Author: Mrs. Completely

Dear Road Trip Diary

Day One

The Viking and I have a 37 foot Fifth Wheel trailer, two Seadoos and a little Honda motorcycle in storage in Lake Havasu City, Arizona.  Every April and October we drive down to visit our belongings and enjoy the sizzling heat for 3 or 4 weeks.

This October’s trip began without much ado, which concerned me.  Every  vacation must have its drama and I prefer mine to happen before we actually begin the vacation rather than in the middle or near the end.  Let’s just get it out of the way so we can enjoy.  There should be hair-raising curses, arm waving, tears and mumbled threats while we try to find all the shit we haven’t used since the last time we went to Havasu.  We should sit in the truck in stoney silence until we hit the Tim Horton’s in Fort McLeod where we strategically pee, order coffee, breakfast sandwiches and Tim Bits.

But I changed things up this time.  I decided to try a new approach – leave everything to the last minute and then panic.  As a strategy for a fairly long vacation, I don’t recommend it.  At one point, The Viking looked at me like he was about to say something so I screeched to a halt and said “Just do yourself a favor and don’t comment on my organization skills, alright?  And it might be a good idea not to talk to me at all!”  He must have decided it was sound advice because he didn’t make a sound – he just backed up slowly, not making eye contact until he was close enough to the door to make an escape.

And that’s where we made the mistake.  He should have accused me of being lazy and I should have yelled that he was insensitive and then he should have questioned my intelligence and I should have outlined my theory on why he’s never been married and he should have hollered about my procrastination and I should have bellowed about him leaving everything on my shoulders.

But we didn’t and I dared to think that this trip would be different than all the other ones.  Sucker.

Once the cat, The Viking and I squeezed in the truck with all our shit, we set off.  It became clear almost immediately that Izzie wasn’t happy with the mode of transportation because she started shouting and calling us names, some of which I’d never heard a cat use before.  And, to be honest, I was a little impressed with her eloquence.  The Viking and I are constantly surprised by her capacity to swing wildly between beautiful, gentle sweetheart to a biting, vengeful Harpy in a micro-second.

izzie-in-the-back-window

She carried on for several hours, only stopping for a few moments when The Viking and I started shouting and yowling too.  She wasn’t amused.  Eventually, she crawled up between the back of The Viking’s head and the head rest.  It was the perfect position to minimize the bouncing and bumping of the truck, but it also gave her the ability to stare at my left ear with The Stink Eye for the next 300 kilometers.

Having failed miserably to get me to return her home, she then took up a position between my head and the head rest in order to gift The Viking with The Stink Eye.  And that was her location when we crossed the border into Montana.

Border Guard:  What’s the purpose of your visit?
The Viking:  Vacation.
Border Guard:  And what is your destination?
The Viking:  Lake Havasu City, Arizona.
Border Guard:  How long will you be staying in Arizona?
The Viking:  Three weeks.
Border Guard:  That’s a long vacation.
The Viking:  Yes.
Border Guard:  Do you have $10,000 or more in your possession?
The Viking:  I wish!  I mean, no.
Border Guard (squinting suspiciously):  Any firearms?
The Viking:  N….
Border Guard:  Is that a cat?!
The Viking:  Um…yes.
Border Guard:  Does she ride there all the time?
The Viking (turning to look at Izzie behind my head):  Um….yes.
Border Guard:  She’s a cutie.  It’s okay.  I don’t need to see her documents.
The Viking:  ……
Border Guard:  Here’s your passports, have a wonderful day.
The Viking:  Um….thank you.

We were both a bit stunned for a few minutes.  Finally, I said:  “I guess he’s a cat-loving Border Guard”.  In hindsight, I think he was just taking pity on us.  He could probably see the sheer evil residing in the eyes of the ‘cutie’.

She was very needy but overall she weathered the first day sort of fine.  The Viking and I were sort of fine as well.  We arrived at our target of Arco, Idaho about 8:30pm and Izzie was….well…..fucking ecstatic!

Day Two

We loaded all our shit back into the truck to an audience of 3.  I don’t know who these people were, they didn’t appear to be staying at the hotel, but they seemed to like what we were doing.  Maybe it was a new thing the residents of Arco were supplying to tourists.

Without really trying, The Viking and I can produce a Laurel and Hardy-esque performance.  I would try to help load stuff up and The Viking would unpack the things that I packed and then pack other things instead.

He says “Please stop.”
I say “I’m just trying to help.”
He says “You’re doing it all wrong.”
I say “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a wrong way to put shit in the truck.”
He says “There is and you’re doing it.”
I say “Just because it’s not your way of doing things doesn’t mean it’s wrong, you know.”
He says “Yes it does.”
I say “Fine.” and stand on the sidewalk beside the other 3 spectators and watch him do something like solving a Rubik’s Cube in the back seat of the truck.  It makes me want to go pull something out from the bottom like ‘Jenga’ but I keep my impulse under control.

We wave goodbye to our audience and hit the road.  And that’s when things got interesting again.

Izzie is howling like we’re torturing her.  When we stop, just down the road, to fill up with fuel, I make a small change to the backseat Jenga puzzle.  I move the Sirius Boom Box from the middle of the back window to the right side of the back window and make a bed for the damned howling cat so she can see out the front window.  It didn’t help.

We had barely cleared the town limits when Izzie lost her fucking mind and in a complete frenzy of slashing claws and snapping teeth she attacked The Viking!  Yup!  It was a rodeo in the front seat as he tried to push her away and stop the truck while I tried to get a grip on the scruff of her neck.  Once I got a handle on her we sat in shocked silence, staring at the cat who was still spitting.

“Holy Fucking Hell!”

I wrapped her in my arms and put my hand over her face in an effort to calm her down.  “I guess we know how she feels about another day in the truck.” I ventured.

