Heart Attcat Part Deux

I know you're all verrrrry concerned about my quality of sleep last night after suffering through the Kittypocalypse, so I'll tell you. I slept fine. To the best of my knowledge, no cats entered my room or bed. I set an elaborate series of traps on the stairs that would alert me to the pitter patter of little paws, and all of them seemed to be in tact this morning.

Here's the thing. After making a few calls for support last night before bed, I came up mostly short. Claire (maybe rightfully so) was primarily worried about the welfare of the cats.

I texted Kim to see if she wanted to come sleep over one night so the cats could sleep with her (she likes cats) and keep me safe from the glowing eyes of feline blood lust. Instead of taking me up on that awesome offer, she replied, "I will pray for you." Sarcastically. Then I said that the cat gates were useless and I was scared. She said, "Make them higher!" I was all, "Maybe tomorrow." Then she's all, "If you don't, then they will come up." HELPFUL! I begged "But HOW could they have opened the door, though?!" She said "Well, one of them has thumbs." Which is kind of true (This is seriously my favorite part about this cat, though).

Anyway, after that conversation, I rocked back and forth on my bed. I was scared and nervous and tired from building all the alarms on my stairs. So I called Geo, looking for some of that unconditional love a couple is supposed to have.

"You probably just locked that one cat IN your room when you locked the other one OUT, dummy." Curse you, logical reasoning! Then he said, "You've got to relax. They are CATS. What's the worst that can happen?"

The cats sleep on my face and suffocate me. The cats eat my blankie and puke it up and I have to clean it. The cats poop on the floor and I slip on it in the morning and smack my face on the banister knocking out my teeth. The cats lick my toothbrush and I develop an insatiable hunger for salmon. The cats learn how to use my toilet and I have to wait for them to be done and then am super late for work.

Gee, I don't know, Geo, I haven't really thought about it.

Anyways, my dear, wonderful Facebook pals weren't much better. First, my aunt Sarah posted a couple Photoshopped pictures of me with evil cats and even one with a cat opening a door.

Then all the cat lovers helpfully pointed out that, apparently, cats can do everything, including opening doors. Oh, and cats are allegedly "AWESOME!" And maybe they are, but for a NON-CAT person, cats are cats. They poop in sand and don't care much for my brand of humor. (I tried singing them a song tonight about how we can be friends using whisk as a microphone and a giant sock as a hat, and they were non-plussed.)

But people were basically like "Pharon, obviously cats can do anything. They can build a house. They can write a book. They can knit a sweater with cute kitty hieroglyphics on it. They can clean wine stains out of bed sheets. They can solve complex math equations. They can build a rocket and fly to the moon where they can also rebuild an entire civilization where anyone can get married and everyone has a job."

Dudes? Cats are cats. Sure, they are smart...FOR PETS. Listen, I'm a realist. I pretty much guarantee everyone that the teacup piglet I will be buying this summer will not be able to open doors. Or knit. But it will be cute enough to get me out of speeding tickets.

Meanwhile, I just sat and tried to get the cats to come sit with me so we could have a Cat Chat about proper bedtime etiquette. They wanted nothing to do with me. RUDE. (Was it the song?!)

After about an hour of trying to impress the cats so they won't claw me in my sleep, I realized that they really couldn't care less about me. They shake their heads after I pet them. When I ask them questions like "Hey boys, did the mail come?!" They hold up tiny little swear fingers at me and stroll out of the room while they fart in my general direction. Okay, guys, I get it. Geez.

Whatever. For the time being, we are all perfectly happy not hanging out together. I better get ready for bed, though. Despite their obvious indifference towards me, I have a whole bunch of bells and chimes and nail polish towers to build on my staircase. Just in case.

Heart Attcat

To say that last night's sleep was bad would be an enormous understatement. Allow me to paint you a picture:

[Scene: My (still very clean) Bedroom. Players: Me. Lighting: Subtle glow from a television tuned to Friends rerun.]
Yawn! Well, I've taken my contacts out, pretended to brush my teeth, and slipped in to my sexiest fleece pants and paint-splattered sorority shirt. Looks like it's time to crawl into my lovely Kate Spade sheets for a few winks.

