Tag Archives: cats

3 Reasons Why I Should Keep A Stack Of Thrift-Store Plates On Hand For Smashing

Or, 3 Reasons Why I Sometimes Consider Visiting a Firing Range

1. Bad calls.

There are many injustices in this crazy world, but few can inspire the bitter outrage of blown calls. The stakes of these games can be so high—and yet the outcome can literally rest in the hands of one ass-clown official. I nearly lost my mind in October when the Braves were knocked out of the playoffs after the single most idiotic call in the history of everything. That was Chipper’s last game, y’all. His one chance to play for another World Series before his retirement. And this man ruined it.

Sam Holbrook stole the Braves’ crucial momentum by making a ludicrous infield fly call. (Yes, I know Chipper made a bad throw and allowed some runs earlier in the game, but the BASES WERE LOADED people.) We had a very real shot at turning the game around until this potato-faced cretin decided to show everyone he has goat dung for brains.

I actually cried tears of helpless rage in front of Buffalo Wild Wings’ entire clientele when this happened. Two months later, I’m still deeply wroth. I still have a picture of this son of Satan on my fridge with some particularly vulgar decorations of my own addition. Incidents like these tend to, erm, rankle a bit if I can’t find an outlet for my ire.

2. Humanity.

Every day, the general public finds a way to steal a little bit more of my sanity. I don’t know why I continue to place so much stock in common courtesy when my expectations get repeatedly bitch-slapped, but I do. I can’t help it. I keep hoping that people will be as considerate of me as I am of them. I don’t block the aisle with my buggy. I don’t stop suddenly in a crowded public place or walk backwards without looking. I don’t force other motorists to absorb shock waves from my stereo. When I worked in food service, I didn’t just stare blankly at people when they came up to the counter. I always say thank you when someone holds the door. I use my blinker and go a constant speed on the highway (for the love of God, cruise control!). Sometimes I even roll out extra paper towels for the person washing their hands after me in the ladies’ restroom. And what do I get for my pains? Oblivious dolts impeding my path in every public place ever. Sullen trolls behind every register and food counter. Some fool blasting his bass loud enough to jiggle my internal organs at every stoplight. By the time I make it home from outings amongst the populace, I’m just one giant raw nerve. Curse you all, you pack of mouth-breathing pig-eyed savages.

beer

3. Cat hair.

Look, I love my cats. They are the joy of my old age (did I mention I turn 30 next month? guess I’ll be getting my AARP invite soon) and the light of my life. But THEIR HAIR. Y’all. It’s everywhere. I dust. I vacuum. I dust some more. I clean the wads of fur out of the poor choked Roomba every ten minutes. I scrape the furniture with this doodad. I brush the cats (when they let me).

This is how Piglet looks when I come near her with the brush.

This is how Piglet looks when I come near her with the brush.

The cleaning of cat hair never ends. And yet, when the sun is shining just right through the window, I can see kilos of fecking cat hair floating in the atmosphere. I sit down on a chair and a cloud of the stuff explodes around me. I go to a restaurant and find cat hair in my food. From my own clothes. Aaaaauuuughhhhhghhh.

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4 Reasons Why I’m a Bad Blogger

Or, 4 Reasons Why You Are Probably So Over This Blog

1. I post infrequently.

My last post? Three weeks ago. Just pathetic. And I don’t even really have excuses—I just, you know, have work during the day, and then I come home and do other stuff. Stuff that is not blogging. Sometimes I try to clean the house. Sometimes I practice the Brahms Requiem which I’m singing for choir (omg y’all this German is DEVOURING MY SOUL). Sometimes I just lie on the couch and complain about how tired I am. And I don’t even have kids, just cats.

Because visual representations of data are always fun, here’s a nice pie chart:

chart

I probably should have added a “hot baths” category but I haven’t had a bath in a few weeks because the tub needs a good scrub but I’ve been too busy lying on the couch. So…you know.

