Migrating From Blogger to WordPress While Battling an ICD Attack Was Not My Best Idea

Um, I guess you’ve probably noticed by now that the place looks a little different.

That’s because, in one of the worst cases of impulsiveness I have ever executed, I decided to migrate Katoninetales.com from Blogger to WordPress. I did this because I was having an Impulse Control Disorder panic attack and needed a distraction to ensure that I didn’t do something to hurt myself, and in a spectacular bout of irony ended up causing myself more pain than any of my vices could have done. This is because I don’t know shit about how computers and the interbutz actually work. As far as I know I click a button on my laptop and The Computer Fairy casts a magic spell to turn the computer screen into a window to Interwebz Land. Migrations are never easy but when you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing it’s like being dropped into a foreign country with a map written in Braille. And the Braille is in a different language. And you can’t understand what the natives are saying but you’re pretty sure that they’re making fun of your Fanny pack.

In other words, there are a lot of ways to fuck up a migration I did every single one of them.


I Changed Servers Before Migrating My Site

To be fair to myself I will tell you that I did not expect my former host server to cancel my service as quickly as it did. I had emailed my host for my site’s EPP code (this is apparently the secret spell to unlock your domain registration) and they took it upon themselves to boot me off of their server at the exact moment that they emailed me back with the code. I found this out because my site went down late Friday. SURPRISE! I emailed my new server and asked them when my site would be back up. They of course emailed me back with basically “What site?” It was then that I learned that websites are not magic windows but actual files that need to be copied onto the new server while the old server still supports them “to ensure uninterrupted website service”.

Picard Facepalm Star Trek Fail

I Thought That Free Migration Meant From One Writing Platform To Another ie Blogger to WordPress

Anyone with any shred of computer knowledge is perfectly within their right to be laughing their ass off at me right now. I honestly cannot believe that I was so stupid except that I was so focused moving writing platforms that I had blinders on regarding the bigger picture of the server move. No it turns out that “migration” refers to those precious website files and moving them to the new server. This is important because as soon as you leave a host, they take all of your files and feed them to the troll that lives under the bridge and they are gone forever. And I had not moved my files.
Double Facepalm Star Trek Fail

I Assumed That The Live Chat Help Was More Than a Guy Typing With One Hand While Whacking Off With the Other

I immediately panicked and went to my new host site and clicked on the live help. I explained that I was a moron and realized that I changed servers before migrating my site and to please tell me that I didn’t lose my site forever. He asked my site name and then came back to tell me to submit a support ticket and disconnected me. I let the rudeness roll and sent an email to support apologizing for being a moron and asking how I could fix this. I was pleasantly surprised to get an answer after a few minutes but when I opened the email I saw that it was just to tell me to contact my old company. Fine, that makes sense.

I went to my old server site and tried to log in but it told me that my password didn’t work and that I could blow it. I politely asked to have my password emailed to me and received an email telling me that I could stick my password where the sun don’t shine would have to contact my new server company. What? I had no idea why my new company would have my old company password.

I replied to my new company’s email relaying this and they said that was because they were my server now. Well no fucking shit. I again got on Live Chat where the same guy asked for my ticket number and then told me to email customer support. I asked him if he couldn’t look at my ticket himself since he asked for the number and he replied, “No I can not.” and then disconnected me again.
Triple Facepalm Star Trek Fail
I immediately signed back on and as soon as he answered I replied that “can not is spelled cannot unless the not is part of another construction” and then I disconnected him. And let me just say here that I understand that computer people must want to pull their hair out when it comes to deal with computer-illiterate morons like me all day but this asshole didn’t even give me a chance before he hung up on me.

As a last ditch effort I emailed Google support since they overwrite Blogger and was told that I had to email the server company (my old company). So basically we were all playing Play The Kat.

Finally I did what I always do and fixed the problem my fucking self. It meant staying up for 24 hours straight on the computer to teach myself Internet protocol suite and then moving my site files–which I actually had backed up because I’m a fucking rockstar though they were not in the correct format to upload directly to a server.

