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Law and Order: Idiotic, Paranoid Victim's Unit.

 

Once upon a time, I watched WAY too much television.

I was a big fan of Ms.Oprah Winfrey....Especially the "Real Life Horror!" shows, where some 15 year old girl gets kidnapped and lives to tell the story how she escaped.

I'd even write down the tips they'd give.

("Throw your kidnapper's car keys in a bush, then RUN!")

 I've watched Rescue 911, America's Most Wanted, CSI, Law and Order: Criminal Intent and SVU. BoomTown, Alias, and The 6'clock News.

I read the "My Boyfriend Tried to Kill Me!" true life stories in Cosmopolitan and Glamor....

And when I'm walking in a dark parking lot, I even have my keys positioned in a prime stabbing position, just in case.

Self Defense? Check. Carry around Pepper Spray? Check. Saved and Forwarded "What Rapists Look For!" emails? CHECK! CHECK!

Seriously, I'm not a paranoid psychotic or anything. Just, very aware of my surroundings.

(aka: Making descriptions of everyone around me, just in case I end up being a key witness in a murder trial.)

I'm not ashamed of this because, well, I'm alive aren't I?

However, after today's events, I'm starting to think that I perhaps need to

A) Chill the fuck out.

B) Start drinking heavily. (er...CHECK!)

At Noon today someone buzzed the apartment,

"Hello?"

"Hiya...O'm from <Inaudible British Mumbo Jumbo that I couldn't understand>"

"What? Who?"

"O'm from ah <No idea what the hell he's saying>"

"WHO?"

"GAS METER!"

"Oh.."'

So I buzzed him up. The flat downstairs is for sale, I figured he had to fix something with their gas.

Then there's a knock at the door.

I panicked. I had no idea what he wanted. Who is he? What does he want? What is he here for? Why me?

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK....KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK....

"HELLO? Miss? HELLO?"

I froze. What if he was a serial killer? Murderer? Rapist? Assassin disguised as a Gas Meter Repair Man!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK...KNOCK KNOCK

"HELLLLLO????...<Siigh>...HELLO!!!"

I didn't' know what to do? So I opened the door.

(No makeup. Bad hair. Bad breath...yeah, it's noon. What? I'm unemployed!)

"OH! Sorry. I, uh, I thought the knocking was for next door..."

"Right. I need to change the gas meter? You should have got a letter."

 He's standing there in dirty, beat-up work clothes, but he has equipment with him.

Could still be a ploy...

"So you say. I didn't' get this letter supposed letter." I crossed my arms over my chest.

I can see right through you, you rapist!!!

"That's weird. You should have got a letter. .We're changing all the one's in this neighborhood. Safety issues."

He then shows me paper work, it looks legitimate, and then I notice the company's name: National Grid Reading.

The same company that sent us that UNOPENED letter that's sitting just barely of his line of sight.

"Oh. Right... Ok. Um. Come on in. I'll, uh, go look for that letter you sent...."

I rushed up the stairs trying to hide the letter, which I'm more than positive he saw.

He starts looking around the apartment for this apparent "gas meter" and I quickly slid my cell phone in my pocket (which I'm sure he saw as well.)

I watched him like a hawk. He swiftly walked past me to go into the kitchen.

You bastard. I have my eye on you. One false move and I'll fucking cut your throat. 'Gas Meter' my ass.

"Do you know if it's upstairs, or down in the basement?"

I spot a knife on the counter, and there's a frying pan on the stove still. Perfect!

"Erm, probably downstairs. I've never seen it, so I'm guessing it's down stairs."

"Okay, I'll go check it. Thanks."

Then he leaves, goes downstairs for about 10 minutes, comes back and says,

"Okay. All done. It was down in the basement. Thanks!"

And leaves.

No kidnapping, no rape, no murder.

Yeah sure I panicked and was a smidge more dramatic than I needed to..

But at least I didn't squish myself between the radiator and the couch like the cat did.

My nerves are shot though, looks like it's Vodka and Coke for lunch a bubble bath and positive thoughts for me!

