Apocalypse Meow....

Well. I've gone and done it--again.

Made a big old mess of things.

And I blame my Uncle. He's the one who found this cat. This cat who just had to have a good home. With another cat. He's sweet, charming, handsome, seven years old, calm demeanor, the second most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen (Jeter's will always be first)--a really great cat. On paper, it seemed perfect.

So I went to the Humane Society and picked up my new cat--Bernie Williams.

(Yes--the Yankee naming tradition continues in my house. Proudly so. If you don't like Bernie Williams--seriously--something is wrong with you. He's probably the smiliest guy to ever play for New York.)

Bernie the cat didn't even make a peep in the car on the way home except to help pick out his new name (they called him Herman at the shelter. Blech--how awful is that?).

He didn't pee, either--which already makes him a winner in my book.

So I get him home.

And that's when all hell breaks loose, even though I did everything those stupid articles, books, pamphlets--you name it--tell you to do.

Separate them? Check.

Mix scents? Check.

Scrub down and fill litter box with clean, fresh litter? Check, check, and check.

I thought I did everything right. But alas--I was SO very wrong.

And not so surprising? Bernie is not the problem in the equation. The problem is....Yogi.

Sweet, not so little, super dense Yogi Berra. That's what I thought, anyway. Now...not so much. Big fat whiny baby is more like it. Yogi is now terrified of his own shadow, blankets, and especially Bernie. So much so that whenever he even smells Bernie--he freaks the frak out. Completely. There is almost manic yowling going on all hours of the day and night. Poor Bernie is living under my bed, sneaking out to use the litter box or to crawl on my lap. I'm even feeding him under there because Yogi is such a damn turd about the whole thing.

Well, I obviously had to go to work today. On less than three hours of sleep--which is awesome. Night time in my house is now more dangerous than any jungle in Vietnam...trust me on this one. I just start to nod off to sleep and it sounds like a village of small children is being massacred under my bed. Not pleasant to say the least.  They lay in wait for each other....(I fear neither one of them is very much on the bright side) and it does not go well. There is a lot of smack being talked--but little action. Kind of like the Kitty version of the UN.

I just hope this little "adjustment" period is over sooner than later.

I seriously need some sleep.

Eye cream can only do so much!

Standoff with the Man...

Ugh. It's been a long week. And next week will be even longer.

I'm being punished.

What for? (There's a lot that could go here...trust me on this one. A whole lotta shame.....)

But no. It's not even for anything bad. It's for showing up to my part time job, that's what. "We can count on you!". Great. Just great.

So for the week of Inventory, at "work work", I will put in another 25 + hours in Retail Hell.

And if you have ever worked retail--you know just what a flaming hell Inventory can be. Joy of joys. Happiest of days.

I am so very much in need of a vacation just thinking about it. The good news is the new eye cream I  purchased has made a vast improvement to those suitcase sized bags under my eyes. I can go out without make up! And people will stop asking me who's been punching me in the face because the dark circles are pretty much gone, too. Money very well spent if you ask me.

(And FYI--to be a victim of domestic violence..you have to be domestic with someone, sometime.)

But, back to my title. I had an old fashioned standoff with my bank this morning. Strategery was used. And I WON.

I checked my bank account this morning, cruised through the last few days information--and BAM. There it was. $43.00 in fees.

FEES.

For not having $1000.00 a DAY in the account? $10.00.
For using my bank card? $33.00 ($0.50 for every time I used it because I didn't have $1000.00 in the account every day).

It would seem, the account I had with them prior to January of 2011 no longer exists. So they picked the "best" account for me.

You know--the one that charges the most possible fees. To me. To my person.

Look, I will kick someone in the knee over $5.00. Or less. It's not something to be proud of, but when you count pennies the way I do, forty three bucks is nothing to sneeze at. That's grocery money, yo.

And I've gots to eat.

Well...maybe not. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but that's got nothing to do with people taking my money.

So, long story short, not only did I get my money back and my account switched--I also got an apology. From a vice president. For them being a bunch of a-holes who looked for the best possible way to get more out of me.

 Hell hath no fury like a short woman separated from her cash money.

Let that be a lesson to you out there.

I've got a vicious right kick--you've been warned.

Happy times? Sure--why not?

So, this past weekend was my birthday.

I should have had two massive morning hangovers--but the drinking gods were good to me. Also, I remembered the golden rule: hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE!

So instead--I got a speeding ticket.

In hindsight, I think I would rather have had the hangovers.

They're cheaper, you know it?

Leave it to some piggy in Whitestown to catch me with my foot on floor. Sigh. Lesson learned--do NOT drive the back way to get to Zionsville anymore.

But..I had a blast this weekend. Schnitzel, martinis, margaritas, tequila shots, limes, cake, yummy breakfast on Sunday AND a home cooked meal from the Momster? Ah...life is good.

So, I feel I need to take my good spirits with me as I move onward and upward.

I've got retinol, good booze, great friends...what more could a girl in her early 30's ask for?

Beats the hell outta me!