The Daily Bailey

Meowry Christmas from The Resort. Santa skipped my house apparently, I will be taking this up with the North Pole. Although SHE did remind me that I've been quite naughty this year... better luck next year.

The Daily Bailey

Another day, another punishment. I thought girls were supposed to like bad boys? SHE is apparently the exception to that rule and basically hates me lately. I suppose I deserve it... I broke into the treat cabinet again and devoured a bunch that were housed in some weird Chinese takeout container (meow-goo-gai treats?). But in my defense, I was merely practicing in order to audition for “The Treat-Off”—this reality show HE told me about in which the cat who breaks into the cabinet and eats the most treats first wins! I’m not really sure what I’d win, maybe a lifetime supply of treats... But I partake of those now pretty much anytime I please. I’m only in it for the glory, to hear my name announced as the rightful Treat-Off Champion. Meanwhile she should be cheering me on and getting me trainers to help in my quest, but instead she pointed her finger right in my face and branded me “Worstest cat.” Sticks and stones, Harlot...

Look, I am SO getting on this reality show. Double sided sticky tape, magnets... These are no match for me. I can get in that cabinet anytime I want. And I did again once she went to sleep. I creeped over in the dark, jumped up on the counter, pawed open the cabinet, stuck my nose in to sniff out the treats... But didn’t smell anything. Hold up, where are my treats? I was just in here a couple hours ago, I know they are here. What is this garbage? She moved treatsville? There is nothing in this cabinet except claw clippers and my special cat brush... Neither of which are remotely tasty. I’ve been foiled!! How am I supposed to get on The Treat-Off now?!?! Arrrghhhhhh I’ll get you next time Gadget, nexxxxttttt time...

The Daily Bailey

Holla! It’s my birthday! Or so SHE says, and at least this year she’s told me straight out instead of asking “who’s birthday is it Bailey?? Who’s?” I am 3 years old. As usual, I have received nothing from the birthday grinch, besides a not even overly enthusiastic “happy birthday buddy” when I pawed at her face at 3am to commence celebration. I did however clean up during that other recent holiday and now have tripled my toy stash. So I suppose the only thing I’d really like for my birthday is some respect. In fact, I think I’ll break into song about it... Go Bad Bailey, it’s your birfday...

This palace is mine
You know that’s right
Doin what I want
All day and night

Uh

Well you say stop behave,
And I say screw you
But my friends you have seen nothing
Shut up and clean my poo

Because I’m bad, not Brad
Come on
(really, really bad)
You know I’m bad, not Brad
Meowmore
(really, really bad)
And the whole world has to feed me right now
Cuz I’m hungry once again
Who’s Brad?....

The Daily Bailey

I’ve been grounded now for 2 whole days stemming from TREATGATE. I’m not really sure what the repercussions of this are supposed to be, besides the fact that she keeps inviting HER friends over to rub in my face the fact that I am supposedly not allowed to have any over. Which might seem like a tragic punishment, if I had any friends who ever came over... Or any friends at all. I seem to still be allowed to watch television and stay up as late as I want, so I’m thinking I’ve gotten off pretty easy. Besides the whole vet office sodomy thing.

Unless my punishment is being put on a strict low-treat diet and judged against some stupid drawings of feline body types. I did this to myself really. These increased trips to health care professionals only serve to highlight my love of food and my need to use it as a coping mechanism to deal with being forced to live with her. And I suppose I was the one who opened the cabinet in the exam room, allowing HIM to discover this satanic diagram pictured above that alludes to the fact that I am overweight. Way to make a guy feel bad about himself. I don’t claw out pages from the Victoria’s Secret CATalogues or Men's Health magazine and put them up around the Palace. Next time you’re so sure you’re not going to share your food with me... You might want to glance at those photos and reconsider... Just sayin...

The Daily Bailey

It wasn’t my fault. I just wanted to feel no pain. Specifically hunger pain. I wanted to feel the golden warmth of a full belly... To be in a food coma, not an actual coma. Look, I swear that I did not try to off myself again... I swear. I know that life is precious. Life is like a box of treats.

Although apparently my breaking into a cabinet above my head, getting a hold of a bag of Pet Naturals of Vermont Hairball treats (see above) and eating 40-43 of them was of some slight concern to her. At first I simply got a serious scolding while HE went to buy contraptions to lock the cabinets so I can no longer have access. However while Bob Vila was gone, she examined what was left of the treat bag and started to freak out. From what I gathered, it said something about an accidental overdose. My full stomach was making me really tired, and she kept yelling at me to “WAKE UP... Don’t close your eyes.” And then the treats hit the fan.

Next thing I know I’m at an animal hospital being sodomized by a vet tech who thought she was serious when she said my name was Bailey, Bad Bailey. He actually scribbled that down on my intake sheet. The emergency doctor was confused and thought my name was Brad, but after we straightened that out, he agreed that Bad Bailey would be a totally bad ass name. So a bad ass I decided to be. While awaiting my diagnosis from a consult with poison control, I tried to open all of the cabinets in the exam room to see if any stray treats were left laying around.

$261 and some fluids injected underneath my skin later, I’m on my way home to jump up on the counter and see what other treats are in the cabinet. Wait, what did she say? I’m grounded and being enrolled at the Huntington Learning Center for degenerate felines? But, punishment doesn't work and I said I’d do better. Ugh FINE saying it and doing it are indeed two different things. If I do it, can I get a treat?... Too soon?

The Daily Bailey

As I was pacing around in the dark tonight dreaming of being free and waiting for HER to bother coming home to feed me, the greatest thing in the entire world happened. HE arrived instead, without her. The door opened, I stuck my face right there and almost got crushed by the opening door as usual, and like out of a dream, I looked up and there he was boasting "HI BUDDY!" DAD! Is it really you? Where’s the wicked witch of the west side? Did you finally pour water on her? Oh Dad! What should we do? Well first let’s eat. Please be sure to give me a man’s portion... A manly man’s portion. Not those girly ass portions she always gives me that I devour in one bite. I want to seriously eat until I feel sick, then for you to rub my fat belly like a buddha.

What else is on our MANgenda? I would very much like to misbehave. And I think you would condone and/or encourage that. Can I do some catnip? Drive a car? What’s this you are offering me, alcohol!? Did you just say we could call some “alley cats” to come over and party with us!? You are the cat’s meow! Bros over hos! Scooters over hooters. Bail over tail. Kitties over titties. Pussies over... Wait nevermind.

The Daily Bailey

The top three purrfectly wonderful moments from my holiday week at the Resort (in completely random order):

3. Luckily we didn't have to go around the table and say what we were thankful for because I clearly would have said the fresh turkey I was being fed from the table which was in addition to my regularly scheduled calamari dinner feast, or my insanely good looks, deep green eyes, and luscious fur coat. I definitely would not have said HER or the shelter and what passes for love that she provides. At the risk of sounding selfish, the whole thing would have been truly awkward.

