Hi! Do You Have A Minute?

How are you today?  Are you having a good day?  I like that skirt you're wearing!  Do you have a minute to talk about the rain forest?

One interesting fact about Philly is that there are more sidewalk solicitors per capita than any other major U.S. city.  For every 5 citizens of Philadelphia, there are 2 young people standing on the sidewalk with clipboards, smiling and ready to accost you about every charitable cause imaginable.  Another interesting fact is that they are multiplying.

Generally, when people accidentally make eye contact with one of them, they smile and give an awkwardly nervous shake of the head.  Body language read: I hope he/she doesn't keep bugging me as I walk by.  Are there other people nearby to bug?

Today, for the first time, I saw someone stop to talk to a pretty clipboard girl and give her the time of day.  Unfortunately for the girl and the homeless, drug-addicted, endangered Botswana snails she was trying to save, it appeared that the young man who stopped did it most likely because it would be his only opportunity to talk to a girl this week.


(Which reminds me: I am considering starting a new blog called Nerds Making Out, after having seen a massive number of nerds* making out over the last few months, where people would snap pictures of the geek lovin' and send them in and we would post with snarky comments.  Derrick and I will be the first subjects).

But back to the topic at hand.  My friend Aimee and I try different ways to avoid the clipboarders; pretending to be distraught and pretending like we're about to vomit are the two most effective (so far).  Simply being in a rush because Bravo is re-showing The Real Housewives of New Jersey: Reunion at 8 PM isn't enough of a reason NOT to have a minute for gay rights, animal rights, obese children, starving children, domestic violence, the Coalition for the Prevention of the Kicking of Philadelphia's Pigeons (C-PoKoPP), or any combination of causes thereof.

Okay, thanks anyway!  Have a good day, ma'am!

*Nerds: Example.

Re: Previous Post About Injured Alien Robot Dog Dancer

Ahhh, this is the good stuff. Too bad I'm too dumb to figure out how to put two YouTube videos into one post.

Dancing Merengue Dog

Thanks Jeff, for unearthing this totally ridunk video of a clearly brilliant dog dancing the merengue with a gentleman who obviously has too much time on his hands (I write as I close out my online mahjong game).  All things considered, this pup operates more effectively on two legs than I do.  *Insert joke from Jeff about functioning better on all fours here.*

This Golden is very reminiscent of Kate Gosselin on Dancing With The Stars, don't you think?  Like an alien robot with an injured vertebra (or whatever alien robots have).

Milestones!

Earlier this morning, C.i.B. passed the 1,000-hit mark since launching just two short weeks ago, and we could not be more thrilled that so many of you are enjoying our posts and coming back for more!  Of course, we didn't have the counter for the first week, so it might be more, unless you count the fact that about 300 of these hits are from us personally, 100 are from Sandy H., 300 total are from Derrick and Jeff to see what we've written about them, and 200 are from our bosses to see what the hell we are doing during the work day. 

So, in addition to the presumably 99 random people who landed on this page while playing Blog Roulette hitting the "Next Blog" link at the top of the page, that leaves you, one gorgeous reader who has visited one time!  Thank you for supporting Cats in Baths that day you were here, and we hope we entertained you! 

Sh*t My Mom Says At Summer's End

" ... Then we got home and I had turned the AC to 85 on Thursday when we left because you know I am nothing if not green and I didn't want to waste power so it was hot as hell in here. I am finally cooling off. I swear I felt ill it was so freaking hot. Do you know there is a man who has written a book about how air conditioning has been the downfall of America?  Cities are abandoned because now people drive to the suburbs in their air-conditioned cars and stay inside their air-conditioned houses and never meet their neighbors.  Blah blah blah.  Whatever.  I still love air conditioning."

Me too, Sandy H.

Work It

Thanks to Casey R. for this delicious little cupcake!  Gurl has rhythm!

CiB Emmy Round-Up Special

When most news outlets and blogs cover awards shows in Hollywood, they generally discuss winners, snubs, and fashion hot messes.  Here at Cats in Baths, we take a different angle and ask: WTF were these people doing at the Emmys?

Judge for yourself.

Lo Bosworth.  The Hills ended so you have nothing better to do?  Who invited you?  (That being said, I loved Lo on The Hills.  Kappa sisters 4L!).