I had packed a small spray bottle of stuff called ‘At Ease’ and sprayed it in the truck.  She calmed down, closed her eyes and hunkered down against my boobs.  And then I noticed a pronounced rattling in the back seat.  It was the damned Boombox banging against the window!  Fucking Jenga!  Another stop to rectify that problem and several moments of The Viking staring at me in accusation and enduring the silent lecture on doing shit his way all the time from now on!  Gawd!  I hate it when he has proof to be self-righteous.

When we reach Wells, Nevada, we stop for a pee, coffee and some Dunkin’ Donut equivalents of Timbits.  The Viking went in to pee first because it was already getting hot and we couldn’t leave Izzie in the truck without the air conditioning.  While The Viking was inside, I sat watching a cluster of state troopers – six of them – and a couple other people fiddling with the engine on a car two parking spots down.  I thought maybe an animal got caught in there or something because I couldn’t quite explain to myself why 6 troopers would be fixing a car like mechanics but apparently that’s exactly what was going on.

In the meantime, The Viking came back out and I went in to pee and buy the coffee and donut holes.  Then things got even more interesting.

While I had been fetching refreshments, Izzie was berating The Viking, calling him names and biting and he had finally had enough!

“I’ve had enough of this fucking cat!!  What the fuck is her problem?!  This is bullshit!  Does she need more space?!  I suppose I have to take everything out and put it in the back of the truck?!  FUCK!!”

And he proceeded to do just that.  The carefully constructed Rubiks/Jenga puzzle in the back seat was unceremoniously tossed in the box of the truck: power inverter, our orthopedic pillows, the CPAP machine, the cooler and a couple other things were heaved out, accompanied by shouted curses and death threats against the cat.

I grabbed Izzie and pushed her into her kennel.  I tried to calm The Viking but there is no talking to Blood-Eye the Beserker – ‘At Ease’ doesn’t work on Vikings apparently.  I climbed into the back of the truck and tried to arrange things so they wouldn’t fly out of the box while we were driving.
Blood Eye shouted at me to “Leave that fucking shit right where it is!!!!!!” and he promptly got into the cab and waited for me to join him.

As I was getting out of the box of the truck I happened to glance up and 2 of the 6 state troopers were walking past.  At that point I may or may not have actually rolled my eyes and tipped my head back in resignation.  I got into the truck and was putting on my seatbelt when there was a tap on the driver’s side window and there were the 2 troopers.  The Viking rolled down his window.

“Afternoon, sir.  Is everything alright here?”

“The fucking cat is driving me nuts!”  The Viking said reasonably shouted.

The closest Trooper looks past The Viking over to me.

Okay, let me just say that I’ve have only been pulled over by police once in my entire life and that was a routine traffic stop checking everyone’s driver’s license and registration.  I almost cried.  I was 24 years old.  I’m more than twice that age now.

And I’m fairly sure that I looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Sir.  Would you step out of your vehicle please.”  It wasn’t a question.

The closest cop puts his hand on the pistol case on his belt.  The second cop takes a position slightly behind and to the side of the first cop.

“Shit.”  A small part of me wanted to just drive away and leave him with his new friends.  I’m a reasonable woman though, and decided that instead of making a shiv out of his toothbrush, I should probably go and save him.  I can hear The Viking shouting about the Boombox and the cat and the Rubiks Cube construction in the back seat and his frustration.  I should probably intervene.

I got out of the truck and smiled nervously at the troopers.  “Sorry.  It’s just been a long drive, and we’re a little tired and the cat is being bad and we just needed to blow off a bit of steam.  We’re fine now.”  I smiled again.

The second Trooper takes a step towards me and looks me in the eyes.  “Are you sure, ma’am?”

“Yes.  I’m completely sure.  Sorry for the bother.”

“No problem, ma’am.  Have a good trip.”

And with that, The Viking and I climbed into the truck, put our seatbelts on and left Wells, Nevada.  Gawd.  We won’t be able to stop here on our way home.

We spent the remainder of the day not speaking to each other.  Izzie spent the next hour and a half in her kennel until she finally stopped name calling and making threats.  Our plan was to overnight in Laughlin, Nevada but apparently there isn’t a single hotel/motel that allows cats.  Fuck you, Laughlin!

We found a place called the Red Roof Inn in Needles, California though, that would allow the cat.  The room was spotless and very nice.  So, for anyone travelling with pets – especially cats – go to The Red Roof Inn in Needles, California.

Day Three

I had a lengthy conversation with Izzie about getting back into the truck.  It’s only for about an hour and then she can go into the trailer.  It seemed to have worked because she was completely reasonable, curled up on my boobs.

Epilogue

Izzie slept for two solid days once we were settled in the campground.  The Viking didn’t break any laws for a solid week.  And I did my level best to stay relatively sober.  Someone needs to keep their wits about them around here.

Coffee With Izzie – Disney, Destiny & My Inner Assassin

Good Morning! Come on in! The Coffee is almost ready and I’m in a terrific mood!

So, yesterday started like every other day. The Viking is supposed to get up at dawn but he rarely ever does. It’s almost like he doesn’t know he’s supposed to get up with the sun. It’s left to me to get him out of bed; it’s a chore but I try to have fun with it.

Once he’s vertical, we can talk……

Me: Play time! WooHoo! Come on! The plastic straps, the plastic straps, the plastic straps! Fuck! Okay. The fishing rod, the fishing rod, the fishing rod!  Really?  The crinkle toy, the crinkle toy, the crinkle toy!

The Viking: Coffee first.

Me: Dammit! Fine! Hurry up. Faster! Is that the absolute limit of your speed?

The Viking: Give me a minute! Stop sticking your feet under the faucet! I’m not drinking coffee that tastes like your fucking litter box!

Me: My feet are clean! I cleaned them myself!

The Viking: Are you ready for your breakfast?

Me: Now that you mention it, I’m starving!! Oh, wow! I am seriously starving! Hurry up with that food! Gawd! Are you ever slow! You’re useless! I bet you come from a long line of useless people. It’s a wonder you can dress yourself in the mornings. Come on Asshole! Get a move on! I am seriously going to shit on your pillow if you don’t get that food in the bowl…….

