The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker

Dolce & Gabbana wedges, 2004 (?) collection

Six hours of sleep? I’d PAY for a full six hours of sleep.

1. You woke up in a strange place.

(Read the rest here, it’s very cute. Happy Hump Day!)

Bad Kitty Dress has been returned. Instead I bought a more classic version of the kittyprint cocktail dress and it was 1/3 the price of the other one! Good Kitty!

I have to get it tailored, though. I bought a size larger than normal to better cover the boobage but now the bodice and skirt are too loose, making me look wider than I really am on the bottom. It’s a quick fix, but if I send it to the tailor now I won’t get it back for at least 2 weeks! That’s how busy the man is.

SO much is going on, in my life and on the world stage, but I am too tired to write about any of it just yet. My house smells like litterbox and looks as though a bomb hit it. Let me pay my bills, take this business test and write this finance paper; then we’ll talk.

There is something about this predatory dress that screams TOO MUCH COUGAR TRYING TOO HARD!!! Back to the boutique it goes . . . good thing I didn’t take off the tags . . .

Lesson for the Day: NEVER shop for clothes if you are sexually aroused AND have bad PMS. What was I thinking?

(Kitty likes her meat RAWR!)

I used to hate to cook. Just thinking about cooking made me feel tired and depressed; even when I was a stay-at-home mom I couldn’t bring myself to do more than the minimum.

“What’s for dinner?” My ex would say.

“I dunno, whatcha making?”

I had a mental block against cooking because I always had the feeling my mother hated it. I don’t know if it’s true; it just seemed such a repetitive chore. Same with my hardworking grandmothers who spend their whole lives in their kitchens and their gardens: By the time they cleaned up from one meal it was time to start the next. Had I lived a life like theirs I think I might have stuck my head in an oven set to “broil.”

(Kittyprint prep bowls found at a kitchen outlet)

But outdoor cooking is different, right? It’s fun, like camping. Believe it or not I went to survivalist school as a kid; in Minnesota this is what they call a “school trip.” I’m glad I did it: I can start a fire in the rain using only one match (hint: use birch bark).

Also, my first long-term boyfriend, whom I’ll call Tipi Guy, taught me how to catch and scale fish. He was a Norwegian lumberjack who wanted to be a Lakota native in the worst way, and through our work on the local reservations I learned how to cook “Indian style,” which in the 1980’s meant frybread with canned blueberries, grilled walleye, and wild rice soup.

(Marinated London Broil)

Tipi-guy hated that I loved my meat rare, and by rare I mean RAW. Once I spent almost fifty dollars on two antelope steaks and ate mine with my bare hands before he even lit the campfire. I got really bad marks on that day. Submissive “native wife” was a job I didn’t want and failed the interview for anyway, especially after the flyfishing “incident” that I won’t go into. Suffice it to say he married the girl who didn’t try to kill him.

That was the last time I cooked on a regular basis. Bunny got her dietary variety from living in three places: Mine, her father’s and her grandmother’s. It’s a good thing because otherwise Bunny’s idea of cooking would be instant oatmeal.

But I digress! I fired up a grill tonight for the first time in five years! Usually I leave the grilling to whatever manly man crosses my threshold. I tried to light my gas grill once on my own and I practically blew up the neighborhood because I left the lid on when I pushed the ignition. I got rid of that menace in favor of a little Coleman charcoal grill (a gift from my stepfather). It sat around for over a year gathering dust. But looky! My first try, with a London Broil I’d been marinating in a red pepper rub for two days. I didn’t time it or anything and it STILL turned out perfect. I paired it with a mess of greens pulled right out of my garden. Mmmm yummy

Weather permitting, the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker always drives barefoot. These are patent kittyprint slingback pumps by Luciano Padovan, comparable to Casadei or Giuseppe Zanotti in price/quality. Found mine on superduper (80%) clearance of course. Now if only this Dolce & Gabbana bag would go on superduper sale, too. Like, 90% off because it’s the only way I could afford it!

Can you tell my old camera is dying? I might be kittyprinted out. Let’s see: Kittyprint nightgown, robe slippers and blanket, with matching cat. Yup, my kittyprint collection is probably complete.

(Litterbox too small? The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker can help)

This is the down side of cat ownership: The Battle of the Box. The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker feels your pain. It’s hard enough, sometimes, getting Miss Priss and Mr. Fussbudget to even LIKE the potty situation you design for them, finding a litter they’ll actually use, and then there’s the business of cleaning the damn things, ew. For me the absolute worst part is the the litter tracking all over the place. Yuk.

When the first automated litter box came out on the market I looked at the price and thought, huh? and wasn’t even tempted. I thought my own idea - two cement mixer tubs at four bucks apiece - was just a little more brilliant. Each is TWICE the size of a normal litterbox, which minimizes tracking and is especially nice for large cats like Chase. My cats love them.

(Cat on a hot tin roof? Now THAT’s a litterbox!)

My cats also like the newfangled litter I picked out for them: Arm and Hammer High Performance. It’s super-light, dust-free, clumps super hard, and smells nice. It lasts twice as long as regular litter too, which alone justifies the higher price.

Then, I saw THIS: THE CAT GENIE.

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CatGenie Saves Time, Work, and Money.

“The average cat lover spends at least 30 minutes a WEEK on the dirty job of scooping cat litter. Compare that to 30 minutes a YEAR to press the CatGenie start button and to add a SaniSolution Cartridge periodically. Supplies cost less than cat litter. CatGenie saves you 25 hours a year and gives your cats superior sanitation.”

A veterinarian-approved, self-cleaning litterbox you hook up to your water system and flush like a toilet? What’s not to like?

So, let’s see, what is my time worth, hmm . . . Plenty when I’m on the job but it seems silly to carry it through to my home life, where I get paid absolutely ZIPPO to clean. So let’s see: What would it cost someone to come to my house and clean for 25 hours straight? More than the price of this litterbox, that’s for sure, so it would pay for itself within the year. I’d also be able to stop screaming at Bunny because it’s her turn and just push a button instead. Considering it has a two year warranty, and I have three cats, HMMMMMMM . . . tempted!

(Massimo Baldi ponyhair pump, Italy. Maybelline Wet Shine in Juicy Tomato)

I have a few weaknesses when it comes to clothes shopping:

1. The color white: When will I ever learn?

2. Linen: Since when do I iron, come on.

3. Lingerie: Honestly, join a 12 step program already; sweet Jeebuz on a cracker, damn!

4. Ponyhair kittyprint footwear. It’s so fragile, but I fall for the softness and the kittyspots every time.

Oh well: At least I’ve succeeded in giving up pantyhose and Dry Clean Only!

(Planting is progressing slowly since I’m digging new garden beds)

I shouldn’t even be thinking about these two kittens. I already have three cats, one over the “legal limit” for my townhome development already. I don’t have money for the local veterinarian. I don’t have more room in the heater closet for two more litterboxes. My house is not kitten-proof.

But just look at them. I can’t stand it. I want them. Wah. They’re both girls, and the name game fills my head: Tortie and Nell? Lelo and Stitch? Twinkletoes and Pitterpat?