Kittens On Rollerskates

That's right, you better hang in there kitten, because those are dinosaur-shark hybrids and they are in training to learn to jump higher.

So, let’s clear up why kittens on rollerskates first. These last couple months have been whacked, y’all. From one BUSTED motherfucking grill to a new business, from new besties to new jaw fractures, it’s been one big jangle-tangle. And as soon as I get one side untied the other is in knots again! Life is a rascal and a whore. As soon as I remember why I walked into a room (99% chance of it being cigarettes or wine, so I scan for those first) I either smash a limb into something unforgiving or develop a rare and–seriously–potentially fatal bacterial infection commonly found in third-world unwed teen mothers with scurvy and a terrifying incarcerated boyfriend to boot.

Now, before you go blaming my hardships on my apparently racist and certainly cavalier worldview (the cavalier part is true), I’d like to say a few words in my defense. Firstly, stop judging me. Secondly, I am a decent person who tries her very best at a medium level and on an inconsistent basis to hide her empty booze bottles when her parents visit, to recycle even when it isn’t convenient, to not laugh when my friends fall down. My level of success is usually somewhere around 71%, and I grade myself on a ten-point scale, so that’s a solid C and that’s perfectly adequate. My motto is “Set a goal that you can definitely accomplish without trying hard, then do the bare minimum to get there! Now go get ‘em, tiger!” I have a friend who once described my general efforts as “extra medium.” The key here, when you have the world’s worst work ethic and zero ambition, is to talk really nicely to yourself so you don’t start wondering why you’re 28, single, and only really work like 20 hours a week, and still have crazy anxiety. You can’t say “Where am I going? What am I going to do?” You have to look on the bright side and be like “Where am I going? Oh, to the bar. What am I going to do? Oh, get a drink.”  You have to forgive yourself, you know?

My point though is that while I don’t go super far out of my way to do great things, I definitely don’t do evil either. Like, I’m crazy polite, I am a superb tipper, I never make fun of people if there is even a chance that they could overhear me, and if I can’t bring myself to listen to someone’s dullard story, I at least protect them by being excellent at pretending to listen. It’s just nod and smile, nod and agree, say “ugh” and make a face. Done. Next. Manners are very important to me, it’s go please-and-thank-you or go home. I treat my dog like solid gold–I just spent $3200 on emergency surgeries for him! So WFT life, it’d be super if you could release me from this tractor beam of destruction and just let me chill out for a minute.

So that’s why kittens on rollerskates. I was trying to think of a way to describe how disjointed and stop-start this lil era has been, and it was just the first image that came to mind. Now I don’t even like cats and am genuinely afraid of kittens, so I definitely do not mean for you to get an image in your head of a graceful lithe little baby cat whizzing around a rink. No, I mean like a nasty flaky-skinned terrifying kitten, like if it was a person it would hang out at Club Nova a lot. And it has no idea how to rollerskate, you just strapped him into your skates from gym class circa 1992, set that bad boy at the top of a steep incline, and just gave him a lil nudge to set things into motion. I’ll leave you with that image, cuz you can always just drink it out of your head but imagine if you felt like that kitten in real life. Drinking won’t help you then can only do so much; after all,  it is a hobby, not a fucking wizard.