Aw, shucks.

Kristen does life stuff, sometimes writes about it.

Category Archives for: Cats

One time, I almost died.

10 May 2013 by ludakristen

About two weeks ago, I was heading home from work on the highway during rush hour. I was just south of the Central Interchange, known locally (or just by me, maybe) as the human race’s worst engineering failure since the beginning of time. So there I was, driving along and singing my little heart out, when out of the corner of my right eye I saw something large, black and winged scuttle underneath the passenger seat of my car.

Let me repeat that: I saw something large, black, and winged scuttle underneath the passenger seat of my car. 

My heart sped up; I noticed my hands on the steering wheel were trembling. I imagined there was a mole or a rat or something in my car, except it had wings, so it probably wasn’t a mole or a rat. Oh god, what if it was a BAT? Like a fucking vampire bat? And what if it starts freaking out because it’s trapped in my car and zipping around in circles with no way to escape and it gets caught in my eyelashes or my hair or my mouth OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD I’M HYPERVENTILATING I CANNOT BREATHE OHMYGOD.

I'm gonna eat your brains!

I’m gonna eat your brains!

I finally reached an exit. I imagine it was only a few minutes, but it felt like eternity. It was in an, um, less fancy part of town, but that wasn’t really at the top of my priority list at that point in time. I flew down the ramp, my heart attempting to pound a giant hole through my chest plate, pulled over at the first available location and tumble-rolled from the car in true Chuck Norris fashion.

As far as I could tell, the murderous winged creature had not yet reemerged from its lair near the floorboards of my trusty ol’ Camry.

I opened all the doors. I rolled down all the windows. Nothing. No sign of it. Ten uneventful minutes passed. Eventually my heartbeat returned to that of a normal, healthy person not being attacked by a grizzly gargantuan beast in the privacy of her own vehicle. I decided to try some bravery on for size and picked up a snow scraper. I used it to, very slowly, move the passenger seat back as far as it would go. Still no sign of the ghastly monster. I did what I think any adult would do in this situation.

I called Sean to save me.

“Honey, you’re going to make fun of me for the rest of our lives, but I really need your help.”

He was there within 10 minutes, wearing thick gardening gloves and holding a flashlight. He dove right in, digging through my car like, I dunno, somebody who wasn’t scared for his life. It was impressive.

A few more minutes passed before Sean announced, “Oh, here it is!” My heart started pounding again. I was about to face my would-be attacker. What if it was angry at me? What if it told all of its creepy little friends about me and they crawled into my windows at night and smothered me in my sleep? What if it killed Sean? Would I ever forgive myself (probably eventually)? What would happen to our cats, growing up without a father?

I walked toward my car slowly. Sean was shining a flashlight up under my dashboard. I crouched to look, my palms sweaty with anticipation.

It was a bumblebee.

“It’s just a bumblebee,” Sean said.


“Yeah, I see that. Still dangerous though. What if it had stung me in my eyeballs while driving? I could’ve died in a fiery crash. On the goddamn Central Interchange.”

“Yeah, sure, that totally could’ve happened,” Sean muttered. He prodded the bumblebee out onto the gravel and crunched it under his foot. Dead bumblebee = safe Kristen.

“See you at home?” he said, getting back into his car.

“Sure. I’ll pick up Taco Bell,” I replied.

And then we went home and stuffed ourselves with Doritos/taco hybrids and I never thought about the bumblebee again.

The end.


5 comments | Categories: A Perfect World, Barack Obama, Cats, Fracas and brouhaha!, Irregardless!, Syphilis


10 April 2013 by ludakristen

One of my coworkers keeps calling me a quitter. I pass by him in our little cube farm and he says, “Oh hey, quitter.” And then he laughs.

And I laugh too, because guess what? He’s right! I am a motherfucking quitter! I turned in my two weeks notice and I’m moving on up. I have a new job in a new place with new people and a new title with new responsibilities. I’ll drive on completely new streets to get there and home every day. New new new!

I’m feeling all of the usual new job feelings, I think. Excitement, worry, stress, anxiety, bittersweetness (Google Chrome is insisting “bittersweetness” is not a word but I am leaving it there because IT SHOULD TOTALLY BE A WORD), and maybe a little despondent because (spoiler) I’m not really good with change and tend to be a creature of habit. I’ve eaten a Wendy’s cheddar broccoli baked potato at lunchtime nearly every day for a month, for example. And I will continue doing so, because those cheesy potatoes are fucking delicious (but sometimes they mess up the broccoli:cheddar ratio and man, that is just the worst. The ratio should be 1:50 minimum. Are you taking notes, Dave Thomas?).

I’m going to miss my coworkers. I work with some cool people, even the aforementioned dude who keeps calling me a quitter. Even him! Because I have a big heart and I’m a proponent of forgiveness in the workplace.

Cheers to new beginnings!

Oh, and here’s a picture of my cat:



4 comments | Categories: A Perfect World, Cats, Holla

My friend needs help.

20 February 2013 by ludakristen

Does taking care of oneself require skill?

I’m asking for a friend, because she’s caught in this perpetual cycle of self-hatred and self-acceptance. Sometimes she wakes up and she looks in the mirror and she smiles at herself and thinks not bad kiddo and then an hour later, after she’s scarfed down two plates of waffles covered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce, she feels like life is no longer worth living.

She sits a lot. She’s sitting all day long, actually – in the car, at her desk, in the car again, on her couch, Indian-style on the floor while she dangles things in front of her cats. This is her life. A series of seats.

She smokes, too. She was in Canada two weekends ago and she bought a pack of cigarettes. Have you ever bought cigarettes in Canada? It’s terrifying shit. There was this giant picture of a grisly-looking eyeball on the cigarette pack with a scary-looking font yelling RISK OF BLINDNESS! at her. Undeterred (but maybe pissing herself a little bit, I can’t remember) she ripped open that pack of cigarettes and found the most horrible picture of a skinny bald person and the scary font yelling at her again: THIS IS WHAT DYING OF LUNG CANCER LOOKS LIKE.

So she lit up a cigarette to calm her nerves.

I don’t know if there’s any one skill she needs to work on that will fix her up and make her give a shit. I imagine some combination of work ethic and dedication would help, but those aren’t really skills so much as they are characteristics or personality traits – traits that she is sorely lacking.

Maybe I’ll tell her to wait it out, keep on keepin’ on or whatever, and hope that one day some revolutionary new medical procedures will be developed and a hot young state-of-the-art doctor will hook her up with a new pair of lungs and a new knee and, if there’s some sort of buy-two-get-one-free deal, a set of washboard abs?

Never say never.


5 comments | Categories: Bangin', Cats, Irregardless!

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