A conversation about the cat that has nothing to do with her weight

Henry: The cat hates me. She's always biting and swatting.
Me: It's not personal. She's a cat. Cats are nuts. They hate it when you show too much affection.

Henry: I wasn't even touching her. I was looking at her.
Me: Yes, but with love, I bet. That's your first mistake.
Henry: I was lying there, and she reached over and swatted my face.
Me: You were gazing right at her, right? With love? WITH LOVE? Confess.
Henry: You're weird.
Me: Listen to me. With this cat, the more you like her, the less she likes you.
Henry: She loves Dad.
Me: Because he deeply, deeply dislikes her. And she can't get enough of it. She's all over him the minute he walks in the door. Do you need more proof that she is utterly bananas?

Henry: She's nice to you, too.
Me: Not as much as Dad, though. Because I don't hate her. But I do express my displeasure with her, frequently. That keeps her interested. I'm telling you, if you're more aloof she'll come around.
Henry: Fine. I don't think I like her anymore, anyway.
Me: Keep talking like that and she's going to fall in love, son.

Semi-fictional phone conversation with new financial planner

Financial planner: … And that's a brief summary of my services. Do you have any questions?
Me: I know so little about money things, I wouldn't know where to begin.
FP: (laughs)
Me: No, seriously. Money are me scary. You see? Even my syntax falls apart.
FP: Your feelings are common, and--
Me: How do money I get and not lose? Help can you me? Where?
FP: (clearing throat) Have you begun saving for retirement?
Me: Sort of. Not since 2002. I have, I don't know, ten 401Ks? Thirteen? I can't remember where they are. Sometimes I put the statements in a shoe box. The one my cat sleeps in.
FP: Ah.
Me: I tried to save some money in one of those ING accounts but then I spent it all on boots.
FP: Well, first thing--
Me: They were nice boots. They were an INVESTMENT. Say, "investment," that's a money talk!
FP: Okay! First thing is, let's work out a budget.
Me: Uh oh. This talk of "budget" makes me anxious. I feel like I'm floating and I'm going to float up into space and never come back. Could you come over with a blanket and wrap me in the blanket and make sure I'm held down and safe until gravity regains its hold?
FP: It's totally normal to feel--
Me: BLANKET ME, WOMAN.
FP: There, there.

Our conversation went like this for about a half hour. I can't believe I found someone so nice who's willing to work with me despite my obvious lack of knowledge/sanity. Henry might get to attend college after all!
 

This, since 2004!

Bluuuuuuuf. I feel horrible. I feel the worst anyone has ever felt.

I'm whining. I admit it, at least. This is happening. It's in my head, and if I were to speak, you would clap your hands over your ears and flee. I would not blame you! Flee! Flee while you still have the chance!

I'm not even sick. I am merely having Monthly Issues. Wherein my Girl Parts are causing Full-Body Malaise, Troubles, Low Moods, and So Forth.

I am typically only mildly troubled by such matters, so this is unusual, which is a good thing (for everyone else) because I really cannot take much more of this. My ARMS ache. How did my ARMS enter into this? Also my skin has exploded, which is especially fantastic seeing as how I have to do a video tomorrow and I will have to wear a shroud over my face, lest I terrify the viewers. A face shroud. Or I'll just have the editor (Scott) pixelate me. Can/will he smear petroleum jelly all over the digital-camera lens? We're going to find out!

It occurred to me today that as of the end of January, I have been writing this blog for (drumroll, please) (…no? No one has a drum handy? Fine) eight years. I should be celebrating this with some groundbreaking post that shows you how far I've come in all these years but all I can muster is this. This low-grade moaning. Booooooooooooarpg.

No, but really. I'm glad I'm still here, and that you're still reading! Who's the best? You are! [Imagine me shuffling toward you with my animal-fur-covered chenille throw wrapped around me, arms wide, wincing a little with each shuffle. Come here. Let me embrace you. I showered today!]

Here are two scraps of conversations that I was going to incorporate into posts but never could figure out how. But they make me laugh whenever I re-read them.

Me: [blah blah something something using the word "coterie"]
Jenny: I love it when people use that word, because then I can say, I know what coterie means, and I know how to spell it.
Me: It's important for people to know that you know how there's no "coat" in "coterie."
Jenny: There's not a y, neither. And I know that.

We went on like this for a while. Jenny saved me from the self-loathing that immediately kicked in after I used the word "coterie" in conversation. Thank God for her.

And also:

Me, talking about a certain reality TV show personality I may or may not have done a video with: She kept saying, "It's hot as balls in here."
Scott: Was it?
Me: It was definitely warm. But what does that mean, anyway? Are balls notoriously hot?
Henry: Of course they are. LOOK IT UP.

Thank you, Henry. I do not think I will look that up.

We've had this conversation, I am not exaggerating, three times at least

"I don't know why everyone says you shouldn't stare at the sun. I stare the sun all the time."

"Please don't stare at the sun."

"But I do it and it feels okay."

"It is not okay. Staring at the sun will damage your eyes. This is a fact."

"Hmm, I don't think it's a fact."

"There's really no debating this. No staring at the sun. Period."

"No, but see, it doesn't even hurt!"

"Listen. Even if it doesn't hurt, for whatever reason. Don't stare at the sun."

"I did it once for like ten minutes! And I can see fine."

"You did not look at the sun for ten minutes."

"I really did. My friends dared me and I just stared and stared."

"What?! Stop it! Are you trying to go blind?"

"You don't understand. It's fine. I do it all the time."

"Stop staring at the sun. I can't believe we're still talking about this."

"Mom. Listen to me. I don't get hurt, so it's no problem."

"For the love of--DO NOT STARE AT THE SUN."

"No, see, what I'm saying is, all those people who say it's bad for you are probably wrong. Because I've been testing it."

"They are not wrong. This is basic stuff, Henry. This is--look. No more staring at the sun. Promise me."

"Fine."

"Thank you."

"I'll stop telling you about how I stare at the sun."

"HENRY."

--

Hey, guys!  Over at my Babble column I'm writing a bunch of posts that are sponsored by Dell (there will be two this week and two next week). And the excellent part of that is that we're giving away a Dell Inspiron! So you should go over there and comment on one of the sponsored posts for a chance to win. Before October 28th, please, thank you, goodnight.