Sex Hair

If you are faint of heart, you may want to stop reading now.  Hmmm….maybe I shouldn’t have said that because there is a real possibility that you might be ‘faint of heart’ but also have a cat’s curiosity, so now you can’t stop reading.  If that’s the case, please accept my advanced apologies in case you won’t be in any state to accept the apologies at the end.

The Viking and I have sex every Sexday because…well….because.  The point isn’t about the sex itself but what comes after the sex, so rest assured we won’t be getting too specific about that.

Except that one time, with the English Tween Author, who I thought was just going to give me a New Year’s Kiss but 4.6 seconds in I was on the floor wedged between the coffee table and the sofa hollering “Geezuz Cripes!!”  22 seconds later he was sitting on the sofa smoking a cigarette and asking if I’d like a glass of wine.  He was like a Sex Ninja or something and I wasn’t entirely certain whether I had actually participated or not.  I suppose I should have been flattered at his apparent enthusiasm but to be honest I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to appreciate it.  All the way home I kept thinking “It’s not the size of the army, it’s the speed of the attack” and then laughing so hard I was snorting.

I digress.  What I really wanted to talk about was my hair.  Specifically, my hair and what happens to it during sex.

Not that hair!  The hair on my head!  Geez!  I’m trying to be delicate here!

I’ve always been extremely talented at Sex Hair but it wasn’t until this past Sexday that I truly understood the vast artistry of my ability.  As I wandered past a mirror on my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of myself.

Me:  Viking!  Come here!  You have to see this!

The Viking:  Ooooooo…..that’s impressive!

Me (twirling around):  I know!  I think it’s my best one yet – it’s sort of reminiscent of a Turkey’s Ass.

The Viking:  Yes.  Now that you mention it, it does look a lot like a Turkey’s Ass.

Me:  I should get an award for this.

The Viking:  I’m not sure this is your best one though.  I kind of liked the Llama Long Hair.

Me:  That one was truly terrible, wasn’t it?

The Viking:  Yes.  And don’t forget the Holy Hell Monkey one either.

Me (laughing):  I still can’t believe that my baby-fine hair could stick up like that!

Sometimes I can guess what motion caused the hair – like the head tossing from side to side while hollering ‘Yes!’ over and over again.  Other times I haven’t got a clue what I was doing that could possibly create the end product on my head.

Did a hurricane sweep through the bedroom without us noticing?

Maybe a bat got in and I was too distracted to be freaked out?

I tried keeping a picture diary of my Sex Hair Creations but my talent is, obviously, not taking pictures.  Instead I trolled the internet to find comparable animal facsimiles.  Surprisingly, some animals are pretty good at Sex Hair.

If I had a choice, I probably wouldn’t have choosen Sex Hair as my major talent.  I would have picked something like painting or rally car driving or tap dancing but I wasn’t given the choice.  I’m not sure who I should complain to either.  My parents?  How would that conversation go?

“Why is my only talent Sex Hair?”

“You should have stayed in band.  I hear Clarinet players can make decent money nowadays.”

So, there it is in a nutshell.  I have a talent but only The Viking gets to admire my work and I haven’t figured out how to make any money doing it.  Unless I can convince Kate Middleton to ditch the hats and go for better hairdos.

I’ll send her a letter.




Sarcasm, Belligerence or Condescension

Hi!  It’s so nice to see you, especially since you came to the Back Door – I’ll explain that in a minute.  Here’s a mug, coffee is in the thermos and you already know where to find the treats.  It’s not like it’s the first time you’re here.  You are family now.  You’re lucky I don’t assign a chore.

Yes, that was a joke.  I would never force you to work for your coffee because that would be wrong and I hate having chores when I visit one of you.

So, I’ve had to answer my front door 3 times this week.  3 times!  And I always approach the Front Door Summons with some trepidation because there are a finite number of things that happen at my Front Door and not all of them are pleasant.  And rarely is it a friend.

Everyone I know comes to the Back Door.  You do.  You knock once, come on in and yell, in a very high voice, “HELLOOOOO”.  I had a weirdo friend once that wanted everyone to use the Front Door all the time.  I had to stop visiting her because who knows what other kinds of horrible things she’s got going on?  What was she hiding in her back entry?  Did she have small children chained to the wall or something?  Who knows?  No one was allowed to go back there!

And a Summons from the Front Door isn’t like a phone call where any sort of fuckery can happen, there’s usually only a few reasons someone might be on the other side of that door.

Good Reasons Someone Would Be At My Front Door:
  • To give me 2 Night Vision Goggles so The Viking and I can play Hide ‘n Seek in the dark.

That pretty much ends my list of good things that happen at the Front Door.

