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10:50 am | 12 December 2002 | hangovers! kitties! ....again, my ass!

Apparently I am old.

Apparently, at the incredibly ripe* age of 24, I have used up all my beer tokens, and any beer consumed now is like overdrawing some kind of drinking account, for which I am assessed a most terrible fee. I had one Old Style last night (again, in case you missed it: i drank ONE Old Style last night), and I awoke shivering and sweating, with a Zeus-sized headache and dry heaves. The dog looked on with concern as I staggered around the house like Vince d�Onofrio in Men in Black. �Haark�glargle,� I commented to my pasty (and by this I mean paste-like) reflection in the desperate-handprint-smeared mirror. �Fluorgh. Blark!�


My boss has her kitten at work today. She is completely adorable, with lots of tiny stripes and spots on grey fur, white points, and the best cat feet EVER: black pads with pink toes, only one toe on each�and it�s never the same toe twice�is black. Like dice, or dominoes! She is vicious, though, a tiny Mongol horde packed into a four-pound sack of cute, cute fur. She enjoys skulking behind some piece of formerly un-menacing office furniture, such as a printer, and then dashing out, claws flashing, to savage my hand/arm/leg/face. Catnip mousie? Yarn pom-pom? No. Not as delicious as the sweet, sweet tang of Claudia�s HUMAN FLESH.

I don�t get why cats are like this. The cat I stepmothered in L.A., Gremlin, was totally vicious too, and especially liked to wait until I was dead asleep to barrel into the room and shred the fuck out of whatever (kneecap, foot, and yes again, face) was protruding from the covers. Despite it, I kind of like cats, and would probably have a couple if EVERYONE I KNOW weren�t crazily, bubonically allergic to cats.

I read that when you train dogs to do tricks or what have you, they perform because they want to please you...but cats perform because they think they�re controlling you. Am I the only person who finds that creepy? I wonder whether I�m more like a cat or a dog. I guess I�m a bit of both�I�ll totally play nice to the bosses if I know I�m going to take a sick day later in the week, but at the same time, I�ll bring cookies to work because I like to give cookies to people. I guess I�m a cross between the two, like a fox.** A fox who brings cookies. Cookies for all! clm.

* Dudes, my ass is so ripe it's actually rizipe. Like two halves of a jiggling, juicy peach, its globes tranfix the eye. Sometimes i can hardly get any work done, i'm so busy looking at my fine, fine ass in the mirrors i have strategically attached to my angora-upholstered desk chair, like a mod scooter, at various heights and angles (the better to look at my ass with). J. Lo actually paid $2.2 million for a photo of it to take to her plastic surgeon, which is how i can afford to buy pants woven of the eyelashes of virgin antelope, which are then tailored especially to gently lift, cradle, and embrace my bounteous booty.

[sigh] sorry. you know, i'm not sure what's going on with this megalomaniacal streak. sorry! i'm sorry!

** next time i'll address my attachment to foxes, and we'll also talk about Julian Schnabel's crazy insane good series of Fox Farm paintings (each one says "There's nothing more horrible on this planet than a fox farm at pelting time." I'm mostly writing this down so i don't forget it, because i am scatter-brained like that.) Woo!


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