Author: Mrs. Completely

Dum-Dum, Scrub & Weiner

I was reading another person’s blog* this morning about nicknames and it got me thinking about the nicknames my sisters and I had when we were young.

My nickname as a kid was Dum-Dum and I know exactly why that was my nickname. I was an alien, that’s why.  Or at a minimum, an alien to my family.  And aliens do things differently than other people.  We need good information because we always have questions, and without good information we tend to spin our wheels guessing.  Here’s an example of how I, an 8 year old alien, spun my wheels:

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Izzie – Angry, Angry, Angry!

I got up on the wrong side of the litter box today. It didn’t seem so at first; I snuggled with Missus as soon as she woke up….all on her 0wn…..without any assistance from me at all, then I had my breakfast and played with my new toy for a little while.  Everything seemed perfect; just another wonderful day in paradise.

But then it wasn’t. Because the Missus started doing stuff that I didn’t approve, like playing in my litter box.  She was taking poop out and putting it in a bag – the kind of bag that I like to wear around my neck while I run all over the house like Batman Catman Catwoman.  I don’t like poop in those bags!  So, to make my point I stuck my head through the handles of the bag and ran around the laundry room when she went to answer the phone.

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Daily Prompt: Blank

If it’s a blank cheque signed by George Clooney….yes, please! He did come in Runner Up as my Buddy, losing only to Christopher Walken because he was low maintenance.  I could make a pretty good case why George would want to give me a blank cheque; out of gratitude if nothing else – on occasion I need a voice of reason and George might find that an onerous task due to its frequency – just ask The Viking.

I suspect that this Daily Prompt doesn’t concern Blank cheques, though. More likely, it is the expression on my face when I am confronted with…..well……just about anything unexpected.  Like someone asking to butt in line.  Or anyone asking me why I did something or another; how the hell am I supposed to know?  Or The Viking waving a Zulily bag in my face and demanding if it is mine (honestly, he’s just begging me to lie about it!).

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Izzie – You Are Both Assholes!

The Viking and I go to Arizona twice a year, usually for a month or so each time.  Because we run our own company out of the house, we seldom get two days off in a row and our phone rings from 6 o’clock in the morning to 11 o’clock at night.  So we take time in the spring and in the fall – our slow seasons – for ourselves.

We drive to Lake Havasu City, Arizona from Calgary, Alberta; it’s a trip of about 2300 kilometers (1430 miles) that we do in a day and a half.  We actually enjoy the drive; it’s relaxing and no one is banging on the door or the phone isn’t ringing all hours of the day and night.  We heave a big sigh of relief as Calgary fades behind us.

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Izzie – The Flatulence Has Subsided

It has been almost 3 weeks since I was abducted from my family.  What began as a damned nightmare is becoming okay.  I have toys littered from one end of the prison to the other, they feed me regularly and they have treats which I really enjoy.  Someone should tell them I would prefer they feed me the treats all the time and forget about that other shit they put in my bowl.  There should be some payoffs for being catnapped!

I have grown a lot; I’m nearly twice as big as I was when first arrived here. I can now jump onto the big brown sitty thing and onto the bed that The Viking and the Missus sleep in.

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Why Don’t I Have A Buddy?!

‘Buddy’ – The Daily Prompt word. This should be easy, right?  Ten minutes, post and dust off hands! Because my first thought was of course I have a Buddy!  Like Laurel had Hardy, or Thelma had Louise, or Mel Gibson had Danny Glover.  But as I mentally scrolled through the people closest to me I realized that I don’t have a Buddy! Not like Nick Nolte had Eddie Murphy, or Will Smith had Martin Lawrence! Everyone deserves a Buddy, even me!

I have The Viking but he’s less of a Butch to my Sundance and more of a Pepe le Pew to my Penelope la Cat. Plus, he tends to be the voice of reason in this relationship, not a partner in crime.

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Underestimations

I underestimate all the time. Here’s a list:

  • The length of time it will take to finish a game of Spider Solitaire which means that I’m always running out the door a little bit late. This, in turn, means that I drive like an asshole because I don’t want to be late for whatever the hell I’m doing.
  • The impact of a new haircut. I’m always a little disappointed when I realize that I’m not a size 3 and I don’t look like a young Jane Fonda.
  • Ditto a new find on Zulily.
  • How good macaroni and cheese tastes. Or pancakes. I fight the craving for weeks or months but when I finally break down it never tastes as good as I thought it would taste. Then I’m pissed off because of the massive amounts of willpower I’ve wasted.

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Izzie – Snot & Tears…..or…..Survival

My survival is in question. Honestly. And I have engineered my own demise which makes it all the more tragic.  I knew it would be difficult, knew that there would be issues but Geez!  I had truly forgotten what a pain in the ass a fucking kitten could be!  She’s a nightmare! And I freely and willingly went along with the acquisition of the feline in question.  Wouldn’t Freud have something to say about this?  Isn’t this sort of like volunteering for the Spanish Inquisition?

She’s a good girl really, but she’s so busy! I just get her out of trouble in one spot as she’s galloping to the next spot.  Pet Smart and Petland have both vomited all over the house; there are so many damned toys it’s like a mine field.  Bells, rattles, catnip, fishing poles, treat puzzle, ball puzzle and a Kitty Whack-A-Mole…..how many toys does it take to entertain one kitten?  In desperation I am throwing anything and everything on the floor (toothpaste box, pen, an extra-large paperclip, shopping bag, toilet paper roll, an empty medication bottle, shoe laces, etc.) hoping that something will hold her attention for more than 16 fucking seconds.

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Chaos

We are apparently made out of it so it shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that I live and create chaos every single day. It’s an untamed beast that only exists because I procrastinate.  If I didn’t procrastinate I could most certainly eradicate it out of my life but then I would be bored and boring and look like Martha Stewart.

For example:  Where is the fun in opening up the fridge and not feeling a small trill of fear? What’s great about trusting that all the salad dressing hasn’t hit its best before date?  Wouldn’t we miss the “Name that Rotting Food” Game with the container on the shelf in the back?  What would The Viking have to complain about if there were no slops in the Vegetable Crisper that needed to be scraped into the trash and removed from the house immediately?  Exactly!  These are fun times!  Bonding moments!  Opportunities to apologize and promise to do better in the future.  If everything was orderly and perfect how could The Viking possibly know that I am still making an effort?  He might assume that I’m totally redundant to the efficient operation of this place!

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Izzie – Cuteness as a Weapon

What the hell?!  “Stop it!”

It doesn’t stop. The sound of claws ripping open my mattress jerks me awake.  I’m never at my best when this is how I wake up; in fact, I’m probably at my worst.  Izzie doesn’t know this about me yet but she’s about to find out.

We have an adjustable bed because some mornings I can’t stand up and The Viking has to help me. The bed has two twin size mattresses on individual bases so I can adjust my side.  And it’s between these mattresses that Izzie is diligently shredding one or both.  I shove my arm down there and swing it around wildly but she’s too fast.

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