Don't forget to turn the sleep timer on the TV on. Don't want to be awoken from my dreamy slumber to the sound of that infomercial that I can't help but watch every time I see it. Of COURSE I have anxiety! And YES I will call that 800 number to get my free brochure in the mail!

Aaaaannnd....Zzzzzz...

Holy balls I'm cold! Why is it so cold up here?! Doesn't heat rise? Check the thermostat on my alarm clock. Oh, really? It's 53.4 degrees in here? No wonder I'm so cold! Ugh! I've been sleeping with my door to the downstairs floor open so that the heat can come up, so what gives?

I'll check the door. Okay, it's open, and my high-tech cat gate is safely protecting my room from the two cats we are taking care of.

[Evidence]

Hmm. Everything appears to be in order. But I'm soooo coooooold! Ooh! I'll just plug this space heater in next to my bed! Ahhh...there we go. I can feel my toes getting warmer.

[10 minutes later]
I gotta turn this space heater off. Don't these things start fires, like, ALL THE TIME?! Aw man! But I'm still so cold. Well, I'll just throw on another layer of fleece and get back to the business of sleep. Okay...back...to....Zzzzzzzzzzzz...

Hmmm. Something's weird. I haven't opened my eyes yet, but I feel like, I don't know. I feel like someone's watching me or something.

Let me just slowly open my eyes. OH GOOD GOD! WHAT IS THAT?!?!?! THERE IS A CAT SLEEPING ON MY PILLOW NEXT TO MY FACE! HELP! HELP ME! SOMEONE ALERT FEMA! CLEARLY MY IMPENETRABLE CAT GATE HAS BEEN DESTROYED!

(Allow me to remind you good folks that my intense fear of cats stems from childhood. I had my first sleepover at CLAIRE'S HOUSE when I was about 6 years old. I woke up because I couldn't breathe only to discover her cat was sleeping ON MY FACE. When I freaked out, so did the cat. He hissed and screeched at me. I've been afraid of cats stealing my soul ever since.)

Okay, Pharon. Try to not wet the bed from your panicked crying. Calm down. Breathe. HEY CAT! GET OFF MY PILLOW!

The cat jumps off the bed and runs under my bed. I fumble around in the dark, blind from no contacts, and swing my cute new zebra-print mini broom lightly under the bed. The cat runs out. Hops back on my bed. I start sobbing. GET OFF MY BED! PLEASE, DEVIL CAT, JUST GET OFF MY BED.

Finally, I chase the cat downstairs and watch as he effortlessly leaps over my carefully-constructed gate. I run downstairs after the cat, and slam the door closed behind it. No more cats tonight. I'll put on my winter jacket if I have to.

Finally, back to sleep....Zzzz...

BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! Oh great, time to wake up. Okay, let's just rub my eyes, stretch, and then slowly adjust to the light in my room. Ahhh, there we g...WTF?! THE OTHER CAT IS IN MY ROOM. Clearly, the cats have developed the ability to open door handles.

So I started the day with a good ol' fashioned cry in the shower while I tried to scrub off the feeling that I have grown cat hair overnight and attempt to come to terms with the fact that I have somehow become the Leader of the Cats. Meeeyowza.

Someone get me that infomercial 800 number...

Potty Mouth

Ever since I was little, I have been a giggler. My family LOVES to remind me that all it would take to make me blush and giggle when I was young was the mere mention of the two words: Toilet Paper. Someone would say that, and I'd just laugh and laugh and laugh. I thought it was so...naughty. It was something you used only behind closed doors. Something that you flushed into a TOILET. It was all so...tawdry.

Anyway, now there are terrible commercials on for Charmin that are trying to make the thing that you wipe your butt with then throw away seem cute. Those stupid, animated bears? The one where there are chunks of toilet paper stuck to that one bear's butt? GROSS! Geez, Charmin. I was pretty sure anything animated was fun, but not this.

Not this, Charmin.

