Monthly Archives: December 2009
You know I hate cats.
Actually, scratch that. Cats hate me.
Growing up, my family was never a cat family. We had every other pet imaginable. Muttish dogs, fish that committed suicide with abandon, bunny rabbits saved from certain death under my father’s lawn mower, a bucktoothed dog named Bucky that once shredded the entire back of a door in order to escape the garage, a hamster that gave birth and then accidentally(?) spilled her water all over her baby hamsters almost freezing them to death, so my mother, a freaking genius of an animal doctor, tried to warm the babies up by placing them ON A METAL COOKIE PAN and then placing THAT METAL COOKIE PAN on top of a KEROSENE HEATER until the putrid smell of burning baby hamster meat permeated the house while us five little girls wailed, “YOU COOKED THEM! THEY’RE ALL SHRIVELED AND BLACK AND DEAD! THEY LOOK LIKE KIDNEY BEANS! WAHH!”
Saddest thing you ever saw was the backyard funeral for the blackened baby hamsters my mom roasted on an open fire.
My point is. We never had a cat so I didn’t know they hated me until my sister Tina Fey owned a cat, appropriately named Kitty. If I dared to lay down on my sister’s couch for a nap or to watch TV, Kitty, who could have been six miles away, would hear my body squish the cushions of the couch and she would miraculously appear and leap up on my chest, flick open her claws with the exact same sound that Wolverine makes when his claws open, and then Kitty would dig at my chest like I had dead birds implanted into my boobs. If I tried to swat Kitty away, she would make like she was going to eat my face in order to get to those dead birds.
That started my fear of cats in general. I mean, a dog, you say “come here” and the dog comes to you even if you’re holding a rolled up newspaper or an open flame. You say, “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” to a dog and it will immediately and sorrowfully beg your forgiveness even if it did nothing wrong. Say EITHER one of those things to a cat and the cat will calmly say, “F–k you.”
I also distinctly recall going to a baby shower at a friend’s mother’s house a few years back, and they had recently adopted a really ridiculously adorable kitten. I mean, this little kitten probably farted sprinkles, she was that cute. I entered into the living room where all the ladies were gathered for the shower and saw them fawning over the furball, and I was all, “Well, it’s just a little kitten and wook how cute da wittle kitty is!”
When it finally came my turn to nuzzle its velvety nose, I gently approached the kitten and began to stretch my hand toward its head when [hiss] [scratch] [bitch!] [move one inch closer to me and I’ll rip the dead birds from your bosom] happened. This little ball of Skittles was INSTANTLY transformed into a hissing agent of Satan.
All the ladies who had taken turns smothering the kitten, looked at me like surely I must have the demon in me for the cat to hate me so much, so instantly.
Fast forward through lots of similar experiences which finally led me to the conclusion that cats can taste my fear and that’s why they react to me the way they do. That was also the same excuse I gave when it came to babies. THEY TASTE MY FEAR!
Then I entered my sister Pens Fan’s house for Christmas dinner last week to find a cat resting on the carpet, all innocent like. Instinctively, my hands flew to my breasts, shielding them from the impending onslaught of GIVE ME THE DEAD BIRDS, YOU BITCH!
But the cat just blinked at me. Slowly.
And I realized it was fake. A toy. A demon toy called the Furreal Friend.
This toy is equal parts scarily lifelike and scarily soulless.
It will sit there and stare at you all dead-eyed for twenty minutes, not moving, just watching your heaving, beckoning bosom, and then …
SON OF A BITCH!
If you want to see your little niece cry, punt her Furreal Demon Kitty across the room after it blinks at you.
The points of my story are this:
1. Cats hate me.
2. Furreal Friends are battery-operated blinking demons.
3. Metal is a conductor.
4. You can kick a Furreal Friend further than a real cat.
5. My bosom is not safe.
6. I wonder if I can train cats and pigeons to fight each other to the death.
7. Toys today are getting a little too real. Baby dolls that poop and fake demon cats that try to scratch your eyes out.
(photo from Amy’s blog)
Yes, my hand was to God that my next post would be about cats.
Well, my NEXT post will be about cats because I wanted to get this up first.
Amy of the Callapitter blog is featured in today’s Post-Gazette and I can’t recall the last time someone was so deserving of the attention.
Please note that Amy is working to memorialize her children through a future park. Amy tells me the park is going to be as unique as her children. I’ve assured her that we, meaning you and I, will do everything we can to help her.
The article ends with these words of Amy’s:
“Unfortunately, I know in my rational mind that there is no going back, no unwishing, no undoing,” she wrote. “The only way out of this is through it. Ugh.”
To donate to Kate and Peter’s Playground, send checks to the “Kate and Peter Ambrusko Memorial Fund” to the Environmental Charter School at Frick Park, 829 Milton St., Pittsburgh, PA 15218.
I’m counting on Pittsburgh to continue lifting Amy up and holding her up and helping her THROUGH it. And I’m counting on all of us to help her get this playground built, because even Amy agrees, as you see in her list of things she’s thankful for:
Moving to Pittsburgh, which I am convinced is the best place in the world to live!
(h/t a different Amy)
- December 30, 2009
- filed under Ben Roethlisberger, Mike Tomlin, Steelers, The Damn Pigeons, Troy Polamalu
- 33 comments
I’m aware that not all of you are diehard Steelers fans (May God have mercy on your souls), but I’ve got to get some Steelers news out of the way here. But you can rest assured that my next post has nothing to do with the Steelers. Because it is about cats.
