the jmeoww diaries: V.16

Let's pretend for a moment that I didn't plan a grand return to blogging and then majorly fail. Let's also NOT pretend that you are here for any other reason than to hear about her. Because as much as I think about writing and getting back into the swing of things, the one thing that actually gets me to sit my butt down with the laptop that Justin bought me for this exact purpose — IS HER.

Her being JMEOWW Ann Gee-Dee. For those of you who may have stumbled upon this blog by accident, you are in fact reading about a cat. But not just any cat. A cat who howls like a toddler if I dare to use the restroom when I get home from work, rather than give her my undivided attention. A cat who does not settle down for the night until both of her humans are in their proper places on the couch. A cat who demands treats be placed in an old wrapping paper tube so she may be entertained. THAT CAT.

So, here we are. And how is she doing, you ask? Well, we think she is broken. Or that she is going through a phase that I have dubbed "mewburty." You know, puberty. But for cats. Even though she is fixed because for fuck's sake spay and neuter your animals you heathens.

We aren't sure if it is the El Nino or then sudden 85 degree weather, or that she is simply just aging; but she has been "off." And by "off" I mean she literally does not move off of her new spot on the couch. A cushion that will never return to its original form because since the day she discovered its comfort and perfection approximately two months ago she rarely leaves it. Very near to her spot on the couch is my spot on the couch, which means that I often get my head aggressively stroked by her tail (which is rarely at rest). And I get to listen to her cleaning her toe cheese which I feel like she knows irritates the shit out of me so she saves it until she is above my head.

It took her two years to find this spot and apparently she is never leaving it EVER.

Justin and I realized, just last night, that this is because from her cushion perch she can see most of the apartment, so she will always know where we are. It may also be due to the fact that my essential oil diffuser is near her watchtower and she HATES the essential oil diffuser even though I am obsessed with it and its also not my fault that our living room has so few electrical outlets that are accessible for my needs.

In addition to the not moving situation, her meow clock is broken. The meow clock typically sounds about 10 minutes before my actual alarm clock goes off and does not stop going off until I am up and out of bed feeding her (typically 3-4 alarm snoozes later). In the past few weeks she has rarely made her alarm clock appearance and when she does it is unusually polite. Like a gentle little meep meow instead of her usual desperate howl of starvation. On the weekends, however, the meow clock sounds approximately two hours too early (Justin has jmeoww breakfast duty on the weekend because we share parenting responsibilities like that). So when I wake up before her, I FIND HER ON THE COUCH PERCH. And she just looks back at me like, "Oh. Hey. Yea put some food in that bowl I'll get it later, no rush Ma!"Like she is suddenly some chill, non-neurotic rainman of an animal that is okay with casually being fed, like whenever bro. SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT YOU GUYS.

She's only happy when it rains. CORRECTION: She does not shut up when it rains
because she is the Paul Revere of rain, as if we couldn't tell what is happening outside.

So, perhaps she has the winter sads or just the plain old lazies. Perhaps the couch really is just that comfortable (I mean, I have been known to fall asleep on it 4-6x per week). But as long as we are all in the living room at the same time, all is well and she can return to her couch perch. Oh, and as long as there is an ice cube in her water, she is fine. Also as long as the bathroom door is open while you use the toilet, she is fine. MEWBURTY, you guys.

the jmeoww diaries: V.14

I know you all are wondering about Justin and I and the wedding and everything that has happened since. But I really know that anything that has happened in our lives is far less interesting than anything that has happened in hers...

It's totally okay, I accept that you all are here for her. While she did not actually make it to the wedding, she was there in spirit in the form of cardboard cutouts at the photobooth. She was a hit, as always.

Probably the next biggest thing to her unofficial marriage to Justin was moving to a new apartment. The entire process of finding a place, packing, moving, and unpacking is incredibly stressful for the humans. But for the meoww, she has her own story to tell.

Justin and I both had requirements for our new apartment. Must have a washer and dryer. Must have A/C. Must feel like a castle. And so on. But the one qualifier that got us the oddest looks from the apartment managers was an enclosed patio on the second floor. For our cat. A CATIO, if you will. Imagine us telling eight different apartment managers that their patio/balcony was in fact not good enough for our cat. We knew that for our sanity and hers, she needed to go outside in a safe, enclosed space. She had spent nearly three years expending pent up energy and anger out on that patio and also creeping out the neighbors. She LOVED that patio. And the thought of taking that away from her made us feel like terrible humans. So our new place would have to have a catio.

