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.




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.

judgy cat


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



“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.