So all of that bullshit said, my new site is up. Just please excuse my site’s temporary appearance because not only do I have to work my other job, but my brain’s server is fried.

The Ballad of Seamus O’Horny

Having a boy dog has been quite a learning experience.

As I mentioned in my last entry, I adopted a boy Eskie and I wasn’t aware of how much I had apparently forgotten about boy dogs in the twenty years since I had one.

My first episode of male dog ignorance happened only a few days after I adopted Seamus when I came home from work and he greeted me by rolling over for a belly rub. As I was rubbing his belly I noticed two lumps on either side of his peen. Being the calm, rational person that I am I immediately assumed that he either had undescended testicals or lymphoma. Luckily I checked Vet MD and it turns out that Seamus was just rather happy to see me. Apparently this swelling can happen even if your dog is neutered, however I was soon to discover that Seamus is not. How I discovered this charming fact is because our family dog, Lily, was in the middle of her heat when I brought Seamus home.

Fuck my life and fuck it hard.

american eskimo dog, west highland terrier

I just about pee myself laughing every time I look at this pic. Lily is pissed!

Lily being in heat wasn’t an issue at first because Seamus was too nervous about his new surroundings to pay attention to Lily’s state. This was despite the fact that Lily was walking by Seamus and wiggling her ass at him like she was in a Ludacris video. As Seamus became more comfortable though he began to notice Lily’s booty dance and the next thing I knew Seamus was trying to get jiggy with it. Once he became interested then it became a fucking circus to keep the two of them apart. Lily would fluctuate between jumping at Seamus and shaking her ass to growling at him to get away from her. Seamus, on the other hand, was acting like a sailor on shore leave and would not stop sniffing, pawing and above all whining incessantly at Lily to get it on with him. This is what he would do while she was laying down, but he would kick it up a notch when she got up to walk somewhere by adding some pretty impressive acrobatics to his wooing. To my surprise I discovered that dogs can bounce–I’m talking all four paws leaving the ground at the same time in a vertical propulsion. Those Pepe Le Pew cartoons? Not an exaggeration.

Luckily Lily’s heat cycle is pretty much finished and Seamus has chilled out however we are keeping Lily’s little knickers on her just to be safe because she’s still having bouts of trying to seduce Seamus. (And before anyone considers getting sassy with me about Lily not being spayed I’ll add that yes she should have been spayed but she wasn’t and she’s going to be thirteen years old next week so it’s not happening; I’ll likely have Seamus neutered but my brain is still too fried from Kira’s vet adventure in March to think about it right now.)

Other than my horny dog, I’ve been writing away and my next post is actually going to be about that and not my dogs.


Oh Hello March, You Fucking Douche Nozzle

beware the ides of march, ides of marchHappy Ides of March!

In honor of this holiday, and to explain why I’ve been MIA for over two weeks, I present a fictional tale of me and Julius Caesar, another person who has cause to think that March sucks.


(I’m doing this because, for one, it amuses me to have arguments in my brain with dead people, and two, because making it somewhat funny helps me deal.)

((For those of you who don’t fancy a story but still want to know where the hell I’ve been you can CUT TO THE CHASE.))


As I sat down at my computer, the ghostly visage of man wearing a torn and blood splattered toga appeared before me. It was Julius Caesar.

“What the fuck do you want?” I snarled at him.

“You speak with barbed tongue toward one who merely appears to share lamentations about this cursed month,” he replied looking hurt.

“Look Caesar, we went through this last year. March is much more of a shitty month for me than for you,” I replied.

“I would see us revisit this argument and draw new conclusion,” he said in that snotty tone of his. “Our last meeting saw your quarters recently abandoned in favor of more familiar surroundings.”

“Yes, I moved from my apartment during which I nearly cracked my head open on a coffee table and then spent the next month trying to unearth my shit from the mountains of boxes scattered around the house. I still haven’t found my K-Y Jellies from Around the World collection,” I glared. “And I had to hunt through those boxes with a broken hand.”

et tu brute, ides of march“Ah yes a broken hand. Such an injury is surely more grievous than say being stabbed twenty-three times,” he clutched his hand to his chest where deep gashes could be seen weeping bloody tears through the shredded toga.

