He can count by twos and tie his shoes

As per request, this is prodigy cat:

I know you wanted a real picture, but, real pictures are for the lame and un-artistic. And I happen to be a master painter, so there.

Prodigy Cat does things like this:

I’m not sure if he shimmies the metal poles to get up there, or if he jumps, or fucking levitates, but he gets up there alright. Then he stares down on everyone below him, knowing he’s the smartest of all the other animals, as the other cats have never been able to climb up there.
I’ve also never personally seen him get up there. Curious.

He also does things like this:

I don’t know. I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. You can’t leave him alone, you can’t even blink. Sometimes I see him scurry out of my bedroom as I enter it, and I can only wonder what he was doing.

He also like to wrestle with the chihuahua. It didn’t take long for him to outsmart and outmaneuver the simple dog, even given his size.

Not gonna’ lie, I’d be terrified of Prodigy Cat trying to assassinate me if he didn’t love me so much. God knows he would grow thumbs just to do it.

On a side note, my Boyfriend tried to name him Socks when we got him.
Feel free to mull that over as you will.

I hope a ninja doesn’t climb out of kittens mouth.

Hot damn, it’s been a while. I guess that what happens when all of the games I’ve been looking forward to are released in one month conjunctive to each either. I HAVE TO BEAT THEM ALL TO MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ONE.
You don’t understand, I have four games here that all want me to play them.
Four. 4. Vier. Shi. Quatre.
And those are all of the languages I am able to count to ten in. Don’t ask me to do anything else but count, because I most likely can’t.
On top of the games I was ravenously playing in an attempt to move on to the next one, (which, for the most part didn’t happen. I got too excited about 4/5th’s of the way through and moved to the next one) spring break had recently began which meant I GOT TO PLAY MAPLESTORY AGAIN. So that was a week. Pokemon took another week of my time up. Those two were the main culprits.

Damn, I remember when this post was going to be about pessimism. Maybe I should make it about my ADHD at this point. Nah, I’ll just continue to be-bop around subjects.

My cat, I mean my prodigy cat not the overweight one that I mentioned here, is sitting at the end of my bed staring at me intensely. I think he’s practicing the telekinesis I’m sure he has.

“WHY IS HE A PRODIGY CAT?” you ask yourself, while stroking the scruff on your chin. My cat is a prodigy because everything he does is too intelligent for kittens to do.

I saved him from the kitty holocaust at the tiny kitten age of just 4 weeks. Day one he made an number two on my floor once and a number one once or twice. That’s alright, he’s four weeks old. That is allowed kitten behavior. The next day he had successfully litter trained himself. No help from the other cats in my house, as one was outside and the other hated him. He just knew. Also, he has never had an accident on the floor since.

The day after that he learned to climb the ladder up to my bunk bed. “THAT’S NOT EVEN IMPRESSIVE!” you cry out “MY CAT CLIMBS LADDERS ALL THE TIME” (actually you might not be saying that, because you don’t necessarily own a cat and if you do have one it may be only my cats that do that. All of them climb ladders, so I’m not sure if it’s common kitty behavior)
“YES,” I exclaim, trying to quell your attacks on my poor kitten, “But mine learned it at only 4 weeks old and in one day!”
I was impressed.

After that he decided to learn a few of the commands my dogs know. Through watching them for about a week, and their reactions to my behavior, he learned to sit on command. I understand some cats can be taught to obey commands, but mine just decided to up and learn it on his own because why the fuck not.

Prodigy Cat is currently in the process of teaching himself to use the toilet. Our oldest cat does it, who also taught herself, and I can see Prodigy Cat trying to grasp the concept. He gets up there and sits, then just stands for a while. He must not understand the next step, BUT HE’LL GET THERE, DAMNIT.

One of my hypothesis (yes, I have a few. The cat is a fucking prodigy) is that he is confused as to what animal he actually is since he was taken away from his family of cats at such a young age, and he just mimics everything in the house. Sometimes I see him sitting on the floor in the most random places, and I swear to god he thinks he’s an end table. Most cats sit near things, like beside the refrigerator or near/in a box, or they sit on one of the 8 rugs we own, but he sits away from everything. Just BAM, smack dab in the middle of the floor. I have tripped over him so many times in the middle of the night. Fucker blends in.

