How to drive someone crazy from 1100 miles away

29 May 2006

Every blog needs cat pictures

I am one of those never speechless people. I always have something to rant about. And now that I have this open forum in which to spew the masses of crapola floating around in my nearly-translucent gray matter, I can't think of a damn thing to say. Okay, maybe some background?

I wait tables, and no, I am not still in school. I do it for a legitimate living. Bite me.

I have a midget cat named Eskimo, under whose name I post to my best friend's personal blog (go ahead and psychoanalyze, I've heard it all). This is the midget kitty. He is a breed called Munchkin, and they carry the gene for dwarfism, like Dachsunds and Basset hounds. So, tiny legs. He looks like a ferret with a cat head, or like a really scared cat slinking along the ground, until he slinks for three days and you realize: he just has no legs.

I have a wonderful man, goes by the name Yoshi. When I got him, he looked like this:

And yes, he was surprised about the whole thing (more on that someday). That's why he looks like that. That was last February. He has since grown the white skunk stripe out of his hair and moved in with me. More someday why the moving in was such a big honking deal. But I love this little punk rock boy. He cooks, loves Henry Rollins, reads comic books with some edge to them, wants to make movies, and reads me bedtime stories. No shit. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.

Oh, and I knit. I sadly have no pictures of me knitting, and no way to get some any time in the next 20 minutes, so cry your eyes out at the loss. I suppose technically I am a beginner, although I very rarely see anything that intimidates me in a pattern. I just have so few finished objects that I feel I would be doing an advanced knitter a great disservice by equating myself with them. I am actually somewhat philosophical about the knitting. I like a meditative approach. More on that later.

So, I'll have this blog forever, right? Have I bored you enough, can I say more about myself later?

And, Cyn, who the hell are you?


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