2. One of the Resort workers constantly forgets that when I'm visiting, it is not a good idea to leave any kind of food or food-related item unattended. In the span of 5 minutes I taste tested his cereal and a tub of cream cheese. It's always slightly amusing to see his face when he catches me on top of the counter with my nose where it doesn't belong. Hey buddy, you left it out... not my fault.

1. As you can probably gather, I seriously enjoy eating. And when I'm done (begging for more), I like to indulge in some quiet time of licking my chops, fantasizing about more food, and relaxing. I do not like to be tossed in my carry case and put in the car. Isn't there a rule about that? No carry case for a half an hour after you eat? Anyway, not surprisingly I got a little meowtion sick, and vomited all over my carry case. After a couple cheap shots about "ugh this better come out of the Sherpa lining," SHE did seem to look kind of sympathetic (or just pathetic) as she cleaned up the remainder of my entire thrown up dinner. Who's thankful they adopted a cat?

The Daily Bailey

Scene: SHE has a black eye. HE is apologizing profusely. Ice is being frantically pulled from the freezer. I am lounging on the chair looking adorable and not at all at fault.

10 minutes earlier...

He’s really starting to grow on me. Whenever he’s over, there’s a lot better looking food arriving... Not that crap that comes out of the microwave that not even I’d beg for. And we get to watch football instead of dumb girly soap operas. I truly need this male role model in my life and I treasure my testosterone time. It pains me to see him washing her dishes and filling up her water glass. Man up, man, she should wait on you just like she waits on me. In fact, you should demand this treatment father. Are you my father? We are both ruggedly handsome, so I will accept this as plausible. I am willing to share my man of the house status with you if in fact it allows you to be treated with the respect you deserve. Please don’t ever go home, adopt me and stay forever.

Wait... Where are you going?? You are leaving me? Here, with her? I demand that you answer me immediately!! You cannot leave!!! He starts to head for the door and I sprint ahead and plant myself right in front, blocking his way. If I had time, I would have made a sign that said “hell no, please don’t go... Yo,” but alas, the door is opening, as I walk behind it to stare through the slit and make sad cat eyes into the hallway. He acknowledges me and sticks his finger through the slit, which I promptly try to grab with my paw and pull him back inside. He obviously thinks we are playing, but this is not a joke to me... If I could just grab a hold of him... Oooh I think I’ve got you now!!! However he jerks his hand away and it promptly collides with her face as she was bending down to see what was going on. WHACK! She got punched right in the eye!!! Holy Spaghetti and Meowballs, that was amazing. He looks really upset (stop apologizing, she deserved it) as I run away because clearly I’m going to be blamed... And this is not how it went down in my dream of him punching her in the face. However, now he’s coming back inside... So looks like I WIN... As usual. Too bad about that collateral damage... you might wanna consider wearing some dark glasses tomorrow Tina Turner.

The Daily Bailey

Ahhh where does the time go? It’s almost Halloween and I have once again began to research my dress up options. Last year I was a terrorist and as much fun as that was, I’m thinking of going with something a little less inflammatory this year. Something cutesy that everyone loves, because really, last year, I put myself in a situation to receive lots of tricks... And this year, I’m only interested in treats. “And what are you supposed to be little cat??, Oh me? I’m a suicide bomber!!! Give me all of your treats infidel!!!!” You can imagine how well that went over. And since I did have a rough year, in which I unsuccessfully attempted to take my own life, I doubt SHE'd see the humor in that costume. My initial hope was to be a CATerpillar, but I could only find stupid dragon and frog costumes, so instead, I’ve decided to now unveil my 2010 Halloween costume to the waiting masses. I'm going to be a penguin. They are black and white. I am grey and white. They have happy feet. I have four paws. We are both part of the animal kingdom. I mean this thing is precious... Who wouldn’t just melt and hand over all of their treats to an adorable little penguin? This is a foolproof plan. Good luck thinking about anything else the rest of the afternoon.

The Daily Bailey

I’ve never been to church. Really I’ve never been anywhere besides the Palace, Palace 2.0, the vet, and the Resort. I don’t get out much anymore, it’s disappointing. I’m not even sure if church is the place I should be going... If I want to talk to God. I just assumed that my religion was CATholicism... But last year when Christmas rolled around and I desperately searched for a tree to bat ornaments off of, I was told we don’t do that. Confusion set in. I am Jewish? Is this why all of a sudden I’m being called Bailey Avraham, and HE is trying to put some little hat that looks like a frisbee on my head? Look, I don’t care what I am... I just wanted to have a minute with God to confess my sins. I did a bad, bad thing.

A couple of weeks ago when HE was being all babyish laying around with his gimpy ankle, I kinda felt bad. I know it may not have seemed that way from my scathing review of the whole situation, but there was a smidge of pity in my heart. He always gives me craploads of treats, styles me with the most up-to-date and relevant fur-do’s... Like the fauxhawk, and generally doesn’t tell HER all of the bad things I do. So as I sat there making fun of him relentlessly, I thought to myself... Too bad this didn’t happen to her instead. AND THEN IT DID. Ooopsies, did I do that??? The other day was complete deja vu, except the pussy icing an ankle was her instead of him. I really think this is somehow cosmically my fault and I was starting to feel really guilty until he said something about “falling over her own teammate.” God, what a dumbass. Pray for her.

The Daily Bailey

I have received nothing but accolades on my hostile takeover of this blog. It really was a no-brainer and any attempt at pushback would have been met with a swift dismissal. I own you, blog. You belong to me-ow. Not surprisingly it seems that someone in this equation is being a bit of a sore loser and cannot handle the fact the SHE is no longer in demand, and that all the blog fans, the like 2 that she had including HIM, are now screaming my name (but I am not running to them, I don’t do that, I’m not a dog... I ignore them and it only makes them want me more). So recently, blinded by jealousy and rage, she’s decided to belittle me and tear me down through various psychological warfare techniques such as locking me out of my own room (ie, closing the bedroom door in my face) and trying to drive me crazy by magically making a red dot disappear and reappear, all the while laughing and mocking as I chase it relentlessly around the Palace.

When I see that red dot, I become a search and destroy cat killing machine. My mission: triangulate the red dot’s current location, be really stealth, sneak up behind it, POUNCE, and snuff it out. I totally thought this was a foolproof plan at the time of first deployment. There really was no way this could fail. It always works when I jump out of the darkness and attack HER leg... But apparently this red dot is indestructible. I could not capture it even with my feline speed and agility. Must. Kill. Red. Dot.

Get over here dot!

You will not escape me!!!

OOOH I GOT YOU!

Hey, get off my paw!!

This is infuriating!

But I would not give up... Until I was out of breath, needed to rest for a minute, recalculated my attack plan, and struck again. This went on for quite a while. Current status=Red dot:100, Bailey: 0. Sigh, I’m tired now, I would like to catnap in my bed... What is this?! Open this bedroom door immediately woman... Do you hear me??? Meow! MEOW!!!! Me... (sniff sniff) ow?? Cry. I'm sorry I stole your blog...

