Seriously. Last year? SO WITTY. I guess that’s the upshot of spending eight hours a day in an office with your door closed – you have plenty of time to make jokes in your head while watching people go in and out of the porn shop. I posted every day, I wrote articles for Bostonist, and spent every second of my life waiting for 6pm, when I could start drinking in earnest.
Also, things HAPPENED then. Then, I had time to see things through from start to finish. Stories aren’t so funny when you’re still waiting for resolution – and these days, I’m ALWAYS waiting for resolution.
Our neighbors have a party every Halloween. They invite everyone on our street, except for the crack dealers a couple doors down (which I count as a MAJOR party foul. what spices up a dull time like crack? NOTHING, that’s what). This year, our next-door neighbor showed up. I forget his name, because I’m awesome like that, but I know that he keeps possums under his porch and his backyard is like Wild Kingdom. Also, he must be half-deaf, because he’s never once complained about our loud late-night revelry – even John’s surprise birthday party, where our friend Rick stood outside at 3am chain-smoking, screaming about that girl who walked into Logan with the breadboard taped to her chest. Apparently, they are friends and he was outraged at the miscarriage of justice.
So Katsu meets up with neighbor whatshisname at the Halloween party and tells him about our persistent mouse problem. We’d been talking about getting a cat, but since I’m at work more than I’m at home, it’s difficult to find time to go to the animal shelter. Neighbor whatshisname says he has the perfect cat for us; a really sweet, timid animal who could use a good home for the winter.
Mind you, this is neighbor whatshisname that, one hour and three glasses of merlot later, would describe his sister as “having a face like the back of my balls.”
Think about that for a second.
This man literally told me that his SISTER had a face like his TESTICLES. The BACK of his testicles. And this dude’s pushing 70, so I can’t imagine that things are looking too pretty down there.
Neighbor whatshisname with the ugly sister told us to come over anytime and meet sweet homeless Jake, a stray, un-spayed, Maine Coon Cat.
Now that is not me, and that is not Jake, but that IS a Maine Coon cat. Jake is grey, and would come equipped with, quote, “a proud set of balls”. Of course, I’d wandered off during this particular part of the conversation, and my darling husband was all “oh, maine coon cat, sounds great, so awesome” while I and my rational mind and my fully-formed objections were in the bathroom or refilling on chianti and sausage. Now all I’m left with is the threat of massive cat balls on an animal only slightly smaller than myself.
So this is one of those stories with no resolution. I’m just hiding from neighbor whatshisname, hoping I’m not smote down for abandoning what has to be the most fucked-up looking feline on God’s green earth.