Mum's Cats

Mum's planned a trip to visit her parents in the motherland and because Dad refuses to take care of kitties I'm vested with the title of Old Cat Lady for two weeks.

With the empowering position of cat protectorate comes three (3) pages of word processed instructions on the proper care of the kitties. The following are excerpts from Mum's cat manual.

Omissions have been made in the interest of brevity and to protect the innocent. Enjoy!

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DAILY


AM


When you get up, Buddy and Izzy will want to go outside (unless it's raining). Before you feed them or when you eat breakfast, Belle likes to walk around on the deck, sometimes she goes just off the deck but she doesn't stray. Typically this is the only time she goes out unless you are there all day and she shows an interest. I never leaver her out for long.

Clean out litter boxes with litter scoop (morning and evening). [Omission: three different locations for plastic bags to fill with cat shit.] Make sure bag does not have a hole before you start. Tie full bags and put them in trash bin in garage. If litter boxes are not kept clean they will have lots of accidents in an effort to avoid all the dirty spots. I find if I clean it out twice a day I have less accidents [Discovery: Mum has been using litter boxes]. Keep litter fairly full (1/2 way) so that they can bury it and it doesn't smell so bad. Sometimes they miss [Admission: me too], the pads should collect the urine but check underneath just in case it found a way to seep under. [Omission: instruction on cleanliness and pad replacement.]

In morning, please put food on clean plates, pick up old ones and soak in sink before putting in dishwasher. Belle gets 1/2 can of diet food [Addendum: fat Belle resembled black and white Jaba the Hut], if the can has come from the fridge mix it with a little warm water. Her plate goes near the mail box cabinet. Buddy and Izzy: 1 can of classic Fancy Feast on their plates (Izzy by side of fridge, Buddy by kitchen entrance). I usually get all three plates ready then feed Belle and Izzy then Buddy [Notation: feeding order is important]. Belle will always try to clean everyone's plate: I let her unless Izzy is not in an eating mood and has not eaten much (probably means she had a tasty morsel outside [Addendum: occasionally tasty morsel has not been fully consumed and is still very much alive]).


Replace water.


PM


Around 6:00 Belle gets 1/2 can of diet food, mix with warm water if the can has come from the fridge. Her plate goes near the mail box cabinet. Buddy and Izzy: 1 can of Fancy Feast on their plates (Izzy beside fridge, Buddy by kitchen entrance). In evenings I usually feed Buddy first then Izzy then Belle. [Addendum: as the notation above states, feeding order is important; upon asking Mum why the order changes in the evening, I was provided with the explanation that Mum did not want any cat to get a complex over being fed last or an inflated ego by being fed first every time.]


Change water if it looks dirty.


[Omission: verbatim instructions on litter boxes.]


Give lots of love! Referee any fights, if Buddy gets in one of his moods (attacking the other cats or biting you [Addendum: bitch better not bite!]) he may need to go outside to calm down. It doesn't take long for him to regroup and then he can come in again [Admission: my emotional scars don't heal as quickly].


Around 9:30 call cats in (most times Buddy will be out front and comes in laundry room door - he walks very slowly [Confirmation: FUCKING SLOW], Izzy will be out back somewhere, you may have to call her a couple of times, when you hear the rustling in the undergrowth you know she [Addendum: or a velociraptor] is coming). Put a very little amount (no more than 1/8 cup) of dried food on their plates [Addendum: precision is import - 1/8 measuring cup provided to ensure accuracy]. Belle should never stay outside if you are not here - she has no claws. She typically only goes out first thing in the morning - on back deck for brief constitutional [Addendum: my favorite term used by Mum].

[Omission: emergency contacts including, but not limited to, primary care veterinarian, emergency veterinarian, and an alternative veterinarian.]

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As evidenced by the mandated cat care procedures, Mum loves her cats. Upon arrival to motherland, emails back were inquires about cat conditions and expressions of longing. As a son, yours truly was given gratitude for taking care of the cats [Admission: jealous].

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Rejected Hood to Coast Names

The Hood to Coast relay - affectionately known as the mother of all relays - occurs at the end of August. The course is simple: run from Timberline Lodge to Seaside, OR (200 miles), relay style. Each participant runs three legs for a rough total of 16 miles. The annual relay event draws teams of twelve from across the globe.

Relay officials have capped this year's event at 1,250 teams. Creative names are used to differentiate these teams - everything from Team Nike to Geezers Running. My personal favorite remains Six Chicks and Their Disco Sticks.

