Tag Archives: cats

Bad Attitudes

24 Nov

I’ve gotten approximately 3 solid hours of sleep in the last two days. Which means that Mike has probably only gotten about half that.

Do not judge me.

Last night I refused to eat unless he went on a corn dog run.

He did it.

He did it even though he called me a dick on Sunday.  He did it even though we had yet another fight about how I hate, hate, hate the holidays. And despite the fact that I threw one of his cats out onto the balcony Saturday morning.

Yeah, I’ve had a bad attitude lately.

Today our girl Redhead Writing posted about how we should basically stop being such assholes. (Seriously oversimplified). So, I’m giving myself an attitude adjustment.

Tomorrow I’m going to get up and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, thankful that my dear friend, Phil, has had such a successful year in New York.  Then I’m going to put on my cute lace dress that Mike bought me with room in the tummy for Smokey and I’m going to stop being an asshole long enough for Mike to enjoy his Thanksgiving.

I mean, the man went out in the cold to get me a corn dog last night when I could have just eaten the delicious pasta he made.

And I am thankful. For our wonderful TTTM community here. For the fact that theVar and I have had a blast these last several months coming up with crazy stuff to say. And for all of you – readers, friends, folks that keep us accountable.

Thanks, yo!

The dark side of co-habitation: Part 3 Let there be light

4 Nov

Around 3am this morning, I was jolted out of my peaceful slumber by a flying elbow to my spine.  Immediately following my groans of dismay was a slurred apology and then quiet. I thought of all the awful things I could do back to him for about thirty seconds, and decided that I was too tired to execute any plan of revenge.

Sharing the bed is still a work in progress.

I'm sure you're a nice person, but we do not like your face.

But then I think of how he starts my coffee in the morning before he leaves for work. And how he sits through 90201 while theVar and I go on about how Naomi is too orthognathic for our standard of beauty.

Last night I was talking with @DustinVan (the sexiest man on Twitter) (*touches self*)  and he asked me how the co-habitation was going.

Now, I’m not going to pretend that I can recall the conversation exactly, but I’m pretty sure I said the words “domestic bliss” at some point. And I meant it. No, really.

I’ve picked a good match for shacking up. Mike doesn’t make that truck backing up beeping noise when I leave a room – despite the fact that I’ve packed on 14lbs in the last 3 months.  He DVRs hockey games so I don’t have to sit through that shit. He lets me pick on the cats. He poops in the designated pooping bathroom. He doesn’t get all bent out of shape when I make horny cat sounds at Anderson Cooper (meoooow! *presenting*) He lets me be a complete asshole when I get a question right on Jeopardy and everyone else misses it. How do you make it on to Jeopardy and not know what an elegy is? That’s just asking for a smug remark from Trebek. Another silver fox, by the way.

Above all else, every single day, I know that he loves me and Smokey.

So there it is, Scoundrels. Co-habitation is working out well so far. I expect it to continue going that way  as long as he poops in the proper bathroom.

The dark side of co-habitation part 2: On cats, couches and sharing the covers

15 Oct

Life as I know it is about to change. In exactly one week, Mike and I sign a lease and move into our new place together.

Holy ish. *Cue panic attack.

I lurve Mike, so why panic? Well, it’s a big change from the unattached life to the land of co-habitation. I’m not really worried that we’ll have problems living together. Sure, there will be arguments and blow outs and even tender moments. It’s more that I’m losing my alone time. Where I can sit on my couch in my underwear and pluck my eyebrows while wearing a pore cleansing mask and munching on hummus and pita chips. All the while singing songs from RENT or Spring Awakening.

I can’t do that in front of Mike. Frowny face.

But we’re moving forward in our relationship, which means moving in together.  So there you have it.

 

image courtesy of frugalnfit.wordpress.com

 

I have found that anytime you decide to hitch your wagon to someone’s horse, it comes with – oh, let’s just call it baggage. And my dear boyfriend just so happens to come with two rather furry, and at times infuriating  pieces of baggage: cats.

For those of you who read my personal blog, you know I have a history with these cats. And the scars to prove it.  So the idea of living with these cats full-time is one that I’m not actually all that fond of. In my head I run a cost/benefit analysis. Mike comes with the cats, and I love him enough to put up with them. Continue reading

Guest Post: How to Live Like a Crazy Cat Lady (Minus the Animal Hoarding Thing)

16 Jul

[tweetmeme source=”talkthirtytome” only_single=false]

Amber of Monk and Mao is simply amazing. As she states in her post, we met her through Twitter, and she’s become one of the best people in our lives.  Sport came up with this idea to give a little blog love to others that have kindled the spark we have for blogging, writing, sharing, loving, and all of the heady stuff in between. So we’ve decided to give you some Amber today.

One of the reasons we’re doing this new feature is to show people that there’s so many facets of living the 30s. We also want to expose people to the out-of-the-ordinary that’s just as incredible as the day-to-day goings-on of our lives.  Without rambling too much, here’s Monk, Mao, and Amber.