 

 

Accent Therapy

 

Last night, I'm pretty sure I ate India.

I stuffed myself with so much korma, onion bhaji, and rice, that I think my intestines are now shaped like a Curry Take-Away sign.

I managed to waddle into bed about 1am, and we lay there like beached whales with our limbs draped over each other.

Call me crazy, or blame the red wine, but I suddenly thought it would be the perfect moment to try to teach Iain how to "Speak American". 

Iain has a very lovely accent that gets me all hot and bothered no matter what he's talking about.

He could be explaining how to set up an Internet router and would just sit there flushed and panting.

However, the way I speak  has become frighteningly country. I don't understand what has happened.

When I scream at strangers, I sound like I'm from Brooklyn. And when I'm just talking normal, there are distinct moments where I sound like I'm from the fucking boondocks of Tennessee.

I even consulted this test and it turns out that my accent is 67% DIXIE. Pretty sure up until now I've only ever lived in California...

Perhaps it was all that Garth Brooks and Little House on the Prairie that I was raised on. (Thanks Mom.)

But anyway.

So, I thought It'd be a fun trick if he could talk like me, and I could learn to talk like him.

So, we started out by having him repeat after me.

The "Hello"s went okay, as did the "Hi Y'all"s.

However, we ran into a bit of a problem with the letter R.

Me: "Hello. Hooow. Arrrrrre. You?"

Iain: "Hello. HoooOOooooW! Aaaaah you?"

Me: "No. ARRRRRRR. It's a rough 'r' noise, make it harsh. ARRRRRRRE!"

Iain: "Aaaaaaaaaah"

Me: "No. Harsh. ARRRRRRRRRE!!"

Iain: "Agggggggaaaaah" <spanish-esque tounge rolling>

Me:

 "No! It's not Spanish! No rolling the 'r's! ARRRRRRRR!"

Iain: "Arrrrrrrrrgh!"

 (This then caused me to laugh so hard all that came out was Curry scented "silent laughter".) 

Me: "No, not like a pirate!  You sound like a british pirate faking a southern accent!!"

Iain: "Staaarrrrrrrrrrgh-bucks...Like that? How was that?"

And then we tried to work on the 'r' sound so it was less Piratey.

 However, the word "Girl" ended up sounding like "Goil"....

So I gave up. (Naturally.)

Then we thought we'd try a Southern Accent because I thought it would be easier (since it comes so easily to me..).

But, it ended up with more laughter because he sounded like a gangster from Alabama.

Me: "Okay, Okay....How about New York? Like, eh....'Oi'm takin' moy DWOG for ah Wolk ta git some Cwafee!'"

Iain: "My doity doawg!"

Me: "Your DIRTY DOG? OH MY GOD! You sound like your from Chicago!!!"

I was rolling with laughter but Iain sat straight up in bed and looked at me,

"Hey! Don't tell me that I sound like I'm from Chicago! How would you feel if I told you that you sounded like you were from somewhere like....eh, like...Some place like ILLINOIS!??"

I laughed so hard I thought I was going to die. First of all, I had to explain to him that Chicago WAS in Illinois. Then I couldn't stop laughing because I didn't know he knew Illinois existed, so hearing him say it totally freaked me out.

Kinda like the time I asked him if in England the sun still set in the West.....

To which he replied, "I am so telling your Sister that you just said that."

But what can I say...We ain't got that good a skoolin' in Californya.

 

 

Yodeling is the New Screaming!

 

Hey, know what I love?

Watching people breast feed their children.

Know what I love even more?

Watching women change their baby's diaper.

So, I'm having a nice afternoon...I sat in my favorite local cafe, and read through 100 pages of my £2.50 used copy of Sue Grafton's P is for Peril...

My Orangina had taken it's toll so before I left I thought I'd run to the Ladies' Room.

But GEE -fuckin' -WHIZ, guess what was in my way?

A double-wide stroller.

One seat was occupied by a 2 year old toddler that, apparently, liked to yodel....A rather high pitched yodel at that...

The bathroom door was propped open so that the Mom could keep an eye on the Yodeler, while she changed what I presumed to be the Yodeler's twin sister.

