Another Christmas first

Not sure why I am obsessively iPhone posting tonight, but couldn't resist a picture of the cat's first Christmas tree. I love how he looks like he is in awe. In reality, I caught the one second he wasn't chewing on the tree.

Portrait of a Hoarder

Alternate Title: Look! I can use Instagram! (This is probably the only time I will ever use Instagram.)

Thanksgiving Roundup

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Here is a brief summary of mine.

Wednesday - Airports. More airports. Delayed flights. Airports. Yay! 

Thursday - My cousin's wife's brother-in-law was stabbed and killed Wednesday night, so Thanksgiving was a tad somber. He was only 26 and it was just a random crime while he was waiting for a cab outside of a bar. They have the man in custody and hopefully justice will be served. Other than that, my niece who I have not seen in about 5 years was in town. I should clarify - step niece. We spent a lot of time together and took about an hour walk where we just talked. I wish her life wasn't so hard, but holy shit, she is an amazing kid.

Friday - Another drunken decorating success! At some point I drunkenly recited an X-rated version of A Night Before Christmas to a room full of about 20 people. My dad laughed so hard he fell over. There is supposedly video. I will do my best to figure out how to post just the sound. Once I hear it and make sure I didn't sound like a total fucking moron.

Saturday - We lost to Michigan for the first time in 7 years...on a nostalgic note, the last time we lost to them, Facebook didn't exist. Nor did iPhones. These facts make me feel better. Stupid Maize and Blue.

Sunday - Our anniversary is on Tuesday, so we went out to dinner and then to the Blue Jackets game versus the St. Louis Blues (WE WON!) Yes, I am still a Blues girl at heart. And I completely thought of Bradshaw the whole time. There was a crazy drunk guy who looked like he fell out of 1976 two rows in front of us who was also a Blues fan. Clearly, Bradshaw was the better choice in ally.

Random Weekend Thoughts - My cousin's twins are possibly the cutest things ever. Big Jed knitted them Sock Monkey hats and my cousin bought them matching outfits for Drunken Decorating. They are just so amazingly independent and well behaved. Probably because they have damn good parents. I fall in love with them more and more every time I see them.

My cousin (the boy one, not the one with twins) taught my cat how to fetch. There is stuffed football making appearances in my dreams now. NCH will not let this game die.

I cooked the food for Drunken Decorating and it was a hit. I realize that this seems obvious to some of you, but I often am amazed that I can do this. It felt good to have other people agree.

The wake is today and the funeral tomorrow for my cousin's brother in law. I don't pray, so I would never ask you to do so. But, good thoughts her way. Her family needs this during this senseless tragedy. I feel so bad for her.

My sister only threw a few temper tantrums, but was generally pleasant. I found myself happy to see her. She even talked about having kids...which...sort of made me fear for humanity. But, baby steps. It was a good trip.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving full of loving family, hilarity, and comfort. Oh, and cats that can't fetch.

Wordless Week Day 3

KITTENS! 

Filler Post

I decided to try to blog while I was on vacation because, well, I wanted to share the awesomeness with all of you. Also, as a memory to me. Today we went on an airboat ride, saw a 12 foot alligator, and I held a 2 foot alligator. Who was soft. We went to the pool, grilled dinner, and now I am watching Glee and drinking Jack and Cranberry Ginger Ale. Delicious.

See? Not a whole blog post. We need downtime too.

So...right before we left, Neil figured out how to climb between the screen door and the screen guard and pop out the screen. And got stuck. It was hilarious. Here's pictures. Enjoy.

I GOT THE JOB, BITCHES!

I will start with the best news of all...I got the job. I start tomorrow. I am ecstatic. And nervous. My new schedule is going to be slightly amazing. I will work Monday through Friday 9:30 am to 2:30 pm at the new job and Sunday through Thursday 4 pm to 12 am. So, you read this right, I have Friday night, all day Saturday, and Sunday mornings off! That is almost two whole days! Days other people have off work! So I can see them! And have friends! And a life! And wheeeeeeee!

