This is gonna go straight to her head.

Meet Kaia. She's our 12-year-old, one-fanged, broken down old kittygato with a terrible chronic sinus condition that makes her sound like Darth Vader. No joke. Just ask any one of our houseguests that have had the pleasure of waking up to her snotty mouth-breathing head on their pillows. (Note to houseguests: that's why I tell you to keep the bedroom door closed.)

Jay and I got Kaia from a farm outside Eugene when she was just six weeks old. We thought she and her littermates were particularly auspicious kittens in that they were born on the day he and I'd met. There was a wee bobtailed kitten that took a particular liking to us, but I was totes weirded out by her missing tail. Plus, I had my eye on the pretty lil' white kitty with the blue eyes.

Jay forked over her $5 adoption fee and we were off to the races. Actually, we were off to PetSmart for some kitten-related purchases. I quickly paid Jay back the $5 because I wanted it to be very clear that she was MY kitten. Unfortunately, Kaia never got the memo on that, because from that day forward, she was his lil' furball entirely.

Kaia's lived in eight different locations with us over the years, and in some of those places she was allowed outside, but some apartments did not feature safe areas for her to explore. In our last house, we actually built a screened-in room on the patio where she could kick it. The first time we let her out into the backyard of our current house, she skedaddled under the fence and hid out in our neighbor's yard.

And yet, when Kaia batted those blue eyes at Jay recently and started mewling at the screen door, he let her out. We were surprised that she didn't bail right out of the yard - instead she just found a nice spot under a shrub and hung out. For hours. Kaia straight up worked the system...and Jay. He thinks it's hilarious; I'm just concerned about the possibility of fleas and the dirt she tracks into the house.

So that's why I know, that despite the mock-horrified tone of his text to me tonight, deep down he's really swelling with pride over Killer Kaia's recent exploits in the yard. Here's what I read as I sat enjoying some delish mac 'n cheese and half-priced bottled wine at Montage tonight:

Kaia is an official predator. She done kilt herself a bird. I am gonna leave her out in case she hurls any bits.

Uhhhh...GROSS.

He also informed me when I arrived home that she was carrying the bird's carcass around in her mouth. And that it was headless. And he couldn't find the head, so he'd assumed she'd eaten it.

I totally threw up a little in my mouth when he told me that.

I'm headed upstairs now to brush my teeth and find a way to make sure Killer Kaia doesn't get anywhere near my pillow tonight.

Has it really been over a week?

Since my last post on this here bloggity blog?

FOR SHAME!

It's certainly not been for want of exciting happenings to share with you all. I have been bizzy. BIZZZZ-AAAYY! Plus, there's also been a few more fun times at the office recently. You know, the kind of fun times I'm wont to have...where other people do stupid things that I'm called upon to fix? Yeah, there's been a lot of that lately.

I know it doesn't always make for the most exciting blog posts, the listening to me bitch about coworkers thing...but I chose to believe that you love to hear my colorful descriptions of the things I'd like to do if said coworkers, myself and a crow bar were ever in a dark alley together. It's fun, right?! Yay for violence!

Anyhoots, last weekend we had a series of adventures I can't wait to share with you. Once I find the time and everything. But that time will not be found during this weekend.

For this is the weekend of Sasquatch.



The Sasquatch! Music Festival is a 3-day rock-your-face-off par-tay in central Washington at the Gorge Amphitheater. When I first heard the lineup for this year's show, I went back and forth trying to decide whether to buy tickets. My fave band at present is a lil' group called Kings of Leon (have I mentioned that one or a million times?) and they were scheduled to headline on Saturday, the first night of Sasquatch.

Shaz and I saw KoL back in October at the Schnitz, and the show was fantastic. But I had a dilemma...I wanted Jay to come see them, but I doubted he'd be interested in a daylong (let alone a 3-day festival) concert surrounded by seething humanity and dirty hippies. Well, mainly the dirty hippies. He's not a fan. Jeez, who am I kidding? Neither am I.

And then my problem was solved! KoL announced a Portland date for August, and I immediately bought two tickets for Jay and myself.

When I mentioned it to Shaz, she seemed a little bit heartbroken. We were chillin' at the Casa Ridiculoso that night, enjoying a few cocktails with my Mamacita when I broke the news.

