Dumpy, Lumpy, Tubby, and Squeaky

Dumpy, Lumpy, Tubby, and Squeaky,

Ate each others vomit weekly.

Dumpy was white and hairy and small,

And took hourly dumps that were ten feet tall.

Lumpy was smallest, yet pudgiest too,

And filled her cage with guinea pig poo.

Tubby was large, and by large I mean fat,

He slept all day, a lethargic cat.

Squeaky was thin with a feminine voice,

He liked fashion and ballet and boys of his choice.

New Daddy liked cats, he didn't like dogs,

Dumpy was one he wished to flog.

But Dumpy filled Mommy's heart with joy,

Despite Dumpy's dumps and the toys she destroyed.

Lumpy lived in a large wooden cage,

She was feminist, wise, and remarkably sage.

Tubby disappeared for days upon days,

He was too fat to run and too awkward to play.

Squeaky impressed with his elegant swag,

Mommy and Daddy both joined PFLAG.

All of these animals were encouraged and loved,

Petted and cuddled and snuggled and hugged.

Because they were Dumpy, Lumpy, Tubby, and Squeaky,

And they ate each others vomit weekly.

Spottswood's Baby Pictures

Ian recently bought some computer hardware back-up... thing that I was completely disinterested in until he showed me that it could store all our photos, including his old photos from the past few years.

And those photos included baby Spottswood.

Ian adopted a tiny Spottswood after his family was killed by dogs. Baby Spottswood was a playful, independent, easy-going, and adventurous kitten.

I ask Ian often how such a rough and tumble kitten morphed into such a skittish and delicate cat.

Here's the world's most perfect cat when he was a kitten:

You guys, we can't help it. We both scream, "AWWWWW!" every time we see this photo.

Showing an early interest in shiny objects. He wants to wear jewelry, but Daddy thinks the other boys might tease him at school. Spottswood, darling, you were born this way.

A curious Spottswood inspects an indifferent CDR (may God rest his piggy soul) 

A walking Spottswood. HOW AMAZING.

Fixated on a glass. His favorite drink is a Mimosa served chilled in a champagne flute. But we only give him virgin Mimosas. He's still only three, after all.

Mr. Harvard and his young protégé, Spottswood.   

Playing Spiderman. Daddy was thrilled that Spottswood wanted to play super-heros... it's never happened since.

Baby Spottswood and fat Harvey 

Spottswood has always been expressive. He plans to audition for his school's Wizard of Oz play next week. He wants to be Dorothy.

He's had an eye for fashion from an early age, although he usually prefers pink argyle.

Sorry for another picture post. But, lo, I am hungry and tired. And everyone loves a fuzzy baby, right?

Ian's Baby Picture

Over Christmas break, Ian's dad made me a copy of one of Ian's baby pictures.

I cooed over it and declared Ian the perfect specimen of baby. That blonde hair! That olive complexion! Those blue eyes! Coo! Cooooooooo!

Ian: "Man, look at that face I'm making. I was trying to look sexy."

Laura: "Was that your sexy baby face?"

Ian: "Yes. I can still make that face. Look."

Ian: "Are you really going to post those? I look like a donkey."

In other news, one of my coworkers reported seeing a model in a J. Crew catalog who looked just like me.

I never saw proof of this, so I can only assume the modeling executives received my portfolio and were overtaken by my cutting-edge photos. Therefore, they must have published the pictures immediately.

I haven't received my royalties yet, but once I do, I plan to purchase a French villa and some pants.

Laura and Ian See Cougars On Separate Occasions and Ring in the New Year

1. Ian and Laura See Cougars

When I say Ian and I both spotted cougars, I don't mean we spotted older women prowling a nightclub. I mean we spotted large cats who could kill and eat us.

About a month ago, I was sitting at the table eating breakfast at 7:00 in the morning. As I gazed out the window, I saw an enormous golden-tan cat walking up the driveway next door. It looked like this:

My heart leaped into my throat, and I froze. Then I jumped out my chair and looked wildly for Winnie, Spottswood, and Harvey to make sure they were safely inside. 

Since animals that look like this would obviously live in the wild outdoors:

Then I frantically tried to figure out how I would get in my car to drive to work.

Would I call in and say: "Hey, Mr. Boss, I can't come to work today. There's a cougar in my driveway." And he would be all, "God, Laura, couldn't you just fake sick? What, is there a shark in your bathtub, too?"

And then I tried to figure out how I would take Winnie out to potty.

