There are lots of things I will tell you about last night, if I ever fully wake up and can completely open my eyes. This time will come, however, it is not right now.
Right now is for grunting at co-workers and listening to Lloyd Cole’s “Are You Ready to Be Heartbroken?” on repeat. But I promise in the future there will be talk of my workshop and some more about Grumpy’s.
But for right now all you get is a picture of my cat Madison (which is kind of fitting considering that today is the birthday of his namesake, my favorite dead president James Madison), because apparently I have something to prove. Last night at Grumpy’s, Kelly and I were regaling the diehards still left with tales from the blahg.
I’m not quite sure how it came around but Vodo or someone made a crack about crazy cat ladies. In fact, I believe, this allegation was levelled at me. It might be because I said I have five cats.
I told Vodo that it’s not very nice to call someone a crazy cat lady. He laughed.
“Don’t you know every single woman in her thirties biggest fear is that she’ll become the crazy cat lady?”
“Really?” He asked, surprised.
“Yes!” I said. “Basically you just told me my biggest fear is true.”
“You don’t seem like a crazy cat lady,” he said.
Meanwhile Jags is across the table, her eyes scrunched up with that ‘I smell bullshit’ look.
“Do you really have five cats?” Vodo asked.
“No,” I said.
“I was gonna say,” Jags started. “I read your blahg everyday and you never mention cats. You probably don’t even have cats.”
“I have two.” I said in protest. “I just don’t want to be that crazy person who blahgs about her cats.”
“But you blahg about the meaningful moments in your life,” she said. “You’ve never had a meaningful moment about your cats?”
“I blahged about that time I saw my cat’s penis ,” I said. “But I think that’s before you started reading. Besides, Paco and I are fighting.”
Which surely put me right back into the crazy cat lady camp.