the jmeoww diaries v.10

Last time we met we wondered if this would be the end of The JMEOWW Diaries — she was doing so well! She was so nice!

And yet, here we are. Friends of the Queen Beast, she is back and better than ever. Her good behavior lasted just long enough for Justin to take us out of consideration for My Cat From Hell and then BAM. Jmeoww's back, y'all. Miss Jmeoww, if you're nasty.

The worst of the worst started two weekends ago, when Justin was preparing her for her trip to the vet (vaccines, flea shot, lobotomy). As you all well know the vet will not see her unless she has taken a sedative. Which I still call bullshit on because it is their one job. But I digress. So Justin was going to be Saint Justin as per usual and let me sleep in while he tricked Jmeoww into eating sedative-laced treats.

Okay maybe sedative-laced cheese.

Well how about sedative-laced treats AND cheese all inside a pill pocket with a $100 bill as a thank you?

She was having none of that. None of it. So he very apologetically woke me up and in my half-awaken state I grabbed the pill, put Jmeoww in a leglock and tried to force the pill down her throat. She was like, no thank you to that but here's a side of IMMA CUT YOUR LEG OFF for your troubles. If I wasn't awake yet, I was after I got the bunny-kicks to my upper thigh. I lost some blood.

And then after that she went full-rainmeoww and we decided to call off the vet trip for all of our emotional well-being. So we rescheduled for the following week. Because we are adults and totally in charge here.

We were so well prepared for the next trip. Our new plan was to crush the pill and put it in some wet food, which she normally doesn't get. So we gave her wet food every few days so that she wouldn't be suspicious. I still have the same bowl that I used when she regularly got wet food as a kitten so when she sees it her tiny meowbrain explodes out of her ears and she's like THE RED BOWL IS FULL OF GLORY.

We were totally pumped. We had this.

Except. Well. She saw the pill bottle. She made eye-contact with the pill bottle and knew that something was up. By the time I was dragging my ass out of bed she was already on her way back under the bed all slinky like. When I met Justin in the kitchen with a What Did You Do Wrong face his response was, "I didn't realize she was THAT smart."

Um excuse me. I'm taking her to Vegas to count cards. Obviously she is THAT smart.

But the battle wasn't over yet. We got her out of the bedroom and shut the bedroom door so she would have nowhere to retreat to and we just knew that she was starving and she would HAVE to eat the food. She had to.

Well, instead she hid behind the bar like a wounded warrior and flinched anytime someone made a sound. At this point, my motherly instinct kicked in and I knew what I had to do. So I sat behind the bar with her and rekindled our relationship. Although I was trying to get her to trust me so that I could betray her again, it needed to be done. Once she was more comfortable, I found a piece of string that she had clearly been saving back there and we played with a goddamned piece of string for a good 25-minutes. A. Piece. Of. String. We had a couple of very scary moments filled with loud noises that Justin was making (like throwing trash away), but eventually after much trust-building she went out and ate some of the goddamned sedative-laced food.

I was so fucking proud at that moment it was like she spoke an entire sentence in English or something. But I couldn't celebrate too loudly because loud is totally scary.

By this point, it was too late for the sedative to really kick in and she didn't eat nearly enough of the drug-food but I took her to the vet anyways because it is their one job. Upon walking through the door the receptionist looked at my haggard face and at the Queen of all Veterinary Visits and said, "Oh is that my friend?!?"

Yes. Yes she is your friend. She is everyone's friend. Just don't let her see the fucking pill bottle ever again.

getting my goop on.

After seeing Gwyneth "Goop" Paltrow's abs in Ironman 3 I decided that I really needed to get my shit together. And what better way to do so than to turn to Pepper Pots' trainer extraordinaire, Tracy Anderson. I browsed some of her dvds on Amazon and decided on the Mat Workout because I figured it would involve mostly laying on the ground, which I can totally handle. I didn't take the extra time to actually research what in fact her method is because if Gwyneth can do it I totally can do it. Totally.

Well it turns out that THE METHOD is largely dance based. And, while I'd hate to shock you all, I am not what you would call "a dancer." Also, it turns out that there was a lot of standing involved and a lot of really intense movements and I totally understand why this method works — if you do it Tracy's 4-6 recommended times per week. FOUR TO SIX. Here is a sample of my favorite part, also known as the part in which I just decided to start wildly waving my arms around because it made more sense to me that way.



