Penises, pussies, and bitches - oh my!

I was inspired by an entry ( I am too lazy to link… go to Rickscafe for the entry) I read today about doing home improvements and fixing the mistakes the previous owner made, when it reminded me of the guy who used to live in the apartment I live in.

When I was about 20, one of my Mom’s friends, Nancy, had been renting one of the apartments. She started spending every free moment at the bar my parents and all their beach hippie friends hung out at, and wasn’t making her rent on time anymore, so my folks had to give her the boot. Since I was making about thirteen cents an hour working in daycare, my parents offered me some extra cash to clean up the apartment and get it ready to show. Needing to support my beer and cigarette habit, I quickly accepted.

After cleaning for a while, I decided it was time to take a smoke break. I walked out to my car, grabbed my cigarettes and leaned against my car, facing the apartments. I happened to notice the door to one apartment was open (as were the blinds on the windows), and before I could do anything else (like look away and save myself from humiliation), I saw this tall boney guy walking around, completely naked, with penis flailing all over the place.

I didn’t know what to do. I knew I shouldn’t stare, but at the same time, how could I not?? I mean, he was walking around so casually, with everything wide open, that I just couldn’t believe he had no clothing on. It seemed so strange to me that he would just be naked. All the time. Always naked. Naked on the couch. Naked on the kitchen chairs. Naked cooking dinner (grease splatters are particularly hazardous for this guy). Naked doing laundry – well, really, how much laundry could a naked guy have? Bad example. Whatever.

He caught me staring, and slammed the door shut. Later that night, when I was eating dinner with my parents, I mentioned what I saw, and my Dad was like, “Oh, yeah. [Naked Boy]’s a nudist. He never has clothes on.” For some reason, this was completely bizarre to me.

The next time my Dad was over collecting rents, Naked Boy told him that he had busted me staring at him, and that I was a weirdo for staring. Uh… he’s walking around with his cock and balls out for the whole world to see, and I am the weirdo?

Flash to about four years ago. The rent was being raised in my old apartment, and Naked Boy was in a higher income bracket, and needs to own some property, so he tells my parents that he’s moving out, after living in the apartment for almost 30 (yeah, fucking 30… he moved in there when he was 17) years.

I would think that a guy whose naked body is going to be touching everything around him, he would have been a little cleaner. He had never re-painted, so the walls that were originally white were now a nice grungy brown color, and the hardwood floors hadn’t been maintained, so there was a nice thick layer of grime on the floor. Don’t even get me started on the bathroom.

Being convinced that he had dick-wiped every inch of that apartment knowing that the “weirdo” daughter was moving in, I scrubbed the shit out of that place with bleach from the floor to the ceiling.

Then I did it again.

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I realized Monday that I think I am becoming one of those crazy cat people. Damn. And I tried so hard not to be.

Part one of the realization:

When I got home from work on Monday, I noticed that my little kitten Boo’s left eye was swollen, and looked it had rolled in the back of her head. Panic. I started freaking out immediately, and called my vet and said that I was bringing her in.

When I put her in the carrier and put her in the back seat of my car, she started crying. Now, being that I am already panicking myself, hearing my cat panicking didn’t help. In about two seconds, there were two pussies in the car, because I was crying, too.

After waiting a FUCKING HOUR to see the vet, I was trying to comfort my cat, who is flipping out because she has no idea where she is. He finally comes in. He takes her from me, flips her eye around, and says that my other cat probably scratched her, and that they were going to have to put some fluorescent dye in her eye to make sure that’s all it was.

$250 later, my cat has a scratched retina and a kick-ass lampshade collar on. It’s pretty funny.

Part two:

Monday night, after I got home from the vet, and scolded Ike (the boxing cat) for hurting both Boo and my wallet, my friend Alex told me he was coming over. When he walked in, Ike took the chance and ran out the door. He is mostly an indoor cat, but occasionally he likes to go outside for a few minutes, then he gets scared and comes back in.

Well, when Alex left a few hours later, Ike was not at the door waiting to come in as I had expected. I called him, and shook the treats, but still no Ike. I went to bed, convinced that he would be there in the morning.

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t there when I got home from work that night, either. I walked around my neighborhood, looking for him, and calling him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. He has a collar with my phone number on it, but I live in the ghetto. I don’t trust any of the motherfuckers in my neighborhood to call me and say they found my cat.

By yesterday, I was seriously freaking out that he was gone. I have had him since he was four weeks old, and I couldn’t imagine my couch without his cranky ass spread out on it sleeping for 20 hours a day.

Last night (or I should say this morning), I was awakened to what sounded like someone trying to break into my apartment. I went out, looked out my front window, and there he was. The fucker.

I can't believe my sorry 31 year old ass was screaming and yelling at a cat at 3 am, but I was. If they didn't think it before, my neighbors surely think I am nuts now.

I felt like a retard for being this upset over my fucking cat, but at the same time, I felt like he was my kid that was missing, and that’s when the full realization came that I was one of those people. I have nothing against those people, I have just never formed enough of a bond with a pet to think of it as a child (of sorts). Maybe it’s my whole anti-motherhood thing, I don’t know.

If I start referring to them as “my kids,” please, for fuck’s sake, help me.

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One more thing, and then I swear I won’t subject you to anymore of my ramblings (and if you’re hoping this one will make up for the wasted time reading the other two crap stories, you’re wrong!). Yesterday, shortly after I got to work, I heard a loud thump, and then “FUCK!!!” come from Celestia’s desk. At the time, I was talking to Princess, another co-worker. We both laughed.

A minute later, Celestia came limping up to us, and said that she had jumped up from her desk and slammed the top of her thigh under her desk. Then she said, “I can’t believe I did that! It hurt so bad… because I am so skinny it was like it just hit the bone.” I seriously had to bite my tongue to shut my ass up, but before I could even say anything, Princess jumped right in.

“You’re not THAT skinny.” That seriously was about the best thing you could ever say to her, because she is so vain about her body, (which, in her defense, is great, I hate to say), and works out like a nazi so that she will be the best looking girl in a bikini at the river. Fuck health, she just wants to make all the other girls look bad.

She ran right into the bathroom. Twice in one week… is it my birthday???

Good times.