thehefner: (Curse you Richards Kitty!)
A few weeks back, Henchgirl and I went to Zelienople to visit [ profile] captaintwinings, thereby reuniting the entire team from the Durian Smoothie fiasco. Henchgirl also wanted to spend some quality time with her estranged kitty, a corpulent and none-too-bright tabby named Harvey (Bullock, not Dent). Unfortunately, Harvey stank of kitty litter, which was bad for preggers Henchgirl. So, naturally, there was only one thing to be done.

If you're short of time/patience/JOY, then cue the video to 4:45.

And if you crave precious, precious closure, here's a quick epilogue to the fiasco:

thehefner: (Curse you Richards Kitty!)
Over at her LJ, Henchgirl chronicles the many things my cat has sat upon. Most meta photo?

In fairness, his name is right there in the title, so he can be forgiven for thinking it belongs to him. Along with everything else we own. Including us.
thehefner: (Watchmen: Ozy's I DID IT twitter)
Henchgirl wrote an epic summary of the stress, horrors, fears, and triumphs of our adventures in sleep deprivation and the creative process in the week before IndyFringe, and yeah, that about sums it up.

IndyFringe is everything I want a Fringe Festival to be, and I'm so glad to be back. Almost as glad as I am to discover the show doesn't actually suck balls as we feared, but is actually--if audiences are to be believed--kinda pretty darn great. It's a frickin' Christmas miracle, that's what it is.

One of the only downsides is the fact that our last three performance times kinda suck: evening shows on Tuesday and Wednesday, and a 1:30am on Saturday, with no show either in the prime evening slot, or on the final day when word of mouth has fully spread. We're kinda boned in that regard.

But I sure as hell would rather have a great show with poor time slots than a crappy show that got packed houses, because seriously, I was actually having the Actor's Nightmare as of last Wednesday and Thursday. I was ready to be performing my shambling excuse for a show to packed houses, thereby ruining my rep in Indy and earning pity and disregard from my fellow performers, and then my cat killing himself in shame.

Speaking of cats, people following my Facebook know about the starving stray kitty we'd been seeing in the parking lot of the Knights Inn. When she didn't show up yesterday, I thought for sure something had happened to her. I was beside myself. I'm such a fucking sucker for a kitty, I really am. I'm still waiting to hear back from one of the other no-kill shelters, hoping they'll have room to take her.

Otherwise, we either get her checked out by a vet ourselves, or risk any manner of diseases/parasites (along with a very skittish and waste-leaking animal) and drive her back along the 12-hour trip home to DC, where my mother is a pet foster host for Pet Connect Rescue, and try to get her adopted. Even though Henchgirl kinda wants her.

...We've named her Miss Kitka. Because we are dorks. Points for the five of you who get the reference.
thehefner: (Propoganda: Drive with HITLER)
Making the most of the last day, before receiving some bad news from the homefront )
thehefner: (Aguirre: ORLY?)
That chunky goddamned fluffball is alive and well and smug as ever.

Seriously, intellectually, I agreed with all of you who said he'd be all right, but this was seriously OOC for him. I thought he was dead. Mom thought so too. But no, it's exactly as I was trying to tell myself. He's really fucking dedicating to being a cat.

Right now, I totally sympathize with poor Marc Anthony here at 3:24:

Frelling cat has me wrapped around his frelling paw.

damn kitty

Nov. 14th, 2009 07:12 pm
thehefner: (Curse you Richards Kitty!)
... my cat is doing this to me purposely.

Georgio knows that he bugs the hell out of me, staring at me and meowing incessantly every second I'm not paying attention to him. He knows I hide up in my room while he's outside, so that I can actually get writing done without him distracting me, demanding attention, food, and being let inside, only to demand I let him back outside a few minutes later.

He knows this. That's why I haven't seen for the past 24 hours. He's punishing me for daring to hide upstairs rather than constantly foisting attention upon his wonderful cat-self at every second. He also knows that I would have seen the new family of raccoons coming by to steal his food as they often do. They live in peace; Georgio's always been smart enough to stay out of their way, and vice-versa. But these are newer, younger ones than before, thus leading me to visions of the cat being carried off by raccoons.*

He knows I'm getting NO work done because I'm still down here worried about him. Because I'm a total worrywart. He knows this. He's so dedicated to punishing me that he hasn't even touched his food in a day.

... damn it, I hope the little jerk's okay.