Everyone on my side of the cafe could see EVERYTHING this woman was doing. Perhaps even what color and texture this child's pungent pile of crap was.

I positioned myself so that all I could see were two chubby legs with shiny, red rain boots kicking impatiently at  the changing table

There was enough room for her to bring the stroller IN the bathroom and close the door, but apparently leaving the door open was a better option....

Probably so she wouldn't be alone in gagging from the fumes that were seeping from her child's royal ass.

I stood there for 5 minutes. I exaggerate not, people.

 I stared at the clock. (I clocked this thing like a NASCAR pit-stop.)

Sorry, but 5 minutes is a FUCKING long time to wait when you have to pee.

3 minutes were spent actually changing the diaper itself.

An additional 30 seconds were spent adjusting the child's dress......

"Do you want your shirt tucked in? Or out...In? Or OUT?  In like this? Or OUT....like....THIS!?....In? Out? In or Out?"

The Yodeler's Sister deliberated for another 30 seconds... At the end of which she simply joined in on the yodeling and slammed the bathroom door shut. (I guess she picked 'In'?)

 

The fact that the Yodeler could no longer serenade his mother while she was still visible sent the tiny Yodeler into a high pitched,glass shattering  squeal.

 I'm pretty sure I heard the word, "Riiiiiicoooolaaaa." being yelled, but I couldn't be sure.

Mommy Dearest didn't open the door right away, just kept the door shut despite one screaming child pulling frantically at his lederhosen, and the other trying to see if she could break off the door handle, while still singing her part in the Yodeling duet.

Finally, the door busts open. And she continues to stand in the bathroom doorway, checking her cell phone,  while the children are still screaming, and her big ass stroller is STILL in my way.

I pushed past her and would have given her the evil eye...But that would require her LOOKING AT ME. Instead, she proceeded to act like she was the only fucking person in the cafe.

No apology.

No "I'm so sorry" grimace.

No fucking nothin'.

So I go to pee, and I can still hear her loud mouthed spawn all the way across the cafe.

I come out, and they're blocking the exit.

Yodeler's Sister is twirling in the middle of the room, Yodeler is still at it, and Mommy Dearest has parked her fat ass in the doorway.

Waiting for...A green light? A sign? The second coming of Christ?

I DON'T KNOW.

What I do know is I basically climbed over her stroller to get past her...Only to get assaulted by 48 more strollers on my walk home.

Luckily for them, I restrained myself from yodeling the word "Fuck" at everyone that got in my way.

 

Fraulein Cate: A Guide to Feline Step-Parenting

 

When you decide to take that leap and move in with your significant other, there are lots of compromises to be made.

(Well, no shit, you say.)

There's the, "Okay, I really need to fart and you're still in the room, do I let it out? Are we at that stage where it's ok?" situation.

The, "Is it really so hard for you to THROW AWAY your toe nail clippings when you're done??!" problem.

And the classic, "Baaaaaaaabe? Did you take out the Tivo batteries and put them in your vibrator AGAIN??" issue.

Personally, my problem came in the form of two little, furry pussies.

Yes...It's true.

I have become the Step-Mum to two cats.

Meet the Children: Jasmine (The Brown One) and Orion (The Orange One).

 

Let me tell you, I have a new found respect for Step-Parents 'round the world.

It's been a bumpy road, but folks, it's worth the ride.

I have been a full fledged Cat Hater ever since my Grandma's peice-of-feline-shit Siamese bit me on the knee cap in the Summer of 1987. (May the bitch she rest in peace.)

I have 3 dogs back in California.

 I am a dog lover. I love the smell of dog fur, dog food, and there's a disturbing part of me that misses the heavy aroma of dog farts.

Before the Cats came to live with us, we got to know each other during a couple play dates.

They mostly sat in their room, stared out the window, and muttered things like, "My Mum would never wear that..." and expressed extreme disinterest in my attempts to be "pals".

Jasmine seemed to warm up to me after a few play dates. She would cuddle up to me, and request that I pet behind her ears for 10 minutes at a time. (All the while closing her eyes and pretending that I was her real Mum).

