My Head Just May Explode!

Must. not. let. head. explode.

Must. not. let. head. explode.

Most of the time, I am an easygoing hermit who is happy to just sit and pet a cat. I don’t need or want a whole lot. I’m thankful for climate control, plumbing, and gluten free burritos. There’s not a whole lot that makes me angry, and I don’t have super strong opinions on things (Stop laughing). But, like anyone, I have things that just drive me bat shit crazy. So, instead of rolling my eyes, and muttering to myself, as I do daily, I decided to share them with you in the hopes that I can get all of this out of my system and go back to petting cats. So, in no particular order, here are the things that might just give me a rage-induced aneurism.

Bullies — I hate it when people pick on others. Leave the gays, the atheists, the tattooed, the pierced, the transgendered, and everyone else who is not Casper Milkatoast bland alone. It’s none of your fucking business.

Humor deficiency — I cannot relate to people who do not have a sense of humor. Look, we are on a ball, speeding through unending darkness. At some point, we will die. It could be in 50 years, and it could be in 5 minutes. Enjoy life, eat ice cream, and don’t get your panties or boxers in a wad over everything.

Pushy Sales People — Whether it is by phone or personal visit, I loathe when people try to sell me anything.  If I want to buy something, I will go to like everyone should. Don’t knock on my door. No, I don’t want to hear about Jehovah either.

Vanity Sizing — If I was a size 7 in 1988, weighing 30 pounds less than I do now, I am pretty sure I’m not really a size 8 now. Just put real numbers on clothes, and stop judging people by their numbers.

Surveys — About 17 seconds after you purchase a good or service, you get a survey. This arrives via email, snail mail, telephone, or Harry Potter Owl.   I’m glad I don’t date because I’m pretty sure you probably get a survey the first time you have sex with someone now. And I have no filter, so some poor fella would probably be crying.

Solid Soup — Chicken noodle is a soup. Vegetable beef is a soup. Beer cheese potato bacon is not a soup; it’s a ticket to the cardiologist. Bring back normal soup.

Reply to all — I want to crawl through my computer screen and start smacking the crap out of people every time I get a reply to all message. All 982 of us do not need to witness you thanking the person who said they would bring cream cheese ginger cupcakes to the monthly budget meeting. Just stop the insanity already!

Super Foods — There’s acai everything, quinoa everything, avocado everything, and coconut oil everything. Unless they are wearing a cape and cooking themselves, they are not super foods. They are just things that Dr. Oz talked about while telling you to Neti pot with olive oil.

Thank you for listening. I feel loads better now, and you may have just saved my head from exploding. What about you? What drives you nutso? Let me hear from you in the comments.


Copyright All rights reserved by fwrdcrm

Maltese Agent and the Missing Jewels

I was not scheduled to write until next week, but this is an emergency. I need your help right this minute. If you have read my work before, you know that I am a secret agent or Designed Operational Guard. My work here in this house is very important. I am not a mere yippie white dog, as Andre would have you believe. I am a high-ranking member of the espionage community. Just like James Bond and Inspector Gadget, I have my tools of the trade. One of those tools was stolen from me.

You have all probably noticed my beautiful necklace in my photos. While I am very much into fashion, this necklace is not just your average bling. It contains my secret agent identification and credentials. Take a good look at this picture, and make sure you have not seen this essential apparatus in any of your local pawnshops or pet stores.


As you can plainly see, it has my name on it. What you cannot see is the microchip inside of the charm. It contains data that would be useful to the enemy agents: Communist Asshole Torturers, or C.A.Ts. I have three of them in my home. While it is possible one of them took it, I think the swiping more likely occurred at the beauty shop.

I had to go tend to my grooming last week. A shampoo, cut, and style were very much needed. When you work as hard as I do to protect your humans, it is easy to forget to keep up your own appearance. As per protocol, my necklace was removed before my bath. That was the last time I saw it. This means one of two things happened:

  1. A C.A.T at the beauty shop stole my necklace and has already scanned it, shared the data, and is planning world domination RIGHT NOW.
  2. Father neglected to take it from the top of my carrier and put it back around my neck after he picked me up from the spa.

