Category Archives: conversations

I think I’m onto something but probably not.

Conversation with me and Victor:

me:  I just realized something: Spiders have eight legs and eight eyes, and humans have two legs and two eyes, and worms have no legs and no eyes.

Victor:  And?

me:  And cats have four legs…BUT ONLY TWO EYES.

Victor:  Um…yep.

me:  I mean, it doesn’t follow, does it?  Are they missing eyes?  Do they have too many legs?  Are they supposed to be bipedal but they’re just lazy?

Victor:  That’s not how biology works.


Victor:  Have you been drinking?

me:  No, I’ve been thinking.

Victor:  Just as dangerous with you, really.

me:  So here’s my theory…

Victor:  Oh, good.  There’s a theory.

me:  I think that cats intentionally don’t walk around on their hind legs because they know if they started standing upright we’d expect them to get day jobs because that’s the next step in evolution.

Victor:  What about dogs?  They have four legs and two eyes.

me:  Yes, but dogs can walk around on their hind legs if they want to.  They just look ridiculous doing it so we’re like, “Oh, stop that.   You’re embarrassing all of us.”  They’re always trying to stand up on their hind legs when you enter the room and their owners are all, “GET DOWN, MR. PUMPERNICKEL.  WE DO NOT JUMP UP ON OUR VISITORS.  STOP SMELLING CROTCHES.”

Victor:  Hmm.

me:  They clearly want to stand on their back legs.  I think dogs would have probably turned bipedal years ago if we weren’t so uptight about crotches.

Victor:  Wow.  You’re absolutely right.

me:  I’m…wait.  You’re agreeing with me?

Victor:  If it makes you stop talking, then yes.  I agree wholeheartedly.

me:  Oh.  How terribly disappointing.

I wanted to post a picture of Hunter S. Thomcat standing on his hind legs but he got all intentionally floppy on me so instead I’m posting a picture of him wearing an inflatable unicorn horn:

That's what you get Hunter.  Next time stop being so floppy.

And that’s what you get for being so aggressively floppy, Hunter.   Learn to pick your battles, dude.

I am tremendously easy to please and I’m not getting credit for it.

Conversation between me and my husband:

me:  My feet hurt

Victor: Your feet always hurt.

me:  Because of all the ass I’m kicking.

Victor: *raised eyebrow*

me:  And also because of my rheumatoid arthritis.

Victor: That sounds more accurate.

me: And I might need new shoes.

Victor: *sigh*

me: And a piggy-back ride.

Victor: Hmm.

me: And a step ladder so that I can get on your back, because I don’t think I can  jump that high anymore without both of us getting injured.

Victor: Mmm.

me: I’d settle for a wheelbarrow.

Victor: Huh.

me: Not the thing we did in elementary P.E. where you carry my legs and I walk on my hands.  I mean a real wheelbarrow.  One that you could push me in.

Victor: Hmm.

me:  It’d be like a wheelchair.  But whimsical.

Victor: No.

me:  But we’d need to fill it with pillows, or sedated cats.  And some ziploc bags filled with frozen margaritas.  And some maybe streamers  to make it festive.  And a flare gun for whenever you leave me in the middle of the grocery store and forget what aisle I’m on.

Victor: I wouldn’t call it “forgetting.”

me:  But I’m not sure you can bring a gun in a grocery store, so maybe some just roman candles and a lighter.  And some sort of bullhorn.

Victor: You know, they have these cool new things called “benches”.  You just sit your ass  down on them when your feet hurt.

me: Oh my God, you are so mainstream.

Victor:  You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.

me: I’m just saying, keep the wheelbarrow idea in the back of your mind.  In case you want to surprise me by being awesome one day.

Victor: With a wheelbarrow?

me: Yeah.  With a wheelbarrow.  Most girls want diamonds and fancy summer houses.  I just want a goddam surprise wheelbarrow every now and then.  You are incredibly lucky to have me.

Victor:  That’s what I keep trying to tell myself.

