I ain't no stinking feline damn it- don't believe what they are telling you. I just got this this bad kibble habit...
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Munkay's Pussy Ranch
I ain't no stinking feline damn it- don't believe what they are telling you. I just got this this bad kibble habit...
Munkay's Pussy Ranch
Double your pleasure! Double your fun! We are Kit-Kat and know how to make you purrr.
Munkay's Pussy Ranch
Don't yo start no treble wit none of mai girls, or Mama will cut yo up gud. I sitz her on dis porch, I'z do, an I watch mai babies see. Yuz treatz them reaal niz an I no bite offen yo earz.
Munkay's Pussy Ranch
I'm Madam Tippy and I run this ranch. I am a boluptuous cat of huge appetites. I used to be a dude, but now, thanks to that cut happy vet I swing both ways to make you happy honey. Come see me if you want your melons rolled.
Munkay's Pussy Ranch
Mello, my name is Mew Mew and I am a very loving and docile kitten. I will do anything or be anything you want me to be. Strange is my specialty. You want me to be an egg, I'll be an egg. Flexable is my middle name.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The End of the World As I Knew It
6:30am Information super-highway stops working. Rolling of eyes and general grumbling ensues amongst co-workers.
6:40am Realisation that this might be a Serious Problem sets in. Angry phone calls are made to network provider by squad, because being rude and sarcastic always encourages people to try extra hard to help solve your problem quickly.
7:03am All work that can possibly be achieved without access to the internet is now complete, but Managing Director declares that lack of internet access is not a good enough excuse to knock off for the day.
7:26am Co-workers begin aimlessly wandering the office corridors, like ghosts trapped between worlds.
7:47am "I've got the internet" shouts an excited co-worker "oh, no, it's just a hallucination. Damn, I think I'm losing it..."
8:07am Walk new hire list over to Margaret instead of e-mailing. Stop and rest at halfway point, 20 feet. Interduce self to Margaret when finally there.
8:15am "You should just be able to phone the internet or something when this kind of thing happens" speculates staff. I consider dialling IT but the number is on computer. Sit and stare at phone. Then computer. Then phone..
9:00am Nobody cares that it's coffee time, they've already eaten everything they could find in the office out of boredom.
10:15am Co-workers construct an effigy of the internet out of stuff they find in the stationary cupboard, and begin dancing around it in their underwear.
10:20am Network engineer arrives to investigate problem. The Effigy is declared to be our new god.
11:00am Network engineer announces that he cannot fix the problem, and we need to get the main office to look at our line. He is promptly sacrificed to the Effigy. Co-workers examine his entrails to foretell when the downtime will end.
11:13am Co-workers begin arguing over what to do. One faction believes the engineer was a holy prophet and we have angered the Effigy by murdering its messenger, while others believe the Effigy demands more blood before the curse can be lifted.
12:14pm Interdepartmental guerrilla warfare breaks out.
12:34pm Faction 2 is victorious. Surviving members of Faction 1 are taken prisoner and sacrificed to the Effigy - they are disemboweled with the plastic forks left over from when we had a cake for Joan's birthday the other week.
12:55pm We go to Starbucks to get more cake.
1:15pm A new Dark Age begins, co-workers construct a rudimentary settlement around the Effigy.
2:00pm Co-workers gather around a campfire made from our useless computers and listen to tales of a time before time, when words and pictures would fly through the air and appear on a magical window before your very eyes, like dreams.
2:47pm Legend tells of the mythical "Book of Faces" which can destroy time itself - a crusade into the holy land (accounts on the second floor) begins in order to seek out the book.
3:30pm Slink out of office beaten too depressed to do anything but go home and blog.
6:40am Realisation that this might be a Serious Problem sets in. Angry phone calls are made to network provider by squad, because being rude and sarcastic always encourages people to try extra hard to help solve your problem quickly.
7:03am All work that can possibly be achieved without access to the internet is now complete, but Managing Director declares that lack of internet access is not a good enough excuse to knock off for the day.
7:26am Co-workers begin aimlessly wandering the office corridors, like ghosts trapped between worlds.
7:47am "I've got the internet" shouts an excited co-worker "oh, no, it's just a hallucination. Damn, I think I'm losing it..."
8:07am Walk new hire list over to Margaret instead of e-mailing. Stop and rest at halfway point, 20 feet. Interduce self to Margaret when finally there.
8:15am "You should just be able to phone the internet or something when this kind of thing happens" speculates staff. I consider dialling IT but the number is on computer. Sit and stare at phone. Then computer. Then phone..
