How I ended up singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” for 135 hours

IMG_0938The release of the movie Bohemian Rhapsody got me thinking.  Mostly, it got me thinking that, even though I love Queen with the devotion of the twelve year old girl I was when I discovered them, I’m really sick of seeing that biopic trailer every time I try to watch a video on YouTube.  I was sitting through the trailer again the other day while waiting to watch a video of some random girl doing the dance from “Thriller” in full zombie makeup, and I started thinking about an article I’d read that said we spend roughly 2 years of our lives in the shower–or possibly 6 months, depending on (as far as I can tell) if you’re British or not.  I started to wonder how many hours of my life I’ve spent watching the Bohemian Rhapsody trailer.  Then I started to wonder how many hours of my life I’ve spent watching trailers for movies I’ll never see.  Then I started to wonder how many hours of my life I’ve spent singing the song “Bohemian Rhapsody.”  Then I got out the calculator.  After that, things just kind of spiraled and–well, this happened:

Amount of Time in My Life I’ve Spent Doing Things That Aren’t Usually the Subjects of Articles About How Much Time We Spend Doing Things:

1. Singing “Bohemian Rhapsody”:  I kinda gave this one away in the title, but here’s my reasoning:  I sing this song in the shower at least once a week, from start to finish, including all the bits with the words that sound like a hymn from the Church of Satan.  Multiply the song’s 6 minute run time by 52 weeks in the year for (cough cough) years and you get:  8112 minutes/135 hours/5 and a half days.  I think Freddie Mercury would have been proud–you know, as long as he never actually heard me sing.  Oh, Lord.  You don’t think he can hear me in heaven, do you?  I’m pretty loud.

2.  Watching movies I secretly think are stupid because my friends have crushes on the actors:  1116 minutes/18 and a half hours.  For this total, I added up the running times of the third Jurassic Park movie, two Jennifer Aniston movies, Dumb and Dumberer (the sequel; I liked the first one), Deuce Bigalow:  Male Gigolo, and all five Twilight movies.  I’m not including movies like She’s All That, which I thought was going to be stupid but I ended up really liking, or Batman and Robin (the one with George Clooney), which my friends and I were all excited to see but agreed afterward sucked pretty hard.  I’m also not including Titanic because I was always very open about how stupid I thought it was.

3.  Putting off doing things I don’t really mind doing:  I’m not really sure about the exact figures for this one, but I’m guessing the number’s pretty high.  I’m going to peg it at about five times the amount of time it would have taken to just get off my butt and do it.  Sample activities I’ve spent about five times as long putting off as it would have taken to just do include:  emptying the trash, writing thank-you notes, calling my mother back, getting a breast exam, and meeting my boyfriend’s parents.  I should probably leave that last one out of any calculations I do, though, because it’ll screw up the curve.

4. Yelling at my pets:  This one truly shocked me.  Over the course of my cats’ lives, I’ve spent about 78,625 minutes/1310 hours/55 days yelling at them.  I feel like a really bad kitty mommy.  I estimated that I spend about five minutes per day per cat shouting “No!”, calling them bad cats, and occasionally chasing them around the house screaming “Why are you so evil??”  I didn’t think five minutes was excessive, but with two senior kitties plus their big sister (she died a few years ago), five minutes per cat per day really adds up.  I feel bad.  Not bad enough to stop yelling at them, but still pretty bad.

5.  Stalking boys I had crushes on:  I was trying to figure out a way to calculate this one, and I eventually settled on this:  By the time I was done stalking a guy, I had learned as much or more about him as I learned in an entire college course–one I cared about, anyway.  I skipped a lot of the Gen Ed requirement classes (note to my mother:  I’m totally kidding about that.  I attended every class.  I definitely didn’t skip one class so many times that the professor asked my friends if I was sick).  So I made a list of the guys I’ve had crushes on, and if you count each one as a course, I’ve stalked enough guys to complete a college major.  I basically have a degree in Obsessive Infatuation.  Bet my philosophy diploma isn’t looking so bad now, huh, Dad?

6.  Time I spent learning the dance from the “Thriller” music video:  none, because I didn’t do that.  The person in that YouTube video could have been anyone under all the zombie makeup.  The fact that I have the exact red leather jacket that Michael Jackson wore during his groundbreaking musical short film helmed by An American Werewolf in London director John Landis proves nothing except that I have keen fashion sense and spend a lot of time on Ebay.  But if I were the person in the YouTube video, I would just say this:  it’s a lot easier to dance like no one is watching when you’re pretty sure no one can recognize you.  Also, how come today’s zombies don’t dance?  I understand about the problem with body parts falling off, but just stay away from twerking and you’ll be fine.

