The truth about cats and dogs

I have a gash on my palm two inches long and deep enough to have me considering stitches. I can’t close my hand without serious pain but whenever anyone asks me about it, I brush it off as nothing. Thank god they can’t see the other numerous slashes and scrapes I now possess- hidden conveniently under my long sleeved turtleneck. God... I hurt everywhere.

...but it wasn’t Norman’s fault. Not really. It’s mine.

Now before I start sounding like those dog owners who rationalize the attacking of children by their dogs *or* those mothers who rationalize the attacking of dogs by their children, I should clarify. See... whatha’happened was:

Over the weekend, Norm and I went up north to visit my mother and spend ‘Thanksgiving’ with my family. My mother has two dogs- a big one and a little one. The little one weighs less than Norman; the big one weighs more than me. She also has my old cat Seifer, who after moving back from Peoria to mom’s with me decided he was never moving out of another house again. (This was WAY back in the day when I was a battleaxe on sparkmatch- and *that* has no relevance whatsoever)

Normally the animals all manage to get along. Somewhat. I should mention Norm is kind of a bully... kinda. But it’s not his fault he was raised wrong, right? He doesn’t like the big dog but chases and swats at the other two until they flee, hissing and/or yipping all the way. The introduction of my sister’s teeny dog set the stage for the mutilation of my person that followed shortly after that particular... erm, introduction. Apparently the ‘up north’ animals didn’t find Norman’s antics as amusing as I did and finally decided to do something about it. Yeah... when it was 3 against 1. Sissies.

Upon viewing the faces of the people in the living room- you’d never know a battle of epic proportions was taking place at their feet. Their disinterest was ridiculous. If we had been a cartoon, the animals would have been one of those grey swirling dust clouds- occasionally you’d see a paw or a tail poke out of it- making noises that cannot even be described and are probably better forgotten. Against my better judgment, I decided to rescue... someone. I pushed up my sleeves, turned my head and closed my eyes, prepared myself for searing pain, and thrust my arms into the swirling cloud.

I grabbed two fistsful of fur and pulled and to my complete and utter surprise- came out with mine. Completely unscathed. Staring into my eyes, upside down (I had one hand wrapped around his lower abdomen and one supporting his weight on his shoulder) Norman seemed appreciative of his rescue. My ‘YATTA’ of victory turned out to be preemptive however as my mother, in the kitchen - completely oblivious to the enfolding drama in the living room- decided *now* would be the perfect time to let the big dog in the house.

*Note. When a Siberian husky/wolf dog is excitedly released into a closed environment, one should never be holding a cat upside down by their hip and shoulder in said environment. NEVER.

I didn’t have the vantage to see how everything went down. But I do know 3 things.
#1. The huge gash in my hand and the various scratches up and down my arm were Norman’s way of saying, ‘Yo. Put me down please.’
#2. After dropping him, the big dog knocked me down and I fell on top of Norm. She (thedog) then proceeded to try and dig through me to get to him. This is where the worst of the long gashes on my back came from.
#3. The short gashes on the torso were the cat’s way of paying me back for falling on him.

After it was all over (overturned child and 2 broken lamps) everybody blamed me. My mom ordered me and Norm to my room. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be told to go to your room by your mother at age 27? And *no*, I didn’t even hesitate as I picked myself up off the floor and limped to my old room.

I’m no fool.

Fuck me, hold tight. What's that?

It's me belt, Turkish.
No, Tommy. There's a gun in your trousers. What's a gun doing in your trousers?
It's for protection.
Protection from what? Zee Germans?

Jason Statham was on Jay Leno Friday night.

Ahhhh...
::swoons::

When looking for pictures to stick in my journal (of said hottie) I found not only some seriously foxy ones but also, embarrassingly enough- my teeth bared in a GRRRRRRR snarl. I’d better not. I’d never finish this train of thought. Wha..? Erm... oh yeah, I was saying something. :D

So naturally, watching this- I started to wonder what I would say and what stories I’d tell if I was *also* on Jay Leno this particular night. Naturally. I have the perfect costarring-with-Jason-Statham-on-Jay-Leno slightly relevant and humorous anecdote. I will share it with you:

Who remembers those ‘superbit’ DVDs? Do they even make those anymore? Probably not. Anywho- I had a superbit copy of the movie Snatch. Being one of my favorite movies, I jumped at the opportunity to acquire (or *snatch* ::snicker::) what I thought to be an enhanced version of the release. Back in the day, these came in gross blue DVD cases that said SUPERBIT all over and had a teeny tiny picture of the movie dead center. With me so far? Good.