9:00am Nobody cares that it's coffee time, they've already eaten everything they could find in the office out of boredom.
10:15am Co-workers construct an effigy of the internet out of stuff they find in the stationary cupboard, and begin dancing around it in their underwear.
10:20am Network engineer arrives to investigate problem. The Effigy is declared to be our new god.
11:00am Network engineer announces that he cannot fix the problem, and we need to get the main office to look at our line. He is promptly sacrificed to the Effigy. Co-workers examine his entrails to foretell when the downtime will end.
11:13am Co-workers begin arguing over what to do. One faction believes the engineer was a holy prophet and we have angered the Effigy by murdering its messenger, while others believe the Effigy demands more blood before the curse can be lifted.
12:14pm Interdepartmental guerrilla warfare breaks out.
12:34pm Faction 2 is victorious. Surviving members of Faction 1 are taken prisoner and sacrificed to the Effigy - they are disemboweled with the plastic forks left over from when we had a cake for Joan's birthday the other week.
12:55pm We go to Starbucks to get more cake.
1:15pm A new Dark Age begins, co-workers construct a rudimentary settlement around the Effigy.
2:00pm Co-workers gather around a campfire made from our useless computers and listen to tales of a time before time, when words and pictures would fly through the air and appear on a magical window before your very eyes, like dreams.
2:47pm Legend tells of the mythical "Book of Faces" which can destroy time itself - a crusade into the holy land (accounts on the second floor) begins in order to seek out the book.
3:30pm Slink out of office beaten too depressed to do anything but go home and blog.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Worlds Worse Sami
The World’s Worst Sami was sitting in my living-room, sipping from a mug of cocoa clasped between his trembling, frozen hands. The chattering of his teeth quite drowned out the reassuringly dull drone of the passing traffic, as it headed for the neon bright lights and a frenzied bout of last gasp festive indulgence at the mall to the east.
“I’m s-s-s-still c-c-c-cold,” he murmured, sticking out his bottom lip in a most disgruntled pout. This had been his mantra since he arrived at my front door earlier in the evening. The knocking had been tired and quiet - barely there, yet nonetheless insistent. I hollered to the unexpected caller to let them know that I was on my way, but the tapping continued unabated: the sound of an exhausted, demented woodpecker determined to make a breakthrough by sunset. It was only when I finally opened the door and found his right hand held in mid-air, still shuddering against nothingness, that I realised quite how violently he was shivering.
I offered to take his coat as I ushered us both into the dimly lit, artificially heated warmth, but he refused, instead pulling the heavy parka even more tightly around him and yanking its hood forward so that his elfish face gazed out at me, wide-eyed and enquiring, from inside a thick, fur-lined tunnel.
“Are you kidding? I only got this just now, and I’m not taking it off until the temperature is back to something at least vaguely liveable.”
I was curious, even puzzled. I may have only studied Sami in the pages of simplistic, brightly coloured picture books at primary school level, but even that cursory knowledge taught me that their coats are of the utmost importance to them - the mix of reindeer fur and sheep skin offering these hardy souls some badly needed protection from the harsh winds and bitter chill of their natural environment. Seemingly not.
“I don’t believe in cruelty to animals. Plus, those traditional Sami garments are so bulky, and can have such a lingering odour about them. Frankly, they stink a bit. So I bought this one at the Pancake Hut. It was a bargain in that pit. It’s my first winter coat, too - my dear mother back home will be so proud that I’ve finally seen sense. I was downright freezing before that, running around in t-shirt and jeans at minus thirty degrees. I had goose bumps in places you don’t even want to know about.”
I showed him into the living-room and expected him to take a place on the sofa. But no, he seized one of the cushions and hurriedly dragged it over to the radiator, squeezing it round the top of the cast iron frame, whereupon he hoisted himself up on to the hastily built seat. Closing his eyes, he sat absolutely still for a moment - as if feeling the welcome heat surging through his body - before sighing, almost contentedly. Almost.
“Getting better. Could be better still. I can’t feel my fingers yet. Or my toes. Or the end of my nose. It turned blue earlier. My nose turned blue! How you people manage to cope in such weather is beyond me, really it is. Now, can I have something to eat, please?”
Delving once again into my limited classroom/internet learning, I informed my visitor that the contents of my fridge - a word that made him once again visibly shiver - sadly rather lacked much in the way of reindeer meat or freshly-snared snow grouse, though I did have a piece of cloudberry coffee cake that might be to his liking. He sniffed dismissively, turned his nose up at me, and asked for some nachos. With salsa.
