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http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2334118/a_review_of_my_new_cat.html?cat=53
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2333996/a_review_of_the_golden_nugget.html?cat=22
Thanks!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
A Review of My New Cat
When I first picked out Kite from the shelter, she seemed like the perfect cat. Calm, laid back, sweet: a lap cat. I took her out of her little cage and set her on my lap, where she promptly curled up and began to purr.
It has been two months and I am beginning to think I was swindled.
I wanted another cat to be a companion to Mims, my shy little tabby. I wanted this new cat to be equally as laid back, but less shy, a cat that I could pick up and carry around. It would stand to reason, then, that I should not get a kitten.
Of course, I got a kitten. A black-and-white spotted, adorable little thing that seemed happy enough to come home with me. She even purred in her carrier on the way back to my apartment.
I guess I should have taken it as a sign, when right away she meowed constantly if I left my room. I had her locked in there, separated from the other cat until they were ready to meet. But, I shrugged it off as a kitten thing.
When I let her out a week later, she was shy around Mims. She sniffed at her tentatively, and looked oh-so-innocent when Mims hissed and ran away. Mims knew what was up.
The weeks progressed, and Kite began to get used to living in my apartment. That is to say, she began to take it for granted. She was used to Mims by now, and took great pleasure in chasing her around the room, much to Mims' dismay. I found my temper becoming frayed as the sounds of sharp meows, hissing, and racing feet became more commonplace.
Then, the meowing started. Not even gradually, just all of the sudden one day. She decided to sit by the door and meow loudly and constantly. She had already acquired the habit of trying to escape every time I came home, but apparently that wasn't enough. She had to alert me to her absolute need to be in the lobby of my apartment building.
This behavior has continued to the present day, and needless to say, my patience is wearing thin. I find myself yelling at her lot, something I have always tried not to do with my cats. She seems to know exactly when I'm trying to work, and launches into her meowing escapades for the hours upon hours that I am sitting at my laptop, fruitlessly trying to concentrate.
She is already a year old, and she still acts like a hyper-active kitten. Do yourself a favor: adopt an older cat.
It has been two months and I am beginning to think I was swindled.
I wanted another cat to be a companion to Mims, my shy little tabby. I wanted this new cat to be equally as laid back, but less shy, a cat that I could pick up and carry around. It would stand to reason, then, that I should not get a kitten.
Of course, I got a kitten. A black-and-white spotted, adorable little thing that seemed happy enough to come home with me. She even purred in her carrier on the way back to my apartment.
I guess I should have taken it as a sign, when right away she meowed constantly if I left my room. I had her locked in there, separated from the other cat until they were ready to meet. But, I shrugged it off as a kitten thing.
When I let her out a week later, she was shy around Mims. She sniffed at her tentatively, and looked oh-so-innocent when Mims hissed and ran away. Mims knew what was up.
The weeks progressed, and Kite began to get used to living in my apartment. That is to say, she began to take it for granted. She was used to Mims by now, and took great pleasure in chasing her around the room, much to Mims' dismay. I found my temper becoming frayed as the sounds of sharp meows, hissing, and racing feet became more commonplace.
Then, the meowing started. Not even gradually, just all of the sudden one day. She decided to sit by the door and meow loudly and constantly. She had already acquired the habit of trying to escape every time I came home, but apparently that wasn't enough. She had to alert me to her absolute need to be in the lobby of my apartment building.
This behavior has continued to the present day, and needless to say, my patience is wearing thin. I find myself yelling at her lot, something I have always tried not to do with my cats. She seems to know exactly when I'm trying to work, and launches into her meowing escapades for the hours upon hours that I am sitting at my laptop, fruitlessly trying to concentrate.
She is already a year old, and she still acts like a hyper-active kitten. Do yourself a favor: adopt an older cat.
Thoughts on Where The Wild Things Are
I saw Where The Wild Things Are a few days ago, and it made me think about a bunch of stuff. Like, how barricaded adults are in their own emotions. Blocking out true emotion and making things so complicated, when Max just sat down next to whoever was feeling bad, even if they were angry with him, and talked it out. Those child-eyes cure everything.
The simplicity of pure, unadulterated emotion, and the complexity at the same time. When it seems like everything can be solved by being genuine and truthful, can it? It always feels that way to me, but in the end, people are clouded by their emotions. Their anger. Things that need to be said don't come out right, or don't come out at all. An unwillingness for confrontation postpones conversations that need to be had.
I am guilty of all these things. Does this mean I should be more like a child?
The simplicity of pure, unadulterated emotion, and the complexity at the same time. When it seems like everything can be solved by being genuine and truthful, can it? It always feels that way to me, but in the end, people are clouded by their emotions. Their anger. Things that need to be said don't come out right, or don't come out at all. An unwillingness for confrontation postpones conversations that need to be had.
I am guilty of all these things. Does this mean I should be more like a child?
I've decided. I'm going to update more regularly!
Today in Writer's Portfolio, a woman came in to talk about websites and getting your name out there through search engine optimization and all that. She said that if you're going to have a blog, you should update regularly. In that moment, I was motivated to BLOG. And here I am, making empty promises.
I think I'm going to try to update at least once a week. Maybe I'll even get more than two followers! I feel as though what I write should still be well thought-out and well-written (ha! I try.). So, wish me luck, dear reader(s)!