“Oh please! Not only did I break my hand but I had to deal with an awful doctor.”

“And I was afforded no physician!” Caesar countered.

“That’s the best thing that couldn’t happened to you! Apparently doctors turn to into complete idiot-moron-assholes in March and even if you had made it to a doctor you would have died anyway!”

Caesar sighed and pulled out a chair. “As you wish. But these events are stale and I would brooch argument with events of more recent days. Favor me with details of the slights seen in this March.”

“Okay, let me just break it down for you, Emperor-boy.” I gave a humorless laugh, “On Tuesday of the first week of March I received a letter stating that I owed the government for money in back taxes.”

He nodded, “Alas one must render onto Caesar what is Cae-”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “I didn’t owe ‘Caesar’ shit. My ex-husband received a large sum of money and filed it with my social security number.”

“A misfortune, yet one surely corrected by merely presenting evidence of such duplicity.”

“Oh surely,” I said in my most sarcastic tone, “because it is so easy to have something corrected within the government–especially when my anal fissure of an ex used his own birth date and fucked up mine in their records.”

“Perhaps if you spoke to them more gently,” Caesar tilted his head in reproach.

“You mean that maybe I shouldn’t have told them that their words fall from mouth like shit from ass?” I snarled.

Caesar look startled and opened his mouth to reply.

“I did not say that,” I interrupted him, “but I could have. But let me continue because that was hardly the worst thing that happened last week. I had mentioned that my dog was having surgery, remember?”

“I recall such an entry,” he nodded.

“She had the surgery on Thursday which should have been a simple teeth extraction and scaling, but this is of course my life and nothing is simple.
“I dropped Kira off at the vet’s surgical center at 8:30 in the morning and was told that the office would call me after lunch to let me know that she was ready to be picked up. As it happened I did not hear from the vet until after 2pm and it was to tell me that Kira’s heart rate had dropped near the end of the surgery so they took her off the anesthesia and gave her oxygen. That was several hours ago however and her heart rate was still low and her blood pressure was dropping. The vet had given her medication to counter the anesthesia but Kira still wasn’t waking up.

“I called my mother to meet me at the surgical center and then left to go there with my cousin. My aunt ended up driving my mother and she arrived at the vet’s office a few minutes behind us. The vet tech took us into an exam room and finally brought my Kira to me. She was completely limp and felt cold even through the blanket that they had wrapped her in. I tried talking to her, saying all of the words like “cat” and “walk” that would usually make her perk up but did not get any response.  The vet came back to listen to her heart a few times as I held her and reported that her heart was starting to drop again. She had that she may have an underlying heart condition that was causing her to struggle. She went out and then came back to tell me that she had called the emergency animal hospital and that they were waiting to see Kira immediately.

“We ran out the vet’s door at which point my own heart issues kicked in and I started to collapse both from dizziness and from threatening hysteria. My mother grabbed Kira from my arms and we stumbled to the car where my aunt was waiting to drive us to the hospital. I kept talking to Kira as we drove but she was not responding. I placed my hand on her chest and felt her heart beating slower and slower until I finally let out a strangled cry that I was losing her. My mother grabbed Kira from my arms, shook her and screamed her name. Miraculously Kira’s eyes opened slightly but then she went back under.

“We were nearly to the hospital when my aunt took a wrong turn and had to go into a jughandle that would have put us on the opposite side of the highway from the hospital. (Fuck you, New Jersey and your fucking roads.) The hospital was in sight so my mother and I jumped out of the car and ran down the block to the hospital. We burst into the hospital where the receptionist immediately called a nurse who appeared almost instantly and took Kira from us into the back room. What followed where thirty of the longest minutes of my life.

