the jmeoww diaries V.7

I had a few silly JMEOWW anecdotes to share with you for this month's edition of JMD. The time I locked her outside for 3 seconds and she rammed full-speed into the screen door. The love affair with the balloon. The time we got woken up by this:

But then something happened this weekend. As Justin put it, the MEOWWPOCALYPSE happened. And you guys, it really did.

Saturday I loaded up the queen beast for a quick trip to the vet for a nail trim and a shot. Simple, right? I didn't make Justin accompany me because I totally had this under control. And he had a podcast to record. Totally got this.

The visit seemed to be taking a bit long, but I knew that they were quite busy and I wasn't in a hurry so I didn't mind. About 45 minutes later the vet tech returns my animal to me and says the phrase I had always feared.

"We might want to consider sedatives for her next visit."

And then I died. I always joke about her terrorizing and attempting to murder the vet techs, but when it ACTUALLY happens? Oh dear lord, I just died.

"Oh, and she pooped back there and wouldn't let us clean her."

LOVELY. So I head home, shell-shocked shitass cat in tow and come up with a game plan. Justin is locked in the bedroom, remember. So this is a solo project. JMEOWW shitass cleaning solo project. It can't be that hard...Totally got this.

I position the carrier so she can't bolt, and grab a few of the cat wipes that I have on hand. I open the carrier, and she is so ready for this. And by ready for this I mean she is ready to murder my fucking face off. I wrestle her for a few minutes trying to clean her shitass. She is making the most awful sounds I've ever heard an animal make, like I am tearing her skin off and in fact not trying to clean her shitass. I'm trying to calm her down and at the same time totally having a nervous breakdown and trying not to be too loud because I don't think that Justin wanted howling cats and screaming Tiffany in the background of his podcast.

After about 6 minutes that felt like 6 hours, I gave up. I got most of the shitass taken care of and I couldn't do it any more. I was covered in cat hair. She was howling like I was raping her. I am so not a raper. So I let her go and then I had a full emotional breakdown. I had just wrestled my cat to clean her shitass, okay? I think the overwhelming guilt of these "traumatic" trips to the vet and the actual having to wipe cat shit off of her tail was just too much.

I watched in horror as she cleaned herself and made a mental note not to play face-boops for at least 2 days. When Justin finally emerged from the bedroom 40 minutes later, he found me bundled up on the couch with my tear-stained face like I had just returned from war-torn Syria. He asked me what happened and I just shook my head and said, "I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

So as I sobbingly finished my story, Justin said my third-least favorite phrase I would hear on that day.

"We have to give her a bath."

Absolutely not. She has had the worst day of her meowwily existence and you want me to make it worse?

But, he was right. There was probably still shitass to deal with and so we did. She survived the bath and then retreated to her clubhouse for the remainder of the day. And I was completely emotionally drained for the rest of the day. I tried to give her a treat a few days later and she ran and hid from me because she is completely traumatized for the rest of her life. I can't help but imagine her screaming, "I WIPE MY OWN ASS!"

The moral of this month's installment of The JMEOWW Diaries? We all need sedatives, sometimes. Even the meowws.

oops...I did it again.

You know how some people have THE WORST DAY EVER because their nail breaks and o em gee I spilled coffee and poor me I need a mental health day! LOL!

You've heard that before, right?

To that I say, fuck your mental health day.

Monday...Monday I needed a real mental health day. It took everything...every ounce of my being to stay seated in my office and not bolt out to my car and speed home and build a fort under the covers and remain there until Justin forced me to come out and eat dinner. And no, I am not being an overdramatic nail-breaking, coffee-spilling, fml type person.

It's just that. Well. I forgot to take my pills. Again.

I know. We've been here before. But <insert excuse related to drinking too much here> and <insert excuse about falling asleep on the couch here>. I fucked up, and I fucked myself up. My emotional reactions to normal life annoyances have been THROUGH THE ROOF. Meaning I cried my way out of a family party Saturday night because a girl that was missing a tooth cut in front of me at the bar and I was like she's not even cute because she doesn't have all her teeth and what is the point of those braces? And my family and friends were like, whoa. Nice about it. But like, whoa.