The Viking: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m coming.

Me: It’s about fucking time! Leave. So I can eat. Now.

I know, right? The shit I have to put up with. Of course I actually say that to him.  I’ve never claimed to be a nice cat.  Really?  Why not? Then you are human whipped.  I say whatever the hell is in on my mind.

The Missus played with me for a little while – not nearly long enough in my opinion. I told her exactly how useless she is as well. So I had a short nap until The Viking came in for his morning constitutional. But he casually went to the bedroom like he might be thinking of playing with me, so I followed him and then he made a mad dash down the hallway with his tablet in hand and closed the bathroom door against me! I said:

“HEY!! HEY!! WHAT THE FUCK! THE DOOR IS CLOSED! LET ME IN RIGHT NOW! THIS IS THE KIND OF THING THAT MAKES ME LIKE YOU LESS! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LOCKED ME OUT! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I ENJOY LYING IN THE SINK, WATCHING YOU. I DON’T CARE IF IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT! I USE A LITTER BOX! TRY GOING THROUGH THAT FLAP DOOR AND THEN WE’LL TALK ABOUT SMELLING LIKE SHIT! OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT FUCKING NOW OR IT’S SHIT ON YOUR PILLOW. I SWEAR I AM GOING TO SAVE AN ESPECIALLY SMELLY, LARGE ONE JUST FOR YOU! OKAY…..YOU ASKED FOR IT BIG GUY! I WILL NEVER LAY ON YOU EVER AGAIN!”

And then he finally opened the door – that threat almost always works. No, I didn’t say ‘thank you’ because I shouldn’t have had to make those threats in the first place.

The remainder of the day went by slowly because The Missus only played with me once. There was one guy, though, who came through the door. He stuck his hand toward me and I thought I was going to get a bite in but then The Missus was all “Careful! She bites!” and he jerked his hand away. I did slap him a good one on the back of his hat when he walked past me to leave though. It’s something, I guess.

It was after supper that things got interesting. The Viking and The Missus were watching TV and I was laying on my castle perch. Then I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was moving slowly in jerky movements so I got down to get a closer look.

IT WAS A THING!! A LIVE THING!

I tried to high-five it but it took off running. I bounced after it and stepped on its tail. It smelled interesting. Why has The Viking and The Missus never brought me a toy like this before? It made little noises when it ran and I batted it around and tossed it into the air. I think the THING really liked it! We had a great time. The Viking wanted to know what I was doing but The Missus said:

“Shht! Leave her alone! She’s not bugging us!”

Eventually, the THING quit moving. I thought it might be sleeping so I lay down beside it and waited for it to wake up.

What did it look like?

dead-mouse

Oh! Haha! You mean before I killed it?

live-mouse

What? Well I didn’t know I killed it until The Missus said I killed it. I didn’t know it was called a mouse until The Missus said it, either! Don’t look at me like that! It’s instinct! I couldn’t have stopped myself from killing it any more than a bird could stop flying…..unless it’s an emu or an ostrich…..well, that’s just muddying the waters now.  The important point is that it’s our purpose in life! Embrace your inner assassin.

After a while The Missus went past for more water. On her trip back into the living room she stopped and really looked at the toy.

She said: “Holy Shit! That’s a real mouse!!” The Viking didn’t believe her at first but he got up and took a look for himself.

He said: “Yup. That’s a fucking mouse. How in the hell did it get in here?”

Her: It’s a pity mice don’t actually make and mend clothes like Disney would have us all believe.

Him: What?

Her: You know! Cinderella? The mice that made her dress? And birds don’t actually help the mice make the dress in real life, either.

disney-mice

Him: ….

Her: I’m not picking it up.

Him: I’m not either until I find something to grab it with.

Then The Missus turned her attention to me and she was all “Good girl, Izzie!! You killed a mouse! Yah!!!!” What followed was an orgy of treat giving and petting and praise and exclamations of “She’s only six and a half months old!” I basked. I think I like basking. Especially in praise.

And that’s why I’m in such a great mood today. I found my life purpose. And I’m still young! I can channel all my energy in one direction. I’m focused, like a lazer! I’m creating a patrol pattern throughout the house so I can be certain the perimeter won’t be breached without detection. I need a chase strategy – I can’t allow the intruders to find ‘bolt holes’ where I can’t reach them.  Soooo much to do!

Well, I suppose it would have been better to have found my purpose helping cats in need or in cat search and rescue, but that’s not up to me. I just answered the call of destiny, my friend.

No Way!! An Award Nomination?

Susan Jarreau. That’s who did it. It’s entirely her fault. I was minding my own business, writing posts, crashing into things and trying to annoy The Viking – same old, same old. And then suddenly it wasn’t same old, same old because……Susan Jarreau!

She found my blog a while ago and liked my posts – it’s always a thrill when someone likes my posts! After I was finished dancing my Happy Dance, I decided I should go and check out her blog – it’s only fair, right?

Holy Shit!  She’s amazing! It’s not often that I find an author who writes so beautifully. And while I was feeling inferior to her talents she had to go and nominate me for The Black Cat Blue Sea Award!

Don’t you need to write something useful? I’m just stumbling through life leaving havoc, chaos and confusion in my footsteps. That’s not really worth an Award, is it? If it is, I should have been writing decades ago!

via GIPHY

Apparently, this is an award given and received by fellow bloggers and is meant to be fun. I have to answer 3 questions and then nominate 7 other bloggers for the award. If any nominees are not interested in participating they don’t have to, I won’t be offended and neither will anyone else. The Rules are:

black-cat-blue-sea-award

The questions Susan wanted all her nominees to answer are:

 1.  Why did you start blogging.

The Viking and I assaulted 8 European countries last fall. I played Charades with 3 dart players, a bartender and a waitress in the town where Joan of Arc was born. The Viking got drunk and offended a Priest in Florence. We both gave locals in Pula a lesson in creative cursing. And we had a foot race in Reims to a place neither one of us wanted to go to.

