Monday, June 29, 2009

What next?

Over dinner - which Mr. RK took me to after yet another excruciating Monday committee meeting, he said, "We've almost beaten the 65 percent!"

Apparently that is the percentage of couples who get divorced within the first five years of getting married.

We celebrate two "anniversaries" each year - the wedding one in January is sort of an afterthought, because for us the big hookup was July 13, 2004. That's when we knew this was, as they say, IT!

What happens to the 65 percent? And what is it with the five-year statistic? I'm morbidly curious about the other 35. How many of them are people who say, "Fuck it!" after 40 years? How many are people who finally come out? How many are just sick of being unhappy and muster the courage to end it? How many have "waited until the kids get to college" and in the meantime, have fucked up the kids with their example of miserable relationship interaction?

Relationships are odd. I have three friends who are getting divorced at the moment, and none of them, in my opinion, went into the marriage blind. As much as it sucks, I think in these cases, each of them is doing the right thing - one before she and her ex had kids, and two before the ex could fuck up the kids.

For years and years my dad said he felt bad about leaving my biological mother. A few years ago, my adult brother and I finally sat him down and said, "If you hadn't, we would have run away from home!"

An old friend who describes himself as "happily married" bombarded me with a slew of e-mails over the weekend: why didn't we get together in college? Did I ever consider it? Did I feel that way about him? Did I know he would have left all of his ex-girlfriends for me?

And essentially, I wrote back, "Are you sure you're happy?"

Every relationship has ups and downs, bends in the road - some minor (or major) accidents perhaps. But this question is one I think is worth asking every day.

Mr. RK is the only guy I've had a relationship or date with who didn't 1. bore me or 2. seem like the type who would dip his chicken in my bbq sauce without thinking.

No matter what happens, I have never been the type of person to ask, "What if?" I'm more interested in, "What next?"

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Live long(er) and prosper

Mr. RK's grandmother, who was widowed about a year ago, is getting married this month.

"I know it seems fast," she told my mother-in-law, "but we figure we don't have that much time!"

She and her fiance are both in their 80s.

Once again, Hallmark fails me...I looked every single wedding congrats card they had available.

Every. Single. One.

Rule out the uber-religious ones, because even though she is, we aren't, and that would feel disingenuous. Rule out the ones of couples kissing, because she is super religious and, I presume, so is he, because he's a retired pastor.

Rule out the ones - and this is just about every fucking card - that have all kinds of much about having long lives together, blah blah blah, because even if they both live to be 100, it just seems a bit cruel.

Rule out the ones that rhyme because, well, they're just obnoxious. "I hear the sound of wedding bells/I hope your marriage isn't hell." OK, I made that one up.

Add this to the fact that this is someone I have never met. Like my grandparents, Mr. RK's grandparents take no interest in their grandchildren.

But being from the Midwest, I thought it would be impolite not to send a card. And hey, if she is brave enough to go on this adventure one more time, more power to her!

I finally found a suitable one (I think)that will go out today.

So I am sending good wishes down to Florida. They seem very happy and we are happy for them!

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Blog fever

I don't know why I seem to have so much to write this week...but anyway, someone was incredibly rude to my best friend and although politics prevents me from calling him up and telling him what a dick he is, I always have this place as an outlet.

K you are,
Dear K you are,
You think you're such a fucking star
That you can be a fucking prick
To friends of mine?
Go suck your dick.

Can't find it, K?
Surprise? No way.
I think in fact, your attitude
Has to do with your image nude.

So while you ponder family jewels
I'll give you a new set of rules:

You will not, will not, be a jerk
To those with whom you hope to work.
You shall not, shall not, use that tone!
Not during lunch, not on the phone.

You won't be nasty to my friend
Without realizing in the end
That boys like you who get aggressive
Are usually real obsessive
About the things, like penis size,
of which we girls are much more wise.

So listen up: we see right through you,
And actions will come right back to you.
Lest you click that e-mail ad
That offers you the latest fad
In making small things try to double
We guess you'll still have bits of trouble.

How do we know this?
I'm just guessing
With millimeters
You'd be messing.


Tuesday, June 23, 2009

But Tuesday is so much better!

