If I move to New Orleans, please don't tell the cat where to find me.

I just came back from New Orleans and it's pretty clear that I either need to move there immediately or keep a second residence there. Unfortunately, James and I own a lot of stuff where we are so moving immediately probably isn't very realistic. The obvious solution is just keeping a second home there. This is going to require that I be insanely wealthy, of course, but no worries...I've got all of that figured out.

James and I are going to have an imaginary baby*. I've given this a lot of thought and I feel like it's time. When I talked to James about it, his eyes kind of glazed over and he mumbled something about having no part of this so he's totally on board. We're going to have lots of trials and tribulations and hilarious happenings with our imaginary baby, I will blog about these things, people will flock to my blog in droves, I will show this flock of people to advertisers and they will pay me a huge amount of money to place ads for cheeseburgers and tampons on my blog. I will start calling myself "Dr.Lola" and people will ask me for advice about their babies and I'll go on the talk show circuit and write a book. I'll eventually get my own show where advertisers will pay me even more money to show commercials about cheeseburgers and tampons and I will use this money to set up a college fund for my imaginary baby and also to have a house in New Orleans. I think it's a pretty good plan. Of course, I'm not a total idiot. I'm not putting all of my eggs in one basket just in case this doesn't go quite the way I'm hoping.

I'm also playing the lottery.

P.S. So, my dog has this pet cat and she won't let us get it de-clawed. Something about how cats need their claws and it might hurt and blah, blah, nonsense and blah. The problem is that we have a house that's just filled with really nice woodwork and my dog's stupid cat likes to smoke a bunch of weed (probably laced with PCP) and run around and hold medieval battles with doors and stair banisters and such. We tried to have an intervention, we threatened to put the cat up for adoption, we tried to cut off his drug supply...nothing worked. Our vet finally recommended these nail cap things called "happy paws" or "cute claws" or something else really misleading like that.



The directions say it's super easy, you just fill the little plastic nail cap with glue, press it on the nail for 5 seconds and voila! No more scratching.

Am I crazy or does "super easy" usually NOT involve extreme blood shed and heart palpitations? Also, they don't even provide you with any valium or a tranquilizer gun or stuff to clean up all of the blood or anything like that.

I don't mean to tell anyone how to do their job or anything but if you're going to include an illustration demonstrating how to use these things, you might want to consider adding this one:



You know...just so people know exactly what they're getting into.

*This post is in no way meant to offend real babies or people who actually have real babies. Unfortunately, no one will let me borrow their baby for the purpose of this blog and I don't really see me having my own real baby at any time in the near future, so I obviously had no choice except to have this imaginary baby. Also...it's a boy.

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Dear Readers,

I have to go to Office Max and have a very big argument with a sales associate. I'm already late so I really can't stay. I did want to share with you, however, the new competition that I intend to be holding in my house instead of the dance moves war:


Also, for those of you that may have stumbled upon a post earlier that said nothing but "Dear Readers"...that wasn't me. That was my cat. He's high, as usual.

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