My newest hypothesis is that he’s a ninja/assassin/ninja assassin infiltrating my home trying to get whatever information he needs before he disappears adorably in to the night one final time. I hope this one isn’t it because he’s really god damned adorable, and I want to see him learn more hilarious things.

I am the ultimate catch.

So I’m a girl, and a terrible one at that. I’m the worst stereotypes you can throw together in a blender to make a fine female dip.

I don’t like football. I don’t understand it, I don’t find it all the interesting, and, quite frankly, I have no desire to learn about it. Luckily Boyfriend doesn’t care terribly about this. I actually don’t really like sports as a whole. I only really like sports if they’re in video game form, and even then I only like Gran Turismo because I enjoy the thought of smashing all the cars into pieces without me dying. I also like driving sims a lot. I’m just not a very physical person. I wish I were. I like tennis, but I don’t know if that really counts for anything at all. I run a lot when I play it though if that’s any consolation.

I also can’t lift heavy objects. So if they were to fall on me I would be subjected to a mans help. Because I can not lift a refrigerator. Especially not while I’m under it. I think that also means if a car were to land on my child I wouldn’t be able to lift it off of them even in a fit of adrenaline.

I also don’t know how to change a tire. It’s the sad truth. I ask my mom to teach me when I see her, but she always says “Oh Skylar, it’s really simple.” Then walks off. That’s not a real answer
If I were to ever be stranded because my tire is flat I would just be fucked.

Well, that’s not completely true. When I crashed into a guard rail some nice man came with his truck and put a chain on the front of my vehicle and on the back of his truck and basically forced the huge dent in my Jeep, which was scraping against my tire and making it impossible to drive, OUT OF THE METAL so that I could drive home, and he did it by using his awesome man power. So maybe some nice man would come with knowledge on how to use a jack and fix it for me.

I also like to watch chick flicks. Not all of the time, just some of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I love horror and comedy, but romance comedy I like even more.

On top of all the things I have that make me a horrific stereotypical girl, I seem to be missing all of the redeeming qualities of a stereotypical girl.

Like cooking. I can’t cook worth shit. My mom is a chef, and I can not cook. The closest lesson I ever had on cooking is when my mom said “I bought you hamburger that is already cut up into patty shapes. Just turn the stove on, PUT A PAN ON THE STOVE, and cook the patty until it stops bleeding.”
I don’t even remember the setting the stove needed to be on. That’s how good I am at cooking.
I’m fucking awesome at microwaving though. I’m also pretty hardcore at using my toaster oven to cook things that should be actually cooked in the real oven.
I hope I don’t die.

Not to mention I hate to clean. That’s not completely true, I’m just lazy. I don’t clean forever then I clean everything in one fell swoop. Infrequently I’ll tidy up the slightest bit, like throw away the pop cans that have been collecting in my room (because I’m addicted to the fucking caffeine and go through about four 12 packs a month) or do some mop the kitchen floor.

Not the good mopping either, mind you. The really pansy mopping that involves not moving anything out of the way- this mostly stems from my pussy girl-strength and inability to lift refrigerators- and maneuvering around random objects that may be lying on the floor.

I also don’t know how to sew. I get rips in my pants and think “Oh, this can be considered stylish” or “No one should be looking at my crotch anyways” Occasionally buttons will fall off, at which point I freak out then scope out friends for their help. Sometimes I lose the extra button that came with it, then my friend tells me I’m really lame for not knowing how to sew and I should probably learn that or I will never have a husband who loves me because I do not like sports and I do not know how to fix my car by myself and I can not cook or even fix clothes and I also hate to clean.
Well, they don’t really say that, but you get the gist of it.

IT’S OUT THERE I KNOW IT. I FEEL HIS EYEBALLS ON MY HEAD.

So I don’t look out my window when I’m using my computer at night. I’m scared to death someone will look back at me. Or I’ll see someone (or something) run past my window.
What if I was happily surfing the interwebs, minding my own business, then when I look up and THERE’S A FUCKING CREEP IN THE WINDOW!
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THERE? GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!! GET OUT OF HERE YOU CREEP I’M GOING TO SHOOT YOU WITH MY SHOTGUN, because I live in West Virginia and everyone owns at least one shotgun.

Except if there really was a man out there, I would really be like
HOLY SHIT I’M GOING TO GET RAPED WHERE’S MY DOG, BASEBALL BAT AND THE NEAREST DOOR WITH A LOCK ON IT!? At that point, I would enter the fetal position and not really move anywhere because I’m a pussy. My dog would take action though!