And you just can't. You can't even explain it because you are not yourself and you won't be for a few days. So when you return to work on Monday and shit is flying all over the place because of typical incompetencies? Holy sweet jesus, brace yourself and don't you dare make direct eye contact with me because I will cry all over you.

So I don't feel bad that you broke a nail. Or that you coughed. Or that your husband didn't get you the right type of soda or whatever the fuck is it that people complain about every five fucking minutes. I don't feel bad for you, because you can fix it and change it immediately. You can change your situation. 

I just have to sit and wait until the medication starts filling up the holes in my system again and I become stable. So until then, I will sit and look at pretty pictures and silly animal pictures (thanks, Shannon!) and remember that it will get better. Soon.

But they suffered so!

When my mom told 8 year-old Tiffany that she was pregnant BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE with twins, I threw a pillow at her and ran upstairs and cried. Like any other rational child my age would've done! Um excuse me mother, but you are bringing not one, BUT TWO nasty tiny babies into my queendom? She is lucky it was just a pillow.

That right there happens to be my mom's favorite story to tell everyone in the entire goddamned world. And those two nasty tiny babies turned 22 yesterday and we spent the weekend celebrating.

The thing is, they really do have one of those amazing birth survival stories that you see on TLC and shit. Except my mom knew she was pregnant so they weren't born in a bathroom. Without getting too graphic here because I know how we like uterine talk around these parts, these girls had nothing separating them in the womb so they could've been siamese (which is only funny now, not then) and they were incredibly high risk. In her 5th month of pregnancy, my mom was ordered to stay in the hospital on bedrest, and two months later they were delivered in the wee hours of the morning via emergency c-section. Why? Because Brittany was trying to strangle Brooke. The weird part? She still is.

The first few weeks of their lives were spent in incubators in which they looked like tiny frogs. So yea, you could say they had a rough start. So growing up my mom had a little saying, sometimes serious but mostly sarcastic..."But they suffered so!" Indeed, mother. And now we all have to.

Little sisters are truly a clichéd blessing and curse. You get to be the cool one that takes them to concerts and tells them what music they should be listening to. You get to chaperone their 8th grade field trip to Washington DC. You get to wear their clothes that one time that you were skinny enough to. Oh, and you have an automatic designated driver!

But you also have to watch them make the same mistakes you did and pull your hair out and be all OH MY GOD DID YOU LEARN NOTHING? Their freshman year of high school when you say, "Don't date my ex-boyfriend's little brother!" and then they immediately do? When you tell them that your world shouldn't revolve around a boyfriend and that they are too young and for the love of buddha please stay in school? And for fuck's sake SAVE YOUR MONEY. They don't listen. They don't listen, and they fail, and their hearts break and so does yours. Just like yours did, and just like theirs will continue to.

And all you can do is listen. And not say I told you so. And let them sleep on your couch for a few weeks. And remind them that they are beautiful, and talented, and so full of love and that they never have anything to be insecure about. 

And then continue to shame them for chewing with their mouths open and liking the Kardashians.

Amazing photo templates free from Silly Grrl!

f{b}otw

I'd translate what that title means, but I'd also like to think that you've been following along for the past 3 Fridays. Yet again, I am a little behind on blog reading (Okay fine and also posting. But I have some great things planned for next week...). This little thing called work keeps getting in the way. SO RUDE. But alas, I was able to find some special treasures this week and now I shall share them with you.

BLOG POST

We shall call this the giveaway that wasn't. I was fooled, yes I was. 

My dearest Alissa teaches us all the importance of reading, not just following.

Thanks for the lesson, assface.

