Witz Pickz: Friday Grab Bag (aka Witz Slides Closer to Hell)

I let The Deaflympics simmer for a little while and you know what? Nothing but positive results! I was sure someone was going to get upset or write a hate letter, but it turns out that a) I don't have that many people reading this blog b) people don't care all that much about deaf people and c) deaf people can't hear all the buzz about Witz Pickz! Here's a whole bunch of randomness to end the week:

Vitamin Water:
I've become addicted to this stuff. I'm not one of those people who hates regular water (as noted in one of my way earlier posts), but I am one of those people who feels the need to try and take control of a seemingly uncontrollable situation by taking action-- be it cleaning my room when my life is chaotic or taking vitamins to try and stave off an inevitable cold. What Vitamin Water has that other vitamin and fluid products don't have is the power of 50 Cent. Vitamin Water is in direct competition with Life Water which chooses to give package deals instead of individual vitamins (Immunity vs. Vitamin C). But Life Water was never shot up. Vitamin water has street cred and so now I do too. If someone asks me if I've ever sold hit rap albums, performed in front of millions of people, and been shot repeatedly, I now feel comfortable answering, "Kind of." Also, Safeway inexplicably has them permanently on sale for 10/$10. So that helps...


Repeated Rapes:
Witz DOESN'T pick rapists. I'd like to say that one up front. Witz also DOESN'T pick repeated raping (for the obvious reasons and because I'm not a big fan of marathons-- I think running a full marathon is too far, I think CSI and Psych marathons on tv are unnecessary). HOWEVER, I've been reading news articles such as THIS ARTICLE where a 12 year old boy was "raped repeatedly" by a 19 year old he met on xbox live. First of all, the 12 year old apparently invited this guy he met on xbox live to come stay with him for a while-- I don't know where the parents were at, but isn't 90% of the point of xbox live so you don't put yourself in a position to be shot, stabbed, or raped by your competitor? All I'm saying is that the 19 year old probably lost a lot of games to this kid. And why does the media always have to assume that video games cause violence and now rape? I lose to Nitro regularly in FIFA 09 and you know what-- I haven't raped him. Call me a hero. As Nitro so eloquently put is:

"I hate how there's an almost universally accepted notion that people that play video games are dangerous and maladjusted. It's like saying anyone that plays Pogs will fuck your mouth while you sleep."

Anyway, back to my "raped repeatedly" post....yikes: Between the video game kid, the Austrian guy with the creepiest basement ever, and numerous other incidents, it's gotten to the point where if I read an article that someone was raped, but not raped REPEATEDLY, I wonder why the rapist was so lazy. Is there an undiagnosed case of ADD involved? Did the rapist get distracted by a House marathon? If the rapist was distracted by a Friday Night Lights marathon, then I think that counts as an automatic bid for another season. That's how shows should judge if they stay on tv-- would a rapist choose your show over more raping? Welcome back, Arrested Development! Sorry, Private Practice. You barely slipped by Top Chef-- Super Bowl episode my ass...

Flowers, Puppies, Ice Cream, Philanthropy:
Gotta off-set that rape post somehow! I'm WAAAAY INTO THE AFOREMENTIONED THINGS! Flowers let us know a forgiving God who forgives things like making fun of deafness and rape exists (P.S. way to create deafness and rape God...maybe Sunday would have been a good "checking your work" day, huh?). Puppies are like, awesome, right? Ice Cream-- well, that's just the bomb, and how lucky are we that we now have dairy free ice cream for our lactose and dairy intolerant friends? Right?? Wow, we sure have come a long way. Philanthropy is awesome. I'm a huge fan. I'm also able to receive cash, checks, and paypal donations. Coincidence? Doubtful. After all, SOMEBODY needs to fuel my Vitamin Water addiction.

And They Never Spoke of it Again...,
Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Deaf Olympics

The Deaf Olympics-- yep-- they exist. If you're anything like me, you're furious. I believe in equal rights, gay marriage, buying alcohol on Sundays, watching Entourage and stopping global warming, but when it comes to my athletics, I'm a staunch conservative. It's not that I don't think there should be opportunities for deaf people, it's just that I want people to be able to fail just as equally as the rest of us.

