Tag Archives: kittens

Catnipping Nips

15 Jan


This will be disturbing.

I sleep naked. Always. Unless I’m trying to be polite to intruders or guests or I am a guest or something.

Ever since they were kittens Lou Diamond and Cheese always slept with me.

And Cheese ALWAYS tried to chew on my nips. It’s just his thing and I thought at first maybe he thought I was mama cat or something.

So now he is 3 years old. And at 6am he just licked/nibbled my nipple.

Do I just put him down or rehome him or what? Because that is a horrible thing to wake up to. And he is a grown cat that cannot be instinct anymore.

Though he does bring me headless birds….

Oh god with those same teeth. I just barfed a little in my mouth.

Wait let him maim my family real quick and we will call it a day.

Nips for the Kitts

20 Jun

Today the kittens, little Lou Diamond Phillips and Cheezeburger, got their first catnip. It was glorious. Frank was terrified.


Holy Cow, I love you!

30 Jul

I’ve got a pretty great job, if I do say so myself. I spend my days around one my favorite things in life- cheeseburgers. When you hate your job, or dread going to work each day, or bring stress home with you, the whole quality of life thing really degenerates fast, so it’s good to be in a place that makes you happy. And I am.

We recently celebrated the one-year anniversary of our little burger joint, and it really made me think about all the things that place means to so many different people. It’s more than just a paycheck – it’s a tiny family. We all care about the success our little burger joint. A successful first year for a small business is really quite a feat.

The servers all chipped in and had two bobble heads made in the likeness of our two owners. They were pretty funny, I must say. We also brought breakfast for everyone, and had a cake at around four. It was a nice day.

Over the last year, as we were learning and finding our stride, we have made a lot of friends and seen a lot of stuff. So here are a few of the highlights.

The old man who used to come to the old Bob’s Fish and Chips with his son in the seventies. Now his son is dead, and he sat tearing up on the patio while eating his burger because of all the happy memories it brought back.

That time we tried to serve breakfast- it was a total fiasco.

Right around the time we opened someone pooped on our back door.

When the feral cats of the neighborhood started hanging out at our dumpster- and reproducing like crazy. We still have about seven cats that we feed and water. We call them the Holy Kitties.

The brother and sister duo that stopped in during their road trip from California to Florida.

When Mark Ruffalo came in on opening night.

When we got the new air conditioner for the kitchen and it caused the computers to crash.

The kidnapping. Late one night we were cleaning the restaurant and a car sped down the street and haphazardly into the parking lot next door. The back door opened and a woman fell out. The driver then put her back in the car and sped away.

That time a bus pulled up and unloaded all of the residents of a local nursing home into the restaurant. (This now happens on the regular, but that first time was a doozy.)

That time a hooker and a pimp came in to get out of the cold, and when they were asked to leave the man started screaming about how the restaurant had rats and that he was “too fucking classy” to eat there.

When we bought the bad batch of pens and they started exploding everywhere and on everyone.

Our salad cook was waiting at the bus stop after a day in the hot kitchen in the middle of summer when a religious group, thinking she was homeless (she did look pretty rough), gave her a paper bag with “God Loves You” written on it and containing a mashed up PB&J, a bottle of water, and cookies.

The little kid who, as he was putting his burger into a to-go box, said “See ya later”- to the burger!

The little boy who told me ‘Happy Mother’s Day.”

The Finnish motorcycle gang who stopped in during their tour of old Route 66.

When one of our servers told a guest to “chill out and relax” when she was very clearly not into being chill or relaxed.

When the salad cook accidentally coated a server from head to toe in cucumber Greek yogurt dipping sauce. That was awesome.

When one of our bosses tricked a server into drinking a ranch milkshake by telling her it was a new menu item.

That time I got off working two doubles in a row and discovered that during my shift one of my coworkers had filled my purse with apples and sugar packets.

That time when they got to work to open and discovered that during the night someone had left a wedding dress drenched in human poop on the corner of the patio. That really happened, yes.

Someone once drove their car up the sidewalk and literally to our front door.

When it got really hot and we had two new air conditioner vents installed- and then the rainy season started and the vents leaked buckets of water into the dining room.

Our slew of fun and weird characters that make a second home out of the joint.

And all the ups and downs, highs and lows, that go into a year in an emerging small business.

