A.A. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I hope you are meeting the heat and humidity with a healthy dose of conditioned air.
Do you know we lub you and if so, do you know we lub you *this* much?
Thanks as always,
AA"
My air is as nicely conditioned as my hair, and I owe my hair to Lamas. Not Lorenzo. Though he had nice hair back in the day, too, but I doubt he used this stuff 'cuz I don't think it was around then. But side note: I recently got about seven inches chopped off of my hair and my stylist was floored by how healthy it was, all the way to the tips, with no dye or product or extensions or anything in it. Which I took to mean, I grow good hair. And condition it well.
Anyway. I digress.
I have to admit, I was a bit puzzled by your question, as I'm not necessarily up with all of the hip lingo the youngsters are using these days. I was working on a film not too long ago with a group of kids who all thought it was kitschy that I use the word "groovy." It's coming back, man, just you wait. So I had to look up what "lub" means. In large part to make sure you didn't just forget the "e" on the end, in which case, this is a much more personal question than we should probably be posting on the interweb. And according to the Urban Dictionary, "lub" is one of those totally non-committal words that wusses use when they don't have the balls to tell someone how they really feel. Or when they're too afraid to admit how they feel. It's described as being something between like and love, which in my day, we referred to as like-liking someone. As in, "I like him, but I don't like-him-like-him, so I said no when he asked me to Homecoming."
Now, I know you're married to a lovely woman, which may explain the usage of "lub" as opposed to "like" or "love," but you also say, "we," which leads me to believe I have a lot of sort-of-timid-non-committal friends which is mildly disturbing. I'd like to think the sentiment behind the message was a sweet one, but I'm just sort of left feeling like I'm stuck in limbo, not knowing where I really stand with anyone. And apparently, these are very strong non-committal feelings. I don't even know how that works. Did I do something to offend you all? How is it that I'm sitting on the fence between like and love and y'all can't make up your minds? If I was taller, would that help? Or if I gave everybody kittens for Christmas? Hell, I'd even call you all really mean names so I'd move over into hate territory because even that is clearer than this whole "lub" thing.
I need to lie down now.
Thank you, A.A. for your question. Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Monday, July 11, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Woodchucks Galore
A.A asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
Springs are in the heir and I hope this letter finds you in good health and with a reasonable level of joviality.
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could be you?
May the FSM look upon you kindly,
AA"
Hi, A.A. Thank you for your question, and for the blessing of the FSM. Such things are always appreciated.
But springs in the heir? Ouch! Does Harry know about this? If it's him, I guess he must, but if it's Wills, then he might want to keep alert for some terrible medical emergency that shoots him up the "next in line to rule" list. Cut back on all of that random cavorting and find himself a nice girl to settle down with. Not Pippa, though. Marrying your sister-in-law might have worked in the sixteenth century, but this is the twenty-first for crying out loud. He should be more progressive and marry an American, for instance. *cough, cough* Excuse me.
But on to the woodchucks. Y'all like woodchucks, don't you? And what's not to like? I actually have a friend now with a pet woodchuck which I think is adorable. Oh, wait, sorry. He has a hedgehog. Those are the cute ones. Woodchucks are the ones that spend their days throwing things about, all willy-nilly and such. Silly willy-nilly woodchucks.
I think perhaps the most important thing that we need to address here, though, is why would a woodchuck want to be me? Seriously. You're a woodchuck. You're minding your own business, chuckin' some wood when the mood takes you, maybe having a bit of lunch before a bit of a lie-down. Someone comes up to you and says, "Hey, you wanna trade in everything you currently have going for you so you can become a single white girl who lives by herself and has a semi-crappy day job? She has a cute car, though, and a nice apartment, and some kick-ass friends, but you'll have to start paying her rent and bills and you'll have to clean up after her cat when he has hairballs and stuff. You wanna trade in your life of leisure for bills and cats and cars and jobs and stuff?" What kind of woodchuck would take you up on that offer? A sadistic one, maybe. So I don't think it's too likely that a woodchuck would be me, given the opportunity.
Given the opportunity, though, I might be a woodchuck for a day. In which case, my answer would be "three."
Thank you, A.A. for your question. Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Springs are in the heir and I hope this letter finds you in good health and with a reasonable level of joviality.
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could be you?
May the FSM look upon you kindly,
AA"
Hi, A.A. Thank you for your question, and for the blessing of the FSM. Such things are always appreciated.
But springs in the heir? Ouch! Does Harry know about this? If it's him, I guess he must, but if it's Wills, then he might want to keep alert for some terrible medical emergency that shoots him up the "next in line to rule" list. Cut back on all of that random cavorting and find himself a nice girl to settle down with. Not Pippa, though. Marrying your sister-in-law might have worked in the sixteenth century, but this is the twenty-first for crying out loud. He should be more progressive and marry an American, for instance. *cough, cough* Excuse me.
But on to the woodchucks. Y'all like woodchucks, don't you? And what's not to like? I actually have a friend now with a pet woodchuck which I think is adorable. Oh, wait, sorry. He has a hedgehog. Those are the cute ones. Woodchucks are the ones that spend their days throwing things about, all willy-nilly and such. Silly willy-nilly woodchucks.
I think perhaps the most important thing that we need to address here, though, is why would a woodchuck want to be me? Seriously. You're a woodchuck. You're minding your own business, chuckin' some wood when the mood takes you, maybe having a bit of lunch before a bit of a lie-down. Someone comes up to you and says, "Hey, you wanna trade in everything you currently have going for you so you can become a single white girl who lives by herself and has a semi-crappy day job? She has a cute car, though, and a nice apartment, and some kick-ass friends, but you'll have to start paying her rent and bills and you'll have to clean up after her cat when he has hairballs and stuff. You wanna trade in your life of leisure for bills and cats and cars and jobs and stuff?" What kind of woodchuck would take you up on that offer? A sadistic one, maybe. So I don't think it's too likely that a woodchuck would be me, given the opportunity.
Given the opportunity, though, I might be a woodchuck for a day. In which case, my answer would be "three."
Thank you, A.A. for your question. Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Friday, June 17, 2011
Soundtrack of My Life
A.A. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I hope you are well and wearing an easy smile.
What songs would make up your Soundtrack of My Life (so far)?
Thank you as always."
Hi, A.A..
I want to apologize for the delay in answering your question. I knew this would be a sort of epic answer and wanted to give it the proper, full attention it deserves, so it took a little while. But here goes.
I think a lot of people know by now that music has played a very important role in my life, with different styles carrying more importance at different times than others. But let's start with the early stuff and move to the later, shall we?
One of my earliest music associations (beyond my mom bringing her guitar into my preschool classroom and playing for us) still has to do with my mom. I remember dancing to Sultans of Swing in the living room with my mom one New Year's Eve, I think it was. One of the first ones when I was allowed to stay up late enough to enjoy New Year's Eve. This was also my first exposure to East Coast Swing dancing, which translated into my love of lindy hop much later on. Which, of course, leads us to Love Me or Leave Me, which may be my favorite song to dance to ever. And the greatest piano solo ever. Though I once saw a claymation short done to My Baby Just Cares for Me that made me totally fall in love with dance and music and Aardman Animations and made me wish I had a baby who just cared for me.
There are a million other swing songs that should probably get a mention in here - Mr. Pinstripe Suit because I loved Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and saw them on my 21st birthday and they all took pictures with me and signed a dollar bill for me which was later stolen and Dirk was so lovely remembering that I made a total asshole out of myself the first time I saw them live, and because it was in anticipation of that concert that I taught the boy I was in love with at the time how to dance so I could make him go with me; Buzz Buzz Buzz by the Mighty Blue Kings because of all the arguments that boy and I had about who was the better neo swing band; Sing Sing Sing because my next dance partner would always try to time our entrance into the jam so that our sailor kicks hit the music at exactly the right point (which is why I don't do sailor kicks anymore); Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen because of the neo swing movement's obsession with Swing Kids until we all figured out the dancing in that movie is not what we should be emulating on the dance floor (though it's still a fun tune to dance to and gosh darn it, Robert Sean Leonard is hot); Fly Me to the Moon, especially as sung by Blossom Dearie because that's what I got engaged to, though just about anything by Blossom Dearie is dreamy - I Won't Dance, I'm Hip, Blossom's Blues, Rhode Island is Famous For You is the one my dance partner and I were going to choreograph a routine to, you get the idea; and of course It Ain't What You Do for the shim sham and all of the amazing times and locations wherein I did the sham sham - the benefit for a dancer with cancer (which then led to a pie in the face), Frankie's memorial, various exchanges, etc. (and I know that clip is not of It Ain't What You Do, but I though the Frankie memorial was more important to link to, for everything that man brought to the world of dance); and Get Your Girl #1 by Vargas Swing because I had such a crush on Dawn Webber and they gave me free socks at one of their shows. I think it's safe to say that swing/lindy/jazz type music has played a big part in my life and will always hold good memories for me, but perhaps it's time to move on to the next genre? Otherwise, we'll be here all day.
There have been some random, scattered tunes that were playing at just the right moment in my life to leave such an impression that I sometimes I can't listen to them anymore. I remember sobbing in my car on my way from my dad's house to my mom's house in high school listening to the chorus of Regret by New Order because life was just too much and I can barely listen to the song now. Stay, Insanity, Mary, and Dead Man's Party by Oingo Boingo have all held special significance for me at one point or another - wanting the boy to stay, keeping me company on a lonely family vacation, the story of my life, and needing to dance so badly at my first rock and roll concert ever that I'm sure I injured my friend upon whose shoulders I was sitting. And by extension, Sally's Song from The Nightmare Before Christmas because I made that costume one year and rocked it, and asked my friend to teach me the song so I would be prepared just in case anyone asked me to sing it. Which no one did. Shit, let's throw in Useless, Water, and Change, too. I found Boingo (or Boingo found me) when I really needed them and I will always love Danny Elfman for that very reason.
