kiss the cook.

clearly, from lack of hits on my blog, you people do not care about the progress of princess o learning to use the toilet. noted, and moving on. did you know that is my other life i cook things? 

you see, in my real life i drink things, make funny jokes about things, and buy exorbitant amounts of things. on the contrary, in my other life, the one most of you haven’t seen i cook things and, i don’t mean to boast (lie), but those things are fucking fabulous. there are some things that you are just good at/have a natural aptitude for/are meant to do. princess wingy cole likes to joke and say that i am prepping myself to be the perfect housewife, but presently marriage terrifies me and cleaning mystifies me (there are not cleaning fairies that de-clutter rooms and sinks? what have you done to me, panda?). it seems as though cooking (among other talents such as vodka tolerance, marathon shopping, kitty cat care, storytelling, general craftiness, and tanning) is my forte. why this particular talent has latched onto me and made the career pursuit appear dismally unprofitable, i’m not sure; tis a conundrum i lack the brain power to fully dissect and resolve to ultimately care. and just so you know, nonexistent eligible bachelors, [qualifications here] i appear much more attractive carrying a tray of delicious food than i do in real life. i’m beginning to think my best chance of meeting the man of my dreams will only happen if i perpetually wear a “kiss the cook” apron and stumble upon true love (my life is a movie?) through the process of elimination. get it while it’s hot (or not), employment sucks ass. 

city kitty.

forgive me blogspot, for i have sinned. it has been 22 days since my last blogfession. eh, you’ll get over it; oreo and i have been very busy little (or not) kittens. 

did you know that you have to have a job in order to pay for an eminent move into the city? it’s insane. also, did you know that a bachelors degree (a designer diploma, at that) coupled with a completely pointless associates degree from a prestigious technical school no longer qualify you for any job, whatsoever? it’s true. at any rate, princess o and i are ready to be adults and are looking forward to the spacious cardboard box (of the refrigerator variety, of course) that we will soon be inhabiting. in preparation for such a move, and because i obviously posses the skills to live quite comfortably in an iron jungle (budgeting skills, a complete professional wardrobe, keen street smarts, my daddy’s money and my mama’s good looks?), oreo the orca whale is having to make some adjustments in preparation for life outside of fuglasville. step number one involves me backing up my ridiculous claims with some actual results. yeah, that’s right, i am, in fact, toilet training my cat. papa bear purchased a fabulous product, aptly named citikitty for us off the interweb and operation “cat peeing in the toilet” is in full swing in the lantzalot (so punny) household. in about 25 complicated steps you too can have your mean little bundle of black and white fur tinkling in the potty instead of in the litterbox. well, guess what? oreo is a stubborn little shit and we are stuck around step 5. she has a strange new habit that involves me taking her outside on a leash and her doing her business outside instead of in her citikitty toilet contraption. that’s right folks, instead of turning my cat into a well adjusted urban feline, i’ve made her a dog. let’s face it, it could be worse; i could have made her into a hamster, and everyone knows cedar chips smell weird (although i would love to see o-ey run in one of those metal wheels, not that she’s capable of running in the first place, for serious). did i mention that i bought stupid o an adorable little pink harness and matching retractable leash? well, it did, and watching her walk with them on is the funniest thing i’ve ever seen. she hates it and walks in a manner dubbed “flat cat” by mrs. panda. all around, complete, success. 

so, let us review. oreo and i are moving out. i still have no job. princess oreo still cannot use the human potty or walk on a leash without doing something most similar to a military crawl. the life plan is in full swing people, and going quite well. 

leashed/pissed

crazy cat lady paraphernalia

orey in "nature"

proof that i will be single forever

false promises in eye catching packaging/ugly cat

[insert potty joke here]