I was also informed that at new job, I am expected to have my own dishes on the menu. My. Food. On a restaurant menu. I died. I am dead. I just can't even begin to explain how amazing this will be. Obviously, it will take some time and I will need to get a hang of things. But, my food. On a menu. It is everything.

The last bit of news is more of the "I am going to kill my cat" nature. So. Neil is on prescription food because of his bladder issues. His food regulates the ph in his bladder. He hated the food at first and we had to mix tuna with it. Then we slowly weened him off the tuna. Phase 1, we will call it. Well, Phase 2 is the phase where we stop feeding him 7 million times a day. OK. Four. But, still. We feed him a half a can in the morning, at noon, dinner, and before bed. I am pushing to only feed him twice a day. I am a firm believer that if you withhold food long enough, eventually they bend to your will. I have done this with both my dogs. They eat on a schedule, they eat all their food when it is put in front of them. Well, Short Dog still does. Kobi did. 

Now it's time for the cat. Except, you know, he is secretly Stewie from Family Guy. So, instead of him just eating what he is hungry for, he eats nothing. Nada. Not even a little bit of food. He isn't having it. He wants his fresh food four times a day. And we are being stubborn and not giving in, but he is getting gradually more and more evil. Meowing and staring. Sharpening knives menacingly. You know, the usual.

Sooooooo....if nobody hears from me for a few days, it is distinctly possible I am tied up in the basement being force fed cat food by my cat. He will be eating chips.

Updates

A few random things. Krackle sent me a gchat that just said "update your blog" so I guess that I need to update my blog. You guys are so needy. Jeez.

NCH is doing great, fine, super, still trying to kill me. I accidentally locked him in the guest room yesterday when I went to work, even though I find this to be impossible, somehow I did it. So, when I got home yesterday, he was batting my hand away every time I tried to pet him. He was doing the same to the boy. So, suffice to say, he is back to normal. Pissed and evil. Here is a picture of his belly after the surgery.

It looks like the surgery was done with a chainsaw because he has so much fat on his belly. He kind of has a fat butt on his belly now. It makes me laugh.

Short Dog also got his teeth cleaned and the vet said they were on side by side tables, which for some reason, made me happy. Even though they kind of hate each other. 

I graduate in less than two weeks, which is equal parts exciting and nerve wracking. There are a lot of preparations to do and a part of me is kind of regretting having a party and making a big deal out of it. It is an associates degree in culinary arts, it's not like I am becoming a doctor. And I am almost 30 years old. I feel a bit ridiculous making such a big deal out of it, but it is too late now. So, I guess own it and drink up, right? Plus, my cousin is bringing her twins, so that alone makes it worth it. BABIES!

I will end on a final story, which is quite hilarious. I went to this gay bar on campus with Iceburg Jones. He had been trying to get me to go there for ages and I finally relented. They are in the process of redoing their patio and covered the entire thing in astro turf. Yes, I would think this would be the last decision a bunch of gay men would make, but who am I to judge. Well, the astro turf covered little tiny steps all over the place. I am sure you can see where this is going. So, I take my first beer out to the patio so that Iceburg Jones can smoke and tripped over the tiny one inch step. I rammed my shoulder into a guy's chair, flung beer all over myself, and completely skinned my knee. By the next day, my shoulder was covered in a giant bruise, my knee looked like someone had put a baseball under my skin, and every inch of my body hurt. Oh, and I was the laughing stock of the entire bar.

In case you guys didn't know, awkward is my special talent. 

Neil Catrick goes to the vet...again

Neil was back at the vet for a sedation and more tests last Thursday. Right after Kobi died, he freaked and started peeing everywhere. I talked about the first round of sickness here. 

