The Napkin Diaries

Lately I've been miserably tired... it's this vicious cycle that I've accidentally sucked myself into and can't get out of. I totally blame Christmas.

Basically, I'm all nuts about Christmas and presents and being somewhat festive (by "somewhat" I mean that while I will decorate the shit out of my house, I absolutely REFUSE to listen to Christmas music while doing so. I'd rather stick pencils in my ears...) and so I've been shopping for, buying, and wrapping presents like every single day for the past 2 weeks. All while simultaneously decorating the house, inside and out, with all kinds of Christmas-y crap.

Being the OCD nut I am, I dump out all of my Christmas present wrapping supplies all over the living room floor and do not put them away until I wrap every single gift I happened to purchase that day. And sometimes this process goes on until 1:00 AM. Because in the middle of wrapping presents, I also do things like vacuum the 900 new pine needles that have fallen to the ground because our little kitties like to think the house is a RACE TRACK that they can tear ass around and they run under the tree and knock the lower branches with their fat tails or fat heads, for that matter, and thus create a pine needle 'splosion all over my damned living room.

So I vacuum mid-wrap sometimes. Other times, I bake brownies mid-wrap, because sometimes I like to pretend I am fucking Betty Crocker. Wait. Er, not actually fucking her, but you know, being her. Although I doubt Betty Crocker listens to "Shots" by LMFAO while baking. And she probably doesn't wear giant fleece fat pants with little bunnies on them while baking. She probably doesn't say "fuck" either. And she probably doesn't generally resemble me in any way. Whatever. Sometimes I bake. Shut up.

So yeah, my "wrapping" time tends to take like 5 hours because apparently I like to multitask. Or maybe it's just that I don't know how to NOT multitask. Meh?

SO. This is causing me sleep deprivation... all this Christmas shit. I stay up, wrapping, and vacuuming, and dance partying in the kitchen until 1:00 AM. And then I wake up the next morning all pissed off that I slept for less than 9-10 hours (yes, I said 9-10 hours. I need SLEEP, people!), and then I drink a fuck ton of coffee to counterbalance the super-tiredness from all of the "wrapping" the night before. Damnit. Dahmet. Bleh.

This morning was no exception. After my escapade last night (shopping, tanning, cooking steak dinner, wrapping, picture taking, vacuuming, brownie baking, laundry-ing, kitty playing, and bubble bathing) I was especially tired.

Usually, I wait until I get to the office to crack open my new favorite coffee: Starbucks Mocha Lite (woohoo less fat and carbs and calories! Win!). Today I waited only until I got out of the shower to open it.

So I sat on my little wobbly vanity stool with squinty eyes and attempted to shove some contacts in them and start the "get pretty" process.

Well, these little coffees come in a glass bottle from Bilo, so they have a little teeny lid. So I put the little teeny lid on the counter in front of me. Almost immediately I had two too many bad kittehs in front of me as well, that are not so teeny. And these two too many bad kittehs were LICKING my little teeny coffee lid.

Who knew bad kittehs liked to nom on Starbucks?! I can only imagine the havoc they are wreaking on my freshly vacuumed living room.

Oh vicious Christmas cycle, I feel we will meet again tonight...

I've accidentally (or completely purposefully) spoiled the crap out of my cats, Moose and Murdoch. The spoiling started with the occasional cat treats and little toy mice to play with and has somehow progressed to real tuna twice a day and live rodents to play with. I take full responsibility for the tuna (we will discuss the rodents momentarily). I introduced them to tuna once and that was that... now they scream at me in little cat meows that translate to "feed me noooooow. Too-naah noooooow." If the screaming doesn't work, then Moose will walk on my face or put his paw under my nose (my cat is trying to kill me). I'm not kidding, he will walk across my face, ensuring as many paws as possible draggg across my cheek, or he will trample my hair, or when I turn my head and make him walk aroun... I mean OVER me, he'll eventually get irritated enough that he'll just poke me on the nose with his little kitty paw and then just cover my nostrils completely and leave his paw there until I open my eyes, pet him, and immediately go to the kitchen to feel my poor little attention- and tuna-starved kittehs. Ohhh kittehs.

So, the whole live rodent thing. NOT my fault. I do not take responsibility for this one. Murdoch isn't nearly as interested in reptiles and insects quite as much as Moose. Murdoch will swat at something or put his paw on top of it and then call it a day and roll over on his back and demand bellyrubs; much like this little kitteh (except Murdoch is more of an economy-sized, 12 pounds of tuna-stuffed fat now, instead of a fun-sized ball of fluff):

Moosey Mooserton (Husband has actually made a little theme song for him so when he walks into the room, Husband is like "And now it is time for the Moosey Mooserton Shoooow! Starring Mooooseeey Mooooosterton! *Breaks into jingle... Ah dah dah de de dee dah dah dee dee dah dee!" And then sometimes he will bend over and wrap his hands around Moose's fat tuna-belly and make him hop up and down. It's sinfully entertaining.)

