Not that I need to beg you to excuse my long absence from the Web (I'm sure my lack of any standards lately when thinking of subjects about which to blog have driven all but the most masochist of you away), but this time I really have a good excuse for not Internetting for over two weeks. I've been taking care of this asshole.
Yes, I've taken one more step into the inevitable spiral of crazy by procuring this cat. But really, I'm just hedging my bets against going directly to hell, as I extended my goodwill to rescue this little nightmare from the shelter.
"But Marissa, how can this lil' cutie patootie be such a nightmare when he's so cuuuuuute?"
Well, let me count the ways: 1) He's had to go to the vet twice (come this Wednesday, it'll be three times), costing me precious dollars that could've been spent on something more appropriate (*ahem* offtrack betting *ahem*); 2) He broke a glass by knocking it off a shelf thinking it was a toy; 3) He's lost all his actual toys (seriously, where are they?!), costing me additional, all-important off-track betting funds; 4) He's a cat.
It turns out, I'm not really a cat person. In fact, I'm quite afraid of them overall. I used to have a theory that they had no souls (much like gingers) and, thus, were destined to steal humans' by staring them down with their demon yellow eyes.
Stop laughing. On a less insane note, cats have sharp claws and sizable incisors. When I play with animals I don't generally like to fear that I'm going to lose large slivers of my skin. I understand love hurts (thank you, Nazareth), but I'm pretty sure that's only supposed to be metaphorical.
And so I'm depending on Humphrey (yes, as in Bogart; yes, as in long for Humps), to grow the Garfield gene. I want his only duties to include: 1) Being fat; 2) Being lazy; 3) Adding witty commentary to my thirtysomething life because life without Garfield is just sad.
Ha! I love other people's cartoon misery.
And speaking of misery, or should I say the opposite of misery (give me a break -- not blogging for a fortnight left my segue skills a little rusty; although my Segway skills are still stellar), I saw the Dismemberment Plan on Saturday night and it was the best live show I've seen in DC. Here's why: There were very few teenagers there and the band was good. Remember when I had the most horrible time at MGMT? Well, Saturday was the exact opposite of that. The musicians were as seasoned as the crowd. Everyone knew what their role was. The band played their hearts out (not literally, ew), and the crowd, mostly full of people who came of age when Emergency & I was released in 1999, reciprocated kindly. People knew the material. People cared about the material. People felt the material. And so did the band. For once, DC rocked. And in case you missed it, here's a subpar photograph I took:
And in case you have no idea who I'm talking about, here's a video from when they performed on Jimmy Fallon on Thursday:
For real, that song is from 1999, yet it still sounds fresher than 90 percent of what's released today. And yes, on that note, your dear author has reached Official Curmudgeon Status, although one with most excellent taste. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go yell at some kids to get off my lawn. Enjoy your Monday.