Speaking of finding artists at exactly the right time, Bob Dylan. I have to put It Ain't Me Babe on this list because it's my theme song and I love to cover it. But yeah, found him exactly when I need him and I love the gravelly voice. It soothes my heart.
Crap, this is getting long and wordy. I'm going to be brief and random for a bit. Sorry about that.
I found Moby one summer and he kind of changed my life. I still fantasize about putting together a huge dance routine to Run On that combines lindy, charleston, hip hop and other crap. I've been to three or four Moby shows and they are incredible. I can't not dance to Go when it comes on and when he plays it at his shows, I have to jump. The entire time.
(I would like also like to do a similar dance style mash up performance thing to Come On Now by the John Butler Trio. One Way Road is also rather brilliant.)
And while we're on kind of techno type stuff, I have to mention Sander Kleinenberg, who played the best techno show I have ever seen at RedNo Five in Chicago. I have no idea what the records were he was spinning - some of them were white labels - but sweet jebus, that man can blow the roof off of a club. And he's really nice to look at, too. Really nice. Watching him spin that night was when I learned that if you bop your head backward on the downbeat instead of forward, it sits in the music better. Like starting a cha-cha on the two.
Right about now is when I feel like I should mention (for those of you who don't know) that I also write music. I usually attribute this to a couple of people - the guy who is the current face of the USPS "If it fits, it ships" campaign, another college friend, and Liz Phair. The first Liz Phair song I heard that I identified with her was Polyester Bride, and this was also the first song of hers I learned to cover. But then I went back and heard Flower and remembered hearing it at college parties, so I guess technically, that was my first exposure to Liz Phair. There was a time when I hung out on the Liz Phair message boards quite a bit, and I ended up writing a "clean" version of the song that included the phrase "You can be my personal Yoda." I was kind of proud of that. I think my favorite Liz song, though, is The Divorce Song. I was proud when I learned how to play that one, too, and practicing one of the little chord blips is what eventually led to my own song Astoria Park. That, and hanging out in Astoria Park one day. Which is a favorite of my friend in Texas who I met on the Liz Phair message boards.
But once I started writing my own music, it took a little while before I was comfortable playing it for other people. My song Allowed was sort of a gateway song for me in that respect - it gave me the confidence to play out in front of people because this fellow swing dancer guy friend of mine liked it. And it is actually about my infatuation with another swing dance instructor. I guess it all comes back to swing dancing, doesn't it?
But the fact that I was now playing my own music led me to an open mic in New York City one night where I met another bald musician I would become infatuated with. He played his song Gaslight (Oh Tomorrow) and the crush started, so of course I had to find the rest of his music. Shepherd makes me weep every time. And his song Indiana is what my song Nothing More is in response to, which is only really worth noting because Nothing More is the only love song I've ever written.
Love songs. I was in New York almost a year ago, feeling rather rotten about my station in life, and I had a bit of time to kill on my own before heading to the airport, so I took a vegan blueberry muffin into Central Park and sat on a bench to eat it while listening to my iPod. In These Arms came on and I had one of those moments wherein the world is so full of beauty that you are humbled and grateful for the brief time you have to participate in it and all you can really do is cry. I keep meaning to thank Glen Hansard/Marketa Irglova/The Frames for that, and for some of their other songs like People All Get Ready, Say it to Me Now, and When Your Mind's Made Up. Actually, I just keep meaning to thank Glen Hansard for his existence. (For her own part, Marketa Irglova is adorable, too. Met her after a show in Chicago and she was delightful and so normal but has this amazing energy I don't find in a lot of other women.)
I have had the opportunity to thank Mike Doughty for his music - he personally keeps his Facebook page and responds to fans. Your Misfortune soothes my soul when it's really hurting. It's kind of funny to me that I love Mike Doughty now because I went through this brief trip-hop period wherein I was introduced to Soul Coughing and then didn't really think about them again until Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well came on the radio. I've now seen him play live two or three times and own five or six records? I also met a guy who said he was friends with the girl about whom Unsingable Name was written.
But I did come back around to Mike Doughty, in large part due to WXRT, the best radio station in Chicago. This station also introduced me to Mumford and Sons, by way of Little Lion Man. Their whole first album is amazing. The Cave and Awake My Soul are a couple more that are always in my playlists. Though I still think he looks wrong for that voice. I wanted him to be this sort of shriveled, withered man who tanned and smoked too much as a kid.
WXRT was also the first radio station to play one of my songs - Hamburg. I got my tattoo that day, too.
I feel like I should mention that growing up, I listened to a lot of Billy Joel and ABBA, for whatever that is worth. I should probably say that the first 45rpm record I bought for myself was I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany, largely so I can show that my taste in music has improved significantly as I've gotten older. My brother wouldn't let me play that record when he was around, so I said he couldn't play Patience by Guns 'n Roses. My physical appearance has led me to a certain affinity for Baby Got Back, and my relationship status kind of makes me like Single Ladies, though I don't think it was the best video ever made. That title goes to Take On Me. The first songs my mom taught me to play on the guitar were Scarlet Ribbons and The Boxer, which led to a particularly funny moment during a show when someone dropped a tray of dishes in the kitchen at the exact right moment in the chorus. When I was in Spain, my favorite songs to hear at our favorite club were Sister Golden Hair and Mr. Jones by the Counting Crows.
And I have a sort of love-hate relationship with Beethoven's Ode to Joy because of A Clockwork Orange and Immortal Beloved. In one, it is so beautiful; in the other, it is horrifying. Such is the power of music.
Baba O'Riley has to be on there, although most stuff by The Who and Led Zepplin just remind me of the SNES game F-Zero, because I used to watch my brother play that game for hours while we listened to classic rock in his room. He had the warmest room in the house, and Christmas lights around his ceiling, so it was fun. Good times with classic rock and video games.
Sweet jebus, this is long. I think the most important thing one can take away from this is that if someone were to actually create a soundtrack of my life, there would most certainly be something on there that everyone likes, and it wouldn't leave you in one place for too long before taking you on some new emotional journey or back to some beloved memory of your own.
But I do want to throw up one more link here, to a song that I can only listen to sometimes, but in many ways, it best encapsulates where I feel I am in my life right now. Thanks, Colin.
Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
I hope you are well and wearing an easy smile.
What songs would make up your Soundtrack of My Life (so far)?
Thank you as always."
Hi, A.A..
I want to apologize for the delay in answering your question. I knew this would be a sort of epic answer and wanted to give it the proper, full attention it deserves, so it took a little while. But here goes.
I think a lot of people know by now that music has played a very important role in my life, with different styles carrying more importance at different times than others. But let's start with the early stuff and move to the later, shall we?
One of my earliest music associations (beyond my mom bringing her guitar into my preschool classroom and playing for us) still has to do with my mom. I remember dancing to Sultans of Swing in the living room with my mom one New Year's Eve, I think it was. One of the first ones when I was allowed to stay up late enough to enjoy New Year's Eve. This was also my first exposure to East Coast Swing dancing, which translated into my love of lindy hop much later on. Which, of course, leads us to Love Me or Leave Me, which may be my favorite song to dance to ever. And the greatest piano solo ever. Though I once saw a claymation short done to My Baby Just Cares for Me that made me totally fall in love with dance and music and Aardman Animations and made me wish I had a baby who just cared for me.
There are a million other swing songs that should probably get a mention in here - Mr. Pinstripe Suit because I loved Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and saw them on my 21st birthday and they all took pictures with me and signed a dollar bill for me which was later stolen and Dirk was so lovely remembering that I made a total asshole out of myself the first time I saw them live, and because it was in anticipation of that concert that I taught the boy I was in love with at the time how to dance so I could make him go with me; Buzz Buzz Buzz by the Mighty Blue Kings because of all the arguments that boy and I had about who was the better neo swing band; Sing Sing Sing because my next dance partner would always try to time our entrance into the jam so that our sailor kicks hit the music at exactly the right point (which is why I don't do sailor kicks anymore); Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen because of the neo swing movement's obsession with Swing Kids until we all figured out the dancing in that movie is not what we should be emulating on the dance floor (though it's still a fun tune to dance to and gosh darn it, Robert Sean Leonard is hot); Fly Me to the Moon, especially as sung by Blossom Dearie because that's what I got engaged to, though just about anything by Blossom Dearie is dreamy - I Won't Dance, I'm Hip, Blossom's Blues, Rhode Island is Famous For You is the one my dance partner and I were going to choreograph a routine to, you get the idea; and of course It Ain't What You Do for the shim sham and all of the amazing times and locations wherein I did the sham sham - the benefit for a dancer with cancer (which then led to a pie in the face), Frankie's memorial, various exchanges, etc. (and I know that clip is not of It Ain't What You Do, but I though the Frankie memorial was more important to link to, for everything that man brought to the world of dance); and Get Your Girl #1 by Vargas Swing because I had such a crush on Dawn Webber and they gave me free socks at one of their shows. I think it's safe to say that swing/lindy/jazz type music has played a big part in my life and will always hold good memories for me, but perhaps it's time to move on to the next genre? Otherwise, we'll be here all day.