By the time she moved in with us, we had a pretty good relationship.

We went shopping a few times, and she seemed to like talking about typical girl stuff. She even confided in me about her crush on the sassy Tom Cat that lives in the flat next to us. (The way he kills moths really turns her on.)

We're even getting a mani-pedi together next week.

Orion. Well. He's another story.

In the car ride over to our flat, he managed to escape from his cage. Upon realizing that we weren't really going to the park to play catch, he yelled, "I'll NEVER LOVE YOU!" and peed on my leg.

It was touch and go for a while. He was having problems listening to me when I tried to enforce the house rules.....

Me: "Orion! In this house we do NOT leave our shit uncovered in the cat box!"

Him: "You're not the boss of me! You're NOT MY REAL MUM!!!"

Lot's of door slamming would ensue, and I could hear him furiously text messaging his friends through the door.

After giving him space, and forceful hugs he started to lighten up a bit. Sometimes, I could even hear him purr.

He slowly started coming around, we even have the occasional conversation about why he likes the Chicken flavored dry food over the Salmon...Or why eating bits of our house plant makes him throw up.

As of late, he's even taken a liking to laying on my chest before I fall asleep, and in the middle of the night, I'll wake up to find him laying next to my pillow.

 

I've since learned more and more about the coy world of felines. They're not as forward and easy to read as dogs, but they are cuddly, don't scratch me or bite my knee caps, and even let me hold them.

Next week I'm planning on making them tiny dresses out of curtains, climbing trees, and teaching them how sing...

 

 

'Royal Maids': Wiping the streets clean of pedestrians!

 

Last time I checked, Pedestrians had the right of way, non?

So, I'm walking down the street, heading into to town to meet my beloved for lunch.

 (Or as his coworkers like to think 'a midday conjugal visit'.)

Now, I was brought up on Sesame Street and Mr. Rodgers, and in both of these programs they teach you to,

"Stop! Look! And listen!" and to "Look both ways!" before crossing the street....

And after 20+ years of walking, I've got this concept down pretty well.

 In fact, I would go as far to say a bloody fucking expert. (Please don't read that last part literally. Ew.)

So, since I am a Street Crossing Expert, I did my little routine of craning my neck around both ways to be sure that I won't be pummeled to death by a raging Mini Cooper.

To my right....Nothin'.

To my left.....Nada.

So, I decide it's "safe" to cross, so I attempt to walk my happy ass from one side to other.

Then. Out of fucking nowhere, this "smurf-shit-blue" car comes flying around the corner and directly at me.

So I stop dead in my tracks, because, well, I'd rather not go out that way.

In any normal situation, the driver slows the car down to a stop, knows that they're in the wrong, put up the "I'm sorry for being an Idiot" hand, and let the pedestrian continue walking the 6 feet they have to go until they reach the safety of the sidewalk.

But that's what intelligent people do in this situation.

This bitch stops, looks at me, and despite me taking a few steps forward because I stupidly assumed she would let me have THE RIGHT OF WAY that is rightfully mine, she puts the petal to the fuckin' metal while I am IN FRONT of her vehicle.

 

Then she slams on her brakes and I look at her like  what the fuck you lunatic??

I quickly scrambled to the sidewalk and looked back at her.

It was then I noticed she was in a "Royal Maids Cleaning Service" car.

She had her window rolled down, was giving me the "Angry Jazz Hands",  and this scowl that says, 'You fucking bitch, get the fuck out of my way!" all over it.

So, I toss my hands up, give her the finger, and right into her window yell:

"OH! FUCK you! I'm FUCKING WALKING HERE!" in a Brooklyn accent.

In. A. Brooklyn. Accent.

I've never even been to New York.

Since when has that been my natural reaction to situations like that?

To flip people off, and yell obscenities in different accents?

When did this happen??!?

But I'm not gonna lie and say that I don't like it....

On a healthier, and less rage filled note...

Remember when your mom force fed you spinach, and convinced you that, "One more bite isn't gonna kill you!"

Well, Mama liiiiiiied.