So, Moose likes live toys. And yesterday, he got to have a bit of an adventure...we all got to have a bit of an adventure... with a lizard. See, I let the little fatties out on our screened-in porch because they like to roll around in the sunshine and sit on the grill. I always try to check for giant bugs or lizards before I let them out because I really do not want those things coming inside. Two kittehs is enough pets for me. Do not need/want slimy or multi-legged pets also. Well, I didn't inspect the porch as much as I needed to because about 30 minutes later, Moose comes in with a dangly green lizard hanging from his mouth. Lizard lips. You'd think he would have learned from his last lizard incident not to bring them inside because last time, he wasn't biting the lizard... the lizard was biting him! But nooooo.
So I freak out, shriek, and throw myself in Moose's general direction with my finger perfectly poised in pry-open-mouth position. First try and I was able to free the lizard from Moose's jaw but I was not, however, quick enough to catch the little green bastard while trying to hold back two giant fat cats from chasing after it. Hell. Lizard loose in house. I shrug and say "Well, he'll eventually come out and hopefully when he does it'll be high enough for him not to get bitten by kittehs."
Well, I was correct in my statement. The little guy did come out of hiding after about 30 minutes and he was climbing up the corner of the wall next to our cabinets in the kitchen. This situation made it glaringly obvious that Husband and I aren't exactly stellar at coming up with reasonable plans while trying to think quickly on our feet. Nope.
So, okay, I see the lizard on the wall and say something like "ahh haa! He's come out!" And I walk toward the kitchen but I'm kinda panicky because I'm like "how do I catch him?! What if Moose jumps on the counter? What if the lizard jumps on me?!"
So Husband is like "Okay, get a cup and I'll go get one of those pieces of decorative bamboo and I'll use it to push him into the cup!"
Perfect!
So I hold the cup under the lizard and he runs higher up the wall. Uhhhh... now what? So I get up on the counter top and hold the cup under him while Husband just kind of shakes the bamboo stick in his direction as if he was trying to will him into the cup by waving a magical decorative bamboo stick. Right.
Well, it kind of worked because the lizard did turn to start coming back down the wall. Yes, he was aiming straight for the cup - perfect.
Orrrr not.
He aimed for the cup, but then opted for my hand instead. So, here I am, standing on my kitchen counter with a red cup in one hand, my husband swinging around a stick of bamboo, and a lizard coming straight at me. He bypassed the cup and climbed onto my left hand. "Okay, I can deal with this, I can just walk him outside with him on my hand."
Orrrr not.
He made a break for it... straight up my arm and onto my shoulder. I froze. I stuck both arms out in somewhat of a scarecrow position, shrugged my shoulders up, spread my fingers, and opened my eyes really wide. Craaaap.
So now, I'm standing on my kitchen counter with a lizard loose on my body! After I lost sight of him, I squatted down and turned my back to Husband so he could give me an accurate account of where the lizard was heading. He was on my ass. Quick little bastard.
Husband grabbed him by his ass and plopped him down outside on the rocks out back. Lizard kind of sat there, much as I had just done on the counter - arms all wide with a confused look on his face "What the hell was that?!" And then he wiggled away.
Never a dull moment in the Kuhlman home...

um, tucker just came in from the porch with these two monster wings dangling from his jaw. and he took the beastly bug back to his food bowls. and now all i hear is bzzzz bzz bzzzz bzz bzbz bzz because i assume that he has released the bug from his mouth and is now smacking him furiously into the wall. i am afraid to go look... based on the loudness of the bug wings, i would venture to say he is large and pissed off.
oh wait, tucker just brought him to me. my theories were correct. he is large, pissed off and quite frightening. i have to leave the room now for fear that i might die if the thing actually takes flight.

So a few days ago, Erin went to check the mail. Pretty normal event. Well, this time, she heard this crazy cat screaming at her from the bushes around the corner. She kinda called the cat to come toward her, and low and behold, guess who came back from the dead?? Twister! The crazy ass cat is still alive. I mean. she stunk like hell and was horribly disheveled, but the littlest beast was okay!

The Return of Twister did a number on Tucker. He got all stressed out when she came back because I think that he thought that she had died. That, or he caught something sketchy from her. Either way, Tucker got sick in a hurry. He's been hacking and experiencing eye ooze for a few days, so we figured it was time to call the vet. Oh, and he lost his voice. Sad.

