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...?