We often reach those breaking points after enduring periods of temporary insanity. The past week has been one of those such cases.
With two (large) tests in one week and one coming up tomorrow (yes, tomorrow, as in less than 8 hours away...Eight. Hours. Away.) my body starts to rebel against any current stress.
Oh, you have a chapter to read? Hey, let's make your face break out. That way, you can't go hang out with anyone, or shouldn't.
You want to relax by going to the gym? Hold on, I'm gonna make you sick while you're there (I can't believe you went there anyway, Rudolph)
You have no time for meals! Frosting for lunch, pop-tarts for dinner, and...McDonald's, you need McDonald's right now. It's 2:30am? Even better.
Forget sleeping, sleeping is for the living. You've crossed into a new realm sir.
Honestly, I'm a little fed up with it. Thankfully my face decided to calm down after I took my final for one class two days ago but I don't think the sleep will come until the one tomorrow is over.
So in the meantime, I stay up to ungodly hours eating the equivalent of obesity on a plate while being in a state of undress.
I decided momentarily to try and eat real food for the first time in 40 hours and cook.
I reach for the rice, my grip falters, and like an utterly dramatic movie it falls in slow motion to the floor with a crash. Rice, rice everywhere. Flying through the air like some tragic accident, there's even screaming.
From me. I'M YELLING AT THE RICE. I've come to that aforementioned breaking point and my mind is bouncing around and getting lost in cracks like the rice on the floor.
"AH, WHY RICE!? WHY?!" the words flying from my mouth.
I stare at the pieces on the floor, grudgingly find the broom, and begin to pick my thoughts off the floor. Each sweep and some of these distractions make their way into the garbage.
I'm distracted, even the universe is trying to thwart me.
Showing posts with label the. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the. Show all posts
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
I'm A Terrible Parent: My Decline Into Spinsterhood
My latest mental breakdown has been pretending to be a parent. Hold on guys, put down your phones and hang up on Amber alert, I did not take or receive some child in any way. If you were just packing up your child to send to me, stop that as well. So help me, if I wake up with one child in my backyard/mail slot I will be rather upset. Almost as upset as the time Wendy's only gave me 4 love nuggets* in stead of 5. Dark days those were... *shudder*
But my food woes aside, I've recently been wise enough to "adopt" a small kitten. I can almost hear the surprise from...nobody. Yes, I know, what else does a recluse need more than a stereotype pet for a pet. Friends, the answer is "What is friends?"
This is, of course, the perfect place to talk about this subject. I mean, the internet LOVES cats.
Anyways, after having this thing for some time now, I feel that my parental responsibilities are lacking:
I never monitor his eating habits so I'm enabling his oncoming obesity, I often let him eat the spiders when I'm too scared to squish them, and at certain times of the night he might be flying through the air after biting my feet--with love of course, he's flying through the air with love...and profanities flying from my mouth.**
"Where are your poor parenting skills?" you might ask. I know, I know, I'm pretty amazing at my job of keeping a small creature alive, but it's not all fun and games.
I have recently tried training him not to bite destroy ______ (insert anything that fits into mouth) by spraying him with a spray bottle filled with water. It usually goes like this: "Don't bite that." *squirt* *bite bite* "I said no!" *squirt squirt* *bitebitebitebite* "NO YOU LITTLE F**KER!" *squirt squirt squirt* Then he stops, looks at me with a look that says, "Really? You're gonna spray me with water? Nice try SUCKA'"--where he continues to gnaw on my foot.
Because of these tendencies, this creature has earned some nicknames. After spending time with my brother-in-law, he earned the name "Overseer Kitty" due to his dictator like qualities; my brother gave him the middle name "Figaro"; I lovingly call him "Bitch Cat, Demon, Mussolini," and "Thing that vomits on my floor and keeps me up at night," or "TTVOMFAKMUP"...I usually stick with the former.
You must be thinking to yourself, "Gee, I really MUST have one of these things in my life. In fact, send me ten--no TWENTY!" Hold on cowboy, don't you know about the threshold of catitude? It goes something like this:
One Cat: The beginning of your declining social life. You still go outside and socialize and the sun is still a familiar sight.
Two Cats: Alright, you're starting to tread on thin ice bud. You still see some need for social interaction, primarily the checker at the grocery store--I mean, you gotta eat. Hm, it's pretty bright outside today, better stay inside.
Three Cats: Woah there buddy, you're neck deep now. I guess I have enough food for the week, so let's have a Netflix marathon instead of shopping. I did laundry...three weeks ago? It's clean enough. A stray ray of sunlight filters through your blinds and you sparkle...odd.
Four or more: You've heard rumors of the outside world, but can't really remember what people look like, much less yourself. Legend of the sun have been heard, but you don't believe it actually exists. You often whisper things like, "precious..." and you skulk around the house in nothing but your underoos. Your neighbors often call the police to check to see if you've been eaten by the cats yet; a typical Tuesday.