As I started the warm-up segment, I quickly learned that working out at home wasn't really the best idea I'd ever had. Because as soon as I was bent-over and reaching towards the ground to stretch, this black furry monster comes flying at me claws-out. Did jmeoww really just attack me as I am trying to go Method? Yes, OF COURSE she did. Once I brought out the chair for the leg segment it was game over because it was the perfect place for her to not only sit and silently judge me, but also attack me with her dainty paws through the chair rails.

Turns out this was the least of my problems. For the arm segment that uses weights, my dearest Tracy uses 3-pound weights. Well shit and a half I only had 5-pound weights at home. And because I'm fully capable of using at least 12 pound weights in a normal workout, I did not listen to her warning that I could injure myself.

And to no one's surprise, I did in fact injure myself. Which led to a sprained wrist that I am kept wrapped for a few days so that I remembered that I had a sprained wrist — not in fact, to be dramatic or to welcome inquiries from strangers. You don't know me, or my wrists so please do not ask me what happened.

The Method has been placed on hold until I can get my weak hands on some 3-pound weights and can get some professional dance training. I guess I will be returning to the gym like a normal, uncoordinated person. That's what Gwyneth would do, right?

ww: confessions

This week, the harlots behind Whatever Wednesdays want to know what I spend wayyyyy too much time doing.


I mean, this is pretty obvious right? Anyone who has had any kind of conversation with me lately knows EXACTLY what I spend too much time doing.
Here it is. My confession.
I spend too much time plucking my eyebrows.
Oh what, you thought that I would own up to the inordinate amount of time I spend looking at wedding blogs? Pssshaw right. That is called RESEARCH and it is important. 
Now, back to the real problem at hand here. These eyebrows. You see, I've stopped waxing my eyebrows because #1 MONEY and #2 BANGS. Why spend money on something that my bangs will cover anyways? Hello, logistics.
Also, #3 I spent many hours watching Game of Thrones and obsessing, OBSESSING over Daenerys' and Cersei's voluptuous brows. Please see exhibit A below to understand why I needed to stop visiting my torturous waxing lady.

EXHIBIT A BELOW.

As I was not blessed with such luscious brows, I need to be more mindful of my plucking and waxing. Which is a problem because I will sit in front of a mirror for many, many minutes trying to get that one damn hair that you can see at one angle but not at another. So if I get up to go to the bathroom, look in the mirror and see a brow out of line I will pluck instead which can lead to very long bathroom trips that make it seem like I am doing something that we all know girls don't do. I even bought one of those horrific 10000x magnifying mirrors from Walmart. They are truly a blessing and a horrific curse. You can never UNSEE what you see in that damn thing and the next thing you know I am gouging at my pores. Thirty minutes later when I come out of the bathroom, Justin won't even make eye contact with me.
And as my sisters and Justin know all too well, I will come at you with my tweezery fingers and pluck rogue eyebrows straight from your face with my bare hands without a damn warning. I consider it a talent, I really do. 
Also, consider that your warning. Don't come at me with rogue eyebrows.

Embracing the obvious.

When I originally told friends and family that Justin was a video game designer and yes, he does game himself, they looked at me like I had gone fully mental. Did I forget what happened LAST time I dated a gamer? Um, no. One doesn't easily forget waking up at 4 in the fucking morning to scream at someone to stop screaming at the television.

Not only have I accepted the gaming, but I have also accepted a lot of geek culture that was always knocking at my door. I would just never let it in because I was far too cool for that kind of shit. SPOILER ALERT: I'm not. 

It started with Game of Thrones and those baby dragons. Then a Lord of the Rings viewing that turned me into the world's biggest fan of Gollum. A deep love for Archer soon developed. Arrested Development. Spaced. SHERLOCK. CUMBERBATCH. And currently, Battlestar Galactica. You guys, its a hardcore sci-fi show and I CRIED during an episode the other night. Cried real tears during a sci-fi show.