*Fun fact: my grandmother still believes that the reason her beloved cancer-ridden dog disappeared one day was because a neighbor kid kidnapped it, got together with his friends, and sacrificed the dog to Satan. Because the kid wore black, y'see.
thehefner: (Iron Man: Life is Empty w/o GIN)
So apparently at one point I guided a small search party down to the basement to show them my Dad In A Box and the dead cat in the freezer topped with hamburger buns.


If that makes no sense, I'd say, "You had to be there." But that's the thing: I don't really remember being there either. Thank god for the memories of slightly less-drunk Henchgirls.

Y'know, I honestly thought the biggest fiasco with the grog would be that the home-made falernum would taste awful, or that I would screw up the proportions of light rum, gold rum, and dark rum, or hell, just use too much triple sec. Heck, I thought the fact that the falernum wouldn't be ready until midnight meant that it would be too late for anyone to want grog, if anyone would be left at the party.

No, no, the falernum was amazing, holy shit. Wow. And the resulting grog was goddamned perfect, better than even the grog at Piratz Tavern. The fiasco, rather, came from the fact that I was actually damn fool enough to *drink* the stuff.

When you are drinking a full mug of three different kinds of rum, triple sec, and a spiced syrup derived from overproof rum--the kind that has a label on front that reads "Warning: Flammable"--know this: it's a sometimes food. The sort of thing you want to drink only when you're not drinking anything else.

I've never gotten so drunk that I've actually lost time before. At least, as far as I know (which is suddenly far less comforting a thought as before). Henchgirl is recounting a couple things that I have absolutely zero recollection doing. That shit's kind of scary, especially for me, for whom the validation of memory is a very tender personal issue. So yeah, never doing that again. In fact, my liver and brain cells would probably appreciate me laying off the booze for a bit, even though I totally just scored some new bitters I'm dying to try out.

I don't know *where* I will be able to use rhubarb bitters, but god damn if I ain't interested in finding out!... ooh, maybe a strawberry daiquiri?

The party--what I remember of it, anyway, which I dare say is 98%--was magnificent. I'd particularly like to give a special shout-out to [ profile] frumple and K. bringing a home-made apple pie, with half of it sprinkled with cinnamon, Two-Face style! They know me so well.

Hopefully everyone had a great time, and to all those who missed it, well, you stink but I still love you. Maybe I'll see you at my next party, where I use you all as guinea pigs for my various experiments with bitters in drink and food alike! Because lord knows I'm not gonna be fool enough to subject my body to that kind of abuse again. Tony Stark I am clearly not.

Hmm... I wonder what the rhubarb bitters would taste like *in* the grog...? NO! BAD HEFFIE! NO DRINKIE!
thehefner: (Green Lantern: Bling Bling!)
Over at [ profile] noscans_daily, mod [ profile] stubbleupdate proposed a "drinking" game to play as we read along with the upcoming DC-Universe-spanning GREEN LANTERN epic, THE BLACKEST NIGHT.

Little did he realize the true epic that was about to unfold... )


This will be the best crossover ever. Assuming I can still reach the pages by the end of it.

*By the way, [ profile] benchilada, I'm somewhat tempted to get these and have a game of jelly bean chicken with you when I come visit in August. Of course, knowing you, you've probably shotgunned an entire pack of the Bertie Botts beans.
thehefner: (Bill the Butcher: Reflective)
So according to Warren Ellis, today is apparently Blue Monday, "the statistically grimmest and most hopeless day of the year." Huh. I mean, today sucks, don't get me wrong. It's colder than anywhere I was on the road, two of my mother's friends fathers have died, and I spent my entire day preparing for the afternoon appointment to put my favorite cat to sleep.

Grim? Sure. But hopeless? ... hell, I've had closer moments this month alone, and even then, I don't know the meaning of the word.

I don't care for Vonnegut's "So it goes." I far prefer Stephen King and Peter Straub borrowing from Julian of Norwich in THE TALISMAN: "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well."

I love you, Selina. Thanks for waiting up for me.
thehefner: (Bill the Butcher: Reflective)

The arrival is bittersweet, timed with something deeply upsetting waiting for me at home. I'll just say it's pet-related and leave it at that for now. So I'm gonna be a bit of a wreck for the next couple days, but like I say, it's bittersweet because it's really, really good to be home. I can't wait to meet up with everyone, particularly the Rudes at THE SPANISH TRAGEDY. Hope y'all don't mind if I commandeer the cast party for my own homecoming purposes. Really, seeing folks is exactly what I need right now.