There have been some random, scattered tunes that were playing at just the right moment in my life to leave such an impression that I sometimes I can't listen to them anymore. I remember sobbing in my car on my way from my dad's house to my mom's house in high school listening to the chorus of Regret by New Order because life was just too much and I can barely listen to the song now. Stay, Insanity, Mary, and Dead Man's Party by Oingo Boingo have all held special significance for me at one point or another - wanting the boy to stay, keeping me company on a lonely family vacation, the story of my life, and needing to dance so badly at my first rock and roll concert ever that I'm sure I injured my friend upon whose shoulders I was sitting. And by extension, Sally's Song from The Nightmare Before Christmas because I made that costume one year and rocked it, and asked my friend to teach me the song so I would be prepared just in case anyone asked me to sing it. Which no one did. Shit, let's throw in Useless, Water, and Change, too. I found Boingo (or Boingo found me) when I really needed them and I will always love Danny Elfman for that very reason.
Speaking of finding artists at exactly the right time, Bob Dylan. I have to put It Ain't Me Babe on this list because it's my theme song and I love to cover it. But yeah, found him exactly when I need him and I love the gravelly voice. It soothes my heart.
Crap, this is getting long and wordy. I'm going to be brief and random for a bit. Sorry about that.
I found Moby one summer and he kind of changed my life. I still fantasize about putting together a huge dance routine to Run On that combines lindy, charleston, hip hop and other crap. I've been to three or four Moby shows and they are incredible. I can't not dance to Go when it comes on and when he plays it at his shows, I have to jump. The entire time.
(I would like also like to do a similar dance style mash up performance thing to Come On Now by the John Butler Trio. One Way Road is also rather brilliant.)
And while we're on kind of techno type stuff, I have to mention Sander Kleinenberg, who played the best techno show I have ever seen at RedNo Five in Chicago. I have no idea what the records were he was spinning - some of them were white labels - but sweet jebus, that man can blow the roof off of a club. And he's really nice to look at, too. Really nice. Watching him spin that night was when I learned that if you bop your head backward on the downbeat instead of forward, it sits in the music better. Like starting a cha-cha on the two.
Right about now is when I feel like I should mention (for those of you who don't know) that I also write music. I usually attribute this to a couple of people - the guy who is the current face of the USPS "If it fits, it ships" campaign, another college friend, and Liz Phair. The first Liz Phair song I heard that I identified with her was Polyester Bride, and this was also the first song of hers I learned to cover. But then I went back and heard Flower and remembered hearing it at college parties, so I guess technically, that was my first exposure to Liz Phair. There was a time when I hung out on the Liz Phair message boards quite a bit, and I ended up writing a "clean" version of the song that included the phrase "You can be my personal Yoda." I was kind of proud of that. I think my favorite Liz song, though, is The Divorce Song. I was proud when I learned how to play that one, too, and practicing one of the little chord blips is what eventually led to my own song Astoria Park. That, and hanging out in Astoria Park one day. Which is a favorite of my friend in Texas who I met on the Liz Phair message boards.
But once I started writing my own music, it took a little while before I was comfortable playing it for other people. My song Allowed was sort of a gateway song for me in that respect - it gave me the confidence to play out in front of people because this fellow swing dancer guy friend of mine liked it. And it is actually about my infatuation with another swing dance instructor. I guess it all comes back to swing dancing, doesn't it?
But the fact that I was now playing my own music led me to an open mic in New York City one night where I met another bald musician I would become infatuated with. He played his song Gaslight (Oh Tomorrow) and the crush started, so of course I had to find the rest of his music. Shepherd makes me weep every time. And his song Indiana is what my song Nothing More is in response to, which is only really worth noting because Nothing More is the only love song I've ever written.
Love songs. I was in New York almost a year ago, feeling rather rotten about my station in life, and I had a bit of time to kill on my own before heading to the airport, so I took a vegan blueberry muffin into Central Park and sat on a bench to eat it while listening to my iPod. In These Arms came on and I had one of those moments wherein the world is so full of beauty that you are humbled and grateful for the brief time you have to participate in it and all you can really do is cry. I keep meaning to thank Glen Hansard/Marketa Irglova/The Frames for that, and for some of their other songs like People All Get Ready, Say it to Me Now, and When Your Mind's Made Up. Actually, I just keep meaning to thank Glen Hansard for his existence. (For her own part, Marketa Irglova is adorable, too. Met her after a show in Chicago and she was delightful and so normal but has this amazing energy I don't find in a lot of other women.)
I have had the opportunity to thank Mike Doughty for his music - he personally keeps his Facebook page and responds to fans. Your Misfortune soothes my soul when it's really hurting. It's kind of funny to me that I love Mike Doughty now because I went through this brief trip-hop period wherein I was introduced to Soul Coughing and then didn't really think about them again until Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well came on the radio. I've now seen him play live two or three times and own five or six records? I also met a guy who said he was friends with the girl about whom Unsingable Name was written.
But I did come back around to Mike Doughty, in large part due to WXRT, the best radio station in Chicago. This station also introduced me to Mumford and Sons, by way of Little Lion Man. Their whole first album is amazing. The Cave and Awake My Soul are a couple more that are always in my playlists. Though I still think he looks wrong for that voice. I wanted him to be this sort of shriveled, withered man who tanned and smoked too much as a kid.
WXRT was also the first radio station to play one of my songs - Hamburg. I got my tattoo that day, too.
I feel like I should mention that growing up, I listened to a lot of Billy Joel and ABBA, for whatever that is worth. I should probably say that the first 45rpm record I bought for myself was I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany, largely so I can show that my taste in music has improved significantly as I've gotten older. My brother wouldn't let me play that record when he was around, so I said he couldn't play Patience by Guns 'n Roses. My physical appearance has led me to a certain affinity for Baby Got Back, and my relationship status kind of makes me like Single Ladies, though I don't think it was the best video ever made. That title goes to Take On Me. The first songs my mom taught me to play on the guitar were Scarlet Ribbons and The Boxer, which led to a particularly funny moment during a show when someone dropped a tray of dishes in the kitchen at the exact right moment in the chorus. When I was in Spain, my favorite songs to hear at our favorite club were Sister Golden Hair and Mr. Jones by the Counting Crows.
And I have a sort of love-hate relationship with Beethoven's Ode to Joy because of A Clockwork Orange and Immortal Beloved. In one, it is so beautiful; in the other, it is horrifying. Such is the power of music.
Baba O'Riley has to be on there, although most stuff by The Who and Led Zepplin just remind me of the SNES game F-Zero, because I used to watch my brother play that game for hours while we listened to classic rock in his room. He had the warmest room in the house, and Christmas lights around his ceiling, so it was fun. Good times with classic rock and video games.
Sweet jebus, this is long. I think the most important thing one can take away from this is that if someone were to actually create a soundtrack of my life, there would most certainly be something on there that everyone likes, and it wouldn't leave you in one place for too long before taking you on some new emotional journey or back to some beloved memory of your own.
But I do want to throw up one more link here, to a song that I can only listen to sometimes, but in many ways, it best encapsulates where I feel I am in my life right now. Thanks, Colin.
Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Friday, February 11, 2011
Whippet
A.A. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I hope the year has treated you well so far.
Why are whippets good? I can understand people liking doggies. I'm partial to pit bulls myself (they're so cuuuuute!) but what makes whippets specifically gooder than the others?
Thank you very much. I look forward to your insight.
A.A.
Sent from my iBorgPhone. Resistance is futile."
Hey, A.A. I hope the new year is treating you and your iBorgPhone well, as well. For me, if I may borrow from Norm Peterson, this year has shown me that it really is a dog eat dog world and I'm wearing Milkbone underwear. Anyway, moving on.
When I first read your question, I thought you were talking about whipples, the pancreas/bile duct/gallbladder/duodenum/sometimes-portions-of-the-stomach-removing surgery that Christina Yang gets all excited about in an episode of the first season of "Grey's Anatomy." Remember when that show was good? Go back and watch it again now. Not quite as good, but kind of a dirty pleasure thing. The episodes with the bomb in the dude's chest and Christina Ricci are still pretty awesome. Anyway.
You were not talking about whipples, but instead about whippets and why they are "gooder" than other dogs. When I stop cringing at the word "gooder," I will simply show you a picture and challenge you to look that sweet little puppy in the eye and tell him he's not the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in your life. Go on. Take a look. Try to tell him that. Scared, huh? I would be, too. That thing looks like it could eat my car. Or at the very least, play fetch with it.
But regarding why people like them, it's probably because they're usually pretty chill dogs. They like to lounge around and are good with strangers and they have short hair which doesn't shed as much as some. They like to be inside, so it's like having a dog who thinks he's a cat but he's super crazy fast and agile so you can show off for the cute dog owner ladies when you take him to the dog park. And when specifically put against a pit bull, those of a nefarious sort are more likely to train their whippets to race than to maul the hell out of anyone and anything they see. Dog racing is still mostly legal. Dog fighting is not. So you can still make money off of your dog with a lower risk of prison sentence.
And let's not forget whippets have a fun song. Pit bulls do not.
So basically, you have a cat-like dog who can do tricks, who is mostly healthy, who gets along with other people and other dogs, runs super fast, inspires silly hats, and could earn you a small fortune at the dog track. What's not to love?
Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
I hope the year has treated you well so far.
Why are whippets good? I can understand people liking doggies. I'm partial to pit bulls myself (they're so cuuuuute!) but what makes whippets specifically gooder than the others?
Thank you very much. I look forward to your insight.
A.A.
Sent from my iBorgPhone. Resistance is futile."
Hey, A.A. I hope the new year is treating you and your iBorgPhone well, as well. For me, if I may borrow from Norm Peterson, this year has shown me that it really is a dog eat dog world and I'm wearing Milkbone underwear. Anyway, moving on.