Stephanie Pratt.  See above entry re: The Hills.

Kelly Osbourne.  The Osbournes went off the air five years ago. 

Kate Gosselin.  Do I really need to make a comment here?

Kim Kardashian.  Because nothing says artistic talent like having a gigantic ass and a sex tape.

Kris Jenner.  Because nothing says artistic talent like having a daughter with a gigantic ass and a sex tape.

Paula Abdul.  I kind of feel guilty for making fun of her because I think she might not know where she is.

These images were brought to you by Frazer Harrison and Jason Merritt for Getty Images via New York Magazine.

This Just In: Little Black Kitty Taking a Sink Bath

These images were brought to you by Cute Overload.

Forehead Smack

Derrick and I both exited the apartment keyless last night, and had that realization as the door locked itself in what felt like slow motion.  But not slow enough that you can prevent it from happening.

I have been impressed in the past with Derrick's ability to strategically open locked doors with credit cards.  In fact, I think he keeps an old one in his money clip strictly for this purpose.  As he says, "You never know when someone's going to be building a new house in your neighborhood and you're going to want to go check it out when no one is there."  Yeah ... lots of normal people act on that urge.  

Since Derrick's breaking-and-entering expertise failed us this time, I was extremely impressed with his self-control when he chose not to break the door frame in a Hulk-like rage, which wouldn't be so far-fetched after witnessing his previous enraged attempts at rolling out pizza dough without a rolling pin.  Instead, he devised a series of other impressive calculating efforts to get in: getting on the fire escape to see if the window AC unit was removable from the outside, entering through our open front window via the 3rd floor neighbors' bed sheets, seeing if we could somehow find enough borrowed objects to create a massive 16-foot ladder up to the second floor, or just seeing if any of our neighbors happened to have a massive 16-foot ladder lying around.

Unfortunately, all of my overtime pay for this week is going to a visit from the emergency maintenance dude, but isn't that what city living is all about?  One in, one out.  Or in this case, two out, not getting back in.

Thanks for nothing, mangled credit card.

Minnie Mouse the Moocher

Our new roommate is an inconsiderate moocher.  I almost never see her (she's a party animal all night and sleeps all day - the lazy b****), but I know she eats all of my peanut butter and doesn't even have the decency to step properly on the trap to allow the metal spring to end her life.  What is so hard about that?

Wasting any food is a sin, but wasting peanut butter - even the accidentally purchased reduced fat kind - should be a criminal offense punishable by death.  And that's exactly how we intend to punish her.

I'd rather she just move out so we don't have to dispose of her corpse, but I'm going to start with a passive aggressive note - like any normal disgruntled roommate would do - to see if that gets her attention.

***UPDATE***: Our roommate took a trip up to heaven not-so-peacefully last night, but she went the way I want to go, if I may choose: with a mouth full of peanut butter.

Yeeeeah! F*#% You, Class of 20012!

Image via Fail Blog

Exorcising Horny Teenage Boys

This is one of the most brilliant marketing schemes I've ever witnessed.  The Last Exorcism, which opens in theaters today, used Chatroulette to target a few horny teenage voyeurs.  The build-up and their reactions are priceless.  This movie looks totally scary and I'm desperate to see it, but I will have to wait for the video because someone's husband has never been quite the same ever since he was dragged to see The Ring.

Dolly Parton Fashion Show!

If there is one Southern woman in this world that I admire more than Sandy H., my mother-in-law Julie L., my grandmother-in-law Mamaw, and everyone's favorite Designing Woman Julia Sugarbaker, it would of course be Dolly Parton.  Yes, I have been accused of being a gay man in a straight woman's body (like that's a bad thing?).  Although let it be known that I will never place Liza, Madonna or Cher before Dolly and Julia.  And I know Julia is fictional and I don't care.

Dolly is bright, confident, and modeled her look after the town hooker.  How can you not love her?

Look at how cute Dolly was in 1977! 




Spotted on http://www.omgblog.com/.

Working With Animals

Image Courtesy

Normally, when one hears the words "staff retreat" together, it might bring to mind a day of painful ice breakers (Find someone in the room who plays a musical instrument!) and boring keynote speakers. I thought this until yesterday! Our retreat was at the ZOO and it was freaking awesome.

