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2002-02-16 - 12:41 p.m.

I recently found out that the company I used to work for is officially going belly up next week. Which sucks. There are some great people still working for ACME, who will soon be plunged into the rockin' party that is unemployment.

I quit ACME back when the days were long and it was hot and sunny and I thought I'd find a new job within a couple months. Ahem. But I haven't regretted that decision, despite the long arid jobsearch. I quit for a number of reasons: my cool boss was laid off, the company wasn't paying the vendors I had used, the remaining management team had the intellect of flatworms, etc. But mostly I just wanted to leave on my own terms. I was laid off from a previous job, and I know how crappy it feels. No matter how much you tell yourself it wasn't because of your value, you keep thinking stuff like "b-but they kept that fartknocker Billy!"

So now ACME will be no more, and I'm sorry about that. It would have been nice if the company had pulled through. No hard feelings, ACME.

Except for you VP types. You all have a Whack-a-Mole game where your brain stems should be.


The new Chris Isaak CD, Always Got Tonight? Is awesome.


I always read the Pet Lady's column in the Seattle Weekly. She would like you to picture her as a slightly tiddly, snarky, good humored version of Miss Manners, a visage I am happy to indulge. So I am planning to write her about my cat. WITH a picture. Becase it would be so terribly marvy if it were published! I would clip out the column and carry it around with me, thrusting it upon strangers with my ink-stained fingers. "See? See!?" I would shout, grasping their shoulders, flecks of spit foam flying from my lips. "Do you see?!"

Well, or not. But anyway, I am going to write her something like:

Dear Pet Lady,

Please bestow upon me some of your sage advice. For you see, I have troubles, O Pet Lady, with my cat.

Cat, who has a name, but is mostly referred to as Cat, has an affection-related peculiarity. When reclining upon the Sundry divan, Cat is wont to leap up and occupy an adjacent cushion. This would lead one to assume Cat is in need of attention. But when one strokes Cat, one often receives a baleful stare, as if one were covered in oozing sores, and occasionally Cat will deliver a loud HUFF! accompanied by a claw-laden swipe. Cat will also make sounds such as ErrrrRRRRRRrrrrr and MRT! to convey severe annoyance.

However, whenever one rises to walk about the Sundry household, Cat will leap from wherever Cat was relaxing, in order to rush to the food bowl, whereupon loud yowls emanate from Cat. The only consolation is what amounts to a healthy Cat Massage, petting and stroking and generating massive amounts of floating Cat Fur, whilst Cat enjoys a brisk snack.

Make no mistake, Pet Lady, for I am not filling the Cat bowl, merely accompanying Cat while a few kibbles are masticated. Because, sadly, Cat is wee bit portly, in the resplendent manner of a manatee.

The question that tears at my soul is - why does Cat demand physical attention at the very moment that her ancestoral instincts should be telling her to eschew another creature's proximity? Why not accept the loving pat on the divan, instead of delivering yet another unsightly hand scratch?

And seriously, is Cat eligible for Guinness or anything? She gets that low-calorie crap, I swear to GOD.

Love, Sundry

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Did you want to read about:

2002-02-15 - a stranger in the mirror
2002-02-14 - dishpan diarrhea, snag
2002-02-13 - heart-shaped abashment

ARTIFACT: Do Not Touch, Unless Food Is Present
chubby? zaftig? more to love? big boned?

0 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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