Last week we attended w00tstock 5.0 — a "geek variety show" put together by Wil Wheaton (geek Jesus) and Adam Savage (of Mythbusters fame). Within the first two minutes George RR Martin had walked on stage and smashed a guitar (and also Neil Gaiman and while I am not familiar with his work I know that he is basically a god) and tears welled up in my eyes and I threw my hands up to my face and completely FANGIRLED.

This spectacular evening of geekdom also introduced me to Garfunkel & Oates — the hilarious duo behind this not entirely safe for work song. Girls can be funny, you guys! And while you're at it, check out "The Loophole," which makes me blush so I'm not posting it here.

At one point in the evening Paul & Storm introduced The Best 36 Seconds on the Internet. (Also, I'm sure you've seen this but just in case you have not — The Best 36 Seconds on the Internet.)

And this is when I had my epiphany. The heavens parted, the nerdy giggling silenced, and I thought to myself, This too is my favorite video on the internet.

At that exact moment, Justin turned and looked at me with only a mildly smug smile on his face and said, "These are your people, honey. This is your home."

 And it was. It is. I can't deny it anymore. Geek culture is a part of my soul.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go watch the above video at least 6 more times.

Who wants an iPad mini?

Hi Wittle Kitty-Ittles...my name is Alissa and I take care of things over at Graceless Lady. Tiff Gee asked me to do a guest post for her, and since she spends her days talking me off a ledge, I couldn't say no.

One of my finest moments.

I'm here today to give you some advice about blogging. I know, I know, I should be charging you peasants for this, but I'm feeling nice, so here it goes.

1. To gain followers, you must host giveaways.

Bitches love free shit! I don't know where some of these girls get their giveaway prizes from, but if you can secure an iPad or iPad mini, I can assure you, people will go crazy over it. Here's the catch - don't expect any of these new followers to care enough to stick around for non-giveaway posts. Ain't nobody got time for that!

2. Charge people for everything.

From this moment on, do not tweet/retweet/follow anyone on Twitter without charging them at least $5 first. If anyone asks if it's okay to mention you in one of their posts, make sure you're receiving royalties for every page view. In fact, if you can figure out a way to charge people in order to be able to view your blog, you could make hundreds.

3. Have an Army of Skanks.

It gets pretty rough out there in Blogland, so make sure you have a few girls who will defend you no matter what. Faithful skanks are easy to identify. They are the girls who will email you right away if they find a post that might be about you. Then, once you comment on said post, they will follow up with an, "Amen!" But be careful - you don't want anyone trying to take your place as Queen Bee.


Well, kiddles, I hope you know that I'm kidding with you. Please don't do anything that I mentioned, especially charge people for (or pay for!) blog advice. None of us went to college and majored in blogging, therefore none of us should be paid to tell you that being yourself is the best way to go.

Also, here's a thought - learn HTML. It's really not that difficult and if you spend a few minutes on Google, you will find bloggers who teach you how to design blogs FOR FREE. Or, if you're really that lazy, email me and I'll send you the links to the sites I've used.

Tiff, thanks for letting me take over for the day. You owe me $75

ww: Heartbreak, the unexplainable kind.

The wenches in charge want us to get serious this week and talk about heartbreaks. I tried that once and while it was incredibly cathartic, it is not something I enjoy doing because of you know, EMOTIONS. And beyond that, heartbreak has had no recent place in my life, only my ever-increasingly distant past which is undeserving of my attention.


This is not to say I do not feel — contrary to popular belief. And sometimes my emotions are so overwhelming, and often times random, I can't even explain them myself. And this is NOT to say that I feel more deeply or more profoundly than you, it is just well, to say at all.

Justin asked me a question Sunday night that led to a three-hour silent treatment.

"Remember when you drunk cried last night over the verdict?"

Yes. Yes I sure did remember that. But the thing is, I was truly upset. Okay and definitely drunk. Still reeling from the news of the loss of Cory Monteith, I scrolled through my twitter feed in horror as I laid in bed waiting for Justin to join me. And I just started sobbing.

This wasn't a case that I watched closely or felt extremely passionate about. I've had those cases. Let me just tell you how many classes I missed as I sat glued to my TV waiting to hear the fate of Terri Schiavo.

