One Unhappy Puss in Boots

I awoke two Sundays ago with an ass in my face. (It's not that uncommon, really. One of my favorite Puss in Boots' favorite pastimes includes arranging himself in such a manner that his ass and my head are in close proximity and perfectly aligned.)


When I reached around to give The Puss the attention he demanded, he moved toward the window above my bed with a bit less stealth and grace than he typically manages. It was then I noticed the limp. The swollen paw.

Upon further inspection, I found a fairly large gaping hole was the root of the swelling and limping. With a bit of help from Roommate, I managed to shove The Puss into his carrier before dutifully hauling him out in search of medical assistance.

We waited in a small examination room that was decked with wing backed chairs and antique furniture rather than the metal table I'd expected. The Puss explored the room and the lingering smells of the hurt and sick animals before him. Obviously unimpressed with their scents, he chose the one wooden chair in the room as his throne for the wait.

The doctor examined The Puss and outlined his treatment plan before wrapping him in a towel and gently removing him down the corridor to the back of the hospital. The Puss's howls reverberated throughout the building as I waited, heart aching slightly for his pain.

A couple hours and a couple hundred greenbacks later, I took one miserable beast home from the animal hospital.

Puss spent about a week and a half in the stupid lampshade thing, mercilessly knocking into walls and furniture and any pesky humans who dared exist in his chosen path and constantly begging to go outside.

The torture device collar around his neck made The Puss decidedly more determined to obtain affection and his navigating our townhouse a bit more difficult than usual.

Climbing the stairs proved a particularly cumbersome activity. When The Puss tried to climb straight up, the lower rim of the collar caught on each step. So he navigated on a diagonal, going up two or three steps before hitting a wall or banister and having to change directions. (Oh, how I wish I'd had a camcorder.)

I have to admit, his plight was highly amusing.


The antibiotics have dutifully been forced down his throat (not without much fighting and biting, mind you), and the paw has healed nicely. I owe Roommate a great deal for taking care of The Puss's treatment in my work-related, week-long absence. (Especially since she merely tolerates his presence when he's not hurt or particularly needy.)

What more could you need?

Green Lantern: omg omg
Green Lantern: :-)
Belle: What?! What?!
Green Lantern: I want a Wii!
Belle: ME TOO!
Belle: Well, really I want to date a boy who has a Wii.
Green Lantern: Then you'd have the Wii AND the Sex.
Green Lantern: What more could you need?
Belle: Exactly.

Safety Through Omission

Belle: Serial Killer is asking me to tell him what his best and worst qualities are.
Green Lantern: Uh oh.
Belle: Can I tell him I was afraid he'd chop me into bits if I let him know where I lived, but, other than that, he seemed like a perfectly nice guy?
Green Lantern: Don't agitate him!
Belle: hehe
...
Belle: Ugh. Now he told me mine...
Green Lantern: What? That you lied about having a boyfriend?
Belle: I did not lie!
Green Lantern: :-P
Belle: I was dating someone when I told him that... Just haven't bothered to update him...
Green Lantern: Fair enough.
Belle: Safety through omission.
Green Lantern: LOL

Drink Pepsi

Fuck you, MajorSodaCorporation "Rewards" Site.

And, for that matter, fuck you, MajorSodaCorporation.*

I wasn't even drinking your brand exclusively until I got sucked in and started entering your stupid codes on your stupid site. I lived in relative peace, blissfully ignorant of the heinous crimes perpetrated against your customers by your stupid fucking so-called "Rewards" program, thankyouverymuch.

But for weeks now, I've been dutifully saving bottle caps and laboriously adding ridiculously long alphanumeric codes into your super-flashy Flash site, hoping I might win some contest prize. I did this despite what I knew must be tough odds, what with the millions of other MajorSodaCorporation customers out there and my terrible luck when it comes to, um, winning things. And, of course, I never win, do I? Do I?

No. I never win.

So I decided that the huge buildup of caps on my desk from the last few weeks would be the start of my points collection. That maybe I'd be able to get something cool out of the deal if I bought into the whole delayed gratification bullshit.

And then I realized that each cap is only worth three measly points. That a fucking Mp3 download requires 45 fucking points. That most of your cool prizes require thousands of fucking points. Rewards my ass.

So I did a little math.** If I continue drinking your brand exclusively and stick to my usual consumption of one soda per day, I'll have 780 measly fucking points at the end of a full calendar year. 780 points? And with what treasures, pray tell, would you deign to reward me if I displayed that much commitment to your fucking products, MajorSodaCorporation? What?

Let's take a look, shall we?
- You offer a multitude of products emblazoned with your logo (or one of your affiliates' logos), all of which retail for <$30.
I'm so not doing free advertising for you, assholes.

- I could take a few people bowling or to the movies.
Because I'd totally save up for a fucking year before treating myself to a trip to the movie theater or the bowling alley.

- You're generous enough to offer ONE shitty video game for a PC.
What about the Mac users? Fuck them, you say?

- Or I could choose from a selection of low-denomination gift cards, all of which likely offer only products that cost significantly more than the gift card is worth.
Fan-fucking-tastic. Can't wait for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend money where you tell me I should.

But what rewards are touted highly on your site? Those worth 6,000? 12,000?? 18,000???

Let's see... if I play the devoted customer long enough to accumulate, say 6,000 points... Then what would you give me, MajorSodaCorporation?
- Luxury Resort Accommodations
- Designer Clothes
- Designer Accessories
- Top-of-the-Line Electronics

Now those are some things that might make this all worth my time. But how long would it take to get the points to satisfy your greedy ass? Eight years at my standard rate of consumption, you say? Eight. Fucking. Years.

Looking at all your damn rewards, I feel like I'm suddenly back in the second grade, drooling over the prize book for the annual school fundraiser. Thinking, I can do this! I can get that awesome bike, that Nintendo***! Everyone will be so jealous!

You know what I'm talking about... every year they'd get us all pumped up for the mandatory hawking of gift wrap and baskets o' cheese and chocolate-covered pretzels by passing out the book with the prizes in it first. By letting us ooh and ahh over the cool shit we could win, if we just worked hard enough. And every year, I'd think, This is my year! I'm going to do it! Top seller!

And then I worked my ass off, annoying every adult with whom I had even the remotest connection. Practically begging that they buy something, then feeling crushed when they turned me down or opted for the cheapest thing on the fucking order form.

And when all the orders were tallied, I knew I hadn't won, hadn't even come close. The Principal would come over the PA and announce the school-wide winners, commending them on their dedication and outstanding displays of school spirit, and I would keep my head down on my desk, pretending I didn't care that I hadn't won. Didn't care that other kids had better-connected parents, more generous acquaintances. Didn't care that those kids were going home with the pogo stick and the Sega Genesis****.

And then I take my stupid freakin' disappointing consolation prize and viciously break it before I made it off the bus, so it wouldn't be around to remind me of my dismal failure.

So, yeah, thanks MajorSodaCorporation, for making me feel like an inadequate 8-year-old once again. I really appreciate that.

Fuck it. I'm switching to Pepsi.

* See how pissed off I am at you? I'm not even using your fucking ingeniously marketed, drummed-into-young-American-brains-from-birth brand name to identify you. Take that! You'll get no fucking endorsements from me, dammit!
** And now you're making me do math?! You really don't know when to stop, do you?
*** Yes, it was just Nintendo. And, yes, you can shut it. Duck Hunt was cool, man.
**** Shut the hell up, I say!