Holy crap, I haven't written anything on this blog in forevs. Let's get memey.

I've been tagged.

The rules are: Once you have been tagged you have to write a blog with 8 weird or random things, facts, or habits about yourself. At the end, you choose 8 people to be tagged, list their names, and why you chose them to be tagged. Don't forget to leave a comment that says, "You are tagged" on their profile and to read your latest blog. Have fun!

1) I consider it a personality defect that I am attracted mostly to skinny boys.

2) Recently I discovered that I am a two-showers-a-day type of person. The environment be damned!

3) My right armpit seems to sweat more than the left one. TMI? Too late! You clicked the link to read this entry.

4) I can't dance or cook, but I have a creeping suspicion that I'd be a lot happier if I could do both. Perhaps simultaneously.

5) Somehow I've acquired a reputation as the office potty mouth. I remember the days when I was, in fact, quite meek, and the phrase "A day without Lindsey cursing is like a day without sunshine" didn't exist. (This was actually uttered by a co-worker the other day.)

6) I often make horribly violent but empty threats to my cats. (One from yesterday: "Kitty, if you don't shut up, I am going to cut out your windpipe and make a flute out of it!")

7) I very nearly moved to Tampa a month ago. Verrrrry nearly.

8) I hate hate hate running, but I'm currently forcing myself to do so via treadmill. I'm thinking of it as training for the upcoming zombie walk. Last year I literally ran around trying to take pictures all evening and was absolutely way too out of shape for the amount of running I did. My shins were on fire for a week. That will not happen again.

I'm tagging Amber, Joey, Brandon, Courtney, Krissie, Casey, Evan, and Keri.

So, I adopted two kittens from a litter birthed by my parents' resident slutcat* Sophie (who seems to spit out a new litter literally every other time I go home) on April 20. Which makes them almost exactly eight weeks old. Which means they're COMPLETELY INSANE.

Everyone (who gives a shit), meet Jack and Sally.



Jack purrs constantly and Sally has gas. Right now it is 1 a.m. and they are ripping around the apartment, tackling each other with an urgency unmatched by most professional football players. My downstairs neighbors will surely hate me even more now, as every ten minutes it sounds as if I'm dropping a bowling ball on my hardwood floors.

Seriously, though, despite their disgusting shits (cat poop is unmatched for its smelly potency, and as they get bigger, it's only going to get bigger and more foul) and their penchant for knocking things off every available surface, they are some cute little bastards, aren't they? Oh, everyone says that about their cats, but my cats are seriously fucking cute.

Just look at this pitiful post-bath face:



Tonight for the first time, they actually played with Felix. Sort of. Jack pounced him a couple of times and he did his little scuttling war dance, but it was hard to tell if he was spooked or just playing. He kept running away and coming back. He's getting old and I imagine all this excitement is just a bit too much for him. Especially since his last few experiences with a cat (Howey) were not that great (Howey's a smacker).

Anyway, I have to wait for them to wind down until I can go to bed. Which is cool; I've got half a glass of cheap Cab to drink anyway.



Addendum: There's no way I can talk about my cats without offering up my own lolcat:



* I feel the need to point out that I am using the term "slutcat," whatever it means, ironically.

Psst, don't tell anyone, but I've spent the better part of today watching an "America's Next Top Model" marathon (dear god, what is it about that show, besides ridiculously good-looking people, that sucks me in against my will?) and drinking cheap white table wine from Washington state. (It's good though; kudos to Hogue for making eminently quaffable cheap stuff.) And now I'm kind of half-paying attention to "House Hunters" until the MTV movie awards come on. I honestly couldn't give two shits in Shinola about the movie awards, but I do love Sarah Silverman, so I'm kind of hoping she'll give me something to laugh at as I nod off in my buzzy stupor.

Did I mention I love ME time?

The Memphis Zombie Massacre is imminent. I'm excited to see the turnout. If MySpace buzz can be taken as any indication, this thing is going to be huge. Then again, you never know when to trust random people on MySpace.

As soon as I get photos of this thing, I'll post them. There's probably going to be a ton.

Wish us luck.

Happy Saturday!

Zombies Attack!

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Out of absolute and complete boredom just now, I Googled "crapspackle," my MySpace URL, to see what popped up (besides my MySpace page). And bless my little innocent heart -- what came up was quite shocking.

From the Urban Dictionary:

After pounding a chick in the butt, anywhere you blow your load would be "crapspackle"

I assure you that this particular definition is not what I had in mind when selecting a URL, since I actually had no idea it even existed. If I had been going for something explicitly disgusting and offensive, I would have opted for something involving the word "donkey," because that word makes me laugh.

No, my intentions were purely geekerific. It's an homage to Mom on Futurama. It is the quote of hers that most succinctly communicates what her character is all about: Hilariously filthy language. "Crapspackle!" And if Mom was using that word to mean what UD says, then that's even funnier.

Also considered for my URL but ultimately a little too long? "Jam a bastard in it, you crap!" and "Who smells like freaking porpoise hork?"

Behold!!

I wrote about this at my real blog, but I figured I might as well post something here too.

Dr. Gonzo lost his battle with lymphoma Saturday. There was nothing more we could do and to spare him any further agony, we had him put to sleep. It was humane. And it was fucking tough. We took him to Saltillo to be buried beside my dad's favorite dog, Rhett.

This is the first time I've ever had to bury a pet of my own, a pet I chose and raised and cared for. It knocks the wind out of you and leaves a hole. It'll fill up eventually, sure, but it'll gape for a long, long time.