I had, up until this point, been very patient and polite, but my bewilderment had at last risen to the surface. I wanted to know just how an Sami could be quite so unused to the arctic winds, the sub-zero temperatures, the ice, frost and snow. How a Sami had never owned a winter coat prior to spotting one going at a substantial discount in a roadside stand. How a Sami preferred chippies to some tasty wild foraged goodness.
“The locals always called me the World’s Worst Sami,” said the World’s Worst Sami, between gobbled mouthfuls of crunchy goo. He dabbed a finger at a tell-tale trail of cilantro that was slipping from the corner of his mouth, before continuing. “But I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. I just enjoyed being different.”
“And now?”
“Now I’ve decided that I’m quite different enough. Different enough from everyone else, anyway. I just want to be warm, thank you very much. Speaking of which - do you have a hot water bottle?”
When I returned from boiling the kettle, I discovered that my arctic visitor had grabbed every spare pillow, duvet, blanket and winter coat he could forage from my cupboards, drawers and wardrobes, using them to construct a makeshift tee pee in the middle of the floor. I allowed myself a brief smile at the thought that even this wilfully different Sami didn’t go against his native tradition in every way.
I turned out the light and closed the living-room door. As I did so, there was an almighty sneeze from inside the heavily cushioned refuge.
“Sutina. I think I’m getting a cold.”
“I’m s-s-s-still c-c-c-cold,” he murmured, sticking out his bottom lip in a most disgruntled pout. This had been his mantra since he arrived at my front door earlier in the evening. The knocking had been tired and quiet - barely there, yet nonetheless insistent. I hollered to the unexpected caller to let them know that I was on my way, but the tapping continued unabated: the sound of an exhausted, demented woodpecker determined to make a breakthrough by sunset. It was only when I finally opened the door and found his right hand held in mid-air, still shuddering against nothingness, that I realised quite how violently he was shivering.
I offered to take his coat as I ushered us both into the dimly lit, artificially heated warmth, but he refused, instead pulling the heavy parka even more tightly around him and yanking its hood forward so that his elfish face gazed out at me, wide-eyed and enquiring, from inside a thick, fur-lined tunnel.
“Are you kidding? I only got this just now, and I’m not taking it off until the temperature is back to something at least vaguely liveable.”
I was curious, even puzzled. I may have only studied Sami in the pages of simplistic, brightly coloured picture books at primary school level, but even that cursory knowledge taught me that their coats are of the utmost importance to them - the mix of reindeer fur and sheep skin offering these hardy souls some badly needed protection from the harsh winds and bitter chill of their natural environment. Seemingly not.
“I don’t believe in cruelty to animals. Plus, those traditional Sami garments are so bulky, and can have such a lingering odour about them. Frankly, they stink a bit. So I bought this one at the Pancake Hut. It was a bargain in that pit. It’s my first winter coat, too - my dear mother back home will be so proud that I’ve finally seen sense. I was downright freezing before that, running around in t-shirt and jeans at minus thirty degrees. I had goose bumps in places you don’t even want to know about.”
I showed him into the living-room and expected him to take a place on the sofa. But no, he seized one of the cushions and hurriedly dragged it over to the radiator, squeezing it round the top of the cast iron frame, whereupon he hoisted himself up on to the hastily built seat. Closing his eyes, he sat absolutely still for a moment - as if feeling the welcome heat surging through his body - before sighing, almost contentedly. Almost.
“Getting better. Could be better still. I can’t feel my fingers yet. Or my toes. Or the end of my nose. It turned blue earlier. My nose turned blue! How you people manage to cope in such weather is beyond me, really it is. Now, can I have something to eat, please?”
Delving once again into my limited classroom/internet learning, I informed my visitor that the contents of my fridge - a word that made him once again visibly shiver - sadly rather lacked much in the way of reindeer meat or freshly-snared snow grouse, though I did have a piece of cloudberry coffee cake that might be to his liking. He sniffed dismissively, turned his nose up at me, and asked for some nachos. With salsa.
I had, up until this point, been very patient and polite, but my bewilderment had at last risen to the surface. I wanted to know just how an Sami could be quite so unused to the arctic winds, the sub-zero temperatures, the ice, frost and snow. How a Sami had never owned a winter coat prior to spotting one going at a substantial discount in a roadside stand. How a Sami preferred chippies to some tasty wild foraged goodness.