“We were finally told that we could go into an empty room and that the vet would be in to see us. As I went into the room and sat in the chair all I could think of was that this was how it happened with my dad. He arrived at an emergency room and then we were shoved into a back room where a doctor came in to tell us that he was gone. I sat in a stupor waiting to hear the same thing about my Kira.

“The vet finally came into the room and told us that they had done an EKG on Kira and there was nothing wrong with her heart. They gave her different medications to counter the previous ones and she had finally woke up. They needed to keep her overnight in case she went back under but if all went well then they expected to send her home the next day. My mother began to cry in relief but I was still in too much shock. And besides that the vet was already showing me a printout of what the bill would possibly be.

“I signed the voucher and went out to pay the receptionist. As I was signed the credit card slip, I happened to see a white ball of fluff toddle past the opposite door.”

kira, bandage

She had stretched out her paw to touch me as she slept.

“‘That’s my dog!'” I shrieked. ‘Can I see her?'”

“The receptionist called into the surgery area and then told me that I could wait in the back room again and they would let me see Kira.”

“The door to the surgery area finally opened and a very unsteady Kira walked into the room. She lifted her head slightly, looked at me, and then her tail have a few weak wags and she wobbled to me. I dropped to the ground to hold her and sobbed my fucking face off. I thought that I would never see Kira wag her tail at me again. We were all crying and rubbing her and my poor drugged pup finally drooped down and started to doze off. As much as I didn’t want to leave her I knew she needed her rest, and I also wanted to make sure that the vet was watching in case Kira went into more than just a nap, so I let the nurse carry her back to her crate.”

“The vet called me later that night to assure me that while Kira had some bloody diarrhea and regurgitation, she was still doing well. Needless to say, I did not sleep, but it wasn’t until the morning that I realized that it was snowing. Even more than before I wanted Kira home so that she could see it.

“Finally at 9:30am the vet called and said that I could come get her. I was out the door by 9:33.

“It was still snowing so I had to force myself to drive slowly, but then I ran into the hospital office. To their credit, they did not make me wait, but took me right into an exam room and went over Kira’s discharge instructions. To my wry amusement I noticed a “WILL BITE” sticker on Kira’s chart.

“A few minutes later, a less groggy but more indignant Kira walked into the exam room. She again wagged her tail and came immediately to me and even gave kisses but as she did she cast pissed off looks at the vet and nurse and hid behind me.

“I had already taken care of the balance of her bill so I gathered Kira in my arms, picked up her bag of medications and walked out the door.

“Kira tucked her head under my chin but as soon as we stepped outside she lifted her head and sniffed at the falling snow. Her tail gave a few wags when the flakes landed on her nose and then she tucked her head again and we finally went home.”

Caesar stared at me.

“And that was just the beginning of her recovery,” I added.

Finally he reclined his head. “I proclaim you again victor in the battle of who has more cause to be wary of March.” He stood up. “We shall revisit this argument upon a day.”

“And I hope that you shall be the victor, Caesar. These are laurels that I could really do without.”


My ex received money and filed it under my social security number and didn’t pay the taxes.

My dog had fourteen teeth removed and nearly died from an overdose of anesthesia and pain medication during the surgery.

I was so sleep deprived that I fell down the stairs and mashed my scapula. (Luckily I didn’t break anything but my back looks like I was beat.)


The good news of course is that, after a hellish week of groaning in her sleep and an upset stomach, Kira is finally recovering. I cannot say thank you enough to all of the people that we had saying prayers, sending positive thoughts and healing vibes to her. As I was sitting in the vet’s office, not knowing if Kira was going to make it, I can’t tell you what a comfort it was when my phone buzzed with another tweet or message saying that someone was pulling for Kira.

I’m a blessed bitch.

Once Again I Just Shake My Head and Say “This is my Life”

Many of you are well acquainted with my dog, Kira, in fact I’m fairly certain that the reason most people watch my youtube videos is because they usually feature a Kira cameo–and I don’t blame you because she’s fucking adorable and hilarious.

Kira features a lot because she is “my” dog, but we do however have our “family” dog named Lily. Unlike Kira, Lily is very friendly and easygoing and 99.5% of the time is perfectly well-behaved, so she also doesn’t give me as much story material as does my Brat-skimo.