Eleanor Abernathy
is kind of my hero. She was a genius kid. She went on to
earn degrees from Harvard and Yale. Then, at age 32, she freaked out
and discovered booze and kittens. Her life changed forever.

Eleanor Abernathy

Like Eleanor, I was an extremely smart kid. I was always in the honors
classes. I even won the gold medal in a state-wide analogy competition
when I was in third grade. Yeah, I was just that awesome. Sure, I went
through a goth phase in high school where I wore lingerie over
dresses, listened to bands I’m not going to admit to listening to and
ditched all of my core classes to hang out in the darkroom and process
photos, but I somehow managed to graduate. Then, for reasons that are
still a mystery to me, I decided that I wanted to go to college to
become an accountant.

I went to college. I got a full-time job as a bookkeeper. I dropped
out of school. I went back. I got promoted to Controller. I bought a
condo and a Benz. And some golf clubs, because accountants have to
have golf clubs, right? Then I dropped out again. A few years later,
when I was 27, I went back. Three weeks into the semester, I walked
out. Then I freaked out. I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do with
my life. I just knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in an
office. I went back to being a bookkeeper, but cut my schedule to 20
hours a week. Then I started drinking. I’m not an alcoholic by any
means. (Sure, I’m writing this on a Thursday night after three beers
and two shots of Jäger, but don’t all great creative minds do their
best work after a few drinks?!) Yeah, I was starting to figure out
what I wanted to do lose my mind. It felt fucking amazing.

Now I’m nearing 30, and you know what? I’m happy. Painfully happy. I
have time to do pretty much whatever I want to do. I go running,
practice yoga, take way too many pictures and try to go on lots of
weekend trips to the coast… But mostly, I hang out with my cats,
Monk and Mao. Maybe I’ll dress them up in silly costumes. Sometimes I
sing to them. I even named my neglected Etsy shop after the cute little
bastards. Kitty lovin’ is in my blood. My mom is currently the mother
of ten rescue cats and I blame her for passing the crazy cat lady gene
down to me. I’ve accepted that this is my future and I wouldn’t really
have it any other way. Are you jealous yet? Well, darlin’, you
shouldn’t be. You can be a crazy cat lady, too.

Obviously, you’ll need a cat or two. Let’s not be hoarders here. If
you don’t already have a cat, PLEASE adopt from a shelter like ARAS Colorado. Fuck pet stores
and breeders. Also, get your kitties fixed and DO NOT LET THEM
OUTSIDE. If I find out your cat is in heat and wandering around the
neighborhood, I’ll cut you. Real cat ladies are responsible pet owners
because they love their cats more than anything. Assuming you have a
cat (because you’d be a fool not to), let’s move on.

It is essential that you dress appropriately if you want to be taken
seriously as a crazy cat lady. The thrift store is about to become
your best friend. Old lady cardigans? Check. Strange floral patterns?
Check. Vintage lingerie? You bet your sweet ass. Dresses that fall at
an awkward length? Yup, they’ve got ‘em. And most importantly,
pockets. Pockets are key. How are you going to carry kittens around
with you if you don’t have pockets? Now, start layering.

Outfits

Remember, you can still look hot! Let a little bit of lace from a
vintage slip peek out the bottom of your muumuu. I also suggest
wearing a lot of black and acting like you’ve never heard of a lint
roller. You’ll be surprised how many people notice and comment on your
hairiness. Wear that shit like a badge of honor, baby.

Let’s move on to your home. My living room is very cat-friendly, yes?

cat hoarding

Wait, I mean…

Living Room

Again, the thrift store is your friend, especially when it comes to
buying furniture. Please don’t spend $1,000 on a couch. It’s just
going to end up with a hairball barfed onto it. Probably on a weekly
basis. You can find some pretty awesome stuff for under $500 if you’re
patient and willing to explore. I found my vintage couch at the
Salvation Army for $60 and I adore the thing. Ooh, and accessories?
Screw the cruel animal hoarding. This is where you really become a
hoarder, or, as I like to call myself, a collector. Yes, I buy every
old, blue, pre-1950 book I find. I also have more gaudy gold
candelabras than I’d like to admit. A dozen large ornately framed
mirrors? I needed every single one of them. In short, if it makes you
think of an 80-year-old Catholic woman, buy it and display it.

You’ll need a few hobbies to enjoy while you’re sitting at home
petting your cat. I’ve chosen embroidery (because I’m secretly an old
lady) and photography (because it makes me abnormally happy). Until
recently, my cats were the only subjects willing to let me take
pictures of them, resulting in probably 2,500 photos of Miss Monk and
Mr. Mao on my computer. Excessive? Fuck yeah. But look at how cute
they are!

Handsome Mao
Monk

Oh, and spend a lot of time on the internet. Especially twitter. How
else are you going to meet people crazy enough to let you use their

blog to preach your cat lady ways to the world?

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