Thursday, June 30, 2011

Glitter Dump

No, this isn't a story about glittery poop, although if I had a story about glittery poop, you can bet your ass I'd be sharing it.

Fun fact: I think talking about poop is the height of hilarity, but I WILL NOT let anyone hear me poop. Hell, I run the water when I pee. Why? Fuck if I know. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, literally. Mom says I started when I was 3 and she doesn't know where I picked it up, either.

One time a boyfriend and I ate out, and despite taking my magical Lactaid pills, my stomach became quite irate (like how God gets when you waste sperm) on the drive home. By the time we got to my place, I wanted to burst... but instead, I suggested he start a movie and I would join him in a few minutes. I found a movie, put it in, and waited until it was good and started (meaning, lots of sound going on) before I went to the bathroom and let it all go. With the water running. I'm not asking for this to make sense. I'm just relating the tale of pain and woe. As crass I have become, I guess I still retain some of that good ol' Southern Belle decorum somewhere in me. SO NO POOP NOISES. But I'll tell you all about it afterward.

Sidebar over.

Glitter dump actually is the title I'm giving my story about the time I was dumped while covered in glitter. CREATIVE.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Internet Hob-Knobbing

Why is called hob-knobbing? It makes me think of hobbling around, or bonking hobbits on their heads maybe.

I already posted this week about my interaction with Dooce. My other favorite blogger is Miss Doxie, and not long ago she set up a Facebook page. Today she posted about how she's just discovered Honey Badger (who don't give a shit). In response, I posted a link to one of my pictures from SlutWalk.

She responded within the hour: "I just fell the hell out of my chair laughing. That is the best photograph ever taken." And now she is sending my picture to her friend.


I made Miss Doxie laugh! One of the funniest people I have ever, ever read, and I MADE HER LAUGH.

Bam, son. I'm done.

(okay, this would be better if I'd actually been the one who made that sign that she's laughing at, but ... I can be a funny proxy, right?)

(I promise I will have more dating misadventure stories soon. I think the next one will involve me being topless and covered in glitter. Yep.)

COMPLETELY UNRELATED: This advice column is fantastic, and this one in particular - read the 2nd question/answer. Very important info re: blowjobs, a subject I take quite personally. I have been in that woman's situation, and I think the dude's advice to her is fantabulous. READ IT READ IT NOW

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

I dream big

and I have supportive friends.

BobGinger: Everyone who blogs wants to get paid for it. I have ads on mine but so far have not even made a full penny.

DN: Someday, god willing, you will get that penny

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Scooter: no, really.

What was the last I shared about good ol' Scooter? When he wanted a second chance?

I don't recall if I've mentioned that I've seen him a couple of times. I'm pretty sure I mentioned he's been staying with a friend who lives around the corner from me. Both times I've seen him, he's been riding his bicycle out of the alley that leads to that house.

The first time, I was just coming out of my apartment on the top floor, so I put on my sunglasses and pretended I didn't see him at all, even though he'd slowed his bike down and was staring up at me. The second, I was crossing the alley about 2 feet in front of him (and his friend), so I couldn't pretend. He said "hey, how are you?" and I said "good" as curtly as possible without looking at him and speed-walked to my car.

Last week I got a text from him saying, "Hey, how are you doing?" to which I didn't respond.

Today I was helping some friends move. As one friend and I leaned against the back of my car, chatting, waiting for things to get going, she asked, "Who's [Scooter]?"

"[Scooter]." *points at my trunk* "[Peanut] heart [Scooter]..."

Written in the thin layer of dirt on my trunk was "HI [PEANUT] (heart) [SCOOTER]"

I have no idea if that's been there for a while, or if it was new. It didn't look like there was dirt over it, so probably not old enough to be from when I was actually speaking to the dude. And while we all know I'm not the most observant person in the world, I'm pretty sure I have accessed my trunk at least once in the last week or so, and did not see any writing on it.


Time to wash my car.

Friday, June 24, 2011


Upstairs, trying to do my job but mostly moving around in a 2-foot space, I just stumbled over my own feet. Twice. I dropped a box. I tried to go up the wrong stairs (and needed to be going down). I mistyped and had to correct at least 1/3 of the words in this post so far.

Who spiked my water?? And can you please at least spike it enough that I am having fun instead of just bumbling around like a blind water buffalo at a swap meet? THAAAAAAAANKS.