COMMENT

This comment on Wednesday's randomass post probably requires a blog post of its own. To summarize, my life-partner Leeann and I went to NOLA last spring and not only did my tea leaf reader predict that I would fall in love, but I also bought a voodoo love candle. And you know what, IT WORKED.

TWEET

Do you know Kelsey? Because you should. My favorite G Dubya Bush-loving, Timberlake-obsessed friend with bangs is a hoot and a half. I wish she wrote more damn blogs, but something about school or some shit keeps her from us regularly. But, she is a regular tweeter and for that, I forgive the lack of blogging. This is a fine example of her tweeting gold.

If she can get a besties bang photo with Shelly Obama, that would probably complete all of our lives.

And there you have the week in blogging moments. What were your favorites?

milestones.

Late night conversations are my favorite. Exhaustion, muscle fatigue...I know where your head is going and omg get a room. I've been kicking my ass trying to get ready for a teeny dress, okay? So by 10 pm I can't feel my legs and I can barely make sentences. The thing is, I'm really bad at anniversaries. Lucky for Justin, most of the time...

me: Tomorrow is our anniversary! Our month anniversary!

Justin: Month?

me: Monthly. Months. You know, Monthly.

Justin:...(still not getting it...probably contemplating my use of the word monthly and bracing himself for some sort of period talk).

me: 9 MONTHS! OUR NINE MONTH ANNIVERSARY!

Justin:....ohhhhh–

me: It's like a BABY! Our relationship baby has been birthed!

Justin:......

me: Can we name is jmeoww?

Justin: Or would it be born when we started dating making it turn 1 in May? Now I'm confused.

me: OBVIOUSLY NOT. You impregnated me with your love!

And then it just stopped because sometimes he knows there is no winning with me and these intelligent thoughts of mine. Which is why I keep him around.

make me over.

In 19 days...NINETEEN DAYS...I will be celebrating my 30th birthday with my most beloved family and friends. In 21 days I actually turn 30 and will be on a vacation along the central California coast with that Justin of mine.

I had planned to lose 20 pounds in time for my birthday bash. I lost maybe 2. But I feel (and look!) so much better from eating healthier, drinking less, and working out regularly.

Two weekends ago when my momma visited I forced her into the center of her hell known as the two-story Forever 21. And yes, I know I am turning 30 and still shopping at Forever 21. POINT BEING, I found the dress I had been anxiously searching every corner of the interwebs for. It is a little bit too short and a little bit see-through. Nothing a slip won't fix, or as my little sister kindly suggested, a spanx! Which she kindly suggested more than four times. I get it.

So now I must accessorize THE DRESS. Help me, won't you? I am most stuck on shoes and for some reason I am really stuck on mint/turquoise shoes. It would be most economical to go with the closed toe black suede shoes because I own them. But. BUT this is my party and I need some fancy feet. Which shoes would you choose?

I will also be visiting my hairstylist to get my bangs back and rejoin the ranks of the banged, along with some fun color that is yet to be determined. And because I cannot enter my 30s with these tranny brows, I'm going to visit the Benefit Brow Bar.

And then, and only then, my 30 makeover will be complete! Clearly this 30 thing is going to be fun. Clearly.

Have something fun to talk about today? Link up with Join the Gossip!

Favorite {blank} of the week.

Hola, amigos! I don't know why I am ethnic today. What I do know is that I am incredibly behind on blog reading, commenting, schmoozing, and so on and so forth. I WILL GET THERE. I will.

So here we are, Friday. And my favorite things of the week!

BLOG POST

Although I haven't even made a dent in my reading list, this is hands down the funniest shit I have read in a long time. And don't you dare act like you don't know what she is talking about!

Dusty Visits the Lady Doctor

COMMENT

TALLS FOR LIFE! Whitney, of course Soul Human is a thing!

TWEET

Angi tweeted to my soul (human). When I decorated my last apartment, I was kicking myself for not hoarding more of my grandparents furniture!

What were your favorite blogging moments of the week?

For the Talls.

Can we just talk about something here? You know, the giraffe in the room? As in, me.