“The locals always called me the World’s Worst Sami,” said the World’s Worst Sami, between gobbled mouthfuls of crunchy goo. He dabbed a finger at a tell-tale trail of cilantro that was slipping from the corner of his mouth, before continuing. “But I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. I just enjoyed being different.”
“And now?”
“Now I’ve decided that I’m quite different enough. Different enough from everyone else, anyway. I just want to be warm, thank you very much. Speaking of which - do you have a hot water bottle?”
When I returned from boiling the kettle, I discovered that my arctic visitor had grabbed every spare pillow, duvet, blanket and winter coat he could forage from my cupboards, drawers and wardrobes, using them to construct a makeshift tee pee in the middle of the floor. I allowed myself a brief smile at the thought that even this wilfully different Sami didn’t go against his native tradition in every way.
I turned out the light and closed the living-room door. As I did so, there was an almighty sneeze from inside the heavily cushioned refuge.
“Sutina. I think I’m getting a cold.”
Monday, August 11, 2008
Note to Self
Dear You,
What happened there? Was it the same that happened here? Did you go away? Taken leave of your senses? Have you been on holiday? I have. Months ago, I packed my single shabby suitcase and blew. I shrugged off this incessant whirl of unemployed Utopia and joined the rat race. Have you ever taken a holiday with the rats? You should. It would suit your temperament down to the last gasp. No foreign travel required. Nothing to declare. No passport needed.
The rats and I, we scurried up through the drains and left our droppings in the four corners of your decaying attic space, in the wood and worn sheets that now comprise your fleeting history in dust. I will confess that such activities weren’t entirely pleasant, but it was a relief to be a creature of such disgusting, depraved habit: alive to my true nature, alive to the filth and degradation we could only ever allow ourselves to sink into after dark, long after midnight.
Listen hard. That is the sound of my theeth nashing as you sleep.
What happened there? Was it the same that happened here? Did you go away? Taken leave of your senses? Have you been on holiday? I have. Months ago, I packed my single shabby suitcase and blew. I shrugged off this incessant whirl of unemployed Utopia and joined the rat race. Have you ever taken a holiday with the rats? You should. It would suit your temperament down to the last gasp. No foreign travel required. Nothing to declare. No passport needed.
The rats and I, we scurried up through the drains and left our droppings in the four corners of your decaying attic space, in the wood and worn sheets that now comprise your fleeting history in dust. I will confess that such activities weren’t entirely pleasant, but it was a relief to be a creature of such disgusting, depraved habit: alive to my true nature, alive to the filth and degradation we could only ever allow ourselves to sink into after dark, long after midnight.
Listen hard. That is the sound of my theeth nashing as you sleep.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Checking the Other Box
"Why do you call that cat Muestilienin, Dad?", I asked him when we took a break from unloading the winters fire wood off the back of the truck. "Muestilienin is Gypsy in Finnish. That cat is always roaming off."
I never met his mother. I learned she was a mother of ten and would bake bread wonderful bread every day to feed her family. I only have seen one faded picture of Anna, sitting in a wheel chair surrounded by all her children. She had beautiful long dark black hair. I always wondered why a Finnish woman would not be blond. I learned later, Anna was a Muestilienin.
When we were in Finland, we some how ended up, more by chance than anything in Inari, at the Sami museum.
While at the museum I saw images of my brother and my sisters.
One Monday at work I filled out a new affirmative action form. When I checked the "other" box under race I could see that picture of Anna smiling more clearly.
*If my links didn't link, here they are:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sami_people
http://boreale.konto.itv.se/webmstr.htm
P.S. Today my boss offered me a raise. Is it because I am minority?
I never met his mother. I learned she was a mother of ten and would bake bread wonderful bread every day to feed her family. I only have seen one faded picture of Anna, sitting in a wheel chair surrounded by all her children. She had beautiful long dark black hair. I always wondered why a Finnish woman would not be blond. I learned later, Anna was a Muestilienin.
When we were in Finland, we some how ended up, more by chance than anything in Inari, at the Sami museum.
While at the museum I saw images of my brother and my sisters.
One Monday at work I filled out a new affirmative action form. When I checked the "other" box under race I could see that picture of Anna smiling more clearly.
*If my links didn't link, here they are:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sami_people
http://boreale.konto.itv.se/webmstr.htm
P.S. Today my boss offered me a raise. Is it because I am minority?
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Everyday Love Stories, Baby Daddy
I am head over heels in love with a vibrantly fertile stud named Baby Daddy. Baby Daddy smells of knock off cologne and entitlement and doesn't give a shit about society's opinion of a real man.