Until my identification is found, you should all consider yourselves to be at risk for a C.A.T invasion.   Please keep a squirt bottle and a large dog near you at all times. Do not open a can of tuna or purchase any catnip until I tell you it is safe to do so. As a precaution, I have already begun interrogating the cats in my home.  Please watch this short video to observe my top secret technique.

Update: Mother found my necklace clipped to the handle of my carrier in the garage. My apologies to Andre.  Please carry on, now.

Don’t F#$%ing Text and Drive!

Yes. I know. Everyone does it, right? I see people doing all kinds of crazy things while they are driving. I’ve seen people shaving and putting on make-up. Once, I saw a woman eating a bowl of cereal or soup. I couldn’t get a good look. The light turned green, so I couldn’t jump out of my car, bang on her window, and yell, “Just #$%^ing drive when you’re driving!” like I wanted to.

Horrific texting and driving accidents are things that happen to other people, right? I think all of us have our list of tragic things that will not happen to us. Until last week, my son being hit by a texting idiot was on my “not me” list. Then, I got “the call.” You know, the call you never want to get.

My husband was out of town last week, of course, so I was on single parent duty. My son and his girlfriend had gone to a movie premiere that she had tickets to. They took her car, a little, oldish, Honda. I knew they would be home at around 10:00, so I started getting ready for bed then. I washed the make-up off my face, brushed my teeth, put my night guard in (I’m a grinder), put on my pajamas, and took my Benedryl. I take Benedryl just about every night for allergies and sleeping. Lucky for everyone, I only took ONE pill.

About twenty minutes after I went through my routine, my phone rang. It was my son. I instantly got a stomach cramp because, like me, my son HATES to talk on the phone. So, if he wasn’t texting, something was wrong. I answered on the first half ring.

“Hello. Are you OK?”

“Mom, Um, I’ve been in an accident.” Hyperventilating noises.

“Is everyone OK?” I pictured him trapped in the car, and his girlfriend, a skinny little thing, dead.

He WAS trapped in the car. Both of them were because they were rear-ended by an idiot who was texting and the impact jammed the doors shut. My son’s girlfriend had hit the brakes to avoid a deer and the car in front of her, which had braked. The idiot behind them did not brake. She rammed into them going about 55 miles per hour. If there had been someone in the backseat, that person would not be walking and would possibly be dead.

Some nice couple came out of their house to help them. A man stopped to pull my son and his girlfriend out of the car window.   I wish I had thanked them all. I didn’t. I arrived on the scene about ten minutes after the call, in sweats and wearing my night guard. I immediately checked both of them for damage and noticed brown spots on my son’s sweater.

“Are you bleeding?” I asked him.

“No. I checked him first.” His wonderful girlfriend.

“No. It’s my cherry vanilla Coke from Johnny Rockets. It went everywhere.” My son.

That’s not all that went everywhere. His glasses flew off of his face. His girlfriend’s phone was found outside of the car. Her father had to climb in the car to retrieve some of her school things, carefully avoiding the glass from the busted in back window. Take a look at the pictures. It was a disaster.

So, what did the driver who hit them have to say? “I looked away for like half a sec.”

“For like half a sec?” Such casual language for such a horrific accident. I wanted to smack her so hard. I held back because I needed to be calm for my son, and because his girlfriend said, “It’s my friend from school!” I wanted to tell her that this person was NOT a friend. So not a friend. I bet the paramedics are sick of pulling dead bodies out of cars because of people like this friend who can’t wait five minutes to return a text.

I feel bad for my son, and his girlfriend, who are in physical pain from her actions, but I also feel bad for the other girl’s parents. They arrived on the scene in their work clothes, with their occupations printed on their shirts. I could tell there’s not a lot of free flowing cash there. So, totaling a car is definitely not an affordable thing. I hope her parents don’t buy her a new car. She doesn’t deserve a car. She deserves a kick in the ass, or fifty. I’m volunteering to do this for them, if needed.

