I can't think of anything to write about which doesn't involve a ton of bitching about people who are epic examples of SUCK and FAIL, so let's make some important decisions instead:

Poll #1308991
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 15

Do you want me to send you a Christmas card?

MY CHRISTMAS CARDS ARE NOT FUGLY. I stood in the Christmas-card aisle at Target for, like, FORTY-FIVE MINUTES examining various cards and judging them on their relative merits and you know why? Because I love you. Because I want to mail you a beautiful card and you know why else? BECAUSE I CAN. Unlike SOME people WHO TRY TO MAKE OTHERS FEEL BAD BECAUSE THEY HAVE THE TIME AND ENERGY AND STUFF TO LOOK AT CHRISTMAS...

Oh. Sorry. That would be "bitching," wouldn't it?

Ahem.

If you want a card, please leave your name and address in a comment. All comments are screened, naturally, so that, you know, you won't get stalked by some psycho loser and whatnot.

coughcoughDipshitEx-Neighborcoughcough

And don't feel like you're voting for yourself for Most Popular or anything if you leave a comment. I LOVE SENDING CHRISTMAS CARDS SO MUCH, so the more, the merrier, I say.

See what I did there?! Merrier? Merry? Christmas cards? Heee? Anybody?

Whatevs. HATERS.

So here's my other Christmas issue. Besides the fact that I am apparently in a very bad mood this week.

Ouiser, my cat? He's a destructive little demon-pig from hell. And he tears shit up all the time and I hate him so much

Sorry. Bitching again. Starting over.

Ouiser, my cat? He's EXTREMELY...active.

I had him neutered, of course, to try to cut down on the BRAIN-BURNING HYPERACTIVITY and DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR, but it...hasn't worked. Like, at ALL. Yet.

And if that cat broke any of my Christmas ornaments, I could not be held responsible for my actions. Essentially, Ouiser would forfeit his right to live.

***An aside to explain my feelings toward Ouiser***

To be perfectly honest, I do not like Ouiser. I couldn't find a home for him and felt it was my responsibility to keep him. However, I am not mean to him. Sure, I tell him all the time that I hate him, but all in all, he has a great life. He has plenty to eat, lots of toys, his cat mother, the finest veterinary care money can buy, a TV to watch, lots of windows to look out of, etc. The way I see it, his landlord hating his guts is a minor glitch in an otherwise luxurious existence. You can't have it all, right?

Essentially, he is Little Orphan Annie and I am Miss...whatever her name was. You know, Carol Burnett.

/Feelings

Anyway, I know that if I have a tree this year with Ouiser being less than a year old and still very much a destructive little shithead kitten, he will climb the tree, break my stuff and then we will have Big Problems, not the least of which will be me figuring out how to dispose of a cat-body and trying to hide Ouiser's untimely demise from the family.

So what do I do?

Poll #1308992
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 13

Do I...

Off to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and drink hot cocoa.



Your grinchy
Kel

This has not been the best week.

Match.com hilariousness and general foolishness aside, this has pretty much been The Week of Kel's Discontent.

Yesterday, I got home from work (LATE, just like every other day this week) and trudged up the stairs feeling a little teary and very much like the title character in Amelie before the night she learns that Princess Diana (a.k.a. Laydee-Dee) has died.

(If you don't know what I'm talking about, then HOLY CRAP YOU NEED TO GO WATCH THAT MOVIE THIS MINUTE!)

("But I HATE subtitles!")

(Jesus Christ, do you know how many INCREDIBLE movies you will miss because you don't want to read while you watch the teevee?!)

Anyway.

So I was marching up the Stairs of Doom, preparing to throw myself an evening-long pity party when what should catch my eye but

A PACKAGE!

ON MY DOORSTEP!

THAT IS PRESUMABLY FOR ME!

And what do you suppose was inside?

These!



From the lovely and generous bankgrl!

bankgrl knows that two of the major pleasures in my life are:

1. Chihuahuas and Chihuahua-related items
2. Anything in the post which is not a bill

WHAT. I'm easy to please!

One of the many things which have gone wrong this week is that my workplace has apparently become the repository for any animal which anyone no longer wants. Therefore, we became the proud foster family of YET ANOTHER mama cat and two kittens.

