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.