A few highlights:

- A scavenger hunt where my team ran around like fools, knocking strollers and old people in wheelchairs out of the way, cursing in front of small children and their parents, and not seeing a single animal the entire time.  Umm, and not to brag or anything, but we tied for second-to-last place.

- A Project Runway spirit challenge wherein we were presented with, among other things, pink tissue flowers, feathers and lots of sparkly glitter things; this is how Ben "Fabulous" Franklin was born.

- Two 100 year-old giant tortoises going at it in front of curious children and horrified parents. That's 200 years of sexual wisdom!

But by far my favorite portion of the day involved everyone on our staff telling a funny story about working where we do. The most intriguing: a colleague speaking about taking cash at the door of an event, and one of the dollars received was wadded up and contained more than just a slight residue of a powdery white substance. My question to this particular party boy: are you being ironic, or do you actually think snorting coke through a $1 bill give you any street cred?

Brain Vacation

If you're anything like me, you have a job that involves sitting in front of a computer all day, and occasionally a lot of the time you need a brain vacation, so you check Perez Hilton to see what's going on with Snooki, Zac Efron, and the creme de la creme of gossip guilty pleasure: *B*R*I*T*N*E*Y*.  And it turns out Perez is hosting some party in St. Tropez, so he's traveling, and his blog is just sitting there, stagnant, like Jennifer Aniston's astoundingly terrible box office record.

I'm sorry I haven't updated this blog all day.  I know how you hang on my every word, and by "you," I mean Sandy H. and maybe one other person.  I have been at a staff retreat.  Here's a picture of a cat in a bath.  

Image Courtesy

Seriously, will you look at how cute this guy is?  He looks like he's trapped somewhere between enjoyment and complete terror.

Occasionally I Get An Envelope In The Mail That Looks Like This ...

The back of the envelope looks like this ...

And the card looks like this ...

In case you can't read that, it says: "JUIEE (I totally misspelled juice!  I'm so dumb!)"

And the inside of the card looks like this ...

Wouldn't you be so happy to get a card like this in the mail, betwixt your bills and your solicitations and your catalogues filled with items you can't afford?  A card covered in dinosaurs and rainbows, stickers with monkeys that say "Forever Friends" or a little girl who is "Going for a Walk"?  Wouldn't you love to have yourself forever immortalized as a caterpillar on a wine glass?  I know I would.  That's why Jeff is my special friend! 

He's extra special.

Ghost Baby!

I have never seen Scare Tactics, but this video is totally cray-cray, and I might just have to start checking it out!  Seriously, if what happens to the victim in this clip ever happened to you, you would walk away with a heart condition ... if you walked away at all!  Dun-dun-dun!  Now I'm all excited about Halloween.  I might go buy some gourds. 

Scary!

F***ing Trivia

Last night we hit up Cavanaugh's for some trivia action, and it should come as no surprise to anyone that I totally kicked ass when it came to any question involving Crispin Glover, Barney Gumble, or Jude Law's extramarital affairs.  However, when it came to quantum mechanics, the underground plumbing of ancient Rome, and the transpiration of plantlife, I really showed my limits. 

My brain is an endless abyss only of pop culture knowledge, filled with dark, cobweb-filled corners that store the stupidest and most worthless facts.  Occasionally, I can use this knowledge to earn respect from some, pity from others, and free shots from the Irish trivia MC.

How do I get a gig like this guy?  He goes around to bars running trivia games, being unfriendly, and saying lots of terrible, filthy words, some of which I haven't heard since my last viewing of Trainspotting.  These are all things I could excel at: knowing stupid things and cursing.  The unfriendliness might be difficult, but I am always up for a challenge.  I am pleased to say I have a new career goal if event planning, administrative assistance, farming, and blogging don't work out. 

Anyone who can tell me how the character below was killed off her TV show* gets a free Cats in Baths bumper sticker!**

*This is so, so freaking easy.

**We don't really have these.

Image Courtesy

Not Doing Anything For The Next 4 Minutes?

Then you should really check out this video of these adorable Filipino gays flipping their shizz over the Miss Universe pageant.

One-Eyed Willy

According to Sandy H., the bluebloods at the yacht club on Lake Norman, NC, suddenly find plain old sailing to be as yawn-inducing as last season's wayfarers.  That's why they have finally succumbed to every white person's favorite tool for shaking out those ho-hum snooze blues: theme regattas.