The Daily Bailey

It seems apparent to me that I have now taken over this blog. It is basically now my blog, since I’m the only one who ever posts. And I should get all of the credit, because I am the man. Isn’t that the way it works in this world? Which is why I am strongly suggesting renaming it. The Daily Bailey. Bailey’s Blog. Meow Memoirs. The New Feline Times. Confessions of a kibble-aholic. Cat Blog. Any of these fine names will do. Anything that is all about me. Everything should really be all about me. I don’t like not being paid attention to. Do you think it’s easy being this cute all of the time? I know I am small, but I should not be overlooked, or ignored, or taken for granted, or pushed aside. Especially not so SHE can take care of HIM. Take care of MEEE! I used to be the man of this house! I don’t care that he “hurt his ankle,” his sad face is not nearly as convincing or utterly adorable as mine. Although that ankle doesn’t look so hot ironman... I hope she doesn’t have to put you to sleep.

HE is getting the king’s treatment. Feet up on the table. Beer. Ice pack. Dinner. Kisses. What happened to you gimpy? Did you trip over one of my cat toys? No? Oh, too bad. Maybe next time. Listen, my paw might not be swollen to 100 times its natural size mr. cankles, but inside... I am in pain. Most likely from witnessing this charade. Hello?! I am over here looking precious on my chair. Where is my compassion? I want dinner (more specifically whatever you are having). I want kisses. I want to go on the table. This is out of control! He wasn’t in the war... He’s just a klutz. I see this game you’re playing male human and I’m onto you. Man up and quit your crying. Stop being a pussy... I am the pussy in this house.

The Daily Bailey

Right now I am lying on my little patch of rug in the direct sunlight, as I make my daily futile attempt at becoming not as white. SHE is so dark lately, and that pool boy she hangs out with looks like mud. Whyyyy am I so white??? I am apparently their child since she always says “Bailey, mommy’s home!!” and when HE comes over he says “Hi Son!” How did I end up with this elderly pallid coloring? So here I lay, taking in some rays. Nothing like sunbathing with the air conditioning on. It’s always pretty cool in the palace that I’ve renamed the Scoogloo. Brrrrisk. She must own stock in the energy company, because she certainly never opens the windows. There’s even a sign that states “Please do not open the windows” for all the strangers who come over and aren’t aware of the mandate. My catsitter thought that was dumb, along with the 400 notes she left him about my likes and dislikes, where my treats are, and how my automatic feeder has to be taped shut because I’m a boy genius. Let’s not tell her he said that.

The window thing is quite a big deal. There are no screens and she’s sure that I’ll end up doing a Superman out of it 10 floors to my impending death. Hence why they are practically bolted closed like a crypt. I think she was slightly offended when HE mentioned that the place was feeling like a tomb, I believe the word was “stale”, and maybe it could use some fresh air. So every night, while I’m relaxing far enough away from the window, she’ll go over and open it while standing in front of it with her arm on the handle. Air pours in, I get curious, start to make my way over to explore, and she immediately shuts it. This is the really dumb game we play all evening. And supposedly I'm the one who has the smaller brain...

The Daily Bailey

Apparently it’s National Take your Cat to the Vet Week. For real. I swear. Who even knew such a thing existed? SHE came home laughing about this the other night, clearly without a card or gift for me in honor of the "holiday"... While she attempted to lure me into my posh carry case... To go to the vet. I could let you believe she’s solely taking me to the vet because it’s the cool thing to do this week, but seeing as I JUST went two months ago, I’ll disclose that I’m being taken because I was having some, uh... Gastro issues. I can’t wait to be held down and told I’m fat and have excessive tooth tartar again.

For this trip she smartened up and had her man friend come help her carry me to the vet’s office. I’ve however smartened up as well, and when I see the case I know there’s a 50/50 chance I’m either going to the vet or the resort, and this time I didn't like my odds. So I ran as far away from the case as possible, only to be grabbed and shoved in there with no compassion for my cute little meows of mercy. The vet said I probably ate something I shouldn’t have (there are such things??), felt up my tummy, claimed I gained half a pound since last time and that my “fat pad” got bigger. Listen bitch, if you keep spewing these lies to my guardian, I will stop partaking of delicious treats. And if you try to stick your finger in my mouth again... watch what happens. What the hell is a “fat pad”? You made that up. Then you charged her $100. Now she’s mad at me and going on about “remember who pays your bills” and “cost as much as this sweater.” Don’t look at me, all I did was have the runs...

The Daily Bailey

I’m still young, even though I’m fast approaching 3 years. I have my whole life ahead of me to follow my calling and find my ultimate destiny. I thought it was going to be feline modeling. I really had my heart set on that. I practiced doing my little turns on the CATwalk, on the catwalk, yea, I shook my little tush. I was too damn sexy for your party with my disco dancing. But it doesn’t seem to be working out, I’m not getting any gigs. My sweet puss face has yet to take over the world. So alas, I must find another avenue to pursue. Like gymnastics. I’ve been sprinting and vaulting around the palace like a 3 foot tall, 65 pound, underdeveloped 14 year old Chinese girl. I was built for this! On the internets it says that gymnastics is “exercises requiring physical strength, flexibility, agility, co-ordination, balance, and grace.” Score! I have all of those things!!!!

I pushed over the garbage can that weighed 6 pounds... Half my body weight.

I can put my hind leg over my head and lick my ass.

I can leap refrigerators in one bound.

I’m a cat.

I’m not so sure about the leotard thing though...

The Daily Bailey

So yes my fine followers, I’ve been a complete slacker for the past 6 weeks. I don’t even really remember what I’ve been up to for all that time, since time really doesn’t register for me. I spend my days chillaxin, eating, and ruining things and really one day becomes another and all of a sudden it’s 6 weeks later and people are mad that I haven’t been sharing the goings on in my 9 lives. Allow me to catch you up.

We got a rug in the palace. I like to scratch it. She yells at me.

I apparently now have this thing called a cat sitter. Some old gentleman who came by to see where my food and box are, identify me as the cat of the house and pick me up and annoy me. He’s kinda lame. He’ll be coming to check on me when SHE’s away... So I’ve been studying some movies called Don’t tell mom the babysitter’s dead, and Home Alone for ideas on how to improve this situation.

I got dragged to the vet. They manhandled me, gave me 2 shots, said I needed to have a “waist” ie, stop feeding me, told HER to try brushing my teeth because I have tartar buildup (I will eat her hand), all the while I pretended to look scared to death and she almost cried.

I was THIS close to devouring a chicken pita she left unattended on the table. Curiously that strange man she hangs out with didn’t seem to care. I think he realized the injustice of me always begging for food and never getting any. Unfortunately mid-bite she spotted me and lost her shit. I got yelled at. Better luck next time.

I found this really cool brown paper bag house. I pretend I live there. Alone. Without her.

The garbage can became really, really heavy and difficult to knock over. Almost like there was a 5 pound weight in the bottom of the can. I actually think there might be. Ever determined, and bored, I decided to do some kitty push-ups and shoot up some FgH (feline growth hormone) and finally succeeded at knocking that puppy over the other day and chowing down on the salmon scraps that were in there. I then promptly threw up all over the entry way... and got yelled at. Are you sensing a theme here?