She can never make this right. She can never do anything to make up for it. I do hope she has at least learned from this.  When she gets to drive again, I hope she just drives, rather than “looks away for half a sec.” I also hope she talks about this to everyone she knows. Her friends need to know that texting and driving accidents happen to real people.

My son and his girlfriend are OK for the most part. Both have neck and back pain. I’m told it could take years to really know what damage has been done. I’m grateful they weren’t killed, but I’m angry that the girlfriend lost her car, and both of them have pain because an idiot decided to take her eyes off the road. Just drive when you drive. It really can, and should, wait.

Is it worth it?

Is it worth it?



Andre Cat and his Boy

The other evening after I had settled into my nighttime spot on the soft red couch blanket, mother came out of her chambers dressed in the clothes she wears to leave the house. This was weird because she had already gone to bed for the night. I know this because she let that big, black stupid thing go outside to do its personal business. I don’t know why the creature cannot use the littler box as nature intended.

Mother left the house even though the sun had gone to bed hours ago. She was gone for quite a while, and I started to be concerned. Not only was she gone, but Father had left earlier that day carrying one of those things the humans take with them when they abandon us for a while.

My first thought was, “how I am I going to open my food with no thumbs?” Then, I wondered how soiled my litter would become without mother and her scoop. Finally, I began to plan how I would kill the big dog for food when my feline siblings and I could not get the door to the food room open.

Right as I was about to jump on the counter to try to get a knife from the block, Mother came in with the Boy. This was strange because the Boy had left with the Girl earlier in the evening. Normally, when they go out together they also come back together.

The Boy did not seem like himself. He sat on the couch with Mother. Normally, he likes to be in a different room from Mother, either the one with his bed or the one with the big TV. I jumped up on the Boy’s lap because he is my brother and I was worried about him.

There were some strange smells on him. His sweater smelled like that sweet fizzy drink he likes, the brown one. I also noticed that he smelled like the inside of a car. I hate that smell because it normally means I’m going to the doctor. I hate the doctor because he blows air at me that makes me go to sleep so I can’t kill him.

I noticed that the Boy had more water in his eyes than usual. It was fresh eye water, and some was dried on his cheeks. Normally, I would help by cleaning his face, but he pushed me off of his lap. So, like a gentleman, I stayed near him and allowed the white yippie dog to do her inspection.

Big, black, and stupid kept pawing at the Boy and trying to get him to play with her nasty, spit-filled toys. Of course, the Boy had no interest. Could the stupid creature not see that he was ill or sad or something. Could she not smell the scents on him and see the eye water?

I got angry because I knew that someone had hurt my brother. I don’t know what Mother was saying to him, but she was using her love voice, the one she uses if she has to give me medicine. I hate medicine. So, I knew something was wrong. I don’t have my paw swords anymore or I would have caused damage to the person who hurt the Boy. Instead, I jumped up on the back of the couch and kept watch over him.

I’m still not sure what happened to him, but Mother has been typing feverishly on her light square. So, I am certain you will hear the whole story on Thursday. She is a fierce mama cat. I’m surprised she didn’t bring home the carcass of the culprit.

I love my human brother. I'm glad he is OK.

I love my human brother. I’m glad he is OK.

Kangaroo Trash Moms

If you read this blog, you may have guessed that I love animals. I mean, after all, I do let my pets “write” every Monday. I love animals so much that I suckered, I mean asked, my husband if he would like to start volunteering at the zoo. Since he had a part in adopting the 5 creatures in our own personal herd, he said yes. So, every month or so, we head to the zoo and help out. Sometimes, we actually get to touch some baby animals.