Winnie has to pee every four hours, and she can only hold it for so long. Oh no, she'll explode. OH, CURSE THAT COUGAR FOR HIS MIGHTY JAWS AND LIMBS. MY BABY WILL HAVE NO BLADDER LEFT, AND WE'LL HAVE TO BURY HER EXPLODED INSIDES.

By this time, the cougar had stalked off. And then I felt weird, or maybe silly, and most definitely stupid. My internal dialogue ran like this:

"Laura, there's no way a cougar would just walk up the driveway. You were still asleep. The perspective was off. You probably just saw a house cat. Of course! It was a house cat, and my mind played a trick on me."

After giving myself a pep talk, I motored to work and later relayed the events to Ian, ending the story with, "but it was just a house cat."

Fast forward to last week. Ian was riding his bike on the Green Line early in the morning on his way to work. He thought he saw two house cats. Here's his internal dialogue:  

"Hey! Kitties! Here, kee kee kee! Oh... oh shit. Those are cubs. And that's their giant ass mother. OH MY GOD, PEDDLE FASTER."

After a bit of Googling, we learned there have been a few cougar sightings in our area over the past few years.

So that's how we both saw cougars, and that's how I learned I wasn't crazy.

2. Ringing in the New Year

What can I say? Ian drank two beers, I guzzled orange juice, and then we put the union suit on the dog.

This is how we throw a party.

We both passed out on the couch at 10:00pm. Ian woke at 11:00 and dragged himself to bed. I decided that was too much effort, so I continued sleeping on the couch.

I woke at midnight, long enough to snap this photo:

Getting buck wild on New Year's Eve 

Happy New Year, everyone!

'Twas Five Days Before Christmas

Hi there! Here's a round-up of *interesting things in my life.

*These things are not actually interesting.

1. Everywhere we go, Ian and I see Winnie dogs: small, white, fluffy dogs with bright eyes and wagging tails. We always exclaim, "Hey, it looks like Winnie!"

We see them everywhere, striking fear in the heart of New Daddy. I almost swore that Winnie dogs were taking over the world. Or at least the United States. But I scoffed it off as silliness. Then I saw this:

 
You guys better start trying to win Winnie's favor now, because she's in the running to become America's next great empress-dictator, a title first held by Cher. 

With that kind of power, she may require all U.S. citizens eat dog food while she feasts on steak, beef patties, cheese cake, and cheese wheels. Get ready guys...

2. Ian and I snapped Christmas photos with the pets, using the timer on my camera. We literally herded cats for it, and the results were so-so.

Ian raced around trying to snatch up both cats while the camera's timer beeped frantically. Spottswood and Harvey insisted on slapping each other while in such close proximity and yowling mournfully. And that made the dog go nuts.

At any rate, here are our holiday photos for 2011:

3. Our Buddhist Christmas tree has become ridiculous. Ian's friend gave us a pretty teal christmas tree ornament that matches our teal floor, and my parents gave us Yellow Submarine Beatles ornaments:

John wishes you a happy Christmas and reminds you that war is over.

Ringo's easily startled.

Paul's simply having a wonderful Christmas time and is ashamed that John wrote way better Christmas songs.

George is pondering the meaning of life and is totally tripping balls.

Ian insists on displaying this Santa doll by the tree. Santa the doll creeps me out to an absurd level so I keep tossing him in the spare bedroom, in the hopes Ian will forget him. 

But, just like Chucky, he keeps reappearing.

Someone hold me.

Ian Graduates and Laura Makes a Speech

Ian attended his very last class of college on Tuesday. On this momentous night, I was called in to make a speech on infant mortality to his class.

Not because I wanted to, mind you, but because his professor required the students to bring in speakers for a symposium.

Ultimately, this is why Ian spent his last class of his college career hearing his girlfriend yell at his fellow classmates TO WEAR A CONDOM. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WEAR A CONDOM.

Here's the play-by-play of this momentous occasion:

The week before the symposium- Request the day off. After 6 years of higher education and 1.5 years of the corporate world, I have yet to conquer procrastination. We all know I'm going to throw this shit together two hours before it happens, so I need the day off for checking Facebook and playing with the dog.

7:00 am- Wake at normal time. Consider getting up and composing speech early, giving myself the rest of the day off. The dog is up. The cats are waiting expectantly. My adulthood beckons... ah, fuck it.

8:00 am- Wake up again. Debate more sleep. Decide to act like an adult, or at the very least, an adolescent grasping at adulthood.