The Daily Bailey

Oh woe is me. I hate my life. I have this great new palace, with tons of room to roam around, much to explore, endless toys, and a brand new couch to monopolize. But, I don’t have any friends. When SHE leaves, I am alone. So very alone. O solo mio, with no animal pals. Playing with the stuffed dog, weirdly small cat with no whiskers, and red felt crab thing is only fun for so long since they don’t play back. They just fucking lay there like pansies! WTF I’m biting you, say something! And now that it seems SHE’s gotten a life, I spend a lot more time solo, moping around. So I must find ways to amuse myself or allow my despair to envelop me and remove myself from this cruel, cruel world. Can’t you see I am crying out for help here?

The other night while she was out and I was spiraling downward in my heart of loneliness, I decided to end it all. I opened up the freezer with my nimble paws and I looked inside. Brrrr man. Why is it so cold in that cubby? I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in there, I have very delicate fur that is most likely prone to frostbite, so I decided to just go back to my couch and sleep it off. When she got home, she was too busy on the phone to give me my proper greeting until she noticed the wide open freezer door. She was definitely talking to the resort worker she keeps referring to as my “grandma” because I could hear screaming and shrieking coming through the phone and something about “he could have killed himself!!!!!!!!!!!!,” and “I love that little man. You’re gonna have to lock the freezer!!!!!!!!!” This sent me into a frisky tizzy. Lock the freezer!? SHE’S crying and begging me not to hurt myself, the phone is now squawking about “bungee cords and duct tape,” and you are wondering why I wanted out of this life??...

The Daily Bailey

There are tons of new things for me to do at the new palace, Palace 2.0. It’s so spacious! Not nearly as spacious as The Resort, they have stairs and tons of doors there... But Palace 2.0 is definitely an upgrade from that first dump I was forced to live in. There are cabinets here! Cabinets above that I can climb ON TOP of and explore the ceiling. Cabinets below that I can easily pry open with my paws and dutifully explore. Cabinets that are not big enough to contain that big black can where all the leftover food and my dirty plates go... So I’ve knocked it over a couple times to scavenge around. We also now have a really big screen thing that SHE keeps going on and on about “HD” something or other and I keep getting screeched at to keep my paws off. “No paws on the screen”... Fine shrew, I’ll just wait until you leave...

Lest we forget that I run this new palace, it might be a different space, but the same rules apply... she’s only here to pay the bills, provide food, and cater to my every whim. If I want to touch your big screen, then I will. If I want to lick your boyfriend’s arm fur, then I will. If I want to knock over your garbage can, then I will. If I want to claw the heck out of your leather chair (that I see you brought from the other palace for my enjoyment) then I will. I’ve been your captive for a year now, why isn’t this getting through your thick human skull? By the way, I’ve noticed that you’re coming home a lot more now in the middle of the day thinking that you’re being all sweet to come check on me. You are interrupting my nap time, and every time I see you I think it’s dinner time, therefore throwing off my whole schedule. Please stop “checking on me,” I’m touching your screen and knocking over your shit... There, I told you, no need to come see for yourself...

The Daily Bailey

Apparently I did something wrong… and then I did something really right! I was cruising along, lounging around, day in, day out, being me… when all of a sudden I was shipped off to the Resort for 12 days. Look, I’m not complaining, that place is an all-inclusive heaven: I have my own room, belly massages, manicures and other assorted grooming, 2 meals a day, unlimited water package, a track for my relay races, wait staff… however, whatever SHE was doing while I was banished, she could easily do with me around.

This is BS. You can’t just get rid of me whenever you want! You adopted me… I’m an equal decision maker in this relationship! In fact, in matters that have to do with my own travels, you should really defer to my opinion. Upon my return, I see we’ve upgraded to a new palace. I, of course, again was not consulted about this, but after careful review of every nook and cranny, I give it two paws up. Except for the weird man who comes in to fiddle around with things in the apartment. I’m not allowed to talk to strangers… not that it matters, I can’t understand a word he says. I don’t think he’s from around here. I could get used to this place...

The Daily Bailey

I’m definitely a people feline. Most other cats would hide under the bed or keep to themselves around company, but I jump up and run to greet all visitors. Largely because I am trying to escape out of the door, however I am also excited to sniff someone else whom I may decide I like better and might save me from being stuck eternally living with HER. We don’t get that many visitors to the Palace, odd considering how luxurious it is, and by luxurious, I mean not at all luxurious. Recently I’ve made a new visitor friend. I think his name is strange man, but I call him Steve. Although it may be Jim? Or... Josh? Josh, sounds right. He’s been hanging around HER a lot lately. Boggles the mind. I’ve tried all morning to come up with a reason for it, since I have nothing better to do. Does she control all of the human food as well? I mean, what other reason could there be? I think he likes her, but I prefer to think he likes me more. Because who wouldn’t?

I guess I kinda dig him, except for the fact that he sleeps in my spot in my bed. I’ve got him right where I want him. Despite being a self-proclaimed “dog person”, which was a huge scarlet letter, and really a terrible opening line when being introduced to me, he’s already been suckered into how damn adorable I am. He clearly sees how much SHE loves me (even though it’s not mutual), and now he’s stuck doing whatever I want if he wants to make her happy. I am playing him like a fiddle. When she yells at me, cool strange man says “aw he’s just playing” or “it’s okay leave him alone, he’s a good boy.” When she goes out of town, cool strange man comes to check on me and feeds me insane amounts of treats, never realizing it directly correlates to how much of my crap he’ll have to scoop out of my box. What a sucker, I love this guy! Maybe he’ll let me come live with him! And we can do manly men things, like sleep, and EAT... And I can lick his arm fur... And we can forget about HER... Bros over hos!

The Daily Bailey

I’ve been thinking about pursuing a second job as a feline male model. Obviously I wouldn’t let it interfere with my first job of being the lazy, pampered, and awesome king of my castle, but maybe if I had an actual revenue stream, I could finally escape this place and become an emancipated minor. I had a list of other possible careers in my head, but decided since SHE keeps saying that the camera phone loves me, this might be my destiny. Instead of being a zoo animal, I will be the feline Zoolander. Now how do I land my first gig?...

How tough can this be? I’m way cuter than the animals on the Whiskas and litter commercials. Some of those cats are like furry butter faced beasts. I definitely have the X factor. I can look cute, playful, mysterious, scared, surprised, distinguished, tired, hungry. I do a really great hungry. And my spotted grey nose could be as famous as Cindy Crawford’s mole. Look, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve lived the rough life. I’ve done my share of catnip. If I have to sleep with people, then so be it. I already sleep with HER, so I’m willing to sleep with whomever to get what I want. What? That doesn’t mean what I think it means? A different kind of sleep with? Oh, ew... What about make love to the camera?

Erasers are for the noncommittal

Welcome to March Madness. I’ve been writing about this phenomenon at this time of year for as long as I can remember. And I still can’t make decisions pertaining to it. However, the decision I have made, is to not submit myself to any bracket challenges or office pools (to be fair, my office isn’t running a pool, otherwise I may have been tempted) because it only brings heartache and WAY too much pressure. Instead, the last 2 years, I fill out my bracket, cry, erase, erase again, ponder, worry, question, have second thoughts which leads to more erasing... For no competition whatsoever except for the one for my own pride.

