The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Like most mornings, her co-dependency in full effect, Sugar set outside the bathroom door this morning while I got ready, plaintively crying as if she were suffering through unbridled Nazi torture.  So I decided to let her in this time, too tired to keep listening to her.  Surely she must be the only cat who enjoys being in a (rather small) bathroom while someone is getting ready, water droplets flying hither and yon.

And so I’m there, brushing my teeth, and I look down to spit out some of the toothpaste and blep!  I accidentally spit a wad of toothpaste on the top of her head.  For a moment, we were both mortified, but I leapt into action, putting my toothbrush down and ripping out some toilet paper to gently wipe it from her face.  But Sugar would have none of it, her internal monologue repeating the phrase, "That didn’t just happen.  That didn’t just happen.  I *know* that didn’t just happen," until I finally held her still long enough to clean her head.

Of course, she still wanted to stay in the bathroom with me afterwards, sitting on top of the toilet watching me go through the normal humdrum morning routine.

They said she was a smart cat when we got her at the pound.  She’d figured out how to open the door to her little room and get out.  But by God, she’s not too bright at times.

My new drag name is Inescapable Caucasia.  ‘Cause white people are everywhere.  They’re inescapable.  Omnipresent, even.  Like God.  It’s annoying.

The word "archdiocese" makes me queasy.

I miss the feeling of being in love with someone for the first time.  The way everything suddenly lights up from within.  The simple splendor the world takes on.  Like it’s just been Windexed.  Of course, the person you’re with is a perk, too, but it’s your own perspective of everything and how it changes that is a uniquely beautiful thing.

From "Judge Judy":
Plaintiff is suing mom’s ex-boyfriend because their dog bit her. She’s accused him of underfeeding the dog

Judge Judy: "And did you feed the dog that night?"
Plaintiff: "Yes."
Judge Judy: "What did you feed him?"
Plaintiff: "Jack in the Box."
Judge Judy: "What do you mean Jack in the Box?"

I had a substitute teacher in seventh grade who had to substitute the day we were taught sex ed. I have never felt quite so sorry for an employed person in my life.

It was just yesterday that I realized that sitcom was the abbreviation for situation comedy.

The reality shows of today are the variety shows of the ’70s: destined to look dated and schlocky just a good few decades from now.

Just purchased my DC/NYC tick today!  Am still sorting out the hotel issue.  I’m just not down for doing all the bloody online research, but may have found a good deal with the Raddison.  Keep your bloody fingers crossed.

Monday night, I had an awful nightmare that revolved around odd things happening in my room  A fan that was freezing cold and wouldn’t turn off, a TV that kept getting louder, furniture moving.  Then the door to the hallway closed shut, and I tried to open it, but some huge force wouldn’t let me.  Then I shouted, "God will protect me!" and I woke up.

I know, I know–very "Nightmare on Elm Street"/"The Exorcist". 

Still, I woke up at 4:00 am, and was too terrified to go back to sleep or even pee.

I have *got* to buy some white sage and smudge that room–nay, that whole damn apartment–asap.

I done had threwd out my back last Monday, and was out all week, my precious PTO piddled away.  Turns out the box spring on my very old bed finally caved in, and I slept on my back all wrong all night. 

I tried to be brave and get into work Monday, since two of the other employment specialists were out, and I was the out of office contact for my manager who was also out, but it was not meant to be.  Instead, I braved my way to the doctor’s, who met my complaint with, "What would you like me to do about it?"

Niiiiice, eh?  Typical fucking Kaiser bullshit.  But he did turn out to be quite nice, explaining that the back had to heal on its own, telling me I needed to use lots of ice on it, and prescribing me this crazy cocktail of narcotics to keep the pain at bay (which I and my beleaguered liver kindly passed on).  And let me tell you, daytime TV sucks vagina.  Not good stuff.

Now I’m back at work.  Catching up on hundreds of emails.  And we have a staff meeting today, one agenda item of which is workplace etiquette.

Charming.