I started blogging because I wanted to know if I could tell these stories so others might enjoy them or if I was just a nut. The jury is still out on that but I have followers! How cool is that?! Maybe I should start plumping up my travel journal.

2.  What do you do when you need to unplug and relax?

Absolutely nothing. Except breathe. And if I could convince The Viking to serve me Bugles and Brandy I would be drunk, too. I would do all this nothingness in bed with a heated blanket and a body pillow. I need to sort through the detritus cluttering up my brain from time to time and I can’t do that without locking out the world. Does that answer the question?

3.  Name 3 people you admire and one of the qualities you admire in them.

  • The Viking because when someone thinks about fucking with him he pulls out a Battle Axe and a Shield and says “Make my day.” The reason I find this admirable is because I don’t have a Battle Axe or a Shield and I have foot prints all over my back. Someday though……
  • Mim (my daughter) because…….really? I can only say one thing I admire? Fine. I’ll pass over intelligent, confident and honest and settle for…..she looks fucking adorable in Pig Tails. I didn’t notice that about her until a couple of weeks ago when she showed up all hippie chic with Pig Tails and then I just wanted to pull them and squeeze her cheeks.
  • The third person I admire is actually not a person, technically, but a cat; Izzie, to be precise. As I sit here, mentally sifting through all the people I know to pick only one I admire and why, Izzie has just finished molesting my boobs and is now shouting obscenities and graphic death threats at The Viking who has closed the bathroom door so he can poop in peace. Who wouldn’t admire that kind of hootzpah? Seriously!
And now for my seven nominees:
  1. Actual Conversations With My Husband
  2. Trent’s World (the Blog)
  3. KB Garst
  4. Travel Much
  5. Searching For Fai
  6. Storytime With John
  7. Idaho Blue Bird
Questions for my Nominees:
  1. What was the worst pet you’ve ever owned and why? If you’ve never owned a pet, tell me about a friend or relative’s worst pet ever.
  2. Who is the worst human being you’ve ever known? Why are they the worst? Here’s your chance to ‘out’ them!
  3. What is the worst dish your Mother always made when you were a kid? Did you have to eat it?

Phew! Finally finished. This was the most difficult post I’ve ever written; I’ve been at it for 3 days and my head hurts. Compliments and Awards are things I have no idea how to handle so I do a lot of babbling and blushing. But, I’m done.

Huge thanks to Susan Jarreau for nominating me. It’s been a nightmare, to be honest, but it forced me out of my comfort zone and, if the experts are to be believed, it’s a good thing.

PS: One last thing! I would like everyone who reads this post to the end to answer at least one of those questions I asked my Nominees. Put your answer in the comments and make me laugh.

Coffee, Wedgies and Nipple Flicking

Come in! Coffee is ready.

OH! Watch the kitten…..she bites! I know she’s absolutely adorable but she’s like a rose with extra thorns. And it’s probably not a good idea to sit on that particular chair because she uses it as a launch pad to get to the window or as an aid to change directions in a flat out race. You’ll feel like you’ve been molested by the time you leave.

Okay. You’ve been warned.  :o)

So, I decided that I just don’t get enough fun time during an ordinary day. I haven’t pulled The Viking’s pants down in the garage for eons or given him a Wedgie either. I think it’s because he doesn’t react; he just stands there putting that carburetor together without missing a beat while his pants are around his ankles. Honestly, I’ve gotten bored with his lack of reaction and gone in the house. I did wonder once if I should just pull his pants up again for him but then I thought “No way! What little fun I did get out of Pantsing him would be obliterated!” I think he’s being Passive Aggressive or something. One time he cooked a whole pound of bacon and fried 4 eggs with his pants around his ankles.

No. I’m not kidding you. I stood beside the table the entire time and he never pulled up his pants. I think I even asked, “Aren’t you going to pull up your pants?” and he said, “What the fuck for? You’ll just pull them down again.” Which was probably true.

The one time I actually did get a reaction was when I started flapping his left nipple when we were reading in bed. I kept reading but my finger was flicking the nipple at approximately 6 flicks per second. He didn’t do anything! So I moved it up to about 8 flicks per second. Still nothing! Finally, at about 15 flicks per second he said, “What the fuck are you doing?” I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was hoping for but that wasn’t even close! Maybe mutual nipple flicking? I don’t know but after a while I got bored and stopped flicking it.

Exactly! That would have been a load of fun! There would be laughing and giggling and finger flicking…..it would have been awesome! Instead, it’s a bloody shame.  Sometimes, when I’m walking past him, I’ll give one of his nipples a half-hearted flick but I’m beyond expecting a reaction anymore.

And then, night before last, we had a conversation:

I said to The Viking: You know what we’ve never done? Wrestle. We should wrestle.

He said: No.

Me: Why not?

Him: I don’t want to hurt you.

Me: What kind of wrestling do you think I’m talking about? Optimus Prime vs. Megatron?

Him: Someone always gets hurt wrestling.

Me: Not always! When it’s love-wrestling no one gets hurt and maybe it’ll end up in something else entirely.

Him: No.

Me: Come on! You’ve never chased me around the bed before either.

Him: Why would I chase you around the bed? That just wastes a lot of time and we don’t need that shit!

Me: Well….not a lot of time because the bedroom isn’t that big. And now that I’m thinking about, it we can’t run around the bed so we’d have to crawl over the bed. That would make it the slowest chase in recorded history – like getting run over by a steam roller. And there would be a significant risk of me getting a boob caught under my knee. Fine! You don’t have to chase me around the bed.

Him: Pfft!

Me: That doesn’t excuse the lack of love-wrestling going on in this house.

Him: I’m not fucking wrestling with you. You’ll get hurt!  I’m only trying to protect you!

Me: …..

Him: …..

Me: You’re one of those people who are ‘in it to win it’, aren’t you!