This year my first decision was pencil or F it and use pen. Judging by the amount of times I almost erased through the page, I made the right call. I could go with the easy call and put Kansas in the middle because I cannot under any circumstances put Syracuse in the middle (even though I will secretly admit I did, then quickly erased citing the MEGA JINX factor). At this point I pretty much give up because I really can’t decide. I guess you just go with your gut...

Katie: I can’t commit in my midwest and west brackets. I’m acting like every dude. Now I know how they feel when there are just too many good options out there....
Katie: Kansas or Ohio state??!! Aahhh
Jessica: tough call
Katie: F it, I’m doing two brackets
Jessica: so... date them both is your solution??


We're all doomed...

Going Mad

Tournament facts I’d like to forget:

• In 2005, Syracuse unexpectedly lost to Vermont. I was at Coppolas for dinner with my family. Yes, I remember that.
• We play Vermont on Friday night in the opening round of the tournament.
• Last year I watched both our Big East tourney game, as well as our NCAA tourney game at a bowling alley for friend’s bowling birthdays. We lost both of those games.
• I am invited to a bowling birthday party Friday night.
  

OH the irony. Andrei, you know I adore you... but I am peacin out of that alley before the game, so fast, that fate forgets I was ever even near a bowling alley Friday. GO ORANGE!

Size Matters

The bagel place by my office is crazy good. My co-worker Courtney and I go every Friday for what we've deemed "Bagel Fridays" because for two people who work at a creative agency, we couldn't come up with a more creative name. Hey whatever, it's straightforward. There are 2 sizes of bagels at this place. Regular bagels and what they call mini-bagels, which are actually what used to be considered normal sized bagels. What I remember from my childhood as mini-bagels would probably be called infinitesimal bagels there. The bagels are huge. Enormous. Behemothic.

Everything is now skewed based on this new size assessment. So when I was in Hoboken at my friend Katie's apartment this weekend and we had bagels, they looked tiny. What is this!? Where are my giant bagels? These things are like kid toys. I guess it's like hooking up with Black guys and then going back to Jews. I mean, not that I'd know. I meant, I suppose it's like that. Pure conjecture.

The Daily Bailey

Not only am I intensely good looking and debonair, as evidenced by my new headshot above... the camera phone loves me..., I also happen to be a genius. Seriously, I am not full of myself. It just happens to be a fact. Everyone knows cats are smarter than dogs. Dogs have owners, cats have staff. And my maid has been doing a ton of work catering to my particular needs over the last couple of weeks. Starting with cleaning up all of my shedded hair. I don’t mind the special cat brush once a day, however, my extra shiny and baby soft coat happens to shed a lot and unfortunately this is not the wild wild west. Clean up the tumbleweeds of my hair that I see floating by, even if this becomes a once a day task. If I don’t have a Swiffer to chase often, we have a problem. Also while you’re at it, can you remove all of the excess fur that has been accumulating on my bed. And by my bed, I mean your bed. Oh and thanks for your timely removal of my vomit at 2:00 AM the other night. The service here is quite good, but there’s always room for improvements...

While I’m home all day making a giant mess, I spend most of my day strategizing and problem solving. How do I get out of this apartment? Where the hell did all of my toys go? How can I kill that dog I hear barking downstairs? And most importantly, how can I break into this feeder that SHE has left out for me? Good news friends. I have solved that last one. However, I also got caught red pawed, twice. How was I supposed to know she was going to come home at 1pm from work due to snow and see that I’d already eaten what was supposed to be my dinner? To tell you the absolute truth, I haven’t really thought much of it. In fact I think it’s pretty funny as I sit back and watch her try to break in to the same feeder, mumbling “WTF Bailey. How the hell did you get in here? I can’t even get in here...” Who’s the master now biatch...

Lookey who's #1!!!!

Conversation I just had with my brother:

Brother: Polls just went up they're (Syracuse) #1 in both
(lack of any punctuation such as extreme use of exclamation points is worrisome...)

Me: I knooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww, I'd been hitting refresh for 3 hours!!!!!!! Because, I am not sane.

Brother: Well they (the polls) don't come out till 1

Me: Oh, well aren't you just a smarty pants

Best Site in the World

translate.google.com

I am working on a project for which I have to name a program that will be deployed internationally. In these instances, it is imperative to ensure that whatever that name is, it will translate effectively into other languages. So in my quest to research this, since I clearly don't speak other languages and rarely speak English properly, I stumbled upon the Google translator. This site will translate anything you type in instantly into a number of different languages... including Icelandic, Yiddish, and Macedonian. People still speak Macedonian?? This really came in handy this morning when I instant messaged Andrei "hola" not realizing we were going to have an entire conversation in Spanish, a language neither of us speak. He also didn't realize I was cheating.

Andrei: como estas?
Jessica: bien, y tu?
Andrei: estoy bien
Jessica: me llamo jesseeeka, no habla espanol
Andrei: me llamo andres
Jessica: me gustan los gatos
Andrei: que?
Jessica: donde esta la biblioteca?
Andrei: donde esta mi pantalones?
Jessica: en el parque de casas rodantes
Andrei: con queso
Jessica: aj, ako su syry
Jessica: that's Slovak for I like cheese

The Birdcage on Ice

I have a confession. I’ve sinned. My last confession was well... Never. So, we could be here all day. This one is fairly minor though. I confess that I haven’t watched any of the winter Olympics. Like not even a minute. I am NBC’s worst nightmare. Although that may be an overstatement considering everything else that network has gone through recently. I just haven’t really found my Olympic spirit this February. I’ve never been much for winter sports, even though I did a couple of involuntary, completely ungraceful ice dances on my way home last night and nearly wiped out many, many times. However, back in the day I used to truly enjoy watching figure skating and yelling “TOE PICK.” It’s so not fun now that noone is getting clubbed in the leg anymore.

But after I heard from many coworkers, including an impassioned plea from Andrei, that I HAD to watch the men’s short programs from last night... I decided to do some investigating. Can I watch this shizz online? YES! Yes, I can. (After I sweet talk the IT guy into upgrading my HD video capabilities.) Jackety pot. Welcome to my afternoon. If you like spending the afternoon at The Birdcage on Ice. Hank Azaria would be so proud.

First up, Johnny Weir. Oh sweet Jesus. Who picked out your costume? Fredericks of Hollywood? That is indeed exactly how Andrei described it, a “pink and black corset.” Except it has ruffles... And one tassle. I really hope nobody can see my computer.

How can that possibly be topped? Evan Lysacek in black sequins and feathers. I am not necessarily a fan of a man in tights and feathers, however I am a huge proponent of the scruff. Well played Lysacek, well played. I feel a tiny bit less embarrassed watching this than you’re pink laced up teammate’s performance... I said a tiny bit. I think we’re done here...

