Cat, please save me

  My mom was inquiring about how I get along with my roommate. 

  "Is he nice?"

  "Has he hit on you?"

  "Is he gay?"

 I assured her that I was safe and he has never hit on me. I don't know what goes on in her mind. Maybe she got hit on a lot in life. Or she may think I do since all of her elderly neighbors tell me I'm pretty. I assured her that I'm fine and maybe her neighbors can't see all that well. I rarely ever get hit on. That was until yesterday.

  I was sitting at home when my roommate texted wanting to know if I could let his friend inside to pick something up from him. This was a not a problem seeing as how I was laying around in my pajamas watching Supernatural. The knock came and I let him in and the fun began. He looked like my age, a bit older. He said "Wow, Steve's a lucky guy to get a roommate like you." Let me paint a picture for you. I'm wearing stretched out sweatpants, a shirt with toothpaste stains and my Gary Oldman glasses and no makeup. I also hadn't brushed my hair or my teeth, yet. His next words are "Do you party?" It was said in a very car salesman like manner. I had no idea what the shit he was talking about. I told him I didn't and quickly bailed to the kitchen. My only protection was the cat and any possible butter knives in the drawer. This guy took forever, too. He was supposed to be picking something up. What was the deal? I cleaned my Hello Kitty coffee pot over and over, hoping he would be finished soon. Finally, he came out of Steve's room. Then, he said "If you ever get lonely..." and winked at me. Yep, that happened. I felt like taking a shower after that comment. I was seriously creeped. As if I were psychic, I looked at the cat and said "Oh, I feel this isn't the end of this." Sure enough, I hear another knock a few minutes later. I tried to ignore it. But, he just kept knocking. I finally relented and opened the door. He claimed he left his jacket inside. The old George Costanza rat hat trick. I stood by the open door while he retrieved it. Luckily, he left without anymore creeping. 

  I debated about whether or not to tell my roommate. He thanked me for letting the guy in and mentioned he was an old roommate. I kept mum. He probably knows what this guy is like. Next time, I'll just conveniently not be at home. 

Pets are not for me

  As I was driving home after work, I saw a woman with a really big black dog laboriously picking up it's feces from a yard. I thought, that's why I don't have a big dog. Basically, that would be like picking up adult crap.  Just imagine walking outside with a friend when they suddenly crap in someone's yard and you have to clean it up. It's essentially the same thing. I'm glad I don't have any pets at this time in my life. My roommate has a cat. He routinely pukes in the living room. I think, that's all you, buddy. Not my cat. He's a nice cat, but even a cat is too much work for me. I have a child, a boyfriend and an unruly mother; that's more than enough.
  I always had pets growing up. Mostly dogs, a couple of cats. My mom always had dogs, but can't commit to loving anything and always got rid of them after a short time. As an adult, I had two Chihuahuas named Kiki and Queequeg. Queequeg was very well bred with long hair. Her father, Mr. Fancy Pants, was a show dog. She was a very well-behaved animal. At the opposite end of the spectrum, was Kiki. Puppy mill all the way. She was batshit crazy. Her eyes would kind of glaze over and she would go into this weird trance-like state where she would attack anything near her. It was like she didn't recognize her loved ones. It happened a lot when she slept. She loved to sleep in our bed, which was terrifying. It was like sleeping with a grenade with the pin pulled. One time, she got into a fight with Queequeg. It was ferocious. She became so agitated that her eyeball popped from it's socket. Viggo, who was three at the time, thought it was the funniest thing ever. Meanwhile, I was in tears. Bob kept an even head and got her to the vet. They had to sew her eyelid shut while it healed and she had to wear one of those cone things around her head. It was pitiful.
  When my marriage fell apart, I had to move into a place based on my income. Alas, I couldn't bring my babies with me. For some time, Bob's mom kept them with her Chihuahua, Piggy. One day, someone left the door open and Pig & Queequeg got out. No one ever saw them again. We suspect that someone took them. I hope that's the case. They were great dogs. I found a home for Kiki with a girl who had other Chihuahuas. I knew she was going to be well cared for. It broke my already broken heart. In a few months time, I lost my husband, two dogs and seeing my child everyday. It was a very depressing time.
  As much as I love animals, I doubt I'll have any again. It's a lot of work and love. Plus, as often as I move and work, I couldn't give them proper attention. It's very hard to find a place that even allows pets. When I start to sway and want one, I usually see cat puke in the living room and instantly change my mind.

Vacation

  I'm officially on vacation. Now, when most people hear that, they ask "Where are you going?" I then, tell them to "shut it." Alas, I'm poor. My brakes need fixed, so I'll be spending this week in my apartment. This does not bother me in the slightest because I need a break- from almost everything. I plan to try to get some things accomplished. I have composed a list of things, in no particular order.
  1. Clean- Laundry, car, room, my body, etc. There's a pile of laundry the size of a fat third grader hanging tough in my room. Since I have to go to a laundromat, I do it about as often as a teeth cleaning at the dentist. But, I'm running out of underwear and down to my fancy ones. The car really needs cleaned out. Maybe my tall boyfriend won't have to push garbage aside with his feet when he gets in.
  2. Start taking walks- I'm horribly out of shape. This is proven by my heavy breathing going up any flights of stairs. It's pathetic. I figure if I can start conquering the hills of my neighborhood, I can improve my health. Some of these hills look like San Francisco hills. The silver lining will be being able to keep up with my son and young boyfriend. Ain't nobody got time to be old.
  3. Finish some books I've started and haven't completed.-As someone who has diagnosed themselves with ADD, I often start books and don't finish them. It's usually because my interest/obsession has moved onto something else. There are a slew of books that need finished.
  4. Learn all the presidents in order- My own personal goal that will not benefit me in anything other than trivia and self-accomplishment. In Moonwalking With Einstein, I read about a technique called a memory palace. Things one wants to remember are associated with parts of a room or house. The person, then walks through the place in their mind as they recall the objects. It actually works. I used the technique in an acting class to learn a monologue. We'll see if I'm successful in a week.
  5. Click on Buzzfeed every five minutes- Not so much as goal as a reality.
  6. Learn another word in Russian that isn't a greeting or curse word.
  7. Spend time with friends and family- A good friend of mine had pacemaker surgery. I worried incessantly about her and want to see her. It would be a dream to see a few friends for dinner. We'll see if it happens.
  8. Save money- More like, don't spend money. I doubt this will happen since I need brake pads. Although, I'm off to a good start. I bought some groceries and have been making my coffee at home. I've resisted the urge to buy the new book of Hemingway letters (which is KILLING me.)
  9. Write more interesting blogs- this one is boring the shit out of me. When did I become so boring? Good gravy.
  I can't even get to ten. That tells you how much I like making goals. So far, I haven't been productive at all. I rearranged my room. Then, I went on a marathon watch binge of Scandal. I picked one of the trashiest shows to squander my time. It's the TV equivalent of US Weekly magazine. Today, I left the house only to go to McDonald's. Even my roommate has been more productive than me. He vacuumed the floor and unclogged all the drainpipes. Am I really going to let a stoner be more productive? I ponder this as I sip my McDonald's coke and watch Criminal Minds. I think that's a "yes." My plans for tonight include getting drunk and harassing my boyfriend. At least, I put on clothes and makeup today. That's more than I can say for yesterday.