7.  Walking around in public without realizing I had food/ink/stickers/weird crease marks on my face:  I’d love to tell you, but I can’t make an accurate estimate until my “friends” tell me when they put that “I’m a porn star–ask me how!” sticker on my forehead.  Seriously, guys.  I went out to get the mail like that.  Not cool.

8.  Reading other people’s blogs and sulking because they’re so much better than mine:  just, all the time.  It’s depressing how freaking talented everyone else is. They’re so funny and smart and cool… why is everyone else always so much cooler than I am?? I’m smart!!  I’m funny!! I’m talented–I learned the dance from “Thriller” in just three days–wait…crap.

I give up.  I’ll never be cool.  I’ll always be the crazy lady who yells at her cats and dances in a zombie costume on Halloween (I put the “trick” in “trick or treat”) (yeah, no, definitely not funny.  Sorry about that).  But if my only legacy is that I spent over 100 hours of my life singing “Bohemian Rhapsody,” I can live with that.  There are worse ways to spend your time.

Addendum:  Apparently the Bohemian Rhapsody movie sucks.  Weirdly, I still want to see it.  Damn you, YouTube!

[The image used in this blog is in the public domain at, as almost always, pixabay.com]

Things I’m Afraid My Cats Will Someday Say To Me

IMG_0242I don’t talk to my cats, because I’m not a crazy cat lady.  Okay, I do talk to my cats, but I’m still not a crazy cat lady because they don’t answer me.  In English.  Yet.  I worry that someday they will, though, and here are some of the things I’m afraid they might say to me:

  1. Sometimes I just fake a purr so you’ll stop and I can get some sleep.
  2. I’m not sure the vet got everything down there, if you know what I mean.
  3. Not that I care what you’re wearing, because I’m a cat, and cats only have one outfit, and it’s awesome, but that shirt looks terrible on you.
  4. Why is it okay for you to feed us food you think smells disgusting?
  5. I can’t decide which of my favorite pee-spots to use.  Thoughts?
  6. We’re thinking of getting another human.
  7. So, I’ve memorized all your passwords and I just figured out how to type…
  8. Pass the remote, I want to watch that show about the Kardashians.
  9. Oh, hey, remember that time when you accidentally bashed my head on the doorknob and I couldn’t walk straight for, like, a week but you didn’t take me to the vet because it would mean you wouldn’t have beer money?  I do.
  10. Whatchu talkin bout, Willis?!

I’m a little surprised by number 8; I had them pegged as more “Say Yes To The Dress” types.  And if they ever do actually say number 10 I’ll die laughing, especially since in my head they sound like Zooey Deschanel.  I swear I’m not a crazy cat lady!  Maybe just crazy?

 

[Image in the public domain via pixabay.com]

My Cat Is A Furby

My cat makes a lot of the same sounds I do.  I squeak a little when I’m surprised or happy or in a funny position; so does she.  I grumble unintelligibly when I don’t feel like getting out of bed; so does she, and usually at the same time I do because she likes to sleep on my face.  I make rude noises at my computer when it freezes up; she makes the same rude noises at her toys when they go under the refrigerator and she can’t reach them.  It’s cute.  Or is it?

I was all set to write a post on how adorable it is that my cat imitates me.  It’s been ages since I wrote a feline-centric post, and I’ve been getting warning letters from the internet that I may be forced offline if I’m deemed “hostile to catz.”  But then I remembered my furby-974922_64012 3old furby–the one that started out irresistibly cute but turned out to be possessed by a demon, giving evil laughs in the middle of the night and spouting some kind of satanic smack talk even after I took out the batteries.  I started thinking about this because, before it became the phat new crib of an infernal being, my furby had started imitating me in a very similar manner.  Since that’s sort of the point of a furby, it still came as a surprise when mine dropped the cute act and revealed its true nature as a conduit for the Evil One.  Now that I can read the portents, though, I have to wonder:  can my cat be far behind?

Now, I don’t think my cat has gone full-on Linda Blair just yet, but she’s making a lot of the same sounds that my furby made in the time leading up to its possession.  In addition to imitating me, she also chitters, chirps, trills, and burps, and she makes this bizarre mechanical-sounding growl when I do hateful human things to her such as clipping her claws.  Like a furby, she’ll eat all the food you’re willing to give her and then immediately throw it back up.  Also like a furby, you can wake her up by flipping her upside down (though in fairness, that also wakes me up).  When she sits a certain way she even looks like a furby:  big ears, furry tail, indifference to all other beings.  A nervous human might start to worry.

cat-882049_640I wasn’t worried.  That’s how cats are, and my cat is Siamese and therefore never shuts up no matter who she sounds like.  Making all those strange noises doesn’t mean that she’s a furby, let alone a possessed furby.  Her impersonations are also not exclusively of me.  She does a very good imitation of my alarm clock when she wants to get my attention:  she yowls at an ungodly volume over and over and over until I want to throw her across the room.  This doesn’t mean that my cat is a furby, it just means that I wish my cat came with a snooze button.  She also has no off switch that I’ve been able to locate, just like with a…well, just like with a furby….