Top Ten

Love stinks! Farmer creates manure Valentine

Top Ten reasons why this is a great headline:

10) The words love, Valentine, and manure will probably never appear in the same sentence ever again.

9) Is there really anything besides fertilizer that is worth making with manure?

8) I am not ungrateful, but it's the thought that counts has never seemed like a lamer excuse.

7) That definitely beats the pants off a new Lexus with a life-sized red bow.

6) This is probably one present best observed from afar.

5) My high school boyfriend sent me flowers a couple of days before Valentine’s day one year because it was cheaper. And I thought that was shitty.

4) This dude clearly has a very loose interpretation of the word “gift.”

3) First guy who assembles city sidewalk dog shit into a heart will win my eternal devotion.

2) On second thought, I very much enjoy being single.

And the number 1 reason why this is a great headline...

1) What’d you get for Valentine’s day? Shit. Oh like nothing? No, actual shit. Oh, that sucks.

A Whole New Meaning to J. Jew

In advance of my forthcoming 30th birthday, I believe you will find it hilarious that I used my undergraduate college ID twice this week to secure student discounts at J.Crew. Before execution of the plan, I thought long and hard about the ethics of this. Would this be wrong? Well, yes... But how wrong? How wrong is too wrong? Isn’t paying more money than necessary also wrong? Do my 2 wrongs make a right? Then I asked some of my coworkers if they would judge me. The overwhelming consensus revealed that by taking advantage of the 15% discount offered to me solely because my Syracuse ID has no graduation date on it and I still look like I’m 17, I would, in fact, be a student of divine opportunity, coincidence, and manipulation. Therefore, I’d be doing nothing wrong. Do they have continuing education courses on those topics because I’d really like to sign up...

Of course, I am a play by the rules kinda girl. So whenever I bend the rules slightly, which rarely occurs, I always get nervous that something is going to go wrong and I’m going to get caught. Like the time I told the gym that my roommate was my half sister so that I could take advantage of the amazing family deal they were running for membership. I prepared answers to every possible question. Why do we have different last names? My mom married her dad. She’s adopted. I legally changed my name. It didn’t matter, they asked me nothing and I have a half price lifetime membership. Exactly what happened when I shyly inquired whether or not J.Crew still runs their student discount and plopped down my Syracuse ID. The sales lady glanced at it and I got an instant 15% off. Sometimes it really does pay to not be such a goody-goody...

Snow Job

Let me tell you the story of a little girl who went to sleep all snug in her bed last Friday evening dreaming of awakening to a winter wonderland filled with fluffy white snow. That little girl would be me, and the fact that I would even care to see snow after spending my college years in Syracuse is quite peculiar at best. However the point of the story is that upon daybreak, ok fine afternoonbreak, there wasn’t a flake to be found. I don’t like being lied to, and we all know what happened to that little boy who cried wolf. Well actually I forgot, but I think he got eaten.

If I was wrong at my job as often as meteorologists are, I wouldn’t have one. And I’m working with pure intellect, creativity, and maybe a thesaurus and dictionary every now and then. These are far rudimentary tools compared to fancy ass Doppler 5000, NEXRAD satellite supercomputer radar models. Accu-weather my ass. You’ve got a lot of nerve calling yourself that. I’d advise potentially adding a question mark to the end. Accu-weather?, seems more accurate. Your forecast for tomorrow’s “snow event” looks like the ramblings of crazy people. Crazy people who are very careful to use the most unabsolute language known to man (ie, lawyers.) The maps “suggest”, “could see” snow mixed with sleet, “accumulation potential”, “must not be completely ruled out”... that it will be 80 and sunny tomorrow. Oh you’re good Bill Evans, real good. You’ve got me totally snowed... tell me more, I’m intrigued.

Thesaurus: my favorite dinosaur

Tool: instrument used to shape, form, or finish
gadget, gizmo, implement

Tool: person who allows himself to be used
chump, creature, stool pigeon

Really? REALLY? Which one of these was I not expecting to see as a listing? Yea I'm pretty sure that's self-explanatory.

The Daily Bailey

They say the early bird gets the worm and even though I don’t think I like worms, although I never tried one, I’d still like to see if I could get one. So today I woke up at 3am. And alas, I didn’t find any worms, instead I found an extremely angry Mommy. She’s apparently been formulating plans in her head ever since the whole Frankenstein incident about what her next course of action would be if I continued to rise before the sun. It seemed this morning’s genius plan was to put me in the LIVE ANIMAL carrier that I’ve been using as a step stool to get to my window perch. I haven't been in there since the day I was brought to this dump, so when she finally figured out how to open it, after 10 minutes of unsuccessfully trying in the dark and eventually turning the light on, my curiosity got the best of me and I stuck my head in only to be shoved and locked in. Damn you. I really should have seen that coming.

Once inside, I promptly decided I wanted out. It was in no way as fun or interesting as I imagined it would have been. But my constant thrashing and scratching only served to get me airlifted to the bathroom and the door shut. 2 hours later, after I’d shredded every last piece of newspaper that was in the carrier, I was finally set free. SHE barely looked at me, then left in her gym clothes. Upon her return, she greeted me “Hello Bailey” the way that Jerry guy talks to Newman on that show I once watched at the resort. Sooo, I suppose this means she’s angry with me? How could anyone be angry at this face?...

Hungry Hungry Hippo

Recently, my team decided to try and compress all of our meetings into a couple of hours in the morning to enable us to use the rest of the day to get work done at our desks. In theory, this sounded amazing. However, in practice, I sit at my desk all day watching the minutes drag by while eating everything in sight. It’s not even lunch time and I’ve already had oatmeal and a granola bar, drank a liter of water hoping it would fill me up, and started dreaming about what I can cram in my craw for lunch.

My thoughts of food don’t end at lunch. I am also unashamedly thinking about how badly I want to eat a pound of pasta with clam sauce for dinner. This may seem random and/or excessive, but know that I did exactly that a couple weeks ago (and then subsequently had the worst stomach ache). Regardless, it was an "I'm alive" moment. Forget jumping out of planes or riding motorcycles, I want a Cinnabon or a big ole grilled cheese sandwich. Extra cheesey pizza or that ginormous croissant that the coffee cart man sells that looks like a giant crab. Jelly Beans. Bagels. Sour cream. Frosting. Double stuf Oreos. And no I am not pregnant.

Kate Moss once said "nothing tastes as good as being skinny." I beg to differ. Being skinny is the hardest thing I've ever done precisely because everything that helps you stay skinny tastes like shit. Additionally, if you’ve ever seen the exercise equivalent estimate for certain foods, you would never eat again. To burn off that donut, you practically have to do 12 hours of housework, a triathalon, or swim 3,000 laps. It’s a daily losing battle that I have been losing badly lately. Short of having my mouth permanently wired shut, I will need to figure something else out since I have another 6 hours of sitting here, and getting up to go to the bathroom every 1/2 hour just to have something to do... Isn’t working.