I was spoiled to death by Pheromone Girl, who is always kind and supportive and funny...add that to lunch, a box of office monkeys and two great books - including this one! - and you have a happy Riot Kitty. (Thank you darling!!)

So this is from the same publisher of those wonderful postcards she got me.

Her 14-year-old son said, "I love your friend Riot Kitty! We get to get her all of these swear books!" or something like that ;)

So you see? It's not all bad to have boobs and talk like a sailor. Someone appreciates it.

*Ninja edit: the book has a whole bunch of "fuck" stickers so I can vandalize signs and snap pics!! Post if you want one of these :) *

I also scored with my boss. (Not like that, you perverts.) I brought him a doughnut and he was happy all day! You men are so predictable.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Monday sucketh

I'm wondering HOW, EXACTLY, I am going to make it through nearly three more months of these weekly Monday meetings with volunteers working on our fundraiser.

I'm also debating which option I'd rather choose to do for 90 minutes each week, in lieu of the meeting:

1. Sucking the pond scum off of dead fish.
2. Sharing my pillow with Karl Rove
3. Eat mountains and mountains of carrots, followed by mountains of meat. (I am a vegetarian and I hate carrots.)
4. Letting a horny goat lick the back of my ears.
5. Watching Michael Bay movie marathons for 24 hours or more. (Hint: I thought Mr. RK was a fucking genius when he said, "I wish we could go back in time and neuter Michael Bay's parents.")
6. Having a three-way with two jellyfish

Because you see, the meetings usually go like this (with the exception of one dear volunteer:)
A. Everyone takes a turn being rude to the staff.
B. Everyone also takes a turn making - no, pressing - dumb suggestions.
C. Everyone seems to have all of the fucking time in the world.
D. Everyone complains that there is not enough time to do the event by the time we have scheduled the event, even though they all signed up to help and the fucking letters have all gone out.

Want to sub for me?

I'm deciding that it's going to be Reward Mondays from now on. I will demand junk food, a foot rub, or god knows what else to bring calm, or at least post-junk food stupor, into my Monday nights.

Any suggestions? I'm thinking: cheesecake, Oreo blizzards, cheese enchiladas, and British comedy.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Somewhere over the rainbow

It's Ward's birthday.

Ward died unexpectedly in 2003 after a life of much suffering but also many laughs. He had the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met; he was incapable of being impatient, or angry, or too busy to talk to a friend.

If I could talk to him now, I'd say something like this:

Amigo, I hope you are out there watching and I hope you approve that I named our walk team after you, and had Indian food in your honor last night. Remember that time we had Indian food in the East Village and they forgot to de-vein your shrimp?! Remember all of the coffees, pierogies, grocery trips and the trip to the museum exhibit in Midtown when it was muggy as all hell?

Remember when you saw my cat and said he looked like a snowball plugged into a light socket? Remember how you told me, when I was whiny about some jerk, that, "Relationships are difficult, with opposed to plants!"

Even when you were having such a hard time you made me laugh.

You, more than any other person, helped me become a sober person. You told me: "It's just for today."

You told me I could be a reporter - I could do it!

You helped me accept myself for who I was; helped me get through many, many a sad day and long night. I hope I told you enough how much I learned from you.

I miss you so much! And when I think of life and death and loss, as you probably know if you have been watching, I usually turn to George Harrison.

Ward, this one is for you.


Thursday, June 18, 2009

Can you imagine doing the marketing research?

A friend asked me a horrible question last night - because it was about another friend. One she plans to sleep with.

Her: "I should probably pick up some condoms, just in case. What size do you think I should get?"

But seriously. That got me thinking. Not about Mr. X's dick, but I mean, how does one buy condoms for a partner? I've only bought them once, years ago, for someone I was already dating.

I never thought about what size to get (in that case, I already knew.)

So why don't they make assorted condom packages? You know, just in case? Like a box of doughnuts.

Then I got curious: what sizes ARE available? Online, there was a chart.

Apparently, for all of those SUV-driving, gun-toting manly men out there, there is no such size as "small." There is a size called "trim."

Like a fucking diet pill!!