Not only do the Deaf Olympics exist, but they call them THE DEAFLYMPICS. The Deaflympics sounds like a hip-hop crew, not a majestic international competition. Apparently, they have been going on for years, and you've probably heard the marketing, but couldn't really understand what was being said and just kind of smiled and nodded until it went away. This summer, they will take place in Taipei, and in the winter of 2011 The 17th Deaflympics will take place on the "smallest high mountain" in Slovakia. Clearly a lot of time and effort is going into these games, which raises the most important question: WHY DO DEAF PEOPLE NEED SPECIAL OLYMPICS (but not THE Special Olympics). Here's what The Deaflympics have to say:

"The need for separate games for deaf athletes is not just evident in the numbers of participants. Deaf athletes are distinguished from all others in their special communication needs on the sports field, as well as in the social interaction that is an equally vital part of the games."

Being deaf is a disability, but not a disability that effects sports. If being deaf is an athletic disability, then being 5'10'' with a 6'' vertical is also a disability and I want to play in the Totally Average Build Olympics (aka The Thanks For the Shit Genetics Mom and Dad Olympics). The Deaflympics site (yes, www.deaflympics.com) says that their are language issues, but isn't sign language the same as having to have someone translate for you? It's even better, because you can see it from farther away than you could hear someone shouting in Cantonese. There is only one scenario in which I can see a bunch of deaf athletes having a problem-- Track and Field.

Announcer: Runners ready! Aaaaand ::GUNSHOT!:: Uh...hm. ::GUNSHOT!:: Goddamn it.

That's it. Nobody starts. Would it be that difficult to have some other cue announce the start of the race for the 1-3 events involving deaf racers? I have a tough time believing that there are millions of amazing olympic caliber athletes out there that are only being held back by their inability to hear. The previous quote would have you believe that simply because there are so many deaf people IN the Deaflympics, there are that many athletes that could compete at the Olympic level if they weren't deaf. That logic is flawed-- maybe there are 5-6 Deaflympians who would make it, but everyone else is probably more need of a Deaf Backyard Pickup Game. As Nitro says,

"Have you ever tried to run really fast when you couldn't hear where the ground was and all you could do is give your 100% focus or what you're doing given the sheer LACK of distractions? Those guys are heroes. That's like being a deaf golfer. Who gives a shit?"

The Deaflympics serve only to give complete impunity to people who want to heckle athletes (who goes to THE OLYMPICS and heckles athletes???). You can say absolutely whatever you want without the athletes knowing. Which leaves the door wide open for going to the Deaflympics and making heckle signage:

"Hey-- run faster asshole, they're RIGHT behind you!"

"Dude, you're running so fast you broke the sound barrier-- oh wait, nevermind, you're just deaf!"

"Why are you reading this sign?? You're getting distracted by a sign in the audience and throwing away your one chance at glory? You're making a joke out of The Deaflympics!"

"Wow, you're really good at rowing. I can hear MUSIC!"

Deaf competitors have an equal chance of socially interacting at the Olympics as everyone else. Hundreds of languages are represented-- I promise Lebron James doesn't speak Russian, but I bet if he wanted to, he'd find a way to communicate with them. The Olympic Committee isn't letting in more South Indian athletes just so everyone who speaks Tamil can get wasted together knock over Pakistani mailboxes with their cricket bats (this is something I believe might happen both in India and the Olympics), so why give people who "speak" sign language their own olympics? Which brings up ANOTHER question: What about the barely deaf?

The Barely Deaf have been running society for thousands of years. Ignoring what they don't feel like dealing with, but paying attention when it is to their advantage. The Barely Deaf live among us without you even knowing. You might be Barely Deaf. I might be Barely Deaf. There is no way of knowing until it is too late, and they have stolen your television, your loved ones, and ultimately, your dignity and self-respect. There is without a doubt a rift within the Summer and Winter Deaflympics. The Barely Deaf have been holding the For Realsies Deaf hostage (metaphorically, not like a big Deaf Munich-- too soon? I'm gonna make the movie Deaf Munich...then Deaf Prefontaine...Deaf The Mighty Ducks) since the very beginning of the Deaflympics-- using what small advantage they may have to take gold again and again. Ending the Deaflympics would be a huge step towards equal deaf rights, as well as equal rights in general. The time is now, and we need to hear the call to action-- because the deaf never will. Ever.