This fear stemmed from my grandmothers story of Peeping Tom I heard when I was younger. She didn’t really mean anything scary by it, she just told my older cousin not to change in front of windows because there might be peeping toms there. I didn’t really know what a peeping tom was or what it looked like, I only knew it was a guy named Tom who looked through windows. So with my psychotic mind I began thinking up the creepiest image ever.

When I was in her house that night I kept making up scenarios, and when I went to use the bathroom I looked over at the bathtub and thought “…Can Peeping Tom be in the bathtub?” Then I was afraid to go to the bathroom because what if Peeping Tom slowly rose out of the bathtub and stared at me with his creepy, very Chuckie-esque faace. It probably resembled Chuckie because I’m moderately certain that was the movie we watched at my friends horrifying slumber party, and this took place not too far later.

After about 5 minutes of staring at the bathtub like a deer trapped in headlights and not turning on the lights which led me to scaring myself even more, I ran out of there flailing my arms.

“NINA NINA CAN TOM BE IN THE BATHTUB?”
“Dear lord, what are you going on about?”
“TOM IS IN THE BATHROOM CAN HE BE IN THE TUB?”
“Tom who? Someone is in our house?”
“NO PEEPING CAN PEEPING TOM BE IN THE BATHROOM?”
“Peeping…”

I think this is about when it kicked in for my grandmother.

“No honey, that’s just an analogy. Peeping Tom isn’t in the bathtub”

Being about eight I obviously didn’t know what an analogy was, but that was good enough for me. I was once again able to use the bathroom. For awhile. Unless the toilet seat was up.

I don’t remember exactly what I used to think Peeping Tom looked like after he changed from Chuckie, I just remember it was enough to ingrain a fear of him into my subconscious.

Now when I’m sitting around casually on the computer, which is the only time my back is turned to the window, I sometimes think “Holy shit what if there’s a guy looking in my window right now“, but now I don’t want to look out the window because WHAT IF MY SUSPICIONS ARE CORRECT THEN I’M SCARRED FOR LIFE. So I tell myself “if there’s a guy looking through your window he’ll go away soon or try to get in, and if he tries to get in my dog probably weighs more than him anyways -I have a dog other than that dinky chihuahua, by the way. She’s really adorable and like 140 pounds of pure muscle- and then you will have time to get the baseball bat while he tries to get in and you’ll never have to look at him through that window” So I won’t look at the window.

Sometimes if I’m beyond paranoid that night for whatever reason I’ll leave and to go in the kitchen and open the door to the refrigerator and stare at the light and food until I feel better. Food always makes me feel better.

I really can’t live alone, I’m far too deranged.

And then there was one.

Me, my older cousin Alicia, and my younger cousin Dakota, were really close when we were about aged 6-9. We all lived near each other and our parents were also close, so we would hang out almost every day. We would always go to Alicia’s house, but I never really figured out why because it was the most ghetto of all of our very ghetto houses.

Alicia’s parents owned four dogs and a superfluous dog house. None of the dogs ever used it because they all slept in the house. We, however, used this dog house as our club house. We actually used a lot of other things for our club houses as well, like a creepy old abandoned barn in the neighbor’s yard (we got in trouble a lot) and an old community building basement we could get into because part of the aluminum covering of the building could be peeled back. (no, in trouble a lot)

So in the dog house, which now that I think about it was really the only clubhouse we were allowed to be in, Dakota and Alicia were huddled around me so I could show off my awesome new Pokedex. By the way, that Pokedex was sweet. And this was the Pokedex from the first season, not the nancy-pancy Pokedex from the Hoenn region that was released. We had a lot of trouble originally figuring out how to use it because it was confusing as fuck. Years later at a friends party I found an old Pokedex of hers, and it was still confusing as fuck.

Anyways, Dakota was standing near me, gazing at my fantastic new accessory which I believe awarded me as Pokemon leader of the group, but Alicia had noticed something in the corner of the dog house and walked over to pick it up. Suddenly, she ran wailing out of the dog house and in to the house, flailing her arms as she went.

