This week, A Cheeto Named Larry and I have decided to pull a Freaky Friday kind of switch on you. She's posting on my site, and I've hijacked hers. I'm always delighted by whatever she has to say...but then again, I actively seek out jokes about things like pooping and farting... Since this post contains neither of those, and I'm still encouraging you to read it, that says something.
Don't forget to leave a comment below because I want Larry to feel like royalty...and like I'm really popular...Enjoy!
Recently I asked CF Winn to guest write for my site, and she graciously agreed. Plus I totally put her on the spot. I was like the kid that stands there and pokes his mother: “Mama. Mama. Mama. Will you? Huh? Mama. Will you? Huh? Mama.” Just like that. That was me.
The next conversation went something like this:
CF Winn: Well would you like…(to follow me on Twitter)
Me: To be a guest writer on your site? You bet I would!
CF Winn: Well, actually, I was just going to…(see if you wanted to follow me on Twitter)
Me: You don’t have to beg. Really, I’ll be happy to do it.
CF Winn: Um…oook…well…(are you fucking crazy??)
Me: This is crazy! We’ve become so close I can already finish your sentences. I’ll have a post for you soon!
That’s how this whole thing began. And I was pretty excited. But then, after a while, I really started to worry about writing this post. For one, what if I taint her site with all my cuss words? I was once told that I must not be very intelligent if I can’t write or speak without cursing. I told that lady, “Hey F-you lady”, because she sounded like big fat stupid dumdum, and I just wasn’t going to stoop down to her level.
Writing for yourself is one thing, but writing for someone else can really put the pressure on. And that’s when you find out what you’re made of. I wasn’t very impressed with what I was made of. I sat down to write this post at least a dozen times. Here is just a small handful of the thoughts that pulled me away from my mission:
1. It’s 3 o’clock. Time for wine.
2. If I don’t catch up on the Young and the Restless, the DVR will start dumping episodes. This is serious.
3. Ooh…a butterfly…
4. Did that dog just burp?
5. That wine is not gonna drink itself.
6. How did Dr. Frasier Crane ever stay in business for more than a week?
7. If I had to choose between him and Niles, I’d go with Daphne.
8. I need to pull those weeds. And maybe get a glass of wine.
9. (chin resting in hand)
I really wish I could meet Big Foot.
10. There just aren’t enough funny cat videos out there.
So as you can see, it’s been rough. But I finally pulled myself together, put on my big girl panties, and sat down to discover the words flowed freely from my fingertips like, when they open the gate for pigs, how all those pigs run out real fast. It was like that.
But as the words came out, I realized…this is just a post about a post. What kind of asshole writes a post about a post? This shit isn’t even legit, but I’m already committed. How do I turn what I have into an actual meaningful post that people will truly want to read?
Then it hit me! By adding a cat video. Everybody loves cat videos.
But then I think, that’s dumb. CF Winn is not a cat person, therefore she would not enjoy the video. But as I was contemplating all this, it did remind me of a story that I thought she would appreciate…
Many years ago I was the crazy cat lady. I’m in recovery now, but once an addict, always an addict. Anyhow, I had a cat named Steve. Steve was of a very mischievous nature and often found himself caught up in rather precarious positions. Like the time he was playing with the fishing lure, got hooked in the paw and then ran around the house dragging the fishing pole behind him. It was bloody mayhem. But that’s not the story.
This is the story.
Steve was always getting into shit and he really made me mad because he would always get away before I could spank him. Well one evening, I’d laid down to go to sleep and heard a terrible noise like “Kghhhhh….”, and it got louder. “KGKGHHHHH”. Say it with me: “KGGGGHHHKKHH”. I’m all, what the fuck…
Then Steve starts ripping and tearing through the house, over my chest, through the bathroom, and back into the living room, all the while making guttural noises unlike anything I’ve ever heard.