-note: I feel I should point out that I started writing this yesterday, so it was yesterday that I was wtf-water-drunk. Best part? I even got a weird no-seriously-who-spiked-this hangover by the afternoon. This resulted in me going to Target after work and spending too much money on things like yoga mats (I am going to DO YOGA and STRETCH because that will make EVERYTHING BETTER) and water flavor thingies (I will drink water! and it will cure my headache! because I'm apparently hung the fuck over for no damn reason!).

It's okay, Internet. I'm better today. Let's make a list! Wheeee!


"I think you underestimate your face."

"You have very nice eyeballs."

"You're hot. We should have sex."

"No, I like your ears! It's cute how they stick out."

"Are you sure that was your first time?"

"You have great DSL." ("what?" "Dick-sucking lips!" *look of pride at being clever*)

Wednesday, June 22, 2011


Thanks to a co-worker, I can now share this gem with you. This is the checklist apparently given to bimbo teenagers who want to be sexy:

1. Pout lips CONSTANTLY, even while mouth is in use for other activities.

2. Make voice sound slightly petulant at all times. Men like it when you are petulant, even though you probably don't know what "petulant" means.

3. Writhe a lot.

4. Flip/tousle/toss hair constantly. Hair that is not in motion is NOT SEXY.

5. There is no such thing as too much makeup.

Ready? GO

(I'd also like to point out that this girl is 16 [holy shit I did not look even a little like that at 16], from Washington, was in some Miss Teen USA or some-such bullshit contest, and? recently married a 51-year-old B-level actor. FIFTY. ONE. Minus 16? 35. Their age difference has been able to legally drink in the contingent US for 14 years already.)

I'm sorry for that video. I am! Here, to make it up to you, another dancing doggy! Not quite as fantabulous as the chihuahua, but still better than the painful petulant pouty princess.

SlutWalk Report

(note: click on any picture in this post to go to my full SlutWalk photo set on Flickr)

SlutWalk was this past weekend! As is Seattle's custom, it was fairly cool all weekend, only to get SUPER SUNNY and in the 70s during the week. So there we all are, many of us slutted up, and shivering. And yet, there were enough breaks in the clouds for me to get a sunburn... on the tops of my boobs. Even better: I was wearing a push-up bra, so my boobs were smooshed together & up, so the sunburn shape when my boobs are "at ease" looks like a pair of lungs.


There was an amazing group there... men, women...


P1040521 P1040588
(this one was my bff)

(cut for lots of pictures)

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

In which I rant (again)

(many hours later edit: I am in a much better mood now and the reason is BEHIND THE CUT! OH THE MYSTERY! THE INTRIGUE!)

Excuse me, Internet, but I am peeved. Pissed off, even. And rather than sit here and stew about the things that are irking me all by little lonesome, until I pretty much develop an ulcer, I'm going to go right ahead and share it all with YOU.


Time for a list!

1. Today is Summer Solstice. Even here in this cloudy grey Pacific Northwest, we're supposed to hit 75 degrees, and it's sunny outside. But I? I am sitting here in jeans and a sweatshirt, a blanket on my lap like a little old lady, and a space heater under my desk burning my shins. Because it's fucking cold in this office. Why is it always 50 degrees in offices? It's SUMMER, dammit, I want to be able to wear SUMMER clothes. And people wonder why I never wear skirts to work. My legs would freeze off, that's why! And my still-new bicycle would be sad because I can't ride it without legs.

2. I fail at sleeping! No, really. It's pathetic. I'm not sure how I manage to be retarded even in my sleep, but I do. I woke up several times last night with my sleep mask pushed up on my forehead. My forehead does not need to be blocked from light, self. My forehead is doing just fine. Also, self? Please stop waking us up every couple of hours all night. The cat does a good enough job without your help. Someone please tell me what's it like to have "a good night's sleep" and wake up... what's that word? "Well-rested." What IS that?

I'm sure there was more, but see? Now that I've typed it out and shared my frustrations with you, Internet, I'm feeling calmer already. So let's do a new list!

Monday, June 20, 2011

Caring about Crazy

First of all, can I just say - who knew sleeping was so difficult?? I recently bought myself a lovely sleep mask, because the longer days are GLORIOUS but totally interrupt my morning snoozes. Then last night I popped in earplugs as an experiment.