This week's theme is "Dress Like a Pirate."  Check out my dad, Bill H., in his awesome pirate sailing gear:

Upon further inspection, Bill H. doesn't look too thrilled about having to dress up as a pirate and go sailing.  He looks more like a child on Halloween who would rather be dressed up as an Iron Man or an Avatar, but whose fun-loving father insisted that pirates were way cooler than any Buzz Lightyear get-up.  Sandy H. just thinks he looks more like Nick Nolte in his 2002 mug shot.

Image Courtesy

Too Fat To Function

I have a new idea for a reality show and you have to promise not to steal it from me. It's called Fat People With Bad Attitudes because there is, apparently, nothing more watchable (or bankable) than a fat person with a bad attitude.

My favorite new fat person with a bad attitude on a docu-drama is Scotty from the Style network's Too Fat to Function Too Fat for Fifteen. Scotty's favorite activities include sitting around, complaining, hypochondria, and pissing off other students at Wellspring by somehow managing to lose weight without really trying. You will also find similarly amazing characters on Wife Swap (a true gem), The Biggest Loser (fantastic to watch during a big Chinese take-out dinner), and Celebrity Fit Club (where Dustin Diamond's career went to be euthanized).

Derrick and I have a hard time relating to the children on Too Fat for Fifteen, who have no energy or desire to move around. We both grew up in small Southern towns going for bike rides, climbing trees, and after running out of other activities, kicking a soccer ball against the outside brick wall of the house (and for me, occasionally and accidentally hitting Sandy H.'s French doors - oops).

Of course, as adults, we fully understand the merit of lying around motionless, watching crappy TV about fat people.

A few highlights from an amazing episode of Wife Swap:

It's a Good Thing I Have This Lucrative Career as an Administrative Assistant

It's also a good thing I'm not holed up in the basement of my building.  It's creepy down there!

Lifted via The Daily Intel:

"All the bloggers holed up in basements in the City of Brotherly Love and trying to survive off of Google AdSense revenue may be out of luck. The Philadelphia City Paper printed an article last week that revealed the sob stories of part-time freelance writers and bloggers who, despite making minuscule amounts per year through advertising, are still being forced to pay an annual $50 "privilege license" in accordance with the Business Privilege Tax. The city treats self-employed writers as "businesses" as long as their blog has the potential to make a profit. So, when those in charge of under-the-radar sites received a letter from the city last May asking them to pay either a onetime $300 fee or $50 per year, many were less than pleased.

Barry's music-oriented blog, Circle of Fits, is hosted on Blogspot; as of this writing, its home page has two ads on it, but because he gets only a fraction of the already low ad revenue — the rest goes to Blogspot — it's far from lucrative.

"Personally, I don't think Circle of Fits is a business," says Barry. "It might be someday if I start selling coffee mugs, key chains or locks of my hair to my fans. I don't think blogs should be taxed unless they are making an immense profit."

Bloggers are also required to pay the appropriate taxes on their income, regardless of how little money they made. Barry, for instance, made only $11 over the course of two years.

The most painless solution may be for bloggers to resign themselves to fate and abandon Google AdSense or other ad services. Yes, the minimal profits that once came rolling in will dry up, but the self-satisfaction of refusing to give the city that hard-earned blog revenue will be preserved."

Wisdom Teeth

This video reminds me of the time I got my wisdom teeth out and, while I was still in a state of drugged-out delirium approaching Lindsay Lohan levels, the nurses - or maybe doctors, or they could have been chimpanzees - asked me if I wanted to keep my extracted teeth, complete with pieces of roots, gums and blood.  Obviously I said yes, of course I wanted to keep those, please, give them to me now.  Who wouldn't want to keep those, and treasure and caress them forever?

Kittens Inspired By Kittens

This video would be a lot better if it featured kittens in baths, but whatever, it's still funny.  Thanks, Danielle R.!

Haiku: Now Entering/Leaving Philadelphia

We have a new category here at Cats in Baths called "Why Weren't We Consulted?" It is our belief that the world would be a much better place if people would consult with this blog before acting on any major decision.  Case in point: the path of highways between the Philadelphia airport and Center City Philadelphia leaves little to be desired.  Philly is a great town with a lot of wonderful things to offer: world-class universities, charming people, excellent restaurants, endless cultural opportunities, and tip-top gelato.

