Drunk Quiet

The other night a couple friends and I went out to the local bar. Now, usually, when I go to the bar in town I encounter a lot of jerky men and last night was, actually, the exception. Because I ended up running into just one jerky woman.

She started off with, "Well I see you have a ring, where's your man?"

Umm... he's in Iraq... you know... there's, like, a war...

 "Oh, that'll never work. I did it and it didn't work"

Besides that, however, the bar was fun. My ride ended up leaving and since I moved to my new place closer to the bar I decided this wasn't a problem.

We walked home. 

We got home with a serious case of Drunk Munchies and, because my part of the house doesn't have a stove, we quietly crossed the bounds into my roommates part of the house which has a full kitchen and proceeded to very quietly boil macaroni. 

Where we then, very quietly, found a strainer (a verrrrrry small strainer) to pour the Mac in.

I poured the Mac into the strainer, very quietly and carefully. 

The rest of the noodles? oh yeah.... they ended up in the sink.

We cleaned up the mess in the sink, very quietly.

While my new roommate sleeps peacefully in her room.

We mix in the powdered cheese with butter, who needs milk? And we carry the pan over the threshold back to my place.

Where we consume all of it. Quietly.

And this is why you should never believe you are being quiet when you are drunk because you are, in fact, not. You are not being quiet, Leslie. Not at all.

There's Drunk Quiet and there's Sober Quiet. They are different.

Only Me (my morbid sense of humor)

Throughout my life countless events have occurred where I am always left asking one question: Who else does this happen to except for me?

There was that one time I learned that a "blade" of grass is actually a very accurate description because I cut my lip on a piece.

Only me.

Then there was that time that I nailed myself in the face with my laptop and gave myself a fat lip.

 

Only me.

 

There was that other time when an ex boyfriend had just broken up with me but still walked me out to my car when I left his house. Me, focusing on the little dignity I had left (not to mention how good I looked in my heels) stepped on the curb wrong and fell face first on the asphalt tearing up both knees right in front of him. I then had to not cry and go back to his place and wash the blood and shame off of my legs.

Only me.

Then there was just now.

For anyone who knows me you've heard me rant at least once about my parents cat, Lillian. Who is slowly dying from a combination of old age and hyperthyroidism. It sounds sad, and it is, but I talked to the vet myself and she assured me that Lil is not in pain and is on all the right medications. So I DO feel better about it at least.

However, in her old feeble state, she has decided that I am worthy of cuddling with. Who am I to deny an old cat's bucket list? Not me, no. I would not be mean to this poor thing. She came up to the couch and gave that Cat Look where you know they want to come up and sit with you but won't do so without being invited. I patted the couch and she came up, sat in my lap and it was cute. Key word: was.

I was sitting online chatting with Devin and I'm discussing whether or not it's a normal that my only concern of letting her sit on me is falling asleep and waking up with a dead cat on me. To me, this seems like the worst thing that could happen, not to mention kind of funny.

Leave it to sick humor of The Universe to prove My Sick Humor wrong.

Waking up with a dead cat on you is, in fact, not the worst thing that can happen.

As I'm sitting there discussing this morbid thing that I am laughing about because I know it won't happen, the worst thing that can happen with a sicko cat sitting on you... does.

She inhales deeply.

Her body tightens, her back arches, her body shivers, her stomach turns.

and she pukes.

She pukes right on my arm.

I laugh so hard I start crying because, honestly, crying is really what I want to do. Because there is nothing more gross than a cat puking, let alone a cat puking ON you. It's as if their whole mind body and spirit go into this one act.

So, yes, waking up with a dead cat on you would be gross, it would. But having a feeble cat puke on your arm while you are rendered completely helpless by a combination of pity for this creature and simply by pure shock and horror that you're getting puked on?

Only me.

Saddam's Revenge

Tonight I was talking to Devin on the phone when he began to tell me that he was feeling really horrible and had been spending a lot of time trying to throw up and not being able to. Something he ingested in Iraq just got the best of him, I suppose (he ended up being fine). And then, before I knew what happened that little compartment in his mind, which I hardly ever get stories from, opened and a related story just spouted out of his mouth before I could stop it. I really wish I had been able to stop it.

In Iraq the only source of potable water (and if I understand right, in Afghanistan too) is from the Tigress River where it gets treated and bottled and sent off to all the soldiers. And as you can imagine this story is only leading to the inevitable issue with the treatment process of the water and the madness that ensued.