And, of course, there will be stories. Oh yes, there will be stories.

More later. Now, I need absinthe. It's a moral imperative.
thehefner: (Curse you Richards Kitty!)
Leaving Tucumcari... )
thehefner: (Blame Sinestro!)

In this week's GREEN LANTERN comics, we were introduced to the Red Lantern Corps, an intergalactic force akin to the rage infected zombies of 28 DAYS LATER, but given incredibly powerful power rings. And this power manifests, infected-style, by vomiting up blood. I feel like the only one making the 28 DAYS LATER connection, but it seems obvious to me.

I'm going somewhere with this, bear with me.

It's all building up to an epic war between the various Corps along the color spectrum. For those who don't read GL, all this must sound like the stupidest goddamn thing ever. Or at least, with a "Rainbow War," the *gayest* goddamn thing ever. And yet somehow, in practice, it is utterly goddamn jaw-droppingly awesome, space opera on a grander scale than any I've seen before. You'll just have to take my word for it.

You see, the Green Lanterns' power derived from willpower. The Sinestro Corps--the evil Corps, formed by the renegade GL Sinestro, natch--their yellow energy is derived from fear. The Sapphire Lanterns' violet powers are love (albeit the Zamaron's own brand of love), the Orange Lanterns are avarice, the Indigo Lanterns are compassion, the Blue Lanterns are hope, and the Black Lanterns are, of course, death. Death in the form of space zombies with power rings.

(No, it's awesome. Really, I swear to god.)

But the Red Lanterns... the Red Lanterns are rage and hatred. And this past Wednesday, on New Comics Day, the Red Lanterns finally struck with their newest member.

His name is supposedly "Dexstar." We* call him "Ruffles." And we love Ruffles the Red Lantern.

And as someone observed, it makes perfect sense. After all, few creatures in existence can hate quite like cats can hate.

See? Told you it was awesome.

*Actually, he was dubbed "Ruffles" by a guy on scans_daily who I have held a bit of a grudge against ever since he preferred being dismissive and slinging mud at me rather than actually take up on my offers to have a real discussion. Don't you just hate it when people like that come around and say something great?
thehefner: (Harvey Dent: Community Organizer)
funny pictures
moar funny pictures

In case you're wondering, no, I am not proud of myself. This is what I do between editing the novel and writing a couple new bits.
thehefner: (Iron Man: Life is Empty w/o GIN)
As I understand it, sometime last year, a paparazzo snuck onto the set of IRON MAN and took some shots of the titular hero in armor, leaking the grainy pictures to the internet before director Jon Faverau and company had a chance to officially release the awesome promo shots that would eventually make us piss our pants regardless.

Faverau, however, is not without a sense of humor, as we all know. And at the end of IRON MAN, when Tony was reading the newspaper with the headline WHO IS IRON MAN?, one can slightly make out that the newspaper's (grainy) photograph looks rather familiar. To those in the know. It was well-played indeed, and all in good spirits.

Well, it turns out the paparazzo was none too pleased, and is suing Paramount for their use of his pictures.

I shouldn't be surprised that a paparazzo should have such unmitigated nerve. But wow.

Here, to wash the taste of that out of your mouth, I give you Ninja Cat:

Remember the weeping angels from DOCTOR WHO? It's like that. In cat form.
thehefner: (Curse you Richards Kitty!)
Every day, for the past few days, I've found at least two-three ticks on my cat. So goddamned gross, creepy, and unsettling. We haven't had ticks for eight years, not like this, anyway.

The only reason I can imagine for this sudden infestation is that our neighbors' backyard has become hugely overgrown and wild in the year since they moved out to begin major renovations. That untamed yard of high grasses has become my cat's favorite skulking ground, and it's right next to the dog yard, too.

Tweezers are really hit-and-miss, and if the head gets torn off, it's impossible to get the fucking thing out. I hear tell they make tick-tweezers, but where the hell can I get them? Dunno if there's a PetsMart anywhere in the area. Hrmm.

Any good over-the-counter tick medications? Or should we just bite the bullet and take him to the vet? Getting him in the box is an ordeal in of itself. Trust me, you do not know the sound of anguished misery until you hear a caged cat riding in a car.

Every day, there are more. None found on my person yet, thankfully, and may it stay that way. This is entirely too gross.

September 2012

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