The deadline for team name selection is fast approaching, but unfortunately all of my suggestions have been rejected by teammates. The following are a handful of gems from the blacklisted names:

Sweaty Third Leg - While the first and second legs are sweaty, by and far the third leg is the sweatiest. The third leg is the climax of the relay for any runner. Regardless of the length of your third leg, it is always exhausting. The variation Hard Third Leg was also rejected outright

Runny Mess - Some days I just get the runs - a sudden urge to stretch my muscles and really let loose. Adrenaline pumping and a tingle starting at my core and running down my legs is all the encouragement I need to get off my ass and really unclog my system. This team name was inspired by how I look after the runs - sweaty, haggard, and exhausted. Teammates rejected the name because it aroused painful memories of porta-potties.

Bringing Up the Rear - Admittedly we are not the most competitive team out on the course - last year we were DFL. We have a good time, but we are constantly bringing it up in the rear. This team name is a fair and accurate description of the team's style, but it was rejected because a gaggle of teammates mistakenly believed it was an innuendo for anal intercourse. I can assure you this team name is about everything but sex. The variation Rear Admirals was also rejected.

Swass Attack - Sweat during physical exertion is a natural and desired bodily function. Sweat down your ass crack during physical exertion is unholy and disgusting. This team name was imagined at about mile four. Teammates rejected the name because no one cares for a sweaty ass.

Hooded Warriors to Coast - Abraham didn't get all the skin. Despite the American population's barbaric ritual of Male Genital Mutilation, there are still those out there sporting 4skin. This name was crafted with the intention of showing solidarity towards those who avoided the knife. Teammates rejected this name because they fear the unknown.

The right team name is out there - it's a combination of innuendo, snark, and tongue-in-cheek humor. Our team knows we aren't the fastest - we aren't competitive - but I'll make damn well sure we have an inappropriate name so that other teams have something else to laugh at besides our splits and finish time.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

CanvassSweeper

Walking the streets of Portland is like playing a life size game of minesweeper.

The ACLU. Green Peace. Red Cross. The ELF. Chances are, if an organization's name is an acrynom or the organization is attempting, in their opinion, to improve the world, they'll bother the unsuspecting pedestrian with "the systematic initiation of direct contact with a target group of individuals," or canvassing.

Over empathizing is not a character flaw I would list on my life resume; however, my empathy does rear its ugly head when it comes to Portland canvassers. So instead of passing by these canvassers and politely telling them to fuck off, I meander my way through Portland like a game of minesweeper.

This game takes a lot of skill, tact, and luck. Skill at dodging drone canvassers begins with early detection. Like a meerkat, I sense the presence of a predator long before they strike. Clip boards. I can see them two blocks out. Some canvassers have caught on and hide their propaganda, so I generally skip over any block that has an energetic, enthusiastic young person standing on the street corner. Old people don't canvass and young people don't hang out alone.

Overlooking a well disguised canvasser or turning a street corner only to find one dead ahead is the time to utilize Jedi mind tricks. Tactfully turn to your pedestrian pal and inform them in a loud voice, and with hand gestures, that you've taken them in the wrong direction and you must immediately cross the street or, better yet, turn back the way you came. Feigning directional impairment provides the illusion that you are dodging for a justifiable reason.

An ounce of luck doesn't hurt. Despite all training and skill, Lady Luck can create openings to avoid the awkward approach. Maybe another poor victim is harassed ahead of you. Perhaps the canvasser drops their clip board. Perchance a renegade bus steamrolls the canvasser.

Failure to avoid is inevitable. Your skill will not save you. Your tact is insufficient. Your luck will run out. The biggest fear is marooning on a street corner with one of these carnivores. Don't speak. Don't make eye contact. Don't move. They're like a T-rex.

More than likely you've been approached. More than likely you're not bothered by flippin' the bird and merrily going about your business. But for those with a conscience, I invite you to play CanvassSweeper.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Trim, Floss, Adjust

Admittedly I say inappropriate things. From time to time I may utter a four-letter word or let loose some vulgar story. However, in a world where actions speak louder than words, my flowery vernacular pails in comparison to transgressors who perform puerile acts of inappropriateness. As is so often the case, I'm using my blog once again to call out these violators of the social norm because, frankly, you guys are fuggin gross.

*clip*...*clip*...*clip* The sound of nail clippers is unmistakable. For most this cuticle cutting soundtrack is reserved to the privacy of the residential bathroom; however, as an employee of the 8 to 5 variety, I've had the pleasure of being exposed to the sound while working. It's unfortunate enough to turn a cube corner and catch a coworker callously clawing out a colossal booger from their nasal cavity, but pair this imagery with the clatter of their weekly trimming and knowledge that they cannot possibly pick up all those nail slices and you have grounds for a workplace harassment suit.

The human mouth is a grotesque, dank face-hole. Studies have shown this orifice is one of the most germ infested areas of the body. However, there are those among us that repudiate these truths as evidenced by those who whip out dental floss and clean the opening in public. There is nothing less attractive than watching an individual fit their hands inside their chasm to pick at the latest dietary consumption. The revolting mouth-grooming is worsened when performed at a restaurant table. The act shows little regard for fellow table mates as food fragments are flicked about the table top. Personal hygiene is just one of the reasons restaurants provide restrooms to patrons. Use them.