Well, turns out human needs trumped hers for once and she did not get the perfect catio. There is a small balcony, but it is concrete rather than fencing or railing and we imagined we could make it work. We will build a weather-proof cat tower that is tall enough for her to see the world! We will make this work and feel like less terrible humans!

But we haven't needed to build said dangerous cat tower because this glorious apartment has one thing that our old place didn't have for her: WINDOWS. The cave that we previously lived in had a sliding glass door and two bedroom windows that were blocked by our TV and dresser. But this castle? ALL THE WINDOWS. She can see the world from the air-conditioned indoors and peep on the neighbors just fine! Windows completely eliminated the need for the actual outside world. And us humans could feel a little less guilty.

The one tiny hangup with this perfect situation? Her fatass didn't know how to jump up on windowsills. Three months later, you guys, she still takes a spill every now and then and I die. Just die. Her intial attempts at getting up on the windowsill involved jumping straight up and using her claws to cling on to the ledge and just hang there while I scrambled to try to get a photo. Which was great for the new coat of paint. Then she learned she needed to launch all 14-pounds of her bad self up and onto the ledge but at the right speed as to not slam her face into the glass. I TRIED TO FILM IT, I DID. It was quite possibly my favorite part of moving. Jmeoww learning how to use windowsills, who would've thought.

Justin just discovered this picture on his phone and I can't stop cackling about it. It could not be more perfect.

To ease her troubles a bit her non-legal husband Justin decided to purchase yet ANOTHER piece of cat furniture which he said he would never have in his home. A nearly four foot tower that is her vessel of relaxation but also used for creeping on the neighbors. You guys I swear 6 nights a week she is up in the tower either watching us or watching the neighbors. I legitimately thought the neighbors were going to complain because she just. sits. there. And she doesn't just sit. She loooooounges. Full meow relaxation in her queen tower. Limbs poking out of the climbing hole, leg stretched out over the side. Sometimes she clings to the edge and looks down like she has never been up that high ever. And every now and then she gets in an epic battle with her tail or the tower or both. And we will pause the TV to watch it play out, because marriage.

So basically, jmeoww's life has been pretty darn great. Her only complaint is that we aren't in the same room with her at all times, and also where are the kibbles?

Until next time, jmeoww fans!

the jmeoww diaries v.9

FANS. It has been far, far too long since you have officially heard from the Queen Beast. She misses you, she thinks. She isn't very familiar with emotions. She only knows that when I watch Downton Abbey she should leave the room so she doesn't have to witness my tears.

But I digress. Things are happening in Miss Meoww's fabulous life. Fame, wedding planning, vacations. So many things! Where shall we start?

Fame

Well, near-fame, to be more accurate. Her dearest Justin lovingly submitted her to a show called My Cat From Hell. Are you familiar? The title tells all. Hilariously enough, he got a call back and we were told to start filming her bad behavior immediately and submit as much footage as possible.

Jmeoww Consuela Gee. For your consideration.

I AM SERIOUS. We were going to be so TV famous! But something happened. Something confusing, but something very good.

She stopped being a complete asshole.

I swear on this blog that the night after the casting woman called Justin and we were poised and ready to film, she slept on the bar stool THE ENTIRE NIGHT. No whining for playtime during dinner. No biting of my feet under the dinner table. Not one ounce of blood was shed. HOW DISAPPOINTING IS THAT?

We knew, we just knew, that when she returned from her "vacation" we would have our old jmeoww back.

"Vacation"?

Well, kind of a vacation. As you may have seen through the social medias, our apartment was tented and fumigated for termites last week. OUR VERY OWN CIRCUS. Without all of the fun and child molesters. We made the painstaking decision to board jmeoww at her vet clinic, rather than keep her in the vacant apartment we would be staying in.

This was really our apartment. We are not Lakers fans, at all.

I. Was. Heartbroken. My poor little creature, all by herself in some sort of cage. Probably pooping herself, like she always does. And although we spent two restless nights on an air mattress that we had to wake up and fill every two hours because she had punctured it with her vicious claws, we missed our meow!

We were fully prepared to deal with severe boarding PTSD upon her return and planned to stay home so that we could sit and hold her paws while she recovered.

And then. And then she gave us another miracle from baby jesus on high.

SHE WAS FINE YOU GUYS! Okay, so she didn't eat for two days or leave her carrier while boarded, but she didn't try to kill anyone! When she got home we bathed her because we were unclear whether there may have been pants-pooping or not and after about 30 minutes of hiding she came out and was all, HEY GUYS WHAT DID I MISS?

