Saturday, June 27, 2009

Monorail Cat










...Realizes that she has made a terrible mistake

Monday, June 22, 2009

New Cat

I can has cheez?

So yeah, this cat was all hanging around outside the new place, so we took him in, named him after Dusty Rhodes, (the wrestler, not the baseball player who apparently died a few days ago)
and in a week, we're going to have his balls cut off. Good times. Right now, he's kind of splitting his time between hanging out in the bushes outside and hanging out in the bedroom inside. The outside part is because we still don't know if we can trust him to not spray everywhere, and the bedroom sequestering is because A, we can't trust him around the bird, and B, because we can't trust my original cat around the new one. See, while this cat is all snuggly sweetness and such, my cat is essentially Death Metal: The Cat, so while Dusty seems to take an, "oh hey, you're a cat. I'm a cat too, let's hang out" approach to her, Crackhouse's feelings toward him are more of the "SLAY THE USURPER" kind. Hopefully, she can get used to him, but until then, he stays locked up in here, getting fed small pieces of cheese.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Rundown of Recent Events


Haven't posted in a while, (ha, like that's new) and I'm not yet sleepy enough to attempt going to bed, so here's what's been going down lately:

Me and Sarah totally got an apartment together, and it's totally rad and I feel like an adult and stuff. I kinda feel bad though, because I've had a huge head start on crap accumulation, so my crap outnumbers hers like forty-to-one, and it's like an apartment full of my crap with only trace amounts of hers. I'd have pictures, but the place is pretty much a shambles right now, and the empty-apartment photos from a week ago are on a camera I can't find that connects to the computer with a cable I can't find. We'd invite y'all over to hang out, but once again the place is a shambles, I don't trust you creepy internet types, and there is basically nowhere to sit. We got a beanbag chair, and that's about it. We gotta work on that. Maybe just throw down some mats and act like it's some sort of Asian thing. I dunno. Overall, I must say that it is nice to live somewhere with more than one window, a double sink, air conditioning capable of actually cooling the place down on hot days, no dripping ceilings, and actual separate rooms. Also, no creepy next-door neighbor covered in really prison-looking tattoos asking me if I smell something dead in the parking lot. And no crazy, possibly retarded, probably meth-addicted upstairs neighbor screaming obscenities at her twenty cats or actual goddamn pet opossum. And no other upstairs neighbors who apparently spend their free time pushing their furniture around like it's a Nintendo puzzle game, just for recreation or whatever. And no older next-door neighbor waking me up at night with the most horrifying death-rattle of a cough in the dead of night, walking past my window to her stupid van. And no more half the parking lot being taken up by two dead cars and a freaking motorboat. Jesus, I could go on for days like this.

On a related note, while looking up info on the place, I came across my landlord's Myspace profile, (that I'm not linking to or hinting at in the slightest, because this dude in question can literally render me homeless with but a phone call) and the dude seems like a walking mid-life crisis, and it kind of horrifies me. Like take one of those bro-dog fratboy type dudes who all inevitably end up watching an episode of The Ultimate Fighter and then deciding to dedicate their lives to Ultimate Fighting, despite the fact that they only know of Ken Shamrock through his WWF stint and have never even heard of Royce Gracie, but then make him over forty and apparently decadently wealthy. Scary stuff.

On another related note, here is an open letter to what I'm pretty sure is our next-door neighbor: There are bumper stickers and window decals. And that's where it ends. When the stickers expand past the bumper, cover the trunk, and threaten to begin covering the license plate and brake lights, it's time to consider getting into some sort of treatment program. It's like Dale Earnhardt Jr. moved next door, right after signing a sponsorship deal with left-wing politics.

On a down note, the two new fishies from the last post checked out within a couple weeks of entering the tank. I'm gonna try again with a couple more otos eventually, this time armed with the knowledge of the drip-acclimation method. R.I.P. Otocinclus #1 and Otocinclus #2.

Finally, on another down note, apparently, during the period when I wasn't paying attention to the internet, Mitsuharu Misawa died. If you don't know who that is, don't worry, because that probably just means that you're a normal human being with a future. Anyway, he was pretty much King Shit of Fuck Mountain when it came to the Japanese pro wrestling scene back in the days when it still made money or mattered to anyone at all, and a lot of the pro wrestling basement nerds (and I can't knock those guys too hard, because I was one of them for a while) will tell you that he was the best there's ever been. Apparently, he got dropped on his head one too many times, and after the last one, he never got up and just died right there in the middle of the ring. And you just know all the dorks are putting the "that's how he would have wanted it" spin on the thing, but fuck that, the dude basically got killed (and depending on who you ask, spent the last few years of his life in a concussion-induced, half-retarded fog) because of taking a fake sport way, way, wayyyyy too seriously. And I hate to be that dickhead, but back when Shinya Hashimoto died a few years ago, I told you so. Not to mention the whole "Chris Benoit had the brain of an 85 year-old Alzheimer's patient when he killed his family" thing. Looking back, I'm getting more and more ashamed of being such a huge fan of that "drop people on their head and hit each other for real when possible" brand of wrestling back in the day. I should be ashamed of liking normal wrestling back in the day too, but eh, I'll deal with one personality disorder at a time. Anyway, R.I.P. dude. He's elbow-smashing angels now.