But when one leaves or arrives in town via all points South, the sights to behold inspire poetry.

Welcome to Philly
Smoke and particles from the
Oil refineries.

Sewage plant fills lungs
Makes my eyes burn and tear up
I need a gas mask.

Gigantic landfill
Scraps piled high to the heavens
Make Jesus so sad.

New Roommate

As I was lounging on the couch this evening absorbing last week's episode of Teen Mom, praying that Tyler and Catelynn can work through their problems, praying that Gary and Amber can't work through their problems, and otherwise awaiting the arrival of my prince from his weekend of team bonding with his b-school cohorts, I spied with my little eye something moving across the floor.  It's not unusual for me to have strange and often non-existent visions after a weekend of crushing bottles of wine with Anna, but this wasn't just your average Are-Those-Fried-Pickles-Real-Or-Not kind of vision.  No, this was definitely a mouse, no doubt about it.  It basically looked just like this, except not a possum:

Image Courtesy

I immediately reverted to 3rd-grade Leigh Ann when my sister and I would be inspired by Pippi Longstocking and play Don't Touch The Floor for hours like 10 minutes at a time.  I leapt up onto my couch to try to get an overhead view of where it headed but it disappeared like a ghost.  Oh, how I wished Derrick were here to save me!  I used to be so independent, destroying giant spiders that infiltrated my home, giving an icy glare to any potential rapists as I walked to my car alone at night with my keys spiked between my fingers to use as a potential weapon if necessary, even going to the bathroom by myself at a restaurant free of female companionship.

Oh, well.  Prepare to be evicted, beyotch.  My hero just walked through the door.

The Philly Goofball

Ever since moving to Philadelphia and occasionally spotting the Philly Phanatic, I forget its name and refer to it as the Capital City Goofball.  I am much more familiar with the Capital City Goofball thanks to thousands of joyful and enriching hours of my life filled watching The Simpsons, and virtually none watching the Phillies. 

Image Courtesy 

Wieners

Last night prior to attending stopping by my first Phillies game, Derrick and I attended a smashingly successful tailgate hosted by some new friends and the only other idiots people to bring an SUV to Center City Philadelphia other than the Prestons.  It's like some magnetic force draws Southerners to one another when they are outside of their natural habitat.  Perhaps it's the unspoken knowledge that once you get to Wal-Mart, you're going to be so glad you have that SUV, even if you only go six times a year. 

At one point, Derrick pointed out another aggressive tailgate going on behind us in the parking lot, and I noticed a gentleman on crutches who had sidled up to the side of their truck.  Suddenly the sight and sound of liquid being poured onto the asphalt filled my senses.  "Wound my soul.  Is he peeing?" I asked.  Derrick insisted, "No, he's pouring out a cooler." No way.  They wouldn't make the guy on crutches pour out the ice chest.  Derrick said, "No, he's peeing." 

The crutched gentleman unleashed a torrent of urine, and on and on it went, forming a pond fit enough for a few solid koi.  I couldn't look out of disgust, yet I couldn't look away!  When would it end?  How dare he subject his fellow tailgaters and bystanders to this torture when Philadelphia, in all its glory, provides endless and convenient facilities?

When the pain was finally over, Derrick handed me my dinner: a wiener.  It looked sort of like this, except replace Martha with Derrick, who is like Martha in some ways:

Yum.

And now, a wiener puppy in a hot dog bun.  CUTE!

This week I have done a fabulous job of retaining the two pounds I gained last week, which was the first week of the alcohol bender cleverly disguised as business school pre-term.  That can mean only one thing: last week, I consumed 7,000 unnecessary calories.  That is equivalent to eating all the food you would normally eat, plus a Krispy Kreme bacon cheeseburger a day:

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

Sunday

I suppose I went a little overboard on several occasions out of sheer excitement for these "networking" opportunities.  I love meeting new people and let's be realistic about my arithmetical tendencies:

Math in 1st grade looks like this:

1 drink = 1 glass of milk.

Math in my house looks like this:

1 drink = 3 glasses of wine.