Fortunately, we were able to find homes for the kittens, but the mama cat, whom Carol named Tabitha after the daughter in Bewitched (because I like witches, she said) has become the Office Cat. For those of you keeping score at home, Tabitha is Office Cat #3.

Dear Citizens of Shreveport: We like cats and apparently, you don't. This does not mean, however, that we are willing or able to adopt every unwanted cat in the state of Louisiana. Please do not leave any more cats on our doorstep. In sum, FUCKING KNOCK THIS SHIT OFF. Love, Kel & Her Coworkers

And with that, my dears, I take my Tylenol Simply Sleep and leave you with

KITTEH PICS!

Week of 11-17-08

Your ready-to-start-over-next-week
Kel

P.S. I would also like to give a very special and cryptic Clothes_Slut shout-out to amberle404 for being a generally all-around stand-up chick. YOU RULE!

For they let me play with knives and fire in the same evening.

Dear Jennifer and Swell Nathan:

Why did you do that? Don't do that.

Love,
The Rest of the World

Way back when (you know, 10 months ago or so), I made a New Year's resolution to learn to cook one dish that did not originate in a box.

DONE!

Swell Nathan taught me, the girl who can barely boil water, to cook a WHOLE CHICKEN! And make chicken stock! And mashed potatoes! And roasted asparagus! And...something else, but I can't remember right now.

(In other news, I am sick. AGAIN. PEOPLE, I AM STILL ON ANTIBIOTICS FROM LAST TIME. All the bacteria in the world have apparently decided to gang up on me. So if you've ever wanted to lick a toilet seat, eat raw pork, visit a leper colony, etc., now's your chance - the bacteria are not looking, because they're far too busy setting up shop in my sinuses. So I'm on pharmaceuticals, which in my lame world, means one thing: I'M HIGH. Which makes me think I'm funny.)

(How nice for YOU!)

In addition to teaching me how to, you know, cook stuff, Swell Nathan and Jennifer also taught me to make jewelry. Which is pretty much everything I've ever wanted in the world, since I think I am Martha Stewart and OMG SPARKLIES!

You may not know this, but Jennifer and Swell Nathan make jewelry. And when I say "make jewelry," I mean they, like, MAKE IT FROM SCRATCH. They have an Etsy store and everything! Which is here: Avidchick Jewelry

I know, right? GORGEOUS.

Jennifer and Swell Nathan? If y'all ever decide to take up polygamy, I'M IN.

And now, the photographic evidence!

Tampa! Part Three

Your chicken-roasting
Kel

So...

Perhaps posting MAKEUP-LESS PICTURES OF MYSELF ON THE FREAKING INTERNET was...unwise.

Dear Men: Please form an orderly line starting at the front door. Thanks, The Management

Mere: "Those were...yeah. Um. So...what else is going on?"

Am I the only one who thinks the dudes on the freecreditreport.com commercials are kind of hot?

Wait. What?

(I'm having a little trouble concentrating today.)

So I'm going to share something with you guys...something that's definitely enriched MY life over the last year or so.

One time, one of my friends wrote about how her ex-boyfriend had a bad habit of starting completely inappropriate conversations at cocktail parties.

For instance, at one soiree, he loudly announced, "Did you know that every day, at least once a day, you think about a monkey?"

WELL, IF WE DIDN'T BEFORE, WE SURE AS HELL DO NOW.

As soon as I read this - and I mean the very moment I read this - my internal monologue took a definite turn for the worse.

Kel's Brain: "Hmmm, let's see. I need to post those invoices, pay those bills, prepare that bulletin, consult Dad about these numbers, stop at the drycleaners on the way home from work, oh! And I need Diet Dr. Pepper MONKEY."

"He's really cute. Does he think I'm cute? I wonder if he'll call? He said he would call but that certainly doesn't mean he'll call MONKEY."

"Heavenly Father, please continue to bless and keep safe all of my friends and family and all the people in the world MONKEY."

Naturally, I called Hef and told him this news because if there's one thing I love, it's sharing joy.

A couple days later, I was the recipient of an EXTREMELY pissed-off phone call.

"MONKEYS!" Hef screamed. "I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT FUCKING MONKEYS! I WAS IN A MEETING TODAY, A VERY IMPORTANT MEETING ABOUT VERY IMPORTANT AND GRAVE SAFETY ISSUES AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING? I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I WAS THINKING! MONKEYMONKEYMONKEYMONKEYMONKEYMONKEYMONKEY!"

