Well, I agreed to mind a friend’s cat for a few days. To avoid the wife experiencing unnecessary worry, I just had it arrive as a surprise. Because I care about her wellbeing. The integration with our own cats is currently going exactly how I expected; clusterfuck of magnificent proportions. I decided to wait until later to acknowledge ‘a few days’ is a liberal and probably condensed understanding of the ‘visit’ period.
The scenario has allowed me to reach a few logical conclusions though. Namely: male cat just wants to sniff and make friends. Girl cats both want to hiss and cause problems. With a sample size of three, logically, all female cats are bitches. I’d like to up the sample size a few more before I can safely jump to all females (generally) being bitches. But yet here we are. Awkward silence.
Also I have needed to point out that reportedly Steve Jobs only slept like 12 minutes in total a night and he got shit done. Which of course does nothing to placate angry wife’s mean sleep-deprived antagonism. Although maybe Steve just owned a few cats that didn’t get along, did you ever think about that? No. Only thinking about yourself and your dream of three hours a night sleep.
As I said though, here we are. It’s funny isn’t it, the old saying of a happy wife leading to a happy life. I always thought the saying was missing something important, you know, like what happens when you don’t have a happy wife.
I know now.
In any case, I am sandwiched in the middle of a home life of moods which alternative between passive-aggressive and aggressive-aggressive and a work life dealing with a new outsource team which, coincidently, can also be described as a clusterfuck of magnificent proportions. Strangely enough the background melody of furious cat hissing is present in both locations.
It being Christmas, I needed to pick myself up and ignore the sarcastic little voice in my head
It bein Chrizzle, I needed ta pick mah dirty ass up n' ignore tha sarcastic lil voice up in mah head whispering, "Most of dis is yo' fault". Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So I be currently bustin what tha fuck a aiiight thug would be up in mah circumstance, rockin Gizoogle ta translate all internal crib emails tha fuck into street slang before sending.
Someone stopped and asked me why I was crying at my desk and I told them a ‘normal person’ is known as an ‘aiight thug’ in street talk. That poetry moved me. Although as they started walking away I clarified that I wasn’t getting any sex at home either. For reasons outside my own control. Then I told them it was “mysterious” while waving my arms around mysteriously.
My current policy on emails may need some revisions as I just called one of the senior partners a “biatch”. I am pretty sure I am going to get in trouble for sending that one, or in street:
I be pretty shizzle I be goin ta git up in shiznit fo' bustin dat one.
No need to worry, I placated the situation by putting my Outlook out-of-office on a few days early. Then putting an Outlook rule so I don’t see any emails coming in – they are a problem to deal with next year. But as equally as I am someone who hates conflict and confrontation, I am also someone who thrives on contradiction and seemingly, confusion. So my out-of-office message was also translated into street:
Nuff props fo' yo' email.
I personally wish you n' yo' crew all tha dopest fo' tha festizzle season. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy, Dog. May tha egg-nogg be tha noggiest.
I'ma be returnin on 8 January n' is ghon be round dat time, dependin on tha hangover thang.
Try mah mobile beeper first if you urgently need mah crazy ass fo' anythang but will also be checkin emails.
Walk wit Jizzy
Merry Xmas!
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| Pictured: Die Hard, A Christmas Story |
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