We were shocked, and overjoyed. Okay, still a little peeved that we would NOT be on TV. But she was okay! She was better than okay...she's grown into a woman meow that can handle normal things! (With the exception of loud noises. That shit will never be tolerated.)

It has been nearly a week since her little journey and SHE COULD NOT LOVE ME MORE. There have been moments of extreme hyperactivity but our nights always end with aggressively LOVING cuddles. All up in my neck type of cuddles. I can't even handle it. If I giggle she gets embarrassed and leaves so I just have to sit there and take it while Justin laughs and probably in his head wonders what kind of crazy bitches he is marrying.

So what does this mean? Is this the end of crazy meoww stories? The end of the jmeoww diaries? Time will tell. Maybe once she gets over the relief of being home she will start being murdery again. But for now, my ankles are scratch-free and I am getting to experience what it is like to have an adorably cuddly cat. Even if it occurs at inopportune bedtime moments and lasts for 5 minutes or less. Totally worth it.

the jmeoww diaries v.8

Fans of the beloved queen beast, welcome to our story of the month — stories, if you will. March was a challenging month for our dear JMEOWW. And although not as traumatic as going to the vet she did have some hurdles, the first being abandonment.

Jmeoww is not the type of cat that you can leave for a day or two and not worry about it. She is the opposite of everything you've ever heard about cats due to her severe abandonment issues stemming from her rough kittenhood. So when Justin and I took our 6-day vacation a few weeks ago, we enlisted my little sister to be our meowwsitter. She reluctantly agreed. She was jmeoww's original auntie, and then she went and got a meoww of her own. And now they do things like this together...

The only Harlem Shake I would ever MAKE you watch.

We thought that having Brittany check in on jmeoww would make it a lot easier for us when we returned. She wouldn't be so needy, we thought. She will adjust just fine, we proclaimed. When we walked through the door late Friday night we heard the loudest meows you would ever hear in your life. She ran laps. She meow-screamed. She ran in and out on the patio. And OMG HAVE YOU SEEN THE BIRD POOP OUTSIDE COME LOOK AT IT!

Jmeoww didn't sleep for almost two days, you guys. She meowed. She ran in circles. She lurked. She did everything but sleep. If she went to sleep, we would leave again. She just knew it. So she stayed awake. She yawned and head-nodded her little heart away but she kept her vigil. For nearly two days.

"You still have things in your travel box. I SHALL HELP."

When she did decide to sleep, she decided it was time to share the bed with us again. Two tall-ass adults that had spent a week in luxurious king beds were now sharing a queen bed with a fatass cat. Cute, yes. Comfortable, never. But do not under any circumstances try to move her or adjust your own self. THIS IS HOW IT MUST BE FROM NOW ON, HUMANS.

And if the pure shock and excitement of us coming home wasn't enough, fucking Iams changed the shape of her food again. Which she alerted us to several times. Yes, we see it. Yes, we are so sorry. Yes, I will write them a strongly worded email tomorrow. Yes, you can proofread it. Yes, you should definitely bring the kibbles over to the carpet and eat them so we can all see that you've accepted the shape change.

The final challenge that March served Jmeoww was daylight savings. Among her many skills, she has the unique ability of being an alarm clock. When she hears my alarm go off, if I am not out of bed by the next snooze she comes and meows in my face. It is charming, it really is. Well, her internal meow clock did not set itself ahead an hour so she was coming in at 6 a.m. meowing like there was some sort of emergency and she was probably saving the day. Not quite my darling animal. Go the fuck to sleep.

One of those morning when she came in too early to get me out of bed, a series of ill-timed events led to vaginal trauma that I have not emotionally recovered from. She was walking, ever so daintily on me and then over to Justin. She brushed his arm with her fur, which startled him in his sleep and he whacked her, scaring her and flinging her into the air. Where did she land? In my crotch, claws out leaving a nice puncture wound behind. She has scratched me in many places, but this was a first for sure.

We have all mostly recovered, just in time for another trip to the vet in two weeks (with sedatives this time...for all of us!). Jmeoww's life, you guys? Hard knock, indeed.

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.

The jmeoww Diaries V.6

Well hello there, fans of the one and only Miss Meoww! It has been far too long since our last JMD, and for that your highness apologizes (although unsincerely). You see, she has been extremely busy settling in to her new home with her boyfriend and developing a daily routine much like any other obsessive compulsive cat.

