Posts Tagged ‘crazy’


The Kitties Want Attention

December 11th, 2003 by Oskar Kennedy

  Our cats are both on the youngish side of rambunctious, nearly a year and not quite two years old, respectively. Every once in a while, they go into what Amy and I affectionately refer to as “psycho-kitty” mode. Their pupils get very wide, their tails start to twitch madly, and they start tearing ass around the apartment, killing anything that moves and, for good measure, assaulting anything that looks like it might move sometime in the future.
  This morning, when I dragged my lazy butt out of bed, I discovered that they had taken the latest round of p-k to new heights. They de-arranged the couch cushions and knocked most of the stuff off of the coffee table, entertainment center, and Amy’s desk. That is all per the usual madness. This time, though, they somehow managed to pull the tablecloth completely off, despite it being weighed down by a good sized book of coupons and a ceramic snack dish. The dish only happened to not smash because Amy and I have been leaving our snow-covered shoes near the table, and it seems to have bounced off of them before hitting the floor. If we’d been less concerned about tracking dirty wetness about the house, we’d be short one slightly adorable snowman-shaped snack dish. Talk about your close calls.

  Remember that joke that kids used to play on each other? “Say ‘I’, then spell ‘cup!’” Boy, that was the height of hilarity when you were six, wasn’t it? Well, all of a sudden, Charlatan likes to (spell cup). Unless I shut the bathroom door firmly enough to latch it, she comes barging in as soon as she hears the clank of the toilet lid against the tank. She’ll climb up and perch on the side of the tub, and watch the goings on in the bowl. I can’t even reach over to put her on the floor, for fear of anointing every surface in the bathroom. I’m sure it says something about me that I’m slightly embarrassed about urinating in front of my cat. What it says, I’m not sure.

  As I was typing this revealing look into the feline life forms residing here, Barrymoore decided to investigate. Sensing, somehow that I was passing on secrets that might jeopardize national kitty security. In an effort to thwart me, he climbed into my lap, inserting himself betwixt myself and the keyboard. He then proceeded to lick and nibble on the back of my hands. It was very sweet and affectionate, but it made it impossible to hit the correct keys in sequence. Fortunately, he’s much smaller than me, so I was able to remove him, after pausing to love him up for a few minutes.
  God help us if they ever evolve thumbs.

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Cher is stalking me.

February 10th, 2006 by Oskar Kennedy

  I swear, that song If I Could Turn Back Time is following me around. I keep hearing bits of it; it’s playing in stores, on TV and on co-workers’ computers. If Cher is using her magical chronological powers to drive me mad with that song, she’s either really lame or fiendishly clever.

  Let’s turn this into a fun game. Fill in the blank: If I could turn back time, I’d ________

  If I could turn back time, I’d go back to high school and get a fucking haircut once in awhile. My head looked like an explosion at a mullet party for a long, long time.

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Today I Am Talkative

February 14th, 2006 by Oskar Kennedy

  This morning I have Crazy Head™, which sometimes happens when I go to sleep right after taking a shower. In addition to the usual “wing” I get from sleeping on my right side, the rest of my hair is sticking straight up, without styling products of any sort. It makes me look perpetually surprised.

  This update brought to you by the fact that it’s Friday, damn it.

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Rent A Gun? Seriously?

March 17th, 2007 by Oskar Kennedy

Did you know you can rent a gun in Indianapolis?

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Someone Needs To Burn Down Bravo

July 20th, 2007 by Oskar Kennedy

  I don’t usually go in for that “celebrity gossip blog” bullshit. As far as I’m concerned, celebrities are either human beings who deserve some modicum of privacy, or camera-fellating attention whores who don’t need their already inflated egos stroked by the constant attention. I’m making an exception, however, for Bravo’s new voyeurgasm Hey Paula.

  The satellite box was left on Bravo the other night, so when whatever it was that I was watching ended, I wound up right in the middle of en episode of Hey Paula. (I’d tell you what I was watching previously, but the memory of it was completely pounded out of my brain by the sheer horror of the subsequent spectacle.) I know I’m not the first person to observe this, but that woman is a fucking train wreck. She’s whiny, hysterical, abusive and dismissive to her small army of personal staff, wildly more self-absorbed than her resume should permit, and she can’t get through a sentence without slurring some relatively simple word.

  Anyone who’s given even a cursory glance in the direction of American Idol knows that Abdul appears to be drunker than an Irish wake pretty much constantly. On her own show, she defends her behavior with a mantra of complaints about how little sleep she gets. On behalf of America, Ms. Abdul, I’d like to respectfully ask you to shut your fucking cry hole. Take one afternoon out of selling your crappy costume jewelry on QVC and take a nap. You’ll either catch up on some sleep, or you’ll lay off the hooch for a couple of hours. Either way, you might be able to get through your next public appearance without stumbling about in (a remarkable simulation of) a drunken stupor.

  Unless, of course, you’re counting on your dubious behavior for publicity that your far more dubious talent and your appallingly infantile personality could never generate. In that case, keep it up. Just keep your fingers crossed that your fans don’t get wise.

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