I love meeting the zoo animals. Let’s face it as a hermit I’m never going to go on safari to meet them in the wild. Roughing it to me is a hotel with no room service and only basic cable. So, since the zoo is 20 minutes from my house, and has indoor plumbing, it has become my hermit safari. If you don’t have a fabulous zoo in your town or live in the Outback (Australia not the mediocre steak house), it’s OK. Thanks to the magic of the interwebs I can share my zoo experiences and newfound animal knowledge with you. Here we go.

Keeping my hair away from those teeth.  You can see the spit on the right side of my hair.

Keeping my hair away from those teeth. You can see the spit on the right side of my hair. She probably hates that hippie bag they carry her in. Get her a real purse!

First of all, as you may have guessed from the title, kangaroos are the trashy moms of the animal kingdom. The mothers frequently disown baby kangaroos. Other kangaroo moms will not take in an abandoned baby, either. There seems to be a very “sucks to be you” attitude among the female kangaroo community. If a kangaroo mom is sick while pregnant she will abort the baby herself. This may be because kangaroo babies will bite the ever-loving f*ck out of your hair. That’s what the one I held did to me. Imagine having that happen in your pouch. I mean, you probably don’t have a pouch, but imagine. You probably don’t have 3 vaginas either, but kangaroos do, and 2 uteruses. For real. That’s probably why they are so bitchy. It’s a good thing they don’t use tampons because they would go broke buying them.

I just have to be sporting BAD hair when I hold marsupials. And what's up with the hippie purse again?

I just have to be sporting BAD hair when I hold marsupials. And what’s up with the hippie purse again?

Wallabies are similar to kangaroos, though I’m not sure if their moms suck as bad as kangaroo moms. The zookeeper who let me hold a wallaby was not quite as chatty as the fella who handed me the roo. The easy way to tell the difference is size and fur. I mean the difference between a kangaroo and a wallaby, not the difference between zookeepers. Wallabies are smaller and their fur is shinier. Also, having held both a wallaby and a kangaroo, I can tell you that baby wallabies will not try to give you a Supercuts haircut with their teeth like kangaroo babies. Or maybe that kangaroo I held was just freaky.

"You talkin' to me?"

“You talkin’ to me?”

I got to pet a little penguin and her human held her beak shut so she couldn’t bite me. This feisty little South African penguin does not like other species. She will try to attack other animals. Her handler had to hold her constantly so she wouldn’t charge, as in run towards in anger not go on an binge. Why are all of the little girls so fierce? (hides face in shame) For such a harsh girl, she had super soft fur. I need to buy penguin conditioner, I guess.

I did not get to pet a cheetah or a yellow lab, but I got to learn about them from the guy holding the penguin. He told me she tries to attack the yellow labs they keep at the zoo. The dogs are used to help train cheetahs because they are very anxious creatures by nature, and the dogs teach them how to play and not be so freaked out. So, at least at the zoo, cats and dogs really do get along.

With ears like that, the serval is the Prince Charles of the animal kingdom.

With ears like that, the serval is the Prince Charles of the animal kingdom.

Speaking of cats, I got to pet a serval kitten. While people do keep servals as pets, it’s not really a good idea according to the zookeeper. They are still very hard to manage and they’re very muscular. At 35 to 40 pounds when full grown, they’re not really just little house cats. The zookeeper had trouble holding on to the 5-pound kitten he brought to the volunteer meeting. I was able to pet him (the kitten not the zookeeper) and he had the softest fur ever. Seriously, are they using some Aveda products at the zoo?

What's a little shredded skin between friends?

What’s a little shredded skin between friends?

Sadly, I wasn’t allowed to touch the baby lynx because they are unable to retract their claws. So, if he even pawed at me he would’ve left a flesh wound behind. Even so, I considered touching him because I am that much of a crazy cat lady. Plus, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t scratch me because he would smell the crazy on me and just lick my arm like my cats do.