When I first read your question, I thought you were talking about whipples, the pancreas/bile duct/gallbladder/duodenum/sometimes-portions-of-the-stomach-removing surgery that Christina Yang gets all excited about in an episode of the first season of "Grey's Anatomy." Remember when that show was good? Go back and watch it again now. Not quite as good, but kind of a dirty pleasure thing. The episodes with the bomb in the dude's chest and Christina Ricci are still pretty awesome. Anyway.
You were not talking about whipples, but instead about whippets and why they are "gooder" than other dogs. When I stop cringing at the word "gooder," I will simply show you a picture and challenge you to look that sweet little puppy in the eye and tell him he's not the most beautiful thing you've ever seen in your life. Go on. Take a look. Try to tell him that. Scared, huh? I would be, too. That thing looks like it could eat my car. Or at the very least, play fetch with it.
But regarding why people like them, it's probably because they're usually pretty chill dogs. They like to lounge around and are good with strangers and they have short hair which doesn't shed as much as some. They like to be inside, so it's like having a dog who thinks he's a cat but he's super crazy fast and agile so you can show off for the cute dog owner ladies when you take him to the dog park. And when specifically put against a pit bull, those of a nefarious sort are more likely to train their whippets to race than to maul the hell out of anyone and anything they see. Dog racing is still mostly legal. Dog fighting is not. So you can still make money off of your dog with a lower risk of prison sentence.
And let's not forget whippets have a fun song. Pit bulls do not.
So basically, you have a cat-like dog who can do tricks, who is mostly healthy, who gets along with other people and other dogs, runs super fast, inspires silly hats, and could earn you a small fortune at the dog track. What's not to love?
Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Facebook Parents
D.N. asks, "I read the following on an old high school friend's Facebook status update this week.
'My daughter just came home from school and ran to her room, slamming the door. Even though she's got the music turned up pretty loud, I can still hear her heartbreaking sobs of anguish through her door. I try and I try to get her to talk to me, but she just asks me to leave her alone no matter how many times I tell her to confide in me. All I can think is that something horrible happened to her at school today. Doesn't she know that I went to high school too and could probably solve whatever her silly little problem is? Somebody please tell me what to do!'
What followed was an exceptionally long list of comments, all of which empathized with the mother before going off on their own kids' selfish behavior.
No one, especially the mom in this case, stopped to think that, gee maybe something horrible DID happen at school that day. Maybe it was all the young woman could do to simply 'hold it together' until the end of the day where she could (supposedly) seek refuge in the only 'safe' place she has to go to. Maybe the only thing that could be possibly WORSE than whatever happened is to have her mom -- IN A PUBLIC FORUM -- THAT HER 'FRIENDS' FROM SCHOOL CAN EASILY ACCESS -- complain about her level of distress and her supposed selfishness for not wanting to immediately share the 'silly' details of her 'silly' problem.
My question, I guess, is this. Are Facebook parents the most narcisistic generation of parents in the history of the world? Or are we just the dumbest?
D. N."
Hi, D.N.
I don't think this is necessarily a case of Narcissism or stupidity. Let me explain. No, there is too much; let me sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less a half an hour. All we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, and make our 'scape. After I kill Count Rugen.
Sorry, got a little distracted there. Back on track.
I think we need to look at this in the proper context. Parents today have to deal with all sorts of things that parents of previous generations didn't have to think about at all. The whole concept of "adolescence" is only about 100 years old - prior to that, you were a kid who became an adult. That's it. And the more we explore adolescence, the more confusing it becomes. Nowadays, you're Satan's Mistress if you spank your child, but not so long ago, children received regular beatings all in the name of "teaching them good manners." Children used to go to school and then come directly home to help out with the chores on the farm (or around the house) instead of sleeping through classes and then coming home to play World of Warcraft for six hours before bed. I'm not saying things like drugs and alcohol and sex weren't as big a deal back then, but the way we handle our children and their problems is different now. The way our children behave in school is different than it used to be, too. How many girls do you see in photographs from the 1880's wearing cut-off t-shirts and mini skirts? Not so many, right? But the way girls dress now invites all kinds of fun new slurs, taunting remarks, and derogatory terms. And we, as parents, need to learn how to help our kids through the torture chamber known as the public education system.
So your friend's kid came home all upset about something and not wanting to talk about it. Okay. Your friend wanted to talk to her kid and try to help and that is a good thing. She should be commended for her impulse. The kid should not be lambasted for her choice to not want to talk to her mom. What if the problem is that the other kids at school were teasing her for some rumor that the mom is a slut? Or what if she was found in the janitor's closet with a varsity football player and neither of them was wearing any pants? These are not the sort of things you want to talk to your mom about. In the case of the first thing, nobody wants to have to ask their mom if she is a slut because neither answer is a good one. If she's not, you look like an ass for asking in the first place and if she is, you get to have nightmares for the rest of your natural born life. And no teenage girl wants to talk to her mom about her super secret sex life for fear her mother will chime in with some story about her super secret sex life when she was a teenager and we're back to having nightmares for the rest of your natural born life again.
I guess it is possible that the issue at school was something that might not be completely mortifying to talk to one's own mother about. Maybe she got a bad grade on a test or tripped on her own shoelace walking down the hall. But what the mom needs to realize is that everyone processes things in their own way. Maybe what the kid needs is to curl up in bed and listen to music for a while until the embarrassment dies down a bit and she can talk about it. The simple fact that the mother considers whatever is causing her daughter's "heartbreaking sobs of anguish" is a "silly little problem," means that there is some sort of disconnect happening here. And maybe the daughter knows her mom will think the problem is silly and wants to be a little more composed before they chat about it so she can show her mom that really, she is fine as opposed to her mom laughing it off with, "I was in high school once, too, you know."
And the other thing about the "I was in high school once, too, you know," defense. Yes, you were. But you have not been in high school for several years. You may remember that "the love of your life" dumped you two weeks before the prom, but since that time, you met your husband who proved to be the real love of your life and you've had kids and you have a mortgage now and have been to seventeen fancy dress fundraisers so the whole prom thing isn't that big of a deal anymore. It's called "healing and moving on." Yes, you lived through it and came out on the other side. No, you don't actually remember what it was like when it happened. You have the luxury of looking at the event through Detachment Glasses. When you remember it, you look back on a younger version of yourself who you know has great things in store. But you have forgotten what it felt like to not see good things in store for you down the line. So in order to understand what your daughter is going through, you need to put it in terms of your own life where you are now. Maybe her boyfriend dumped her. Imagine your husband came home one day, packed a suitcase, and left you for his secretary. That is how she's feeling now. Empathize with that, as opposed to minimizing her problem as some silly high school trifle.
Which brings us back around to Facebook. I think the mom has the right to ask her friends for help in this situation, because I'll let you in on a little secret: none of us know what we're doing. Parents (the good ones, anyway) always think they're going to fuck up their kids and that is the most terrifying thought in the world. Your friend is wondering if she's a bad mom for letting her daughter cry, or if she's a bad mom for trying to force her daughter to talk. It feels like a no-win situation. She wants to help and doesn't know how. So she asks her friends for advice. I think that's okay. I think the problem is that the friends take sides. They should know better than to bash a kid on Facebook for having a bad day.
So to answer your question, Facebook parents are not narcissistic, nor are they dumb. They're confused and lost and reaching out for help, just like the rest of us. And no, the daughter is not being selfish because she wants to process her horrible day in her own way. The mom is right to be concerned, but at the moment, it probably best for her to let her daughter know that she is there, she loves her no matter what, and then wait for the daughter to come talk to her in her own time. But yeah, the mom's friends are probably making things worse in their attempts to comfort the mom. They should watch that.
Thank you, D.N. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
'My daughter just came home from school and ran to her room, slamming the door. Even though she's got the music turned up pretty loud, I can still hear her heartbreaking sobs of anguish through her door. I try and I try to get her to talk to me, but she just asks me to leave her alone no matter how many times I tell her to confide in me. All I can think is that something horrible happened to her at school today. Doesn't she know that I went to high school too and could probably solve whatever her silly little problem is? Somebody please tell me what to do!'
What followed was an exceptionally long list of comments, all of which empathized with the mother before going off on their own kids' selfish behavior.
No one, especially the mom in this case, stopped to think that, gee maybe something horrible DID happen at school that day. Maybe it was all the young woman could do to simply 'hold it together' until the end of the day where she could (supposedly) seek refuge in the only 'safe' place she has to go to. Maybe the only thing that could be possibly WORSE than whatever happened is to have her mom -- IN A PUBLIC FORUM -- THAT HER 'FRIENDS' FROM SCHOOL CAN EASILY ACCESS -- complain about her level of distress and her supposed selfishness for not wanting to immediately share the 'silly' details of her 'silly' problem.
My question, I guess, is this. Are Facebook parents the most narcisistic generation of parents in the history of the world? Or are we just the dumbest?
D. N."
Hi, D.N.
I don't think this is necessarily a case of Narcissism or stupidity. Let me explain. No, there is too much; let me sum up. Buttercup is marry Humperdink in little less a half an hour. All we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, and make our 'scape. After I kill Count Rugen.
Sorry, got a little distracted there. Back on track.
