Yesterday I had a doctor’s appointment on the Upper West Side. Since I was basically heading to a different state, I left the house at around 12:30 in order to get there in time. My appointment was long. It lasted nearly 2 and a half hours. They drew blood, ran some tests, told me I was probably going to be A-OK. It was good news but I was absolutely exhausted when I left and I was starving. I’m not sure what it is about doctor’s visits, but they suck the life out of me. I guess after 8 vials of blood, that’s to be expected.
I had a meeting directly following my doctor’s visit at my old office regarding a book I’m currently designing for them. Getting from the Upper West Side, down to Grand Central isn’t nearly as easy as one might think. (Although, in the end, I made a mistake that actually put me there quicker.) I was in Midtown by 4, just enough time to grab a sandwich from Prêt and a bag of their most potent, stinkified salt and vinegar potato chips, (which I can’t seem to eat more than 3 of at a time without wanting to rip my lips off).
By the time I left the old office, I was walking dead. I could barely keep my eyes open.
I got home at about 6:30 and slipped into something more comfortable. I decided to lie down for a quick nap. I lay on the couch on top of a throw blanket we keep overtop in a pathetic attempt to keep the cat hair from ruining our sofa. The other half of the blanket, the part that runs up the side and overtop the back, I pulled down on top of me. I was like a human taco; the blanket my shell, and me its meat. (Yum, tacos.)
About a minute later, I began to smell cat food but I couldn’t figure out why. Both Schmitty and Pook were at my feet having a cat bath. I figured it was their breath and my acute sense of smell was taking control again. I closed my eyes.
The cat food smell became stronger and stronger. Were my superhero powers becoming more intense? Was my sense of smell heightening? I hoped not.
I grabbed the blanket from above and pulled it down closer to my face. I stuffed my head further into the couch. My hand fell down beside my cheek. I let out a deep sigh. It was time for sleep. Finally.
Have you ever had someone point out a sound that you hadn’t heard before the person said something? Right after he or she says, “Hey, do you hear that annoying sound?” you find it and from that moment forward it’s the only sound you can hear? It’s as if Hand told the rest of my parts, “Hey, Parts, I’m wet.” Because right after that realization took place it occurred to me that Hand wasn’t the only body part wet. Cheek was wet, Upper Arm was wet, Lower Arm was wet, and Right Ass Cheek was wet. Parts were wet because I had been snuggling with cat vomit for the past however many minutes. Right Ass Cheek was wet because prior snuggling with the cat vomit, I had been sitting on top of the cat vomit contemplating the damned nap. Wetness was all around.
I got up, removed my clothing, and carefully grabbed the blanket from the couch. Little balls of half eaten, regurgitated cat food fell to the floor below me. I hobbled over to the washer, naked, a trail of wet cat nuggets behind me. I tossed the chunks from the blanket into the trashcan and then threw the blanket into the washer. I added my clothing and then retraced my steps in order to scoop up the trail I had left behind. As I bent down to pick it all up, a chunk of cat vomit fell out of my hair.
My belly began to gurgle. My cheeks became flushed, my saliva thickened; I was going to vomit. The salt and vinegar potato chips and their egg salad companion were about to take a shortcut.
i still love salt and vinegar crisps.
I have so been there, and I am so sorry, but I am INSANELY JEALOUS that you have a washer right there. When Dub was sick and spewing from both ends, we just chucked everything into the tub to rinse the worst of it out and then had to schlep the wet stuff to the laundromat the next day.
Feel better, sweetie.
Man, I am having a shitty 48-hours. Just now, I went to the gym and then hit Subway and the bank. As I was trying to cross the street, some Asian dude in a white van began screaming at me (and another woman) to CROSS THE FUCKING STREET ALREADY!
He was parked. I was standing in front of his car. He wanted to get out into traffic but here’s the thing, as much as I would have LOVED to have crossed the FUCKING street and eat my most glorious Subway veggie hoagie, there were cars coming, which pretty much means he REALLY wanted me and this other woman to walk into oncoming traffic so he could get going already. It was freakish.
“CROSS THE FUCKING STREET, GRINGO!”
He kept screaming.
“YOU LOOK SO FUCKING STUPID YOU DUMB BITCHES!”
Screaming out the window. We still couldn’t get across the street because there were cars still coming.
I said, “Man, chill out. There are cars.”
“YOU LOOK LIKE DUMB BITCHES! GRINGO SHITHEADS!”
“Um, hey, fuck you.” I said.
“FUCK YOU, BITCH. CROSS THE FUCKING STREET. GET OUT OF MY WAY. CROSS!”
Spit was flying out of his face at us. The woman standing next to me looked at me and we both started cracking up, just laughing. Just like that.
“Some people have serious issues.” She said.
“Happy Christmas, right?”
We finally were able to cross and he was still screaming, just a constant stream of hatred and rage. He began to pull out, stuck his head further out the window and started yelling more.
“YOU A COUPLE OF DUMB BITCHES! STUPID BITCHES! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, DUMB BITCHES.”
Unsure of what to do we just stood there and laughed at him, big, big,hearty laughs.
I couldn’t believe it. And I wish I were exaggerating. But it was just like that. Kid you not. Plus, what’s a Gringo? Also, I think he may have been on my Web site a few weeks ago. Oh, the rage. The rage.
Anyway, had to share. now, I feel better.
What a freaking jerk that guy was.
We need to make a date for comfort food.
Oh no!!! What a horrible awakening!
As for that guy in the van? At least you’re not him. He’s obviously lacking any kind of class, unlike your lovely self.
Oh…wait!! Double YEEEEEOOOOOWWWCH!!!!
You should get a dog. Since Kinch joined the household, I haven’t seen any cat vomit.
I’ll name him “Dyson”.
This is how I envision your apartment.
Holy crap. You’re not wrong.
Michele’s couch smells like cat food.
Hmm……so if I’m reading this correctly, izzit safe to assume that Charlie’s version of “Man’s Best Friend” has a breath that smellz like TEEN SPIRIT……I mean “cat vomit?”……..
on good days, yes.
Eew. The perils of being a Cat owner!
Hope your weekend is a LOT Better.