Cats have the scratchiest tongues, but so do giraffes. I got to feed lettuce to a giraffe. Oh wow! I wasn’t expecting a large sandpaper tongue to go up my entire arm. I figured out why there were a bunch of Purell dispensers near the giraffe area. I also learned that you should never try to pet a giraffe. It freaks them out. Why do the yellowish spotted creatures have such anxiety? If you touch giraffes, they will shake and possibly end up hitting you with their large heads.


These are the only animals I have met so far. I will write a follow up in a few months and let you know about any other interactions. If you love animals but can’t volunteer at a shelter because you will adopt 30 cats and 20 dogs and end up on the news (coughs and hides face), then volunteering at the zoo may be for you. There is no way they will ever let anyone adopt a tiger. So, I’m safe there.

Menopause not Drugs

Hello Humans,

I just read that libelous blog written by my tiger brother, Morris. While I would rather you not waste your time on such trash, you simply must read this garbage in order to understand my embarrassment and my anger. Here it is. Give it a quick skim; it’s not worth a full read.

Are you back? OK. As you can clearly see that orange moron accuses me of drug use and, um, having accidents. The embarrassing truth is that I have been having accidents. It’s unfortunate, but true. I refuse to lie about it. However, I do not use drugs. Yes, I do have a little catnip from time to time, but it is a harmless herb, not a drug. It’s not like I’m drinking the little stinky drinks like Mother does.

I wish Mother would make the air colder.

I wish Mother would make the air colder.

The reason I’m having accidents is because I am getting old. I’ve been trying to ignore the truth and keep up the façade of youth. That is why I sometimes just tear off running through the house like my tail is on fire, or try to wrestle my brother Andre even though he is larger and homicidal. I have been trying to maintain some semblance of kittenhood. Sadly, it is not to be. I am an old lady cat.

Like a lot of human women, my first clue was the devilish temperature increases known as hot flashes. They are miserable, aren’t they ladies? I try to find relief by lying on the cold tile, or staying near the air vent. I also drink a lot of water when it doesn’t stink of the large dog’s mouth. She is vile.

My next clue was my mood changes. I’ve become more secretive, and clingy. I hide in mother’s office and refuse to leave. I dive behind the couch or under the bed when I sense she is trying to shoo me out. I simply won’t stand for it. I need to be away from the dogs and this is the only way to do it.

Of course, my final sign was my, um accidents. I can’t seem to hold my bowels like I used to. When I have to go, it’s a sudden urge, like I have to release a beast from my behind or something. I just can’t wait until I get to the litter. I must squat wherever I am and push the feces from my body. Plus, I have arthritis in my toes. Have you ever walked on rocks? How about with arthritis?

Humans, thank you for bearing with me while I discuss such private things. I appreciate your kindness.  While I will try my best to remain close to a litter box at all times, I can’t promise there will be no more accidents. It’s a part of aging. If only there were Depend undergarments in my size.

Leave me alone!

Leave me alone!

Dayum, Dallas!

I’m headed to Florida with my son to visit the love of his life, his grandma. (Sorry, L!) On my way to the airport for this trip, I remembered that I never told you guys about my layover in Dallas back in July. The husband and I were on our way back from California and we got to spend about three hours in the Dallas airport. I have never actually visited Texas, but I do feel like I got a glimpse of this huge state just by visiting the airport.

I took lots of pictures to share with you, but then totally forgot to actually share them. I think I’m getting old. As you can imagine, a lot of the pictures were cow related, but some involved other kinds of dead animals. Everything may be bigger in Texas, but it’s also deader. It’s no mistake that the Bloggess, lover of taxidermy, is a Texas native.

So, this won’t be a wordy blog, more like a picture book. We can call it Dick and Jane Go to Dallas, but use Chris and Lisa instead. Sound good? OK. Get yourself a cup of juice and sit down on the rug. It’s story time.

I couldn't decide if this was high fashion or a cat toy made by someone who was high.

I couldn’t decide if this was high fashion or a cat toy made by someone who was high.


Her head is odd shaped, and her ears are huge, but she doesn't have to flat-iron, so I'm still jealous.