I think we need to look at this in the proper context. Parents today have to deal with all sorts of things that parents of previous generations didn't have to think about at all. The whole concept of "adolescence" is only about 100 years old - prior to that, you were a kid who became an adult. That's it. And the more we explore adolescence, the more confusing it becomes. Nowadays, you're Satan's Mistress if you spank your child, but not so long ago, children received regular beatings all in the name of "teaching them good manners." Children used to go to school and then come directly home to help out with the chores on the farm (or around the house) instead of sleeping through classes and then coming home to play World of Warcraft for six hours before bed. I'm not saying things like drugs and alcohol and sex weren't as big a deal back then, but the way we handle our children and their problems is different now. The way our children behave in school is different than it used to be, too. How many girls do you see in photographs from the 1880's wearing cut-off t-shirts and mini skirts? Not so many, right? But the way girls dress now invites all kinds of fun new slurs, taunting remarks, and derogatory terms. And we, as parents, need to learn how to help our kids through the torture chamber known as the public education system.
So your friend's kid came home all upset about something and not wanting to talk about it. Okay. Your friend wanted to talk to her kid and try to help and that is a good thing. She should be commended for her impulse. The kid should not be lambasted for her choice to not want to talk to her mom. What if the problem is that the other kids at school were teasing her for some rumor that the mom is a slut? Or what if she was found in the janitor's closet with a varsity football player and neither of them was wearing any pants? These are not the sort of things you want to talk to your mom about. In the case of the first thing, nobody wants to have to ask their mom if she is a slut because neither answer is a good one. If she's not, you look like an ass for asking in the first place and if she is, you get to have nightmares for the rest of your natural born life. And no teenage girl wants to talk to her mom about her super secret sex life for fear her mother will chime in with some story about her super secret sex life when she was a teenager and we're back to having nightmares for the rest of your natural born life again.
I guess it is possible that the issue at school was something that might not be completely mortifying to talk to one's own mother about. Maybe she got a bad grade on a test or tripped on her own shoelace walking down the hall. But what the mom needs to realize is that everyone processes things in their own way. Maybe what the kid needs is to curl up in bed and listen to music for a while until the embarrassment dies down a bit and she can talk about it. The simple fact that the mother considers whatever is causing her daughter's "heartbreaking sobs of anguish" is a "silly little problem," means that there is some sort of disconnect happening here. And maybe the daughter knows her mom will think the problem is silly and wants to be a little more composed before they chat about it so she can show her mom that really, she is fine as opposed to her mom laughing it off with, "I was in high school once, too, you know."
And the other thing about the "I was in high school once, too, you know," defense. Yes, you were. But you have not been in high school for several years. You may remember that "the love of your life" dumped you two weeks before the prom, but since that time, you met your husband who proved to be the real love of your life and you've had kids and you have a mortgage now and have been to seventeen fancy dress fundraisers so the whole prom thing isn't that big of a deal anymore. It's called "healing and moving on." Yes, you lived through it and came out on the other side. No, you don't actually remember what it was like when it happened. You have the luxury of looking at the event through Detachment Glasses. When you remember it, you look back on a younger version of yourself who you know has great things in store. But you have forgotten what it felt like to not see good things in store for you down the line. So in order to understand what your daughter is going through, you need to put it in terms of your own life where you are now. Maybe her boyfriend dumped her. Imagine your husband came home one day, packed a suitcase, and left you for his secretary. That is how she's feeling now. Empathize with that, as opposed to minimizing her problem as some silly high school trifle.
Which brings us back around to Facebook. I think the mom has the right to ask her friends for help in this situation, because I'll let you in on a little secret: none of us know what we're doing. Parents (the good ones, anyway) always think they're going to fuck up their kids and that is the most terrifying thought in the world. Your friend is wondering if she's a bad mom for letting her daughter cry, or if she's a bad mom for trying to force her daughter to talk. It feels like a no-win situation. She wants to help and doesn't know how. So she asks her friends for advice. I think that's okay. I think the problem is that the friends take sides. They should know better than to bash a kid on Facebook for having a bad day.
So to answer your question, Facebook parents are not narcissistic, nor are they dumb. They're confused and lost and reaching out for help, just like the rest of us. And no, the daughter is not being selfish because she wants to process her horrible day in her own way. The mom is right to be concerned, but at the moment, it probably best for her to let her daughter know that she is there, she loves her no matter what, and then wait for the daughter to come talk to her in her own time. But yeah, the mom's friends are probably making things worse in their attempts to comfort the mom. They should watch that.
Thank you, D.N. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Star Signs
This will be a question and answer in many parts. Think of it as a play in three acts, if you'd like. If you don't like, just think of it as someone who blathered out many variations on a theme all in one email answered by someone who is trying her damdest to make sure she doesn't miss anything.
R.J. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
What sign am I?"
I don't know - when were you born?
"What with the discovery of a 'new' 13th sign (which I still don't fully understand; please explain!) throwing all of the previous star signs out of alignment, does this mean if I'm a former fire sign that all my years of tempestuous temper and passionate lovemaking have been a sham? And if I'm a former earth sign does this mean my years of fiscal responsibility have been a lie?"
Okay, this bit is confused, and I don't just mean me.
First of all, the 13th sign isn't new. It was there, right at the beginning with the rest of them until the Babylonians decided to chuck it. They got bored and felt like throwing things away. They could have gone clubbing, but nobody had invented the disco ball yet, so eliminating a zodiac sign sounded like a much more fun way to spend a Friday night. Plus, doing so had the added benefit of making twelve signs to go with twelve months in a year (and avoiding that scary, scary number 13). Though why they couldn't line up the months with the signs has always been a little puzzling to me. If Aries is supposed to be the first sign that starts on the vernal equinox, why not just say, "April starts on the vernal equinox, so anyone born between April 1 and April 30 is an Aries?" That might make this whole thing a little easier to digest. Until you want to throw Ophiuchus back into the mix and you get, "Okay, anyone born in the first two weeks of November is a Scorpio, anyone born in the third week is an Ophiuchus, and anyone born in the last week of November or anytime in December is a Sagittarius." Like there isn't enough crap going on in November and December to begin with. And while we're on that, if the start of the zodiac calendar is the vernal equinox, what's with this whole "New Year's Day is January 1" thing? I honestly think this whole thing could be straightened out if people had just sat down for a moment, had some tea, and thought about things logically. But they were probably burning too much "incense" at the time and the dragon people told them to make it all as confusing as possible.
You know that time and calendars are man-made constructs, right? And that the calendar we use in the West is not the only one that exists? You've heard of Rosh Hashanah and the Chinese New Year, yes? Not everyone keeps time the same way, so keep that in mind, too, as you try to muddle your way through all of this date-based stuff.
But what is kind of striking to me about these questions is that you don't seem to know if you are/used to be a fire sign or an earth sign. There are a million websites out there that will tell you what you are if you know when you were born and you seem the sort who can navigate the interweb even just a little, seeing as you emailed me. This confusion could also seem to indicate that you are a passionate, yet fiscally responsible person, so you could be the sort who generally laughs in the face of all of this astrological mumbo-jumbo anyway, in which case, your current panic is kind of funny.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to chuckle. But chuckling is fun.
"As a former Libra, has my interest in balancing the forces of good and evil merely been an inappropriate hobby? What is happening? I feel as if the cornerstones of my personality are being torn asunder!
R. J."
What is happening here, is that you're taking this WAY too seriously. Especially if you live/were born in the Western hemisphere. See, over here in the West, we tend to rely on Western Astrology, wherein the signs of the zodiac are aligned with the seasons, as opposed to actual sun positions. In which case, nothing has changed. Absolutely nothing. Though I will say, as an aside, it's been bothering me for a few years now that the seasons seem to be off from the calendar by about a month. It doesn't really get cold until January or February, and it doesn't really start to warm up again until about May or June, which would put the seasons off by about a month, too, in which case, you would have to worry. Or, we could just have a "redo" of a particularly bad month so we could just reset things. I'd pick February of 2010. That was not one of my favorites. Anyway.
I think it is also important to note that all of this astrology stuff depends on when you were born. As in, the time and date you were physically expelled from your mother's womb and what was going on in the heavens at that exact moment. Meaning if you are more than a year old, I don't think this whole shift should apply to you. Think of it as a "grandfather clause." At the time you were born, astrology said you were a certain sign, so you shall remain a certain sign. Just like the ethnicity you were born is the ethnicity you will remain your entire life. If Kenya invaded America, I wouldn't suddenly become Kenyan-American on census forms. I would still have to mark myself down as "Caucasian - Non-Hispanic." Because that's what I am. That's how I was born.
Or, if you want to overload your brain to the point where you just don't care anymore, look up your birth date in the Chinese zodiac, the tropical zodiac, the sidereal zodiac, the Indian zodiac, numerology, and make sure to find out your sun signs and your moon signs and your elementals in all of the above. Read about all of your potential personality traits. You'll start to see that there is the potential for just about anything in any one person born at any given time on any given date. You just need to figure out who you are, what is important to you, and what your favorite color is and use those things as the cornerstones of your personality.
Thank you, R.J. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
R.J. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
What sign am I?"
I don't know - when were you born?
"What with the discovery of a 'new' 13th sign (which I still don't fully understand; please explain!) throwing all of the previous star signs out of alignment, does this mean if I'm a former fire sign that all my years of tempestuous temper and passionate lovemaking have been a sham? And if I'm a former earth sign does this mean my years of fiscal responsibility have been a lie?"
Okay, this bit is confused, and I don't just mean me.
