describing my overall state of being this week as “disheveled” would be a vast, bordering on criminal, understatement.
i’m sure you’ve all had weeks where you just can’t seem to get it together; well, hello readers, welcome to my life. between listening to katy perry’s “peacock” and mentally calculating the best way to insert the peacock/chicken dance into everyday life i’ve done one or more of the following in the past week: constructed a 7 layer torte masterpiece/shitshow in “culinary” class, made out with an irish man, had a girl ask me, “did you just wake up 5 minutes ago? you look crazy” (to which i wanted to reply, “no bitch, i have a 45 minute drive to this hellhole and therefore woke up 50 minutes ago”), unintentionally covered over half my ass with a delightful layer of chocolate ganache, aced a french test (take that, trelawney), had a panic attack in the freezer, made a grown man cry, refrained from shoe shopping of any kind, combed princess oreo, and wonder upon wonders, shaved my legs. so in my world, i guess you could call aforementioned occurrences typical, but i’ve been seriously debating which (none) of these “normal” activities could fit into a “real” person’s schedule. you know, a real person who doesn’t live at home with their parents, exist on their (monopoly) money and has a “j” word (job)? you see, the way i figure it is there’s not always going to be a freezer nearby that you can walk into and scream the f word, no one dances at work, you can’t make out with (short) people because they are irish and you can’t understand them, and if your co-worker asks you if you woke up 5 minutes ago it’s not because he/she is complimenting your ability to quickly pull together an outfit and look ravishing in no time at all. these assumptions lead me to believe that i am quite literally having a life plan crisis. who is going to hire me/maybe i should join the circus under a traveling show which headliner reads, “come one, come all, and see the worlds meanest/laziest cat and her disheveled owner”? that show sounds lame.
it seems as though the only solution here is to get princess oreo a better talent so we can begin our tour. kitty cat toilet training begins now, complete with flushing. on a final note, and to encourage participation in the comments section, i pose the following question: “what marketable traits should princess oreo and i begin banking on in order to create a “j” word which suites our individual talents and lends itself to peacock dancing outbursts”?