I Call Bullshit

I find things that are sold on tv to be extremely interesting. Why are they exclusively sold on tv? Why can’t I buy them in a store? Because stores don’t want to stock these items since most likely nobody will buy it? Because it’s special? So special that I should pay extra to have it shipped to me and purchase it sight unseen? It took me like 5 years to figure out what the hell “No COD’s” meant and it’s obvious I still have many burning questions about tv products.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to these items and I even own a few, but I never called and ordered them off the television. I waited until they were available in stores. It’s always some ingenious invention that’s going to work miracles like the Ab Roller or the contraption that holds your bra straps in place (both of which I own, but don’t use.) However for all of the ones that seem truly amazing, there are more of them that truly border on the uncomfortably ludicrous. Ones like the Neckline Slimmer, of which I saw a commercial for while I was on the treadmill the other day.

The Neckline Slimmer is a gadget that has springs in it and basically allows you to do what looks like sit ups for your neck. I can firm, lift, and smooth my neck in just 2 minutes a day! What ever has my loose, droopy, coarse neck done without this?! I wonder if it works as well as that exercise they did in the 50’s while singing “I must, I must, I must increase my bust.” The website has the usual testimonials and most likely doctored before and after photos, but I do have to say I was pleased to see no uses of the term “turkey neck.” Too bad Heidi Montag wasn’t aware of this nifty device, it could have spared her the trouble of undergoing neck liposuction. We are a seriously twisted and sad society.

Finish Your Cookie Young Lady

I never liked vegetables much as a kid. Only recently did I embrace the idea of salad as a viable source of deliciousness. And still to this day, when I go get lunch, I daydream about the bagels and wonder why salad can’t taste like that instead. So as you can imagine, if I had to be a vegetarian even for a day, I’d probably starve. Vegan... Let’s not even go there.

One of my coworkers is a vegan and I always feel bad for her when we get cupcakes for someone’s birthday or cater lunch. She can’t eat anything because she’s a vegan. Nothing about that sounds remotely awesome to me. As another of my coworkers once famously said, If we’re not supposed to eat them, God wouldn’t have made animals out of meat. Sound logic.

However, one fateful day I picked up a cookie at the local deli without looking at the label. It was pretty damn tasty, so when I realized that the label said 100% VEGAN, I was initially shocked. Thrown off a bit, but won over by the unique taste, I proceeded to eat this cookie frequently. Blindly I assumed that vegan meant healthy and never bothered to wonder how many calories it contained or what was actually in the cookie. Until today.

Mr. Cookie has 400, yes you read that right 400 calories. Considering it’s not made of anything that comes from animals, how is that even possible? Speaking of that, WTF is even in this cookie? It obviously can’t contain butter, eggs, or real chocolate chips because those are animal products. Isn't butter and chocolate chips why cookies have so much fat and calories? How many calories could be in flour or baking soda?? So I glanced at the ingredient list. Vegan zero trans fat margarine? Vegan chocolate chips? Egg substitute? These are completely crazy ingredients. What the heck is a vegan chocolate chip?? This cookie is almost as ridiculous as Tofurkey...

I Call Bullshit

My co-worker Colleen sent me a link to a CNN article about crazy inventions with the cryptic message "slide #2 is for you." Alas on slide #2 is a description of "CitiKitty" (which coincidentally I oddly once nicknamed myself back in the day), a toilet training kit for cats. I'm sorry, say what? A woman moved to NYC with her husband and her husband's cat (not HER cat, his cat) and couldn't stand the stench of kitty litter, so she dreamt up this system that teaches the cat to use the toilet. Based on the above picture alone, which makes me laugh and simultaneously cringe, I HAD to see this website.

And this website did not disappoint. There's a video of a cat using the toilet on it. The poor guy, who does his business with his back to us, even scratches at the toilet seat when he's done, pretending he's burying it! Watching this video made me bust out laughing at my desk and feel slightly dirty and voyeuristic at the same time. Did this cat approve of his private bathroom moment being posted on the world wide web?

I'm not really sure what to think of this. First off, Bailey would never do this. Anything that would potentially make my life easier, ie, the automatic feeder, he finds a way to tamper with and screw up. Secondly, what if the cat accidentally fell in? Or tried to drink from the toilet? This seriously cannot be safe. What if my cat has really bad aim? Lastly, and possibly most importantly, I would DIE laughing if I walked into the bathroom and Bailey was on the toilet. Should I leave National Geographic in there for him to read on the pot too...?

The Daily Bailey

I know I haven’t written to my loyal following in quite a while. I pray they are still loyal. You see, I am actually not allowed anywhere near the computer anymore when SHE is around because I either knock everything off the desk (on purpose) or step on all of the keys and potentially mistakenly screw up her Facebook stalking in progress. That said, I suppose you are wondering exactly how I am posting this right now. And you certainly would be justified in that wonder. Extremely justified.

Things have been pretty quiet for me recently. I’m just basically being cute, being hungry, being missed by everyone back at the resort, being sleepy, being left at home, and being a maker of weird noises that are not quite cries, purrs, or meows. Oh and being kinda confused. Specifically pertaining to if my Mom even really likes me or not. She’s always so extreme about everything. She’s either “Oh my god I freakin haaaaaaate you, you’re the worst” or “Mommy loves you sooo much Bail, who loves you!?” Well, to be perfectly honest crazy lady, I’m not quite so sure. Could we pick one and run with it? She seems to dislike me the most around 4am when I jump on her, over her, onto the desk, and/or play soccer with my ball that has a bell in it. I think we’ve discussed this before but nothing has changed. She still won’t get up and feed me at 4am, and I’m still hungry. It’s an ongoing problem. One morning she actually rose from bed like a lunatic Frankenstein and chased me into the kitchen while ranting “stop it right now! didn’t you hear me tell you to STOP? I’m not going to tell you again.” True Story. Seriously, true story.

Top Ten

Police: Woman bit off a third of sister’s nose

Top Ten reasons why this is a great headline:

10) My brother and I used to fight, but wow.

9) Crazy nose biter was charged with “mayhem,” which is actually defined in part under a 1931 Michigan law as mutilating another person's nose. Apparently this happens a lot in Michigan. If you value your nose, don’t go there.

8) Did they call animal control? Sounds like someone has a case of the rabies.

7) Whatever happened to good old scratching and hair pulling?

6) And I thought I was having a hard time breathing today. NyQuil certainly is not fixin that puppy.

5) Damn vampire craze.

4) Something tells me it’s going to be a very awkward family Thanksgiving this year.

3) In the realm of potential acceptable reasons for rhinoplasty, my sister bit off my nose comes in way above deviated septum.

2) I don’t know about you, but I never thought about splitting my nose up into thirds. And in the context of any part of it potentially being bitten off... I’d venture that the percentage is pretty unimportant.

And the number 1 reason why this is a great headline...

1) Mike Tyson got hungry at the very thought of this.

Who Knew?

Out of all the things we take for granted, breathing is pretty important. How many times does one breathe in over the course of one day? Apparently a lot. The average adult takes between 12-20 breaths per minute. I never thought about this before because I did it effortlessly. However now, due to this awful cold, I can barely breathe at all. I need a quick fix. Isn't there some sort of voodoo I can do right here at my desk that will allow me to breathe again?