Bad Reasons Someone Would Be At My Front Door:
  • It could be the police wanting to know if I’m a Grow-Op (no), or if I own a Rav 4 with front end damage (maybe), or if I own any firearms (no), or where I was night before last between the hours of 11:00pm and 3:00am (probably asleep in bed but I couldn’t prove it).
  • It could be armed assailants that want to steal our TV. It is a really nice TV.
  • It could be someone complaining that we forgot to close the curtains for Naked Hockey Night.  That doesn’t happen very often though.

Most probably though, whoever is on the other side of my Front Door wants to sell me something or teach me something – neither of which I’m interested in.  Unless they want to teach me how to do handbrake turns and drifting because I really, really wish I knew how!  The Viking won’t teach me for some bewildering reason.

Of the three times(!) I had to trek to the Front Door this week, two times were because the Religiously Active are apparently concerned about The State Of My Soul and which direction I will be heading immediately after my death.  The first visit was from two little old ladies that were so sweet I couldn’t be rude.  I took their pamphlet and smiled and wished them a wonderful day.  I put the pamphlet directly into recycling without reading what would be involved in saving my soul.

The second visit from the Religiously Active was a sweet old man with very short arms.  I don’t know why his arms are so short because while I was running through a mental list of all the possible reasons his arms could be so short he became less sweet and more Inquisition-y.  I told him I already had the pamphlet he was showing me and he didn’t believe me!

“Oh reaaally.” He said slowly.  “Have you ever seen these two ladies before?  Are they from the neighbourhood?”  I think he’s been knocking on doors for far too long; there was definitely some bitterness there.

I hesitated.  It was like looking at a Bunnie that just bit me; it was so cute but it had big teeth!  And how should I reply?  With Sarcasm?  Condescension?  Belligerence?

I decided on the Carefully Neutral But With A Hint Of Sarcasm tone.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen these ladies before in my entire life.  Well, maybe I did before they got old – wrinkles sometimes change a person’s face – but I definitely haven’t seen them in the last decade for sure.  You aren’t going to make me go through my recycling bin for the pamphlet, are you?  Because I would really hate that.”

It was his turn to have a moment of indecision but eventually he said.  “Well, thank you for your time.  Will we be seeing you at our Memorial Celebration?”

“Probably not.  Have a lovely day.” I smiled kindly.

The third visit to my front door was Canada Post delivering a catalogue.  I really hate this kind of Summons because the Postal Person is already two houses down the block before I open the door so I’m forced to holler “THANK YOU!” and she just waves back at me.  That is an extremely unsatisfying interaction with another human being.  I like a “You’re Welcome” when I say “Thank You”.  It’s a start and an end.  Satisfying.  A backhand wave from half a block away isn’t the same thing at all and I don’t particularly like having to bellow my appreciation.  To add insult to injury the catalogue wasn’t even for me – which might have made up for the walk all the way to the Front Door.  But no, it was for The Viking.

Okay.  End of Pet Peeve Rant.

You have a weird look on your face.  Do you think I’m nuts?  Is it because you just haven’t thought about it or do you not mind people coming to your Front Door willy-nilly like there’s no order to the chaos in the universe?  Without order and rules we could be facing an onslaught of people knocking on Front Doors and running away like in the 1970s, and no one wants that, my friends.

So!  How was your week?

Thanks to Part-Time Monster for inventing and growing Weekend Coffee Share and Nerd in the Brain for hosting the event.  You guys are awesome.

Damn You Benjamin Franklin!

Welcome to Coffee.  You weren’t hoping I would be all bubbly and chatty, were you?  Cause I’m less bubbly and chatty and more dozy and dumb.  I’ve been this way all week long.  If my eyes roll back and my head flops to the right don’t worry, it’s not a stroke, I’ve just fallen asleep.  If clearing your throat loudly doesn’t wake me, try poking me with your spoon.  Coffee has done nothing to alleviate my exhaustion; apparently caffeine isn’t the guy for the job today. Maybe a cocktail of energy drinks with extra strong caffeine shooters will do the trick.

I have nothing to report in the way of interest this past week.  It’s all a blur.  However, yesterday I did have to muster up some form of energy because I had some errands to run/schlump.  Thank goodness for automobiles, even if I probably shouldn’t have been trusted behind the wheel.

A group of pimply-faced high school students pushed the cross-walk button but I was already too close to stop and too tired to give a shit. One of them waved his arms at me so I rolled the window down and yelled “DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!”

I dozed off reading the label on a can of soup in the grocery store and a guy said “You gonna buy that or what?” My eyelids creaked open and I scowled at him. “Daylight savings time. And no, I’m not going to buy that because the sodium is too high but I can’t make my arm lift it back to the shelf. Here, you do it.”  I pushed the can into his hand and shuffled along.