8:30 am- Eat breakfast. Watch the dog and the cat play together.

9:00 am- Realize I have the whole day before me. I can clean the bathroom! I can do laundry! I can go to the bank! I can get my flu shot!

9:10 am- But the dog looks awfully excited that I'm home. She wants a walk. She needs a walk.

10:30 am- Finish extra long walk with the dog.

11:00 am- Decide I should go to my parent's house and use their printer for my speech. Clean nothing. Wash nothing. Run away from adult responsibilities. Fear bank. Try to forget flu shot. 

11:10 am- Drive to parents' house. Worry about catching the flu.

11:30 am- Print articles about infant mortality. Consider speech prepared. Congratulate myself on a job half-assed.

11:45 am- Wash the dog's butt because of an unfortunate doo doo incident.

Noon - Drive home and greet Ian who has come home early from work. Go to Panera for lunch.

12:30 pm- "Have you prepared your speech? You have, right?"

12:31 pm- "Umm. Sorta. Like maybe kinda read... stuff...articles with the printer. Kinda speech."

12:31 pm- "So, you're ready?"

12:32 pm- "Yes."

1:00 pm- Arrive home.

1:10 pm- "I'm ready to dig into this speech now! I am focused! I am pumped!"

1:15 pm- Watch an hour's worth of old Saturday Night Live clips on Youtube.

2:15 pm- "Hey Laura? I'm going to walk Winnie so you'll have some quiet time to focus on your speech."

2:16 pm- "Oh...yeah. My speech."

2:30 pm- Dog goes walking, taking multiple craps. Inside the house: Peace. Silence. Zen.

2:32 pm- "I should watch old Barbara Walters interviews! Or Youtube clips of Captain Planet! Anything's better than this."

3:00 pm- Find focus. Use highlighter. Write things down. Feel academic.

5:30 pm- Drive to Ian's campus. Feel mildly sick.

8:10 pm- After listening to two guest speakers, stand to give speech.

8:11 pm- "Hello class. My name is Laura, and I'm going to talk about infant mortality..."

8:30 pm- "...AND THAT'S WHY YOU SHOULD ALWAYS WEAR CONDOMS. NOTHING ELSE PREVENTS STDS. DO YOU WANT STDS?"

8:45 pm- "Ms. Laura, isn't it difficult for women to breastfeed in our society?"

8:46 pm- "Yes, Timmy, it is. Our culture views BREASTS as SEXUAL objects, where BREASTS are only meant for SEX."

8:55 pm- "I'd like to thank Ms. Laura for speaking on behalf of our group to the class. In appreciation, we offer her this Victoria's Secret bag."

8:56 pm- <Snickering boys in the class> "Ha ha! The sex teacher's present is from Victoria's Secret! Ha ha! Sex! Booger! Sex!"

9:00 pm- Ian and I leave, rejoicing the end of class.

9:30 pm- Ian eats an enormous hot dog.

The End.

Congratulations, Ian! You have your horticulture degree!

Blog-A-Fred

Ian and I are cooking up some special posts for the blog. They require a certain amount of leg work so look for those in the coming weeks and months. For now, here's an update on the Winiferd family:

1. Only a year and half ago, Spottswood lived in terror of Winnie.

When they began living together, we watched the two develop a tepid relationship. Tepid on Spottswood's end, at least. Winnie has always shown an exuberant appreciation for the cat with the glamorous poses and dainty meow.

The two slowly developed a playful relationship.

Last night, Ian and I watched in amazement as Winnie and Spottswood curled up in the same position on the couch.

Then Winnie yawned and Spottswood patted her on the head. I kid you not.

Then they started spooning.

Ian and I stared breathlessly. It was like watching Mutual of Omaha's Mild Kingdom.

2. I feel obligated to post an update on Harvey. He remains anti-social, appearing for only twenty minutes per night before stalking off to enjoy quality alone time. He also barfed on my bed.

Why must you encroach on my alone time?

New Mommy says I'm beautiful, no matter what they say.

This is the bed I barfed in. 

3. I have inexplicably been roped into making a speech for Ian's speech class. For Ian's speech class. Hey professor, I passed my speech class.

The professor has decided the class must host a symposium and each group must bring a speaker.

You know what kind of people want to spend their free time writing a biography, preparing a powerpoint, writing a speech, and spending an evening talking to a class of disinterested college kids? NO ONE.

Which is why I have to speak to Ian's class about infant mortality: no one else would do it. And Ian was desperate. And I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS. But, alas, I kinda like Ian so I'm going to do it.