2. I post erratically.

Some writers have handy genre-centered blogs with beautiful banners and clever punny titles about DIY home decor or politics or cooking or design. This is nice because you can rely on those blogs as sources of regular inspiration/information on your particular subject of interest. Unfortunately, you can’t really count on a certain type of content from me. This is probably frustrating for people who, say, happen upon my post about cleaning solutions and want more, only to find cranky rants about Joe Paterno and pictures of my bike. Like the good cataloger I am, I try to at least sort posts into certain groups and apply certain tags, but let’s be real—I’m an aimless writer with hoboish mental tendencies.

hobo

How my brain works. (This is me as a hobo, in case you didn’t realize.)

3. I’m too lazy to watermark my photos.

So please don’t steal them. K? K thx.

piglet

Piglet says, “Steal this photo, beeyatch. I dares you.”

4. I am a really terrible reader/commenter.

I’ll be going along with my life, when all of a sudden I’ll remember the blogosphere. It goes like this:

*FOREHEADSMACK*

Holy crapballs.

I have a blog.

I should probably log in to WordPress.

*FOREHEADSMACKAGAIN*

Omg.

Other people I like have blogs.

I should read them and leave thoughtful comments.

*GETSOVERWHELMED*

I’m a terrible person.

Everyone else is conscientious and community-oriented and I’m a selfish sloth.

I don’t belong here.

*GETSDEPRESSEDANDEATSJAROFPEANUTBUTTER*

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4 Reasons Why I’m a Jedi Master*

Or, 4 Reasons Why My Life Is Slightly Less Higgledy-Piggledy Than It Might Be Otherwise

1. I made my own bike bag.

So all the bags out there for bike racks are either 1) panniers, which I don’t want because that’s just inviting a lot of weird balance issues, or 2) fugly. Come on. Why is everything black and utilitarian? Fashiony ladies, help me out here. Start designing some cute bags for the back of my cute bike. In the meantime, I had to make do with my own modifications to this tote bag, which is the perfect size and shape for the back of my bike. It’s insulated like a cooler, it’s nice and tall with lots of outside pockets, AND it has a crossbody strap. I can toss all my Autumnalia in there and just take the whole bag with me once I arrive at my destination. All I did was sew a couple Velcro straps to each corner and it works like a dream. Is the stitching neat and even? No. Did I separate my fingernails from the nail beds trying to push a needle through that tough fabric before I was smart enough to use a thimble? Yes. But, you know, it works. That’s the important thing.

Kindle, phone, keys, bike lock, change of clothes…everything fits.

2. I recovered the cats’ old scratching post.

Dear Piglet, Monkey, Turkey, and Cricket: Your beloved scratching post has been restored to you. Please stop shredding the armchair. Please. With tears in my eyes, y’all. Seriously. Love, Autumn.

scratching post

Piglet enjoys the new post (after spending three hours attacking the sisal rope I was trying to wrap it with and making the whole process hideously difficult).

Anyway, I originally made this post a few years ago. The design is pretty simple if you want to do one yourself. The cats wear out the covering after about 18 months and then it needs to be sort of rehabbed, so this is the third time I’ve done this. But the structure itself is still going strong! Here’s some basic instructions if you want to build your own:

Make sure to wear gloves—sisal is ROUGH on the hands.

3. I embroidered this.

If you’re a cataloger, you’ve probably heard this slogan before. I find it’s a helpful reminder not only for the finicky work of cataloging (which requires that you interpret half a dozen complicated standards and formats with incredibly lengthy documentation), but also just for life. Stop freaking out so much over all the tiny details, guys. Be more like me. Be zen.

Sadly, I did not follow this advice when I took three dozen photos trying to get the best angle.

4. I cleaned out the car.

I don’t really have a picture of this or anything. I just felt like you needed to know.

*When I say “Jedi Master” I really mean “DIY goddess.” Same diff.

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