Americans,
claude le monde no networks, no nukes, not notcakes
how we do: + you are # |
10:50 am | 12 December 2002 | hangovers! kitties! ....again, my ass! 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!
unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04. |