Her head is odd shaped, and her ears are huge, but she doesn’t have to flat-iron, so I’m still jealous.


Like anyone carries a fake gun in Texas.

Like anyone carries a fake gun in Texas.


Foxy lady! Um, dead foxy lady.

Foxy lady! Um, dead foxy lady. Is this a fox, guys?


Yes, there is a real barber shop in the airport.  The husband got a shave -- a head shave.  He also does not have to flat-iron.

Yes, there is a real barber shop in the airport. The husband got a shave — a head shave. He also does not have to flat-iron.

WHAT? Fox news in Texas? Huh?

WHAT? Fox news in Texas? Huh?

No thanks! I ate on the plane.

No thanks! I ate on the plane.

No, really.  I'm good.

No, really. I’m good.

None of your business, perv!

None of your business, perv!

Floor-Poopin’ Cat Sister Probs

Hey Peoples, Morris here. I finally got the light square away from Trample (Sophie). She thinks she’s the only one of us who can write. I actually write gooder than her but don’t tell her cause then she’ll chase me and run me over with her big tramply legs.

I feel safe way up here.

I feel safe way up here.

I mean it. She is scary big and stupid hyper. I think she scares my sister Pot Head Tiger (Boo Boo), too, because lately Pot Head has been avoiding the litter box. She poops on the floor, you guys. It’s just gross.

I try to cover the poop when she does it, but there is not really any litter on the tile or carpet. I gave myself rug burn trying to cover the evidence. No good. Mama still found it and yelled, “What the fuck, Boo?” Mom knows it’s her because she caught her doing it. Pot Head must be sniffing too much cat nip cause she just poops on the floor even when Mama or Daddy can see her.

See! It's gross!

See! It’s gross!

We all have accidents sometimes. I used to pee on the floor when I first moved to Mama’s house. That was because I was mad at Mean Ninja (Andre) for trying to beat me up. I’m still mad at him, but I don’t pee on the floor anymore. I just kick his ass. I’m bigger and stronger. So, I teach him a lesson when he needs it. I hate it when Mama breaks up our fights cause I don’t need her help. I’m a big man.

I gotta go follow Pot Head around and tell her to use the litter box. She is probably so drugged out that she just forgets where all of the boxes are. I’d rather hide on Daddy’s pile of dirty clothes, but if I don’t keep Pot Head from pooping on the floor, Trample or Yippie Dog (Lola) will eat it. Why are dogs so gross?

Thanks for listening.

Purrs and Drool,


P.S. If you are looking for my mama, she is over on Scary Mommy today talking about how much she loves my human brother, the boy. I don’t know why she is there cause she is not scary at all.

I love Daddy's clothes.

I love Daddy’s clothes.

Translated 80’s Songs

Young people, in order for you to understand this blog, you need to be aware of a dark time in human history.  There was a time, brace yourselves, when people did not have smart phones or even regular cell phones. No, not even flip phones. I know.  I know.  Imagine a time where you couldn’t check Facebook every 19 seconds, or Instagram your lobster mac and cheese before you even took a bite.  Dark times.  Brace yourselves again.  Not only were there no smart phones, but there was no internet.  So, humans had no email, or social media of any kind.  We, gulp, had to call each other on archaic devices called home phones.  They hooked into our walls with wires. WIRES!! We had to sit or stand near the phone, and we could only move as far as the telephone CORD would allow.

When I was your age, back in the 80’s, there was music on MTV. Odd, I know, but stay with me. A lot of the videos showed people getting emotional about phone calls. These songs also talked about people meeting in person rather than on Facebook as nature intended. There were even lyrics about people reading paper magazines. What a waste of trees! Why were there no iPads?

Even though there was a shocking lack of technology back in the day, there was some great music. I wanted to share some of my favorite songs with you, but I realized they would probably not make sense to anyone born after 1992. To make them more accessible to those younger than me, I have updated the lyrics so you can understand and appreciate them.