Tongue In Cheek (Is How Deaf People Sound),*
Witz

P.S. Fun note-- there are 20 Summer Deaflympics events and only 5 Winter Deaflympics events. I guess barrelling down a mountain without being to hear a gd thing isn't such a big thing. I also believe I'm good enough to play on a deaf hockey team. There, I said it.

*These are just jokes people**
**I'm still going to hell***
***Maybe I'll play in the Hellympics
****There are no Winter Hellympics

Witz Pickz: Back In Action

Work has kept me busy for the last week or so and so Witz Pickz has been absent. To be fair, I really wanted to ask you all to bear with me, but I then realized that I have no idea how to spell it. My instincts say it's "Bear with me," but then it kind of looks like I'm either asking you to place yourself in the midst of wild life danger or am telling you that I am currently being accompanied by a Bear. "Where's Witz? He better not be with that goddamn bear again!" It leaves the door open for the outside chance that I'm hanging out with Man vs. Wild host Bear Grylls, but let's be honest, if I was invited to hangout with Bear Grylls, I'd have to decline on behalf of my entire immune system.

Bear: Let's jump in this frozen lake, just to see what happens!
Witz: What happens is that I'll get a cold.
Bear: Let's sleep in this leafy mud hut just to see how we do!
Witz: I'll get a cold is how I'll do.
Bear: Let's get naked by this cavee for no real reason other than it's satisfying to feel your balls against Mother's Nature's bounty!
Witz: No.

The other option is "bare with me," which sounds like I want everyone to get naked Bear Grylls style and come hang out. It'd be really awkward if everyone did show up naked and I was just chillin' fully clothed. Never in my entire life has somebody asked me, "Who do you want to hangout with naked" and answered, "EVERYBODY!" I'm not entirely sure anyone ever asked me "Who do you want to hangout with naked," at all, but if they did, I bet it was weird and hopefully I didn't answer "YOU!"

So that's my weak-ass post for today-- telling you that I can't post, but will be back tomorrow with some attempts to make your life a little better, or at least, make that 2:34 on your clock turn into a 2:36 without too much pain.

"Witz Didn't Seem All That Back In Action Today...,"
Witz

Witz Pickz: Medical Mysteries Unsolved

Welp, I can no longer say that I've never gotten an ultra-sound. Last night, some champion driving got me to my ENT doctor's appointment right before he left despite a major train delay (Witz 1 - Environmentally Conscious Public Transportation 0). Dr. Salvatore La Quinta (last name vaguely disguised to be more like a hotel chain) was not what I expected, but he was finally a doctor that took my horrible immune system and proclivity for getting every cold imaginable seriously. Which is why I now know that my neck is not pregnant.

After some initial questions, he cut right to the chase and told me to, "Lie back so I can get an ultrasound of your neck." Boom. After talking extensively with my other doctors, they were wary of even offering the advice to get "Cold-eeze when you start to feel sick." This guy went from zero to hero and busted out the ultrasound right out of the gate. And why not?? If I had an ultrasound machine hanging around, I would be looking at the phosphorescent insides of EVERYTHING. Leave me in a room with an ultrasound for more than 15 minutes, and I guarantee you'd walk in on me naked as the day I was born, with ultrasound gel all over me like I was straight outta the womb.

Unfortunately/Fortunately, he didn't leave me with it, but used it to look at my lymph nodes and salivary glands. I wasn't able to turn my head and see the screen, but my peripheral vision let me understand that on ultrasound, they look exactly like a game of Asteroids with that old school computer coloring of yellow and black. In fact, there's a pretty solid chance that this guy just smeared some vaseline on my skin, rolled an Atari controller over my neck and played video games while I waited:

"Ok, everything looks-- FUCK!"

