The Furballs

So my roommate (one of the three), is one of those “cat people”. Now, before the angry PETA letters start rolling in:

DISCLAIMER: Cats are great. They’re cute and fluffy and even though I am about to complain about my room mate’s that does not mean I HATE them or that I want to hurt them or ship them to Timbuktu in a shoe box or…ya know, other bad things.
On any given day, their names are Lexi and Sophie, Thing 1 and Thing 2, This one and That one, CATS! and a slur of other “nicknames” (usually grumbled under my breath). They are sisters. Yes, actual sisters, and yes, they act like them.) One minute they are cuddling (and licking each other in plain sight…which should just not be a thing.) and the next they are hissing at each other with claws out and ears plastered back-which in Cat body language-means “eff you, sister”. Whenever they are in the same room, I instantly get the “We are Siamese if You Please” song from “Lady and the Tramp” stuck in my head. They aren’t Siamese… but that is besides the point. ( just in case you are unfamiliar with the song, here ya go!)
It’s not that I am SO against having cats; I mean, kittens are cute and all, but THESE CATS have made it their mission in life to make my life awkward in any way they can think of. Think I’m exaggerating? Over-reacting? Think AGAIN!
Here is a list of SOME of the places these fur-balls like to visit frequently:
My underwear/sock drawer: every morning I open it and SURPRISE! Angry kitty invading my privacy!
IN my sink: they sleep here-even when I turn the water on-they LIKE it-they are just THAT freaky, try brushing your teeth with a giant hair-ball in your sink- it isn’t easy, and APPARENTLY spitting on my room mate’s “babies” is not allowed…oops.
Hiding in the freezer: as in the one where we keep food, they think it is their personal winter wonderland or something)
The storage closet (we’ll come home, and hear this pathetic mewing: “heeeelp me, I went in the closet again because I NEVER LEARN.”
In the Shower-WHILE I’M IN IT: granted, this has only happened once, but have a furry thing jump in the shower while you’re stark naked and vulnerable and trust me, once will be more than enough.
On my Back: because they can’t just be held like normal cats-no, they have to climb you and perch on top of your head like it’s their territory. My room mate thinks this is adorable but I am fully aware that they are just asserting their dominance like little furry jerks.
In addition to their favorite hang-outs, they also have a few “quirks”that make me consider buying animal-skin rugs…
Tipping over the bathroom trashcan: because my favorite thing to do is pick up used tissues and q-tips OVER AND OVER AND OVER again.
Jumping on my lap while I eat:  cat-hair is a great source of fiber you know…
Running into my room and hiding under my bed where I can’t reach them: usually on days where I am already running late-which is everyday. I can’t close my bedroom door with them inside-so guess who gets to play “coax the kitty” every day?
Only pooping while you’re in the same room as the litter-box: seriously, it’s like they can’t do it without an audience to appreciate their bodily functions.
I could go on and on…but I am already ashamed of myself for being one of those people who blogs about their room mate’s cats…so I will salvage what little dignity I have left and end this rant where it is. I keep telling the cats that “WE ARE NOT FRIENDS” but even as I am writing this, one of them is curled up next to me purring…so clearly there is a bit of a language barrier. Terrific.
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All Aboard the Awkward-Mobile!

One of the perks of being a deprived college student (in addition to the inherited caffeine addiction and habitual insomnia) is that my particular academic institution throws it’s students a bone by providing free urban transportation. Without all of the unnecessary glorification, this simply means that when I enrolled at my university, they gave me a flimsy yellow card that allows me to ride the city bus for free. Naturally, I am very grateful for this “gift”- because naturally, I, like many of my fellow collegiate suckers, am broke and car-less.

My dependency on the bus has not only earned me some frequent-flyer (rider?) benefits (ie. I always get on at the same time so there is always a window seat available) but it has also provided me with ample opportunities to make things awkward.

Today’s incident is brought to you by the old woman at the bus stop. Regrettably, I don’t know her name, but she looked kind of like a Phyllis, so let’s go with that. Granted, this actually happened about a week ago, but it has been deemed blog-worthy by my panel of experienced judges (meaning me, and the voices in my head that are involved in  at least 90% of all of my potentially-regrettable decisions; this blog is a good example.)

Anyway, Phyllis got quite the show on this particular Tuesday evening. There she was, minding her own business; sitting quietly contemplating the meaning of life and debating whether or not to break into her bag of dried prunes a little early (I’m not making this up-she actually had a bag of prunes, which she did eventually break into during our bus ride- extra credit for stereotypical accuracy?)

Before I go any further with this little episode, I need to make a few points in my defense.

A.) I am usually the only person within 50 miles of my  bus stop (or at least a block or two)-so I wasn’t expecting company by any means

B.) My actions on this particular day were the result of an unusually stressful encounter with one of my classes

C.) I may or may not have not have been hyped up on caffeine at the time…Starbucks is a block away from my apartment…draw your own conclusions

So here I am, walking down the same block, at the same time as I do day, after day, after stinking day, when a favorite song of mine comes blasting through my lime green headphones (they are big, and goofy, and part of y daily wardrobe). Although this is something I NEVER do in public, I made the conscious decision to start belting out the lyrics- which was extremely therapeutic until I glanced to my left and noticed Phyllis for the first time-clearly traumatized by the 2-plus minutes of horrific screeching she had just endured.

She and I had a solid 15 second stare-down, she: wide-eyed and questioning whether or not I was sober, and I: wishing I wasn’t sober so I could at least have an excuse for my pathetic attempt at singing (the song was Benny and the Jets, just in case you were wondering.) I tried to laugh off this little incident and meekly apologized but Phyllis refused to acknowledge my existence after I did so. Not only did she swiftly break eye contact, but she then proceeded to get up, walk three more blocks down, and wait at a different bus stop-for the same bus.

I learned two things that day:

1.) Phyllis and I will probably never be friends


2.) I seriously need to reconsider my singing career…dang.

A Sufficiently Awkward Introduction

It’s only fair to warn you—it should probably be illegal for someone like me to own and operate a blog.  I ramble, I’m a rambler, but only in written from; I apologize now if you’ve ever suffered or ever will suffer through an actual face to face conversation with me. Good luck to you.

Several friends and colleagues of mine (I chose the word colleagues because it makes me sound like an intellectual-instead of a goofball who still reads Calvin and Hobbes comics instead of doing what she is supposed to be doing-like finding some colleagues…) have suggested that I publish some of the ridiculousness that has become part of my daily routine, and I have finally caved.

If you have ever tripped UP the stairs in front of a crowd, snorted while laughing at something your attractive date said, started singing at the top of your lungs on a bus with your headphones on-and not realized it until everyone is staring at you, eaten ketchup packets for lunch because you lost yours on that same bus, talked to inanimate objects, argued with yourself out-loud, or if you frequently seek comfort from bookstores and coffee shops instead of humans because they scare you- then you are in good company.

Trust me when I say that I have been a certified weirdo since birth, so not only do I feel your pain, I’ve PERFECTED it. So why not own up to it, fellow Awkardites? (yes I did just coin that term, I’ll do that quite often). I will keep you posted on my day-to-day adventure in Awkward-dom (see? there I go again!) and you can feel free to sit back, relax, and rest assured that you are no longer the strangest person you know! (did you just high-five yourself? It’s ok if you did….freak) .


Awkwardly yours,