Does anyone else hear weird noise when they put in earplugs? Is my brain THAT weird? When I plug those bastards in, I hear an odd sort of humming sound, that pulses. I'm pretty certain I'm hearing my own blood careening around in my veins. What the eff. It's LOUD, people. Almost louder than the all the street/bus traffic noise I'm trying to block out. Is that normal? Is my blood just... extra loud? Like, maybe I have THX-quality blood?

In any case, sleeping in earplugs isn't terribly comfortable because I'm a side-sleeper, and no amount of light- and sound-blocking sleep aid equipment is any kind of match for an insistent cat batting you in the nose and meowing as loudly as he can directly into your face. "I WANT TO BE UNDER THE COVERS NOW BUT ONLY FOR A FEW MINUTES AND THEN I WANT OUT AGAIN OKAY? OKAAAY?!? WAAAKE UUUUP!!!"

The point is, I'm extraordinarily tired right now. Having things in place that were supposed to help me not sleep like an idiot, as I normally do and have done for years (oh hai depression, YOU SUCK), seems to have prompted my feline pal to try that much harder to get my attention every couple of hours. All night. With some increase in persistence starting around 4am. Ouch.

I was... hmm. What was I...? Oh! I was going to tell a dating-related story here, because I've wandered away from that topic lately. So now, dear Internet, let's wander back!

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Naked in the rain

The last post was SO SERIOUS OMG WHAT

So let me tell you about riding a bicycle in the rain and about 50 degree weather with a startling brisk breeze once in a while. While naked.

A couple of buddies (and "buddies" is the word I use to describe people with whom I am friendly, but rarely hang out - we're Facebook friends, and can probably count our in-person interactions on one hand - I feel it's important to conveying the spirit of this event to point out that really, I barely know these dudes) decided last minute to join in the fun, and brought along another friend I'd never met. We rode to the painting party, paid our dues, and walked in... to a room packed with nekkies. Suddenly, wearing clothes seemed really awkward.

We found a spot, stripped, and hunkered down to unpack paints and such. Then the 3 boys stood up. I was still fiddling with paints, when I glanced up, took in my, er, surroundings, and sprang to my feet quickly. "Suddenly I felt really weird being the only one still kneeling..."

Friday, June 17, 2011

Blame the rapist, not the victim

This weekend in Seattle, there is SO MUCH TO DO. I have to pick and choose what I'm participating in, which makes me sad.

There's the Best of SIFF 2011 (I will be missing most of this due to all the other stuff) ... the Solstice Parade (which I've already mentioned I am participating in) ... the Fremont Fair (at which I am volunteering) ... the puppy parade (I'm gonna have to miss this one, woe is me!) ... the SlutWalk ... and so much more.

What I want to write about today is SlutWalk, because saying that I am going to that keeps causing quizzical looks. The word "slut" has a negative connotation, and people can't figure out why I'm going to go strutting around in a walk full of them.

So let me (try to) explain.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Hump Day!

I know why it's called that, but really? We couldn't think of anything better? That's just BEGGING for awful sex jokes.

My brain is incapable of forming comprehensive thoughts today. I got a ticket (of the work-related sort, not the oops-I-broke-the-law sort) this morning that I've read about 10 times and it still doesn't make any sense to me (or any of my co-workers), so I'm continuing to just stare at it. Which means, lovely friends, you don't get any kind of thought-provoking and/or hiiii-larious post from me today. You get blank stares, links, and haiku.

G-Funk and I have decided to communicate only in haiku. This morning, regarding my plans to ride a bicycle in public in just a few days, while quite nude:

Naked in public
The day draws ever closer
What was I thinking?

It’s gonna be cold
And will probably rain too
Stupid Seattle!

Bouncing naked jibs
Painted like a circus clown
You are so so brave

Can’t stop laughing now
Will forever call them “jibs”
This will get me through

Also I have just found this blog about a girl's experiences using the free online dating site OKCupid. Could it BE more relevant to this blog's interests? </Chandler> It's a "tumblr." I don't understand tumblr. I'm sorry, I JUST DON'T GET IT. It's a blog that's not a blog? How is it different than a blog? Or is it just a blog with a different name?? HELP ME UNNERSTAN.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Helloooo gorgeous!