Werewolves never get mosquito bites.

Victor: I am eaten up with mosquito bites.

me: You totally are.  You look like someone graffitied all over you with Braille.  Or like you’re made of cat nipples.

Victor:  Those fuckers even bit me through my shirt.  I have like 20 mosquito bites on my back.

me: Do you have them on your arms?

Victor:  I never get mosquito-bitten where I have hair.

me:  So hair is a dense forest they get lost in?  Like your arm hair is trees and the mosquitoes are Hansel and Gretel.

Victor:  They must hate hair.  You never get bitten on your scalp, right?

me:  True.  We should make mosquito-deterring spray that just sprays fake hair on you instead of pesticides.

Victor:  I’d look like a giant werewolf.

me:  The bugs would avoid you.

Victor:  EVERYONE would avoid you.

me: It’s perfect for mosquito-attracting people and also for introverts who don’t want to talk to people at parties.  We could call it were-hair.

Victor:  Yeah, but people would mispronounce it…like “were” hair.

me:  But that’s okay because it’s like you’re a werewolf and it’s like what you would look like if there WERE HAIR all over you.  Double meaning.

Victor:  People don’t want to be covered in were-hair.

me:  Better than being covered in itchy cat nipples.  We are going to be so rich.

STITTING: You can’t do it and your cats can’t stop bragging about it.

Conversation with Victor:

me: I think I have a problem.

Victor: Technically you have lots of them.  Which one specifically are you speaking of?

me: Look at Hunter S. Thomcat.

Victor: Yeah.  He’s being a cat.  What a bastard.

me: No.  I mean, he looks as if he’s standing on the stairs at full attention, but if you look behind him you’ll notice he’s actually just sitting.  He’s pretending to stand, but really his ass is totally asleep.  Also, I suspect that he’s not even awake and is just too lazy to close his eyes.

Victor: …And this is a problem because?

me: I think I’m jealous.  I’m jealous of the cat.

Victor: Ah.  Yes.  That is a problem.


 And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means its time for the weekly wrap-up:

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up brought to you by a fantastic zomnibus you should probably check out.  How would a typical husband handle a zombie outbreak? Answer: Not well. See how Chris, John and Erik cope with the living dead in Dumb White Husbands vs. Zombies by Benjamin Wallace, the first full length novel in the bestselling Dumb White Husband series.

In my defense, I’m just very lazy.

Victor: Maybe we should join a gym.

me:  Nah.  I’m already extremely successful at failing to work out right here at home.  No need to branch out, really.

Victor:  But we’d probably be more likely to work out if we had access to exercise machines.

me:  There are machines that exercise for you?  Bloody hell, man.  Why didn’t you say so?  BUY ONE IMMEDIATELY.

Victor:  It doesn’t quite work like that.

me:  Are there also robots that ignore deadlines for you, and cyborgs that fuck shit up more efficiently?  Because I’m fairly good at that, but honestly? I think there’s room for improvement.

Victor:  Oh, you’re being too hard on yourself.  You’re amazing at fucking shit up.

me:  I know.  It’s the only art I’ve almost perfected.  Frankly, it kind of blows my mind a little.

Victor:  Mine too, honey.  Mine too.

Just to answer your question in advance, I have a lot of small wigs because I thought they’d fit the dead weasels but then it turned out they were slightly too large and I hate returning things.

Victor:  Why did you put a wig on the cat?

me:  Better question:  Why do you always assume it’s me?  I’m not the only one who lives here, you know.

Victor:  Hailey?

Hailey:  Yeah?

Victor:  Did you put a wig on the cat?

Hailey:  Why would I put a wig on a cat?

me:  This proves nothing.

Victor:  You don’t have to get all defensive.  I just don’t understand why you do shit like this, crazy cat lady.

me:  I have a lot of very small wigs.  I have a lot of very small cats.  This math does itself.

The cat has a face for wigs. It's a gift that you can't just ignore, Victor.