I did a little research on the subject, purely out of idle curiosity.  The fact that my once-affectionate lap kitty has taken to sitting in front of me and staring at me for thirty-minute stretches during which she neither moves nor blinks was not a motivating factor.  My research on furbies, much like most of my visits to WebMD, yielded grim results.  Common symptoms of furbitis (highly contagious, very aggressive, no known treatment) include:

  • personality changes that occur when its human forgets to feed it, pulls its tail once too often, or doesn’t pet it enough to make quota
  • talking at you in its own language (which it clearly expects you to understand) regardless of whether you are currently talking to someone else, studying for the MCAT, or even in the room
  • erratic movements with no apparent cause and serving no discernable purpose
  • staring at you with big, glowy eyes while you’re trying to sleep
  • being so adorable that you instantly fall in love with it and take it home, only to start wondering within three days if leaving it on a random doorstep, ringing the doorbell, and running like hell would make you a bad person

Looking at all the evidence, I can only conclude that my cat is indeed a Furby.  On the one hand, the realization is almost welcome.  It explains so much:  the bizarre behavior, the occasional clicking noises, why she doesn’t seem to understand that her tail is attached to her body.  On the other hand, it’s a well-documented fact that furbies are the devil’s familiars and conspire to bring about the downfall of humanity.  But my cat loves me!  She would never do anything to harm me.  She’s so comfortable with me that she sleeps on my face, right over my nose and mouth and…oh, no.

cat-1288972_640 1Screw it.  I’m not getting rid of my cat, even if she is a furby inhabited by Pazuzu that tries to smother me in my sleep.  I’ll still scratch that spot on the top of her head, I’ll still buy baby food as a cat treat and joke that she likes it because she thinks it’s really ground-up baby and that joke suddenly seems much less funny, and I’ll still let her sleep on my face.  She’s my cat and I’m her human.  Pazuzu the Demon King will just have to deal.

 

[all images are in the public domain via pixabay.com]

Rude Things I Wanted To Say, As Told By Cute Animals

Whenever I want to say something rude, I get this weird feeling like my grandmother is listening in from heaven, so I chicken out.  But if there’s one thing we’ve all learned from the internet, it’s that cute animals make everything okay, right?  Well, that and a few things about porn that I really wish I didn’t know, but “Rude Things I Wanted To Say, As Told By Porn Stars” would involve a lot of really awkward photo editing and would probably still end up being rude.  So here are the rude things I’ve wanted to say lately, as told by cute animals because that makes it okay:

1.   While in traffic:

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2.  While waiting in line:

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3.  While in the park:

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4.  While on a date:

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5.  While at a stoplight next to a driver who’s playing a song that’s mostly bass:

animal-967657_640 2

6.  While in a meeting:

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7.  While at a family reunion:

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8.  While watching reality television:

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9.  While stuck in a waiting room with The Guy Who Wouldn’t Shut Up:

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10.  While on hold with my phone company for the fifth time:

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Whew, I feel much better now!  I hope this was as cathartic for you as it was for me.  If it wasn’t, I’d tell you what I think about that, but I’m out of cute animal pictures, so you’re just going to have to guess.

[all images are in the public domain and available on pixabay.com; text added by author]

10 Things I’d Rather Do Than Go To The Gym

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image in public domain  (pixabay.com)

Any time I need motivation to do some chore I’ve been putting off, all I have to do is tell myself to go to the gym, and like magic, I’m suddenly cleaning the bathroom grout. I don’t know why I hate going to the gym so much. I don’t hate actually being at the gym. Once I’m there and I’ve started exercising, I usually get into it. I certainly don’t hate the self-satisfied glow I get after I’ve been to the gym. Plus, then I get to stop off for a post-exercise smoothie and say, “I always hydrate after I work out,” and watch everyone who wasn’t at the gym look guilty.

I’ve had to start facing facts now that I can’t fit into any of my jeans. I don’t know why, but as far as getting myself to put on gym clothes and head toward the shiny, pretty building with the shiny, pretty workout equipment and the shiny, pretty people, I’d rather chew off my own hand at the wrist and use it to punch myself in the throat. Heh. I’d rather tattoo my entire face hot pink than go to the gym. Ooh! I’d rather walk through a room full of clowns than go to the gym. Hey, this is fun! I wonder what else I’d rather do than go to the gym?