Huey Lewis and the News, “If This Is It”

Original: I’ve been phoning, night and morning. I heard you say,”Tell him I’m not home.”

Translation: I’ve been texting. It says you read them. You keep letting me go straight to voicemail.


Duran Duran, “Girls on Film”

Original: Wider baby smiling you just made a million. Fuses pumping live heat twisting out on a wire

Translation: You used the right filter and got a million likes. You went viral on Instagram and Facebook, too.


Wham, “Battle Stations”

Original: You don’t know how much I hate that answer phone. Are you standing there? But – you won’t pick up the ‘phone. Why lie to my face? When you can buy a tape machine to give me bullshit in your place

Translation: I hate when you reject my call. I know my picture still pops up on your iPhone. You don’t even have the balls to Facetime me.


Ratt, “Round and Round”

Original: Out on the streets; that’s where we’ll meet. You make the night. I always cross the line.

Translation: In a Facebook group, I will see you. You post the best cat videos. I post politically incorrect jokes about Republicans.


Midnight Star, “Operator” (Young people, there used to be a person called an “operator” who used to help you make phone calls. It’s kind of tough to explain, but just think of this person as Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg.)

Original: “Operator, can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m trying to, uh, reach my baby, and I dialed 6-1-6″

Translation: “Hi. You sound lost. Do you need a new iPhone?”

“Yes, I’m trying to text this hot chick, and I dialed 567-443-8671.”

“You didn’t dial a 1 first, doofus.”


Tommy Tutone, “Jenny 867-5309”

Original: Jenny don’t change your number

I need to make you mine

Jenny I call your number — 867-5309

Translation: Jenny, I’ve been tweeting you. Please retweet or reply. Jenny, I follow your Twitter — at sign J-e-n-n-y


J. Geils Band, “Centerfold”

Original: Years go by I’m lookin’ through a girly magazine

And there’s my homeroom angel on the pages in-between. My angel is the centerfold.

Translation: A long time after school, I was flipping through Instagram, and there’s my ex in a bathing suit with lots of tats. My bae is a suicide girl.


The Clash, “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”

Original: One day is fine and next is black. So if you want me off your back. Well come on an’ let me know. Should I Stay or should I go?

Translation: Your Facebook statuses are funny but sometimes you vaguebook. Your relationship status says complicated. Should I comment or should I unfriend?


Prince and the Revolution, “When Doves Cry.”

Original: How can we scream at each other?

Translation: How can we all caps text each other?


Blondie, “Call Me.”

Original: Call me (call me) on the line. Call me, call me any, anytime

Translation: Snap chat me (or text) on the iPhone. I won’t turn it off at night.


Stevie Wonder, “I just called to say I love you.”

Original: I just called to say I love you.

Translation: I tagged you as my Woman Crush Wednesday on Instagram to kind of claim you.

What do you think, young people? Are you still thinking about the wired phone? I hope you don’t have nightmares about that. It was super frightening. Your mom could pick up at any time and tell you to get off the phone. Super embarrassing. Be glad you don’t have to go through that. Maybe you can translate your favorite songs for me now, or at least hand me the lyrics.  I can’t understand what the heck anyone is “singing” now with all of the yelling and growling.  Oh, shit.  I’m getting old.



Coffee Talk with a Great Dane Lab

Hi everyone in light square land,

I’m so excited and it’s not even dinner time. Mama got interviewed by Marshal Zeringue. He is a guy who loves dogs and he posts blogs about them having coffee with their people. The dogs never actually drink coffee because it’s bad for them. Well, he asked Mama some questions, and, as you probably guessed, she answered them in her boring Mama way. So, I answered the questions, too, because I know how to make things more interesting.

Who is in the photo at right?