First of all, the 13th sign isn't new. It was there, right at the beginning with the rest of them until the Babylonians decided to chuck it. They got bored and felt like throwing things away. They could have gone clubbing, but nobody had invented the disco ball yet, so eliminating a zodiac sign sounded like a much more fun way to spend a Friday night. Plus, doing so had the added benefit of making twelve signs to go with twelve months in a year (and avoiding that scary, scary number 13). Though why they couldn't line up the months with the signs has always been a little puzzling to me. If Aries is supposed to be the first sign that starts on the vernal equinox, why not just say, "April starts on the vernal equinox, so anyone born between April 1 and April 30 is an Aries?" That might make this whole thing a little easier to digest. Until you want to throw Ophiuchus back into the mix and you get, "Okay, anyone born in the first two weeks of November is a Scorpio, anyone born in the third week is an Ophiuchus, and anyone born in the last week of November or anytime in December is a Sagittarius." Like there isn't enough crap going on in November and December to begin with. And while we're on that, if the start of the zodiac calendar is the vernal equinox, what's with this whole "New Year's Day is January 1" thing? I honestly think this whole thing could be straightened out if people had just sat down for a moment, had some tea, and thought about things logically. But they were probably burning too much "incense" at the time and the dragon people told them to make it all as confusing as possible.
You know that time and calendars are man-made constructs, right? And that the calendar we use in the West is not the only one that exists? You've heard of Rosh Hashanah and the Chinese New Year, yes? Not everyone keeps time the same way, so keep that in mind, too, as you try to muddle your way through all of this date-based stuff.
But what is kind of striking to me about these questions is that you don't seem to know if you are/used to be a fire sign or an earth sign. There are a million websites out there that will tell you what you are if you know when you were born and you seem the sort who can navigate the interweb even just a little, seeing as you emailed me. This confusion could also seem to indicate that you are a passionate, yet fiscally responsible person, so you could be the sort who generally laughs in the face of all of this astrological mumbo-jumbo anyway, in which case, your current panic is kind of funny.
I'm sorry. I don't mean to chuckle. But chuckling is fun.
"As a former Libra, has my interest in balancing the forces of good and evil merely been an inappropriate hobby? What is happening? I feel as if the cornerstones of my personality are being torn asunder!
R. J."
What is happening here, is that you're taking this WAY too seriously. Especially if you live/were born in the Western hemisphere. See, over here in the West, we tend to rely on Western Astrology, wherein the signs of the zodiac are aligned with the seasons, as opposed to actual sun positions. In which case, nothing has changed. Absolutely nothing. Though I will say, as an aside, it's been bothering me for a few years now that the seasons seem to be off from the calendar by about a month. It doesn't really get cold until January or February, and it doesn't really start to warm up again until about May or June, which would put the seasons off by about a month, too, in which case, you would have to worry. Or, we could just have a "redo" of a particularly bad month so we could just reset things. I'd pick February of 2010. That was not one of my favorites. Anyway.
I think it is also important to note that all of this astrology stuff depends on when you were born. As in, the time and date you were physically expelled from your mother's womb and what was going on in the heavens at that exact moment. Meaning if you are more than a year old, I don't think this whole shift should apply to you. Think of it as a "grandfather clause." At the time you were born, astrology said you were a certain sign, so you shall remain a certain sign. Just like the ethnicity you were born is the ethnicity you will remain your entire life. If Kenya invaded America, I wouldn't suddenly become Kenyan-American on census forms. I would still have to mark myself down as "Caucasian - Non-Hispanic." Because that's what I am. That's how I was born.
Or, if you want to overload your brain to the point where you just don't care anymore, look up your birth date in the Chinese zodiac, the tropical zodiac, the sidereal zodiac, the Indian zodiac, numerology, and make sure to find out your sun signs and your moon signs and your elementals in all of the above. Read about all of your potential personality traits. You'll start to see that there is the potential for just about anything in any one person born at any given time on any given date. You just need to figure out who you are, what is important to you, and what your favorite color is and use those things as the cornerstones of your personality.
Thank you, R.J. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Monday, January 17, 2011
Universal Truth
A.A. asks, "Why, Miss Kitty? WHY?!?
Thank you, Miss Kitty. Hope all is well. Happy New Year. I look forward to your reply.
A."
Such a polite email for such a passionate question. And the answer is very simple.
Because.
Because the Earth revolves around the Sun. Because gravity keeps us here. Because it feels good. Because he makes me smile. Because I think single spaces after a period make text look smooshed together and sometimes I want to give my readers a bit more of a pause than just one space will allow. Because they scored more points. Because I love you. Because she's your wife. Because he's my best friend. Because if you don't, you'll get fired. Because if you do, you'll get hurt. Because that's where the Boogie Man lives. Because that information is on a "need to know" basis and you don't need to know. Because we borrowed it from the Germans. Because it's more fun to paint things that don't really exist. Because he did too many drugs in his teens. Because she always looks bored and pissy. Because he is over-exposed. Because that's what they think we want. Because that's what we think we want. Because he's funny and charming and smart and damn fine to look at. Because I just want to make people laugh. Because we're not going anywhere else. Because it's time. Because it's easy. Because if someone were to turn this into a monologue, they would need to know each circumstance to give each answer it's proper weight and I would love to see them try. Because it's fun. Because he's a genius. Because the work being produced there is stimulating and exciting. Because it's warmer. Because it's snowing. Because there is honestly no good reason to let the phone ring three times before you answer it when your job is to answer the phone. Because nobody knows. Because everyone is nosy. Because we need to fill our lives with something to distract ourselves from the futility of it all. Because nobody wants to be forgotten.
Why?
Because I said so and I'm your mother, that's why.
Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Thank you, Miss Kitty. Hope all is well. Happy New Year. I look forward to your reply.
A."
Such a polite email for such a passionate question. And the answer is very simple.
Because.
Because the Earth revolves around the Sun. Because gravity keeps us here. Because it feels good. Because he makes me smile. Because I think single spaces after a period make text look smooshed together and sometimes I want to give my readers a bit more of a pause than just one space will allow. Because they scored more points. Because I love you. Because she's your wife. Because he's my best friend. Because if you don't, you'll get fired. Because if you do, you'll get hurt. Because that's where the Boogie Man lives. Because that information is on a "need to know" basis and you don't need to know. Because we borrowed it from the Germans. Because it's more fun to paint things that don't really exist. Because he did too many drugs in his teens. Because she always looks bored and pissy. Because he is over-exposed. Because that's what they think we want. Because that's what we think we want. Because he's funny and charming and smart and damn fine to look at. Because I just want to make people laugh. Because we're not going anywhere else. Because it's time. Because it's easy. Because if someone were to turn this into a monologue, they would need to know each circumstance to give each answer it's proper weight and I would love to see them try. Because it's fun. Because he's a genius. Because the work being produced there is stimulating and exciting. Because it's warmer. Because it's snowing. Because there is honestly no good reason to let the phone ring three times before you answer it when your job is to answer the phone. Because nobody knows. Because everyone is nosy. Because we need to fill our lives with something to distract ourselves from the futility of it all. Because nobody wants to be forgotten.
Why?
Because I said so and I'm your mother, that's why.
Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Friday, January 14, 2011
Too Far?
M.A. asks, "I made a Facebook page for my cat. Have I gone too far?"
My initial reaction to this question was, "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," but then I had to give it a bit more thought. Because while I'm sure you may be actually offending your cat instead of honoring your cat (more on that in a minute), we, of course, have to consider what is "too far."
You're familiar with LOLcats, yes? How could you not be? I currently have this guy hanging on my cubicle wall at work because he just makes me giggle every time I look at him. With his little tongue sticking out. So cute. And I love LOLcats - I really do. But I am almost positive that there are some cats on there into whose mouths words were placed that do not belong there. For example, I created this one with my cat, based on his undying love of my yoga mat. But then two other people recaptioned it, one of them naming my cat "Millie." His name is not "Millie." And while the caption is kind of funny, I know (because we've chatted about it) that those were not the thoughts running through my cat's head at the time. And he was a little offended by the fact that someone thought his tan was fake.
The point I'm trying to make here is that unless your cat gets to update his/her own Facebook page, or has some sort of creative control over the content, you may find that you are actually completely mis-representing your cat to the rest of the cats on Facebook. And the rest of the humans, for that matter. So I'd just be careful what you put up there. If you post, "ate mouse today and LOL'd" as a status update and wake up with scratches all over your face, well, you'll really only have yourself to blame.
But then I read this article on Cracked.com (fantastic site, by the way, if you're into the whole random factoid kind of thing, which I totally am). Go ahead and take the minute or two to read the thing. Or just skip to the number one entry. Yeah. That, I think, would constitute going too far. As Janeane Garofalo said in The Truth About Cats and Dogs, "It's okay to love your pets, just don't love your pets." Or bang and eat them.
So in that context, no, I don't think creating a Facebook page for your cat it going too far. Just be careful what you post there or you might, you know, suddenly have a very unpleasant living situation at home.
Thank you, M.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
My initial reaction to this question was, "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," but then I had to give it a bit more thought. Because while I'm sure you may be actually offending your cat instead of honoring your cat (more on that in a minute), we, of course, have to consider what is "too far."
You're familiar with LOLcats, yes? How could you not be? I currently have this guy hanging on my cubicle wall at work because he just makes me giggle every time I look at him. With his little tongue sticking out. So cute. And I love LOLcats - I really do. But I am almost positive that there are some cats on there into whose mouths words were placed that do not belong there. For example, I created this one with my cat, based on his undying love of my yoga mat. But then two other people recaptioned it, one of them naming my cat "Millie." His name is not "Millie." And while the caption is kind of funny, I know (because we've chatted about it) that those were not the thoughts running through my cat's head at the time. And he was a little offended by the fact that someone thought his tan was fake.