And here's where things got a little blurry.

It seems that during the discussion about upcoming KoL concert dates, the Sasquatch Festival and the best ratios of vodka-to-tonic, I decided that if there were still one-day tickets to Sasquatch for the Saturday KoL show, I was gettin' them.

I don't know if any of you have had the unfortunate occurrence of drunken online ordering before, but let me tell you two things. Firstly, it's great fun and terribly exciting to go from talking about taking some multi-hour road trip to the center of Washington to typing in a few numbers, hitting [enter] and having tickets show up in your gmail account.

But the next day, you might just find yourself with a shizzload of buyer's remorse. Believe that.

After placing my order, I made up the guest rooms for my soused partners in crime, Shaz and Mamacita, and toddled myself off to bed. The next morning I slowwwwly made my way downstairs to find Jay in the kitchen chatting it up with the two of them. Apparently, they'd filled him in on the Sasquatch ticket purchase and he was a bit befuddled.

Jay: Why'd you only buy Saturday night tickets?

Me: 'Cuz that's the night Kings of Leon are playing! Duhhh.

Jay: Yeah, but you already bought Kings tickets to the August show here in Portland...

Me: So? Those are for you and me, and Shaz wanted to see them again - so I got tickets to Saturday. I got three tickets, actually - Mamacita's coming, too.

Jay: Well, I didn't really need to go, so you could have taken Shaz with you in August. I just don't know why you didn't buy Sunday tickets instead - all these other bands you love are playing on Sunday: TV on the Radio, Jane's Addiction...and Nine Inch Nails.

Me: [a beat...and another beat] Wait. WAIT. OHMYGIDDYGODSWHATDIDIDO?!? Can I switch the tickets? Can I get a refund? DAMMITDAMMITDAMMITDAMMIT!!!

Jay: See, that's exactly why we need a breathalyzer on the computer.

Ah well...in the end, everything worked out. KoL ended up canceling their August show in favor of adding another concert in Vancouver B.C., so my guilt about buying tickets to two of their concerts within a 4-month period (and missing out on TVOTR and NIN) was alleviated by that turn of events. I'm still kicking myself about not getting tickets to the Sunday show at Sasquatch, but I'll deal with it.

Plus, two nights in a row would have required camping at the Gorge campground. And I don't know if I could have managed being enveloped by toxic levels of patchouli.

Damn dirty hippies.

My Adult-Onset ADD

I never noticed this growing up, but it seems as I get older I find it harder and harder to sit still for any length of time. I joke that it's my Adult-Onset Attention Deficit Disorder...but seriously, it's not always a laughing matter. I'm a DOer, not a SITter, and one of the banes of my existence is the 2+ hour meeting.

The last decade of my life has included waaaaay too many of these multiple hour meetings. I'm usually okay for the first hour or so, and if I'm actively involved in the discussion, it can even stretch out a little longer. But if it's one of those everyone-sit-while-someone-speaks-AT-you kinds of meetings, I'm a goner. As the minutes tick by, I start to doodle. Trees mainly...sometimes flowers or just repeating patterns of some kind. What do you think that means? That I'm a closet sociopath? Well, that's just...you know...entirely possible.

Eventually I'll just start staring. Sometimes out a window if one's available, but more likely, I'll stare at you until you feel my beady gaze and meet my eyes. And that's when my mission shifts to making you laugh like a hyena. Most of the time I'm successful. It's real entertaining for me.

Yesterday I found myself in one of those hateful meetings.

As per usual, it started off okay. The speaker had some energy, wasn't blathering on at us in a monotone voice and her slides were blessedly free of loads and loads of text. She'd even thrown in a few pictures of stupid people doing stupid things to get the occasional laugh.

And then it started.

I got bored. And I started noticing things. Like the fact that the presenter looked and sounded just like Stuart's Mom from Mad TV. Horrors.

When we got about 45 minutes in, I really started to lose it. I'd noticed that I had actually learned ONE NEW FREAKIN' THING in the entire time I'd sat there. I couldn't help but wonder - couldn't this shizz have been sent in an email? Why are we all here? GOOD GOD, I'M GONNA SET SOMETHING ON FIRE!!!!

And then it got so much worse.