This picture tells me three things.

1. A giraffe truly is my Soul Animal. I mean, that arm of mine. Jesus.
2. Giraffes are freaking magical creatures. Like unicorns, but with two horns and that is significantly more horns making them cooler.
3. I need to better match my foundation to my actual skin color. GOOD LOOKING OUT, FRIENDS THAT SEE ME EVERY DAY.

This photo was taken during a brief recess during training I attended in Tampa, Florida. Tampa, I have learned, is my Soul City. Because, not only did I locate a Steak and Shake, I also found a Beauty Depot right next door to a Meat Depot. Attached to each other. Imagine walking through the wrong door! Have I mentioned I'm tired? Florida is full of blogging gold and I may just move here for a few months to gather some content. I'll become the Ernest Hemingway of Tampa. Because the roadside dinosaur museum was calling my name and I need to see if they are hiring.

But really, I will be flying home today at a time that I didn't even know existed. And although it has been exhausting, sometimes you just need a baby rhino to remind you why you love your job.

Favorite {blank} of the week.

I've had this idea in my head for about 87 minutes now and I find it to be rather clever, as most of what comes out of my head usually is. You see, I've had the blogging blues lately. Not so much a lack of inspiration, but more of a disappointment in how some of us girls can be as a community. Yes, shit-talking is fun. Yes, making special friends happens. But there is SO much good stuff out there that we are all missing out on because we are not looking at the big picture. I just want to write. And also dance. Always dance.

So. That said. I intend to, hopefully once a week, spotlight some of my favorite blogging moments. Through favorite posts, tweets, and comments. Because the good deserves attention. I'm considering making this a linkup if it continues to be easy to find good content, which it probably will be because y'all are awesome.

Without further ado, I present to you my Top 3 Blogging Moments of the Week. 

{queue theme music}

FAVORITE BLOG POST

This was totally a tie. Which is a great way to start off this idea of mine, I know. But I found one incredibly wise and savvy, and the other just straight up hysterical.

Blog Advice from Erin

A Sasha Fierce Wedding with Staci

COMMENT OF THE WEEK

Regarding this post, Miss Shanna started her comment with, "Here we go with the farting again!!!" Which of course made my life. We are opposites when it comes to this topic for sure.

TWEET OF THE WEEK

Thirty is the wonderful age I am turning in oh, about one month or so. Thirtieth birthday party themes tend to fall into three categories: Dirty, Flirty, or Nerdy. Nerdy, I can be. Flirty? 

So in my quest to find a more appropriate word, dearest Jestina saved the day.

Cheese 30. Has a nice ring to it, yea?

And there you have it. My top three Favorite Blogging Moments of the Week. What were your favorite blogging moments this week?

You're doing it wrong.

Relationships. We've all had them. Good, bad, really bad. As I told my dearest hetero life partner Leeann, practice makes perfect.

Saturday night I was in a REALLY BAD MOOD. Like really bad. Like holy shit don't even look at me bad mood. All because it took me 4 tries to get my outfit right and then I was all sweaty but damn if I didn't rock those boyfriend jeans (thanks for the recommendation, Kathrin!). And also because I didn't know where I was supposed to be driving us to, and also it really wasn't that big of a deal. I just couldn't handle my shit, and you all know what I mean. And Justin just let it happen and rolled with it, like it was no big deal that I was stomping through the streets of Solana Beach like a major beast. At least I looked good doing it...

Fast forward to Sunday night. Justin caught the REALLY BAD MOOD/also probably a hangover from the 190 whiskey shots he took with the boys Saturday night. I don't catch onto his bad moods very well because, well, quite honestly they are rare. I know, I found an angel from the heavens that farts confetti. I wish. But, this is when he loses his patience and I turn into a toddler.

I have a habit of asking mindless questions that don't really require attention. So at one point, he got up to go to the bathroom and I said, "where are you going?" GOOD QUESTION, Tiffany. Narnia? There are three places he can go in this apartment and not one of them require permission nor space physics to enter.