Heh heh. MONKEY.

Wait. What?

Also, you know what? Most of the time, I am perfectly fine with being single. I mean, sure, I'd like to meet someone special, but on a day-to-day basis, it doesn't really matter to me one way or the other.

HOWEVER.

It SUCKS being single when you're sick.

Friday night, all I wanted in the whole, wide world was to take a bath that was roughly the temperature of magma. I gathered my towel and fresh pajamas and headed in the direction of the tub.

And what should meet my eyes but

CAT PIDDLE.

IN THE BATHTUB.

WHAT.

THE FUCK, WINNIFRED?

About that time, Mere called. I was almost weeping with frustration.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Cleaning CAT PEE out of the BATHTUB!"

"What?"

"Winnifred PEED in the BATHTUB because she's STOOPID. She's not just regular stupid, she's S-T-O-O-P-I-D STOOPID."

"Why the bathtub?"

"I don't know! When one considers alternatives to the toilet, or, in this case, the cat box, one does not normally gravitate toward the BATHTUB!"

So then, naturally, even after cleaning the whole bathtub with Scrubbing Bubbles, I couldn't bathe in there. Winnifred WET in there. So I had to settle for a shower.

UNFULFILLED!

The moral of the story is that it would have been nice if I had a person who was morally obligated to clean cat piss out of the bathtub for me when I'm sick.

But I don't, so I had to be an Independent Woman and clean the bathtub all by my feverish self.

And you know what else?

MONKEY.



Your mischievous and medicated
Kel

So...yeah. This is definitely going to go down in history as the Worst Halloween Ever. Michael Myers himself showing up would be a marked improvement, because at least then things would be more interesting. And Halloween-themed.

Speaking of Michael, I'll be watching Halloween for the 84,000th time tonight. Because who doesn't like 70's-era all-natural boobies, especially when they're combined with blood, guts and knee socks? I know I do.

At least y'all are here to keep my spirits aloft with your funny comments and suggestions for weight loss. I hope y'all know I love you more than my luggage. I love y'all so much, in fact, that I did something for you today that is heretofore UNPRECEDENTED in Clothes_Slut Land:

I took pictures of myself...

SANS MAKEUP.

Quick, someone grab the smelling salts!

If this ain't journalistic integrity, then someone's going to have to tell me what is BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW.

Anyway, here they are: a photographic record of The Halloween Which Sucked a Thousand Dicks.

Mere: "In a row?"

Halloween 2008 The Giant Sucking Sound

Happy Halloween, my darlings! Look out next year: Mere and I are going as POLYGAMISTS!



Your scary
Kel

A word of advice:

Do not watch this movie right before bedtime.

I will NEVER. Get to sleep. Ever. AGAIN.

Guillermo del Toro + subtitles + grossness + extreme creepiness (AND THE SOUNDTRACK DOES NOT HELP MATTERS) = Kel sleeping with her bedroom door locked and all the lights on. Forever more.

Here is how neurotic am I:

During the creepiest part of this extremely creepy movie, Chihuahua began growling in a most menacing way (well, for a Chihuahua, anyway) at something in the corner. I couldn't see anything, so naturally, that meant it was a ghost. You know, like from the tee vee.

OMG. OMG. CREEPY LITTLE-KID GHOSTS HAVE SUPERNATURALLY COME OUT OF THE TELEVISION AND ARE NOW HAUNTING THE FAR RIGHT CORNER OF MY LIVING ROOM!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

HURRY HURRY HURRY MUST CALL FATHER DAIGLE ON THE BAT PHONE WE'RE GONNA NEED US AN EXORCISM UP IN THIS MOTHER RIGHT. EFFING. NOW.

So I leaped off the sofa in an uncharacteristically athletic manner and starting doing that hopping-around-on-tippy-toes-and-squealing dance that I usually reserve for very large spiders and trying to find my phone.

When I realized that Ouiser, not a ghost, was haunting the far right corner of my living room.

Oh.

Dear Clothes_Slut Readers: Wait. Why am I single again?

Clothes_Slut Readers: Because you are an idiot.

Oh yeah...