Him: …..

Me: You always have to win, don’t you?!

Him: Oh for fucksakes!

Me: You always have to have the last word too.

Him: I do not.

Me: Yes you do.

Him: I do not.

Me: See? The last word.

Him: FOR FUCKSAKES!! I’m going to read!

Me (calling after him as he stomps down the hallway): Last word!!

So, I guess wrestling is off the table. I’m down to prank phone calls now. When I go shopping and he’s all alone to answer the phones I’ll call and ask if Mike Hunt is there. He’ll probably recognize my voice though. Sigh.

OH! Let me get you a Bandaid. And some Peroxide. I told you she bites. I’ve been buying Bandaids in bulk since we got her.

I’m so glad you dropped by. I’ve missed you terribly. We have to get better at staying in touch.

Slogging or My Muse must be on Vacation

When I woke up this morning my plan was to write a post. Sometimes this only takes a couple of hours because I’m in the groove and other times it takes the entire day because I have to slog through ideas that went nowhere, ideas that went somewhere I didn’t want to go, ideas that turned me into an angry Harpy or, most likely, no ideas at all. But today I was optimistic that it would be the former; I slept good and I was in a relatively good mood given that I wasn’t on vacation and I wasn’t a Millionaire. And I even managed to play with the Feline Fiend before I had coffee. I hoped the play time would buy me some uninterrupted writing time but Izzie is never that gracious. Still, the Writing Gods were obviously in my corner.

Or not.

In hindsight, I think I mistook the Writing Gods for the Just Kidding Gods who were, most probably, laughing. It was barely past 9:00am when I opened my email and realized that my plans for the day were……well……fucked. Hunkered down in my In Box was the offending email. “Your parts have arrived and are ready for pick up.”

Shit.

I am the parts picker upper around here. The low wo/man on the Totem Pole. The Gopher (basically a rodent when you don’t sugar coat it). There is no one else that I can foist it on. The buck stops here.

The Viking has fairly firm rules regarding the position at the bottom of the Totem Pole:

He/She who makes the least amount of money shall be The Rodent and shall perform all Rodent-y duties including picking up parts, making meals and doing laundry. Also, The Rodent shall help look for lost tools, the misplaced telephone, missing keys and small parts that have been put down somewhere and now can’t be found.

Addendum: The Rodent shall also smile, nod and make appropriate sounds of support during random outbreaks of cursing, finger pointing, and blaming.

For the most part I totally agree with the rules, except when it’s inconvenient and then I start looking for loop holes. Unfortunately there’s very little wiggle room in the ‘earnings’ section of the rules. So, I am the Gopher / Gnaveren / La Rongeur / Das Nagetier! Whatever you want to call it……I am the rodent.

And don’t get me wrong either.  I don’t usually mind picking up parts because it keeps The Viking busy so he doesn’t bother me with little things like accomplishing something. Ordinarily, I like driving; I turn the music up too loud, sing terribly but loudly, conduct the orchestra and enjoy the sunshine. But I had plans!

Sure, I needed to go to the grocery store and pick up Lottery tickets but that would only take an hour out of my day. I would have plenty of time to write, right? Adding a jaunt to the other side of the city and back would take a significant chunk of my time though – especially when the City insists on throwing Construction zones in my way.

I can’t say for certain but I suspect that construction sites are where guys and, to a lesser degree, girls go to just hang out – like a daycare center for grown-ups. They laugh and play and generally do nothing until someone (The Viking?) tells them I need to go somewhere and suddenly they spring into action and stop traffic in all directions.

They also put people on the road with huge signs that say “SLOW”.  I don’t know why.  Don’t those people have enough challenges without being forced to stand on the side of the road with a sign? Are the Construction Gods hoping that I will feel so bad for the slow people that I won’t notice the Construction Zone? If that is their reasoning I would really like to see people standing there with signs that say “STILL DRUNK” or “SLEPT WITH THE BOSS’S WIFE” or “NOT WEARING UNDERWEAR”. Now that would brighten up my day and make me far happier slogging through construction zones!

Once I’m finally through the construction zone, I think people abandon their earth movers, backhoes and hard hats and informal games of baseball or soccer resume. It’s only a theory but it certainly would explain the ridiculous amount of time it takes to put an overpass together.

Anyway……….

I didn’t get my post done yesterday. Who knows what brilliance might have happened? Instead, I can only complain about lost opportunities and foiled plans. When I finally finished with my errands for the day and found myself sitting in front of the computer I was completely stumped. Zero inspiration. I trolled through Facebook. Nothing. The clock kept ticking and the cat kept laying on my boobs (It’s hard to think – not to mention type – when your boobs become lodgings for a pet). I played Solitaire for half an hour and felt guilty. I scrolled through my Reader. And then…….

The Bloggess has something new. Inspiration! She hadn’t accomplished anything either except forgetting something that she didn’t know she knew. It makes more sense when she says it. However, I managed to slog through useless ideas, and several construction zones and found enough to say/complain about for a post.

I’m pretty sure that I’m not going to win a Pulitzer with it.  Not a single word of this post has fallen onto the page the way some posts do. This one was a slogfest. Edit after edit after edit. It seems less than what I would expect for two days work but here it is.

PS: The cat accidentally stepped on the adding machine paper advance and scared the living shit out of herself. Best thing that happened all day.  Or yesterday, for that matter.

Slog

Izzie – Coffee, Lucifer and Elizabeth Taylor

Good morning! Come in! We’ll have to make due with Chicken Broth today because someone didn’t buy any more Salmon…..cough….Missus! I did manage to save a couple treats from my Treat Toy though.

See this? It’s a new collar! And it’s made of pearls and little rhinestones. I couldn’t wait to show you. I look like Elizabeth Taylor! It didn’t have much of a bell so The Viking put a better one on. Now I’m a tinkling Elizabeth Taylor!elizabeth_taylor_1

The Missus wanted to take a picture of beautiful me but I have principles and one of those principles is to deny people what they want the most. If it’s within my powers to crap on their dreams, I crap.  It’s a gift.