There is of course that .5% though…

westhighland terrier, lily

Lily. She looks so innocent.

Since I had my own medical issues to address last Monday I decided to make it a full Doctor Day and have Kira and Lily visit the vet as well. A trip to the vet is always extremely stressful because Kira–who is a rescue dog that had been abused–hates going to the vet with a passion. I know that most dogs hate the vet but Kira literally screams–screams that sound like a fucking human being–as soon as the vet touches her. While Kira’s vet is used to her dramatics and very good with handling her, my aunt suggested a mobile vet service that she used who comes to the house might be less stressful. I didn’t hold much hope, but I decided to give it a shot.

As soon as the vet arrived at the house, Kira began barking her face off. I explained Kira’s history to the vet and that, while I was having both dogs examined, Kira was the reason that I was trying an in-house visit. The vet suggested that she examine Lily first thinking that if Kira saw that Lily was okay that she wouldn’t be as scared. This sounded like a good idea at the time.

Lily trotted over to the vet, sniffing and wagging her tail, and didn’t object when the vet picked her up. Lily did begin to shake a little when she was placed on the mobile table but stayed fairly still as the vet examined her. She did begin to squirm when it was time to have her blood drawn but the vet tech held her still without too much fuss. I went over to praise Lily whenever I could but unfortunately Kira’s barking only got worse when she saw the vet handling her Lily and it was all that I could do to keep her quiet. Even after I gated Kira in the other room she was causing a ruckus. Finally the vet was finished except she said that Lily’s nails needed to be cut. I have tried many a time to cut Lily’s nails, but unlike Kira who I trained since puppyhood to hold still for a pedicure, Lily fights so furiously that I can’t do it. I told the vet to go for it but I would understand if she wasn’t able to trim Lily’s nails.

The vet picked up the nail clippers and I actually saw the words “Oh hell no!” form in Lily’s eyes. She immediately began squirming, thrashing and putting up such a fight that you would think that the vet was trying to cut her paws off. The vet tech was nearly laying on top of Lily to hold her still and it still wasn’t working. The vet suggested that she hold Lily in her arms and the tech cut the nails since she was faster. Lily squirmed furiously but the vet held her tightly enough that the tech trimmed her two front paws fairly quickly. HOWEVER, the moment that the vet tech moved to touch Lily’s back paws, Lily lost control of her bowels. This is unfortunately not unusual for an animal to do under stress. What is unusual though is for the animal to lose her bowels with such fervor that the poo becomes airborne and hits the vet tech in the chest.

That’s right, friends: my dog projectile shat.
She apparently has missiles in her ass and fired two at the tech as soon as she was within range.

The vet, the tech and I and just stared at each other for a moment during which Lily–who was apparently quite pleased with herself–held still. Would that we had taken that opportunity to finish the pedicure because at that moment Kira broke through the baby gate in an attempt to save her Lily and all hell broke lose. Lily redoubled her squirming efforts, Kira barked and galloped around the table, and I began to calculate just how much Tequila I was going to need after this was over.

The answer was “a lot”.

And the real kicker of it? When it was Kira’s turn to be examined, despite being in her own home, she still screamed like a fucking banshee when the vet touched her.

Verdict? Number 26 on The List of Shameless Shit: Make a mistake.

“What’s Wrong With Your Face?”

“What’s wrong with your face?”

This was the question that greeted me on Monday afternoon.
I gave my coworker a dumbfounded look.
“I’d like to think nothing, but then I do occasionally have to sneak up on mirrors,” I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to my computer screen.
“No, your eye,” he said. “It’s like, really red.”
I shrugged, continuing to stare at the screen as I tapped away on the keyboard. “It’s probably allergies.”
Truth be told, my eye was feeling a little off, but a high tolerance for pain coupled with a lack of time to deal with such annoyance meant that the feeling was going to be ignored.

