thepissedkitty

Just a short, uh. Burst today.

I’ve recently fallen into a vat of henna, and my friend remarked the roasted red color of my hair reminds him of Shirley Manson. Yipes. I mean, I’m not flattering myself. She’s way hotter/shorter/angrier than me.

She must drink a lot.

Anyway, I remember reading somewhere that she wants “a man who will let me pee in his belly button”.

Wha?!

Okay, I can see the potential erotic dominant/submissive b.s. and other pervvy implications of that statement. Also, it is probably a freak marketing ploy and wanton bid for attention. But still. The appeal eludes me.

It is, at the very least, extremely disrespectful to pee in one’s belly button. And sloppy. Not to mention rude, crude, and totally unnecessary. And who’s gonna clean that shit up…?

What would you do with a belly button full of pee anyway? Unless, that is, you live on a tarp.

Look, I don’t even want to enter into it as this will no doubt become another spit vs. swallow type conundrum which somehow, I don’t think Miss Manners would even dignify with a response. I think, in fact, The Belly Button Pissing Bandit should go on the list of Persons to Be Avoided.

Don’t you…? No?

Perv.

Postscript: okay, so maybe I’d let Nicole Kidman pee in my belly button, but she would do no such thing. Slap. You rogue. She’s a lady.

My mom’s coming out this week so there are a multitude of things I should be doing, but instead I find myself staring at Spanish television under the false pretense of becoming fluent in that language.

Instead, I end up seeing:
* a woman who has a wig dyed to match every outfit she owns
* a full cast of adult characters dressed up as schoolchildren
* way too many boobies (yes, there is such a thing, Maine)
* much too much titillation to be viewed by young children
* a nun reaching into her habit and producing some sausages and a sandwich for Cristina (Spanish Oprah), plus candy for all the little children and other foodstuffs which she throws into the audience
* a man in tights chasing around an animated spaceship with a mallet and indiscriminately bonking people on the head while missing the aliens completely and a chicken running around the kitchen table for no reason.

You can’t make up this shit. Wonderful.

Only the Japanese are more whimsical in their programming, I think. Does this stuff even make more sense in its native tongue…? Sure, plastic bimbos play semi-nude street games with midgets and giant clowns, using chickens as basketballs (KFC) all the time around here.

Is what I’m gonna do in about 30 secs. if I don’t get some R-O-L-A-I-D-S (spells relief).

…

…too late.

And furthermore, (#2), have you ever gone into a public restroom, sat down, commenced in doing your dirty, dirty business, and thought…what the hell was THAT?!
…and it was you?

Yeah. Kind of humbling, isn’t it.

Mine sounded like a door creaking open and a small, yippy dog entering, followed by an entire class of 3rd graders playing “Hot Cross Buns” on the recorder; fireworks, and finally, a canary experiencing slow, painful death via a rusty garbage compactor.

Never again with the mung bean and cabbage festival.

Hokay, ppl./

Thjings I’ve thought ov telling de giy at werk (who doesn’t likk me)(butt iz fukkin’ w/ my hedd, er sumthin’):

1) *slamming his orifice door*///WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!!???

*[poening door*////hay!/ Jest kiddin’.

Sekond think:
]
2-HEY!!! DO YOU EVEN HAVE A KOKK?!!! ER Wwhut???! GET IT ON-!!?!

Ity’d be a HUGHge rel==ef 2 know if he’s gay/ er, whut. IM not Psy Co. I’s just a nor mall women. WIT KNEEDS.
Thas’
al; I’m sayin
/.

Evvver had dis [prpb;;;em???? Beeing fascinated byyy someone woo doesn’t ree-turn yer effection? Et leeast, not enyMUR? Beecuz, mebbe, dar was suddenly a SKEENIER gurl whut werked in yer bldg?! HUH?!!!

{/S/ Thees [post was NOOT writtenm by a ree-tartded kindergartener/ OI cam FER REA?L:” tyy[pe/!!! Wee; be bakk to nporam;al eenteelegence levål tomorry/

AH SWEEER!
xoxooxoxo!p.q.

Gimmie a muzzle.

I really am going to hurt someone soon if people don’t start behaving themselves. I will take immense satisfaction in it, and no, I won’t be sorry.