Who came up with that one? Can you picture the marketing suits sitting around the table working that one out?

Marking person #1: "Let's try 'teeny.'"
Marketing person #2: "Perhaps 'slim.'"
Marketing person #3: "I've got it! 'Trim!'"

Marketing person #3 won the prize and the other two got fired.

Seriously, SOMEONE had to go out and do the research for this chart.

Someone had to buy each pack - did they draw straws, and the shortest straw got "trim"? Or maybe, Mr. RK says, Sally from accounts payable just happened to be familiar with all of them?

And what about "wide"? What the fuck? How wide is wide?

And who had to measure each condom before posting the information online? Inquiring minds want to know!

Who thought glow-in-the-dark was a good idea? Or the bubble-gum flavored ones? Are these for comic book fans?

All I know is...I hope I never have to see one of these again. Or think about any of my friends wearing them. Don't get me wrong: safe sex is important; I just don't want to picture it.

PS If you click on the image, it becomes full size. Ha.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Like diamonds and pearls...

Joey inspired us with his post about pearls...or rather, magical moments that stand out in your memory. Pheromone Girl also posted about her pearls... And I was flattered to be on that list!

So here are some of mine, in no order in particular...

1. Having lunch with her at a place I had never been before and having it click that I had a new friend.

2. Leaving my dorm in NYC, right as it started pouring...then getting umbrellas as gifts from people who were coming in from the storm.

3. Having the all the lights go out and hearing the song, "Happy, happy birthday, baby," while a waitress brought a dessert with a sparkler on my 21st birthday.

4. Realizing with Mr. RK, over nachos at 3 am, that this was it!

5. Telling my least favorite relative by marriage (who was a wife-beating son of a bitch), "One more thing. Go fuck yourself!"

6. Sitting on the roof at 2 a.m. at a summertime party in college, getting complimented on my silver dress by a guy with no sexual agenda (for my gender, anyhow.)

7. Having cheesecake with Mike D, and hanging out in Central Park talking for quite a long time, even though it felt way too short.

8. Overhearing someone I detested at work complain, after picking up her lunch and bringing it back to work, "Damn! They gave me all of the white parts of the lettuce in my salad!"

9. Laughing so hard with my friend Ward, over scrambled eggs in a diner in NYC, that I almost started crying.

How about you?

Monday, June 15, 2009

Which one should it be?

I was going to title this post, "Let's take a vote," but apparently I've already given a post that title.

So I haven't decided what I want my third tattoo to be...and I've been thinking about it since 1999! I'm serious!

It has to be on the right side of my body - for balance, because I have a star on my right shoulder and a vine without leaves around my right arm.

I'm thinking either near my left ankle or on my left shoulder.

A seahorse? (Only known species where the males have the babies.)


This symbol I saw on JLee's blog, which means "power/force/strength" in Japanese (unless, JLee, you already got it!)


A griffin. Just because I like it. And there's one in the coat of arms that accompanies my last name. (It would be black and not this big - but google image search for "griffin" turned up Family Guy characters.)

The Japanese kanji symbols for cat:

So what's your vote? If you don't care for tattoos - well, this is your chance to have your say about someone else's. ;)

Sunday, June 14, 2009

A thicker skin?

Mr. Riot Kitty has been munching these oranges from Trader Joe's that are so huge, I had to do a double-take at the store to make sure they weren't grapefruit. Seriously!

So I asked him how he could eat a whole one in one sitting.

"They're actually not that much bigger than regular oranges," he noted. "They just have very thick skins."

He wasn't kidding: the skins on these babies were about 3/4 of an inch thick.

So during brunch today, he was peeling one and I mused, "I wish I had skin that thick."

I can be sensitive, let things get to me even when they're from people who I shouldn't give a fuck about.

Mr. RK grinned and gave me a new possibility with each peel.

"If you had a skin this thick" - rip! - "you could be a corporate public relations person." (In our house, that's akin to "scum of the earth," right up there with pay day lenders and people who think homeless people want to be homeless.)

"Or," he continued - rip! - "you could be a copywriter for a military recruiting office."

"Or," - rip! - "a public relations person for the IRS."