I left Job One and arrived at Job Two that evening.
“Whoa!” the coworker at Job Two exclaimed as I walked into the office. “What did you do to your eye, girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. Someone told me that it looked red, but I haven’t had time to look yet,” I told her as I clocked in.

bloodshot eye

Not my eye, but I won’t subject you to the real thing.

I went into the bathroom–since up until that point I hadn’t had time to pee that day–and made sure to examine my eye when I washed my hands. Sure enough, my left eye was a livid shade of red. Also adding to the horrific effect was the fact that my eyes change colour–particularly under stress–so the injured eye look greenish, while the right was still brownish.

I came out of the bathroom and found my coworker.
“You’re right,” I told her, then added in an exaggerated Spanish accent, “I’m hideous in the face.”
“Maybe you should have an eye doctor check it out,” my coworker yucked it up. (We work for an Optometrist.)

The final verdict is that I have severe eye strain from wearing my contacts too long and for staring too many hours at a computer screen, coupled with a slight infection.
A writer staring a computer screen too long. Imagine that.

So this is why I’ve been neglecting ya’all this week. I hopefully will be back to full peeper status soon but I’m preparing to be told that I still have to baby my eyes today.

UPDATE: I’m on two more new meds because my eye is still a mess. FML

UPDATE 2: I’m now on two NEWNEWNEW medications. The one medication is the worst eye drop yet because it burns like a motherfucker and dilates my eyes to the point that I look like some black-eyed demon like this–

black eyes

Again, not my eye, only because I can’t wear makeup until I’m healed.

–BUT the good news is that this drop is actually working to where I’m not in consistent pain anymore, so Kat is at least a (somewhat) happy demon now.

Snow Leaves Me Late and Drunk

I had started to write a follow up to this post about SOPA, but then I left for Boston and writing about the spectacularly fucked up trip to get there is much more appropriate.

gollum, hello precious

“Hello, Preciousssss…”

I usually drive up to Boston, but for this trip I was taking the bus because I find that sitting next to a guy who resembles Gollum and spends the entire seven hour trip trying to look down my shirt makes for a most charming experience. It also saves a lot of money when you’re a starving writer.

The main issue with taking the bus though is that they leave at a predetermined time rather than at whatever time I arrive to board, and with the insanity that follows me around like a stray cat, I usually end up running late.

If I was a mature person I would admit that the first screw up of the trip was my own fault since I didn’t plug in my cell phone, thus the battery was dying which resulted in its alarm going off very softly to conserve energy, thereby leading to me not waking up as early as I needed. Instead I’m going to say that my phone’s battery blows, and that it shouldn’t need to be charged as often as it demands. Piece of shit.


Waking up late was then compounded when I discovered that it had started snowing during the night. I had my Kira’s leash firmly in my hand when I opened the front door to leave for my mother’s house, but an Eskimo dog’s instinct to blast into snow is more powerful than the lock on her leash that keeps it from letting out too far and she nearly pulled my shoulder out of its socket.

“Kir-AAAAHHHHH!” I screamed as she yanked me into the snow and sent my backpack and suitcase flying from my arms.


I was parched by the time I reached mumma’s so the first thing I did when I got to her house was to yank open the refrigerator, grab the orange juice and start chugging straight from the carton because I’m a lady like that. I had swallowed at least two huge gulps before I realized that my brother had added fucking vodka to the carton of orange juice. I spat out what was left in my mouth but there was no getting around that I had just chugged a giant Screwdriver for breakfast.


I could have possibly still made the bus at this point, but then my mother and I reached the highway and it was still snowing and this is southern New Jersey.  South Jersey + Snow (of any accumulation) = You’re not going anywhere, motherfucker.


There was another bus leaving three hours later and rather than have my mother drive me across the bridge again, I convinced her to leave my pathetic ass at the station where there was at least the world’s worst coffee and incredibly slow Wifi. All was calm until I took a trip to the restroom.

When I had gone into the bathroom stall, the lock didn’t turn very easily.  If I hadn’t been drunk on cheap vodka, I probably would have gone to another stall. Instead I cursed at the lock and wrenched it around until it caught in the door. The lock got its revenge though. When I went to leave, it refused to budge back and release the door.