We thought we were through this, that he just freaked out because of Kobi. It is apparently really common for cats to give themselves urinary problems when under stressful situations. 

So, here we are again. Wednesday night he was peeing blood. On the carpet. Lovely. I took him back Thursday morning and paid a small fortune in vet bills to have them run the same tests as last time, plus all of the things I opted out of for financial reasons. 

On a side note, I know a lot of people have said bad things about Banfield Pet Hospitals and their wellness plans. Thursday alone, my bill would have been almost $1200 if I did not have the wellness plan. With the wellness plan, $332. Yes, you wait for a long time and there is a plethora of pet hair that makes me sneeze the whole time I am there. But, the vets remember my pets and I even got condolences on Kobi , as one vet asked how he was doing. I can't recommend enough doing this for your pets. It makes routine care SO easy and SO affordable. That is, if you have them in your area. I know most of you may not.

Anywho...I got there and he was behaving as usual, hissing and growling at everyone while cuddling up to me. It is the only time he likes me, so I admit, I kind of enjoy it. I am a terrible person. They sedated him and that was that. When the boy picked him up, they found something on the abdominal X-Ray, but it was inconclusive so it had to be sent out.

24 hour later, we discover that he has a bladder stone too large to pass on his own. Little Neil Catrick has to have bladder surgery! I won't even tell you how much it is going to cost. Or what we have to go through during recovery. I will save that for another post, where in I have a nervous breakdown. 

He goes in Thursday morning and will be in surgery for a few hours and picked up Thursday night. I am scared something is going to happen between now and then. I am really scared something is going to happen during surgery. I am terrified that he is going to play with Short Dog and rip out his stitches. Gah! I want to put him in a bubble.

I don't know how people have real kids. As much as I worry about my furry ones, I feel like I would never let them leave the house! 

I will keep everyone posted on the little guy. Hopefully everything goes as planned.

Kitty Comforts

When Krackle and I were roommates, she had these blankets. I don't know how to explain them. They were torn apart and threadbare and amazing. She called them kitty comforts. There were always two, one for her and one for me. We spent hours curled up under these blankets. The name came from the fact that cats always look comfortable, no matter how they are laying. And it certainly didn't matter how I laid, those blankets were comforting and soft and amazing. I miss them so.

When we first got NCH, I finally saw what she meant. He always looks comfortable. Then the anti-anxiety medication started and he slept in some WEIRD ASS POSITIONS. None of them looked very comfortable to me.

 I do believe that this is a sign of a broken neck.

 Asleep on my toes. Not the side of my foot, or the top of my foot. The tips of my knobby, hard toes. Futurama does not amuse him at all.

 OK, this may be mildly comfortable, but is the toilet seat cover really necessary? Or the completely fucked up rug?

 Is he looking down? Nope. He is asleep. In a drawer. Bent over the edge of it.  

 This is only weird if you know my cat, who let me put this blanket on him. Moments later, he was building a laser gun in the corner.

 There is no way, no way that this is comfortable. I don't even understand how he decided to lay like this.

 When in doubt, hang yourself over the side of a chair. 

And the final, and best picture. Sitting straight up. On the stairs. Sound asleep. 

Now, I know that none of you read this site for gratuitous pictures of my stoned cat. But, dude, I could not stop laughing the entire time he was drugged up and it is wordless Wednesday right? Now is as good of a time as any to participate and then immediately break the number one rule. 

I am a rebel.

There is no way this day was real.

Sometimes you have bad days. Sometimes you have good days. Sometimes you have days that seem like they lasted for 18 hours and it isn't even dinner time yet. Today was one of those days.

Woke up to NCH peeing on the bed at 6 am. (we have had some stress related problems with him since we lost Kobers) There was blood in it. Fuck.

Stripped the bed and went downstairs to the basement, which led to a long, serious conversation with the boy that should never be had at 6 am.

Attempted to go back to sleep. Failed.

Called the vet, made an appointment for 10 am.