I'm wondering how much he'll ultimately regret this because you better believe the entire class will receive flyers advertising Winiferd in the Burbs at the end of my speech.

Ian: "But your blog has nothing to do with infant mortality."

Laura: "The hell it doesn't."  

I'l let you know how it goes.

Are You There God? It's Me, Ian.

I wanted to read Judy Blume's Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret aloud to Ian.

He fell asleep before I finished the first chapter. Since he wouldn't listen to me read, I wrote this instead:

Are You There God? It's Me, Ian

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. I'm really nervous about meeting my friend's new cat. Her name is Blythe. Isn't that a beautiful name? I'm going to wear my Yankees t-shirt. It makes my chest look more muscular. I hope Blythe likes it. 

I wanted to buy a new t-shirt, but Laura wouldn't let me. Laura's my girlfriend. She doesn't understand these things. She doesn't even like cats. She tells me she does, but she always kicks them when they get close to her. Isn't that mean?  

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. Blythe loved my t-shirt! I could tell when she wanted to lie on my stomach. She was so warm and fuzzy. I wish my chest was bigger. 

I know a couple of guys who go to the gym every morning and do exercises. I wonder if I could do that without Laura noticing. She'd think it was dumb. 

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. Today, Laura and I ate lunch with our friends, and Blythe was there! She sat in Sam's lap the whole time. I was sooooo jealous. 

I heard her purring. I wanted to smack Sam and kick her in the shins. Blythe should be with me. I bet if I had a nicer chest, she would sit next to me. Or even sit in my lap. 

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. I'm taking this speech class. I can't tell if the teacher likes me or not. Her name is Ms. Fink.

There's this guy named Trip in my class. He has the biggest chest in the whole class. Everyone noticed. Even Ms. Fink noticed. 

We all had to introduce ourselves, and when Trip stood up to speak, Ms. Fink's eyes bugged out of her head. Trip was wearing a sweater, but my chest never looks like that in a sweater.

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. Guess what!? My friend Sarah formed a special kitty club! Isn't that neat?! We had our first meeting today and tried to think up a name for the club. I suggested, "We're Only Here For the Beer." 

But Sarah thought that sounded too much like a slogan. I hope she doesn't think I'm dumb. She suggested "The Kitty Cat Sensations." We'd call ourselves the KCS for short. We took a vote and the KCS won. 

Sarah said that the first rule of the the KCS was to wear Dr. Martens without socks. I'm so glad I already have Dr. Martens. Laura wouldn't let me buy a new pair of shoes just for this. She never understands.

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. This morning when I got ready for work, Laura said wearing Dr. Martens without socks was dumb. She said I'd get huge blisters.

I wore them anyways. 

By the middle of the day, my feet were killing me. I took my Dr. Martens off as soon as I got in the car to drive home. 

I had blisters, but I didn't want Laura to know. So I put my Dr. Martens back on as soon as I pulled into our driveway. I smiled real big when she asked about my day. I showed her.

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. Today, Sam told me that Blythe hates the band 'N Sync. 

Well, I love 'N Sync. Justin Timberlake's the next Michael Jackson. What if we ever talk about music? Would I lie to Blythe? I know lying's wrong, but I really like Blythe.

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. Sarah told me there's going to be a dance and all the KCSs are going! And get this. Blythe is going, too! 

I told Laura I had to get a new t-shirt. She told me I was being silly, but she let me get a new green t-shirt.

It fits so snug on me. I wonder if I could stuff Kleenex in my shirt to make my chest look bigger. Do you think the other boys would notice, God?

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. The dance was tonight. I prayed that Blythe would ask me to dance. Finally, one of the moms who was chaperoning announced the last dance. 

The lights got low, and the D.J. played "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You." I walked over to Blythe to ask her to dance. But this jerk named Gizmo beat me to her, so Blythe danced with him instead. I'm so upset. 

Are you there God? It's me, Ian. Today, Laura found me crying in the bathroom. She asked me what was wrong, and I told her about Blythe dancing with another cat. I told her it was because my chest is too small. 

Laura smiled which made me feel mad. I yelled at her. But Laura told me I was just experiencing a burst of hormones.

She said there would be other cats. And she told me lots of guys worry about the size of their chests. She told me I looked perfect just the way I am. It made me feel a lot better.

Then she told me I need intensive therapy and that she'd booked me stay at the funny farm. She used the phrase "funny farm." I hope that means there are lots of cats.