I sit on the table and look beautiful. She grabs her phone, turns it into a camera, points it at me and…..I walk away….face down. The Viking said he could do better but I proved him wrong as well. The Missus snort-laughed.

Oh, come on. It’s funny! You should try it some time.

In other news, Junior came for dinner last night. I used to like him; I even curled up and slept on his lap a couple of times. But the first thing he said was “Is she any nicer?” Nicer?! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

I’ll admit that I might not be the Debbie Reynolds of the Cat World but that doesn’t mean I’m not nice. I’m nice all the damned time! I don’t slash them with my claws anymore. That’s nice! I haven’t shredded a single roll of toilet paper for at least a week. That’s nice! And I haven’t made a single piece of art out of sugar in, at least, 2 weeks. That’s nice!

So I bit him. Go me, right?

The whole thing got me thinking though. And then I realized that I wish I wanted to be nice but I just don’t. I like sitting on my castle and slapping every person that comes through the back door. I don’t use my claws but I really give them a solid slap. I like the look on their face; the surprise that only comes from being unexpectedly assaulted. It’s funny.

The Missus was loading the dishwasher the other day and the water was running in the sink. I stuck my foot in the water and then flicked it right in her face when she was bent over to put a plate in the dishwasher. I liked the look on her face. I hadn’t thought it all the way through though, because she said “Challenge Accepted!” and pushed me into the sink full of water. I think she liked the look on my face. It was totally worth it though.

I like fucking up family pictures. I like the “Beware of Bite-y Cat” sign on the back door. I like yodelling at the top of my lungs sometimes because it annoys. I like waking them up in the middle of the night. I like complaining and demanding and lecturing.

lucifer_cinderella

So maybe I’m not meant to be a nice kitty. Maybe I’m meant to be more like Lucifer in Cinderella only much thinner and better looking. And really, aren’t there enough sweet, cute, adorable, affectionate, behaving cats in the world already? They wouldn’t even exist if there weren’t cats that were the opposite. Everything needs balance, right? Well, I am doing my part to keep the world balanced. How many cats can make that claim?

Yes, I know you are one of the good ones.  I won’t hold it against you.

You’re welcome.

Culture, Throwing Axes and Tradition

It can be no surprise that a woman born and raised in Canada and a man raised in Denmark may have a few culture clashes. Sometimes they are just little discussions and other times they are nothing less than Shield Walls, Throwing Axes and shouted Curses. And, as you may suspect, The Viking is better at shouting curses than I am. He’s also the one who taught me every single thing I know about the Danes.

Here is a list of things that are affected by our cultural differences:

Food

Especially pork because Canadians have absolutely no idea how to cut up a pig, apparently. Also Pickled Herring, Thin brown cardboard called Rye Bread, Red Cabbage, Licorice Liqueur/Shooters/Candy and anything Cheese.

Me: What do you mean we don’t eat Turkey?! Everybody eats Turkey!

The Viking: I fucking hate Turkey. In Denmark we eat Pork Roast, Duck, Caramel Potatoes, Plain Potato chips and a side of Pickled Red Cabbage.

Me: Caramel Potatoes? That sounds horrible! You are supposed to eat Mashed Potatoes with Pork Roast! Duh!

The Viking: That’s bullshit. You never, ever, ever, ever serve Mashed Potatoes with Pork Roast. They are merely boiled – not Mashed. It’s fucking tradition!

Me: So when do I get Turkey and Stuffing and Mashed Potatoes and Corn Casserole and Sweet Potatoes and Pumpkin Pie?!

The Viking totally ignoring me: On New’s Year Eve we will have a Julefrokost.

Me: Not Turkey again?! Fuck!! Easter? What do Danes eat for Easter? Let me guess…..Pork Roast again?  Ham?  Thanksgiving? Nevermind, I’ll just guess.

 

Gifts

They don’t give gifts to each other, I guess. Gifts are a symptom of over-commercialization and spoils the true meaning of Christmas which is to watch Nisseman (Elves) on TV and then feed them a bowl of rice, boiled to a stew-like state with one almond in it; the first Nisseman that chokes to death on the almond wins a small toy. At least that’s what I think it’s all about. I find it all confusing.

Me: What?! No gifts? Where’s the fun in that?!

The Viking: It’s bullshit! You spend all your money buying junk for people who don’t even appreciate it and then you spend the next six months trying to pay it off.

Me: Not everyone does that. I’ll admit that some people do that but I don’t.

The Viking: If you want something go buy it yourself! I bought you a Dryer last month and that’s your Christmas gift!

Me: But I want to give you gifts. I would rather give one than receive one anyway.

The Viking: Not good for the fucking wallet, now is it!

Me: Sigh.

 

Walls

They must be painted white. Always white. Actually, everything has to be white. Kitchen cabinets, tables & chairs, carpets, dishes and flooring. Except the ceiling which is wood that has been white-washed.

Me: Why is everything so white?

The Viking: Because it’s usually overcast through the winters in Denmark and white brightens things up.

Me: What about the summer? Don’t they get blinded by the glare when it’s sunny?  Don’t they lose all depth perception like people with snow blindness?

The Viking: It looks neat and clean.

Me: A lovely caramel color on the walls would look bright and neat and clean, too.

The Viking: Caramel is for Potatoes.

Me: Sigh.

 

Beds

They don’t share bedding. Ever. Each person has their own Duvet which they wrap themselves in to sleep. When they get up in the morning, they fold their Duvet lengthwise and lay it on the mattress.

Me: But that’s UGLY!

The Viking: Who’s going to see it?

Me: Someone might see it if they walk all the way down the hallway.

The Viking: …..

Me: Well, I would see it! It should be a beautiful room not something that would look comfortable as a University dorm room! It should be a place that exudes love!

The Viking: I don’t need a fucking room to remind me that I love you!