Toilet paper is not something to be discussed over dinner. It's something to secretly giggle about while you hide under the kitchen table. Even now, as I read that back, I am blushing.

I remember the first time I had to buy toilet paper for the bathroom Geo and I shared before we started dating. I was STRESSED. That's, like, a very intimate purchase that could have really made me look silly.

If I got the Super Strength kind where the commercials show someone dropping marbles or something on wet t.p. (um, gross! Is that supposed to represent waste?!) he'd think I was, like, a man or a robot whose butt was made out of steel wool.

If I got generic, I'd be a cheapo who treats hygiene like a waste of time (no pun intended).

If I got super thick, soft 12-ply stuff, I'd be way high-maintenance and likely spend an hour a day unclogging the toilet, all while pretending to be brushing my teeth.

It was really stressful, guys. So, I chose what I thought was a happy medium. It was only years later that Geo told me "Man, you spend a lot of money on toilet paper." Turns out my Happy Medium kind was crazy expensive. Probably because it IS the only kind men and women can share without judgment. I was too busy over-thinking the purchase that money became, apparently, no object.

I had to go to the store tonight for lots of things, including toilet paper. I started giggling almost immediately when I saw the words "Bath Tissue" over the aisle, because - hello! - it's really just toilet paper! Hehehehehehehehe! So I'm standing there, trying to figure out what kind to buy. Not the stupid bear commercial kind, that's for sure. Did I want cheap? Quantity? Quality? So many decisions! Stupid (yet still hilarious) toilet paper! There was a good deal on this giant 24-pack, but I just couldn't bring myself to drop that huge thing in my cart (so...many...puns...). People would be like "Whoa! Someone's got big plans for the week." I just couldn't. I'm still a lady, you guys.

I think I'm going to start buying toilet paper online from a store that delivers it to me in a discreet brown package (once again, no pun intended) so I don't have to go through a red-faced giggling fit while others check out my grocery items and make their own deductions.

Throughout the course of this post, I have been giggling non-stop. All the puns and dirty words that have come to mind, which I have NOT written down, have me doubled over in fits of laughter while Claire has been trying to watch TV in the same room. She is quite annoyed and just gave me one of the meanest stink-eyes ever. Pun INTENDED! ZANGA!

MY Party Anthem

So, today at work while I was type-typing away, I was listening to Pandora. I was bopping around from Eminem to Ellie Goulding stations until I landed on my Party Rock station. I never work harder than when I'm fighting the urge to get up and do the Double Dig 'Em on my desk. But, the songs - while very catchy - are terrible. The words are bad. The story is non-existent. So! I'm going write my own party rock anthem. There is no discernible tune, so just use your imagination.

Pharon's Party Rock Song: Take Your Pants Off (And Switch 'Em for Fleece)

It's cold! (Cold!) And I'm hot! (HOT!)
I'm everything your boring girlfriend's not! (NOT!)
I drink! (Drink!) And do shots! (SHOTS!)
And I'm wearing fleece pants that I bought! (BOUGHT!)

Let's go out, guys, or stay in!
Bars are too expensive, and I've got cheap gin,
Dance Central! Begin!
I got mad skills and you're too thin.

Let's rock! (ROCK!) Not too much! (MUCH!)
You can check my sweatshirt out, but you can't touch! (TOUCH!)

I drink wine! (WINE!) From a box! (BOX!)
No entrance to this party with your Crocs! (CROCS!)

Now listen up jerks, 'cause it's listenin' time,
I only drink vodka with a little squirt of lime.
And if you try to step up, if you try to flirt...I'm....
Gonna mess your rep in a victimless crime.

They say my party's whack and I got no clout,
I say I'll see you in the Title Bout!
I don't play nice, I don't work out,
I'm the coolest chick ever, no doubt!

Let's rock! (ROCK!) But not too much! (MUCH!)
You can check my sweatshirt out, but you can't touch! (TOUCH!)

I drink wine! (WINE!) From a box! (BOX!)
No entrance to this party with your Crocs! (CROCS!)

