All posts by Licketysplit

Developments

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Ybab was just carried screaming down the hall by the chupacabra. I told the chupacabra that the way to shut off the screaming is to sing “Let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby, let’s all go to the lobby to get ourselves a treat.” Why not, eh? It probably won’t work, but it will be funny.

I am exhausted from a round of “who has the paperwork?” with the mortgage vultures this morning. The answer: you do! You have it. Don’t you even think of faxing 134 pages to me, tree murderers.

Mr. H had never seen any lolcats. I can’t believe this. So I made him view some last night. He wanted to know why cats speak Engrish. Damned if I know. Could it be something along the lines of how dogs are bad at French? On another note, I received a brief written in lolcat recently.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

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Today ybab celebrates eleven months of mostly breathing. She made a valiant attempt to chew up my British Airways Illuminati Perks membership card. That sucks! Without it, I can’t go up to the cockpit and sit on the captain’s lap while being misted with water extracted from volcanic springs with a crystal eyedropper. Did you know the co-pilot is actually a donkey? Little known fact about BA. That card also ensures that I receive an i.v. drip of caviar and crissy. Makes any flight more tolerable.

In other news, we have decided to move back to civilization a-sap. I am preparing to lose a squillion dollars on the ol’ IBG. That assumes that someone wants to buy it at all. Perhaps no one wants to buy it. This would be a reasonable decision on no one’s part. I eagerly await throwing out the rest of everything I own that I haven’t managed to sell on eBay and beating a path back to Brookline or even thickly settled Somerville. Maybe we will nest in the rafters of the Ted Williams tunnel, dropping down on unsuspecting motorists and gleefully exsanguinating them. This is how legends are born.

Smother’s day

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I have recently been made aware of a concept in the America called “Smother’s Day.” A television ad told me about it, and then another and another. If I am to correctly understand, a Smother is something like a Smore, but not an actual brand of jelly. That’s Smuckers, and they are happy people live to be one hundred despite eating high fructose corn syrup solids. So in the midst of all that jubilation about the dinosaur birthdays, a ybab decided to start pointing at things. “Dat?” Well, honey, that’s Matt Lauer. “Dat?” Oh, put me on the jeezly spot, why don’t you? Some things just can’t be explained. Maybe when you’re two.

And back to this Smother’s Day deal: I hear it’s a magical day, where the cat box cleans itself, and ybab will wipe her own butt for 24 entire hours. I hear that I might get a gold pendant of some sort, possibly with the “#1” designation. And I won’t even have to put out to get this jewelry. Who wants to put out when you have a ybab already? Fool me twice, I don’t think so!

Do I smell natural gas? That would just figure if my house blew up. Last year on Smother’s Day, it flooded. Haha! As you might imagine, I am jittery about this one. Pee to the Tee to the Ess to the D. I am celebrating by not purchasing gifts for any relatives who have been blighted by offspring. Mr. H is of course free to purchase gifts in my stead, but he won’t, because he’s Mr. H. Is he even reading this? I have set a bear trap just now. Who else has found my blog? You? Great. Leave a comment plz.

OK, so if not a pendant, I hope to get a mug. Or a beer hat, but insulated for coffee. It should attest to my prowess at keeping ybab alive. She takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’, luckily. This morning I removed her from eating cat kibble, and she rewarded me with a boilermaker to the head. Is that a type of punch? A hay bailer maybe? If those aren’t types of punches, they should be. She fights dirty.

Over the hump in Pahrump

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Do you ever think it’s weird that other cities are allowed to have their own TV news? That’s just not right. We only have news in my city. I don’t care what happens in Pahrump, although it’s usually snowing. What was I doing watching TV in Las Vegas anyway?

On Friday, the chupacabra took the day off to prepare for finals, so I had to watch my own ybab. The hell? That implies that I don’t normally watch her. Ha. I wish! Normally, I sit there and “work” while she hangs upside down from the rafters above my head. The chupacabra is close at hand, and she does a wonderful job of trying to divert ybab by shaking some boiled bones or something, but ybab mainly prefers me. Foolish ybab. The chupacabra has a degree in early childhood education. I have a degree in lying. I wouldn’t hire me to watch a ybab. Anyway, we tired of menacing neighborhood dogs, so we steamed open some mail that didn’t belong to us and applied for credit cards. We could have just opened the mail, but since ybab snorts steam naturally, it seemed like the thing to do. If only we had some unwanted wallpaper.