Attempted to go back to sleep. Failed.

Took Neil to the vet where I waited for AN HOUR before they would see me. The only option was sedating him and getting tests done. To the tune of $360. Fuck. While waiting, had to reschedule 2 job interviews. Guess who is not getting hired? Crazy cat girl.

Went to the only remaining job interview. Have a preview shift during Saturday night dinner rush. Fuck. That is just cruel and unusual, people. Cruel and unusual.

Got asked during my interview if I had a problem with the typical vulgarity in kitchens, because I am a woman and all. I almost directed him to my blog.

Met Iceburg Jones for lunch, wherein I had to tell him that we can't take on a roommate right now. Felt horrible, but he made me laugh, which made me feel better. Also, he might have still been asleep. And should change his name to Mark.

Came home and FINALLY took a nap. Woke up to the vet calling. Neil was awake and there was blood in his urine. Thank God for your veterinary medicine degree. I HAD NO IDEA. The tests revealed nothing else. Shoot me in my broke ass face.

$100 in antibiotics and more kitty Xanax (yes, this is round 2 of anti anxiety medication FOR MY CAT) and prescription diet to help his urinary tract issues. Which they found no sign of, but are just guessing that is the case. You know, because of their dynamite urine in the blood diagnosis. 

They bring him out in his cat carrier and he is FLIPPING out. I open the carrier and he buries himself in my lap. And pees. All over me. In the lobby of the vet office. While I wait for his prescriptions. FOR TWENTY MINUTES.

We drive home, Neil clinging to me the whole way. I attempt to give him a bath, which ends in him leaping over the counter, spraying pee and water all over the kitchen. I strip off all my clothes and take a shower, resolving myself to a house covered in cat pee.

I contemplate curling up in the fetal position until the boy gets home.

I give Neil his antibiotic, getting bit in the process, and his kitty Xanax. 

I open a beer and think, WHY THE FUCK DO PEOPLE GET UP THIS EARLY. IT IS SIX MORE HOURS OF SHIT GOING TERRIBLY, TERRIBLY WRONG. I AM NEVER GETTING UP BEFORE NOON AGAIN.

Do you think that kitty Xanax would work on humans?

Fake Spring

It is starting to get nice here...or what I am referring to as fake spring. This is the second fake spring we have had and it almost killed me to put away the flip flops and get out the jackets. During first fake spring, we had the windows open and NCH sat at the windows and looked out, longingly. We assume he was dreaming of the days in the barn, but more than likely he was plotting a way to kill us in our sleep. 

During the current fake spring, he apparently stumbled upon an unknown stash of meth and took it all at once. He sits at the back door hunting birds that he can't quite get and then running around the house swatting the dogs in the face and causing mayhem. Then the boy gave him this weird Mardi Gras necklace that he found who knows where, which NCH proceeded to carry around all afternoon. Then the boy put it on him and it was like a fresh batch of meth we just cooked up. Dear. Lord.

During this meth binge, I also tried to wrap the presents for my cousin's baby shower. Somebody had to be involved through the whole process.

I would have posted an in focus picture, but that would have required him to stop trying to kill the present for 10 seconds. Also, I may have gone overboard on presents. The one hiding in the back has yet to be filled because it is handmade and has yet to be finished. But, oh, it will be filled.

So, in summary, spring is the same thing as meth, NCH loves Ohio, and this is the best gift bag ever.

Evil is afoot

The Erratic household is living in fear because for months now we have been terrorized by him:

Sleepless nights as he bats things off the dresser at our heads.

Rugs strewn about the house. (Note: these live in the upstairs bathroom. This is the basement.)

He is into EVERYTHING. All the time. Constantly.

When we got Neil, I knew cats were independent. I knew that they were impossible to train and that you lived with the cat, the cat did not live with you. I had no idea what we were in for. Or how freaking cute he would be. Or how he would just make my heart melt over and over.