I think I'm going to try to update at least once a week. Maybe I'll even get more than two followers! I feel as though what I write should still be well thought-out and well-written (ha! I try.). So, wish me luck, dear reader(s)!
creepypasta
This artist decides to take a commission from a guy he meets on craigslist, asking for a portrait. When he gets there the house is incredibly run down, and there's a strange smell about the place. The artist finishes sketching the man in front of him and sets to work at home on painting and filling out the details. Only when he finishes does he realize that HE JUST PAINTED HITLER.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Review: The Golden Nugget
Orange paper jack 'o' lanterns dangled from the ceiling. Designs of kangaroos (or some shit) were frosted onto glass partitions. And there seemed to be far too many booths that were only big enough to seat one person on each side. My roommate Megan and I had decided to eat breakfast at The Golden Nugget, a 24 hour “pancake house” on Clark near Diversey.
It kind of reminded me of Denny's, as I told Megan. Only Denny's has awesome buffalo wings. This place didn't have buffalo wings at all, which upset me.
There were plenty of appetizing choices on the menu, although everything seemed a bit overpriced. I settled on Chicken Parmigiana, while Megan went for some sausage-egg-hash brown combo.
Mine came with a salad; hers did not. I was shocked to find out, as the waitress told me, that they do not carry bleu cheese salad dressing. This is kind of my standard for restaurants—if they don't have bleu cheese, then they're too trashy for me. For God's sake, even Denny's has bleu cheese!
Well, I settled for ranch. And I must admit, the salad was delicious. It came with plenty of cucumber, and the bad parts (onions, green peppers) were on top and easy to pick off. And it didn't have any croutons! Hooray! Alas, I didn't finish it, wanting to save room for the main course. Besides, I was out of delicious ranch dressing. This was to be my downfall.
I had never had Chicken Parmigiana before, so I don't know if it's usually that gross. I regretted my choice moments into my first bites. The spaghetti noodles were too thick, and the “meat sauce” on top of it was composed mostly of chunks of tomato. Just the way I hate it. The chicken was dry, and the breading it was wrapped in was far too salty. Spread across the top of the dish were layers of melted mozzarella, as if in a last-ditch attempt to save the flavor. This actually kind of worked, but not well enough for me to finish the meal. About ¼ of the way in, I stopped, pushed the plate forward, and announced that I was done. I felt as though I had just been served a meal from a homeless shelter. I had to ask the waitress for more water, another thing that annoys me. She didn't visit the table to refill our glasses once.
Not quite satisfied, I dumped some mustard on a piece of Megan's sausage and went to town. On her sausage. Heh. It wasn't too bad, although we both agreed that it tasted a lot like ham.
We both ended up paying about fifteen bucks, which is far too much for me. I'm not sure whether we were supposed to pay in the front of the restaurant or not, but we just left the money on the table. The service wasn't nearly good enough for me to care.
All in all, I would probably eat there again, seeing as it's close to my apartment and open 'round the clock. But only if someone else suggested it first, and then I would hold it against them all night.
It kind of reminded me of Denny's, as I told Megan. Only Denny's has awesome buffalo wings. This place didn't have buffalo wings at all, which upset me.
There were plenty of appetizing choices on the menu, although everything seemed a bit overpriced. I settled on Chicken Parmigiana, while Megan went for some sausage-egg-hash brown combo.
Mine came with a salad; hers did not. I was shocked to find out, as the waitress told me, that they do not carry bleu cheese salad dressing. This is kind of my standard for restaurants—if they don't have bleu cheese, then they're too trashy for me. For God's sake, even Denny's has bleu cheese!
Well, I settled for ranch. And I must admit, the salad was delicious. It came with plenty of cucumber, and the bad parts (onions, green peppers) were on top and easy to pick off. And it didn't have any croutons! Hooray! Alas, I didn't finish it, wanting to save room for the main course. Besides, I was out of delicious ranch dressing. This was to be my downfall.
I had never had Chicken Parmigiana before, so I don't know if it's usually that gross. I regretted my choice moments into my first bites. The spaghetti noodles were too thick, and the “meat sauce” on top of it was composed mostly of chunks of tomato. Just the way I hate it. The chicken was dry, and the breading it was wrapped in was far too salty. Spread across the top of the dish were layers of melted mozzarella, as if in a last-ditch attempt to save the flavor. This actually kind of worked, but not well enough for me to finish the meal. About ¼ of the way in, I stopped, pushed the plate forward, and announced that I was done. I felt as though I had just been served a meal from a homeless shelter. I had to ask the waitress for more water, another thing that annoys me. She didn't visit the table to refill our glasses once.
Not quite satisfied, I dumped some mustard on a piece of Megan's sausage and went to town. On her sausage. Heh. It wasn't too bad, although we both agreed that it tasted a lot like ham.
We both ended up paying about fifteen bucks, which is far too much for me. I'm not sure whether we were supposed to pay in the front of the restaurant or not, but we just left the money on the table. The service wasn't nearly good enough for me to care.
All in all, I would probably eat there again, seeing as it's close to my apartment and open 'round the clock. But only if someone else suggested it first, and then I would hold it against them all night.
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