Father’s Day

Happy Father’s Day to my dad, who doesn’t know about my blog and will probably never read this. Dad, ever since I was a little girl, you….
Wait, I’m just gonna call him.

 

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Judgment

The other day, when I looked at my cat from across the room, she shot me a look so hateful I’m convinced she was judging me. Cats are so uppity sometimes, ammiright?! With their prissy walks the way they stand and stare blankly when you call them.

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I have no way of knowing exactly what terrible thoughts her cat mind thinks about me everyday, but I can guess.

So here, in no special order, are some reasons my cat might be judging me on any given day:

  • “Dinner” was saltine crackers with peanut butter. And I ate it over the sink.
  • I haven’t done my dishes in so long there’s mold growing on one of my cereal bowls
  • I liked Twilight so much that I’m re-reading it
  • I’m dancing around my apartment to Ke$ha
  • I kinda like Ke$ha’s new song
  • That second (ok, third) cookie
  • I didn’t finish “The Great Gatsby” before I watched the movie
  • I slept in instead of going running (again)

The divide

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“Hey sports guys.” – how I recently addressed some colleagues of a year and a half because I wasn’t sure of their names. The invisible divide between news and sports is like a journalistic Berlin Wall.

The bell

This morning I put a bell on Frank, one of my two cats. It’s for the benefit of Mouse, the other, smaller cat.

I call it the asshole bell. Mouse will hear the bell and know the asshole is planning his sneak attack.

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