i am on the edge of a dark precipice. the cusp of a strange and terrible decent beyond the scrambled signals of acceptable cathode ray consumption and it scares me. you see tonight i just watched scrubs for the first time………and i liked it. god help me: i liked it
sure you say so you like some slightly embarrassing sudo-sitcoms: who doesn’t?
you don’t understand
it always starts innocently enough. a little ER twice a week. just a little “trauma-drama” ® only on the weekends. i could quit anytime i wanted. but its a slippery slope we all tread, my friend. little did i know that i was only a few rounds of eppi and a intubation away from chewing my nails and pacing in front of my mailbox, waiting for “season 2 disk three” to arrive. ( note to people of the future: in 2006 we actually had to wait for movies to be PHYSICALLY DELIVERED to our homes via a now extinct service called “the U.S. Mail.” this was also back when we only had FIVE fingers! crazy, huh?)
it all kind of a lab coat blur after that. one day i woke up on the floor — who knows how long i’d been laying there — but i was covered in my own drool and i was watching Grey’s Anatomy.
fuck, man: sometimes i watch M.A.S.H.
that was one thing, but do i wanna cross that line. another “medical show.” really, now it the time for desperate honesty: if i seriously get hooked on one more medical show its suddenly ceases to be a silly way to waste my time and becomes a symptom of something deep-rooted and all together more disturbing.
for instance: the cat rule. i have two cats. that is the maximum number of cats you can have and still be just a person who happens own a couple of cats. anything after that and you’re one of those half-crazed “cat-people.” stinking of salmon and freshstep, peppering the entire english language with w’s and y’s that you know damn well don’t belong there. (”who’s a ittle-wittle fuzzy-wuzzy kitty-witty? )
(”trauma-drama” ® is trademark intellectual property of erratum press all rights reserved.)

this is bela gato. i don’t know if you can tell by the picture, but bela is a lot of cat. roughly 20+ lbs. of cat. he’s all the cat that anyone could conceivably need. (”so why”, you ask, “did we you another cat?” well, i’ll cover that when i’ve finished up the “my favorite things” series and start on my “things that wake me up twelve times a night and mutilate my feet” series. Coming soon!) he’s great company, well spoken, and only pisses on things if you leave them on the bathroom floor. ( which, unfortunately, includes the bathroom rug. i am in the habit of leaving most forms of carpeting on floor, the bathroom rug especially. but then, i was raised by wolves. )
some people have suggested that bela may be a touch portly.
like any dotting mum, must i vehemently insist that he is merely big boned. and, trust me, this is not easy.
people say things. contrary things.
like when –say — your landlords come in when they think you’re sleeping (maintenance) and shout “OH SWEET JESUS, HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING THAT FAT IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE!!!????”
it is even harder to remember when, as you sleep, you are being scaled by felines like you’re the sheet-capped Mount “that lady who feeds me.”
you know how the principal of the bed of nails works? you know how distributing the weight evenly over all the points decreases the pain felt?
well, imagine the exact OPPOSITE of that. its like being walked on by a watermelon with chopsticks for legs.