Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Sophie: 3, Me: 0

We all know that Sophie Sassypants hates my boyfriend and hides whenever he comes near. What you didn't know is that she peed on him two weeks ago. And it's getting worse by the day. For instance... 

Sunday morning, 11am
I wake up. Dan looks half dead and doesn't seem to be in a cuddling state of mind, so I go on a mission to find my cat. I check her usual hiding places and drag her out from under my bed. I rest her on my chest, with Daniel snoring beside me. She shivers and hides her face in my armpit, obviously annoyed to be within 20 feet of her worst nightmare, my boyfriend. He rolls over, and she runs to the other side of my apartment, all 300 square feet of it. I give up and leave to get coffee.

I come back to find Dan awake. "What's that smell?" he inquires. I lay down, so we're nose to nose, and I smell it, too. "It's poop," I conclude. Dan gets defensive. "I didn't poop! I didn't even fart, it wasn't me!" I crack up, obviously I didn't think Daniel shat his boxer briefs. I peek under the bed and drag Sophie out by her front paws. I've never seen a cat look so pissed in my life. "She's dripping!" Dan all but screams. "On your new bedspread!" Eww! I put her down and looked under the bed again. There is a huge puddle of piss and two neat piles of poop. I start shouting orders to Dan ("I need napkins, a towel, a trash bag!") and run my piss-soaked kitten to my bathroom. I wipe and comfort her, only to leave her cowering by her litter box — she knows HE is still around. It's all I can do not to vomit while mopping/cleaning the crappy plastic tile under my bed, pun intended.

Dan leaves, and I ponder Sophie's horrendous actions. This cat's not fucking around, she wants Dan out. I posted my dilemma on a cat-lover's message board, and get all sorts of opinions: "She's jealous." "Maybe she hates men." (Not true, she's fine with my dad and guy friends.) "She hates the way Dan smells." "Maybe you should trust your cat's instincts and dump your boyfriend."

Insane. So I've come to the conclusion to all but medicate Sophie. I made her a safe, private spot with a blanket and toys under my couch. I will have Dan leave out a cat treat every time he comes over, so maybe she'll start to associate "treats" with "Tina's boyfriend." I will make sure Dan and the cat do not make eye contact, as in my research I've found that cats see eye contact as a threat. And I will not pressure Sophie to love Daniel, as that causes stress on all parties involved. Finally, I pray my plan works.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Ferris, Bridget and NKOTB

Yesterday was supposed to be simple:
11am Check in at the Ritz Carlton for Bee Movie press interviews
11:20am Roundtable interview with Matthew Broderick
Noon Roundtable interview with Renee Zellweger
12:20pm Roundtable interview with Jerry Seinfeld
3:30pm Photo shoot with a band I'll just call New Kids On The Block
6:30pm Call it a day and head home

OK, let's just start out by saying that I nearly pissed my pants when I was asked to interview Ferris Bueller, Bridget Jones and Elaine's boy toy. Biggest. Stars. I've. Ever. Met.

After a hilarious encounter with The Simpsons Movie, I plan my outfit for my pretend day with Hollywood and Dan and I hit the hay. We awake at 5am to the pounding rain. Dan leaves at 7am, I fall back asleep. I awake at 8:30am to the sun shining. I get ready, do some last-minute research, kiss Sophie and head out. It is a beautiful day, I make pennies, but I have the best job in the world. I take the bus to the city, where I then attempt to hop on a subway to take me uptown to the Ritz. Eh. Everything is backed up. The R line is running where the B line should be, and I need the D train. This probably makes no sense, but basically, New York transit is a mess. I make it to the "hospitality suite" at 11:10am, where I'm offered a cup of lukewarm coffee. How hospitable. I'm ushered to a room with about four "teen press" reporters. Everyone's gossiping about how the subway system is backed up because of the flooding. Flooding? What flooding?! It rains for three hours and New York practically shuts down. A couple of more reporters trickle in. Around 11:45am Matthew Broderick walks in, sits down and spats, "OK, what is it?" A few reporters spout questions, then I open my mouth.
Me: So like, when I see a bee, I freak out. After making this movie, do you have more compassion for bees?
Ferris: Well, I never try to kill bees, never have. Just the other day we had a bee in the house, and I trapped it in a glass and let it go.
Where was SJP when the death wish with wings was buzzing around?
Me: Nice. Thank you.

Ferris leaves after about 20 minutes of bee talk, and Renee walks in dressed in designer jeans, a black sweater (it's 98 degrees outside!) and a chic new haircut I've never seen before. As much as I love her, her head is...a bit larger than her body. But I won't call her a bobble head. Questions fly. She is animated, adorable, sweet, gracious, quite possibly one of my top three stars to interview.

Moving on. The Jerry interview is pushed back until 3pm. It is 12:30. I must start heading down to SoHo for the shoot if NY transit is as crappy as everyone says. I hop on the 1 line. It was supposed to take me to Canal Street, about 2 blocks from my shoot, but the conductor insists on stopping at 14th St., and the train goes no further. I walk out of the 100-degree station into the 98-degree weather and attempt to hail a cab. No go. EVERYONE is trying to hail a cab. The subways are down, everyone has somewhere important to go. I walk up and down Sixth Ave. My feet are nearly bleeding, my bag is weighing me down. I'm sweating hand grenades. After 45 minutes, I approach a non-available cab at a stoplight and ask the man in the backseat if we can share. He says yes. Score!

The traffic is unbearable, I can walk faster than this. I get out at Houston and start walking. I feel faint. I haven't ingested more than a cup of lukewarm coffee all day, so I stop at a small cafe to scarf something down and look over my notes before the photo shoot. I order a salad. They bring me a small plate of leaves and oil. Literally, JUST leaves and oil. It is 3pm, I must go. I thank the waitress for the weeds and give her $12.

I get to the photo shoot (I'm still hungry, tired, and hot, mind you), and what do I see? New Kids On The Block and their 15-person entourage. When did they become 'N Sync? Agh. Despite the fact that the caterers brought Diet Pepsi, when NKOTB only drinks Diet Coke, the shoot goes fairly smoothly. Then NKOTB's manager pulls me aside. He is not happy.
(There are more details to this, but to be on the safe side, we'll keep those hush-hush.)
Guy: We saw the last issue. We're not happy with the photo you chose to put on the cover.
Me: I apologize. My editor really liked that photo. It won't happen again. We don't want to jeopardize our relationship with you.
Guy: Well, that's the way to do it. This had better not happen again. You have an upset artist and an angry staff.
Me: I'm sorry. We've been supporting you guys for years. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again.
Guy: We'll be watching.

At this point, tears are streaming down my face. I try to pull myself together, but when I'm upset, there's no holding back the waterworks. I'm 26. Unprofessional. Humiliated. I hope I don't get canned. I can't believe I'm crying in front of NKOTB's entourage. Somebody, please dig a hole in the floor that's roughly 5'6" deep so I can...sob in privacy.

Somehow, I make it through the photo shoot. Sometimes I don't think I'm quite cut out for all of this entertainment BS, diva demands, ass-kissing and whatnot. I'm from Missouri for pete's sakes! So I get home, rip off my tear-soaked clothes and zone out to Seinfeld. And the kicker? I didn't even get to meet Jerry.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Sophie: 1, Me: 0

My cat, Sophie Sassypants, despises my boyfriend, Danny. It's becoming quite an issue. When Sophie and Dan first met, it wasn't quite love at first sight, but both parties were amicable. Somewhere along the line, she began to treat Dan as if he puked on her favorite catnip mouse—she avoided him at all times. I could be on my bed watching Animal Planet with Soph, she would be purring away, and Dan will walk in and she'll immediately take cover under my bed. Then Dan'll turn to me with a look of dejection and ask, "Why doesn't she like me?" I'll try to lure her out with her fur-on-a-stick toy, and she might ease out...but the minute Dan so much as looks at her, she runs for her life. We tried everything. I would walk up to Danny with Soph in my arms. "Dan, give her a kiss." He obliged. "Dan, give her this catnip." She took one sniff and went across the room. "Dan, give her a cat treat." I tried to get him to feed her that disgusting wet cat food. That, he refused.

It even got to the point where she somehow made about five holes in my mattress box frame so she could crawl in it—usually at night when we're both sleeping. And she'd make it a point to run around on Dan's side of the bed until he'd wake up, annoyed. On Tuesday, we reached a breaking point. We came home after dinner, Soph ran up to me, until she spotted my boyfriend. She gave him a look of death and ran under the bed. Dan got mad. "That's it! I'm taping up her hiding spot! She needs to get used to me and learn to hang out with us! And I need to get some sleep." I agreed, and threw him some duct tape. I watched in awe as Dan destroyed my room, my blankets and pillows strewn on the floor, one mattress against the wall, box frame against another. Sophie hid underneath the claw-foot bathtub. He proceeded to tape up my box frame, like his life depended on it. He went threw full rolls of duct tape, masking tape and packing tape. Layer after layer of tape because according to Danny, "Those paws will get through anything. This'll keep her out." He raved about how much he "loves little handy projects" and how he "wants to help me out around the house more." He's so sweet. I thanked him, and we put my room back together. That night, Sophie slept underneath (not in) my bed.

Now I think Dan has given up on trying to win love and affection from my cat. Last night, he wouldn't touch her. "She doesn't deserve my love," he told me. "But I just want her to see in you what I see!" I begged. So we went to sleep with a small, furry 5-pound elephant in the room. Sophie wins.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Minor Annoyances

When you go to a bar and order a mocktail of cranberry and seltzer with lime, trying to be a semi-sober, smooth grown-up, when they give it to you in a giant glass with an equally large bendy straw. When you're on a date.

Word Verification on web sites. They have "WjsuVxT" written in neon red on a pink striped background, and you're expected to type it?!

Stupid MySpace bulletins. Like the one where people say, "Everyone on MySpace is fake. If you're a non-fake real friend, you'll re-post this." I'm fake. I have highlights. So what?! And also bulletins by Tom Impersonators. It took me a couple of months, but by being stealth, I figured out that people can easily immitate Tom, and I no longer buy it.

People who put their kids up to their dirty work. I was walking through the park on Sunday, when this sweet little girl handed me a pamphlet. About Jesus. I looked up and there were her parents, watching. They knew I couldn't ignore this young girl, like I usually do when randoms hand out paperwork. They tricked me. That's mean!

When Sophie Sassypants confuses "bedtime" with "playtime." She's in her own kitty world most of the time, but the minute head hits pillow, it's all over. One-by-one, she drags her toys on the bed. I throw. She fetches. I throw far, hoping she won't have the strength to carry the catnip mouse 20 feet with her chompers. I'm wrong. So I eventually hide the toys in my nightstand drawer so I can sleep. Maybe I'm mean?

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Don't Be Mean To Mother Nature!!!

Today started just like any other day in my third-floor apartment. Z100 The Morning Zoo blares out of my crappy speakers with a 7:20am phone tap. Sophie Sassypants, who has been laying on the pillow next to me, bites my arm. I hit Snooze. About five times until 8:15am. I sit up, Sophie cocks her head at me. I stretch to open the blinds by my bed, so Sophie can watch the birds outside — her favorite thing to do. Then I see it. Or...lack of it. There once was a massive tree right outside my bedroom window. It was there yesterday. It's gone this morning. I run to look out another window. No tree. I swear to you, I think for five seconds that I'm dreaming. Am I in the wrong apartment? My building is basically in the backyard of another building, and all I can see is the dirty piss-stained building in front of me. No beautiful tree with a half dozen birds in it's branches on any given day.

I left the house every morning for my 10-hour workday knowing that Sophie would be content. She'd be sitting on my bed watching the birds when I got home. And I almost cried this morning because her happiness was taken away. I know it's just a tree. It's just a kitten. But now I know why my pop wants me to be so happy. Because it makes him happy. Now that my kitten's most favorite thing was taken away, it makes me a little sad.

Friday, February 2, 2007

Pictures Can Deceive

Do I take myself too seriously? Don't answer that. But seriously, can someone please pluck myself..out of myself for a moment? I wish there was a way to switch bodies, minds, on occasion. Just get out of my life and into someone else's. And it's not like my life is BAD. It's just fine. But it's me. Always thinking, analyzing, wondering, hoping, wishing, expecting...about everything. After I got my pink Geo Tracker in 2001, and things still didn't get better...that's when I realized that material things can't bring happiness.

Why is it that I'm 25, and I'm still wondering if I'm normal? Maybe because I wonder about it so much...it means I'm not? I'm not an adolescent, but I still get that feeling you get when walking into the school cafeteria on the first day of high school, unsure as to who's in your lunch shift because maybe you have two friends and you fear you'll be sitting alone. So there's a rock in your stomach. Some ball of dread that things aren't right, that you're missing something. Something that other people who are living just like you are really get. And you're not being clued in. Your head's off. Your actions are off and your life is off. And if you're a girl, it's not that time of the month which has you really confused. You go from one week a month to four weeks a month with feelings of sadness and fear. Even though this has only been happening for one month, your life still feels like that annoying Zoloft commercial. I find speaking in second person a comfort.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

A Second Person Account of PHD, Hypothetically Speaking

PHD. Post-Holiday Depression. That's what I'm calling it. September strikes like a new school year, filled with foliage and fall clothes. October brings a much-anticipated chance to be someone else for a night and November, well...who doesn't like stuffing your face? December comes with financial stress for about a week until you work out a solution on how and who to buy for. The fam drives you batty until the magic of Dec. 25 bestows itself upon you and you're suddenly grateful for your little life and those in it. The Merry Christmas text messages pour in and you know you're loved. New Years brings hopeful expectations and a hangover and then, BAM! It's all over. Maybe there's something to the fact that most people start out the year by feeling like crap. So you're hungover (hypothetically, of course), maybe you trek to the drugstore for some aspirin. But what do you see? A depressing mess of 50%-off holiday decorations and an aisle full of red and pink. Valentine's Day chocolates, hearts and teddy bears. Teddy bears that you probably won't receive if you're single. So now you're hungover, dateless and have no where to store the new holiday décor you just had to buy because hey, it was on sale.

So you walk back home, stepping over evergreen trees that have been tossed out like day-old KFC. But you think, hey, at least it's not snowing. Everyone likes snow in December, but in January? Hell no. Especially if you live in New York, because January and February is when the real winter starts, and that's not snow. It's dirty gray slush that (hypothetically) ruins your Manolo Blahniks. You reorganize your apartment, trying to find crannies to store your new holiday swag and useless Christmas décor for next year, when it suddenly hits you. All those things you'd planned to do in 2006? None of it happened. You're at your same old job, five pounds heavier. Perhaps you tried to (hypothetically) get a plant last year like the movie 28 Days suggests. And you deprived the pot of purple geraniums of water, so they died. Then you got a kitty, and she died, too. But there's always 2007 to start over. So yeah. I won't lie. I've been depressed for two weeks over all facets of life, hanging onto life by a pink thread. Is that normal?
Online Marketing