Top 10 Things I’d Rather Do Than Go To The Gym

  1. Give a bath to five feral cats, all at the same time.
  2. Prepare, bake, and eat a dirty-sock pie.
  3. Find that video of me from my fourth-grade school play, the one where I’m wearing some sort of metallic tutu and have glitter on my butt, and post it on YouTube.
  4. Take a selfie. Any kind of selfie.
  5. Find the source of that weird smell in the refrigerator and lick it.
  6. Trim my toenails with my teeth.
  7. Run a resort for obese exhibitionist nymphomaniacs.
  8. Tell my parents what really happened to the Mercedes.
  9. Go through natural childbirth.
  10. Write a blog post about things I’d rather do than go to the gym.

I’ll be honest, that got a little disturbing. But we’ve all got our dark secrets; some of us just choose to make them available to anyone with an internet connection and basic literacy skills. So what is it that you would rather eat a dirty-sock pie than do? Clean out the garage? Get a tetanus booster? Go see that play your significant other is in that you’re trying to be supportive about? Come on, leave me a comment with your shameful confession. It’ll be just between us! And if you believe that, I’ve got a truly impressive workout routine I’m going to tell you I did. Now, to round up five feral cats….

Little Blind Girl has left the building

Jeff and Jodi's Epic Bike Move by Will Vanlue on Flickr

Jeff and Jodi’s Epic Bike Move by Will Vanlue on Flickr

I’m moving.  I’m pretty sure the tears are because I’ve developed allergies to cardboard, packing tape, and bubble wrap simultaneously, and not at all because I’m leaving the place I’ve called home for six years.  You can disagree with me if you want, because I’m just making that up to keep from sounding like a wimp.

Don’t get me wrong.  There are things I will not miss.  For instance, I live in a converted warehouse that wasn’t built to be a residence, and in one of the corners the walls don’t quite meet.  If you’re standing at the right angle at the right time of day, you can see daylight.  I’ve seen it snow inside my apartment.  I won’t miss that.  I also live above a restaurant.  I don’t know why it is that they like to dump all their glass bottles into the recycling bin at dawn, but they do, and the restaurant has a bar, so that’s a lot of bottles.  I won’t miss that, either, though it’s been a pretty reliable alarm clock.  I also won’t miss the trains that run immediately behind the building, and I definitely won’t miss whoever it is who thinks it’s a good idea to blast Justin Bieber at two in the morning.

I’ve made this into a home, though, the first I’ve ever had on my own.  I’ve lived on my own for a while, but I never stayed anywhere for long.  I’m a rolling stone, baby, and I gather no moss.  Except here.  My home, my sacred space, my sanctuary.  The place where, no matter how mad the Chloe Cat is, she has to let me in because she has nobody else to feed her.  I’ve had sleepless nights here because I was anxious, because I was ecstatic, because I had a broken heart, because I had a broken bone, or because I just couldn’t sleep.  I started this blog here.  I can see where my viewership is coming from, and it knocks me out to see that little map light up with countries all across the world in which people are reading this blog, and it all started here.

I’m moving to a great place and I’m looking forward to making a new home in which I haven’t had any heartbreaks yet, or had to shovel snow off the floor.  Maybe my new neighbors will blast Muse at two in the morning, or (it could happen) Bach.  Maybe I’ll blast Bach and see how long it takes people to complain (prediction:  17 seconds).  I’m looking forward to living in a place where the ceiling is so high, I have to submit a work order to get a light bulb changed.  But mostly, I’m looking forward to not having to pack any more boxes, or wrap any more fragile items, or try to hold a box closed with one hand while I tape it up with the other using tape that has somehow become stuck to itself in the last half-second.  Sentimentality is nice and all, but if this doesn’t end soon, I’m going to find out who it is who’s been blasting Justin Bieber for the past few years, shove them in a box, tape it shut, and mail it to Canada.

And I’m going to miss the hell out of this place.  Even though it has no closet space, the floors slant, and it managed to get flooded on the top floor, it was home.  Au revoir, apartment mine.  May you be tenanted by good people who always remember to change your air filter.

Things Cats Can Do That My Ex-Boyfriend Never Managed

1.  Knock

2.  Wash

3.  Leave me the hell alone when I’m in a mood

scaredy cat

4.  Cover their poo (cat equivalent of flushing the toilet)

5.  Get their own food

Cat on birdhouse

6.  Just tell me when they’re pissed off

7.  Make themselves useful around the house

cat eating bug

8.  Chase their own tails…no, I tell a lie, he managed that one

9.  Make me love them!

Most adorable cat