"What?"

"Oh nothing-- you're...triangle gland...just teleported right in front of...a large moving lymph node."

"Triangle glands can teleport!?"

"Yes. Yes they can. But no more than twice in a row or they blow up."

"Issss that something I should be concerned with??"

"No, no, you should be fine."

"Hah, wow-- evolution's neat."

In the end, the doctor was only able to confirm that I didn't have anything horrible, like a thyroid cyst or a tumor. He asked if I was fatigued a lot as a symptom of mono, but he didn't ask if I went to sleep too late, slept terribly, occasionally drank on weeknights, had 32 cans of Sparks in my fridge, was currently in a territorial war with an overly aggressive cuddling cat, ever regained consciousness into the business end of a police flashlight, or knew the La Barca bartenders by name-- so I said "no," to avoid any confusion. I remain undiagnosed.

PHOTO:

This is a self-admittedly unnecessary photo by Nitro. It is meant to depict me being owned by disease. It also looks like I am either a Mexican Wrestler about to square off against this Mucusal Marauder in an epic performance art manifestation of my physical state, OR I am about to reveal some magic tricks-- er-- illluusssions-- to a crowd on FOX. Either way, I'm bound to develop a cough.

Almost Friday,

Witz

Witz Pickz: Sneaky Accomplishments

When peeing at a urinal with an iPod in one hand, there is zero margin for error. Not peeing on yourself OR the iPod is a tight-wire act deserving of a documentary not unlike Man on Wire. I did this yesterday. Success like this is everywhere. A lot of the time, not hitting a biker is a really big accomplishment. A can of soup fell out of my cabinet, but I reflexively made a no-look catch to save it from hitting the ground. These are the every day accomplishments that go unnoticed, and I think it's about time we gave everyone some credit for the absurd successes that life allows for on a regular basis. Did you quit your job today? Me either. We're practically heroes.

Here are some sneaky accomplishments of readers-- post more of yours in the comments section and I will update them on this main page:

It Dave Burns When I Pee says:
Today for lunch I ordered a chicken-salad sandwich on a poppyseed bagel and managed to finish eating every single poppyseed that fell off because I paid 10 cents extra for them.

The Bruhniverse says:
Today I made bacon for myself. This is usually my wife's "job", but in a pinch the microwave is almost as good as her oven method. A microwave is to the common man, as the vibrator is to the common woman, devices of conveniences that one almost-but-not-quite finds fulfilling.

The Kapps Report:
Yesterday, I successfully ducked a crazy person stalker in Starbucks...

My Friend Formerly With A Pool:
Today I changed out of my work clothes, into my gym clothes, back out of my gym clothes into a towel, dried off and changed back into my work clothes all within a 3 foot radius of other co-workers without anyone seeing my equipment. Who says you never use the things you learn in middle school?

Euro-Witz (aka Witz Sis):
Today I climbed over a spikey fence to escape a french zoo...
(http://thefrenchlifeparis.blogspot.com/)

MP Hammer:
Last Thanksgiving, I helped myself to a few too many cocktails before dinner. Upon sitting down for the meal, having ingested nothing other than mass quantities of liquid for much of the afternoon, I found that my body was in dire need of substance. I filled two plates with everything I could get my hands on, and ate like I have never eaten before. Unfortunately, the convergence of about three-quarters of a liter of Maker's Mark and three-quarters of a ton of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, resulted in catastrophe. Midway through my second massive serving of sweet potato casserole, the first wave of nausea hit me like a ton of bricks. Although I somehow managed to subdue the urge to empty my stomach all over the carefully constructed holiday centerpiece, I was soon slammed by several others. Desperately attempting to maintain a sliver of composure in front of my entire extended family, I quickly yet quietly excused myself from the table. As my vision began to blur, I stumbled through the hallways of my second cousin's fourth floor apartment in search of a bathroom... a garbage can... an out-of-the-way potted plant... anywhere that I could expel the tremendous amount of matter that was fighting its way up my esophagus. I quickly began to panic when I discovered that the apartment's sole bathroom was occupied. No other appropriate receptacle in sight, I realized that I had to reach back to my college days and do what I had done following almost every case race and double power hour in which I had ever participated. Locking the door of the guest bedroom behind me, I prepared my dignity and self-respect for what I was about to do. Opening the bedroom's window, I hung nearly my entire upper body out of the building and spewed about 4 pounds of liquor and Thanksgiving fare onto the sidewalk 40 feet below. After what seemed like an eternity, I completed the task at hand and returned to the dinner table. Although I'm sure everyone noticed my extremely bloodshot eyes, the telltale sign of a mid-meal purge, I was never asked why I suddenly left the table for 20 minutes. Hopefully, my parents just assumed I was bulimic.