(In which I rant, but am totally ranting at myself just as much as I am at you. Just call me Ranty McRanterPants. Or... um. Don't.)

One of my favorite things about a man I'm dating is when he can look at me and say, "you're beautiful," and look like he means it. My ex-husband is the first guy I can recall being able to pull that off. The guy I lost my virginity to actually looked me in the eyes and said, "Well, I wouldn't call you pretty, but you're definitely cute."

Guess which one of them I believed more?

Unfortunately I'm not alone in feeling I'm "less than." Most women I know think they aren't pretty enough, fit enough, tanned enough, SOMETHING enough. Ladies, can I just say one thing? Just one?


Monday, June 13, 2011

Naked Bicycling... it's a Thing

Around here, we have an annual parade and celebration for the Summer Solstice. One of the unofficial parts of the parade is the naked cyclists. It's this group of people (a group that gets larger every year) who "crash" the parade, riding just ahead, pretty much naked and covered in paint. Sometimes there are skateboarders and rollerbladers, people in costumes, various states of undress, but most are totally free-flying.

And gang... I'm doing it this year.

I just bought my first bike since college, and I figure gravity hasn't taken a huge toll on me yet, so... now's the time. I'm not an exhibitionist. I get nervous in front of crowds, even if I know every single person in the crowd, and I'm not very good on my bike yet. Going uphill is still quite a struggle and I'm worried about crashing/falling. I do plan to go get some cheap flesh-colored undies (just bottoms) somewhere because I am not quite that brave, but otherwise... yeah. Eeek.


So what I need from you guys... (OMG LIST TIME YAY)

1. encouragement!!
2. anyone else who wants to do this with me?
3. ideas for painting myself. There's a good chance I will be asking total strangers to paint my (mostly) nude self, and I don't have a lot of money for lots of paint colors, so I need something relatively simple. (I may just go all blue and wear cut-off shorts...)
4. did I mention encouragement? Because it's now less than a week away and I am getting nervous!
5. cross fingers we have lovely sunny warm weather like we did yesterday, and not yucky gray cloudy wet weather like we had this morning. I'm not exactly going to be wearing a jacket.

Ready... set... IDEAS! (also, if you're gonna be around that morning and you're artistically inclined and want to be my Painter, please let me know asap!)

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Oooh, ahhh, mmmm

Not long ago, I was at my usual bar for karaoke. It was not my usual night for this, though, and the crowd was different. We were celebrating a girl's birthday, and since I quite like this girl (don't know her very well, but like her anyway), there I was.

I was in a pretty good mood that night, having just spent some lovely quality time with Desk, and was on my 3rd drink when the KJ announced he was going to have a contest on stage. A mystery contest! The prizes would be chosen from a bag of assorted goodies (t-shirts, towels) from a local music store. Not that exciting, but contests! Whee!

Buzzing on endorphins and rum (best combo), I leapt onstage. (my blog editor doesn't like the word "leapt." That's a word, dammit!) There were 4 guys, the birthday girl, and me. Our KJ said, "okay, you're up here now. Last chance to leave - once I tell you what the contest is, you're stuck!" We all tittered nervously.

"I want you to show us your best fake orgasm."

The birthday girl scampered off the stage, but KJ allowed it since it was her birthday, after all. That left four dudes... and me. Ohhh boy.

Do guys even fake orgasms much? I mean, I have this vague feeling that sure, it DOES happen sometimes, but I would think it would be a lot more difficult and less common. In the past, I have been with guys who have said to me, "I don't think it's gonna happen this time." My reaction? "Okey doke." No big deal.

I used to freak out, thinking I'd done something wrong, wasn't doing something right, whatever. Ladies? Freaking out? Doesn't help the guy. You want to have sex with him again sometime, you just calm right the fuck down and go with the flow. Now I've learned that quite frankly, I'm just fine at what I do and sometimes it just doesn't happen. Too tired, too drunk, too recently already blew his load... doesn't matter. It's probably NOT me.

I also used to be a fake orgasm-er. I thought it was only fair, he's trying so hard, why not let him think he got the job done? Isn't that what all women do? But it wasn't long before I realized I was cheating myself. Sure, my orgasms are nowhere near as earth-shattering as a pig's, but I quite enjoy them. So why shouldn't I be having them with, you know, other people involved?

