Beyond the fucking pale

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Just as I had almost forgiven you for the shave - your slack ass husband goes and buys this fucking monstrosity.

Oh tee-fucking hee. The two of you were rolling with laughter as you forced me into this piece of chenille shit, but I landed at least two hits with my now clipped claws. And um - yeah, about the nail clipping - I haven't forgotten that either.

And now I will investigate which of these shoes belong to each of your punk ass bitches, cause there will be rivers of acrid cat piss coming to drown you.

You know, when I eyed you all up in July - I figured an easy mark. Hyper Kid, distracted adult female, stern looking but obviously a softie adult man - Perfect for the kitty grift.

I get you to adopt me. I spray all your shit - you feed me progressively more expensive cat food as I will quickly move from living out of garbage cans to ONLY accepting the most high end of cat food ( wet and dry, bitch, you know how I like it mixed). I will force you to buy a series of toys which I will show interest in for 1.7 seconds then I will ignore making you wish you had spent that 12 bucks on booze.

Well guess what - I am never leaving now. It is you people and me for fucking EVER - cause the amount of payback that I have planned will take all of my lives to accomplish.

Stop grinning you stupid whore and put away the camera.

I fucking hate you

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Yeah. I know my fur was really matted. I know I wouldn't let you come it and I would swat at you when you came anywhere near me with the "de-tangler" comb.

But BITCH. This is what you do to me?

You take me to a fucking cat groomer? Stank ass whore is more like it - and she Shears me to this humiliating state? You paid money for her to do this to me? I would have been happier if you had shoved that 60 bucks directly up your ass.

In fact, watch your back bitch. Cause I plan on shoving something up your ass - once my coat grows back and I stop looking like a mange infested chihuahua.

You might want to give your pillow a sniff test every time you go to lie down on it, you dirty whore, cause I plan on pissing - ALOT.

And letting her leave this puff on my stumpy ass tail. Not Fucking Cool.

Revenge will be mine.

In which I prove that I am really a Graduate student....

Friday, February 16, 2007

I realize that I have neglected to sound very.....professional here lately. Maybe cause I tend to save it for Gimlet, in order to earn the duckets ( in which I say "fuck it and get those duckets" - aw Rap. What poets!)

I wrote this as part of the only course I am taking right now - Social and Emotional development. We have to do weekly "thought papers" - and this one, by far has been my favorite to write. Perhaps because I am struggling with this puzzling behavior in Emily, and trying to understand my own compulsion sometimes to lie about stupid things

(No! That could NOT be my hair in the sink! What?!? How dare you insinuate that I was going to leave that bowl right there on the coffee table!!!)

So, I am curious to what you think about this topic.

P.S. Bears T-Shirt? Click Here. My next one? The one that says "I'm kind of a big Deal", although I do love the "I piss excellence"

"Maybe lying isn't all Bad"

So, in the shower today a thought about the readings occurred to me. Yes, I know. The shower? It seems that all my best thinking is usually in the shower. Who knows. I've simply learned to accept it.

You see, my daughter is going through quite the “lying phase”. At eight, she denies almost before she has had time to hear the question. It is almost a protective measure. If she hears the question being phrased in a certain tone, she begins to deny. For example: “Emily, did you flush the toilet?”. Now – we all know she did not flush the toilet. We did not hear the toilet flush We can see floating paper evidence of said use of toilet. And yet, she will look at us and lie. Yes. She flushed the toilet. She will stick to it. YES, she flushed the toilet. When faced with the toilet paper still afloat and the joint knowledge that we live in a small house and do not own a silent toilet ( so can hear it flush) – she will persist. YES! SHE FLUSHED THE TOILET!

Now, is this a protective lie? Not really. The worst she would experience is the apparently horrid punishment of flushing the toilet, for real. She isn't protecting us, as her parents, from anything other than the knowledge that she is doing something she really should know better about doing. She gets in trouble when she persists in the defense of the lie, even in the face of irrefutable evidence.

Now, as a teacher, I saw this same behavior. It puzzled me. Why lie about things of little to no consequence. Were these children without a moral compass? Were they the future serial killers of the world? Nope, I don't think so.

What I did wonder about was the testing of their social “technique”, if you will. The “can I sell her this with reasonable certainty that she will believe this” behavior. We know that until children reach a certain cognitive level they have a hard time deceiving. It requires a certain knowledge of theory of mind to think through what someone else might think and tailor your response to what you think they might want to hear – especially if your intent is to deceive them. Toddlers are still mastering walking and running without wiping out – this is a bit beyond their planning skills.

So, is learning to lie part of a larger social schema that has little to do with morality, and much more to do with developing our theory of mind as humans? Is this part of learning to read “cues” from other humans and developing our “gut” instincts? Does being a good liar ( and then perhaps a good hunter or gatherer by protecting your stash of food) have evolutionary benefits?

Furthermore, is there a gendered difference in how we lie and how accurately we can “detect” lies from our own gender and/or the opposite gender?

Now, again. As a teacher, I developed an almost sixth sense about lies. I can read body language like a pro – or maybe as a female, I was socialized to interpret much subtler cues about behavior. Now, my husband is perpetually gobsmacked by our daughters lies. Am I a more suspicious person? Do I assume that all children are liars? Do I possess some quality which developed from a professional knowledge and identity through working with LOTS of children?