Her day begins when I wake up, or sometimes when she chooses to wake me up two hours early. Not for food though, just to say hello and get some early morning cuddles that end with her biting my hand off. When I head to the kitchen to start coffee, she is usually still in her bed and she meows at me to pet her. So I do and then she gets up and chases me into the kitchen while biting my ankles.

There was a time when you couldn't even touch her while
she was in bed. PERSONAL SPACE, BITCHES.

Her next job is to wait for me outside the bathroom door while I shower. Once I am done showering, she can go back to sleeping under the couch until it is time for Justin to be woken up.

<insert 8-10 hours of sleeping>

I usually get home from work first and wake her up. She slowly trots out to greet me and falls at my feet for me to pet her. You do not walk any farther into the apartment until this has happened or it ruins her night. When our boyfriend gets home she runs to the door and falls at his feet for pets. Yes, he greets her first. Which I am okay with because I'm not really looking to lay on the floor at his feet by the door. Yet.

And then playtime begins. In her tiny kitty brain. While we are trying to do stupid human things like go to the gym or cook dinner or clean IT IS PLAYTIME CAN'T YOU HEAR ME MAKING ALL OF THESE NOISES?

Once she realizes that human things must be done, she settles in to hovercat position on the couch unless she hears a cheese bag open. Holy shit, do not loudly open any type of plastic bag because IS THAT CHEESE AND CAN I HAVE SOME? You will never hear a louder meow than when shreddy cheese is being opened. Or bags that sound like shreddy cheese. Or even say that word cheese and her fatass comes running. It's my new favorite thing.

When we sit down to eat (yes, on the couch) it is playtime YAY! While we eat, she sits in the corner by the front door and whines and smacks her tail against the wall to signal that it is playtime because you guys come one you've been home for 45 minutes and we haven't played not even once! Until we are done eating, she will either pout in the corner or jump on the coffee table and knock down/touch all the things. That remote? ON THE FLOOR HOW FUNNY!

When we, the humans, decide that it is playtime (or she has provoked Justin enough by running at him at full speed or attacking his feet) total chaos ensues. At the sound of one of us thinking about picking up the laser pointer, this happens:

This laser pointer situation is out of control, you guys, and I'm not sure it is healthy at all. She is a textbook addict. When we finish playing laser and set it on the coffee table, she lays with her paws on it. In real life.

And speaking of addictions, thanks to some fine smuggling by Michelle we have the nips back in our house. When we aren't feeling up to entertaining a cat for 3 hours straight, we bust out the nips and it takes care of life for us. Most of the time she will chill out after running around at full speed. Other times she doesn't stop running around, ever and we have to pull an intervention and remove the nips from her environment.

Between her meticulous daily schedule, OCD, and addictive personality the JMEOWW has been quit busy lately. In general, I feel like since moving in with her boyfriend she has been less stabby. But she is so much more of a needy girlfriend than I am and for that I am grateful. Thanks for making me look good, clingermeoww.

Oh, and she played some Trivial Pursuit.

Happy Meoww-lloween!

Dracula-meoww would like to wish you all a very Happy Halloween! We only have Shannon and the Bungalow Cats to blame for this.

I love this picture of Justin positively reinforcing the costume wearing. "I don't think she likes it," he says. "She was born this way," I say. 

Okay, maybe she doesn't *love* it. But a vampire without a cape is like a halloween without cat costumes and I can't live in a world where either one of those things happen.

The JMEOWW Diaries V.5

Welcome, fans of the queen beast. I am delighted to report that my precious monster seems to be growing out of her incredibly violent phase and is now only slightly violent, sometimes. With age comes wisdom, and also apparently hunting skills.

San Diego has been experiencing a disgusting and horrifying influx of grasshoppers. Which I confuse with crickets, and also dragons. They are awful. It is the second sign of the apocalypse, as far as I'm concerned. The first is the never ending 90-degree temperatures.

One night JMEOWW somehow enticed a disgusting grasshopper to enter my apartment by squeezing under the screen door. Then all hell broke loose. My sister and I started screaming. Justin started laughing. And J started running and meowing and had no idea what the fuck she was doing. Worst hunter. Ever. Every time the grasshopper jumped, we screamed, she meowed and he laughed. It was ridiculous. I was begging, begging Justin to kill it but he got all alpha and was like, NO WOMAN. SHE MUST LEARN HOW TO KILL PESTS. In this weird Thor voice.