C-Murder:
Witz: Give me a sneaky accomplishment that you've had. Like something subtle, but impressive. Like how I peed at a urinal with an ipod in one hand without any disaster.
C-Murder: Wait what? A sneaky accomplishment? Does it have to be in the peeing arena?
Witz: Nope. Anything.
C-Murder: I can chug water really quickly. I make good meatball subs for a vegetarian...
Witz: Those are pretty good...
C-Murder: Oh wait. How about how I can FUCKING SPEAK CHINESE-- how about that??


That Was Kind of a Sneaky No-Post,
Witz

SPARKS ADDENDUM:
Sparks, Nevada must be the craaaaaziest town around (sorry Red Bullsville)! Nothin' but injuries, drunk driving, and sexual assault there. Also, and maybe I'm wrong, but isn't it possible that Sparks doesn't cause MORE of these negative occurrences, but, in fact, the people who choose to buy and drink a caffeinated alcoholic drink that tastes like sweet tarts and comes in a can that looks like a battery might ALREADY be more prone to drunk driving, injuries, or sexual assault? And explain how the last one works? "Welp, ordinarily, I'd be drunk on beer, call it a night, and pass out, but since I've had some caffeine, I'm gonna force myself on this passed out chick who wasn't smart enough to be drinking Sparks, too." The problem isn't people drinking Sparks-- it's NOT ENOUGH people drinking Sparks!

Yesterday, somebody told me that my post left it ambiguous as to whether or not I was pro-Sparks. To anyone who isn't sure, I defer to the 32 cans currently in my refrigerator-- every can a baby miracle (but hopefully never leading to the miracle of babies).

Witz Pickz: Sparks

I have eight packs of Sparks in my fridge and that's not a metaphor. It might be by the time this weekend is over. Back in September, Sparks had a number of lawsuits brought against them (MillerCoors) for both health and marketing reasons (both obvious-- fast + slow = heart attacks, and it was marketed as an energy drink...with alcohol...). Now, they have decided to either pull their product from shelves or eliminate the caffeine from their product. I guess they decided something ridiculous like mixing 6-7% alcohol with caffeine and taurine wasn't a good idea-- and by "decided" I mean, "combined extensive research of the product's ingredients with sound, reasonable logic and came to a completely appropriate conclusion."

Only this is America, and if we want to combine our uppers with our downers, we shouldn't have to buy two products. America is the home of the 2 for 1 deal and the 2 in 1 product. Take shampoo and conditioner for example. Shampoo makes my hair really frizzy. Conditioner makes my hair really soft. An "upper" and a "downer." Opposites, but they sell that in a 2 in 1 bottle. It's just like Sparks.

But this isn't just another post about Sparks and their lawsuit-- it's about shame...it's always about shame:

Last night, My Friend Formerly With A Pool and I wandered into Safeway before my soccer game. My goal? To buy one Powerade. That's it. Except, right next to the cold drinks section was the alcohol section, and right at the edge of that alcohol section was SPARKS (which I guess sort of proves the point about it being marketed like a regular energy drink to underage kids). The Safeway by my house was completely out of Sparks, and all of my friends have had trouble finding any-- there is only a limited supply left in stores with "the original recipe" intact. "SPARKS!" I declared, like advertisers imagined a tween in search of tasty alcoholic beverages would. "SPARKS PARTY!" My Friend Formerly With A Pool proclaimed, which a) does sound like a singles mixer b) does sound like a homosexual singles mixer c) is still a great idea. We then proceeded to pull all of the Sparks Plus (the plus stands for heart disease) off the shelf and put it in a hand basket while a semi-grizzled man watched us and laughed softly. "We're never gonna sleep again," I told him (hm, see aforementioned "b"). "We're gonna need another basket," we decided.

