Obviously these wigs had to be locked up. Otherwise some (like ME) would steal 'em. Because OMIGODYOUGUYS, I love fake hair.
Photo taken at the totally sketchy "flea market" near my sister's house in North Carolina. I was in heaven, although I did throw away the $1 lipstick because it tasted like a crayon.
- Cat/BadKitty
PS, does this picture remind anyone else of that old lady porn mag, "Grey Box"?
You know when you meet a pair of shoes, and there is that moment of recognition, like you were together in a past life, or an alternate plane of existence, but somehow you were separated through time and space? But thanks to all of the photon energy in the universe aligning at the right moment, you were magically brought back together again, and are now complete?
Today I had one of those moments. Behold my new green shoes: DKNY clogs with a perforated design on the toe box.
Yes, those are stars on the toes. Also, they are green. Green like grass in a codeine induced dream.
I can just tell we're going to be very happy together, at least for a season or two. I might sleep in them tonight. I mean, I might forget to take them off "by accident".
And because I would want to know: yes, extremely comfortable, Loehmann's, under $50.
Isn't it beautiful? This is the "chocolate silk pie" that Chief has been requesting for his birthday for the past 12 years.
We've had Hawaiian celebrations, spirited ourselves away to Mendocino or Monterey, and partied in literally a dozen different ways, but I've never come through with the chocolate silk pie.
Today I finally made it for him. I guess this is his lucky year!
Also, the magic pink sunglasses look SPECTACULAR on him.
Happy Birthday Chief! You're my favorite Big Mick ever!
This is Dolly, my DIL. She wants to make you do her bidding.
It's that time of year again, when my in-laws plan a vacation, and at the last minute their dogcare plans fall through. So guess where they turn? To me, because they know I adore one of their dogs*, plus they know I'm a soft touch.
So that means Dolly the Dog-in-Law (DIL) is keeping me company this week. And I love the company, but man is she a manipulative little shit!
I've written before about her foxy good looks and fluffy tail. About how she calls me a pink ape and dares me to drop little blue bags of dog poo in mailboxes. And about the evil, stone-cold, killer heart that beats in her adorable doggy chest and makes her want to DESTROY other dogs, birds, garbage trucks, Fedex dudes ... the list is long, and in Dolly's mind unified by the belief that she MUST KILL THEM ALL.
Really? You think you're in charge? We'll see about that.
Since I believe in my own evolutionary superiority, and I've watched several episodes of Cesar Millan's Dog Whisperer show, we work things out. She's not allowed to pull on the leash. I make her sit and watch the other dogs -- and not lunge/growl/snarl -- as they walk by. She has to sit before we cross a street, and she's not allowed on the couch.
For the first few days of each visit, every single one of these rules is tested. Repeatedly. But by the end of a week, Dolly has come to terms with my way of doing these things.
That's when she gets creative. Like, today when she tricked me into taking her for an extra mid-day walk.
Hey! I gotta show you something! It's outside! C'mon, quick, before it's gone!
Dolly had me utterly convinced that an explosive dog diarrhea attack was imminent. She followed me around from room to room, sat outside the bathroom door, made little whining noises, and even barked a couple of times. She's not a barker, so that really got my attention.
When I picked up my shoes, she jumped around and did an excited dance. I didn't even finish tying them, just grabbed my keys and got her out the door. I fully expected her to make a beeline for the nearest patch of grass so she could poop or piss or whatever else she needed to do.
Nope.
She stuck her nose in the air, and skipped down the street, pleased as punch to be outside on a nice day. We went almost a full block before she bothered to stop and squat, and then hardly anything came out -- barely a dribble of pee!
In other words, that entire "follow-Cat-around-and-whine" song and dance was an act she cooked up because she was bored. And I fell for it.
That's okay. In fact, it's part of the fun, to get tricked by this crafty little dog. Plus she was right. It was more exciting to go for a walk than to watch me write for another hour.
Indeed, an afternoon papasan chair nap is much more enjoyable after a nice brisk walk in windy San Francisco.
*The Other Dog-in-Law
So yeah, there is a second DIL, whom I call "Other Dog". Because when I visit my in-laws it sounds like this:
"Hellllloooo Dolly!!!!!! How's my girl? Did you miss me? Oh yes you did!!!!!"
Tail wagging, hugs, and a general lovefest ensue. Then a sharp, nasty little bark breaks through the happy reunion Dolly and I are enjoying.
Seinfeld pause.
"Oh. Hello Other Dog."
I just never took to the little guy. Maybe it's his messed up tooth. Or maybe it's his piss poor attitude. Anyway, I don't know where he's staying this week, and I don't care. Because he's Other Dog. I don't even know his real name. It could be Tyler or Romaine or Queen Elizabeth. Don't ask me.
Of course my father-in-law loves Other Dog. He probably even knows it's real name.
- Cat/BadKitty
It's so easy to dismiss Chris Harrison, host of ABC reality TV crack, The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. Easy to consider him a mere masculine Vanna White, who does little but carry trays of long stem roses and verbalize hyperbole about The Most Dramatic Rose Ceremony EVER!
But you would be wrong. Still, perfectly coiffed waters run deep. Thanks to the magic of blogging now we have access to the cavernous depths of Chris' mind. And he's awesome!
He has opinions! He talks smack about the contestants! He's funny!
Go check out his post on last night's Bachelorette episode, where he gets in some fantastic digs at Wes, The Dumbest Contestant Ever. You will be hooked.
I forget exactly where this thoughtful fellow began his life, but now he lives in the Metropolitan Museum in NYC, near the Assyrian stuff. I just love his friendly, solicitous expression, and those hands.
God how I love those hands.
I have decided that he is a magic talisman, ready to help me -- and anyone else with a crazybusyrushed Wednesday -- get through another 12 hour day.
You're welcome.
- Cat/BadKitty
A great day in May: Walk across the Golden Gate Bridge, enjoy a picnic lunch by the giant sailor statue on the other side, and take tons of pictures along the way.
A perfect day in May: Doing the above with my dad, "Mr. San Francisco Legs '09."
See how the red cups make it feel like a "special" occasion?
Last week a whole passel of family hit town to help celebrate two birthdays -- my aunt's 50th and my 40th.
The frequently/usually frigid SF weather cooperated for several days, including a gorgeous sunny day last Friday. I met up with the gang at the Ferry Building, where we stocked up on Cowgirl Creamery cheese, a salumi sampler from Tasty Salted Pig Parts, a couple of loaves of Acme Bread, and many, many bottles of wine.
Outside by the Bay, we commandeered several chairs, a bench, and a cast iron table, on which we spread out our gourmet picnic, made only slightly ghetto by the red plastic cups.
My east coast family members were amazed that we could drink a bottle of wine while sitting there, soaking up the sun while gazing at the Bay Bridge and Alcatraz.
Okay, we did more laughing and teasing than gazing serenely, but the location was delightful, as was the company.
San Francisco: the best place in the world to drink in public with loved ones on a sunny Friday in May.
"Leave it to Robert Downey Jr. to turn Sherlock Holmes into a wisecracking action hero who ends up handcuffed naked to a bed."
AT LAST! A Guy Richie movie someone will want to see besides Guy Richie. Tickets, please!
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