At least watching my own ybab was free that day. Normally the chupacabra exacts a demanding price for not really watching ybab. Next thing you know, the chupacabra will want a four oh onek.

In case you wondered

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This being a blog, I am sworn to tell you that I slept much better last night. I am still parked in my parking spot. I ate more raisin bread.

I slept so much better because I don’t have a ybab anymore. Last night around bedtime she sprouted leathery wings, scrawwwwwked a horrible scrawwwwwk, and flapped up to a nearby bell tower. While perched in the belfry, she snatched an unlucky river hawk and ripped it to shreds with her fangs until she was caked with blood and feathers. I called the chupacabra who lives in the “medieval prison” section of the park, and he managed to get leg irons on her and drag her away, still spitting and hissing. I am not sure what happened after that, but I don’t much care either.

***

Ah, how strange, I just heard a knocking outside, rapping on my chamber door and all, and she’s back. She points at everything and calls it a cat most authoritatively. Her tail has fallen off, leaving an unusually long butt crack. I wonder what this can all mean?

Witty and relevant

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I got two hours of sleep last night! Hi! Someone is installing multiple tooth-boulders at once. Someone’s tract does not agree. Kick and bite and scratch and pinch. Scream all you want, we’ll make more. Someone is a monster, an alien dropped from the planet Kill You. Tonight I will break out that bottle of laudanum. For me.

And that’s how it goes around here. Torment interspersed with rapid innovation. We climb. We eat raisin bread. We still love dogs. I got a noise cancelling Bluetooth headset, and unfortunately I can still hear the person on the other end of the phone. Hello, hello, we have FEEDBACK. Let’s REACH OUT. And TOUCH BASE.

I have no real problems, but let’s try complaining anyway. This being a blog. I am parked in the parking spot. I eat lunch. A percolating case of PTSD, sure, we’ve got that. I got into an e-fight about whether or not c-sections are traumatic. No, surgery while wide awake when you really don’t want it is AWESOME. That is my FEEDBACK. AWESOME. Let’s DO IT AGAIN. Or not. Let’s just try to stop having nightmares about it. Let’s stop sitting down in the shower and wanting to cry. Not that we get to take many showers these days, what with the ceaseless innovation and refusal to sit in the damn bouncy chair. No. We have to go spelunking in the toilet. On belay.

It was a beautiful day outside

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I no longer care about the grapes on the plate, site and when I returned from “work,” Mr. H was carrying our joint asset down the hall to meet me. A big girl in new shorts was very happy to see me. Little arms! Reaching!

And later we all went for a walk, and it was still so nice out, and everyone is basically on E….oh what a beautiful dog! Screech! Hi! Look at that dog! Pet that dog! Oh what a beautiful ybab! Look at your ybab! No, your dog is still more beautiful! Oh, how kind of you to say! Tickle that ybab! God bless you! Have a nice night! Huuuuuggggggs.

Three thumbs up to this natural disaster

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I just phoned Zagat’s and yelled “Fifteen stars!” because I am so impressed with this flood. We are now back home, after only two days of vacation in scenic Chelmsford. We stayed right next to the Hong & Kong, and I had a mai tai with a plastic sword in it. If that’s not nice, then I don’t know what is.

My highly sensitive spirited high needs sprog has learned to throw her arms in the air like the Village People. I have to fight, er, caucus and build consensus, with someone about the depiction of grapes on a plate. For real.

My Indian burial ground brings all the dead rats to the yard

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That’s right, it’s wetter than yours.

Confidential to the leathery chainsmoker leaning on the bridge railing by my house snickering “Didn’t those people LEARN?”

1. That tracheotomy is going to be very becoming on you in a few more years
2. Would YOU like to buy my Indian burial ground? Because no one else wanted it. Believe me, we tried to dump this thing.

If you need me, I’ll be lying under the bed in hotel. Mama remembered to pack the tranquilizers. I am getting good at this fleeing in the night business. I missed my calling as part of a Biblical tribe.