Does learning to lie with success ( about non critical issues) actually signal a healthy separation from parent of child? A protection of the privacy of an inner life that does not belong between parent and child?

Godless Killing Machines

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

I really kind of deserved a ticket

Sunday, February 11, 2007

So, today I parked in front of the bakery.

I clearly parked in a "Don't park here for the love of the French Language!" space.

I knew what I was doing. I out on my hazards to run in and get a cup of coffee. I mean - one stinking cup of coffee? Maybe a danoise? I kept my eye on my car. I was looking for the ever vigilant Public Security.

I dart back out to my car and think I am home free.

Damn it. He saw me. He is turning on his lights. He beeps at me. I try to pretend like I have no idea that he is beeping at me. I make the fatal error of smiling at him.

Fuck. Now he thinks I am mocking his Au-thor-I-tie. He gets out of his minivan. I try to be non-chalant. I smile.

He opens with:

"Do you speak English or French? Can you read?"

Me: "English .... what?"

Him: "Can you read?"

My face falls. I struggle within myself. Yes, motherfucker. I can read. I bet I can read a good deal better than you ever dreamed of reading. I bet I could run literary fucking circles around you. I swallow this down and try to fix my face into some kind of vaguely non-hostile expression.

I don't do well. This is what flies out of my mouth:

"Do I read? Well that was more than a little bit condescending, don't you think?"

He looks taken aback a bit.

"Well, we have pictograms if you can't read."

His bluster is beginning to deflate. I stare at him. I am not even trying to look non-threatening anymore. I am now using my best "Teacher/Offended White Woman with a touch of her Black Sister&Mother in Laws/Woman staring at man who is attempting to assert his penile authority over her" look.

"I can assure you that as a PhD candidate at McGill, I can read, perfectly."

He pauses. He is not sure what to do. He then tells me to get out of my car to clean off my license plate!!!

WHAT? My face reflects my inner thoughts. I sputter out, "With what?" as I begin to frantically search the seats for something that could be used to wipe off my dirt encrusted license plate.

I finally find a napkin and get out to begin to wipe off my plates.

This guy was really lucky that Vlad wasn't available. A Public impaling would have commenced and I, frankly, would have thoroughly enjoyed it.

Then he sees my plates. American plates. He knows he can't write me a ticket. He shuffles.

He says: "Well, if the real police couldn't see your plates, they could give you a ticket. Consider this a community service."

I get back in my car.

I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. Or just start cutting people.

I got yer winter right here

Friday, February 09, 2007

The unfortunate saga of what happens when a water main bursts, the sewer freezes over and your "on the street parking" collide.

A true, Montreal story.

Seriously Bitch, get out of my face

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

It is bad enough that you let the kid carry me around like a sack. Why I haven't shredded that meat puppet, I still don't know.

You also make me go outside to pee. You know how fucking cold it is? Do you see how much fucking hair I have had to grow to tolerate this shit?

And that pussy husband of yours? What is up with his sensitive fucking nose? He can't stand the smell of my wet cat food? How did he like my love spray? All I know is that someone better pony up the "Trout Pate" damn soon or there will be hell to pay.

So yeah, go ahead, take pictures of me and wake me up. Keep it up, bitch. I know which pillows are yours and I think we have proven that I am not afraid to piss on them. What's that? You are going to class soon?

Watch your back. And where is this "Smokey" I have been hearing so much about? He just might be worthy. Or he might be a punk ass bitch.

Nameless Cat OUT!

Who knew that scarves have a purpose?

Monday, February 05, 2007

I have to admit it, Montreal Winter - You reign supreme. I have been trying to play off that I am a New England gal, and accustomed to winter and winter-esque weather.

I had my boots, a few hats (I mean the damage to the potential styling sensibility I was woefully trying to pull off far outweighed the need for head warmth) and my gloves.

What I did not have were scarves.

At first, I assumed that women in Montreal ( and men too) just liked the way the scarves looked. They matched the hats to the scarves and looked damn cute. Cute in a way you never see in New Hampshire. I was envious. I wanted to look cute too.

I began to acquire scarves. And matching hats - or hats that could match, at the very least.

For the majority of the winter so far, I understood the scarves to be there to make me look cute. A fun way to add some splashy color to my brown coat.

Today, however, I discovered that scarves have a real purpose. And what could that be? you may ask...

To keep your lungs from freezing which sends you in a nasty coughing spell as the inner workings of your lung tissue struggle in vain to decrystallize so that you can actually filter out the oxygen from the air.

They do this task by filtering the air through the layers you have wrapped around your nose and mouth to warm it, ever so slightly. The scarf also absorbs the mucus that will begin flowing out of your nose, hiding this hideous sight from the eyes of the general public.

The scarf will, if you are lucky, provide some relief to your soon to be chapped to hell lips, as the bitter cold will leach every ounce of moisture from your carefully manicured mouth. Your lips will retract and dry out, as if they were in one of those time lapse know the ones where the flower blooms and dies in 3 seconds?

The final thing the scarf will do? Absorb the tears that spontaneously spout from your eyes, as the wind hits them - flowing in a unique "Over and under" wind shear on your glasses.

I declare you the winner, Montreal winter. Me and my scarf collection will never doubt your power again.

I AM the brainiac on the nerd patrol

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Member when I said I loved this shirt?

Guess what arrived today?

◄Design by Pocket