So, he lost his patience with me and like a proper 29-almost-30-year-old I cried. Well, kind of. I waited to cry until he shut the bathroom door, which before he did he had ALREADY apologized for being short with me.

At bedtime, the same thing happened. Except it was, "when are you coming to bed?" which I knew would happen soon enough when he finished using the internets. Just mindless questions, you see. And then he was all, wtf and I was like omg now I'm crying again.

And then there were more apologies and yesterday morning when I was giving him the JMEOWW feeding update (we are trying to cut down on her food intake...it's not going well...she thinks she is dying...) he apologized again. And then I apologized again and promised to be more mindful of the pointless questions I ask, and he said:

Once a relationship starts going down the road of "it's okay to do this in this situation but not in this one," and when you're talking about basic stuff like just asking questions, you start inhibiting who someone is. I REALLY don't ever want to inhibit who you are, because I love you with all my heart - even things that you think are annoying (leaving cloTHES* around?) I still love because it's YOU.

And then maybe I teared up a little at my desk, but didn't like cry-cry because I'm growing up, guys.

The point, the real point of all of this? Is that practice does make perfect. And there will be awfully bad moods and annoying questions, and super sexy looking boyfriend jeans. But beyond that, all that matters is that you remain YOU in a relationship, and never inhibit or silence a part of yourself that you think you should be insecure about. Except farts. Those should always be silenced, ladies.

*For the life of me, I cannot pronounce clothes properly...I say "close." You?

People of the Gym: Part 1

I promised myself I would not make fun of people at the gym. Do not make fun of people at the gym, Tiffany! They are bettering their lives, no matter how ridiculous they look!

I...can't....help...myself! And I would be denying you golden entertainment so really I am being a bad person for your benefit so you're welcome.

That said, our first star of PEOPLE OF THE GYM is a man whom I would like to refer to as Jim. And if that right there doesn't get me a book deal, I don't know what else you people expect from me.

Before I tell you about Jim at the gym, let me set the stage a little. We belong to a small gym in an ethnically diverse neighborhood. I'm not being racist when I say that most of the gym members are of Asian or Indian descent. IT IS A FACT, NOT RACIST. Imagine middle-aged women of these descents arriving for Zumba, belly-dancing, and various other classes that I am not coordinated enough to attend. Incredibly muscular younger Asian dudes that are really testing their genetically predispositioned frames. And a sprinkle of old white dudes that can't afford LA Fitness so they ended up here and really just walk in circles and put their legs up on things to have a nice chat.

Which brings us to Jim, a tall-ish and moderately dumpy older white man. Whom I'm sure is really nice in real life. I was minding my own business doing some seated rows when Jim appeared at the weight machine to my left. I believe it was a pull-down lat machine? I don't really know the names, I just know what they do.

What follows are the rules Jim follows when performing his lat pulls:

• Walk around in a circle as you approach the lat machine. Breathe loudly.
• As aggressively as possible and without fully sitting down, complete your set at lightning fast speed, making sure that the bar slams up into place when you are through.
• Jump up and do some more intense circle walking as you continue to breathe like a gorilla.
• Give the machine an intense and slightly rapey stare-down as you approach for your next set.
• Do more than the standard number of sets because YOU ARE SO SWOLL.
• When you are finished, don't even thinking about wiping the machine down because your sweat is the nectar of the gods.

And holy shit you guys I just realized who Jim really is...

Kenny. Fucking. Powers.

They are definitely at least brothers....cousins...

Anyways, I doubt that Jim intends to be so intense. It's just that he works really hard for his pasty, doughy body and he wants to get the most self-esteem out of any workout that he completes. And can we really fault him for that? I mean, yea, I guess I kind of am.

I haven't seen Jim this week, so I'm guessing either he dislocated his shoulder with his vigorous routine or he achieved his goals. So get well soon, Jim! Or congratulations!