Because that's when I noticed the guy sitting just to my left in the row in front of me. Of course, I'd noticed him when we sat down - he was a big damned fella, and not one you'd miss in a crowd...what with the bein' roughly 400 pounds and everything - but what I hadn't noticed until that point was that he was a big ol' mouthbreather.

It was loud, y'alls. I thought that fool was wearing a sleep apnea mask for all the noise comin' outta his face.

In addition to Darth Vader in front of me, I was also dealing with a vicious assault on the back of my seat coming from the row behind me. These chatty little betches were having a regular ol' coffee clatch behind me, rarely paying attention to what the presenter was saying, and chiming in with their own peanut gallery comments when they did actually manage to catch part of the convo.

I was growing ever more rage-y as the second hand swung around the clock. Slowly the rage turned to panic as I realized small bits of my soul were dying every minute I sat there.

That's when the unthinkable happened...the woman sitting directly behind me gasped quietly, then released a giant, disgustingly WET sneeze right on the back of my head.

I involuntarily scrunched up my shoulders, closed my eyes and thought "Omigod - did that JUST HAPPEN? REALLY?! SERIOUSLY?!?!" Oh yes, dear ones...yes it did. I willed myself to find my happy place and not stand up, turn around and scream "You diseased WHORE! How dare you?!"

But that's what I wanted to do. I credit my ever-increasing capacity for impulse control for keeping me from wedging that chick's neck between my foot and the floor. Look, I have anger issues, okay? Don't you judge me.

Fortunately, just a minute or so later, we were given a break. As I headed out of the room, a coworker told me to be sure to return in five minutes, but I just replied "I'm peacing out, man. PEACING OUT!" and rolled back to my desk.

Sometimes, I really wish we had Silkwood-style showers at work. I could have totally gone for some of that decontamination action right there.

You like?

Then you'd better head here immediately. Particularly if your name is Steverino.

I just have to share this critical information...

Over the last week, I've been made aware of not one, but TWO fantastical websites that offer hours of reading enjoyment. I figured it would be terribly selfish to keep these bad boys under my hat, so here now are two sites that y'alls need to be knowin' about...

First off, Texts From Last Night. You know those drunken text messages that you sent the last time you got knee-walkin' drunk? Well, TFLN does. Because the person you sent 'em to has probably already entered them into the upper right hand corner of the site in an attempt to get them on the website. And by "person" I mean me. And by "probably" I mean DEFINITELY. I had to do a quick search for any texts sent from the 503 area code to make sure nothing I'd sent had been posted, and so far...so good. Thanks to Galatea for blogging about this treasure trove of hilarity.

A few samples to get you wanting more:

(308): I think i sorta joined a cult last night

Whoops - but seriously, who hasn't that happened to?

(517): he confessed his love for me, threw up on my pillow and then fell asleep on said pillow. i met him last night. (231): better than last weekend. things are really looking up for you.

Yeah, something about this one sounds terribly familiar, but 517 and 231? I'm safe.

The other website you're gonna wanna add to your Google Reader post haste is Awkward Family Photos. There are some gems on this site, people - GEMS! Thanks to Kates for sharing this one with me. I'm heading here whenever I need a laugh FOR SURE.

Exhibit A

After viewing this photographic festival of color, my friend Renee said "That can't have been taken in this country. Or this dimension." I totally agree. I'm fairly certain it was taken on Planet Totally Tubular in the Fashion Tragedy Galaxy. There's plenty more where that came from, folks. Click that link...do it now.

Tonight's Tomfoolery

Here's where I'm headed tonight...following a brief introductory babysitting experience with The Nephew while my sister goes for a run. I figure it's my little Mother's Day gift to her. But p'raps not to my ears. That kid can get a little shouty when he's hungry.

WordToYourMotherPDX.com

Another Day, Another Lunch 'N Gun Club.

What's that? What? You wanna know more about Lunch 'N Gun club? Because it sounds AMAZING?

That's cuz it is.

But I can't take any credit for the name. It was coined by one of my fave bloggers, JL over at Little Lost Robot. A while back, he posted something about his Lunch 'N Gun Club. He and a coworker would run out to a local indoor shooting range and work on their handgun skillz during the lunch hour. I sure liked the sound of that.