Things I Remember About my Father

7 Mar
Fifteen years ago today, one month after my twelfth birthday, my dad succumbed to his long, arduous battle with Non- Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. We all still miss him very much. Fifteen years ago Floyd came into the world and befriended me during that sad time. I wish she had gotten to meet him. Here are some of my memories of him that I tell her about.

His smile. He smiled a lot.

His love of water and boats.

He loved me lots.

He could learn and master anything- and quickly.

He liked to travel. He always meant to revisit Japan.

He was very independent.

He had a great memory, especially of people.

He was really good at math.

Our house was never empty- he was a true socialite.

He could pop his shoulder out of socket because of the way his bullet wound healed. (He got shot in Vietnam.)

He scared the shit out of the other kids.

He had red hair.

He once killed a tiger.

He sang along to the radio in his truck.

His hugs.


17 Feb

Are you happy?

What kind of a question is that? 

Well, are you?


Well, what do you mean?  Are you happy? With things? In life?

Sometimes. I mean, if I just got a hangnail, or it’s one of those ‘bad nights at the Cow’ or I just caused a traffic accident, then no, not happy. Kittens or champagne or kisses, then yea. It’s a stupid question. Use your words. Be specific. Say what you mean. Or better yet, just shut up. 

How’s about you and me…

14 Feb

Did I ever mention that I have pointy ears? Like, totally pointy. I think I am a descendent of elves or something (well, if that were a real option). It often catches people off guard. I like to make up stories to explain my ears’ serrated edges, and for the most part people believe them.

I’ve never been too good with names but I remember faces. Oh, wait. That’s entirely not true. I am good with neither.

Cheeseburgers are the best food in the entire world.

I come from Mississippi.

One time, I killed a Fer-de-Lance with a machete. That’s the best part of that story.

I’m naturally blonde. A great color blonde, actually. I dye my hair red in the winter, and I don’t know exactly why, but it makes me happy.

In another life I was a fish. Then a ferocious jungle cat ate that fish. I was ferocious jungle cat in another life, too. And probably a seaweed at some point, as well.

My favorite words are: porcupine, staccato, nail polish, creole, island (because it is just spelled so stupidly), fences, pineapple, cellar (I think of wine), stellar, gem, and blowfish. My least favorite words are: dry, rip, qi (it should NOT be allowed on Words with Friends), Cincinnati, yeast, lo-carb, and pit (lest we are talking about the Brad).

Also, I kind of want a pet dolphin- but only for like a day or so.

My favorite bits of machinery and mechanical wonder are photo booths, drawbridges, automatic staplers, those great margarita blenders, hair dryers, and the compass in the dashboard of the car.

I like books. I also like graphic novels. A lot.

When I was like, 15 maybe, I went to Scotland for the summer. That was fun.

It’d be neat to be a pirate, but I’m not really down with stealing from people. Unless I was looting like badass jewelry and genie lamps. And flying rugs. And I had a pet parrot. And an eye patch. And Johnny Depp.

I should’ve put ‘badass’ on my list of favorite words. It certainly is badass enough to belong there.

I collect pearls.

I also collect fossils. And rocks. And seashells. And bones. And teeth.

My cat’s name is Floyd- you can see her picture here. She’s the bee’s knees. My dog’s name is Kiki. She pees on things. I love Floyd more. They both know it.

Young Guns and Young Guns II are two of the best films to ever grace American cinema. Top Gun was a gem as well. But, if I were at a dinner party or asked by a customer (this happened the other night) to list my top five favorite movies, my reply would be something like, “Gone With the Wind, A River Runs Through It, Braveheart, Forrest Gump, The Dark Knight, Jurassic Park, The Lion King, and Gattaca” because I cannot count, and hate to admit that I went to a museum exhibit just to see Top Gun movie storyboards, jackets, and helmets.

I suffer bouts of insomnia. That’s usually when I write random lists such as these. More often than not I google funny pictures of koala bears.

All of my tattoos are down around my feet.

I have broken a LOT of bones. Many of them more than once. I’m fragile, and I know that- now.

I won a competition once to see who could get down a water-slide the fastest. I have a scar from that. When I tell people my scar is from Breckenridge, they usually assume it was a snow skiing accident. Nope.

So those are some fun facts about me, the love of my life (besides Floyd) this Valentine’s day. I guess it’s a good thing no one is taking me to dinner or some sappy thing, I make ridiculous conversation.