Clothes are uncomfortable. We can curse Adam for eating that fruit, at the suggestion of Eve, because without that knowledge we might still be frolicking around in the buff. It is this same knowledge of embarrassment that should prevent individuals from attempting public genital adjustment. Watching another man hoist and rotate or a woman pull down and pull out her spanx is not a spectator sport. The art of adjustment is an unfortunate necessity, but spare the public your pubic servicing.

Recognition of the inappropriate is the first step to recovery. Those who regularly partake in the above activities should consider themselves on notice. Those who witness the above activities are granted the right to ridicule.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go trim, floss, and adjust.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

Pesky Interview Execution

Tis the season to apply and hire. FA LA LA LA LA, LA LA LA LA

Seems in every facet of life - friends, family, career - people are hiring or applying for new positions. In light of this recent trend, I've decided to lend pearls of wisdom to the wayward, would-be worker.

As the late Louis Pasteur once said, "Luck favors the prepared," so take a page from the Boy Scout handbook and get your shit together. First, construct a resume. It is important that a resume have content applicable to the job posting - chances of landing a job at Barnes & Noble will not be improved by listing that exotic pole dancing class you took.

Standard font. One page. White paper. Bring a copy for yourself and for each interviewer.

Those well versed in the art of interview execution are keenly aware of minuscule details - they will notice the bags under your eyes and the bourbon on your breath. Show up to the interview well rested and preferably not after a night of binge drinking.

Dress appropriately. Suit up!

Once at the interview, be bold. Make eye contact and give a firm handshake. Eye contact is a sign of confidence, and a firm handshake is the sign of virility. Lack of eye contact is a sign of pussyfoot, and a loose handshake is like erectile dysfunction of the arm.

Interviewers will ask for the following:

• Three strengths
• Three weaknesses
• Example of a mistake made
• Self characterization by fictional friends

In responding to these questions, it is important to lie. Maximum bench press is not an applicable strength. Burning sensation when urinating is not an appropriate weakness. The first born is not a relevant mistake. Chronic masturbator is not a flattering self characterization. Lie.

Name drop - you're a nobody, but you know a somebody.

Keep anecdotal stories short and be mindful of your audience - it might be best to forgo the late night narratives, college chronicles, or sexual subjugations until after the three month probationary period.

Don't brag about your jazz flute.

Recognize the end of the interview. The interviewer may provide time for you to ask questions. Politely ask something trivial, thank them for their time, and get the fuck out. Lingering applicants are like pesky strippers - they mean well, but you just don't want to pay them.

Heed the advice.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

The Ideal Mate (Part Deux)

Preface:

For those unaware, Blogger crashed back in the middle of May, taking with it roughly thirty hours of posts and comments. Sadly, The Ideal Mate entry originally posted back on 5/11/11 was a casualty. For this reason I'm reposting. Thanks to David for providing the backup. Please enjoy.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf

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At age seventeen, I was tasked by Ms. Murray, our high school health teacher, with the Ideal Mate project. The assignment was to design the person you would pair off with by using words and images to describe him/her.

Ideal Mate made Ms. Murray a target - a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed, ex-cheerleader whose eligibility was well know (she was saving herself for Joey Harrington). Her mugshot from the year book was often herald as the ideal mate by many male students. These presentations were accompanied by humor and much laughter, but were likely admissions of a teacher crush. If Ms. Murray was spared, and the teenage boy's ideal mate was not her, it was often some model cut from the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit edition.

Mine was different.

While I don't remember the exact words used to describe my ideal mate, the image was quite unforgettable...

A female Leonardo.

Leo was always my favorite - decided at the age of five because he was the leader and because he had the most effective weapons. Fact: double katanas > bo staff > sais > nunchucks.

Whether Ms. Murray was excited to see a male student pick someone other than her or a super model or she just felt embarrassed for me, she held the female Leo as an example for years following my departure from her class and high school.

Now, roughly eight years later, I've decided to revisit the project. This redux is likely related to my SO challenged status. Ladies, you are on notice.

In the interest of brevity, I've provided details on the most important aspects of the ideal mate in bullet format:

• Humor: if you don't find Hyperbole and a Half funny, you are not an ideal mate.
• Sushi: I eat it off naked models.
• Blazers: there's 82 regular games a season and I will be watching all of them with or without you. Note they got their own bubble away from sports...it's that important.
• Crackers: I like them.
• Bud Light: when I'm feeling thrifty, I drink Bud Light because it's sterile and I like the taste.
• String Cheese: I buy the industrial Costco pallets and live off them for months.

So, ladies, if this sounds like a good time...you know what? Screw it. Ms. Murray, if you're
reading this, wanna grab a beer sometime?

xoxo,
ShavedGolf