» Other people's diaries

Rated R for drug use and depictions of sexuality
Been the victim on this one.

Back in the high school days, as a fit young lass of 15, I had a private journal containing private hormone-induced rants about my lack of a sex life and private drawings of hot naked chicks (not gay).

I spent the weekend at a friend's house, and on the first night aforementioned journal disappeared. Just *poof* gone. I spent half an hour in a panicky drug-fueled haze tearing through the piles of clothes and whatnot in her room. Couldn't find the fucker.

Two days later, my friend walks in holding my journal. Guess where she found it. Guess.

Under her father's pillow.

Shudder.
(Fri 2nd Feb 2007, 3:16, More)

» Ginger

GINGER HATERS


Admit you like redheads and this one might take her top off. Unless you're so against redheads that you don't want her to take her top off...

Edit: well, it's almost over, so get your last shots in. Or if you think I'm attention whoring you can continue to mention that. Though really people, I'm from Nevada: where everything's legal, so you expect me not to whore it up?

Anyway, I think we should start a charity to get Donkey Gums on some sort of medication before he snaps and starts skinning hookers.
(Fri 26th Feb 2010, 9:07, More)

» Lies that got out of control

I'm kinda in the middle of a lie of omission right now...
It could be months before this one plays out, but I have a secret and I want to tell it so bad I'm about busting. Apologies for epic length.

For the past few months I've been keeping an eye on the Humane Society and SPCA kitty listings. Animal shelters are in a bit of a pickle right now because of the economy. People are either moving and can't (/won't) take their pets with them, or they are truly so broke that they can't afford to care for their pets. There have been a lot of animals surrendered lately, especially senior cats. Luckily in my town there are great no-kill programs at the shelters, but the dreaded kitten season just happened. Shelters are stuffed to the brim, and relatively few of the adoptions are adult cats.

So a month ago I went kitty shopping. This one was totally by the book: I called my landlady, put down a pet deposit, and brought home Bell (name she came with, name suggestions welcome lest she forever be referred to as "kitty").



She's 6 years old, which decreased her odds of getting adopted. She had been there for three months and was starting to have some stress-related problems.

Two weeks ago, I impulse-adopted a second cat, Max.



He's 8 (officially "senior") and also had a three-month stint in the pen. However, he didn't take it so well and was suffering from serious kitty depression and related ailments by the time I adopted him. He'd lost weight because he quit eating for a while. Both kitties are pretty much back to 100% by now. It's amazing how quick having a home helps them out.

Max's adoption was not by the book. The landlady doesn't know about this one, but my larger concern is that my father will find out about it before he pays me back a few thou I loaned him (I know, I know, never lend money to relatives). My father tends to be an asshat about money, and he has previously pulled bullshit moves where he refuses to repay a loan because he doesn't approve of the lender's lifestyle and doesn't want to be an enabler.

It was hard enough to convince him that I could handle Bell, because I'm supposed to be concentrating on my school work and if I got a cat I'd spend too much time with it and then I'd fail out of all my classes and then I'd get kicked out of the University and I wouldn't be able to pay rent and then I'd be homeless because my own dad would be all "fuck you, I told you this would happen" and he'd take his loaner car back even though he doesn't live anywhere remotely NEAR here he would go out of his way to take it and put it in storage and then he'd be broke from buying the plane ticket out here and then everyone in my family's health would fail because of the stress of it all and we'd all die and then the universe would collapse in on itself because I'd done such a horrible thing and OH GOD IT'S ALL MY FAULT.

(Yes, that is a paraphrased version of what he yelled at me over the phone at the time, if any of you ever doubted the extent of my daddy issues)

If he found out I got a second cat there's a good chance he'd give himself a hernia thinking up end-of-the-universe scenarios and/or withhold my money thereby completely screwing me over for the Spring semester. So yeah, I'm trying to keep this one on the down-low until the 'rents come to visit for Christmas. Wish me luck, and adopt senior kitties!

Edit: OH GOD, MURPHY'S LAW GOT ME. Landlady just gave her 24-hour notification of inspection of the premises she has to do for refinancing her mortgage. The plot thickens!

Edit 2: Well that was about the shortest inspection known to man. I could have just stuck him in the bathroom, but instead I had to get all fancy and put him in a carrier hidden in the back of the car in the garage. Poor guy keeps following me around now.
(Mon 16th Aug 2010, 19:33, More)

» When were you last really scared?

Well I felt stupid...
Spiders are fascinated with my bathroom. Specifically, my shower.

Now, I HATE spiders. They scare the crap out of me. I just don't like the creepy little buggers.

One morning as I was getting into the shower, I notice a nice healthy fat spider with a body about the size of a quarter. Cringe. Of course, I'm naked and I don't want to go anywhere near it. So I spend about twenty minutes spraying it with hairspray and window-cleaner. It isn't dying. So I try setting it on fire with a candle. But it's too wet to burst into flames, so it just crisps and finally falls on the floor and condescends to die.

Ugh.

After experiences like this, I tend to be jumpy for the rest of the day, freaking out when hair/headphones cord/anything touches me.

Which brings me round to the answer to the question: the last time I was really scared was when - after killing said spider - I had a brief moment of pure panic when something started tickling my inner thigh. Aaaah! Flail!

Oh. It's my tampon string. Right.
(Thu 22nd Feb 2007, 20:16, More)

» Ouch!

Not me, but...
My best friend Stephanie has had chronic problems with one of her ankles since she broke it in a car accident. She has had several surgeries. The last surgery she had coincided with bringing home a rescue Norwegian forest cat. This is a story about them being in pain together.

The cat had been hit by a car and left for dead in front of her house. Stephanie brought the cat in to an emergency vet, and ended up adopting him after his owners failed to claim him. He lost a leg, which is a fairly invasive surgery - the vet actually removed the whole shoulder blade as well.

After she brought him home, they made a great pair: Stephanie limping on crutches and "Frankenstein" the tripod hobble-horsing around with giant stitches.

What Stephanie didn't know is that when Frank gets really excited, and really loves someone, he does a trick where he tries to jump in their arms. He did this three days after she brought him home. She was scared he would rip his stitches, so she dropped her crutches and tried to catch him. He weighs 25 pounds even without the leg, and he has sleek and slippery fur which makes him hard to get a grip on. Stephanie tumbled ass over tea kettle while Frank used her body to cushion his fall. He then tottered away as if nothing had happened.

After my first run-in with his jumping trick, my friend related this story to me-- except with 300% more expletives (the phrase "that fucking cat" might have been thrown around a bit) and accusatory pointing at this smug face:

(Thu 29th Jul 2010, 20:14, More)