The point I'm trying to make here is that unless your cat gets to update his/her own Facebook page, or has some sort of creative control over the content, you may find that you are actually completely mis-representing your cat to the rest of the cats on Facebook. And the rest of the humans, for that matter. So I'd just be careful what you put up there. If you post, "ate mouse today and LOL'd" as a status update and wake up with scratches all over your face, well, you'll really only have yourself to blame.
But then I read this article on Cracked.com (fantastic site, by the way, if you're into the whole random factoid kind of thing, which I totally am). Go ahead and take the minute or two to read the thing. Or just skip to the number one entry. Yeah. That, I think, would constitute going too far. As Janeane Garofalo said in The Truth About Cats and Dogs, "It's okay to love your pets, just don't love your pets." Or bang and eat them.
So in that context, no, I don't think creating a Facebook page for your cat it going too far. Just be careful what you post there or you might, you know, suddenly have a very unpleasant living situation at home.
Thank you, M.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Stubble
T.E. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
The current crop of male actors and country music stars all seem to be sporting a three or four day stubble. Yet they rock it. They ooze "hipster chic".
On the other hand, if I didn't shave for a few days I would simply appear homeless. Why?"
I have one word for you, T.E. - "stylists."
I don't know if you remember back in the '80s when piranha pants became popular, but it was a similar thing. The guys in Def Leppard were able to afford the $300 shredded jeans where some poor worker in a sweat shop spent hours making sure every rip and every tear was evenly spaced, perfectly shredded. There was (I almost hate to say it) a sort of art form involved in perfectly distressing a pair of jeans so you could look like a rock star who didn't care about your appearance. Of course, those of us who couldn't afford the $300 jeans thought, "Hey, I can do that myself with a pair of scissors!" Except mostly, we just ended up looking dumb. Because we didn't have the eye for symmetrical distressing! And we didn't know when to stop.
Same thing applies to scruff. See, all those scruffy movie stars have someone to tell them when the scruff is too long, when it's not as filled in on one side as the other, and when it is time to get rid of the stuff creeping up towards their eyeballs. And that person is called a stylist. The stylist not only tells the star what shade of brown leather jacket goes best with his fuzz, but she has all kinds of tools for shaping, sculpting, and filling in and problem areas. She will remind the star to shave his neck. She will stay on him about oral hygiene so that his teeth are perfect and blindingly white for maximum glistening through the bristles. In short, it is her job to make sure his stubble is perfectly trimmed and conditioned for maximum sexiness. Literally. That's what she gets paid for.
I'm guessing you, on the other hand, don't have a full-person's-annual-salary-and-health-benefits-worth of disposable income lying around with which to pay a stylist - most of us "normal" people don't. And that is okay. But it means that when you were trying to sculpt your stubble, you may have had the electric razor on "2" for one side of your face and "1" for the other. Or that scar on your chin from when you fell out of a tree when you were nine and had to get six stitches that just doesn't grow hair will shine through like a neon sign saying, "I'm too poor to have my own personal makeup artist fix this for me!" And you know what? That's okay. Because you are real. And real is sexy in its own right.
If you're really worried about it, though, ask around amongst your female friends to see if they dig the stubble look on you. If not, you might want to stick with a regular shaving routine until such time as you can afford a stylist.
Thank you, T.E. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
The current crop of male actors and country music stars all seem to be sporting a three or four day stubble. Yet they rock it. They ooze "hipster chic".
On the other hand, if I didn't shave for a few days I would simply appear homeless. Why?"
I have one word for you, T.E. - "stylists."
I don't know if you remember back in the '80s when piranha pants became popular, but it was a similar thing. The guys in Def Leppard were able to afford the $300 shredded jeans where some poor worker in a sweat shop spent hours making sure every rip and every tear was evenly spaced, perfectly shredded. There was (I almost hate to say it) a sort of art form involved in perfectly distressing a pair of jeans so you could look like a rock star who didn't care about your appearance. Of course, those of us who couldn't afford the $300 jeans thought, "Hey, I can do that myself with a pair of scissors!" Except mostly, we just ended up looking dumb. Because we didn't have the eye for symmetrical distressing! And we didn't know when to stop.
Same thing applies to scruff. See, all those scruffy movie stars have someone to tell them when the scruff is too long, when it's not as filled in on one side as the other, and when it is time to get rid of the stuff creeping up towards their eyeballs. And that person is called a stylist. The stylist not only tells the star what shade of brown leather jacket goes best with his fuzz, but she has all kinds of tools for shaping, sculpting, and filling in and problem areas. She will remind the star to shave his neck. She will stay on him about oral hygiene so that his teeth are perfect and blindingly white for maximum glistening through the bristles. In short, it is her job to make sure his stubble is perfectly trimmed and conditioned for maximum sexiness. Literally. That's what she gets paid for.
![sculpting](http://www.remnantband.com/pictures/facial.hair.jpg"){kind=link}
I'm guessing you, on the other hand, don't have a full-person's-annual-salary-and-health-benefits-worth of disposable income lying around with which to pay a stylist - most of us "normal" people don't. And that is okay. But it means that when you were trying to sculpt your stubble, you may have had the electric razor on "2" for one side of your face and "1" for the other. Or that scar on your chin from when you fell out of a tree when you were nine and had to get six stitches that just doesn't grow hair will shine through like a neon sign saying, "I'm too poor to have my own personal makeup artist fix this for me!" And you know what? That's okay. Because you are real. And real is sexy in its own right.
If you're really worried about it, though, ask around amongst your female friends to see if they dig the stubble look on you. If not, you might want to stick with a regular shaving routine until such time as you can afford a stylist.
Thank you, T.E. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Monday, January 10, 2011
Favor
Hey, guys.
Happy Monday! I hope you've been enjoying the answers so far - I have fun writing them.
But I have a little favor to ask. If you like the site, would either subscribe to it or tell your friends about it? If you'd like to do both, that would also be fantastic.
Yes, I do feel a bit like a schill for asking, but without word of mouth, these things never grow. And I'd like it to grow. The wider the audience, the more questions are asked, the more entertained we will all be. So really, it's in your best interest to tell people you found a fun blog to read.
I'm just looking out for you.
Thanks, guys. I owe you a soda.
Happy Monday! I hope you've been enjoying the answers so far - I have fun writing them.
But I have a little favor to ask. If you like the site, would either subscribe to it or tell your friends about it? If you'd like to do both, that would also be fantastic.
Yes, I do feel a bit like a schill for asking, but without word of mouth, these things never grow. And I'd like it to grow. The wider the audience, the more questions are asked, the more entertained we will all be. So really, it's in your best interest to tell people you found a fun blog to read.
I'm just looking out for you.
Thanks, guys. I owe you a soda.
Laws
H.J. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I recently read that Hugh Heffner announced via Twitter his preparations to marry for a third time. Aren't there laws against this?
H.J."
Which part? Getting married, being Hugh Heffner, or announcing things via Twitter?
Actually, in all three cases, the answer is "no."
Unfortunately, the only thing that could stop Hugh Heffner from getting married would be if he announced his plans to marry the houseboy, instead of the housebunny, and even that would only stop him in certain states. No, while Harry cannot have one husband, Liz is allowed eight. It's sad, but it is good protest sign fodder.
There is also no law against being Hugh Heffner. Unless you are not Hugh Heffner and you run around telling people that you are him. Especially if you take his credit cards and social security card and stuff and buy all sorts of things. Which he could totally afford, but still. That might land you in jail, but will most likely not get him in a whole load of trouble.
And Twitter...well, there should be laws against Twitter but there aren't. Nor are there laws preventing people from announcing things there. There is a sort of unwritten rule of douchebaggery that states "If the party of the first part is unaware of the happenings in the life of the party of the second part, the party of the second part retains all rights and privileges associated with being put out that the party of the first part could not be bothered to read the Twitter account of the party of the second part. The party of the second part will not be held liable for the party of the first part missing out on any super groovy social activities due to the general disinterest of the party of the first part in not reading Twitter because, dude, I only posted it up there, like, ten times between 2 and 3am after we hit the burrito stand. What do you mean you went home and went to sleep? It's not my fault you're a wus. If you want to know what's going on, you have to read my Twitter - I'm not going to tell you otherwise, because then what would be the point of posting it on Twitter?"
Or something like that.
So, as there are no laws to prevent it, I wish Heff and his new wife all sorts of joy as they embark on this lifelong journey together. And no, she is not a gold digger.
Thank you, H.J. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
I recently read that Hugh Heffner announced via Twitter his preparations to marry for a third time. Aren't there laws against this?
H.J."
Which part? Getting married, being Hugh Heffner, or announcing things via Twitter?
Actually, in all three cases, the answer is "no."
Unfortunately, the only thing that could stop Hugh Heffner from getting married would be if he announced his plans to marry the houseboy, instead of the housebunny, and even that would only stop him in certain states. No, while Harry cannot have one husband, Liz is allowed eight. It's sad, but it is good protest sign fodder.
There is also no law against being Hugh Heffner. Unless you are not Hugh Heffner and you run around telling people that you are him. Especially if you take his credit cards and social security card and stuff and buy all sorts of things. Which he could totally afford, but still. That might land you in jail, but will most likely not get him in a whole load of trouble.
And Twitter...well, there should be laws against Twitter but there aren't. Nor are there laws preventing people from announcing things there. There is a sort of unwritten rule of douchebaggery that states "If the party of the first part is unaware of the happenings in the life of the party of the second part, the party of the second part retains all rights and privileges associated with being put out that the party of the first part could not be bothered to read the Twitter account of the party of the second part. The party of the second part will not be held liable for the party of the first part missing out on any super groovy social activities due to the general disinterest of the party of the first part in not reading Twitter because, dude, I only posted it up there, like, ten times between 2 and 3am after we hit the burrito stand. What do you mean you went home and went to sleep? It's not my fault you're a wus. If you want to know what's going on, you have to read my Twitter - I'm not going to tell you otherwise, because then what would be the point of posting it on Twitter?"