So I stopped faking it. I will still make allowances - if the guy is one of those I AM A MAN DAMMIT types who just will. not. give. up. until (he thinks) I've finished. For the record, I hate that. If I whisper sexily to you, I want you to come, it's because I've grown weary of what's happening and want to be done now. "But what.. about.. you?" the guy will sometimes pant, clearly struggling to maintain his rhythm. I'm TELLING you what about me: I WANT YOU TO FINISH NOW.

Sometimes I'll say, hey, I don't usually come the first few times with a new partner, but it's cool. Take me at my word and don't think you have to out-perform all the guys who tried before you. Because you won't, and let's not even talk about how many there were that tried. And that pressure on ME isn't going to help the situation even a little bit; it will, in fact, make it worse. Thanks for stealing even the joy of just having sex from me, buddy! Awesome!

(PS - a great quote from Genie regarding why the orgasm is sometimes faked? "All I know is I don't like to be asked who my daddy is.")

And yes, I tell new partners who express some concern about making me come that they need to just relax and let me enjoy everything. Then when he's done, he needs to stick around and follow instructions so I can get my happy ending, too. Everyone's happy! And, I've discovered that many guys actually quite enjoy this method because they get to watch the magic happen. Bonus!


Orgasm? Don't? Whatev. Enjoy the ride. HEYOOOO.

(oh and bee tee dub, I totally won that contest. I mean, probably because I was the only girl, but STILL.)

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

In a sharin' mood

My last poetic post spurred a little swirl of haiku-related emails betwixt (I honestly can't decide if I love or hate that word. Mostly it just makes me want to eat Twix.) myself and G-Funk. She whipped this one up:

Your file got fucked up
It’s not the end of the world
Some perspective, please

And then gave me the best Tuesday afternoon present a crotchety office worker could ever ask for: THIS WEBSITE. Now I get to sit here trying not to guffaw and snort and chortle (all totally different laughs) at my desk when I am supposed to be Serious and Worky. Instead I'm all, *snicker* ... *snerkle* ... *ahem*

Snerkle? Yeah. Next time you try to hold in a laugh, just go ahead and tell me what it sounds like.

that website + bunneh = lurve 4eva (...or at least until I reach the end of his archives. Which just happened, and now I'm left feeling abandoned and alone and other a-words. Awry, maybe? Sure. I feel awry.)


Catching up on news
Makes me make serious face
Like I'm working hard.

Notice boss looking.
I squint thoughtfully at screen
Frown at web comic.

And a couple more from G-Funk, who is a natural at this:

Vending machine Twix
Exists only in my dreams
What the fuck, Alan*?

*Not the real name of the guy at work who buys the stuff that goes in our vending machines. NOT GONNA POST IT HERE PEOPLE. I'm retarded, but not quite that retarded. Yet.

Quality control
team asleep behind the wheel
Yet client blames me

Monday, June 6, 2011

Brain Dumpin' and Poetry

I'm frazzled today with work, so I can't remember what I wanted to post about. Instead, you get whatever weird crap happens to come to mind! Wheeee!

An article about women faking orgasms. With other links inside! Links within links! A rabbit hole of fake orgasms!

I'm always hesitant to talk about my job on the INTERNET, because while I am a huge fan of and would not at all mind making my living blogging (who wouldn't?), I would rather not start out the way she did... which was that she blogged about work, was discovered, and fired. Eeek.

But! Here we go anyway.

I do tech support, which I am not a fan of doing, but it pays more than the things I'd rather be doing, which are, in no particular order:

1. Nothing.
2. Writing inane crap.
3. Playing with puppies and/or kitties.
4. Breeding hamsters.
5. Sleeping.

Unfortunately, even though I could sort of mold at least one of those into an actual job (work at a pet store, which I used to do, and mostly enjoyed), it would not pay enough for me to continue my current, um... how do they put it in divorce cases? Quality of living? I'm a Woman in Debt, and I feel I pay my penance for such irresponsible spending in my youth by now working miserable jobs.


I am now taking applications for the position of Sugar Daddy. No sex guaranteed, but I will make you lots and lots of cookies in exchange for large sums of money with which I can pay off my debts.

No wait, that wasn't it...

I have written some poetry regarding my work woes, and I like to call them Helpdesk Hate Haikus. There are a couple that are specific to certain users in my company, so those I'll keep to myself, but here's some generos for you:

If email is down
Stop trying to email me
to tell me it's down.