My heart and my spirit were just broken. Defeated. Sad. Just plain fucking sad, you know?

This was not my story, or the story of anyone that I know. But the story of what is so commonplace in our society. And so acceptable.

I silent-treatmented him not only because my delicate feelings were hurt, but also because I knew that I could never articulate exactly what bothered me so incredibly about this situation. And I still can't and I certainly won't try to any more than this.

I will leave you with a tweet from a brilliant writer that you may know as "Quinoa's Mom."

Let's be better. Let's do better.

— Tiffany Beveridge (@tiffanywbwg) July 14, 2013

Yes, let's. 

Making card buying less painful.

Do you want to know something that I am really terrible at? Choosing greeting cards. I will take minutes upon minutes upon days browsing the aisles of Targ over and over until I give up and walk away with my head down.

Enter Cardstore. I can sit on my butt and browse until my heart is content, without giving dirty looks to children who are touching cards who we all know CAN NOT EVEN READ. Cardstore is the ultimate personalized greeting card store, and lucky for me their "funny" birthday cards are actually quite hilarious.

Although it still took me longer than a normal human to decide on a card, once I did the personalization process was so much fun and had my giggling at my desk like a total creep. Fonts, colors, photos, MORE CHOICES to make. But the card turned out beautifully and was a total hit with my friend. And the shipping process was faster AND cheaper than I expected (Hi, Shutterfly! I hope you are listening!).

So if you have card commitment issues like me, or just don't like going out in public in general, Cardstore is here for you. And they are awesome.

*FINE PRINT. Yes, I was given a free card to review.*

Whatever Wednesdays, Wednesday: Girl Code

This week on WHATEVER WEDNESDAYS the head bees in charge are talking about Girl Code. The idea came from a show that my best friend has been BEGGING me to watch. Like really begging me. And while I fully intend to, someday, I only have so much time in one day to watch everything that the Investigation Discovery channel has to offer me. 

I was nearly full-fledged rant yesterday but Justin was able to talk me off the cliff. It would've been a doozy of a post though. You can thank him for missing out on that. Luckily he reminded me that I don't really give a shit. Maybe a little shit, but not enough shit to let it rent permanent space in my head.
The moral of the story is — when something amazing is happening in your friend's life, you have to be happy for them. You just have to. I mean, you should be. But if something in your life is preventing you from even just being politely kind — I'm not expecting fucking cartwheels — then look at yourself and try to figure out what would even make you think negatively in the first place.
This isn't just girl code. This is human code.

Whatever Wednesdays numero tres: When would I live?

My fellow Losties will know this - it's not where you are, but WHEN you are. Listen, I was annoyed by it too.

The broads in charge of WHATEVER WEDNESDAYS ask, if you could live in a different decade what would it be and why?

I've thought a lot about this. At least for like 4 minutes or so. My mind immediately tells me the early 60s, think season one of Mad Men. Maybe like late 50s early 60s. Can my decades overlap? THEY ARE. Because repressed childhood issues and cheating husband aside, Betty Draper had it MADE. She didn't work. She drank all day and smoking wasn't bad for you OR your kids/unborn children yet. HER WARDROBE. And she could get away with being a bad mom (not insinuating that I would be a bad mom, but I mean...) because all of those issues that her children would grow up to have could totally be blamed on the numerous wars and civil rights issues that would occur in the later 60s and 70s. 
Why would I want to live as such a terrible person? Because I've never been a truly terrible person and I think it would be refreshing to have been a part of the time when "we didn't know any better."
Beyond Betty Draper, I've always had a deep and irrational love for all things mid-century and vintage kitsch. Throwback to my old apartment in which my best friend said, "this looks like my grandma's house and now I'm creeped out." Also known as, perfection.
Although I'm not entirely sure that I could've lived through the Kennedy era. Because I also have always had a deep and irrational love for all things Kennedy and once they started dropping like flies I would've lost it. What? TOO SOON? Also, Jackie O. One of my heros. To live during her time...I can't even.
So through all of this rambling of my brain, I guess I convinced myself of an answer. I would've been best fucking friends with Betty Draper herself, right before some of the most tumultuous times for our country and our culture. Before we knew any better.

I also hate birds.