I said fine but if she eats it, I'm disowning her. But I had little to worry about at that moment because my moronic cat could not even find the damn thing. Again, worst hunter in the entire world. Of course Justin helped her because he has some sort of death wish. When she finally caught it and had it in her mouth, part of my soul died. My little meoww was now a murderer (with evidence. not just alleged.). But it's good because she will rid the house of pests. That is probably what Charles Manson's mother said too.

The rest of the night she was on high alert. GRASSHOPPER? No, stupid. It's your shadow. You ate the grasshopper.

GRASSHOPPER? Ugh, NO. That was the wind blowing.

On a scale of 1 to the RHONJ, we are at about Guidice levels of intensity in my apartment between faux-grasshopper sightings and laser whining. Just wait until the move. I should schedule her counseling session now.

The JMEOWW Diaries V.4

Linking up for Jmeoww's life lately! Just kidding, but how great would that be. And by great I mean totally batshit insane.

• The Chronicles of Narnia & Empire State Building. Yes, I've started naming her behaviors. Because it entertains me at 11 pm when I should be sleeping but am watching her adventures on my bed. I realize how that statement sounds, but when I am in bed reading she has the best adventures. Much like how a toddler starts using their imagination, I firmly believe that J has started using hers. She will slowly go under the sheet and then spend like 10 minutes wandering around all crouched down. When she pokes her head out she has this look on her face like she just discovered the meaning of life. She alternates between this, and clinging to the corner of the bed and staring down. Like it is the highest bed ever made and she will die if she jumps. This is why I can't finish a book. It's hysterical.

• Kousin Khloe. My sister has gone full cat-lady. If she wasn't so busy being a cat lady, I'm sure she would blog about it. She's worse than me, if you can imagine that. So when I invited Brittany over for taco tuesday, she sends me this text message:

"I can haz tacos too?"

Like I can say no to that! I warned her of potential murder, but much like Kim Kardashian, Brittany does not travel without Skhloe. So J met her kousin. Which led to hours of hissing all of the hisses and very aggressive crouching. One would think it would get tiring being an asshole all of the time. Khloe touched all J's things and had the best night of her life, and I even sent her home with a toy. I'm an asshole, I know. J only likes one toy anyways, which leads us to...

• Lady. Lady. Mom. Laser. Mom? Please. Now. OMG. As soon as I walk in the door. No. As soon as I unlock the gate to get into my complex, it begins. The meowing. And meowing. So many meows. You have food. You have water. You have clean litter. Okay, FINE. Let's play catch the red dot that you will never ever catch and now your tiny brain is fried from thoughts of ever doing so. Even if it makes you pant because you are fat and it is one million degrees in my apartment. Which leads to me having a panic attack because I think you are dying. No really, this is my favorite game. We should play it ALL NIGHT!

The dying face. I can't stand it.

and finally...

• Bathtime! The animal that hates and attacks everything in the entire world loves the bath. Maybe not loves, but tolerates. What kind of insane bitch bathes her cat? This one, because said cat and said insane bitch cannot get rid of the fleas. Advantage, exterminator, obsessive vacuuming and sheet washing, foggers, and traps. We've tried it all. Anyways, the meoww does not try to kill me in the bath and I think that is just neat. Once I do let her out though, she goes and hides. Last time I found her on top of the refrigerator which is always shocking, but awfully hilarious.

Yes, my fridge is yellow.

And there you have it, faithful JMEOWW fans. Another monthly glimpse into the life of the world's most insane, and overanalyzed cat. Be sure to check back next month for the Halloween edition of JMD!

Black is Beautiful.

So. Did you know it is "Adopt-a-Less-Adoptable Pet" week? Now just what does that mean?

What. In. The. Hell.

Now, I realize that for many reasons my beloved animal is less desirable than other animals but I would've never thought it was because of her fur color!

Okay, wait. Let's go back in time. When I was adopting Le Meoww from her tiny little feral litter, I wanted the fuzzy gray runt. But my bestie so kindly talked me into getting TWO UNDERAGE KITTENS. All I kept saying was I don't want a black cat. But I walked out of there with a fuzzy gray runt (moment of silence for the good doctor) and a feisty shiny black kitten. And then one of them pooped in the box and then the other one did and I wanted to throw them out the window.

After we lost the good doctor to murder tiny-meoww-illness, I took Miss J to the vet. They had asked me her details over the phone so when we arrived, the vet techs died from her cute and said, Awww she's not ugly at all for a black kitten! And like a defensive mother I was like, what the fuck are you bitches talking about? Don't you dare talk about my baby like that!