Episode 16: The Crew Gets a Kitty

3 May

Part 1: Weekend Warriors

It started, as most things do, with a mischievous night deep in the center of downtown Albuquerque. A night much like any other, including some awesome shots of my friends and I being morons in a photo booth, neon sunglasses, some face painting and glitter, and a performance by one of my favorite local pop bands, Monster Paws, that soon enough led to the usual post-show party foolishness. Now, anyone who has ever walked down the street in the wee hours of the morning in four-inch platform pin-up heels with a boy wearing a teddy-bear hat on his head and another with a unicorn painted on his face can pretty much tell you what happens next. The brilliant idea to go tinkle in an alley came up, and as I trooped back behind a dumpster to pop a squat, (did I ever mention just how classy I am?) is about the same time that the wolves came out.

‘Wolves’ is my term for the scary characters that I encounter on a far-too-regular basis on the sinister streets of Albuquerque and beyond. They are usually male, quite often homeless, and frequently inebriated. Most often they travel in packs and can attack with very little provocation. In this case it was a couple of real winners, probably members of some awful fraternity that encourages things like 4Loko, UFC, tribal pattern tattoos, and watching ladies pee in alleys- which is exactly what they were doing. No worries, I had a glittery posse.

So as I listen to my unicorn-painted friend try to reason with the wolves, asking them to back away and give me a moment to compose myself, I zip up and take off in the other direction. When it comes to the ‘fight or flight’ response I always run. Always. So I left Mr. Face-Paint alone to face the wolves. I watched from a safe distance on the far corner. Things seemed tame for a moment, but as my other friend, Mr. I’m-Wearing-A-Severed-Teddy-Bear’s-Head went to see what was happening, one of the wolves struck like a snake, punching my unicorn painted friend right in the face. It didn’t look pleasant, I’ll tell you, but my buddy just looked at them, then shrugged his shoulders and said something that I later found out was, “What? Hit me again, shitbag.” Astonishingly enough the wolves departed and we were left in peace to continue our journey.

We have a phrase for just how cool getting punched in the face for a friend is, and that phrase is Bro-Up. He totally ‘Bro’ed Up’ and took one for the team. I really appreciated it. So I began to formulate my plan to give him a ‘Thank You’ present. Not just anything will do when you’re trying to get a gift that has that perfect “Thank you for getting punched so that I didn’t get raped” message. It took some thought, but eventually I figured it out- I would get him a kitty.

Part 2: The Great Cat Caper

About a week went by. I ran my plan by a few other members of the crew, and for the most part I got raised eyebrows and responses such as “You are a horrible friend.” I figured that to be beside the point and I simply continued to let my plan brew. It seemed flawless.

Step one: find a kitty.

Step two: put the kitty in a basket with a cutesy note.

Step three: ding-dong ditch the cat on his doorstep.

Without any overwhelming support, though, I was only mildly planning on actually pulling off this little maneuver. But then came that fateful Saturday when I woke up with that all-too-familiar itch to find some mischief. It was go time.

The crew and I got together (despite some mild opposition) and began tracking down feral cats living behind photography studios and the like- but this proved to be a pinch too much effort for us. A more logical solution was to head to the Albuquerque Animal Rescue and pick some little snuggler who wouldn’t put up a fight or give us rabies. And there, amidst the pugs and pit bulls and Siamese cats, we found him. Immediately, he connected with us. Little dude is cute, sweet, and snuggly, and to top it all off he is polydactyl. I had a little bit of Berlin’s “Take my Breath Away” playing in my head as we gazed into each other’s eyes.

Everyone in the crew voted for him so I adopted him and we headed over to our buddy’s house to surprise him with his new soul mate. “Now, Lindsay,” you might ask, “What on earth makes you think your friend wants a cat, will like the cat, and isn’t going to punch you in the face when you bring him a cat?” The answer to that is easy- cats rock.

But seriously, a bit of background: I happen to know that this guy just went through a break up that resulted in his ex-girlfriend keeping their cat. He has mentioned it only about a thousand times. I also know that he loves cats. I also know that I love kittens and at any given moment of my life am at-risk for adopting one. I’m not quite ready to be a crazy cat lady, however, so I try to practice restraint.

So the kitten is all of ours, he’s simply the newest addition to our crew. He even has become a little groupie for Monster Paws (the group that led to his being adopted at all.) After everyone was good and acquainted and we had all given him a different name, we put Hemingway Bro Tron Sam Beam (Bro-Tron for short) on a leash and headed to our local pet-friendly patio bar for some drinks. We’re that kind of people. He’s that kind of kitten.

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