![douchebaggery](http://img1.tvloop.com/img/showpics/0d/57/l33c16eec0001_2_23265.jpg"){kind=link}
Or something like that.
So, as there are no laws to prevent it, I wish Heff and his new wife all sorts of joy as they embark on this lifelong journey together. And no, she is not a gold digger.
Thank you, H.J. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Gay Scientologists
S.B. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I am torn. Part of me wants to lend actor John Travolta my heartfelt support in coming out of the closet. This part is, of course, at war with the part of me that wants to mock him out for belonging to the Church of Scientology. Which part should win?
S.B.
Mockery. Mockery always wins.
See, the thing is, I'm not terribly versed in the tenants of Scientology, but from what I can tell, homosexuality is not really, um, celebrated within the Church. So if a gay man chooses to believe in Xenu over allowing himself to be who he is...well, I'm not really in a position to judge anyone, but that sounds kind of unhealthy to me. And/or, if a person feels the need to repress such an integral part of his own personality so that he will be accepted by a bunch of people who are happy to take his money as long as he insists that he likes banging women...again, I'm not one to judge. And/or if a person subscribes to a belief system that does not allow him to be who he is...I think you get my point.
Now, there are, apparently, some gay Scientologists who say L. Ron didn't really mean it when he called homosexuals "sexual perverts," "skulking coward[s]," "far from normal and extremely dangerous to society," and "quite physically ill," or that those terms were taken out of context, or that the Church has eased up on the whole homosexuality debate since L. Ron wrote "Dianetics" in 1950. But really, you have to wonder about homosexuals who find themselves drawn to a way of life that so obviously hates them. Do they hate themselves that much? That makes me sad.
I do understand the desire to support someone's decision to come out, though. I think everyone should be able to come out in the manner of his or her own choosing when the time is right. But you and I are not therapists, counselors, or psychoanalysts. And near as I can tell, neither of us is personally involved with John Travolta, so as much as we might like to say, "Hey, John, we'll still love you if you come out (as long as you never make another movie like Battleship Earth)," I don't know that it is really our place to do that. Perhaps we are best served by mocking him for denying who he is so he can get regular thetan level readings because when one is so far removed from the subject, sometimes the only way one's voice can be heard is through mockery. And through mockery, perhaps we can help him see the contradictions in his life that need straightening out. And then, once he has come out, we can applaud him for his brave choice.
And then continue to mock him for keeping 700 copies of "Dianetics" lying around his house...
Thank you, S.B. for your question. Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
I am torn. Part of me wants to lend actor John Travolta my heartfelt support in coming out of the closet. This part is, of course, at war with the part of me that wants to mock him out for belonging to the Church of Scientology. Which part should win?
S.B.
Mockery. Mockery always wins.
See, the thing is, I'm not terribly versed in the tenants of Scientology, but from what I can tell, homosexuality is not really, um, celebrated within the Church. So if a gay man chooses to believe in Xenu over allowing himself to be who he is...well, I'm not really in a position to judge anyone, but that sounds kind of unhealthy to me. And/or, if a person feels the need to repress such an integral part of his own personality so that he will be accepted by a bunch of people who are happy to take his money as long as he insists that he likes banging women...again, I'm not one to judge. And/or if a person subscribes to a belief system that does not allow him to be who he is...I think you get my point.
Now, there are, apparently, some gay Scientologists who say L. Ron didn't really mean it when he called homosexuals "sexual perverts," "skulking coward[s]," "far from normal and extremely dangerous to society," and "quite physically ill," or that those terms were taken out of context, or that the Church has eased up on the whole homosexuality debate since L. Ron wrote "Dianetics" in 1950. But really, you have to wonder about homosexuals who find themselves drawn to a way of life that so obviously hates them. Do they hate themselves that much? That makes me sad.
I do understand the desire to support someone's decision to come out, though. I think everyone should be able to come out in the manner of his or her own choosing when the time is right. But you and I are not therapists, counselors, or psychoanalysts. And near as I can tell, neither of us is personally involved with John Travolta, so as much as we might like to say, "Hey, John, we'll still love you if you come out (as long as you never make another movie like Battleship Earth)," I don't know that it is really our place to do that. Perhaps we are best served by mocking him for denying who he is so he can get regular thetan level readings because when one is so far removed from the subject, sometimes the only way one's voice can be heard is through mockery. And through mockery, perhaps we can help him see the contradictions in his life that need straightening out. And then, once he has come out, we can applaud him for his brave choice.
And then continue to mock him for keeping 700 copies of "Dianetics" lying around his house...
Thank you, S.B. for your question. Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Netflix and the Wii
Happy New Year!
J.E. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I recently got Netflix for the Wii. I've since lost the desire to leave the house. My husband tells me this is a problem. I disagree since I can stop anytime I want to, I just don't want to right now. How do I get him off of my back?
J. E."
Sorry I was absent for a little while there - I was watching a bunch of stuff from my Netflix queue. Damn, that's a good show.
And really quickly, before I get too in to this answer, I want to say that I hope everyone had a safe and happy new year, and I hope that now, five days into the new year, it hasn't been all blown to hell yet. Like, I dunno, you find out that your celebrity crush is getting married. Not to you. Even though you're sure you'd get along swimmingly, and you don't want to come off as a stalker, but really, couldn't he have at least waited until he'd met you before running off and swearing to love his girlfriend of two and a half years for the rest of his life? People fall in love with total strangers all of the time, right? At least that's what the movies in my Netflix queue tell me.
So anyway. I hope nothing like that has happened to you this year and you are still warm from the New Year Buzz. It's a thing. I swear.
Netflix! We're onto Netflix and the Wii. Such a lethal combination. I came to the discovery over the holiday break that my Wii is being used primarily as a device for watching things through Netflix, and that I really have no idea what is going on in the world because watching things through Netflix, I don't see commercials much anymore (except those irritating Menards ones with the theme song that won't ever leave your brain). So I did what any responsible adult would do - I went out and bought some video games.
But as with any addiction, the easiest way to get someone off of your back about the addiction is to turn said person into an addict as well. Does your husband know that you can watch "Battlestar Galactica" streaming on Netflix? Or all of "Lost?" I think they even have some pro-wrestling tapes on there ("tapes" because the last time anyone recorded professional wrestling for distribution was in the Hulk Hogan era). Is he aware how many bonus points he will get for snuggling up and watching some stupid romantic comedy with you, streaming on Netflix, and he won't even have to pay for movie tickets or snacks? It's the ultimate cheap date night. He doesn't even have to spring for cab fare to get you home and into bed - just get you upstairs, or (if you don't have kids or roommates) out of your pants. Couches can be very romantic places, after all.
So my recommendation to you is that you try to bring him into your world. Start by watching something you know he would like (even if it's not your favorite) streaming on Netflix so as he is walking past the room, he is enticed to stop and have a taste. When that movie or episode ends, you can introduce him to the wonders of online video watching using Netflix and the Wii.
Your marriage will never be the same.
Thank you, J.E. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
J.E. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,
I recently got Netflix for the Wii. I've since lost the desire to leave the house. My husband tells me this is a problem. I disagree since I can stop anytime I want to, I just don't want to right now. How do I get him off of my back?
J. E."
Sorry I was absent for a little while there - I was watching a bunch of stuff from my Netflix queue. Damn, that's a good show.
And really quickly, before I get too in to this answer, I want to say that I hope everyone had a safe and happy new year, and I hope that now, five days into the new year, it hasn't been all blown to hell yet. Like, I dunno, you find out that your celebrity crush is getting married. Not to you. Even though you're sure you'd get along swimmingly, and you don't want to come off as a stalker, but really, couldn't he have at least waited until he'd met you before running off and swearing to love his girlfriend of two and a half years for the rest of his life? People fall in love with total strangers all of the time, right? At least that's what the movies in my Netflix queue tell me.
So anyway. I hope nothing like that has happened to you this year and you are still warm from the New Year Buzz. It's a thing. I swear.
Netflix! We're onto Netflix and the Wii. Such a lethal combination. I came to the discovery over the holiday break that my Wii is being used primarily as a device for watching things through Netflix, and that I really have no idea what is going on in the world because watching things through Netflix, I don't see commercials much anymore (except those irritating Menards ones with the theme song that won't ever leave your brain). So I did what any responsible adult would do - I went out and bought some video games.
But as with any addiction, the easiest way to get someone off of your back about the addiction is to turn said person into an addict as well. Does your husband know that you can watch "Battlestar Galactica" streaming on Netflix? Or all of "Lost?" I think they even have some pro-wrestling tapes on there ("tapes" because the last time anyone recorded professional wrestling for distribution was in the Hulk Hogan era). Is he aware how many bonus points he will get for snuggling up and watching some stupid romantic comedy with you, streaming on Netflix, and he won't even have to pay for movie tickets or snacks? It's the ultimate cheap date night. He doesn't even have to spring for cab fare to get you home and into bed - just get you upstairs, or (if you don't have kids or roommates) out of your pants. Couches can be very romantic places, after all.
So my recommendation to you is that you try to bring him into your world. Start by watching something you know he would like (even if it's not your favorite) streaming on Netflix so as he is walking past the room, he is enticed to stop and have a taste. When that movie or episode ends, you can introduce him to the wonders of online video watching using Netflix and the Wii.
Your marriage will never be the same.
Thank you, J.E. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com
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