P.S. I hate to break it to Chihuahua, but she's going to have to keep her tiny legs crossed until daylight, 'cause AIN'T NO WAY we're going out for another walk tonight. In the dark. WHAT. THERE MIGHT BE GHOSTS.

So tell me - what's the scariest movie YOU'VE ever seen?



Your seeing-and-believing
Kel

When I got home from work last night, I went straight into my bedroom to change clothes, as is my custom.

The animals gathered in the bedroom and watched me intently, as is their custom.

If I could read their tiny minds for one minute, I would want to know WHY they do this. What are they watching for? Is it some sort of "mom's health" exam? Do they think that perhaps I spontaneously grew green scales all over my body while I was at work? Or are they just a bunch of wee, furry perverts? Surely this is not the highlight of their days.

Anyway, here they are, as captured on video, in the manner of a National Geographic cameraman or similar, by moi: the world's smallest, hairiest strip-club audience.

Personal to animals: Etiquette dictates that in such establishments, the patrons should demonstrate their appreciation by tipping the performers.





Your multitalented
Kel

So I'm learning to sew on oilcloth.

It's not easy.

Oilcloth is simultaneously slippery and sticky, and it's just a giant pain in the ass to deal with. Sewing a zipper onto oilcloth is essentially sadomasochistic torture. Last night, I got so pissed off that I stormed into the laundry room, grabbed a tube of super glue and super-glued a zipper to the oilcloth before sewing it, which, as you can imagine, is VERY BAD for the sewing machine.

Anyway.

One of the products that's highly recommended for helping a budding seamstress such as myself deal with oilcloth is called Sewer's Aid. It's sewing-machine lubricant, but you can rub a bit on your needle, feed plate and presser foot to help fabrics like oilcloth glide through rather than stick and bunch. I bought a bottle at the fabric store last night.

A little ways into my second project, I looked around for the Sewer's Aid. I couldn't find it, and I knew the cats had gotten it. I prayed to God that maybe, just MAYBE, the cats had batted it under the china cabinet or something and weren't actually EATING the Sewer's Aid.

Naturally, my prayers went unanswered.

For this morning, I found a chewed-up plastic bottle on the floor by my bedroom door with only about a quarter of the lubricant left in the bottle. Surprisingly, the carpet was not splattered and soaked with oil.

Which can only mean one thing: One, or possibly all, of the cats have eaten sewing-machine lubricant. At best, this means explosive diarrhea. At worst, it means an emergency vet bill the size of the national debt.

I hate cats.



Your oil-free
Kel

Long story short, Ouiser, my cat whom I have believed for SIX MONTHS to be a GIRL, is in fact a BOY.

(On the bright side, this turn of events has given me new insight into why, at age 31, I am still single.)

Even worse, this fact was discovered Friday morning when Ouiser was ON THE OPERATING TABLE AT THE VET'S OFFICE ABOUT TO BE "SPAYED."

The receptionist at the vet's office called me.

Her: "Kelly? This is Quan. Um, so we had Ouiser on the table this morning..."

Kel's Brain: OMG. OMG. OUISER HAS DIED. Ouiser has died because I disobeyed the vet and fed her [him] a piece of potato chip this morning even though she [he] wasn't supposed to have any food or water past midnight and now she [he] has died AND IT IS ALL MY FAULT.

Her: "...and Ouiser's a boy."

Kel: ?

Kel: "Wait. What?"

Her: "Ouiser. Is not a girl. Ouiser's a boy. The vet was like, 'Did you bring me the wrong cat?' and I said, 'No, that's Ouiser and she's here to be spayed,' and the vet said, 'We can't spay Ouiser because Ouiser has testicles.'"

Kel: *Hysterical laughter*

Her: "Well, look at it this way: the surgery's cheaper!"

Kel: *Hysterical laughter*

I owe Wednesday an apology, because I blamed her for peeing all over the bathroom the other day, and uh...yeah. Now I'm pretty sure that was Ouiser.

SHEER F-----G BRILLIANCE, PEOPLE. Sheer brilliance.

Dear Harvard: Please FedEx my PhD IMMEDIATELY.



Your genius
Kel

I'm sure y'all are aware by now that I can't do ANYTHING, not the simplest, smallest, most trivial little THING without some kind of fucked-up shit happening.