[Bridge, sung by probably Nicki Minaj]
Now my roommates are upstairs and they're tryin' to sleep,
So when you go up to there to pee make sure you creep.
Not a peep...
Not a peep...
Not an eeny weeny mutha&#($**# peep...

Now let's rock! (ROCK!) And be cool! (COOL!)
Let's dance! (DANCE!) And then drool! (DROOL!?)
I rock hard (HARD!) And I'm hot! (HOT!)
I got the best party anthem in the spot! (THE SPOT!)

[Fade out]
The spot...
The spot...
Pull up your fleece socks and let's rock...
Let's rock...
Then take a nap...
Take a nap...
Take a super long post-party nap...

Dear Crabby

So, last week, I asked you all to send in some Dear Crabby questions about hygiene. Some were straight up TMI and I didn't even know how to BEGIN to answer the one about the toe hair. Blech! Anyway, let's dig into the ol' mailbag and see what we've got.

Dear Crabby,

So, I'm not sure that this technically qualifies as "hygiene"-related, but I really wanna know if anyone has any advice. Okay, it's not like I DON'T like to shower. It's just such a PROCESS in the winter because of my hair. I can cut like 20 minutes out of my routine in the summer because I let my hair air dry. But in the winter, it's all hair drying and product and curling. It's a serious PAIN. Any suggestions?

Thanks,
Dry Spell

Hey Dry Spell,
You are right. Taking the time to do your hair in the winter is terrible. It's tedious and time-consuming. Sometimes, I'll skip a shower altogether just to avoid the 20 minutes of hair work. But I think it's just inevitable, unfortch. I mean, you could risk the elements with a wet head, but it's probably not a good idea. There was a girl in middle school who went outside with wet hair, and it was freezing cold out so her hair froze. When she ran her fingers through her hair, all her hair snapped off. Aw snap! So, either take your shower at night before bed and sleep in, or just deal with it for another couple months. Sorry!

Dear Crabby,

Is it ever okay for a girl to trim her nose hair? Totally hypothetical question, I swear...

Thank you!
-Not a Hypothetical Question

Hey there, NAHQ,
Uh, I've truly never known a girl who has to trim her NOSE HAIR. I know chicks who have to bleach facial or arm hair, but never before have I met a girl with nose hair. Nasty! It's probably natural or something, but I just don't know what to tell you. I suppose you'd HAVE to trim it, unless you want other people to see it, right? Maybe you could just sniff some Nair up there or something. Maybe you should see about some laser removal. Can they get a laser up a nose though? I don't know. Best of luck to you, though. Sorry, but it sounds pretty unfortunate...

Dear Crabby,

Um, so is there a right way to hide smelly feet? I've been reading your blog long enough to know that you don't sweat out of your armpits, and neither do I! (I thought I was the only one!) But I think all that sweat drains to my feet. Does this happen to you? I just get super embarrassed when I have to go to a friend's house and take my shoes off. What can I do?!

Thanks so much!
Stink Foot

Hey Stink Foot,
First of all, I'm impressed that you know about my awesomely dry armpits! I had to search long and hard to figure out where I had written that, BTW. Anyway, I am familiar with your problem, dear reader. Stinky feet are one of my top five most hated stinks (preceded only by, eh hem, human gas, fish and vomit). And almost nothing is worse than publicly stinky feet. I've briefly googled your question and found some good tips. One: You could just always wear socks. Two: Buy your first thing of deodorant and slick it on your rotten soles. Three: Soak your feet in tea. I have no clue how that works, or if it works, but apparently Oprah does it. I also don't know where you're going to get gallons of Earl Grey, but that's up to you. Four: If you do have smelly feet in public, be the first to address it. Then blame it on a guy nearby. They won't put up too much of a fuss, because chances are good that his feet and/or body stink worse than rotten eggs cracked over a dirty diaper. Good luck, you smelly, smelly girl!

Well that was, uh, gross. Especially the feet one. Blech! Anyway, thanks for all your dirty, nasty, stinky questions! I'm sorry I didn't get to them all, but I'll keep some in the hopper for future weeks. In the meantime, let me know if you have anything better to offer in the way of advice. And as always, the answers to your prayers are only an email away: pharonsquare@gmail.com. Smell ya later! (Especially YOU, Stink Foot!)