I happened to be at the store one day, pursuing the movies when I came across a special edition of the film Snatch. It was all shiny and beautiful and new and extended and all that jazz. We will now switch perspectives for maximum amusement.

So you’re in the electronics department, looking at CDs or videogames or whatever- totally minding your own business when you hear shouted (my excitement over the find caused my voice to go up a few decibels) from a couple of rows over:

”Oh-my-freakin’-god! Look at that snatch! That’s SO much better than my ghetto snatch!!”

Switch back to me, finger pointed at the DVD, jumping and bubbly with glee- a HUGE smile plastered to my face. It holds for a minute until, with dawning horror- I notice how quiet it just got in the store and realize what I actually uttered out loud.

I don’t remember leaving the store. The next thing I remember is standing outside, the cool air soothing to my burning cheeks. I don’t really get embarrassed- if I do, it’s usually colored with amusement at myself and I get over it pretty quick. What made this instance so bad was the fact that my companion was a boy I was in the process of trying to woo. You know- I was still pretending I was cool, poised, and sophisticated (with a little bit of badass girl thrown in for good measure)... I didn’t want him to know (yet) that I fell down all the time and occasionally (often) blurted out asininely retarded things.

Yes. This is definitely what I would have said.

Ha! One more election journal. Suckas.

So I don’t vote. There’s really no fierce opinion behind that statement but I hesitate to say- ‘I don’t regularly vote’. Because who does, really? Anywho, I felt guilty not really being involved when so many others had so much personal stuff invested so I did the only logical thing one could do in this situation.

I sold my vote to a Canadian.
No really, I did.

I was going to wait until all the election business was over (you know, so I didn’t spark a HUGE Canadian tampering investigation but MN absolutely *refuses* to elect a senator and I got tired of waiting) so:


(Freaky sneaky, I am)


(Only like 200 people voted at my station-thingy. When I walked in all the employees cheered to see someone. This made being freaky sneaky difficult)


(Notice how I put red glitter on my construction-paper-and-chopstick flag to jazz it up a bit. You Canadians might wanna do something with that- as you can see, it looks lovely my way)

Hmph. There were going to be other photos in this series. I wanted to go all over and get manymany free things with my ‘I voted’ sticker. (Civic duty? Meh. Free donuts? Heck yes!) Upon researching this freething phenomenon, I sadly discovered there are no kripsy kremes in the state of minnesota. If only one of our senatorial candidates had put *that* on his to-do list, we’d totally have a winner by now.

My lap is insufficient for Norm's needs

Last night I had a dream. I was back in my home town, an ittybitty community in northern Minnesota.

*Fun Kell fact: All of my dreams that take place in an outdoor setting (the focus of which having to do with small town simple) take place on my high school campus. I’m sure there’s some kind of obvious symbolism there that I’m completely oblivious to;)

Holy cow! I’m amazed at all the obscure knowledge I possess pertaining to... myself. Anyways. Onward. The entire town was having some sort of fair on the grounds- multicolored tents and booths were set up everywhere. I stand in front of one of the tents and stare at the wares presented on the table before me. Prominently displayed is one of my father’s puzzle bags. Dreaming me is transfixed by said bag, remembering all the other times she stood in this exact spot (in this constructed little world) doing absolutely nothing. Real, lucid me knows we’ve never had this dream before but doesn’t see any harm in letting dreaming me continue with her illusions. So sitting back (metaphorically of course), I let the dream take over and wait to see where it’s going to choose to go.

Dreaming me takes a step forward and at first, seems almost surprised she can actually move from the position she took for so long. A glance around shows the same scene as always- the familiar people, indifferent pleasantries going on, and only a slightly skewed vantage from all the other dreamings about this day. The object of her scrutiny- the puzzle bag, now takes up her entire field of vision and becomes larger as she moves closer.

(Every once and a while, I’ll realize I can’t *hear* anything in my dreams. Whether or not this is constant or only applicable during these revelations, remains to be seen. Or heard rather :P)

She gets to the end of the table. Reaches one hand out. Picks up the bag. Solves the puzzle and opens the bag. It's empty.

And then: I wake up... pissed. Is it too much to ask for a Marsellus’s briefcase sort of moment from my subconscious?

I thought I was cooler than this.

Dang.

Kell's Global Market advice for the day

While everyone else is talking about the election, I bring you this important public service announcement:

WARNING

Do not eat this candy.



If you eat this candy, you will become poisoned. And you will die.

That is all.