Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Peeter vent.

I figure it's time to talk about me peeing in a heater vent.  I've mentioned it a few times, but haven't told the story because I don't think it's that interesting anymore.  But I have been telling it for a long time.

From what I remember, this particular not-so-shining-moment in my life came about around the age of 8.  Something happened, however (namely extreme embarrassment and shame), and I didn't think about it again until I was 18.  Enter: Ms. Larsen's English class.

Sometimes in Ms. Larsen's class we had to sit in the front and give a speech, and by speech I mean talk about whatever we wanted to for 5 minutes.  During what I am sure was one of my many riveting speeches, I remembered this story out of the blue.

When I was 8, I got to move into my brother's old bedroom after he moved out.  My mother may tell me that this is wrong and correct me, because I don't remember this very well.  I actually don't remember much, if we're going to nitpick.  The timeline adds up though.

Since you may be wondering this later, the bedroom was literally right next to the bathroom.  There was a heater vent in the floor, and occasionally I would remove the vent and pull out the crap that had fallen in there.  Hair clips, army men, those type of things. 

One day I decided to pee in it.

I can't say for sure, but I do remember peeing in it a couple of times, perhaps multiple times that same day or over a couple of days.  I suppose the number of offenses doesn't matter after the first one.  An unknown amount of time later, my mother turned on the heater.

The house, of course, reeked of urine.  Apparently after doing some investigating my dad asked me, "Did you pee in the heater vent?" and I said yes.  He was so caught off guard that I did that, it being so bizarre and me so readily owning up to it, that I don't think I got in trouble.

(My sad little mind had changed the story over the years, and I thought I had blamed it on my sister's cat Sarah and that she wasn't allowed inside anymore. I figured I should add that since this is what I actually told my English class before I was corrected by my sister later when this was the only thing I talked about for 6 months.)

During the uproarious laughter in the classroom (which I'm sure is what was happening), someone asked me how old I was when this happened because I hadn't said it yet.  Jokingly, I said, "16."  Laughter, laughter.  "Just kidding, I was like 8."

Lucky for me, NOBODY HEARD THAT LAST PART.  Class was dismissed and people started saying things like, "You peed in a heater vent like two years ago??" "Hey Katie, we closed off all the heaters in the hall so you could come to the dance on Friday."

Anyway, here's a picture of me and my neice on Thanksgiving.  I told her to put her hands in her lap and look awkward.

I'm thankful for Jesse, my friends and family, my job, crafting, Christmas, Legally Blonde, and that I'm not in prison.  Also that I kicked that habit of peeing in heater vents, and that you read my blog to hear such bizarre childhood stories.


Wednesday, November 9, 2011

I do not like the cone of shame.

Cinnamon had a boo-boo.

I didn't mention the old man recently on the blog, because when it comes to summer time, Cinnamon only comes inside to eat.  He is far too cool for his parents when it is sunny outside.

A couple Saturdays ago we came home and I saw something by his tail that I thought was a slug he had rolled on and squished.  Does this happen to other people's pets?  Perhaps it's an extra hairy cat/pacific northwest combination.  We've had to grab two slugs off him before (though, not dead. Just caught in cat hair). (Then again I bet most people don't get slugs in their shower, either.)  I tried to wipe it off so he could come inside and he FLIPPED OUT, making me think he was wounded, so I packed him up and took him to the vet.

Over the course of 45 minutes the wound became much, much worse as I watched in horror and I felt like the worst owner in the world.  Cinnabutt had an abscess that had to be flushed out.  (Insert collective "buhh.")  Buhh.

Since I already felt like the worst pet owner in the world, it didn't help when later I had to buy him a cone and everything he did with that cone on was hilarious.  He must have been doped up from his pain meds because he let me put that thing on without any hassle, purring the whole time with his big eyes on (his 'beetle eyes' as Susan calls them).  Then he kept walking backwards and taking the most exaggerated steps while looking up at me, confused, adding a pathetic "meow."

Then he climbed on my chest and pushed the cone up against my cheek, purring.  He seemed unsure as to why he couldn't reach my face so I put mine in front of his in the cone and he licked me, uncertain.

I took the cone off so he could eat (he tried to jump up, hit the side of his table, looked at me confused and meowed) and after that first night I was able to remove it and he hasn't been obsessively licking his freshly shaved butt, so everyone is happy.  Including my credit card company.

In other news, I went to the Yarn Harlot's book signing:

"I write humor.  I'm funny."

So what's new with you guys?  Lots of stuff?  Nothing?  Neighbors shooting guns in their apartment?  Go on.