This morning when I was getting ready, he came into the bathroom with me and jumped into the tub. He actually does this a lot; but this time, he just sat in there and stared at the faucet. Dave and I shrugged at each other and figured we'd turn it on to see what he did. Well, he coughed a little, then stuck his face under the water to get rid of the eye ooze. Smart cat.

Dave and I took the beast to the vet this afternoon. What a freakin' ordeal. Gah. First, we had to fight Tucker to get him into his cage. The bastard absolutely would not go in! So, I put on the collar and leash and decided to carry the brat downstairs. Ugh. I now have bloody shoulders from that idea... So we finally get him and us into the car and he freaks out, which is weird because he is usually good in cars. So there was white cat fur all over my black interior. Awesome. Well, about half way to the vet, I realize that I am riding on empty. Shit. The next time I looked at the gas gauge, there were no bars left! Way shit. The last thing I needed to do was run out of gas on Highway 123 when its 100 degrees outside and I have a very panicked, sick spaz of a cat with me. Luckily I made it to the vet. Now we had to get Tucker inside. We finally shoved him in the cage... by taking the top off... and went inside where we were greeted by Hobbles, the 3-legged cat. I find it wildly hysterical that the vet owns a tripod cat named Hobbles.

So Tucker has some upper respiratory infection that costs me $60. Blah. We leave. We think all is well and we can calm down. Nope. We forgot to lock the door to Tuck's cage and he came bouncing out into the parking lot. Ahhh! Luckily, he didn't run and just got real low... get low get low get low... We scooped him up, encountered more bloody shoulders and got the fuck in the car.

Now, the question was: can we make it to the gas station across the street?? Yes, we can and yes, we did. All the while, Tucker was trying to scream and panting. I was bleeding and sweating and coughing from the Tucker fur I'd ingested. Dave was well enough to get out of the damn car to pump gas. We made it back in one piece, surprisingly, and now both my boys are taking a nap on the bed from their rough ass vet visit. What a disaster...

Tucker and Twister ate Noodles on Sunday. And I don't mean pasta. I mean Noodles the Fish. Bastards. See, I had these boxes specifically built for the apartment that would hang on the wall and be completely out of the cats' reach. This plan worked until I put this cute Christmas decoration on top of the book shelf that was directly under my special wall boxes-- this allowed Tucker to use the Christmas decoration as a step and literally climb the boxes on the wall, all the way to the top one that was housing Noodles. He knocked down Noodles' bowl and Twister ate him. Candle walked in on the crime scene. I know this is the way that the murder was performed because I put the empty Noodles' bowl back in the box on the wall and I watched Tucker reenact the entire thing. Asshole. In celebration of Noodles' life, we had fishsticks for dinner. I don't think we meant to, we just happened to eat that. Kinda morbid. And kinda funny too. Poor Noodles.

In other news, I have a fabuously tacky Christmas tree.

so just as i was about to go to bed last night, i heard tucker banging around in his litter box. sometimes this is normal. he's kind of a spaz. if you've met him then you know what i mean. like really, the cat claws the walls, meows like it's his job, attacks our toes, chases invisible bugs which leads me to believe he is schizophrenic, and basically is just completely weird. so yeah, he was bangin around in the potty box and i just knew that could only mean trouble. and boy was it ever trouble... in the form of shit on his back foot. again. noooo. the first time this occurred i had erin to emotionally support me through the episode. and it really does take two people. but it was me against the beast. and that was not a pretty battle. first, i had to strategically pick him up so as not to collide with the tootie. no such luck - he managed to get some on his back. how do you get shit on your back? gah. i'm serious, this was a disaster. all the while it's like 2:45 in the morning, i'm all zombie like from drugging myself with too much coffee, staring at powerpoints and trying to decided what to do with my life, and also trying to decide what to consume for cinco de mayo... so yeah, i'm like screaming at tucker, he's screaming back, we are running around the apartment, i'm trying to corner him so as to contain the shit... finally i grabbed him so i run to the sink, but i couldn't get him situated so he clawed me, jumped down and tracked crap all over the kitchen. very vomit-worthy. round two. this time i got him in the sink, well at least his back legs and i had to scrub. ewwwww. so needless to say, battling with tucker while shit-infested is not pleasant. and definitely a two person job. i had to like change all my clothes because they were either hairy, wet or crappy. literally. or litterally. ha. i crack myself up... awful. and then i had to like completely wash out his littler box because it was just a disaster. one big stinky shitty disaster. ugh, i won't even go into detail - too gross. just applaud me for not throwing up and for getting through it alone. eww. what a way to end the night... damnit tucker.