Snerkology

Duh moment of the day:

I got in my truck this morning to head to work, and when I started it up I thought to myself, “Huh! What a coincidence. This is the same song that was playing on the radio when I got home last night!” Except it was a CD, which I realized by the end of the song.

It’s a good thing I’m pretty, by God.

———-

Back when I was a teenager, I had a bad temper and had only a loose handle on frustration. I used to demonstrate this in a physical way, typically in the form of a scream into a pillow, or tossing said pillow at the wall. When I was alone. Usually.

Nowadays, I’m not even sure if I have actual patience, or just a better handle on letting my temper loose on the inside while showing a (mostly) serene face to the world. I thought about this last night after getting very frustrated with someone. Since I was alone in the house, I could have yelled, thrown things, scared the shit out of the cats, or otherwise let loose. Instead, I just muttered to myself, clenched my fists for a moment and glared at the floor, took a couple of deep breaths, then went on with my night.

I contemplated this a bit further, and tried to think of how often I actually get pissed off or frustrated in the normal course of a day. The answer? Pretty damned often. But anyone who knows me knows that I very rarely yell, or even raise my voice. I don’t respond to temper when it’s directed at me, I just tend to say, “I’m not playing,” and walk away (or hang up, or not respond to the e-mail, or what have you). Sometimes I’ll hold an internal dialogue and think of a bunch of pithy, witty, cutting things I could say that would simultaneously get my point across and prompt an abject apology from the person who ticked me off. I very rarely actually say them out loud.

Is this maturity? Because I sure as hell don’t feel all that mature in my brain. And if it is, when the hell did that happen?

———-

Demonstration of my lack of maturity:

I am having WAY too much fun getting my cats high.

Oz destroyed the cat toy that’s been tied to the garage door knob for a couple of years (one of those dangley things with bells and feathers). I bought a new one, plus something they can bat around on the floor, and a pouch of catnip. I dabbed the toys in the catnip, then pulled out a pinch and put it in a little pile on the floor.

Oh. My. Holy. Hell.

Chaos ensued.

Oz went nuts on the toy hanging on the door knob, practically hanging off of it, growling as he chomped down, clamping it in his teeth and jerking backwards (picture a dog playing tug) in an effort to pull it off the door. Meanwhile, Zoe lied down in the catnip, rolled around chittering and purring, and hissed VERY firmly at Oz if he came anywhere near her stash. Then she shot up, streaked into the bathroom, jumped in the tub, and chased her tail.

Oz left the toy and rolled in the catnip that Zoe left behind. Then, with tail at full puff and a ridge of fur standing up on his back, raced up the stairs and across the upstairs hallway, hit one of the bedroom doors, raced back down the stairs, dashed across to the back door and leaped up to see how high he could touch, and back and forth, and up and down (and back and forth and up and down…) sounding like a herd of elephants.

So.

Oz: “I can fly! I CAN FLY!!!”
Zoe: “WHAT IS THIS THING AND WHY IS IT FOLLOWING ME???”
Oz: “MOVE BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY.”
Zoe: “I caught it! No I didn’t. I caught it! No I didn’t…”
Oz: “Go go Speed Racer!”
Zoe: “Pretty! Pretty! Pretty! Fleff. Got fur in my mouth. Flagl. Fiff.”
Oz: “Hi! Whatcha doing in the tub? Look how fast I can jump in and jump out!”
Zoe: “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT… hey… WHAT IS THIS THING AND WHY IS IT FOLLOWING ME???”

I stood there in the middle of it all laughing until tears rolled down my face. They kept this up for a good fifteen minutes, then CUH-RASHED in the middle of the living room floor and were still sleeping it off when I went to bed.

I can’t wait to show Bill when he gets home.