Maybe she had the crazy eyes...but I wouldn't call her ugly.

Anyways, I'm not sure if there was a real point to this post. Beyond the fact that this ad campaign sent me into a fit of giggles that spiraled for hours on end. Which is the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

ps - I just realized that maybe people don't want black cats because of bad luck. To that I say grow-up, magic-believers.

pps - If they would market the one-eyed cats as "Pirates," I'm sure they would have better luck.

ppps - I'm not completely heartless. I would adopt some of these in an instant if I could. Except for the olds because who wants one of those! (totally kidding...)

Two conversations with a case of the Mondays.

Number one: Trying to get some new flea medications for the meoww. Before I lose my mind again.

Me: Hi, I'd like to see if I can come in to pick up some new flea medication.
Vet asst: Yes.
Me: Okay. What kinds do you have, or do you have any recommendations? I bought some from petco but I don't think it worked right.
VA: Yea we have some.
Me: Is it frontline, or something else?
VA: Yea.
Me: Is there anything else I should try? I'm still finding fleas on her.
VA: You could do that.
Me: So can I come in this afternoon to pick something up?
VA: I'm not understanding what you said.

And then my head exploded.

Number two: Trying to coordinate responsibilities for a baby shower, which is becoming quite overdramatic. Over gchat:
Me: Hi, I saw that you called me but I'm in the office. Do you have time to chat on here for a bit?
Other shower planner: Yes.
Me: Okay, well did you get my email?
OSP: Yes.
Me: Alright, well does that sound okay to you?
OSP: That's what I wanted to chat about.
OH MY GOD ARE WE NOT CHATTING RIGHT NOW?
Me: So you prefer to have me call you later then? I can't until this evening because I'm in the office.
OSP: I can chat whenever.

I quit.

A severe case of the weekends.

Why, oh WHY is it not the weekend yet? Earlier this week, time was fa-ha-lying by and now I swear three weeks have passed before it turned into Friday. I am super excited for this weekend's events but also completely overwhelmed by the timeline in which they will be accomplished. Friday night we are celebrating Emily's birthday at Medieval Times and last time we went, this happened:

Yes, that is chicken skin. Cable Guy wasn't all bad.

In conclusion, I am equally excited and horrified to find out what happens this time. This CASE OF THE WEEKENDS has totally fried my brain, so you get some linkage today.

Aminals! 

Ice Cube, as told by cats.

Did you know HuffPost has an entire page dedicated to cats and cat related things?

And to prove I'm not entirely biased, dog shaming. Okay, so I am biased.

Faves Posts of the Week

The Everywherist kills it with this one.

Miss Erin totally made me PMP (pee my pants, for those of you playing at home).

Randomness

The only three dance moves you need to know. Ever.

Someone needs to buy me this sweater.

And holy neatness! The Smithsonian is pinning! (I pin too! If you're in to that sort of thing...)

My weekends are itching. I've got to deal with this problem. Hopes yours is equally amazing/horrifying!

The JMEOWW diaries V.3

One time JMEOWW peed her pants.

Wait. What? Here's the thing. The meoww has been quite well-behaved lately. Well-behaved meaning I haven't lost any blood lately. She also hasn't attracted any more fleas. But she has attracted the neighbors' cat, which is now her second boyfriend (Justin will always be her first love. It's disgusting). Since she can't go outside (yet), they lay on opposite sides of the screen door like fucking Romeo & Juliet. We also started slowly acclimating her to the great outdoors by letting her spend a few minutes on the patio. Her tiny brain exploded. It was adorable, and then I had a panic attack imagining her jumping off the balcony and getting hit by a car. So indoors we went. Baby steps. For both of us.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS FUCKING LEAF? *

Because her antics have been limited, I thought I would tell an old story. About the time she peed her pants. The J had a deep love for BAGS and I came home one day with a paper bag with handles. I put away my purchases and gave her the bag to play with. And then said bag tried to murder her.

Not the night in question. This was way before the murder attempt.

What happened next was a blur of movement and laughter that would last for hours. Jenna  and I were sitting on my couch probably watching 20/20 on TLC when out of nowhere, a paper bag comes running into the living room at speeds only previously achieved by Usain Bolt. And then it went back in the bedroom. And then flashed through the living room way into the kitchen. And we were laughing so hard we couldn't do anything to stop it. Which probably would've made me an accomplice to the murder.