I firmly believe that when God created me, He said to Himself, "And you, My darling, you are going to be the court jester for the universe."

And so I am.

The movers came to the apartment early Wednesday morning. They were great; they did a terrific job, and the only thing they broke was something I packed completely improperly.

One of the last items they took from the apartment was the love seat in the sitting room. They lifted it up, and Chihuahua's secret stash of dried-up cat poop came rolling out.

FanTASTIC.

They all stopped, turned their heads and looked at me like "Eeewww."

A rational person would have been all, "WHAT. It's not like it's MINE."

Instead, because I am socially inept, I ended up stammering an excuse that included the words "secret stash."

As the movers continued to stare.

Perfection, thy name is KEL.



Your humiliated
Kel

Let's play!

My Johari window

--------

The Friday Five: Information, Please

1. What piece of information do you keep forgetting?

That He knows what He's doing and I quite obviously do not.

2. What regular event in your life do you keep forgetting?

The cleaning ladies come every other Wednesday; it is on my calendar. Yet, for some reason, I can never seem to remember this until, oh, midnight the night before. So then I'm running around like crazy trying to pick up after myself so they can CLEAN when they get here instead of spending the whole time wading through Kel Junk.

3. How are you with remembering the names of people you meet?

TERRIBLE. I can remember every OTHER tiny detail of people I meet except the one BIG detail, their names.

4. What kinds of tricks to you have for remembering to do stuff that falls outside your regular routine?

HA. HAHAHAHAHAHA. If I had the answer to this, I would be a much more efficient person.

5. If you keep a daily planner, what is it like? If you don’t, why not?

I don't carry a planner, but I have a calendar in every room of my house. (For all the good it does me.) I've come to accept the fact that I'm an "absent-minded professor" sort of person.

--------

In other news, I was sitting at the kitchen table last night, writing, when I heard a big SPLASH.

Black Meow (Cats Domino) fell in the potty. Fortunately, it was not, uh, befouled.

No photographic evidence exists, as I was too busy sitting on my ass in the haul, laughing.

Lesson learned!

--------



Your analytical (and forgetful)
Kel

So I've come to accept the fact that Black Meow is probably going to be a permanent part of the family and, well, we might as well make the best of it.

The other "unclaimed" Meow I named Amelia for her curious and adventurous nature.

Emily and I discussed tonight the various possibilities for Black Meow's name, and we ultimately decided that the Clothes_Slut readers should have the last word.

(Plus I know how opinionated y'all are, which is one of the many reasons I love y'all so much.)

SO...

Poll #1196101 What's in a name?
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 8

Should I name Black Meow...

For reference, the rest of the furry members of the Clothes_Slut household are named:

Madeline Main (Chihuahua)
Wednesday Addams
Lola
Ouiser Marie Boudreaux
Amelia



Your indecisive
Kel

A Week in the Life

A little "inside information" to some people
(Who will know who they are)
As I was typing the caption to the last picture in this set
My iPod switched to "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban
And I remembered a very special day with the two of you
And thought about how, indeed, the two of you raise me up to more than I can be.
I love you
And will always be
Your
Poppet

I may not lead the most exciting life, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone who laughs more than I do.

So tonight, like every night, I go into the Meows' room (formerly known as the Scary Room) to say goodnight and make sure they have enough food and water to last them until morning.

Well.

There is kitten chow EVERYWHERE.

The Meows, being six weeks old and all, are not very good about, you know, like, watching where they're going and stuff? So they'll go tearing across the room and skid into their food and water bowls and it just really looks like Al Qaeda detonated a kitten kibble bomb in the Scary Room.

Sigh. Back to my closest friend these days, the broom.

But then I thought, hey, wait a minute! This sounds like a job for my PINK DIRT DEVIL KONE! So I grabbed the Kone and went to work.

Well, the minute I turned on the Kone, the Meows went all OH EM GEE WEEZ GONNA DIE and scattered. One Meow ran straight into the tiny tent they play in and kept running, so it looked like there was a brightly-colored hamster ball rolling across the Scary Room floor at maximum Meow speed (i.e., "warp").

I'm gonna admit right here and now that I fell on my ass laughing.

And experienced just the wee-est bit of a power trip.

She who holds the Kone rules the cattery!



Your benevolent dictator
Kel