I am disgusting and frighten off commuters

I have a cold.

I know, this is not unprecedented in human history. It isn't even a bad cold, at least not yet. But my throat is sore and my nose is runny.

A more together woman would have brought tissues on the train, or maybe a nice lace hanky with her monogram in the corner, but I am not one of those women. So I spent the ride sniffling intermittently, which seemed better than letting the snot run down my face and cling to my chin like baby food.

I guess the woman next to me had enough. She said, "Get a tissue! God!" and stormed off to the magical part of the subway car where everyone brings tissues and little plastic bags for proper disposal.

Dear Subway Lady:

I am sorry I was revolting. I did not think to bring a tissue. If it makes you feel any better, I also forgot my lunch bag. I did not mean to have an unplanned-for cold in your presence. A tissue would have been nice. Maybe you could have offered me one, if you had one. That would have been nice, too.

Life in New York City must be very hard for someone with your delicate sensibilities. You are too good for this world.

Love, Tissue-less Ground Squirrel

Romeo and Juliet, and cell phones

It's been said before that Romeo and Juliet would have resolved much more happily had T-Mobile been around in Shakespeare's time. Juliet could have sent her beloved a text: "Hey, Romeo, luv u 4evah, don't kill urself." And Romeo could have replied: "U wanna hook up? C U in the crypt."

It would have been awesome, and the Montagues and Capulets could have had a good, long laugh about their little rapscallions' behavior.

Which led me to think how even more awesome it would be if they had IM.

CapChick: O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo. Deny thy father, 'cause his shit is whack.
LoverBoy: No worries. He's watchin' porn on his laptop. LOL.
CapChick: Can u come over 2nite? I Netflixed "Othello."
LoverBoy: Talk about whack. Those dudes make me wanna kill myself. Depressing shit. BRB.
...
LoverBoy: OK, back.
CapChick: Where'd u go?
LoverBoy: Had to pee. Sorry.
CapChick: So, r u coming over? I miss u.
LoverBoy: Waitin' 4 Dad 2 pass out in his beer. OK, BITCH.
CapChick: Did u just call me a bitch?
LoverBoy: No, BITCH. Means Basically in the Clear, Homey.
CapChick: Does not. U just made that up.
LoverBoy: No, really, I got it off of netlingo.com.
CapChick: U r sooooooooo lame. But I love u anyway, pookie.
LoverBoy: U know I would die 4 u. B there soon.

Actually, now that I think about it, we're all better off that they killed themselves.

My dad is deaf, so I roar

Having my dad sleep over our apartment is a weird experience -- partly because we don't have a bed set up for him yet, so I end up sleeping with dad and Devon takes the couch.

Dad wakes up, like, every hour on the hour to take a leak. Seriously. His bladder must be the size of a shot glass. I'm so happy I declined the prostate option at conception.

Every hour or so, Dad ambles out of bed and looks for the bathroom, because he forgets where it is every. single. time. The bathroom is 3 feet from the bed. He would see it if he simply turned around. I try to tell him where it is, but he can't hear me, because his hearing aids are in the change bowl in the living room, so it ends with me gesturing wildly and screaming, "IT'S OVER THERE! THE BATHROOM'S OVER THERE!"

In the semi-darkness, I might as well be a giant mute octopus.

My main concern is that Dad will pee the bed, which is not outside the realm of possibility. That's why I sleep on Devon's side and Dad sleeps on my side.

The things I do for love.

Leave my soul alone

Pet peeve of the day: Massage-therapy ads that promise to relax my soul.

Leave my soul alone. If you are touching my soul, you are standing way too close. Back up before I bite you.

This has been a public-service announcement from someone who wants you to back your shit away from her soul slowly and with your hands in the air.

Shit happens

If anyone wants one, there's a kitty carrier lined with cat shit on my balcony, free just for you.

I'd been planning to take the Fatass with me since before Mom died, but our moving plans derailed that temporarily. Didn't want three animals freaking out about the new place at once.

So this weekend, I finally brought the Fatass home.

It took a little coaxing with the end of a rolling pin to get her out from under my father's bed. Ten minutes later, we were on the road. That was when we noticed the smell. A lot of Queens smells like shit. I mean, the Mets play there, so I assumed the smell was coming from somewhere nearby. But the smell followed us to Brooklyn, then to the front door of our apartment. No doubt the Fatass had been eating burritos for lunch. Even opening all four windows didn't help.

We stopped for a beer before bringing the cat upstairs, not looking forward to braving the odor. The beer was good. The ambiance was OK. The right side of the bar was exposed brick and fancy booze. The left side looked like somebody's angry girlfriend tore all the pictures off the wall and left the stupid poster of the bull with the ring in its nose.

Thirty minutes later, we were hauling the cat and her stench into the elevator, and I battled between laughing so hard I couldn't stop crying and suppressing my gag reflex. Her shit is foul, y'all.

When we finally got her onto the balcony, the problem was clear: The Fatass had shit smeared all over her back paws, and the inside of the carrier looked like another cat had exploded out of her ass.

Once we cleaned her off, she scurried under the bed, and then we remembered: We hadn't introduced her to the kitty litter box yet. Devon broke out the mop, and the Fatass' internal monologue went something like this: "Oh, hell! Blue foamy thing! Back! Back! Damnit, my claw's stuck in the blue foamy thing! Sons of bitches! Run for the closet!"

The only one who seemed happy with the situation from beginning to end was Fitz. Her internal monologue was more like: "Something's going on! It's going on over there! What's going on? Can I see? Oh boy, it's still going on! Yay!"

I'm pretty sure the Fatass is gonna kill us in our sleep.

My Engrish is gooder than your Engrish

Posted inside the Teriyaki Boy on 9th Ave. and 57th Street. It's like people WANT me to blog about them.

1 Senate + 1 House of Representatives = Fun for the whole family

I had to watch the presidential address, because, as a liberal, feminist, socialist, communist, fascist, Nazi, politically confused elitist, when my Messiah speaks, I listen. Also, because if I didn't, my entire office would be talking about it today, and I would be outed as the clueless plebe who blew the night watching the "Cake Boss" marathon.

I was rewarded with Joe Wilson of South Carolina calling Barack Obama a liar from the safety of his padded seat. It's like he forgot for a moment that he wasn't on an episode of Dr. Phil. That happens to me sometimes.

Back in the day, Obama could have gone all Aaron Burr on his ass, or even Dick Cheney. That would have been sweet. But then we'd have all those people "thinking of the children" and everything, and we probably wouldn't even get to see it on TV. Americans are a bunch of weenies these days.

BTW: No one in my office even mentioned the speech. They were all probably watching the "Cake Boss" marathon.