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Miscellaneous Chunks: Polski Gak
This morning my cup-o-coffee ritual was interrupted by a salvo of feline vomit that had to be experienced to be believed. One minute I am rubbing my eyes trying to wake up, the next I was running for cover. It was like something out of a bad war movie: INCOMING ORDNANCE! Ka-BOOM!
Our youngest cat, Bodhi, was standing on the counter top when he started to jerk violently. Then he made a face like this and I got the FUCK OUTTA Dodge. When I went back into the kitchen later it looked like “The Exorcist” had been filmed in there. How such a small cat could generate that much puke is both disquieting and amazing.
Shortly thereafter, a fire truck filled with New York’s Bravest pulled up in front of our apartment building. After hitting every goddamned buzzer this building has (and freaking out all the tenants contained therein, myself included), they figured out that the building across the street was the source of the problem. Perhaps if ‘management’ would to outlay the OUTRAGEOUS sum of 99 cents per numeric character (instead of Sharpie Marker) to label the front door of my building, this disturbing inconvenience could have been avoided. Fires freak people out here. BIG TIME. Especially after the Green Terminal Warehouse fire.
My day has been fucked up ever since. That said.
- The results from my latest “fact-finding mission” will be posted by Monday.
- I have (somewhat) organized my outgoing links. Among the newer additions are “Rev. Spyro’s Snakeoil Emporium” and (for the sake of shameless self-promotion) my online store: Chateau de Ghetto. The former features piquant (and hilarious) rants from the taller-half of my pal, Judy McGuire; the latter features an array of lovely (and NON dogshit-related) dry goods made by yours truly.
- Even though I could not muster the proper attire (and chutzpah) to check out my man
CloroxBoraxBorixon last night, I did find this choice video on You Tube. Be it borscht, bling, booze, blunts or fine-ass bitches— Borixon has you covered. Enjoy! - For reasons one can only imagine, I have had to moderate a lot of comments recently. (For my little pissant blog, anyway.) Maybe I am on my way to becoming an Art Star/Dog Shit Czar(ina), who knows? What I do know is one commentor wrote something profound enough to merit mention.
The difference between walking dogs and working in an office: if the dog shits in the middle of the room, he doesn’t blame you.
Very true.
Miss Heather
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