I miss the kitten. The little guy who cuddled and actually liked humans, instead of plotting how to kill us.

When his food runs out, he becomes extra special evil and runs around the house meowing and planting atomic bombs. The number one priority in our house is making sure that Neil's food bowl is full. Nobody is prepared for the consequences if it is not.

I never thought I would own a cat. I certainly wasn't prepared for what owning a cat meant. But, the cat lives up to his bad ass name...he is one bad ass cat.

Can't. Believe. I. Am. Posting. This. Nonsense.

Hey, you guys...I had a weird day. So, this is not 30 posts of anything other than how Erratic had a crazy fucking day. Most of it was self induced stupidity because I have not slept since Tuesday. 

So...fairly normal day full of fairly normal things. Then I get to work. And it was like someone slipped me acid.

1. I cut my finger on a knife. That was laying on a table. By rubbing my finger against the blade while wrapping cheese. Seriously.

2. I stabbed a chicken. With a different knife. On accident. Just, kind of, stabbed it. People should not give me knives when I have not gotten adequate sleep. (Note: the chicken was dead)

3. I cut my finger open trussing a chicken. Blood. Rope. Yeah. (Note: it was a different chicken)

4. I ran into, that I remember, a wall, the rotisserie, multiple coworkers, and the Hobart. The last one was with my head. Just ran right into it. Been working there four months. It has always been there.

THEN! Have you seen "The Middle"? I don't really like it. But, the kid what whispers cracks me the fuck up and today at work somebody did it! I looked over and she was mumbling to herself that she hated when she couldn't say words. Queue scene.

Erratic: What word can't you say?

Weird Girl: Pork and Cheese

Erratic: Like a cheese flavored pork or a pork flavored cheese?

Weird Girl: No. Pork and Cheese.

Erratic: I just keep hearing Pork and Cheese. Spell it for me.

Weird Girl: Pouss...I don't know how to spell it.

Other Dude: Are you trying to say Portuguese?

Weird Girl: YES! (AND THEN THE BEST THING EVER HAPPENED...She put her head down and whispered...pork and cheese.)

Erratic: I know a dude from Portugal that is hearing this story. There is just no way around that one.

Other Dude...Hours Later: Remember when weird girl couldn't say Portuguese. (Queue hilarious laughter)

I really hope that wasn't a "you had to be there" moment, because I just peed a little typing it.

So, then I left work and was driving home and LITERALLY FORGOT TO TURN. Like, just didn't turn. Almost drove off the road. Because I was too tired to remember to turn the car. Wasn't dozing off. Eyes were wide open. Just forgot to turn. Rumble strips seriously saved my life.

THEN. I get off at the exit that I almost drove off of and my entire road is closed. Four lane road, double lane. Closed. This means...prepare to judge me...I HAVE NO ACCESS TO FAST FOOD. Except McDonalds which I am over. I have no food. I just spent an 8 hour shift on my feet with absolutely no food and I was starving. STARVING. And could not get food. Like, the path to make it happen would have been ridiculous for 1:00 am. 

I would like to state for the record that I KNOW IT IS BAD FOR YOU TO EAT AT 1:00 AM. Please stop telling me this, universe. I get it. I shouldn't do it because Oprah and God said so. But, you know what, I am fucking hungry. And I am losing weight. SO SUCK IT UNIVERSE.

Anywho...I came home and made organic boxed macaroni and cheese. After spending hours in my CLASSICAL FRENCH COOKING SCHOOL. Escoffier literally jumped out of his coffin and punched a baby. As the noodles were boiling, I glanced at the refrigerator and saw this lovely note Tini left me when he stayed over the weekend:

I chuckled, grabbed the milk, put it back in the fridge, grabbed the heavy cream and literally said, as I was pouring it on the macaroni noodles "this one's for my homies." Then I swore to never be my friend because I was such a tool. Then I mentally high-fived Escoffier and vowed never to tell anyone about any of this. I fail at self vows.

