who dat? contest:
hint: not an actual
a store cat's revenge
Being an animal lover, having grown up with, at various times in various numbers, cats, dogs, chickens, hamsters, guinea pigs, rats, mice, birds, rabbits, fish, and hermit crabs, I just love walking into a store, usually a book store or small bodega, and finding they have a store cat. Store cats, or shop cats, are a rare breed, not much in evidence in LA that Ive found, but more often in New York. And despite the fact that many of the cats seem to run out and get injured or killed by cars at some point (when I was little I saw my cute Siamese run over), I think I need more store cats in my life. I dont have any animals right now since my puppy died, but Im starting to feel the itch despite sad reminders of the sad fact that life comes to an end.
I heard on the radio this morning a story about a woman in New York who is suing a local chain drug store for millions of dollars. Why? Because she was scratched by their store cat a big orange tabby named Patrick. Oh, well, that kind of sucks but Im sure this woman must have done something bad to the cat because store cats are by definition pretty mellow. The woman goes on to say that when the cat leapt from the counter and began scratching her face (something I dont quite see), she couldnt fend it off because she was holding in her arms her little yappy dog. OK lady. Go home. Put on a few band-aids and shut the fuck up. Anyone who owns a yappy dog should have their faces scratched, let alone someone who is stupid enough to bring a yappy dog into a store cats domain.
Any dog that you cant leave tied to a pole, should just not exist anymore. A dog is a big lug that you roll around with and throw stuff to. A dog is not something you tuck into the crook of your arm, or put a little cardigan on, or carry around in your bicycle basket. And a dog is not something you carry into Duane Reede and step to the store cat with and say, "Look Mr. Peepers. Look at the pwiddy kitty." Id scratch your shit too if you stuck your trembling, hat-wearing, over-bred, toy schnauzer in my face while I was busy licking my ass on top of the Nicorette display.
I just had a 100 dollar callback. I had a callback for the Sony Play Station commercial this morning all the way out in Venice Beach. So I had to go to it first thing and ended up missing most of the morning at work. No work = no pay. On top of it, I got a $40 ticket while in there acting like a fool for the ad execs. Thing is, there were all these other cars parked illegally also, and like Sirens, they lured me to crash against the rocks of the LA parking system. I have a feeling, however, that Ive made myself the focus of the meter peoples ire because whenever I pay a parking ticket, I write in the memo section: FACIST L.A. PARKING SYSTEM. Perhaps thats not such a good idea.
my dance card is rapidly filling up and Im feeling a bit frazzled. Not only am in the editing room constantly working on my short, but Im working a full-time job (well, "working"), writing 2 screenplays, auditioning, and reading scripts for extra money not to mention trying to hold a relationship together, and see friends occasionally. Additionally, I have rehearsals for Twelfth Night starting up soon, Im going up to Berkeley in a week for my oldest friends wedding, then the next week Im going to see my sister and then hang in a cabin in Northern Minnesota for a while, then I have to organize and attend another friends bachelor party in Vegas, then the next weekend fly again back up to Berkeley for his wedding. I also have 2 friends whove just moved down here and I feel like I have to show them around. Throw in my daily trips to the methadone clinic, my relief pitching stints for the Dodgers, and the hours I spend in my car parked across from elementary schools masturbating, and youre talking a busy guy.
This is where I let Larry
King take over my body for a few minutes.