It was about 7am at this point, I was cold, drunk and nauseated so I did what I do best which was to be impulsive and destructive. I pulled one of my slutty block-heeled boots from my suitcase, yanked it on, and then kicked the shit out of the bathroom door until I broke the lock.

Violence always makes me feel better so it didn’t even phase me when I finally boarded the bus a couple of hours later and the driver announced, “So this snow…um…yeah, I hope you guys weren’t planning on getting to Boston on time ’cause…nah, that’s not gonna happen…”

Yay snow in Philajersey.

obama snowball, cat

Even Obama laughs at my pain. (I laughed my ass off at this for some reason.)

EDIT: Ya’all need to read Nicki’s comment below to hear how she experienced hearing this story firsthand. And kazoos are awesome.

Sixty Squids A-Screamin’

Okay, maybe there weren’t sixty squid, but it certainly felt like there were at least that many as I was pulling their little corpses apart.

But let me back up a bit.

As I stated back in this grinchy post, I do the Feast of Seven Fish thing for my family on Christmas Eve because it makes perfect sense for chick who is not Italian and who doesn’t cook all year to follow an Italian custom which involves cooking seven courses in one night.

Last year was the first time that I attempted this feat and while it went really well, I did note things that I would do differently to make it easier on myself next year. Armed with those notes, I figured that this year would be a breeze, but then we all know I have issues with denial as discussed here and here for starters.

This year the first wrench in the monkey works came from my infamous “part-time” job and the fact that everyone except myself had quickly written on the schedule that they couldn’t work on Christmas Eve as soon as we found out that the doctor planned to have hours that day. I was pretty pissed off given that, unlike my coworkers who just didn’t want to work that day, I had actual shit to do on Christmas Eve, but I wrote on the schedule that I didn’t give a fuck if there was an office full of patients that I needed to leave at 12:30. (I didn’t write that exactly, but they got the drift.)

Having to work on Christmas Eve was bad enough, but the true fuckery came from the very ill-timed bout of food poisoning that I chronicled in my last entry. Since I had been too weak to do much more than let my empty bottles of Gatorade and half-eaten bowls of soup accumulate around me for five days, my apartment was a disheveled mess and I needed to clean before I could start cooking. As soon as I got home I did my hair in pin curls (based on learning last year that cooking for hours over a hot stove in a tiny apartment leaves your hair looking like hell. It’s also annoying), and frantically cleaned up the place.

cleaning squid, squid


That done I scrambled to the kitchen to start on the fish. I opened the first package of fish, and then jumped back and shrieked like a girl as a box of intact squid stared up at me with their black accusing eyes.

What the fuck is this?!” I screamed at them.

I had bought all of the seafood fresh, but I had expected that it was already dressed and the squid dissected into tubes. There was no way I could get a replacement seventh fish at 4:30 pm on Christmas Eve though so I didn’t have any choice but to get over my squeamishness. I raced to my computer and googled “how the fuck do I clean a squid”.

((I don’t know how many of you know how to clean a squid, and I don’t know how many of you really want to know how to clean a squid, but today’s your lucky day because you’re going to get a brief breakdown.  Consider it a late Christmas present.))

To start, you have to grasp the squid just above the eyes where the body is coming out of the tube and yank it out. Ideally you want to rip the majority of the body out of the tube, but since these squid were a little icy, the body tore a bit more than it usually would. You are then supposed to reach in the tube and eviscerate the squid, but since my squid bodies weren’t separating themselves as cleanly as they should have, I had more to eviscerate than normal.  It didn’t help matters that I had been unable to even try touching the squid again until after I had donned a pair of rubber gloves and they made it so that I couldn’t feel inside the tube well. When I finally had the first tube sufficiently rid of its guts, I grabbed my cooking scissors and cut it into rings. Something pink dropped into the bowl along with the pieces of squid, and after panicking I realized that I had cut my glove and was being a pussy, so I ditched the gloves and continued dissecting my squid.

squid diagram

Handy, dandy diagram

cleaning squid


The act of having to rip apart squid was bad enough, but what was also stressing me was that the squid-cleaning was throwing me way behind schedule. I decided to pull all of the squid bodies out of their tubes, since that was the most disgusting part, and then let my best friend, who was coming early, finish the cleaning and cutting of the tubes. I’m sure that he appreciated being yanked immediately upon arrival into the kitchen to look at a sink of half-dissected squid, but if I’m honest it’s not the worst thing I’ve done to him in twenty years of friendship.