When the bag finally stopped running, I ran over to comfort J who was the most terrified I've ever seen an animal. She was breathing rapidly, all puffed out and hunkered down hissing her life away. I grabbed the bag to cut the handles off so she would never have to suffer such entanglement again and the bag was wet. And then I looked around. The carpet was wet. Dear god, my cat had pissed herself from fear.

This realization only made the laughing worse which scared her more and then it just spiraled into a pee-filled laughterfest. Once she calmed down I was able to clean her peepants and comfort her while stiffling my giggles.

Paper bags are no longer allowed in the house of meoww. They are a threat to meowws worldwide and should probably be outlawed due to their murderous nature.

*JMEOWW thinks in caps-lock and would probably swear a lot.

Photo 411 linkup!

The lovely Erin of Shades of Gray and a Pinch of Pink is hosting a really fun photo linkup and I love me some photos. I am taking this opportunity to make a fool of myself because some of the ones I found are hilarious. Let's get to the shitshow!

#1 My Little Tyke Self

If you've ever wondered if the "bitchface" was a lifelong thing, here is your proof. And no, I sure didn't have enough hair for a ponytail until I was 4-years old. Thanks a lot, genetics.

#2 My High School Self

Post braces shot. Can you tell I was excited? And who in the hell ever let me cut or dye my hair?!? It hasn't looked like this in years!

#3 My College Self

This is the part of the photo tour in which I logged into my photobucket account that I haven't used since MySpace days and then I peed my pants. Because I was such a piece of work, I'm giving you two photos as my punishment for acting like such an asshole.

You guys, I legitimately wore those sunglasses out in public. Not to mention, at night. And then on the right we have the Emo Tiffany Phase which was awesome. This was not only when I discovered emo music, but also antidepressants. Thanks for the memories, 2005.

#4 My Right Now Self

Drunk, silly, and happy is how you will find me most of the time now (okay maybe not drunk most of the time, that actually sounded pretty awful). I've been having my moments of anxiety and stress, but overall you will find me giggling and being a total dumbass in a good way. Happy Tiffany is an even weirder Tiffany and you know what, I like it! I also really like my eyeshadow in this picture.

#5 My Furry Friend

Oddly enough I know someone who is actually a furry and I thought about posting his picture but I didn't want to give you all nightmares. Luckily, Erin clarified to use a PET so be sure to thank her for that. This bitch needs no introduction. Here she is blocking my access to food. She is slowly killing me.

#6 My Manly Friend

I didn't ask for his approval for this photo but I don't care because I love it. SO THERE. This be the man that makes me smile. So much. I cancelled my cable subscription to save some money so I was missing out on a lot of the Olympics which I obsess over. And you know what this guy did? He bought me an antenna so I could get NBC to watch the Olympics. Now if he could only assassinate the commentators...

#7 Where I Once Lived

Chino, California y'all. Okay, this is actually Chino Hills which is considerably nicer than regular Chino where I grew up and where my parents still live and one time their neighbors had a chicken coop in the backyard. In the suburbs. On a non-smoggy day we do have a lovely view of the San Bernadino Mountains, which Chino and the rest of the Inland Empire sit below. It's not an awful place like The OC made it out to be.

Image via chinohillsestates.com

#8 Where I Live Now

University Heights neighborhood of San Diego, California. How cute is that sign? On both sides there is an ostrich, which is apparently our city mascot which is wonderful because one time I dressed up as an ostrich. I LOVE this little neighborhood. I am a block away from the main strip which is home to a liquor store with one of the best beer selections in San Diego, an awesome bar with one of the best beer selections in San Diego, a fancy little cocktail bar, and my favorite dive bar in the entire world.

#9 What I Love

I love this picture and moments like this. It explains everything that is wrong but yet so right with my family and friends.

#10 What I Miss

These little monsters (nephew & niece) and my godchild. Life has been incredibly busy and isn't letting up any time soon. I miss having so much extra time to spend with the kiddos. But that makes the times I do get to see them even more special.

The JMEOWW diaries V.2

Justin has been in JMEOWW's life since she was just a tiny terror. In fact, the night we met they also met and I'm pretty sure that is when she fell in love. Once when he was leaving my apartment on not so good terms, he said goodbye to her and she laid down on his feet. Smooth move, J! Why didn't I think of that? Okay, maybe it crossed my mind once or twice.