Like this morning, this mini-man with a large German shepherd hissed at me the minute I hit the sidewalk (because I couldn’t enter the street without hitting a car), “kareful the dog, KARE-FUL THE DOG! You’re on a BIKE!!!“

“No KIDDING?!” I replied. I did not know that, a-hole. Thanks for rubbing my nose in the fact that I am carless first thing in the morning, in case I had forgotten overnight. And I wasn’t gonna hit your big, unmuzzled brute of a dog. I love dogs. I hate you.

But I was only going <2 mph anyway, because the sidewalk was full of palm tree detritus, and you and Bruno could have stepped to one side, couldn’t you? But no, you had to hog the sidewalk and be a flaming ass first thing in the morning.

I hate people of a certain persuasion who think that they can talk to a woman that way just because their culture raised them to be arrogant, mysogynistic pricks with vicious dogs in public. They make me want to get off my bike and beat them to death with a box of “heavy flow” Tampax.

I’ll bet the dog, who probably also thinks his owner is an asshole, would gladly join me.

When I finally snap? Will you come and pry my jaw loose off of the nearest man’s (probably upper management’s) tender, juicy left buttock…?

I have already warned his assistant that this might happen, and/or she will be getting a call from a law enforcement agency regarding me, sooner or later…she’s got a nice, soothing voice, so she can talk me down while you get the crowbar. ‘K…?

Someone has been ripping off my shit.

I cannot imagine who would want to copy my poo, but to them I say, fuck you, (Fric ‘n) FRAC. You suck moist, hairy, residual asswipe dingleberries of plagiarism.

Fortunately, no one seems to read their shit anyway, except for the kind person who alerted me. Can’t even see it, or find anyone who’s linked it. Good. Shit sucks - after all, it is apparently mine.

Furthermore, I am also incensed over the disposable phenomenon. Not that I’m an innocent -I’ve been known to sample the occasional throwaway wipes-the-floor dealy. Too bad they don’t actually work. At least, not better than getting down ‘n dirty on hands and knees with a bucket, naked and cussing, and slip-sliding all over the filthy, cat pee-encrusted floor until it shines like my t-zone on a hot day.

No.

The thing that really kills me are those di$po$able toilet bowl bru$he$. What the…WHO CARES if you reuse a toilet brush? IT’S A TOILET BRUSH. Designated for cleaning the toilet-! What were you gonna do - lick it?! No. You use it to clean the toilet ONLY, not to brush your teeth, comb your hair, or exfoliate your bottom.

Jesus. People are acting like their baby was gonna suck on it or something. Which they might. Babies are stupid.

In which case, I would suggest merely storing the toilet brush away from the evil, drooling spawn, where you keep your other chemicals and household cleaning supplies.

Unless you are a typical mother, and are making crystal meth in your kitchen. In which case, there is no help for you, and yeah, you should buy the disposable crapper brushes.

And a gun.

Thank you.

I hardly ever respond to drive-by meme-ings, but I find this one halfway amusing because you’re supposed to “list five songs you’re really into,” and I have had neither the budget, nor the interest, to purchase music since approximately 1986.

Either everyone else’s priorities are out of whack, or mine are.

So here are my laughable five, and no, I won’t tag people. You can tag and go chase yourself for all I care.

(You realize of course I had to look all these up, because I don’t know who sang what song and where I heard them because I don’t even have a functional radio anymore. And yes, I read by candlelight, and still churn my own butter.)

1. Kermit the Frog : The Rainbow Connection. Also “I Hope that Something Better Comes Along.” Blow me if you don’t dig a frog playing the banjo. “It’s not often you see a guy that green have the blues that bad.” - Rowlf the Dog

2. Bjork : Human Behavior. If you ever get close to a human/And human behavior/Be ready to get confused/There’s definitely no logic/To human behavior…They’re terribly moody/Then all of a sudden turn happy/There’s no map/And a compass/Wouldn’t help at all. So true. Was a toss up between this one and The Sugarcubes : Fucking in Rhythm and Sorrow: There is a naked person in my flat/He’s got a weird expression on his face/Oh my god and jesus as well/…Goes out of the window and up on the roof/Naked man, naked man calm down!/I’ll give you some strawberry cake…

I love their cute Icelandic misunderstanding of the English language.