He began to paint a vivid scene of him being the first one to come down with Dysentery.

 

Followed by an even more graphic scene depicting him and all of his squad coming down with Dysentery. 

 

Which then sparked another story in his memory about another day, same Dysentery, when he was out on patrol and found out he had Dysentery. 

And that is why you should never play The Gross Out Game with Devin. Ever.

Unicorns : A History.

I started this blog, Death By Unicorn, for one reason: to give Devin something to be entertained by while he is deployed in Iraq. It started with the book that we write in and mail back and forth from Iraq to New Mexico. I wanted to make him laugh when he read it so I began a series entitled "Death By Unicorn" because I guess that's just what I do. It soon evolved into graphic images depicting all the horrible ways that a unicorn could kill you, mostly involving loss of eyes by means of impalement. My crude stick figures got me to thinking that it would be cool to start a blog where I could have my awful cartoons instantly accessible to him online.

Tonight as I sit here refusing to go to bed like a small child attempting to wait for Santa I got to pondering... what the hell is a unicorn? My theories are shotty, at best, but I have to try to figure this out. My imagination seems to take a tailspin and I begin to weave an intricate web of the history of the elusive unicorn.

And so it begins.....

Long ago unicorns were everywhere, they were so beautiful and plentiful and were perfectly integrated into the delicate balance of the ecosystem. Having developed a hard horn on their heads made from the same proteins that go into our fingernails they were well equipped to protect themselves and the biggest males had the most beautiful horns which always attracted the ladies. A proud race, unicorns are, and they were forever sought after and over-hunted for their beauty and rare magical qualities that their horns, hooves, fur, entrails and tail hair could provide. A bowstring made of unicorn tail hair will never break. Ever. A unicorn entrail soup would cure anything that ailed you. Anything. Unicorn hoof shoes would never break and make you run as fast as light. No... faster.

The unicorn's population began to dwindle, it's small gene pool allowed recessive genes to emerge causing genetic mutations among this breed of horse. Among these mutations were rough patches of dry gray skin, poor eyesight and shorter fatter legs and bodies. The unicorns didn't mind those changes though because, over time, that rough exterior began to help them survive better. Use lotion? I think not. They were less sought after and therefore their populations began to rise again. Their helpful mutations began to evolve the population (individuals do not evolve by definition) of unicorns into a rough skinned, short, poor sighted animal with horns on it's face.

And like all populations that find something that works for them, they grew, they became strong and they lasted throughout the years.

Today we call these animals "Rhinoceros'" a word which is adapted from Rhinosaurous because Rhino's were believed to be dinosaurs but later found that they w ere not. They have long forgotten their vain beautiful exteriors and retired to the plains of Africa where their biggest problem is a vampiric bird that drinks their blood, that part I did not make up.

Unicorns, what are they? They are rhinos, dummy. Rhinos are unicorns that stopped using lotion.

Peek-a-Goo.

For those of you who have met Magoo or "Goo" you know that she's... special. For those of you who haven't met Goo, well, there's just nothing like her.

From her bright blue crossed eyes that get even more crossed when she's tired, to her fat ass that swings back and forth when she Waddle-Runs away from you, Goo is special.

She poofs for no reason, she runs into walls and she begs for weird things like apples and bananas and then never eats them. She sleeps in the middle of my bed, leaving me with no room. She's trained to come to a whistle, she used to play fetch when she wasn't so fat, when she begs she gets as close to you as she possibly can without touching you while smacking her lips and crossing her eyes. Her name used to be Mr. Magoo because I thought she was a boy, then one day she put her butt in my face and she became "Miss Magoo."

She is the one, the only, Goo.

In all honesty she is the perfect cat for me. She is probably the dumbest cat I've ever known but I love her and she loves me and we play a fun game together.

In order to gain a better vision of what kind of game we play I can only reference a real live picture rather than try to draw it myself.

and now the cartoon version:

Most of the time I just come around and she chirp meows at me and will maybe fall over for me to pet her belly. But... sometimes, well... sometimes things get a little heated.. sometimes I get a little too excited.... and, well, I lose. Yeah... I didn't think there ever could be a winner or a loser in Peek-a-boo either but Goo and I are apparently quite special.

 

There aren't many ways that Peek-a-boo can go wrong, I'll be honest, in retrospect this was bound to happen and I'm sure everyone else except for me saw it coming... but, no, not me! I just wanted to play Peek-a-boo... with my retarded cat.