Hand to God.
1. Troysus got an acting agent because he must want to be the next Terry Bradshaw. I’m thinking, with his hair, he could totally play Slash in the Lifetime Original Movie, Blind No More — Brushing the Hair Out of My Eyes: The Slash Story.
Here’s a fun fact, with my hair, I could ALSO play that role.
I need an agent. And a penis. And a guitar. And hookers and blow.
2. My dad is totally going to call me about the hookers and blow line.
3. Cabbage Patch Baby Cici Donna and James Harrison have made the Pro Bowl. And that’s it.
I call shenanigans on this because Benny has done more than enough this year to earn a Pro Bowl spot.
It’s not often you find me coming to Benny’s defense, and this must be twice in as many weeks that I’ve done it, and look at that there snowman the pigeons built in hell.
Benny needs to do or say something real douchey soon so I can get my Duke of Fug/Earl of Gross mojo back.
4. Lamarr Woodley is obviously trying to get Cincinnati mad enough to actually play the game Sunday:
“All of them will lay down,” said Woodley, who leads the Steelers with 11.5 sacks, third in the AFC. “No one wants to see Pittsburgh in there. That’s just how it is. Everybody knows we’re a dangers (sic) team once we get into the playoffs no matter how we played throughout the whole year.”
Well, whine about it all you want Lamarr, but our playoff hopes should never have gotten this dim to begin with.
“I could care less how the Bengals approach what it is they do,” he said. “We created this situation. What we are going to do is control what we can control, and that’s our preparation of play for the game.”
5. Hines is hurt.
Receiver Hines Ward now has injuries to both hamstrings. Tomlin: “Hines is miserable … . He’s got two hamstrings and a myriad of other issues. It gives him a bad disposition, but he’ll show.”
Since I have only ever known Hines Ward to have two “dispositions,” that being THE HAPPIEST, SMILIEST, SUNSHINEY MAN ON THE PLANET or weeping, I’m going to assume “bad disposition” means weeping.
6. This might be Willie Parker’s last game as a Steeler.
Hey, maybe Troysus could play Willie in his Lifetime Original Movie, More Than an Ouchie — Turf Toe Ruined My Career: The Willie Parker Story.
- December 29, 2009
- filed under City Council, Local media, Mayor Ravenstahl, Pirates, Steelers, The Damn Pigeons, Troy Polamalu
- 35 comments
1. A conversation with my son:
Me: Did you go straight downstairs on Christmas morning to see what was under the tree, or did you come wake us up first?
Son: I went STRAIGHT DOWNSTAIRS.
Me: And what did you see?
Son: I saw the presents that weren’t there the night before and I saw a present that looked like the same size and shape as a DSi box.
Me: What did you do then?
Son: I fell to my knees.
PRAISE BABY JESUS IN THE MANGER, IT’S A DSi!
2. Lukey’s champion Jim Motznik is no longer on City Council, because God bless America, a man with only a high school diploma can become a judge. This is the part where I reveal that I’m an idiot because I thought you had to have a law degree to be a judge.
3. If you missed it, Iran’s Ahmadinejad said his police and military violence toward protesters in his country is similar to the violence against protesters that happened here in Pittsburgh. Here are 38 pictures that prove Ahmadinejad is batshit crazy.
4. Burgher cutie pie Amy Colalella has made it to the final two to win the Miley Cyrus Be a Star contest, which started out with 10,000 contestants. Amy would win a recording contract and a recording session with Miley Cyrus. I’m not a teen and Miley Cyrus makes me a little stabbity, but lordy, even I knew that THIS IS A REALLY BIG GIANT DEAL!
It looks like the final takes place on January 13, at which time I’ll be letting you know to go vote for our local cutie, who happens to be mucho talentoso, writes the wife of a Mexican.
Let’s help her get her recording contract!
(h/t Amy’s friend Andrea)
5. Daniel Sepulveda made Sports Illustrated’s All Decade College Football Team. And all the men say “meh” and all the ladies say “OM NOM NOM NOM!”
6. My posting of shirtless pictures of future Smokin’ Hot Burgher Tyler Grisham, whose name we ladies have committed to our memory and written on our hearts, has brought an outpouring of WAH from the men that I don’t feature enough hot local ladies on this here blog. I’ll see what I can do. This is me, going to email Julie Bologna to see if she’s got a bikini picture I can post. I bet she says, “Bitch, please. No.”
7. The Buccos of Suckitude did some stuff. Got rid of Matt Capps, maybe signed some guys. I don’t know. I’ll care come April when I’ll be all, “THIS IS THE YEAR! PARTY WITH ME ON THE BANDWAGON, BAYBEES!”
8. Troysus might play Sunday, and he might not. It might not matter. Now, my husband informs me that there is no way that Bill Belichick will throw the game on Sunday, but that he’s not too sure about Marvin Lewis. So the official playoff scenario is that we need a Steelers win, a Patriots win, and the Bengals to grow a collective pair.
9. The reader that emailed me this pic informed me that the pigeons were making out …
And I say it looks more to me like one of the knowing bastards is eating the face of the other knowing bastard, and not in the “I love you, let’s publicly suck face” way but in the “I’m hungry and you’re here and Satan said I could eat Ginny’s face, but I can’t find her” way.
So THIS is who the hell Tyler Grisham is:
Um, where’d I put that gosh darn “APPROVED” stamp?