It's all Political

Well I'm just the luckiest gal in the world. I have somehow managed to squirm my way into hanging out with some of the most awesome friends from old jobs ever. I had a happy hour with some chicks from my last job. I had waaaaaaaaaaaay too much fun. Planned weeks ago, the happy hour was good times.

Anyway, so I got to hang out with old friends who let me openly discuss my limited understanding of politics. Then we made fun of Newt Gingrich, because seriously? At one point, he looked like Dwight Schrute. But then I came home and got all patriotic watching the State of the Union address. It was very rousing. There were all kinds of extraneous applause and very long camera shots of Mrs. Clinton with her headband.

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Then Geo called. After asking a few basic math questions ("Why doesn't everyone just pay their fair share? Why do bajillionaires pay fewer taxes than me? What is addition?") we got into a discussion. Of the political kind.

Cutting to the chase, we disagreed on some points. I was all "La la la! Flowers and ponies and fun!" Meanwhile, Geo was all "Realism and logics and economics." We disagreed. I thought people should give money to those who need it and Geo cleverly pointed out that loads of people abuse that system and would prefer to give money to those who DESERVE it.

All I know is that there was a lot of talking. Words. Phrases. Nothing having to do with him giving me free money. Ruuuuude.

The conclusion I came to tonight is that the politics you believe in are only as good as the people around you. If you're smart, you listen to other viewpoints. If you're dumb, you stop talking to anyone with a different viewpoint than you and only hang out with people who agree with you. Yes, it's easy to stand and clap when everyone else stands and claps, but sometimes you take in loads of insight from others and you take a second to sit and think about what you really believe it.

I believe in good people who do good things. I believe that we should be forgiving, but not taken advantage of. I believe that every person has a right to be happy, as long as it's not at the direct expense of another person.

I also believe in wine and carbohydrates. I believe that people who spend too much time on their appearance need a hobby. I believe that Smurfs could be real, if we'd all just believe in them. I believe that people without cable are just seriously missing out.

Most of all, I believe that people, in general, are pretty okay. While I kind of hate most people, I at least give them credit. Those of us who don't go all effing crazy are really just awesome to me...

When It's Drafty, We Get Crafty

Hey Squares, do me a solid, woudja? Take a look at the picture below and tell me what you see:

It's a window, right? Yeah, that's what a n00b would say. Well if you look reeeeeeally close, you'll maybe notice that I have covered that window in plastic. You can't notice it because I'm apparently freaky-good at the process.

I've never personally applied the plastic to windows, but it's what Minnesotans DO in the winter to keep the cold from gushing in drafty window frames and eating our skin while we sleep. Geo did it to our humongous windows in our old house, but without a boy around, I stepped up. I went to a HARDWARE store, MEASURED (sort of) the windows, TAPED the windows, STUCK the plastic on, and then - for reasons I still don't really get - ran my hair dryer all over the thing to somehow make it nice and sleek. Yeah, I'm basically a dude now. Where do I check my emotional hangups?

I used to stick socks around my window frames to fill in any gaps. Well, socks or pairs of underwear. Festive!

In my old office, the heat would regularly turn off on the coldest days of the year. Coincidence or clever money-saving technique - who's to say? Anyway, during those days, I'd dig in my desk drawer for a spare pair of socks I kept in there for unknown reasons and put them on my hands to warm them up. Sock hands!

My point is that clothing can be used for lots of things in the winter. This morning, before I left for work, I had to switch my boots to kick off all the snow under the wheels before using my coat sleeve to wipe off my windows. Oh! Then while I was changing my boots in the car while stopped at a stop light, I saw a car. ON FIRE. Minnesota is sooooo awesome.

Anyway, earlier tonight, my room was a brisk 62 degrees. And as much as I am a fan of the Unmentionables Window treatment, the plastic seems to be working. It is now...let's see...it's now 67.8 degrees!! Looks like it's time to take my sock mittens off and put my shorts on!