04.14.2002 - 4:32 p.m.
I've learned something profound today. Shopping for sofas is
very much like shopping for bathing suits. You look at a bazillion
different varieties, all of which are visually unappealing in
one way or another. You finally settle on trying one on for size,
and you are not surprised to find it is uncomfortable and makes
you look fat.
Ok, the couches we saw
didn't actually give me body issues, but they were almost without
exception 1) floral-y, 2) overstuffed and efreakinnormous, or
3) required 38 accessory pillows. Like I want to spend half my
day fiddling with the fucking sofa pillows and chiding JB for
dislodging my precious little arrangement.
Leather is out because
we have an evil cat, whose mission in life (besides coating the
surface of every single thing in our house with hair) is to dig
at sofas. She can be so singleminded when she's in the midst
of a clawfest orgy that direct sprays to the face with a water
bottle and repeated swats that swing her rotund self sideways
only cause her to flatten her ears and claw harder. Another
thing, if you yell at her - "CAT!!! STOP IT!" - while
she's doing something bad (like leaping up on the table the instant
you shut the bathroom door to eat out of your cereal bowl) she
will react by going for the couch. Classic transference of aggression,
or as we call it, Cat Lashout.
Cat Lashout is the most
evident if the cat has had something compromise her dignity.
Cat is swatted off a table and lands with an ungainly thud causing
owners to snicker rudely - cat then rushes about the house in
a fit before digging ferociously at the couch, stopping only
when a paper towel roll whops her in the butt.
Anyway, we could declaw
her, but the idea of that makes me feel bad. Awww, poor kittums,
mumsy doesn't want to take away your widdle cwaws. Although
if I did, not only would our furniture be saved but my hands
might actually have a chance to grow unscathed skin.
So a futile morning spent
looking for a Sofa That Doesn't Suck, an object seeming more
and more elusive, much like the Perfect Pair of Jeans and the
Non UniBoob Sports Bra. Then this afternoon, I spent some time
cleaning in preparation for the maid service that is coming tomorrow.
If this is a concept that seems retarded to you, you and JB are
on the same page. Hey, I just didn't want them to be all "Oh
my god, Delores, will you just LOOK at this lady's bathtub? Seriously,
Maid service - yet another
weird but welcome perk from the new job. Three maids for an hour,
biweekly. Not too shabby, eh? I asked a girl at the office if
she took advantage of it, and she told me that she didn't because
she 'enjoyed cleaning her place'. WhatEVER. I take pride in my
things, but I don't gain any personal fulfillment out of cleaning
the toilet, sister. Scrubbing at a poo stain does not give my
Tomorrow, back to the weirdness
of using a Mac and forever forgetting the close window icon is
on the LEFT, dammit, the LEFT.
04.13.2002 - No
quarters? No fucking problemo.
04.12.2002 - My
theme song, lately, would be more like that cartoon scrambling-running
sound they always made on The Flintstones.
04.10.2002 - Nothing
says low-stress like offering total strangers an obscene lump
of cash for a house that may or may not be infested by killer
library anomaly: only 25% slutty novels.
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