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Captain’s Log? Try Capn’s Blog.

Ahoy me foine buckos! In honor o’ this glorious day, that is, International Talk LIke a Pirate Day, I’m presentin to ye me new and updated Poop Deck…er, piratin’ bathroom. This room has a bit more count-arrrr space than me last apartment, so ye can see that I’ve made a few changes to make ‘er the most glorious Poop De–Piratin’ Bathroom tha thar evarrr was. T’only thing missin from this room ’twas in t’ otharrr room b t’ showarrr curtain as this one be havin’ doors. I be thinkin’ about cutting some window stickarrrs to t’ shape o’ t’ Jolly Rogarr and sticking them on t’ doors, but I needs to be making sure they’ll come off, lest t’ apartment managarrr make poor Cap’n Mellzah Rackham walk t’plank. bathroom Still in t’room but not appearin in these pictures be t’ matchin’ pirate garbage can and bath mat, along wi t’ mandatory Jack Sparrow Teen Girl Squad droolworthy poster.

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New to t’room on t’port side be a treasure chest, complete wi’ a Lush Black Pearl and a Sex Bomb, sent to me by me matey Beth, t’ pirate mardi gras beads I plundered in Las Vegas, and a night light purchased from Ikea for the sum of one dollarrrr that didn’t start out as a skull, but ended up as one with some creative razorblading and paint application. Look how it lights t’room red like Blackbeard’s dynamite at night!

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Also makin’ its first appearance be t ‘Here thar be robots’ treasure map and a magic picture that be changing dependin on which way ye look at it, yet ye can see both its faces when ye look in t’ mirror.

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On t’ doorknob hangs a unique piratin’ artifact tive t’ me by Harrrrrgrove t’ Art Parrot o’ Tangrala, and as well as bein mighty attractive, it gives fair warnin to those who might be inclined to leave t’ seat up that they’ll be losin a hand in t’ bargain.

On the starrrboard side o t’ sink, makin its debut be t’ piratin rubber duck that Savage Scotty Seadog plundered from the depths of some retail environment and me new matey, Jaws t’fish. Don’t be fooled by his size, for truly fearsome he be. He bit a man in two fer lookin’ at him funny. That ship, lyin at t’ bottom of his bowl? He sunk it, so he did. T’ crew nevar knew what hit em, and evar since I made it me goal to capture him and forcibly make him part of me crew. T’battle raged for weeks, through waters fair and foul, but eventually he submitted to me might. Now me ship can sail unchallenged as her legend spreads far and wide–none dare to ride on the same tides as one under t’ protection of Jaws.

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Tonight me piratin’ crew meets at t’ Jolly Roger in Ballarrrrd. Be there, or ye be a filthy stinkin bilge ninja whose mother I plundered last week.

Note t’ Johnny Depp: This be the third talk like a pirate day that I’ve asked ye o come shiver me timbers, lad. What’s holding ye back? Is it t’ robot costume? For I assure ye, it can be taken off. When yer movie came out this summer and all me mates were spouting horrible things about t’ quality of t’ movie AND yer actin abilities in one fell swoop, Mellzah defended ye. No one loves ye like Mellzah does! Come drink grog w’ Mellzah this piratin’ day and she’ll be making ye feel better.

And then Mellzah’ll ball ye until yer liver explodes.

You’re a superstar at the gay bar

I did standup tonight, and it went fairly well; I really need to start writing things down more often so I can get into a groove more easily, though that’s neither here nor there in terms of the point of this post.

After the show, a couple of guys came up to me and were blatantly hitting on me. Not in that creepy, I want to lick whipped cream out of your pussy way, but obvious nonetheless. I really don’t get it, I was wearing ratty jeans and a t-shirt (no time to change before the show, I spent a lot of time slacking off after work and then realized I needed to install my new headlight, so I had time to wash the car grease off of my hands and that was IT), not a stitch of makeup, and here I have not just one, but TWO guys vying for my attention.

Is there some sort of chemical that girls give off just after they’ve been on a date that makes them instantly more attractive to other guys? Something that men biologically cannot ignore? Like “I don’t know what it is, but all of a sudden this girl is HOT!!!!”?

Part of it could also be that I skipped on the self deprecating jokes this evening, instead opting for, “Oooh, big crowd tonight. That makes me all HOT. Don’t act like you don’t want some of this! *EVERYONE* wants a piece of me. Like, for instance, Pavel called me the other night and said he just couldn’t stop thinking about me–the department of Immigration has been calling him, and he’s hoping to push up our marriage. Now that’s love, if I’ve ever seen it.”

For those of you who have never been to comedy night, Pavel is (and this is his own description) from ‘one of those little monkey countries over in Europe that’s trying to build a democracy, only it’s been sort of slow going, because they don’t have any oil and therefore have to do it all by themselves.’ He and I have a long standing joke about getting married as he could then get a green card, and I could ‘use his excellent health benefits’.

So yeah. Two guys hitting on me tonight…in front of my fiance. HOT.

Cat-ass-trophe

My downstairs neighbor has a considerable number of cats, which they let roam all over the apartment complex via a hole cut in their blinds and a removed screen on their window. A lot of of times, I’ll come home and there will be a cat sitting on my stairs. I often sit and play with them for a few minutes, as in this way I can get all of the fun parts of cat interaction and none of the downsides like litter boxes and baths and destroyed furniture. I’ve determined that they must wait on my stairs in shifts, as when I came home from comedy on Wednesday, one I’d never seen before was sitting there. I played with it for a few minutes and then went upstairs. As soon as I opened the door, the cat shot past me and RIGHT INTO MY APARTMENT.

…I quickly learned that opening the door and prancing back outside like one is the Pied Piper of Cats will not entice a cat to follow you out of your home. Shit. Shit. I don’t want to try and pick it up, how else can I get it to leave? Tuna! I have a can of tuna in my pantry; I’ll open it up and the cat will not be able to resist following me out the door. Now where is my can opener? Still packed in a box somewhere. Dammit! Ok, here’s a can of chicken salad with a ring tab. Maybe THAT smell will be enough to convince the cat to leave. My next lesson was that standing in the doorway, propping the door open with one hand and leaning out of the apartment as far as humanly possible while holding a can of chicken salad in the other hand will cause a cat to poke his head out the door to sniff and quickly retreat into the apartment.

It was becoming clear to me that I had no choice but to pick the cat up and carry it outside. In my limited interactions with cats, I have come to understand that a lot of them don’t like being picked up, so I approached it rather warily. I didn’t want to corner the cat and thereby scare it, because then I’d just be ANGLING for bites and scratches, but it was zipping around, checking EVERYTHING out. I finally got near it, and I thought all of my fears and concerns were for nothing, as when I picked it up, it was purring. Apparently cats also purr when they are incredibly pissed off, the way a dog can wag its tail when growling, because when I approached the door, I had a screaming, spitting, hissing, writhing bundle of cat in my hands. It was there that I realized I had another problem–I need a hand free to open the door. But there’s no way I want to let go of the cat with one hand and cradle it with an arm against my body. NO WAY. By some miracle of dextrous circus-freak limbs, I was able to get the door opened with my foot. Then came the debate of how I was supposed to go about setting it down. I couldn’t just put this angry cat on its feet, as it would just bite me and run back inside. And although I was agitated myself at this point, I could never participate in a willful act of cat-tossing.

So I did the only thing it seemed reasonable to do. I carried it down the stairs, still yowling, and shoved it through the hole in my neighbor’s window. Am I sure it was their cat? No.