Later, when I was home and shouldn’t have been expected to interact with anyone besides The Viking, the doorbell rang and two young guys were smiling beatifically, badges from Vivint on their jackets. “Hi! I see you have an SAI Security System sign in your garden. That can’t be right because they don’t exist anymore.”

“So? Not many criminals keep up on corporate take-overs and share prices.”  My left eye wouldn’t open so I had to rely entirely on my right eye.

The tall one hesitated but managed to come back before I fell asleep on my feet. “Do you have an alarm system now? Are you protected by a different company?”

“Yes. And before you go any further…..Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight. Savings. Time. I’m too tired to listen to you.”

They both looked uncertain and just as my eyelid was crashing shut the tall one said. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

Kidney Clothes called to see if I had anything to donate. I said no, I didn’t have anything to donate but the woman said “Not even an old blouse or sweater? We could really use some sweaters.”

“Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight Savings Time. I’ve lost 7 hours of sleep this week and by tomorrow it will be 8 hours of sleep. I haven’t got the energy to clean out my closet today. Call me next month.”  Yes, that was a little rude but I only had so many words in me and I used them up quickly.

“Um. Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I’ve fallen asleep twice on the toilet this week and once at my desk – The Viking caught me that time but he was more envious than cranky, especially when I offered to spoon with him if we went to bed right then. His sense of ‘work before play’ kept him from acting in his own self-interest though.

I also sucked in a cat hair when I was yawning and do you know how difficult it is to get a cat hair out of your mouth? It’s ridiculous. I suppose I should be grateful that it isn’t fly season yet but somehow I can’t muster up the effort.

I know who is to blame for this and this definitely needs to be blamed on someone! I need someone to heap curses on and a name to shout when necessary – and this week it has been very much necessary. “DAMN YOU BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!!”

Okay, to be fair, he didn’t actually invent Daylight Savings Time, he just came up with the idea. Probably when he was drunk. It took some other nefarious individuals to implement this evil, but I’m too tired to list out all the people involved.

So Benjamin Franklin will be receiving all my angst and curses. At least until I’m not a walking/schlumping zombie or a danger to the public at large when I’m behind the wheel of my car.

Daylight Savings Time never used to bother me at all, but for the last few years it’s been kicking the shit out of me.  The Viking is in the same boat.  Do we live our lives on the razor’s edge of competent functioning?  Is a single hour of sleep all that separates us from Sloths with the ability to drive?

If I had a Time Machine, I would go back to Benjamin Franklin, rip that pen right out of his hand and tell him not to even think it because some asshole in the twentieth century will think it’s a great idea and ruin humanity forever.  Or at least a week.

So, did DST kick the shit out of you too, or is it just The Viking and I?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a nap. A seven hour nap.

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Coffee this weekend.  Cheers.

No Good Lousy Day!

I slept badly last night, dreaming the whole night about asshole guys running into my car, stealing my groceries and throwing random things at me.  It looks like I’ve been hit between the eyes with a hatchet! And my head is throbbing! And my neck is stiff and sore! Gawd!!  Why am I even out of bed?

And what in the hell is up with the fucking cat?! Teddy has taken over my office chair! He was eating his breakfast and then before I could hit the power button on the coffee maker he was in my chair!

When I got up to get a cup of coffee…..

When I went to open the family room curtains….

When I went to take a pee……

When I went to get another cup of coffee…..

He says he’s just keeping it warm for me but if that were the case he would be easier to dislodge; he wouldn’t be digging his claws into the fabric which necessitates a damned wrestling match every single time! As soon as I get his front claws unlatched, his back claws catch the edge of the seat. And he’s had the worst farts ever lately so every time I squeeze him in the middle he emits a noxious cloud of poo gas. It’s so bad I have to check to make sure it isn’t actual poo, and then more poo gas seeps around my face while I’m checking.

And he leaves gobs of his hair on the seat! And he and Izzie were playing with the stupid hair remover brush thingy and broke it! And now I’m going to have a hairy ass everywhere I go today!

Izzie isn’t any help either! While Teddy is rubbing his hairy body all over my chair, she’s taken residence on my keyboard. Or on my mouse. Or standing in front of the monitor.

I’ve loved you both up already! Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood? Stop looking at me like that! Why aren’t you harassing The Viking?! He’s not in a bad mood!  As a matter of fact, he seems to think my bad mood is fucking hilarious!


And now I’m out of coffee and it’s only 11:40 in the morning. Fuck!  I suppose I may as well run some damned errands with my hairy ass. I’ll go get more of the good cat food so Teddy doesn’t smell so bad. And I’ll get groceries – and I swear to Gawd if even one guy tries to steal them in the parking lot I’m going to lose my shit!

And then I think I’ll get myself a Caramel Apple Cider at Starbucks. With whipped cream. And a piece of Banana Bread.

Because I deserve it.

