreds, it’s not OK and…

cats rule

“Cat’s rule. Dogs drool.” Homeward Bound. Never forget.

My favorite kind of dog…animated.

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Such Is Life

6 May

Then your cat gets titty cancer and you die alone.

So…here are some true stories from my life that occurred in the past two weeks. I don’t really know what they say about me…how to become a hermit in 30 days or less, tips for a young cat lady, idiots and the people who hate them? All I know is, I’m wasting all my attractive years alone, dealing with the weirdest people possible and that’s not right.

At least it’s funny—in a sad way.

I always get crazy people at work, but rarely do I get people who make me feel freaking uncomfortable. I was dealing with a party of 20, twenty-somethings-my favorite-and half a hour into the meal someone new arrived. Picture this: a young woman dressed in biker gear. Got it? She’s also a lesbian midget in a motorized wheelchair. This was our interaction, note that her responses are highly over sexualized in tone:

Me: Can I get you a drink?

Crazy: I want your glasses on my face.

Me: Can I get you a drink for your mouth?

Crazy: Only if you feed it to me. (Flicks her tongue Gene Simmons style.)

I come back with her Coke.

Crazy: You can’t deny this. I love you.

Kill me.

Normally the only guys that try to flirt with me on the freeway are creepy gardeners. One afternoon, in stopped traffic, a twelve year old boy pops his head out of the back passenger window, points to me and mouths, “You,” points to himself, “Me,” then nods. What  a weirdo, I thought. Two minutes later he did it again to make sure I knew it was for me and made threw a bunch of air kisses and call me hand gestures.

Glad to know I’m popular with under-aged boys, says the girl whose preference is older men.

Just yesterday I had a black guy (duh, the only kind of guy that hits on me on a regular basis) ask me if I would do the Twist with him. I don’t know if that’s some new hip hop term for a sex move or what. He wanted me to hang out with him and his group of friends who tipped me less than 10% on an almost $300 check.

After all this nonsense, I had an emergency and subsequent melt down.

The photo isn’t mine: my skin and cat are not orange, nor are they this small.

One of the few things that doesn’t drive me to punch people in the face is my cat, Mr. Bojangles (yeah, that’s his real name. Do not call him Bojangles if you’re nasty.) I took him to the vet because I felt a lump. The Dr. asked if I’d realized the bump was next to his nipple. No, I don’t particularly enjoy molesting cats, if that’s what you’re getting at. She told me it could be breast cancer…on my male cat. Really? Only I would get a boy cat with titty cancer. After tests, three days of waiting and one bowl of raw cookie dough I am happy to say he’s fine but now I have to feel him up on a regular basis. At least someone in this house will be getting some action.

God had sparred my cat’s life, I was feeling pretty good and emerged from my cave. I drove up to hang out with my Granny’s 92 year old friend to talk about old movies and history. (I’m popular with the underage and senior crowds.) I had dinner with my parents at a friend of the family’s restaurant. The waitress knows them and overhead us talking about seeing Colin Quinn last month.

Waitress: Is that the comedian you guys saw?

Me: Yep.

Waitress: Yea, I watched that special and I didn’t get it.  I don’t think you have good taste in comedians.

Me: Shut your face.

In my experience, a way to get a good tip is to NOT insult your table’s taste in anything. My positive outlook on humanity came crashing back down to reality. I’m back in my writing cave and I won’t be coming out until next month when I go to New York  to visit my friend Taylor. I’m planning on seeing Colin at the Comedy Cellar, because I think he’s fabulous and because I “get it.” Maybe I’ll even meet a nice guy who’s smart….