Neil Catrick Harris approved. Note: I let him do this long enough to take a picture. I AM PART OF THE PROBLEM. Then I sprayed him with a water bottle.

P.S.I sincerely hope that this post makes sense. I am not even going back and rereading it. I am that scared of what I just wrote.

P.P.S. At what age do the 1:00 AM terrorize everything in a 100 mile radius kitten crazies end? Because, for reals, he just tried to amputate my foot.

P.P.P.S. I am going to bed. Please still love me tomorrow.

His collar has a little bow. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

Having a kitten is nothing like having a puppy. They are much more self sufficient and don't need to be watched constantly. And the curiosity kills me. As I am typing this, Neil is watching my fingers and meowing. He sits on the books I am reading, on my keyboard when I am on my laptop and tries to eat everything that I am eating, often by flinging himself onto the plate or bowl. He gets the kitty crazies and runs around the house like a mad man, then jumps on my lap and curls up for a nap. I don't think the purring will ever get old. I haven't heard him hiss since the first few days he was home and was still getting used to the dogs. He cuddles with his canine brothers, when they allow it, and attaches himself to Kobi's tail, his favorite toy. At night, he sleeps in the closet in a fuzzy slipper boot. As soon as he hears someone moving, he meanders out, meowing and wanting up on the bed to see what is going on. When he falls asleep, his head is always in an inconvenient position, usually falling backwards, but he snoozes on.

I don't know how much his personality will change as he gets older, but man are we in love with the little guy now. We all knew it would happen, but I am calling it official. I am now a cat AND a dog person.

You should probably just not read this.

Secret confession: I watch all the Real Housewives shows on Bravo. Start judging me, immediately. I deserve it. In fact, you should point and laugh. Possibly throw some virtual fruit. Or real fruit. But? BUT!

Why do they let these women make music? AND WHY THE FUCK DID ONE OF THE OTHER HOUSEWIVES CALL IT EARLY MADONNA? I can't deal. Granted, I am, for all intents and purposes, a metal head, so maybe I don't understand pop music. Like Lady Gaga. That shit makes me cringe. My grandmother loves her. My Grandfuckingmother. Mother fucker, fuck. That is all I really have to say about that. I tried to explain to her what the songs meant, but she wasn't having it. Then she called her creative and original and MOTHER FUCKER, FUCK. My grandmother is not allowed to like Lady Gaga. She is also not allowed to have paintings of penises hanging on her walls, but, she does. So, I guess, mother fucker, fuck.

I lost all sense of this post. Oh, yeah. Reality TV stars are no longer allowed to make music. If I had an Erratictopia, this would be law. In fact, based on all the bullshit laws we have passed recently, I wouldn't be surprised if it actually became law.

Also, my cat hates me. The boy is sick of hearing this, but for reals. Change of attitude today, to hate. Cats make no sense. Sort of like this post.

I own a kitty cat!

I would like to officially introduce Neil Catrick Harris. He is home. The dogs are freaking out a little, but it is nothing more than what I expected. They want to sniff him, NCH hisses every time they come near him. He had a rough day. His first bath, his first car ride, his first time puking on mom, 3 dogs at Big Jed's house, two here....I would be hissing too. Plus, he was taken away from his sister and the freedom of living in a barn.

He is curled up in the corner of the couch right now snoozing and my heart is just melting. I forgot what it is like to get a puppy/kitten. It's a different feeling than getting an adult dog, it really is. I have completely and totally fallen in love with him and cannot wait to watch him grow up. I hope he stays engaged and curious and wants to be around people. Because now, he just mews if you try to lock him up and is only happy if you are in sight. I really hope he remains social, but from what I know about cats, it is a total gamble.

So, I present to you, THE Neil Catrick Harris.

His first bath

Being fucking adorable.

But, mom, I don't want to play with the toys.