3. Cat Stevens : Wild World. This is just about my favorite song, as it reminds me of growing up in the seventies, when my parents used to play it and blah blah. “…I’ll always remember you like a child, girl.” Unfortunately, I introduced it to this copycatty bitch who is no longer my friend, who hijacked it and said she wants it played at her funeral. Fuck people who try to steal your identity.

4. Rare Earth : I Just Want To Celebrate (Mocean Worker Remix) …what the? Apparently I have to be bludgeoned with songs in order to like them. This is a damned catchy tune that has been bitch-slapping me on a near-daily basis for some time because it is going to be in the new Samuel L. Jackson/Eugene Levy film, THE MAN. It was also in the series finale of (see below.) Alright already, I get it. It’s a good song.

5. Arcade Fire : Cold Wind. Played during the final moments of the semi-final episode of SIX FEET UNDER. Watched the series finale last night and was again hit over the head with the final song, Sia : Breathe Me.

See, I don’t notice this stuff unless I’m whapped upside the head with it. Shit is good. But I’m devastated by the end of this show and these songs didn’t help with all the emotional feelings ‘n stuff.

If anyone would like to form a support group for Six Feet Under withdrawal, let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll be sure to buy the got-damn soundtrack. It’ll be the first CD I’ve purchased in years.

!@#$ing HBO.

I’m making a list, for my own evil purposes, of nicknames for much-loathed (or even tolerable, but “a bit hard to take”) relatives, friends, and acquaintances.

I was going to confine The List to names for evil stepmonsters, such as:

The Slunt
Pretty Horrible Tits

or pseudo-/stepdaddies:

Tapeworm
The Twat

(I know, I’m missing plenty)…but I thought everyone should be allowed to play. So feel free to let it fly at in-laws (Fugly, Jabba), redheaded stepchildren, (Shovel Boy), grandpas (Big John, the Hair Wizard), grandspawn (The Terrorist), ex-friends (Spit & Spat), ex-boyfriends, what have you.

Surely some uh, loved one has earned a horrible moniker you would like to share?

Mine was “Roach” (don’t ask). And lately, “Bouncer” (not gonna tell you that, either).

I think my own stepmonster got off easy with “Piggy”. Surely my mom could have been a bit more creative than that.

*POW*! Right in the kisser.

Ever had one of those co-workers who insists on sending you this kind of insipid crap?:

Well, here is my barely suppressed sarcastic response:

Yeah. It’s more like that.

My mother is coming to visit.

OH, SHIT. Better pay a visit to the Army Navy Surplus.

No, really. She’s never been out to see me since I moved to L.A. 8 years ago, and she really needs to get away from the grandpoo (-Carole) of caring for her aged parents and trying to negotiate with her 4 sociopathic sisters. I begged, screamed, wheedled, cried, threatened, and manipulated, so now that she has agreed to let me fly her out, I have to show her a good time. Not the cat-pee soaked, horrid, moth-infested, wet-dog smelling, soggy, all singing, all dancing craptastic spectacular that has recently become of my life.

Got to:

1. Make sure boss doesn’t screw me on the time off
2. Buy food (to pretend I can afford such luxury on a regular basis)
3. Litter-train my cats & clip their claws, just in case
4. Get an ashtray for her and a gas mask for me (she smokes - p.u.)
5. Purchase bottled, not box wine, so I can monitor her drinking (woo)
6. Rent a non-smoking car which will reek anyway - the smoking ones must really reek
7. Get bed off the floor, curse IKEA’s name
8. Hide prOn
9. Convince local moth population to stop mating in my apartment
10. Furtively do laundry at someone else’s house via breaking and entering
11. Hide any pictures of Dad & family
12. Fabricate alibi re: what happened to all those nice things she sent me
13. Purchase cardboard cutouts to pose as decent, upstanding L.A. friends and boyfriend
14. Soundproof apt. in case of any “discussions” or uh…loud “differences of opinion”…warn the local authorities, esp. L.A.P.D., to beware
15. Take meds.

Yep, it’ll be fun-!