(no really, that happened at my last job.)

You think you're crucial
A monkey could do your job
Try to get a grip.

(as I like to say: you're not Jack Bauer. What you do is not crucial to life or national safety.)

It's out of toner
Just put in some damn toner
You don't need Helpdesk.

(it's one thing if your printer stops working and you don't know why. It's another entirely when you know you're out of toner, but you expect someone else to walk all the way over there and pick up a toner and put it in your printer for you. It's not rocket science.)

Don't type with caps lock
Everyone will think you're dumb
It looks like yelling.

(a lot of people at this company do data entry in all caps. They frequently fail to take the quarter-second necessary to tap that CAPS LOCK key once before putting in a ticket, thus sending tickets that look very much like this: MY COMPUTOR ISTN WORKING PLEASE HELP URGNET.)

Anyone else want to try their hand at some workplace haiku? It's therapeutic!

Saturday, June 4, 2011


This post has nothing to do with dating or boys, unless you want to date food, in which case YOU HAVE A PROBLEM OKAY. Food is good, I love food, but dating food? That seems awfully one-sided and creepy.

So, food.

I am making a sandwich right this minute (I am so good at multi-tasking, you have no - oooh, something shiny!) and I'm putting on this sandwich, as I do, my homemade bacon jam. I think to myself, when did I make this bacon jam? Because I have another jar of it I have not opened yet, and I wonder if it will kill me.

The downside of homemade goods: no expiration date. How am I to know the shelf life of my bacon jam?? Do I just wait until one day I get violently ill, then count back to when I made that batch, and make a note? That seems... sketchy. Also not a fan of being violently ill. It's all ... violent. And gross.

And I also have this Deep and Introspective Thought for you: fat-free mayo is gloopier than full-fat mayo. Discuss.

Friday, June 3, 2011

It puts the lotion on its skin...

Time to get back to some dating misadventure stories! Yaaaaaaay!

When I first moved to a new city in 2006, I was far enough from everyone I knew to be pretty well isolated. I worked at a job where my coworkers were all old and/or married, and everyone I met through that job was older and very business-y. There weren't many bars in my town, and I wasn't comfortable just wandering down to them solo anyway. What's a sex addict to do?

Online dating! I turned to OkCupid, because it's free and I'm pretty much in a constant state of trying to save money. This is the story of Bill (as in Buffalo), one of the first guys I met from this, my first foray into the online dating world.

Bill and I exchanged AIM usernames and chatted a bit, decided things were good, and made arrangements to meet at a restaurant at a pretty big shopping area between us. I was being Smart and Safe! Public areas! Yay! We met, we ate, we got along, he made me laugh, la la la.

Then as we stood up from the table, he reached over, grabbed my hand, and rubbed his thumb across the inside of my wrist. Then he let go. I looked up at him (tall guy) and said, "Um. What was that?"

"Your skin looks so soft, I just wanted to feel."


Wednesday, June 1, 2011


Stories by someone else that seem to fit here (the first two are super short but delightful):

Worst Boyfriend in the World, Pt 1

Worst Boyfriend in the World, Pt 2

Some other article by the same lady and it's really good

The pitter-patter of little... paws

Today is my cat's birthday! Well, maybe. He's a shelter rescue, so I don't know his exact birthday, but based on his age when I got him, I picked one. And it's today! He's 10! That is OLD for a cat!

Not long ago, I started putting Soft Paws on his front claws, for purely aesthetic reasons. I mean, my (gay) cat is faaaabulous, so why shouldn't his nails be faaaaabulous, too? The point is, not only are his lil tootsies gloriously silvery-sparkley now, but also when they've grown out just a smidge, they touch the floor. When he meanders around my hardwood floor apartment, he now sounds like a puppy - tick tack, tick tack, tick tack on the floor. AND I LOVE IT. I've started calling him Ticky-Tacky, and it just furthers my belief that he is a Puppy Cat.

tick tack tick tack tick tack

Is this how parents feel? This morning, wishing my fuzzy baby a happy birthday and listening to him tick-tack around and meooowwwww for treats as though he is starving and I have not fed him in 3 weeks and oh my god he is going to WASTE AWAY if he does not get TREATS in the next THREE SECONDS... I began to think about kidlets. You know, real human ones.