Unfortunately, there are no indoor handgun ranges anywhere within a lunch hour drivetime - but there is a trap and skeet shooting club just 10 minutes north of my office. I talked my friend Jason into becoming a charter member of our own Lunch 'N Gun Club and off we went. Our first time out, I had to borrow one of his 12 gauge shotguns...and that damn thing BEAT ME UP. I decided that before we hit the club again, I'd be finding myself an appropriate firearm.

After lots of research, I found the perfect fit - in a youth shotgun. What? I'm 5-foot-2! Lemme tell ya, this little lovely is perfect.

But after sorting that biz out, I was determined to find myself a carrying case - and not one of those camouflage dealies, either. As always, I turned to the gloriousness of Google. And that's when I found the website for Ladies Gun Cases. Tell me you wouldn't be completely intrigued after seeing this website banner:

I'm no hunter, but I am hella competitive - and damn straight I'm a lady! Sign me up!

I checked out the available options and quickly saw this tapestry case. WTF? Am I 80? Do I have grandchildren and drive a Buick? Yeah, no.

Moving right along...oh, pink camo? REALLY? Mayhap I'd be down with that particular choice if I was one of those chicks on My Big Fat Redneck Wedding, but I'm not. And thank jebus for that. Have you seen that show?! Skerry stuff.

Finally, I navigated over to the fabric selections and found this fantabulous case. If I didn't know better, I'd guess that this particular fabric could be found in the home decor section over at the local Joann Fabric store. It's classy, yo.

I just hope it gets here soon. So I can bedazzle that shiz.

I Want This.

Like, yesterday.

from Smart Times Magazine

Happy Cinco de Mayo, betches!

I don't know what y'alls have planned for today, but I'll tell you right now - my evening's gonna include some of these right here. 'Cuz nothin' celebrates the outcome of the Battle of Puebla (yeah, I Wikipedia'd it) like some frosty cold margaritas!

Viva la victory 'n stuff!

ZOMG - it's here! Pretty in Plaid is here!

Today is a red letter day for this girl right here. 'Cuz today's the day that Jen Lancaster's new book comes out! It's called Pretty in Plaid - A Life, a Witch and a Wardrobe, or, The Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Ego-Maniacal, Self-Centered Smart Ass Phase.

I discovered Jen's website Jennsylvania years ago and lemme tell you, this chick consistently brings the funny. I thought I did a fairly decent job attracting the sh*t neighbors and crazypants types in the world, but Jen takes it to a whole 'notha level. And then blogs about it for our reading pleasure.

She's also written several books that I've enjoyed very muchly. My hands down fave was Bright Lights, Big Ass - her recollection of living in Chicago, surrounded by asshats. What? It happens.

I'm also super dooper excited about Miz Lancaster's book signing later this month at Powell's Books. She was here in May 2008 for a reading of her last tome, Such a Pretty Fat, where Shazzy and I got a chance to meet her. And she is adorable, truly the epitome of snark and sass. Most importantly, she let us take a picture with her in front of the velvet KISS painting. That right there is amahhhzing.

When I grow up, I totally want to BE her. That's okay, right? So long as I don't make a ladysuit out of her?*

*Dudes, seriously. You need to bone up on your Silence of the Lambs trivia and shizz.

Role Models. I sooo wish it worked like that.

Mah mans and I had a lazy Sunday at home this weekend. He's still recovering from the swine flu, and I think I must have developed a sympathy illness. At least, that's what I'm gonna call it...so I don't have to admit to my complete lack of motivation to get out of bed before noon, shower or be a productive member of society.

We burned through our shared viewing options on the DVR pretty quickly. While we're both addicted to stellar VH-1 programming like Tough Love and Daisy of Love and have no problem watching those programs together, I've been unable to talk him into watching "my" shows like Castle (Nathan Fillion is The Hotness) and Gossip Girl. Once the DVR queue ran dry and the Netflix movies had been watched, we decided to review our On Demand options.

We settled on Role Models. Mainly because I'll pay cold hard cash to watch Paul Rudd SLEEP, but also because I love me some Jane Lynch. And you know what? I think I laughed harder than Jay during the movie, which was unusual since he's usually a bigger fan of gross boy humor than me. You know, being a boy himself and everything.