Thankfully that was the only disaster (other than my family saying the usual number of brain breaking things throughout the night which will get its own entry a la A Very Kat Sidhe Christmas Part Deux) for the Second Annual Feast of Seven Fishes and I’d call it a success. No one threw up and I didn’t set the broiler on fire this year, but I did learn that I will never cook squid again.

A final note: I’m adding this entry to my List of Shameless Shit because I did number 6: “Act girly or manly in a way you’d normally avoid” by getting so worked up like a priss over some raw squid.

Fah La La La La, Fah Blah Blah Blah!

I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news, my dear peeps.

The bad news is that I got food poisoning and despite what some people might think, it does not make the holidays bright.

The good news is…

Actually NOTHING.

This fucking blows! Literally! I don’t know what bacteria it was which invaded my darling body, but said body attacked it with extreme prejudice, throwing an unholy fit and calling for mass evacuation of all cavities! It evicted not only the food I had eaten two hours, but any food that I had ever eaten or will ever eat in my life.

Anyway, for some reason I get the urge to make cartoons when I’m sick, like how I made this little gem back when I had the flu in February, so you get to hear the story of “The Tale of the Turntail Tuna” in comic form.


Once upon a time there was a girl named Kat who was very excited to be going out with her friend, Jewels.

food poisoning comic

Jewels and Kat went to a cute li’l “Pop Shop” and Kat ordered food like she was training for a marathon including a mountain of fries, a huge tuna sandwich, and a massive milk shake.

Food poisoning comic panel 2

About half an hour after finishing their food, Kat began to notice a rumbling in her tummy.

Food poisoning comic panel 3

Kat continued to ignore the obvious disturbance in the force because, as has been stated in previous Stupid Kat Tricks, she has issues with denial.  (Also in this case, she really wanted to catch up with her friend, Jewels.)

Food poisoning comic panel 4

Kat did wonder if she had suddenly fallen in an Alien movie. She only hoped that it was the first or second Alien, since the third and fourth movies sucked.

Food poisoning comic panel 5

After about an hour, Kat and Jewels decided to head back to her place to chat some more.

Food poisoning comic panel 6

As soon as they reached Kat’s apartment though, Kat was forced to make a mad dash for the loo. She emerged after a while, disheveled, clammy, and semi-comatose, but sure that the torture would pass and that she would be free to continue the visit with Jewels.

Food poisoning comic panel 7

The girls then agreed to cut their visit short and catch up again after Christmas. After Jewels left Kat calmly admitted to herself that she might be a bit ill.

Food poisoning comic panel 8

Of course, due to her low blood pressure and parasympathetic response to adrenaline Kat blacked out a few times from the excruciating pain. Kat called her aunt for help (a strong indication of how dire the situations was because Kat never asks for help) and to bring her medication (double indication because Kat has an aversion to medicines).

Food poisoning comic panel 9

Kat guessed black out. Kat was wrong. (FUN BONUS FACT! Both residents of her abode–herself and her dog–can now lay claim to having thrown up on the carpet!)

Kat finally came up with a logical and mature solution for her battle with food poisoning.

Food poisoning comic panel 10

Her aunt disagreed with this solution. She got Kat Gatorade instead.

The End.


I’m doing much better now.

Also? If this entry doesn’t satisfy number 19: Share details of a bodily function or fluid on my List of Shameless Shit, then I don’t know what would.

**All of these ridiculous pictures were created at SP-Studio.