Alicia: MOM MOM A SNAKE BIT ME MOM A SNAKE BIT ME MOM
Alicia’s Mom: A SNAKE? WAS IT BLACK OR BROWN? (keep in mind we have Copperheads and black snakes, one being deadly and the other just being annoying)
Alicia: I….I don’t know
Alicia’s mom: WHERE DID IT BITE YOU?
Alicia: *mumbles something completely incomprehensible and sucks back all her tears and snot, then almost drowns in it*
Alicia’s mom: I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE SAYING
Alicia: FOOT FOOT MY FOOT IS WHAT IS BITTEN

Alicia’s mom ripped her shoe off and examined her foot. She viewed it from all angles and finally looked on the sole of and saw a single hole barely noticeable.

Alicia’s Mom: Are you sure you didn’t step on something?”
Alicia: I *SNIFF* DON’T *SNIFF* KNDFNKJGDFNKJG *sucks back all the tears again*
Alicia’s mom: David (her husband) go find the other kids and see what happened.
Alicia’s Dad: *grunts*

So he came outside to find us standing around the dog house staring wide-eyed at the house. He crawled into the dog house, and emerged with a board that had a stubby nail sticking out of it. He mumbled something and attempted to throw it over the fence. Over the fence. He didn’t remove the nail and throw the board away, or even just throw it away as a whole; no, throw it over the fence. Into the road. And I want to emphasize attempt because he didn’t even make it, it just landed on the other side of his yard.

After about half an hour I think we finally got over our shock. We started wandering around the yard aimlessly, mostly talking about Pokemon and making up scenarios, my scenarios were always the best, keep in mind, when we happened upon that board. We both stared at it. “It’s not even that sharp” I muttered. Dakota picked it up and examined it. “You’re right it isn’t” then dropped it on the ground. At this point I guess I decided it was a good idea to try to balance myself on top of it. I never claimed to be intelligent.

We were dwindling around the board, for whatever reason, and talking about Dakotas upcoming birthday party. The bottom of my shoe finally gave, after at least a minute of me putting all my weight on that board, and the nail slipped into my skin. A look of terror overtook my face as I stopped talking mid sentence, and me and Dakota looked down. I think it was the shock overtaking my body, but I began to fanatically laugh.

The fact that I was laughing like some lunatic even though there was a nail lodged into my foot so far it was almost sticking out of the top didn’t scare Dakota. It didn’t clue him in to the deranged psychopath I really was. If it did, he thought nothing of it, because the shock that was slowly overtaking his body needed an escape, and he began to laugh as well. I limped back to the house, the nail still in my foot, giggling out of my rights and muttering “the nail was so dull”

I tried to calmly explain to my mom there was a nail in my foot, but she wasn’t being calm at all.
“YOUR COUSIN JUST STEPPED ON THAT NAIL, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, I’M GOING TO PULL THIS OUT OF YOUR FOOT AND WE’RE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL TO GET YOU A TETANUS SHOT. 1, 2,”
She ripped the nail out of my foot. That’s when I started to cry. I cried on the way to the car, and I cried on the way to the hospital.

Thinking back on it now, I can only imagine Dakota sitting there in the living room. He was the last of the group. Me and Alicia were in the hospital for the same reason, that nail. Sitting on the floor with Alicia’s dad who seemed completely un-phased by this.
Wait, he was the only one left. Does that make him Pokemon leader of the group…?

Make-believe cats

My cat likes to play make-believe. His favorite make-believe scenario is “I want to go outside.” He’ll scratch the screen door, pretending he knows he wants to be out there. Then when I open the door wide for him he’ll walk over and stick his face outside and keep his butt in the house.

There I am, stuck in a limbo of catdom. I’m holding the door wide open, trying to sway him to go all the way outside. Then he plops down. I have to lightly tap him with the door about three times before he finally decides to get up and go. Then he sits there on my porch and meows dramatically. Usually loud meows, reminiscent of an in-heat cat. Except he’s a boy.

My cat also likes to play the make-believe game where I’m the prey; lowly, self loathing, tired and slow; and he’s the hunter; magnificent, sleek, a warrior and always ready to pounce. So here I am, lowly prey doing lowly prey things like watching TV or talking to my boyfriend, and SWACK!
RIGHT IN MY FUCKING FACE AHH GOD DAMNIT ZEUS, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU WEIGH 30 POUNDS.

And he starts to purr really loudly, very proud of himself. He kneads my legs, and makes a little nest.