Needless to say, she has been quite thrilled that he is around more and more now. Except for the part where he took her spot in the bed. You see, my beloved cat is a tiny bit territorial. She had her very own pillow that she slept on every night. It also happened to be my tempurpedic pillow but the comfort of my neck is not nearly important as hers. She would literally come to bed every night with me and get cozy on her pillow. If I stayed up a little later to read in bed, she would stretch her little paws out and tap me on the cheek which I took as a demand to shut off the light so she could get her beauty sleep. I wish I was kidding.

For the Motherland.

We initially tried locking her out of the bedroom but she protested quite loudly and kept me up half of the night. Justin suggested slowly moving the pillow to the end of the bed, and then eventually to the floor. In the animal training world this is known as "successive approximations" to "shape" her behavior. I know this shit. The next night I moved the pillow down the bed a foot or so. And she slept ON MY CHEST. No one puts JMEOWW on the floor. 

I photographed this failure to send to him, which led to one of my favorite conversations of all time:

me: She looks like Stalin in that picture.
him: She does.
me: I wonder if there's any relation.
him:....to?
me: STALIN. Both socipaths. Murderers. Russian. So much in common.
him: She's probably a marxist.
me: Most likely.

Over the course of the past few weeks she has gotten much better at sleeping like a normal animal either on the floor or between us in bed like a human child. There is the occasional night where she sits on Justin's chest and stares at him in order to assert her dominance. Or to seduce him. It's hard to tell the difference with her. 

She can't seem to keep her legs closed.

So this mom walks into a bar...

Every few months, not nearly often enough, my mom comes down to San Diego to visit and relax. This time was extra special for two reasons: she was going to meet my boyfriend and she was lucky enough to deal with the aftermath of my little sister's car accident (she's fine, it's funny, I promise). My initial plan for when she arrived on Friday afternoon was to have a nice relaxing night drinking wine, eating mexican food, and watching Friday Night Lights. 

She raised 4 girls. She's seen it all.

Because Friday must've been International Opposite Day, instead of relaxing Friday night we ended up out in Pacific Beach at the request of my little sister's boyfriend. PB is where you go to get drunk or get laid. Not necessarily where I wanted to take my mom. Luckily, she has a great sense of humor and adventure and willingly drank beer, took fireball shots, and laughed at the skanky humans in the disgusting nightclub we ended up at.  There was also some sort of ladies soccer team there. In their soccer gear. Dancing. At one point, one of the more masculine soccer players started battling a guy on the dance floor and I (ALLEGEDLY) shouted, "Go, Lesbian! YEA!" Which was apparently the most offensive thing of the evening.

The next night after a lovely dinner in Old Town in which mom got to meet my boyfriend and approve of him (naturally), we got to help Brittany fill out her claim for her car accident. This is important because: my mom learned how to draw, Brittany learned how to spell, and Brittany learned that we do in fact live in Southern California (not Northern...seriously. We live 20 minutes from the Mexican border.)

As if that wasn't overdramatic enough, my precious JMEOWW decided to act like my mother was a third-class citizen. You see, since the invasion of the fleas (which that nightmare is finally fucking over and I can go back to being a normal human that isn't vacuuming and crying and scratching every second of the day) the meoww hasn't quite been herself.  When my mom has visited in the past, meoww has been very excited and lovely. This time, she was an absolute fucking terror.

Laser eyes prove she is not a real animal.

My mom, like a good grandma, always brings a few little toys for J. When she presented them to her, J looked at them and walked away. Like a true spoiled asshole. Then in the morning when my mom wanted to lay on my bed, J literally refused to move from the spot she was in. So I scooted her and she hissed. Naturally. Not once, but THREE times. Then she sat on the end of the bed and glared at my mother as if she was plotting her painful death. Then, because apparently she felt she wasn't getting her point across, she moved swiftly and violently back and forth between the windowsill above my bed and this nice little spot in the closet where she could keep her eyes on mom. Nice work, JMEOWW. 

After a nice breakfast and a little walk through one of San Diego's finer beaches, Ocean Beach (home to hippies and crackheads galore), mom headed home. Although it was probably not as relaxing as she hoped, it was a very lovely weekend and I truly hope that we didn't scare her away with venereal-ridden nightclubs and sociopathic animals.

Linking up with the lovely ladies of Join the Gossip, Sami's Shenanigans, and five30three for their weekend update bloghop.*

 *not featuring Jimmy Fallon, Amy Poehler, or Norm MacDonald.

Pacific Beach on Dwellable