My metro Baby Daddy goes to the same beauty parlor as I do and gives a flavorless skinny girl like me advice when I am lucky enough to be in the chair next to his when he gets his fabulous braids. In between calls on his cell to his numours children, (I take care off all my kids. Do you take food stamps?"), their mama's, and his social workers, Baby Daddy is the one to tell me when I'm stylin.
I hopefully programed my digits into his phone when he was being buffed under the name "Hot Booty Biatch". It was the repo man who called me and asked me to settle his bill. I chopped it up with tears.
My metro Baby Daddy goes to the same beauty parlor as I do and gives a flavorless skinny girl like me advice when I am lucky enough to be in the chair next to his when he gets his fabulous braids. In between calls on his cell to his numours children, (I take care off all my kids. Do you take food stamps?"), their mama's, and his social workers, Baby Daddy is the one to tell me when I'm stylin.
I hopefully programed my digits into his phone when he was being buffed under the name "Hot Booty Biatch". It was the repo man who called me and asked me to settle his bill. I chopped it up with tears.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Everyday Love Stories, Back Pack
I have fallen head over heels in love with a travelling gentleman named Back Pack. He smells of wool and Himalayan goat's milk and is always on the go.
Oh how I long to meet Back Pack for coffee and chat about his extraordinary adventures. I too have been on many a hair raising escapades in the likes of Skime, Hugo and little Mexico and I'm sure we would bond in a heart beat if he would just find time in his busy sheduale for a girl as lonely as I. But every time I ask if he would like to meet on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday two weeks from now, I don't really mind, he asks me to hold his water bottle for a second and hails yet another taxi away from me.
Oh how I long to meet Back Pack for coffee and chat about his extraordinary adventures. I too have been on many a hair raising escapades in the likes of Skime, Hugo and little Mexico and I'm sure we would bond in a heart beat if he would just find time in his busy sheduale for a girl as lonely as I. But every time I ask if he would like to meet on Tuesday, or Wednesday, or Thursday two weeks from now, I don't really mind, he asks me to hold his water bottle for a second and hails yet another taxi away from me.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Everyday Love Stories, Liam
I have fallen head over heels in love with an antiwar activist named Liam. He smells of lentils and righteousness.
I first met Liam at an anti war demonstration at the capital. He had the wildest curls I have ever seen and his vulgar songs about George W made me blush. "Munkay', he would smile with lips so sensual cupid would be envious and girls like me could only dream of kissing. "Who let the bombs out?"
At the time I had no idea who let out the bombs so I would just shrug my shoulders and hang my head in shame. But since that time the world has taught me things. Many many things, so when he calls me in the middle of the night from his two man pup tent to ask, "Munkay...Dear Munkay, who let the bombs out?", I tingle all over and joyfully yelp. "Bush! Bush and Chaney let the bombs out!"
Oh how I wish he would drunk phone me so I could seduce him with my own fiery passion.
I first met Liam at an anti war demonstration at the capital. He had the wildest curls I have ever seen and his vulgar songs about George W made me blush. "Munkay', he would smile with lips so sensual cupid would be envious and girls like me could only dream of kissing. "Who let the bombs out?"
At the time I had no idea who let out the bombs so I would just shrug my shoulders and hang my head in shame. But since that time the world has taught me things. Many many things, so when he calls me in the middle of the night from his two man pup tent to ask, "Munkay...Dear Munkay, who let the bombs out?", I tingle all over and joyfully yelp. "Bush! Bush and Chaney let the bombs out!"
Oh how I wish he would drunk phone me so I could seduce him with my own fiery passion.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Everyday Love Stories, Jerome
I have fallen head over heels with my Rainbow checkout clerk, Jerome. Jerome smells of Lysol and is a guineas at math. The florescent lights at the supermarket encircle his angle head like a halo when I look up at him. I like that his name tag reads his full name. JEROME all dignifiedish. No short casual nicknames like Jerry or Jer or Q. He knows every word to the 90's musac, my JEROME does. I try to engage him in conversation as I worship his check out isle, but all he has to say to the likes of me is, "That will be 8.23 please. Out of a twenty? 11.17 is your change. You saved .37 cents by shopping at Rainbow."
(I told you he was a math genus.) How my aching heart yearns for him to push our cart off into the sunset with me.
(I told you he was a math genus.) How my aching heart yearns for him to push our cart off into the sunset with me.
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