We then went ahead and filled a second hand-basket with four-packs of Sparks. We cleaned them out. Unfortunately, we hadn't finished shopping, so we then wandered throughout the entire store holding our bounty. What else did we buy besides 8 packs of Sparks? Two vitamin waters. We considered buying some condoms or asking if they sold ecstasy, just to top off the absurdity of the purchase.

Walking to checkout, I saw a slightly shorter line and stepped into it, My Friend Formerly With A Pool close by.

"Line's back here, guy!" came a voice from behind us. I turned around and saw some guy with a shopping cart, leaving room in the aisle for people to go by. I instinctively apologized, but what I was really thinking was that I should raise my basket with 16 cans of Sparks in it and say, "You really wanna fuck with me, bro?" (Sparks Plus where the plus stands for being brutally beaten with your own torn off limbs) Instead, the guy added, "Too good to be true, huh?" referring to the length of the line. I glanced around at the other lines which were all roughly the same length. Douchebag. If only he'd met me when I had been drinking Sparks, and therefore been prone to, "more drunk driving, more injuries, and more sexual assault."

Getting into another line, we began the long, awkward wait. "Oh shiiiiiit!" I whispered, as I realized something important-- I didn't have my ID. I'd left it at home in the pocket of my jeans. I couldn't buy Sparks. Suddenly, we weren't even just two mid-twenty year old dudes buying 32 cans of Sparks. We were those underage guys with one ID between them, pretending not to know each other so they could buy a drink allegedly marketed for teens. Many many eyes were upon us or at least it felt that way. As we neared the checker, my fears were allayed by my racism, when I saw that the girl looked "Off-the-boat-asian." We got up to the register:

"Ok, ID?" She asked. I wasn't wrong....still probably racist...

"Here you go," MFFWAP said as I hung back, just another customer giggling at the customer in front of him...

"K," she said, ringing him up. "Safeway card?"

"I don't have one..." he said.

"K,"

"Wait, I do!" helpful customer behind Guy Buying Too Much Sparks chimed in (that's me).

"Too late," she snapped. Wait for it...

"But those Sparks are onsale for like, six bucks..." Curiously over-interested and fiscally aggressive customer in the on-deck circle replied. The checker looked at me, questioning my involvement. I froze. "I'm just saying, I have a card..." I waited as her eyes scanned me for deceit, just waiting for her to ask for my ID, thus ending our dream of a Sparks Party.

"Too late," she told us, and turned away. The Sparks was ours.

While we had been in line, slowly sauntering forward, customers in other lines had looked over at our baskets and smiled, shaking their heads. As we left the store with our shopping bags of ill-health, I could still feel their eyes on our backs. If I were to get pulled over on the way home, the police would find me in a station wagon, without a driver's license, with an entire trunk full of Sweet-Tart tasting alcohol. He'd probably charge me with conspiracy to sell to minors-- after all, having more than four Sparks in your posession at any time is suspect, and it's reasonable to assume that you're selling to anxious tweens, just looking to make some bad decisions. I've told stories on this site about being scared by my own back hair. I've told stories about trying to swallow cinnamon and hacking my lungs and sinuses out. I've made mention of how excited I get when I walk into a bathroom and the automatic lights go on just for me. But last night, in the checkout line with armfuls of Sparks, I finally felt shame. It was both an adrenaline rush and super depressing. An upper and a downer. Sparks.