Picture this the next time someone claims you have a personality flaw - or just tell them to fuck themselves, whatever makes you happier! :)

Friday, June 12, 2009

Sometimes, someone else has the words you can't find

My dirty little secret: I listen to Air Supply!

Especially when I want to relax...what can I say. Anyhow, I am oddly without many words for two sad anniversaries coming up: the anniversary of my cousin John's death is tomorrow, and a week later, it would have been my friend Ward's birthday.

And I miss them both. There is still the odd moment when I think I need to call Ward and let him know about something funny that happened...I have even reached for the phone. And he left this world almost six years ago; like John, too soon.

I could go on with stories about these guys, but you know how sometimes there is a song or a verse or a quote that someone else says that sums up your feelings better than you can do yourself?

So I was listening to this song the other day and it had more meaning for me when I thought about these two.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Who I want to be when I grow up, part 2

Awhile back, I wrote about a volunteer whose passion and spitfire I admire quite a lot...I wrote her an e-mail telling her that when I grew up, I wanted to be just like her.

I had a shitty evening last night, upset about an encounter where I was bullied by someone I thought I had to listen to...and the great news is that today, my boss essentially said, "Fuck him."

I'm never a bitch just for fun, but I believe we should squawk when we need to. On that note, today, Mr. RK encountered the SECOND sweet older woman I want to turn into, if I get to live that long...

Because life is short and we both love to laugh, every day we ask each other, "Did anything funny happen today?"


Today, he spotted a grandmotherly type driving exactly 35 miles an hour in a 35 mile-an-hour zone in our neighborhood. An asshole in a huge SUV (sorry, that was redundant)cut her off and then stopped suddenly, so she had to slam on the brakes.

"I thought she seemed like the knitting, church-going type," Mr. RK told me. "And then she went around the corner, passed him, and flipped him off!"

Go, granny, go!

This is what I want to be like when I grow up. I am reasonably sure this is a goal I can achieve.

Monday, June 08, 2009

But seriously

Whew! After getting that post out of my system, I thought we could all use some laughs...

So here are some life lessons I have learned.

1. Not everyone is destined to be a vegetarian.

2. Just like not everyone appreciates food coloring in their omelette.

3. Even cute, cuddly peeps have bad days.

4. Some people were just meant to put letters on movie signs.

5. Sometimes it is OK to OD on caffeine.

6. But not always.

7. Politics really are ridiculous.

8. Fundamentalists are not good at marketing.

9. Sometimes, people really do need reminders.

10. Just about everything seems better with a book and a cuddle.

Kisses and Hugs

All day I have thought about writing about a heinous, senseless crime that made national headlines, and took place not five miles from my house.

Nothing happens here - I mean, when someone vandalized the mailboxes last year, it was a BIG deal.

I won't get into details but two people are dead and a mother of two young kids is in jail on a suicide watch.

It just makes me wonder: what does it take to make someone snap like that? Can they even be held responsible for a crime committed during a psychotic break? Could anyone have prevented this?

In the course of my work at a mental health nonprofit I have met two people who I later learned had killed other people. I have felt nothing but good, sweet energy from these two - one is still in the state hospital but gets to take day trips; the other now lives in her own apartment, but has to check in with her caseworker three times a day.

He pulls into our parking lot to make sure she is in the office at her volunteer job.

He calls her at 10 p.m. to make sure she's home.

He calls her randomly.

I think this would be a good job for a stalker in training, don't you? I know S, and I think it is a terribly unfair invasion of her privacy. She has NEVER failed to show up for her job. She has never done a so-so job. Her work ethic is excellent, and she has a wicked sense of humor.

I can't reconcile what she "did" with who she is now. Is that the essence of a psychotic break - acting out of your own self?

But then I think, I got to know these people before I knew what had happened in the past.

If this woman who killed two other people is rehabilitated, would I be as open to working with her? Somehow, I very much doubt it.

So one good thing that happened today - some of my volunteers brought me a rose plant, a thank-you card and a bag of Hershey's Kisses "Hugs." This is a less-cheap kind of chocolate, white chocolate with swirls of dark.