So I jest (slightly), but I have taken my first step down the stairs of spinsterhood. We all know that after that first step, you trip, break your hip, and hit every other stair on the way down. I think the third step is an abundance of thick woven sweaters (Check!).
I guess occasionally this thing (who is named Moose for no particular reason) is cute and provides some form of entertainment now and then, so I guess I'll keep him around and see how it goes. Like I've said before, someone just call the ambulance before the cat eats me. We all know he's already tried.
*Why are they "love nuggets?" you ask. Well you see, in my high school days of depravity, Wendy's was a staple food in my life. Getting chicken nuggets every time we went was not even a question so my good friend Austin decided there must be some sort of secret ingredient. Yes, it was love. The forlorn looking middle-aged woman behind the counter had made those nuggets with love. Thus they were love nuggets ever since. Yes, I have accidentally said that to the employee before when ordering.
**I know that this isn't talked about often, but can we throw babies in the air when they're misbehaving? I mean, come on guys, it would probably work on some level. No? Well, I tried to incorporate some new parenting techniques into your lives. Sorry for trying to be a modern parent.
But my food woes aside, I've recently been wise enough to "adopt" a small kitten. I can almost hear the surprise from...nobody. Yes, I know, what else does a recluse need more than a stereotype pet for a pet. Friends, the answer is "What is friends?"
This is, of course, the perfect place to talk about this subject. I mean, the internet LOVES cats.
Anyways, after having this thing for some time now, I feel that my parental responsibilities are lacking:
 |
| My degenerate child ready to mess you up |
"Where are your poor parenting skills?" you might ask. I know, I know, I'm pretty amazing at my job of keeping a small creature alive, but it's not all fun and games.
I have recently tried training him not to bite destroy ______ (insert anything that fits into mouth) by spraying him with a spray bottle filled with water. It usually goes like this: "Don't bite that." *squirt* *bite bite* "I said no!" *squirt squirt* *bitebitebitebite* "NO YOU LITTLE F**KER!" *squirt squirt squirt* Then he stops, looks at me with a look that says, "Really? You're gonna spray me with water? Nice try SUCKA'"--where he continues to gnaw on my foot.
Because of these tendencies, this creature has earned some nicknames. After spending time with my brother-in-law, he earned the name "Overseer Kitty" due to his dictator like qualities; my brother gave him the middle name "Figaro"; I lovingly call him "Bitch Cat, Demon, Mussolini," and "Thing that vomits on my floor and keeps me up at night," or "TTVOMFAKMUP"...I usually stick with the former.
You must be thinking to yourself, "Gee, I really MUST have one of these things in my life. In fact, send me ten--no TWENTY!" Hold on cowboy, don't you know about the threshold of catitude? It goes something like this:
One Cat: The beginning of your declining social life. You still go outside and socialize and the sun is still a familiar sight.
Two Cats: Alright, you're starting to tread on thin ice bud. You still see some need for social interaction, primarily the checker at the grocery store--I mean, you gotta eat. Hm, it's pretty bright outside today, better stay inside.
Three Cats: Woah there buddy, you're neck deep now. I guess I have enough food for the week, so let's have a Netflix marathon instead of shopping. I did laundry...three weeks ago? It's clean enough. A stray ray of sunlight filters through your blinds and you sparkle...odd.
Four or more: You've heard rumors of the outside world, but can't really remember what people look like, much less yourself. Legend of the sun have been heard, but you don't believe it actually exists. You often whisper things like, "precious..." and you skulk around the house in nothing but your underoos. Your neighbors often call the police to check to see if you've been eaten by the cats yet; a typical Tuesday.
So I jest (slightly), but I have taken my first step down the stairs of spinsterhood. We all know that after that first step, you trip, break your hip, and hit every other stair on the way down. I think the third step is an abundance of thick woven sweaters (Check!).
I guess occasionally this thing (who is named Moose for no particular reason) is cute and provides some form of entertainment now and then, so I guess I'll keep him around and see how it goes. Like I've said before, someone just call the ambulance before the cat eats me. We all know he's already tried.
*Why are they "love nuggets?" you ask. Well you see, in my high school days of depravity, Wendy's was a staple food in my life. Getting chicken nuggets every time we went was not even a question so my good friend Austin decided there must be some sort of secret ingredient. Yes, it was love. The forlorn looking middle-aged woman behind the counter had made those nuggets with love. Thus they were love nuggets ever since. Yes, I have accidentally said that to the employee before when ordering.
**I know that this isn't talked about often, but can we throw babies in the air when they're misbehaving? I mean, come on guys, it would probably work on some level. No? Well, I tried to incorporate some new parenting techniques into your lives. Sorry for trying to be a modern parent.
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