Wonderful, Marvelous, Fantastic

Hello friends!  Let me clear a space on my table and push a cat off a chair.  Here’s your lint roller and a cinnamon bun.  I’m a little rushed today.  Junior is coming for his birthday dinner – he’s 30 years old already!  Not sure how that happened.  The Viking is cooking but I need to get everything ready for him to do his magic and I have laundry to do.

It’s also Izzie’s birthday – she’ll be a miraculous 1 year old – and it’s been a year paved with allergies, shouts, curses, scratches, bitings, blood, fury and tears. I can’t say that I’ve had to work so hard for another living thing in my entire life and I’ve never bled so much for one either. If not for The Viking’s colossal stubbornness I would have given up 5 months ago.

Izzie was as lovable as a Tarantula. Every cuddle ended in shouts for a “MEDIC!!” Every television program was interrupted by lightning fast attacks leaving us bloody. Every customer through the door received at least one smack and sometimes a bleeding bite too.

We scoured the internet for solutions to a cat that attacks us. Nothing worked. A Drama Queen Vet was zero help and once she awoke from her faint, she yelled at me. “NEVER DISCIPLINE A CAT!! EVER! YOU WILL MAKE IT FEARFUL!”

My wailing response of “But she races into the room, jumps on me, rips my flesh into bloody, meaty ribbons, and then races away before I can catch her! And she’s afraid of NOTHING!” didn’t seem to matter.

I read on one helpful tip that it’s my own fear that’s instigating Izzie’s attacks.  Not bloody likely!!  Hell will freeze over before I’m afraid of a damned cat!

But then a few things happened:

We introduced Izzie to Mim’s well-socialized cats, Dexter & Lucy.

We found sweet Teddy at the SPCA.

And then Dexter & Lucy came to stay at our house for 10 days.


Here’s what I learned:

Izzie had serious behavioral problems, duh! However, a Clowder of well-socialized cats is a magical thing and they can perform miracles. Dexter, at the great old age of 3, is the dignified chap that explains things to idiots. Lucy, Dexter’s young protégé, is steel inside a velvet glove and looks sweet the whole time she’s kicking ass. Teddy is the cuddly class clown who does the encouraging, spreading the love and providing a good example. And Izzie was the project.

They had 10 days to perform a miracle. I wish I had a “Right Stuff” slo-mo video of 3 cats strutting into battle because that’s exactly what happened. It was a Battle Royale for the first few days with me and The Viking as referees. Izzie was shunned, slapped, chased and ostrasized as the others refused to have anything to do with the mental state she was in – angry, bullying and nasty.

Dexter and Lucy loved Teddy immediately and played with him happily. Izzie sat on the sidelines, her Satanic Glare sizzling the carpet. But subtle changes were happening. Dexter would sit beside her and explain things. Teddy would offer to play but as soon as the aggression appeared, he slapped her and walked away. Lucy pummelled her with slaps when she approached with anything less than a relaxed state of mind.

By the end of the 10 days, Izzie was a different cat. Lucy was tolerating her, Dexter would play with her a little bit and Teddy would greet her with a kiss. She was even learning how to give Love Eyes. They still look like she wants to eat you but her body language is soft and sweet.

Once Dexter and Lucy went home, Izzie tried to revert to the Bully again, but Teddy took it for exactly one day before taking steps.  When Izzie got rough during play time, Teddy would give it right back and it was Izzie that yelled and ran away.  He then decided she needed to be bathed and when she objected he jumped on her and bit her neck until she submitted. She hated every moment but took it anyway.  She just heaves a heavy sigh now and let’s him give her a bath.

The transformation is complete and only needs minor fine tuning by Teddy once in a while.

We now have Wonderful, Marvelous, Fantastic! Her eyes are more round, her bites are Love Bites, soft and gentle and followed by a few licks. She’s almost polite and she comes for cuddles that don’t morph into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. A customer gave her a pet today and she didn’t try to sever his arm. He was amazed because the last time he was here he left with a bloody laceration on the back of his hand.

I don’t know if this would work for any other cat, but it was a miracle for Izzie. Without the therapy of the other cats, she would have become a Barn Cat. We couldn’t let her near children – she bit a little girl for just standing in the house beside me – and she would definitely be more than any elderly person could handle. There are the occasional shouts from Izzie when Teddy has to get rough but for the most part they are best friends.

And, of course, The Viking and I are over-the-moon happy. We haven’t bled since Dex and Lucy went home. The thunder of cats charging through the house no longer sends chills down my spine. I’m not worried that Izzie will really hurt Teddy anymore either. Best of all is the whiskers on Izzie’s face; they are pushed so far forward the ends almost touch.

So, Happy Birthday, Izzie Girl!! We love you!


Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Weekend Coffee Share.