I probably won't pull myself together in time to try on bridesmaids' dresses this weekend for Anna's wedding, but maybe I'll manage to lose these two pounds prior to her wedding circa May 2011.

Cats in Sinks

Thanks, Jonathan E., for this amazing picture.  Valentine is a special cat who appreciates the fine quality of an upgraded bathroom.  This is a perfect, cat-sized bath! 

He looks content, indeed, but there is an apparent yearning for a human hand to turn on the water, J...

And Now, For No Apparent Reason, A Whale Plane

Can I get someone to paint my car to look like a whale too?  Or better ... a shark.

Thanks, Elizabeth K.!

Feel Free To Insert Your Own Soundtrack In Place of Michael Bolton

This video is so sweet.  It reminds me of my friendship with Jeff, and how sometimes he's scrambling around trying to get back up because of his hump back.

Blogucation

Sandy H. writes: "I sent your Aunt Anne your blog address.  She called and asked, 'What's a blog?'"

I'm not sure why I found this so funny; I guess it's not that unusual.  Regardless, it gave me a major case of the LOLz.

Sandy H. says Aunt Anne also had trouble grasping the Cats in Baths concept.  The following is a dramatization of how I assume this conversation went, based on certain excerpts from Sandy H.:

~~~
Sandy H.: It's called "Cats in Baths."
Aunt Anne: What?
Sandy H.: "Cats in Baths," you know, like when you give a cat a bath.  She just thought it would be funny to call her blog that, I don't know.
Aunt Anne: Does Leigh Ann give cats baths?
Sandy H.: No, but it's more of a concept, like her tagline says "Funny, pointless, disapproving."  It's a metaphor for the blog as a whole.
Aunt Anne: Leigh Ann doesn't have a cat.  Does Leigh Ann have a cat?
Sandy H.: No, but it's just the name of her blog.  Like the book, "Running With Scissors" isn't just a book about someone running around with scissors.
Aunt Anne: She used to have a cat, but now it lives with you.
~~~

I appreciate the effort, Mom.

Frida in a Bath

Randy H. writes: "She burned us with her eyes before we could turn the water on."  And I thought I had a problem with red-eye in pictures.  I've never seen such intense disapproval from a cat in a bath that it manifests itself so terrifyingly.

Maybe she's just mad there's no bath water for her to drink, bro.  I know how Frida rolls.

Wednesday Shame: Heidi Montag Isn't Any Worse Than Anything Else On The Radio

Since I no longer frequent gay clubs with my BFF Jeff as much as I'd like these days, I rely heavily on him to provide me with fierce workout music. A few months ago, he mailed me over 700 tracks. A nice move by a great friend, yes, but also perhaps a hint that I need to work out a LOT.

Until yesterday, I had listened to them all, except for one final frontier I had left to conquer: Heidi Montag's self-produced album Superficial, which lead to extreme public ridicule and her personal loss of over $2 million. Derrick and I have made fun of her mercilessly since before she recorded it when she told reporters that her album would be would be "basically Madonna, with a little bit of Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, with some Spice Girls, Janet Jackson, Jessica Simpson, Cher, Pink, Diana Ross, Beyonce, The Go-Go's, JoJo, Hilary Duff, Tiffany, Debbie Gibson and The Bangles thrown in there too!"*** Perhaps I wasn't giving Heidi enough credit - because really, why would I? - but she was right. It really does sound like all of those things. For a 5 a.m. workout, I seek out the most mindless music I can find, and I have found that in Heidi.

A few lyrical highlights from the title track:

It isn't fair / That I wear diamonds for breakfast / And I know this isn't helping / They say I'm superficial / Some call me a bitch / They just mad / 'cause I'm sexy, famous and I'm rich.

All I'm saying is, if I had to spend my afterlife in the 7th circle of hell, and Satan allowed me to choose between listening to Heidi Montag and Nickelback for all of eternity, I would choose Heidi.

***Not a direct Heidi quote, but this was essentially what she said.

Happy Anniversary!

Do these two look old enough to have been married for 42 years?  No way, but they do look fabulous enough to have produced me.

Breaking News: Frenchies In A Bath

THIS JUST IN:
A picture of two French bulldogs in a bath. Unlike a cat in a bath, this is not funny, it does serve a purpose and these dogs don't look displeased. However, they are utterly unstoppable in adorableness.