According to my friend Google, I can:

• Pour an entire glass of water down my nose and then blow my nose.
• Rub butter on the bridge of my nose.
• Stick my head into the freezer and breathe.
  
• Lay down. Put a penny on my nose. Imagine the penny rotating toward one side of my nose. When I imagine it has moved, sit up really quickly and let the penny fall off my nose. Breathe in.
• Roll up tissues and stick them into my nose until they are really far in. Leave them in as long as possible without being embarrassed.
  

I don't know about you, but those last two are batshit crazy. I'll probably just go with the trusty NyQuil.

Top Ten

School orders boy, 4, to braid long locks

Top Ten reasons why this is a great headline:

10) I’ve sat here for an hour trying to figure out a reason for this. Safety? How long is the hair? Is he at risk for tripping over it? Are small animals living in it?

9) Braid? Really? Is this an Amish school? Polygamist?

8) Seriously, this is a headline? And I spent an hour thinking about it?

7) Are the girls not allowed to have long hair either? I used to eat my hair and I never got suspended.

6) Another thing to add to the list of ways to get suspended from preschool: Eat paste. Disrupt naptime. Knock over the block tower. Pull Suzie’s hair... or not cut your own.

5) Oh now we can order people to look a certain way? Can I order the freelance guy in my office to wash his hair?

4) The obvious thing here would be to order him to cut it off. Apparently they’d rather humiliate him instead.

3) I believe it could be interpreted that they’ve just ordered a 4 year old to get corn rows.

2) His long hair violates the “Dress code.” There are probably 4 year old girls wearing boustiers and fishnets, let’s get our priorities straight.

And the number 1 reason why this is a great headline...

1) I wish my elementary school could have ordered people to cut off their rat tails.

Couldn't get outta Dodge

A couple months ago when I joined a touch football team, I reminisced about my last team sport adventure. Alas, it seems I have once again joined a dodgeball team. Being that I was such a huge fan of my last experience and the general joy I feel when having objects hurled at me at high velocities, I can't see how I could not thoroughly enjoy it this time around!

Game 1 was last night. I'm always amazed when going back to elementary schools how tiny they are and how huge I feel. This gym was practically 2x2... (the better to peg you at point blank, my dear.) I realized quite quickly that the majority of the females on my team didn't really want to actually play. Every time a new game started, we'd all stare at each other and see who would flinch first and sacrifice herself. Basically the only thing I did last night was get grazed in the ear and look pretty. Hopefully they'll be more of the latter and less of the former.

Martha Stewart I am Not

The thought crossed my mind today to bake something for Meredith's 30th birthday celebration tomorrow evening. A person only turns 30 once and I know when I turn 30, I will probably want to die... so anything I can do, like bring my cooking to help the process along, being that I'm such a good friend and all. I looked at a bunch of recipes and immediately realized (to my horror, yet not surprise), that I have just about nothing on the list of required ingredients in my apartment, besides salt.

Ingredients:

• 48 HERSHEY'S KISSES Brand Milk Chocolates I will have no problem buying this
  
• 1/2 cup shortening Whatening?
  
• 3/4 cup REESE'S Creamy Peanut Butter My PB is like months old, scary
  
• 1/3 cup granulated sugar Nope
  
• 1/3 cup packed light brown sugar Def, nope
  
• 1 egg Again, no
  
• 2 tablespoons milk Still no
  
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract Nada
  
• 1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour Not a chance
  
• 1 teaspoon baking soda Can't use the odor absorber kind?
  
• 1/2 teaspoon salt YESSSSSSSS!! I have this!!
  

Holy crap I am a frat boy. A frat boy with diet orange soda and diet nestea instead of beer. Is it still thoughtful to make the cookies that came in a tube? Please say yes...

This place sucks,... Where are we?

We joked last year that we should all apply for truck driver licenses, however I think this year we should just be awarded them. We certainly earned it. I volunteered to captain the first leg of the journey home and ended up with the hazards on going 45 mph in blinding rain while Jay and Meredith slept. What I was doing could have more likely been categorized as boating not driving. Then Meredith took over the driving in stop and go traffic and ended up slamming on the brakes causing Jay, who was sprawled across the back seat, to go flying into the back of our seats. Nothing was funny about that, however for some reason we could not stop laughing. The kind of laughing that is actually painful. He wasn’t moving, just moaning and giggling for 25 minutes while tears flowed down my face. After all of this excitement and completing 12 hours on the road I’m not sure why between 3 decently smart individuals, nobody bothered to suggest stopping at a hotel to sleep, but we didn’t...

I can now say that I’ve slept in a car on the side of the road. Although not much sleeping went on for me because it was so cold in the car, I was literally shaking. I suppose now I know what it’s like to be a homeless person, or at least a slightly sophisticated homeless person who has a car but is dumb enough to think it’s a great idea to drive straight from Florida to New Jersey. Meredith and I were so overtired and basically looked how you’d expect a person would look after spending 22 hours straight in a car... Like the grim reaper. At a rest stop we caught our reflection in the bathroom mirror and stopped, horrified. Not even a tan could help us in that situation. Finally we arrived in New Jersey at 8am to find 20 degrees and snow. I was seriously contemplating turning around and going back... immediately. Well maybe after a nap... or a hibernation...

Do you want my drink?, I'm done with it

Once again we rang in the new year at the Hard Rock Casino in Hollywood, Florida. This year however, the B52’s were there also... Which was... Cool? Had it been 1990. You know, the B52’s. Love Shack. Roam if you want to. Then Meredith says something about it being a Manic Thursday, citing she knows that’s the Bangles and isn’t really sure why she just said that. She’s wearing 3 happy new year hats and deciding she doesn’t want to possess them anymore so she’ll hand them out to random strangers walking by. She easily disposes of 2 then decides she doesn’t really want her drink anymore either and offers it to a guy walking by who looks at her like she is the strangest human being alive. From there she proceeds to the slot machines where she promptly loses $4.96 and cashes out her ticket for 4 cents. This is going to be a hilarious evening.

Meanwhile I am at the bar attempting to get a drink, bouncing along to Bon Jovi, and high fiving everyone over how cool Jersey is. The chick next to me was honestly the most wretched girl who was obviously jealous that I was better looking and having more fun than she was, so she kept giving me dirty looks and saying “sshhh.” Um, last time I checked this was a casino bar, not a library. She’s on the phone telling someone that I’m a whore, which makes a ton of sense because if standing at a bar waiting for a drink makes someone a whore, then I’m pretty sure she’s one as well. When I pay for my drinks, she asks me if I just spent my entire month’s salary. Who is this girl!? Was she sent here for my amusement because in a minute she was about to have my stiletto up her ass and honey, I’m wearing $600 shoes, clearly I am on food stamps, so why don’t you take your lame ass “disses” and go back to wherever it was you came from. Jay ran away when he realized that I was going to verbally annihilate this girl, leaving my friend Peri’s boyfriend to unsuccessfully try to put his hand over my mouth and muzzle me. Luckily my new year’s resolution this year wasn’t to not get into any fights. That one would be for naught...