Me: Ack!! It’s not about that! Well it is about that but it’s also about an intimate and inviting environment, Dammit! Nothing ruins the mood for me faster than Frat Boy Décor!

The Viking: Fuck’s sake! It doesn’t look that bad!

Me: YES IT DOES! It looks awful! I want to stop and admire what a beautiful bedroom we have instead of looking away from the ugliness, shielding my eyes with my hands so I don’t get an accidental freak peek.  I have to walk into the room backwards so I don’t have to look at the horribleness! Gawd!!!

Christmas Decorating

They cut out paper Nisseman and paste them all over the house. The tree is decorated with crafty woven paper heart-shaped pockets and filled with candy…..licorice, no doubt. The tree skirt is burlap. Yes, you read that right, burlap. They put real candles on the tree, light them up and then dance around it singing Christmas Carols.

Me: Wait. I can’t put all the decorations I’ve been carefully collecting for the past 25 years on the tree?

The Viking: Your decorations aren’t even Christmasy. You can put a couple on but then we should put traditional Christmas Balls and paper heart pockets on it. Mostly paper heart pockets.

Me: So I have to make these things?

The Viking: You can buy little kits with pre-cut paper at the Danish Store.

Me: So I have to make these things?

The Viking: I can help you.

Me:  Do I have to fill it with Licorice or can I put something delicious in them?

The Viking:  You can put whatever the fuck you want in them.

Me: I have to cut out all these Nissemen? What if I cut myself? I’ve never had to do arts and crafts that could kill me for Christmas before. Why can’t they be perforated or something to make it less Arthritis-y?

The Viking: I can help you.

Me: Somehow I doubt that. And I have to put a crudely stamped, burlap tree skirt around the tree instead of my beautiful iridescent, gold-beaded skirt?

The Viking: What does your skirt have to do with Christmas?

Me: It is embroidered with golden Christmas Trees! What makes your Burlap skirt Christmasy aside from the stamped Candle on it?!

The Viking: It’s TRADITIONAL!! Fucksakes!!

Me: There is no way our arms will reach around this tree so we can dance around it singing carols.  And, by the way, that’s probably a dangerous thing for me to do.  One slip of the foot and the whole house could burn down.

The Viking: We can skip that part. But we should have candles.

Me: Isn’t that a fire hazard? A passing Fireman could look in the window and see the live candles burning next to the tinder dry branches! He might think he needs to save us so breaks the window and starts throwing snow on the tree! Wait! What if it’s a brown Christmas like last year?! He might have to PEE on the TREE! I’m not cleaning that up!

The Viking:  For fucksakes!  We only light the candles while we are singing carols and then we blow them out!

Me:  Fair warning:  I only know the dirty version of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

The Viking:  Sigh.

 

hansisland_png_653x0_q80_crop-smart
Hans Island

Thankfully, The Viking and I are reasonable people and I’m pretty sure I can convince him to let me have Turkey, Stuffing, Mashed Potatoes, Corn Casserole, Sweet Potatoes and Pumpkin Pie sometime in the next 5 years. After all, if the Danes and the Canadians can leave each other whiskey on a deserted but contested island for over 30 years, I should be able to have turkey.

Canadians and Danes leave each other whiskey gifts on Hans Island

PS: Once again, I learned every single thing I know about Danes from The Viking. Address all complaints to him. Thank you.

PPS: I actually love our Julefrokost! It’s just him and me but we get smashed on Akvavit and share our love and laughter and it’s amazing.

Spayed and Betrayed! Yes, There’s Coffee

Whispers…

Come in, come in, come in! Did anyone see you? Were you followed? Are you sure?

Phew! That’s a load off my mind, my friend, because I’ve had a hellish week. Here’s some coffee – I’ll explain later. We can’t lay in the sun today either. Come along, my blanket is behind the sofa. It’s actually quite cozy.

Oh yum! I forgot how good coffee is and, to be honest, Salmon juice just doesn’t cut it as a morning beverage.

So……my week started great – just like every other week – but on Tuesday The Missus started acting a little funny. She was all sweet and cuddly and attentive. The Viking was even better! He was ‘tut tutting’ me all the time and coo-ing. I thought “Finally!! I’ve finally trained you people how to serve me properly!!” But it was a ruse! I was tricked!

They took me to the Vet and the people there shaved my belly, cut me open, took some stuff out and sewed me back together. See?! My beautiful belly is ugly now! It turns out they took away my right to decide if I want a bushel of kittens or not! I don’t know what having a bushel of kittens would be like but that’s not the point! The point is that they took away my right to decide. And that’s nothing compared to what they did next.

Whispers….

They put a microchip between my shoulder blades. They can track me now. Big Brother, The Overlord, The Borg…..they’re watching me. They know where I am all the time!

No, I don’t have a tin hat! Gawd!! You’re a terrible friend sometimes. I don’t know why I even put up with you. This isn’t a conspiracy theory like the Siamese twins down the street who think their owner is an alien. This is serious and all too real!

I overheard the Vet and The Missus talking. Apparently ‘AVID’ is the name of Big Brother and he can tell exactly where I am, any time, day or night. Millions of pets are being tracked! Well, not the cat I saw pooping in my neighbor’s flower bed because I’m pretty sure they would have eliminated him by now if he was microchipped.

Oh my Gawd!! I just realized…….that’s what “Animal Control” is!! It’s The Overlord’s minions trapping pets that have gone rogue. They could come for me any time. There are posters all over the neighborhood about missing cats – The Missus thought it was some cantankerous old guy with a cat trap but I’d be willing to bet a whole can of food that it’s The Overlord.

Well, how should I know what he wants with all those cats! I don’t know everything – just most things. What’s important right now is to come up with a strategy to minimize my exposure to Big Brother. As long as I stay in the house The Viking will protect me.

Well, of course he can protect me. He’s a Viking! That’s what they do…..when they aren’t pillaging and berserking.