I thought about this story that had unfolded in my neighborhood, the one I saw on yahoo news, and oinked the Hugs and Kisses.

Friday, June 05, 2009

Flash fiction Friday

In 55 words or less, write a complete story? Hmm...

All that was left behind:
the room bathed in icy light
broken music notes laying carelessly, in pieces,
on the floor,
the look in your eyes, cloudy and knowing and mournful.

Thursday, June 04, 2009

Spam gets personal

REALLY personal.

Here's a comment I rejected earlier today (note: comments in parentheses are ad lib by a certain pissed off Kitty.)

I love your blog. So funny. How are you? (FUCKING FANTASTIC, THANK YOU!)I wanted to write to you to tell you
how much I enjoy your blog. My name is XXXXXX, I am a marketing assistant at XXXX Fantasys (WE KNOT ONLY SPAM YU, BUT WEE DON'T KNOE HOUW TOO SPEL.) We are an online adult community and e-tailer. Over the past few years we have developed a wonderful community of contributors (CONTRIBUTORS OF WHAT EXACTLY? SPERM?)from everywhere. We offer open forums for them to discuss issues without fear of prejudice. We have thousands of customer reviews with material guides. We also offer online interviews with
manufacturers, artists, social media gurus and many others. (MANUFACTURERS OF WHAT? SEX TOYS? WOULD THAT BE A PLUM ASSIGNMENT OR WHAT?) We also have an online magazine devoted to the exploration of sex and culture called SeXis. It's fun, informative and educational. I find our community truly amazing and I love working with them all. (I'LL BET YOU DO!)

Over the past few months, the company has worked hard to raise awareness of
what we have to offer and have been working with other great bloggers. (EG, WE HAVE SPAMMED EVERYONE.) We also
utilize editorial write-ups to spread the word and of course, to have fun too. (WE WRITE PRODUCT PORN.)

I would be honored if you were interested in working with xxxxxxxxxxx Fantasys and/or SeXis to help bring our communities together. (EXACTLY WHAT COMMUNITY DO I HAVE? THE COMMUNITY OF PEOPLE WHO LIKE TO VENT ABOUT OREGON DRIVERS, REPUBLICANS, AND PEOPLE WHO CAN'T SHUT UP?) Please let me know if that is a possibility you would consider. (RIGHT. MY PEOPLE WILL PHONE YOUR PIMPS.)

Either way you decide, thank you again for your wonderful blog and I look
forward to reading it in the future. (YOU'RE WELCOME!)


*Right!* What a wonderful writer I am!

I wrote Pheromone Girl and whined, "Why the fuck ME? How and why did they find my blog?"

And she politely said, "Um, because they probably did a search for the word 'fuck'...and you use it on your blog...a lot."

Fuckety fuck fuck. My potty mouth has even caught up with me ON MY ANONYMOUS BLOG!

I wish there was room to e-mail my own comments back with the comments I reject.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

Fuck the fish...and fuck you!

Well, not you. My grandfather and my uncle.

One of our volunteers at work fishes as a hobby. I told her about the one and only time I went fishing - at age 5, my grandfather and my uncle (who are Rush Limbaugh and Rush Jr. respectively, on the likability scale) took me on a fishing trip.

I was a chatty kid - I didn't become an introvert until later on. Come to think of it, I expect 5-year-olds to be chatty, don't you?

They didn't.

"Don't talk!" they yapped, rather loudly, now that I think about it. "It'll scare the fish away!"

You have probably guessed that I have always been opinionated, and when I was little, I liked to challenge adults. I was usually right, and that pissed them off even more - because even then I knew that if a tall person said "because I said so," it was not a real reason.

So back to the volunteer - I found out she fished and told her the story.

Me: "Is that true about scaring away the fish?"
Her: (with strange look on face)"Um. No."
Me: "I knew it! They just didn't want to hear me talk."

I think that is why I became a reporter - I got to challenge and ask why, and got paid to do it. My entire family said I should be a lawyer because I "liked to argue" so much - but it was just a desire to get to the bottom of things.

I couldn't wait to grow up and ask as many questions as I wanted to, watch R-rated Eddie Murphy movies and eat DQ whenever I wanted. And then I did!