"Maybe Witz Shouldn't Complain About His Immune System Anymore,"

Witz

Photos courtesy of Turbo (first) and Nitro (second and third)

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Cat Nap

It's possible to love too much. Furthermore, it is possible to love too hard. My roommate's cat is an overly aggressive cuddler. She goes one step beyond the usual brushing up against you and actually rams you with her head and body. It's not that she wants to feel your touch so much as she wants to knock you out and make you bleed. The purring never stops.

My roommate is out of town and so, last night, my first night back, I learned that aggressive cuddling and domestic abuse aren't so far apart. The following encounter is factual:

10:30pm -- Godiva the cat wanders into my bedroom as I am settling my jet-lagged self into bed. "Oh good," I think. "Perhaps the cat will settle into bed with me while I sleep, thus comforting me. How shall I entice it?" I then proceeded to say, "Godiva!" because naming things gives you power over them.

10:45pm -- Godiva the cat has jumped up into bed and has been circling me routinely for the past fifteen minutes. She hits against my face, my arms, and my legs. I pet her, and she's purring, but she better settle soon so I can sleep.

12:45am -- Godiva the cat refuses to settle and I've started taking a tone with her. "Godiva!" I whisper-yell insanely. "Go to sleep!" Instead she smacks her head against my face and I think to myself, "She's only doing this because she cares about me." I lie completely still, trying to trick her into thinking I'm asleep. Apparently, Godiva has no problem sleep-assaulting me, as she continues to go after my exposed hands and head. I hide my limbs under the blanket and start in on the crazy swearing: "Godiva, fucking knock it off or I will fucking throw you out the window to your cat doom nine times!" Then I add, "Just leave!" If he can hear me, my other roommate must think I'm insane. Fair enough.

1:00am -- "Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!....Ohmygodstop!"

1:01am -- Godiva the cat is locked on the outside of my door crying in the way that cat's cry and sound like old people. "Shuuuuuuut up!" Mew. Mew. Mew. I consider my options. I can suck it up and let the cat cry, but then I both feel bad AND don't fall asleep-- after all, I'm the guy who needs the white noise of a fan to mask...SILENCE...to fall asleep. So that's out. I can take Godiva and lock her in a room farther away. That sounds like my best option, but then, theoretically, that means I should move the litter box into whichever room is with the cat and I don't see that happening, especially because the litter "box" is actually more like an igloo and I'm not entirely familiar with litter igloo technology. So I open the door and give Godiva the cat a stern, "Shut the fuck up." Then I get back in bed.

1:02am -- Godiva the cat climbs in bed with me. Anticipating the move, I have my hands, arms, feet, and most of my face and head tucked under the comforter. My eyes are locked shut, and while it is extremely warm beneath the covers, it is my only hope at sleep. Godiva sniffs around me, but doesn't make a move. I tense as I hear her curl up between me and the wall. Then I hear nothing.

3:00am -- "Goddamn motherfuckin' piece of I'll kill you!" My eyes snap open to the wet sniff and headbutt of Godiva the cat. I snap upright and for the first time in my life, I wonder what the ethics are on punching a cat in the face. My fist is clenched, wound up, inches from her face, per my human-like reflexes when startled awake. I hesitate and think of how I won't be able to say, "Well, at least I've never punched a cat in the face before..." ever again without lying and so I slowly put down my hand. "Maybe I could just Lenny this one to death..." I think, but then realize that however incidental Godiva's death might seem, my roommate will not forgive me for such occurrences-- plus, I've always considered myself a cat person, and it'd be tough to make that claim in the future when I have to add, "I mean, I've only killed ONE!" Furious and exhausted, I flop back into bed, return to my coccoon, and hide. Sleep comes slowly, and always with that slightly audible purr just outside of reach, a promise and a threat.





6:00am -- You don't need an alarm when you have Godiva the cat. Godiva doesn't have to go to work. Godiva's gonna be sitting at home watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall on blu-ray while I wander half-dazed through my day. Godiva's going to be listening to Muscles turned up full blast on our speakers and eating the last few bites of my Expresso Burrito while I fall asleep at the wheel, and Godiva will be curled up snugly in my bed, purring, as my last few moments in this world fade away.

Disney Movie In the Making,
Witz