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.

First,

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.

How To Look Like A Total Ass at the Beach With Your Dogs

I have been wanting to take my dogs to the beach for a long time. I thought that this would be a brilliant idea because I already love the beach and what could make it better except to be at the beach with dogs! Yes my mind was atwitter with shimmering visions of splashing in the ocean with my dogs and then laying on the beach as they recovered from the exhaustive ocean romp.

I was finally able to realize this beachy doggy dream the other week when I had a rare day off. Not only did I get to take my dogs to the beach, but also I learned how to look like an absolute moron while doing it. Yeah. So, here are my tips if you too are so inclined as to look like stupidass at the beach with your dogs.

(Before we begin I should mention that you get bonus points if you happen to take your dogs to the beach on the absolute hottest fucking day of the year because it makes every one of these points just that more brilliant.)

Make sure that you have to spend at least an hour in the car with your dog to get to the beach.

american eskimo dog

One of the few moments he turned to face me.

Since I like to do things over and above the watermark of stupid I live about an hour and a half from the beach but whether it’s one hour or three you’ll want to use this time to already begin to question your sanity at attempting this trip. The easiest way to do this is to make sure that at least one of your dogs have no car manners. In my case two out of the three dogs that I took on this excursion spent the entire ninety minutes trying to create as much havoc as possible by alternately trying to drive the car (Lily)** and attempting to balance on the middle console despite being the size of a small wolf (Seamus)–the latter of which resulted in long stretches of me having my dog’s ass in my face as I was in the back seat.

Hottest fucking day of the year bonus: During the drive you get no air conditioning because your dogs stick their faces in the A/C vents and hog it all for themselves.

(**Lily was not allowed in the driver’s seat which is extremely dangerous and upsets me whenever I see someone let their dog do this but that did not stop her from trying.)

Have one more dog than the number of people in your party.

Most people seem to only have one dog in their family but I call them pussies. If you want to look like a true ass at the beach then you bring more dogs than you can physically handle. I now have two dogs and I will tell you that it is exponentially easier to look like an ass while trying to control two dogs than it is with only one–especially since one of the dogs has not been trained by me since they were a puppy. I will admit though that I did have my mother with me and could pass off a leash to her while I untangled myself from my dogs’ attempts to mummify me with their leashes but since she still had to contend with the third dog in our crew it was still acceptable.

Hottest fucking day of the year bonus: The sand between the parking lot and the ocean is scorching and you have to carry to carry your dogs over it so that they don’t burn the pads of their paws.

Make sure your dogs won’t go in the water. At all.

You’ve brought your dogs all the way to the beach in a cramped car, carried their pampered asses over the sand and deposited them in front of the cool refuse of the ocean. Now you can watch as all three of them–including the one who loves water and always leaps into creeks like a little furry frog–scatter away from the water as if you were trying to drop them into Tabasco sauce. If you’re really lucky then the largest of your dogs will be so freaked out that he jumps into your arms and digs his claws into your tender flesh.

Hottest fucking day of the year bonus: You had planned on your dogs getting cool by going in the water and now feel like an asshole because they’re hot.

Buy the shittiest umbrella that $5 can get you.

Your dogs won’t go in the water but the good news is that you have an umbrella which snaps in half as soon as you try to shove it in the sand in an attempt to at least provide your dogs some shade.
Another reason you want your umbrella to be shitty is because…

The dog beach is bay-side where the wind whips across the water with massive fury.

The wind will rip that shitty umbrella right out of the sand and send you scrambling down the scorching beach with your arms outstretched and flailing like a drunken Frankenstein.

Hottest fucking day of the year bonus: the combination of heat with the high winds makes it feel like you’re in a massive convection oven.

Have a dog with a deceptively large mane.

He’ll manage to get out of his collar and you can go from chasing an umbrella like a drunken Frankenstein to chasing your dog like a drunken Frankenstein.

Hottest fucking day of the year bonus: Running. Duh.

Be so concerned with keeping the sun off of your dogs that you don’t apply sunscreen to several large areas on your back.

I look like I have vitiligo.

Hottest fucking day of the year bonus: Burns hurt worse in the heat. It’s a Kat fact which means that I said it so it’s true.

Have you fluky heart–which has been a complete trooper during this–finally say “What the fuck you are doing you moron? That’s it! Pass out on the hot sand right now!”

And though I didn’t completely lose consciousness it was nonetheless magical.

Pack up after two hours and take your dogs for ice cream.

american eskimo dogs

“Where’s the ice cream???”

They deserve it after all of the energy they put in to helping you look like a stupidass.

In closing, sometimes I even astound myself at my ability to create clusterfucks.

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 replied 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, which added 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 staring for 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 be 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 trying to look down my shirt for the entire seven hour trip makes for a most charming experience.  It also saves a lot of money when you’re a starving writer.

(Do you like how I put “starving” in there? Like how it’s not already implied as soon as you say “writer” that you’re starving?)

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.

LATE!

Waking up late was then compounded when I discovered that it had started snowing during the night.  I had my dog’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 to keep the lead from letting out too far and she ended up nearly pulling my shoulder out of its socket as she blasted off into a snow drift.

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

COLD!

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.

DRUNK!

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.

FUCKED!

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 buzzed on vodka, I probably would have gone to another stall, but instead I cursed at the lock and turned it until it caught in the door.  The lock got its revenge though.  When I went to leave, it refused to release the door.

HAHA!

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 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 south Jersey/Philly.

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.

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 doesn’t 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 whatever it was, said body attacked it with extreme prejudice, throwing an unholy fit and calling for mass evacuation of all cavities! It was very fucking rude too because I had planned on renting the food I had eaten for a little longer than two hours!

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 “Tale of the Turntail Tuna” in comic form.

STORY TIEMZ!

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 ordered a sumptuous feast complete with fries, a large tuna sandwich, and milk shakes for dessert.

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

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

Food poisoning comic panel 5

After a couple of hours, 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 and clammy, 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 her tummy hurt a bit.

Food poisoning comic panel 8

Of course, her low blood pressure and parasympathetic response to adrenaline meant that she blacked out a few times from the excruciating pain.  Kat called her aunt for help (shocking since Kat doesn’t ask for help) and to bring her medication (double shocking since Kat has an aversion to medicines).

Food poisoning comic panel 9

(FUN BONUS FACT! Both residents of Kat’s 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 to her battle with food poisoning.

Food poisoning comic panel 10

Her aunt disagreed with this solution; she got Kat Gatorade instead.

The End.

Epilogue

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.