And to be honest, today is the first day that I’ve felt good enough to contemplate the ramifications of my microchip. Thursday I could only sit in the sun or fall asleep. Yesterday I wasn’t as spaced out but my belly hurt really bad.  Today, I am quite a bit better.

And while The Viking and The Missus were still feeling sorry for me this morning, I managed to pilfer coffee, sugar and a touch of cream.

You’re welcome. They caught on to me fairly quickly though when they saw me trying to sneak away with the Treat Bag. Hence no treats to have with your coffee. I’m only one cat after all.

Watch your back, my friend. Big Brother is watching me and I can only assume they will target my friends and associates. You may be scooped up one day…….

Streaking and A Change in Scheduling

I was sitting at my computer last night, playing a mindless card game, wasting time until I could justify going to bed. But then there was a commotion in the hallway and muffled curses from the bathroom. I smiled.

The Viking has a shower every night before bed because he’s a motorcycle mechanic and he gets dirty. Izzie joins him in the shower because water fascinates her. It’s ‘their thing’. Every night Izzie waits patiently until The Viking streaks from the bedroom to the bathroom – okay, it’s a very slow streak but he’s still streaking. I can provide proof if it’s absolutely necessary but I’m hoping you’ll just take my word for it.

Last night there was a change in scheduling though. The Viking’s plumbing decided that what should have happened in the morning would now happen at night, just prior to his shower. In order to save time, he streaked….struck?….Straked?….to the bathroom even though he had something else to do before he got in the shower.

Try explaining that to a cat!  Especially to a cat that has been waiting for several hours for The Streaking Viking already and now finds the bathroom door firmly closed against her.

Izzie: Woooaaaahhh! Muuwah! Aaaaa!

The Viking yelling through the bathroom door: Izzie! Stop it!

Izzie: Aaaaaaa!!! Eeeeooowww!! Muuaa!

The Viking: I’m taking a shit, for fuck’s sake!

Izzie, slapping the bathroom door like a drummer in a rock band: Waaaaaa! Aagg!!!

The Viking: You don’t want to be in here! It smells like shit!

Izzie, now sticking one front leg all the way under the door, slapping the inside of the door, and the floor for good measure: Wah!! Eeeeeeoowww! Eeyahh! Wooaahh!

The Viking: Go away!!

Izzie: Eeeyaaahh!! Muuuuaa!!

The Viking: Fuck sakes! You’re going to smell like shit too!! Okay, fine!

The bathroom door opens and then closes quickly. This is actually an impressive feat because the door isn’t all that close to the toilet; there is significant leaning and stretching involved in the maneuver.

The house becomes quiet. For a minute or two. Then, very muffled, I hear a little squeak.

Izzie: Waah?

The Viking: …..

Izzie: Waahh??

The Viking: …..

Izzie: Wah!!

The Viking: I told you it smells like shit in here! Now you have to wait until I’m done.

Izzie: Waaaaaaahhh.

The Viking: Maybe this will teach you to let me take my shits in peace.

Izzie: …..

The Viking: Uuhhkk! Don’t touch that!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: For Fuck’s Sake!! You know you’re not allowed to do that! Leave the paper alone!!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: NO! Don’t do it!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: I need that now! No! Give me that!

Izzie: …..

The Viking: You little Fucker!!

The toilet flushes.

The Viking: Wait! No!! Let me clean it out first! Stop it! Fucks sake! Toilet flushes again. Okay. There!

2 minutes into the shower The Viking is whistling and cooing endearments to Izzie who is happily slapping water droplets on the floor.

Let’s Have Coffee! You Won’t Believe What Just Happened!

Come in, come in! I know I said that I would let you talk this time but I just can’t!  Here’s some Chicken Broth and a crunchy treat instead of coffee because I’m still not allowed to have sugar.

Sit, sit, sit…I know you love my blanket in the sun.

Okay.  You won’t believe what happened! I can’t quite believe it myself! I heard, through the underground, about such a thing, but never once thought it could be real.

It is real though! And I know it’s real because I saw it: Pharaoh the Sparrow!

Don’t scoff, it’s so unattractive. Have I ever lied to you before?

That wasn’t a lie……it was an exaggeration. There is a difference, you know. Just listen.

I did what I do every morning – annoy The Missus and The Viking until they get up and feed me. The Viking came out first and I sat on his shoulder and watched while he made coffee then stuck my amazing whiskers (they look like Sam Elliott’s droopiest mustache!) into his ear. That’s how I remind him my food dish is still empty. And while he was eating his breakfast, I sat in the front room window, checking out my domains.

AND THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENED!! A bird flew right to the window and sat on the ledge. It stared at me, right in the face! We were only separated by 2 panes of glass! It was a Sparrow and it hunched and fluffed itself up and dared me. I started slapping the window and that damned bird just stared at me without the smallest shred of fear.

I stood up on my back legs and whipped my tail at it and still it just sat there blinking at me. It was obnoxious! What the hell kind of bird can stand against all the aggressive majesty that is a cat? Oh, Magpies and Ravens do it all the time – they have size! – but this was a SPARROW! A dull, boring, brown Sparrow! I could swallow it whole!

I was like “What. The. Fuck?” So I started whispering all the horrible and painful things I will do to it when I finally catch it and that fucker only blinked. It was then that I recalled the legend of Pharaoh the Sparrow. He has dared some of the most dangerous cats in history! There’s talk that he stood up to Angry Cat. ANGRY CAT!! Can you believe that?

There’s a bounty on his head: 4 tins of Beluga Caviar to the cat that finally takes him down. If he’s smart he will leave here. I do not take taunts lightly.

What do you mean you don’t believe me? It’s the absolute truth! I believe everything you say! When you were bragging about your epic battle with that mouse did I call you a liar? No, I did not. Because I’m supportive.

Well, here’s the proof, smart guy!

And don’t even think about hanging around here, hoping to get The Pharaoh from right under my nose.  Now, leave me. Come back when you’re ready to be a good friend.