That’s when he starts to play his other make-believe game. This make-believe game is “purr purr I’m so cute and I rub my face against you and I really want you to pet me” then I do, and he likes it, and he likes it, THEN HE BITES ME WHY ARE YOU BITING ME LET GO and he does let go, and he looks at me all proud of himself, and I throw him off my bed. He tries really hard to get back on my bed after that. He always looks really adorable while he does it.

Of course when he does try to get back up on my bed he takes the long way around, needlessly jumps on my table and knocks over everything on his way over to me, then starts to smack me on the eyeball.

Then at night-time and in the morning he likes to make-believe my hair is either spaghetti or cereal. I don’t really know which, and quite frankly it doesn’t matter because either way he tries to eat it.

He also likes to make-believe my boyfriends head is…..I’m not sure what he thinks my boyfriends head is. My cat headbutts my boyfriend right on the forehead. He only does it in the morning. It might just be his wake-up call, because even my cat understands that time is of the essence.

Contrary to popular belief, I am not narcissistic. I’m just awesome.

I almost didn’t post this to day just for the sake of my overwhelming OCD that really isn’t that severe and only occurs during sporadic times of my life, but let’s look at what’s important.

I hate cameras, but whenever I see someone with an official camera, for the news or some shit, I always have a resounding urge to run in front of them naked and yelling. Or something of that nature. Not necessarily naked, that would just make us all uncomfortable.

Now, normally I avoid cameras at all cost as I’m self conscious, but not when those news and other important cameras, no sir! Quite frankly it doesn’t make any sense. No one but my friends see most of my pictures and that makes me uncomfortable, so I don’t know why I want to be seen by thousands via a television news broadcast. Actually, if there was a way to find out why I have that compulsion to jettison myself in front of those cameras on live television, I wouldn’t want to know. I’d probably keep myself up at night worrying about how paranoid I am.

And if it’s not live television, I’m even more annoyed by myself for wanting to streak by the cameras, because that means I ruined their shot and they have to take a new shot and edit more footage. Which makes me a dick.

I tried to do it once; fortunately I did not do it naked. I was strolling along with my mother as she was shopping- oh, a side note which may explain a few things about me, my mother had to keep me on a leash when I was little. More on that later. So we were shopping, and apparently the store had been robbed a few hours earlier so there were news reporters everywhere.

Being a 4 year old and lacking all of the self control I have currently, which really isn’t all that much, I decided to be on TV. When my mom dropped the leash, I began to climb up the shelves of food. God, I was such a fucking prodigy. Even at that age. I knew exactly how to get what I wanted.

As the cameras steadied on me, I arose triumphantly on the top shelf. My mom didn’t even notice until the people made an uproar.

Mom: SKYLAR NICOLE (my middle name, she only uses it when she’s furious. It’s one of the reasons I hate the name so much) YOU GET BACK DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS SECOND
Me: Nooooooo (I a said, in a singsong voice)
The cameras were on me, and my mom was not a fan. This was on the news. People would see, her, on the news. People would see her DELINQUENT CHILD, on the news. People, news, family, friends, publicity, embarrassment, reputations-
My mom started to climb the shelf.

I scrambled to stand, and looked around. The huge grin on my face quickly turned southward. My mom was going to get me. I didn’t really know what to do, so I waited. All eyes were on us, and three news cameras focused in on us. I could see the fury in my mothers eyes. She got up there, and nothing.

She didn’t really know what to do. She wasn’t going to spank me, or scream at me, she just stared at me. Unrelenting she stared, and I started to cry. Mom sighed and pulled me into her arms. “I need a ladder. I can’t carry my daughter down on my back.” One was supplied almost immediately. She made her way down, and was soon bombarded by questions.

“Why can’t you control your child?” “How could you let her climb up there?” “Weren’t you paying attention?”
My mom was very flustered, and left the store very quickly. The trip home was quiet, and I never took my eyes off the floor.

We got home, and my elder cousin had been staking out at the house for whatever reason I don’t recall right now, looked up from the television
“Angie!” He cried “You’re on TV!”
And there we were. My eyes lit up and I raced towards the TV
“LOOK MOMMY, JUST LIKE BLUES CLUES!” I shrieked.

We still have that news recorded on video somewhere, along with the time I tried desperately to be on an Oscar Mayer commercial. I was so adorable, what with my inability to spell
and huge, terrified eyes.