pyewacket’s last post
Monday 5 January 2009 | I like a cookie
Because I think blogging is stupid. Maybe if I knew more words. But I don’t know many words. That reminds me—the old mom says to apologize because there weren’t any apostrophes in the last post. She says to say something about weird Mexican keyboard layouts. But I don’t know what apostrophes is.
It’s still rainy and gray here. It’s too cold for the new mom to take me outside to lie in my catnip. Here’s me in my catnip, all cracky. The old mom took this picture right before they put their skins in the black boxes and went away.
I’m not very good at blogging. I don’t know many words. Wait, I already said that. Oh, I forgot to say that the new mom is gone again. I was just starting to like her. We played a game with the shower curtain, and I liked that. The old mom and Tuna Man came back last night in the dark. They smelled bad. There’s sand and tents and flashlights and stuff all over the house. The dog-thing is happy. Tuna shaved the fur off his face and he went away this morning, but the old mom is just lying in bed. She’s as boring as I remember. She writes in her paper thing and she gets up to flush the toilet, which scares me every time, and then she just goes back to bed. She says to say something about dystentery but I don’t know what that is. I don’t really know many words. We put lots of cat hair and dog hair all over the house, but she hasn’t even admired it. There are some boxes that smell weird, that came in the mailbox, and they are all in the ice box but she doesn’t open them yet. The dog-thing says they have food in them, but they don’t smell like fish. I don’t care anyway. It’s cold. At least I can sit on Mom when she holds still in bed, and warm my feets in the covers.
The sun-thing just turned itself on again so I have to go see what happened to my catnip. Maybe there will be a fish out there this time. I don’t know.
this is pyewacket again
Tuesday 30 December 2008 | 3 cookies in the jar
Well, Im still here. Its cold and gray. Somehow the new mom has made it be rainy all the time. Even the dog-thing doesnt want to go outside for its pee. The dog-thing is still alive, by the way. I thought it would be dead by now but it seems healthier than ever. Anyway, the new mom puts me outside to pee but its cold and wet so I come straight back in through the cat door. I dont like to get my feet wet. Then she puts me in the catty pan. But some other cat has been peeing in there! I dont know when Ill pee again. Maybe the sun-thing will come out again. Maybe not. Whatever. Sometimes the new mom drags the feather along the carpet, and I chase it until I get bored. Mom and Tuna Man are gone forever I guess. I dont even really remember them any more. At least theres still kibbles. I guess this is my blog now, too. I dont know what its for, though.
this is pyewacket
Saturday 20 December 2008 | 5 cookies in the jar
I hate my mom. I’m just saying. She’s always sooo busy, but does she make time for ME, does she ever think about MY needs, about what it’s like to be ME? Noooo, of course not. Instead she and Tuna Man go into this weird frenzy of activity, first with all the square paper things, then with the clicky plastic-box-with-lights thing, and then they make a great big show of floofing and whooshing around all the colored pieces of cloth that cover their pitiful little hairless bipedal bodies, shaking them out and folding them. Then they wash my nice cosy comforter and sheets so they smell all nasty and clean, like flowers.
And they get out those black boxes, the ones with zippers, that are fun to play in. But I know what those are. Those mean that some weird girl is going to come live here and walk around and talk to me and try to make me like her. But I won’t like her. I’ll hide. THEN Mom gets out that wind-machine, the great sucking thing with the scary headlight on the front of it, and there’s a terrible roaring noise and it makes all the dander and cat hair fly around everywhere.
I hate them both. I hate everyone. I’m going outside to sit in the sun and lick myself sulkily. I hate that gray cat that likes me, too. He follows me around everywhere. He’s a nerd. But I’m cool.
Maybe I’ll write more tonight. Maybe I’ll just sleep, though.
from the midst of the finals-week frenzy
Thursday 18 December 2008 | someone left a cookie
Because can we ever have too many adorable cat videos? Can we? Can we? Okay, yeah, when we’re trying to hand in grades, probably we can.
let it “snow”
Wednesday 17 December 2008 | 7 cookies in the jar
Our local Tartarean mall has been proudly advertising nightly “snow” at 7 pm, so of course the Brujo and I, drawn to gawp at any fresh regional hell, had to go check it out. We drove around the palm trees looking for the “snow” but couldn’t ever find it, so we bought dog food and rechargable batteries and headed home (after I became overwhelmed in Bunns & Noodle by the zillions of bright shiny colorful books). I actually thought the “snow” was meant to be represented by these weird solar-powered tubes hung from all the palo verde branches.
But come to find out, there was “snow“! And we missed it. Since, however, those who were actually on the scene report that, if your idea of “snow” is being showered for ten minutes with burning peppermint soap flakes, then they were most definitely snew upon—we don’t feel that we missed too much. And just the sight of all that unbridled Yankee getting-&-spending has both of us ready to pile into the car on Friday night, as soon as the B. finishes grading his finals, and head for our annual two-week sojourn in Baja (grubby winter beach camping! sandy tortillas! not bathing for days, but guilt-free!) without once looking back.
comme c’est bizarre, comme c’est curieux (et quelle coincidence)
Wednesday 17 December 2008 | 2 cookies in the jar
Every night, last thing, right before I go to bed, I: wash my face, comb my hair, brush my teeth, blow my nose, pee, and drink a glass of water. Usually. Though not necessarily in that order. And yet in the morning, first thing after I wake up, I immediately need to do all the exact same things all over again. So what I want to know is: what have I been doing all night? Because I only think I’ve been lying motionless in a dark room for nine hours, when apparently I’ve been running barefoot through brambles in the moonlight, singing until I’m parched—or dancing with faeries, or wrestling, or something that leaves me thirsty and tangled. Since we don’t even have brambles where we live.
hello co-pay
Tuesday 16 December 2008 | 2 cookies in the jar
gobsmacked again
Tuesday 16 December 2008 | 5 cookies in the jar
Me: [far too late last night, trying, for no reason I can now remember or defend, to explain flarf vs. conceptual poetry to my sleepy companion, as we lay curling our chilly knees together and half-falling asleep, and thus finding myself resorting to the Land O’ Lakes butter-maiden model, quod vide super]
The Brujo: Yeah, we used to do that when I was a kid.
Me: ?!?!?!?
The Brujo: I know.
Me: But how come I never heard of it?!
The Brujo: I think you pretty much had to be an eight-year-old guy growing up in Pennsylvania. With older brothers.
And this morning I g••gl• and lo and behold, it is everywhere. I have led a sheltered life.
for mandarin—v. important!
Monday 15 December 2008 | 4 cookies in the jar
“How Not to Get Hit by Cars” (via attorney/bard scoplaw)
you so wish this were yours
Monday 15 December 2008 | 10 cookies in the jar
Don’t feel ashamed. Of course you do. We all do. First one to get the MacArthur has to have the rest of us over for tea.