I think the primary reason I liked the movie so much was because I deeply, deeply wish all of my interactions with children could go a little somethin' like that. Anyone that knows me is well aware of my astoundingly foul mouth - something I'm quite glad I'm able to keep under wraps on this here bloggity blog. But damn - if I never had to worry about tempering my conversation topics or dropping f-bombs, I'd truly consider spending more time with the wee folk.

Look here, I don't want you to think I haven't tried with the kidlets. I have. Back when I was in school in Eugene, I volunteered with the Police Activities League to do crafts with underprivileged kids. We'd meet up in a portable classroom outside a local elementary school and make macaroni necklaces and glitter paintings and assorted other crap. It was fun, but I was totally paranoid to ever say anything beyond "Please pass the puff paints" or "Your dragon looks awesome, Joey" after I'd gotten in trouble for mentioning to one of the 3rd graders that Christianity wasn't the only religion out there. What? The little girl brought it up first! And she didn't believe that Judaism existed! I was simply giving FACTS!!

Whatever. I'm over it. And now that I've got friends who are raising kids, I've got a better understanding of which topics are appropriate for discussing with other peoples' children. Religion and sexual orientation, NO. Favorite zoo animals and cartoons, YES. Got it.

But wouldn't it be super fun to be brutally honest with kids? Oh, how I'd enjoy telling little Sierra or Colton "Guess what? Your parents are raising you in what is essentially a cult. You're gonna be a social pariah in high school and you'd better plan on spending the majority of your 20's in hard core therapy."

On second thought, maybe it's better that I just continue the kid embargo for a while.

Day 4: Yer Gonna Have to Tear Us Away From Tonopah

On our way south from Reno to Las Vegas, we made a quick stop for gas and snacks in a little mining town called Tonopah. And we really liked what we saw. Maybe it was the quaint main street, or the way the sun looked setting beyond the hills surrounding the town. I'll tell you one thing - it certainly wasn't the personable nature of the chick working behind the counter at the gas station...if she'd been paid by the ounce for that attitude oozing out of her, she'd have been a rich woman.

On our way back north to Boise, Shelby lobbied particularly hard for a stop in Tonopah. It wasn't exactly on the way, and added about 90 minutes to our total trip, but we decided to go for it.

I was hella bummed that the Hotel Mizpah is no longer open for biz.

And I'm sure glad we did. Tonopah was FANTASTIC! And I'm not just sayin' that because Shelb and I found our one true love in town - the Club House Saloon. It was dark and smoky, filled with patrons with questionable dental hygiene - but the drinks were $2.75 and the jukebox was FREE. Can you believe it? A free jukebox loaded with all the best hair band classics.

What? Did somebody say hair band? Shelby did her part to keep us entertained while kickin' it in the Club House, selecting a few hours' worth of Poison, Kid Rock and Bon Jovi songs for our listening pleasure. She also managed to rock what in a normal environment would be damn near toxic levels of denim - but in Tonopah? She fit in just fine.

After a few rounds, Lori began to inject some reality into the situation. She got all logical and stuff and started dropping facts on us about drive times and plane departures and stuff. I argued that you don't look a $2.75 cocktail in mouth, Lori, and Shelb posited that free jukeboxes don't grow on trees, but Lori was undeterred. In the end, she was successful in her efforts and we agreed to let her responsible ass drive us onto Ely, Nevada, where we'd spend the night.

But first, we took a quick tour around Tonopah, checking out the mining dioramas celebrating the history of the town. This statue outside the post office was particularly exciting - see, that guy there, holding the other fella? He was Big Bill, a strapping young mine worker, just 28 years old. He rescued a bunch of fellow miners during the Belmont Mine fire of 1911 and then DIED. Bummer.

Flat Jason was particularly taken with this handsome couple on the north end of town.

I proposed that this lil' ditty right here become the motto of Tour de Bohrer. We enjoyed ourselves some hi-jinkery and silliness, but we managed to make it through the trip without visiting any local police departments or ending up on a You Tube video (so far as we know).

And fortunately, the collision damage waiver we took out on the rental car kept us from paying dearly for the busted windshield, jacked up suspension and completely effed alignment when we dropped off the car.

I think we can all agree that WE WON the Tour de Bohrer, the Flat Jason Hijack Edition. The original itinerary is still on the docket for later this summer, so Fargo - you better prepare yourself.