Well, there’s three pictures.  One is of me, Mama, and Lola.  I’m the big, pretty Black Lab Great Dane. I like to eat food and chase kitties.  Mama is the human. Her people name is Lisa R. Petty.  She mostly stares at the light square [laptop] and writes blogs and books on it.  She also says she teaches college students on the light square, but I never see them or hear them, so I think she’s lying.  The little white dog is my sister Lola.  She looks like a puppy, but she’s actually old.  She mostly just barks a lot to warn us when little humans are playing outside. (Pictures are on original blog — Mama)

One other picture is of me and Mama in the car at the coffee place.  You can tell I’m super happy because I’m smiling.

One is of me just sitting in the car.

And my favorite one is of me with my head out of the car window.  I love rain.

What’s the occasion for Coffee with a Canine?

I was bored and I was chasing the kitties around.  So, mama decided that a car ride might be fun.  I like car rides so I can stick my head out of the window and sniff everything.

What’s brewing?

We went to a place close to our house called Mean Bean.  We had to drive through instead of sit on the patio because it was raining.  Mama hates rain, but I love it.  Mama got a white chocolate coffee, Daddy was with us and he got a chocolate coffee.  I’m not allowed to have chocolate or coffee so I didn’t order anything.

Any treats for you or Sophie on this occasion?

I am Sophie.  Well, Mama and Daddy had their coffee.  Lola and I had cookies at home, after we took that picture.  I like cookies.  I run and jump when mama just says the word cookie.  MMMMM….. cookies.

How did Sophie get her name? Any nicknames?

Well, Sophie has always been my name, ever since I lived at the animal shelter with my sisters.  The boy calls me Sopety McSope Sope, and Mama calls me Big Moose sometimes.  I’m only 82 pounds.  Mooses are bigger than that.

How were you and Sophie united?

Daddy had a black dog that was smaller than me named Mario. Mario crossed the rainbow bridge before I was even a puppy.  So, daddy missed having a bigger dog.  He saw me on the animal shelter’s light square page and he just went there and took me home.

Are there any Sophie-inspired dogs in your fiction?

Well, I write blogs and they aren’t fiction.  Mama sometimes writes blogs about me, too. Andre, the mean kitty, wrote a blog about me.  All of it is true though, except the mean stuff Andre said.

Does Sophie do more to help or hinder your writing?

Oh, I’m  a big help because I write blogs.  Also, I ask to go outside a lot. So, Mama has to get up from the couch or the table or her desk a lot.  This keeps her active and helps her think of more stuff to write.

Who is Sophie’s best pet-pal?

My sister Lola is my best dog pal.  The boy, my human brother, is the person I like to play with the most.  He’s not boring like Mama.

Where is Sophie’s favorite outdoor destination?

I like to run behind the evergreen trees in my back yard.  That is where the birds are.  I like to chase birds.

Squeaky toy, ball, stick…?

Yes, please.  Send them all to my house.  I do tend to destroy toys, though.  My teeth get so happy when I chew on stuff.

Cat, postman, squirrel…?

I LOVE to chase kitties.  They seem to like it, too, because they run.  It’s so much fun.


What is Sophie’s best quality?

Even though I’m the biggest furry kid in the house, I know that I am not the alpha.  I let Andre the mean kitty be in charge.  I’m super nice and I have never bitten anyone.  I just let the mean kitty hit me and make snake noises at me and I don’t even care.

If Sophie could change one thing about you, what would it be?

I would like if if Mama would not be so boring all the time.  She just sits and stares at the light square all day.  She should go out and chase birds like I do.

If Hollywood made a movie about your life in which Sophie could speak, which actor should do her voice?

I would just do the talking myself. If it had to be a person, I would say maybe Mel Blanc, but I think he crossed the rainbow bridge. 

If Sophie could answer only one question in English, what would you ask her?

Mama probably wants to know why I eat poop sometimes.  It’s because it’s tasty.

So, you can read Mama’s version of the interview here on Mr. Zeringue’s page.  Most of the pictures are on Mr. Zeringue’s page.

Leave a comment and let me know who did a better job at this. Probably me.


Me and Mama in the car

Me and Mama in the car

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