This photo was brought to you by http://www.flickr.com/photos/vanlesley/838962862/in/photostream/.

Kryptonite

French bulldogs are basically kryptonite to me, and over the past year have actually caused my head to explode from cuteness aneurysms on several occasions.  In a mad rush last summer to find an apartment - any apartment - we managed to find the one building in all of Philadelphia that doesn't allow dogs, and proceeded to sign a two-year lease with no intention of moving somewhere else for the third year.  What were we thinking? 

French bulldogs are crawling all over this city, like an adorable infestation, with their smooshed-in faces and little drumsticks that you want to pour barbeque sauce all over and take a big bite out of.  Their owners, with a skillful ability to peripherally see my drooling advances from as far away as one city block, try to go on about their days cautiously, haunted by my crazed puppy-napping look.  I can't say I blame them for scurrying away with their pups the same way one might remove a toddler from the path of an oncoming train.  "One day!" I cackle hysterically,  "one day, I'll have a French bulldog too!" 

Until then, I'll be researching breeders, Google-imaging them, and otherwise trying not to think about the fact that in two years I will be paying more money for a puppy than what I sold my Thoroughbred mare for a few years ago.

Sh*t My Mom Says

Sandy H. writes: "You are so funny, but: You are also smart, and that's not just because I'm your mother.  Remember, you could read when you were 3, scarcely more than 2 actually, and in a special class for reading, writing AND math." Notice how she doesn't cite any notable academic achievements past pre-school.

She continues: "On a different subject, here’s what has bugged me today: We were behind a car all the way from Linville to the Little Switzerland Café, so I had plenty of time to study the life of the person in the car ahead of us. He drives a red Chevy Tahoe SUV, attended VA Tech (bumper sticker), is a CPA (license plate VTCPA), and vacations on Okracoke Island (oval sticker OKI.) However, he neglected to put one of those little stick families on the rear windshield! Is he single, no pets, no kids and hiking alone today? What is his income? His political persuasion? I am left to ponder these questions. Why do people feel compelled to tell everyone details of their lives? Is simply living them insufficient?"***

Wonder where I get it...?

***Obviously she isn't talking about the details of my life.  Those are totally and completely different.

Wifey

Yesterday I came home from the gym to find my husband baking butterscotch scones and reading the September issue of Martha Stewart Living.  After briefly speculating on whether or not I had entered into a same-sex marriage, I came to realize that he would actually do anything to avoid studying for his accounting exam tomorrow. 

He also made two balls of pizza dough, researched recipes for blackberry cobbler, and declared that his next baking adventure would entail making bread of some sort.  His precious heart broke upon discovering that we do not own a bread pan, but bittersweet relief overcame him when I told him I had asked for one for my birthday.

He did manage to procrastinate in one manly way, though: he brewed a fresh batch of homemade beer, which is currently fermenting beneath our AC unit in the bedroom in a big, beautiful bucket.  Will it be drinkable?  Only time will tell.  But we'll have at least 50 bottles of whatever it is.  

The First Post

So many people have approached me about starting a blog, and you should always do what other people tell you to do.

My Facebook status updates have amassed a successful following, but I have wondered if my one-liners can make the leap from supporting character on your news feed to carrying an entire show.  I don't know what this blog will end up being other than general musings about the day to day: failing to make ends meet while my husband works his way toward law and business degrees, avoiding molestation on the streets of Philadelphia, hating the celebrity trivia that fills my head, balancing a desperate desire to be skinny with a constant yearning for wine, cheese and chocolate, being judgmental about grammar and spelling, missing family and friends in North Carolina.  

But I am certain about one thing: pictures of cats in baths are really funny.  A bath for a cat is totally unnecessary and the documentation of it seems solely to exist for the purpose of entertaining humans.  Cats don't need baths; they're self-cleaning - like ovens.  They hate water and they hate you for putting them there.  They are angry, desperate, scrawny, alien-like, and totally adorable.  This blog will not focus entirely on cats in baths, but occasionally it will come back to that, because let's face it: I'm not going to make you think or enlighten you in any way.  I've never been particularly smart and I haven't always been gorgeous, so at one point all I had was my sense of humor.  Let's hope this guy retains his: