Anyone ever make slippers from their cat?

I'm seriously tempted at the moment. The stupid cats decided that this weekend would be a great time to break out their new scheduling - that is, the hours between 2-5AM are devoted to tearing around the apartment like thundering battlecats. 5-6 is for sitting at the back door whining to be let outside (even though they are indoor cats and have limited outdoor time, always on a leash). Oh and somewhere between 12-2 one of the two of them drops a stink in the catbox that is seriously bad enough to wake me up and melt the paint off the walls.

God.

Fucking Mondays. How can I hate Mondays so much even though I'm unemployed? Is it just years of indoctrination? Popular culture has clockwork oranged me into hating Mondays with an supersaturation of Office Space / Bangles / Boomtown Rats references?

Best quote ever (just heard on the CBC during an interview with the Ting Tings): 'fertile ground for whimsy'. Whimsy is word that is not used nearly enough. They kind of remind me of Elastica, a bit, though that might be my 90s scenesterism talking.

Speaking of hipsters, how can you define a social class as hip when they've looked exactly the same since about 1979? And why am I devoting so much though to this issue? It's not as though it's an original thought or anything. I'm sure that people all over the world are currently smoking gauloise cigarettes, drinking black coffee and debating that very fact. (though the actual year - 1979 - at which the 'hipster' look coalesced and froze could be a point of heated debate)

Have I mentioned that I'm on day two of uterine cramps? Like how is it that I'm almost and yet still get pimples and cramps. What kind of fucked up existence is this? All I can say is that I'm fucking proof positive that we are not living in the matrix because some mother fucking female alien would have programmed that shit out.

If Thursdays were like underpants

So now that we're officially not going home for the holidays, I'm trying to figure out what a SoCal Christmas looks like.

Metaphorically, dumbass - I know that the streets will be mostly empty except for legions of Family Trucksters loaded up with kids and gifts and reindeer sweater clad parents and that it will probably be warm and sunny (though you'd never know it considering the rain of the last few days) and that there will be lights and trees and the smell of turkey will resonate from beneath kitchen doors.

Metaphorically. Who will we see? Will we have fun? Will it be kinda sad and lonely?

I've started making some plans - we're having dinner xmas eve with the architect's aunt & uncle (will they let me bring tourtiere? I must!) and we have a pajama brunch planned for the day of. We've also started trying to figure out how to video conference present opening with the family back home.

The alternative plan is for me to drink till I pass out and spend the entire season in an alcoholic stupor. I have to tell you - right now I'm seriously leaning toward that option. Oh and I'm starting tonight. I am going to champagne happy hour with some folks.