I'm just waiting under this chair for the title. It will come!

Kitty to People Translator!

Meow: Hello!

Prrrow: I'm happy to see you!

Meow-ow: Please pet me!

Prrrow-ow: You call this garbage chardonnay?

Me-ow-wow: You're not allowed outside today.

Prrrow-wow: You don't need friends, you have me.

Brrrrow: If your friends loved you they'd understand why you're not allowed to see them anymore.

Mrrrow-ow: Get away from the windows.

Brrreow-ow: Only a sacrifice made with love is pure.

Mrrreow-wow: In movie 2001 resurrect dead on planet Jupiter.

Mew: Dense cornsyrup under more happenings of leafy (garbled).

Prrreow-ow: I want snuggles!

Kitties are SO silly, aren't they?

Because I had more reasons to write a title than I had reasons not to.

Sentimentality Rating

Electric Hand Mixer

Retro Design: 8
Inherited: 10
Happy Memories: 2

Score: 20

Dog

Retro Design: 5
Inherited: 0
Happy Memories: 10

Score: 15

Functionality Rating

Electric Hand Mixer

-8

Dog

-2

Tally

Electric Hand Mixer

20 - 8 = 12

Dog

15 - 2 = 13

Okay, the dog stays. But in the hand mixer's defense it did take up less room in the cupboard.

I am writing the title. Right now. It's fine. Okay then you do it. Well then shut up.

I am an adult. I have a career. I own my own home. I clog the tube slide at playland. I'm independent, intelligent, and capable of taking on responsibility. There's no reason in the world for me to fear commitment anymore. I can handle it now, and I actually think I'm ready to try.

It's time I got an imaginary friend. Somebody who shares my priorities. Someone who understands how I communicate (via secret elfin language I developed in grade four math class). Someone who is completely accepting of who I am, regardless of how long it's been since I washed my long underwear, and who is always there for me. Mostly always there for me. Not in the bathroom, obviously. Imaginary or not, that's just weird. Someone who would enjoy taking long walks fairly regularly. Alone, I mean. I'm kind of used to having the house to myself. Weekends away would be nice too. An imaginary friend with airmiles.

Okay maybe not an imaginary friend per say. Maybe just an imaginary friendly acquaintance. I mean I'm totally up for casual companionship, but nothing too intense. I really just don't have the time to pretend an imaginary person is calling drunk from a bar at two am after their imaginary boyfriend made out with the waitress, or help a pretend person with their make believe resume. I'm definitely not pretending to help anyfakebody move. But a nice imaginary friendly acquaintance, somebody that I could just exchange pleasantries with and get on with my day, that would be nice. Although maybe I should specify a nice imaginary friendly acquaintance who isn't overly chatty. I mean I don't want to nod hello to my imaginary friendly acquaintance on my way to the curb only to get stuck shivering in the alley way clutching a bag of garbage while I endure half an hour of small talk and my kettle boils dry.

Okay, how about just an imaginary familiar person in the neighborhood who I don't really know well enough to talk to but seems okay? One that my neighbours don't imagine, so there would be no risk of introduction.

You know, I'm starting to think I'm rushing into this a bit. I guess I'm just not all that sure I know what imaginary people's needs are. I want to make sure I'm not committing to more than I can fulfill, after all. Somefakebody could get hurt. A person needs to ease into a thing like this.

How long do imaginary pet goldfish live, anyway?

I dreamt I was the editor of Vogue magazine, and when I woke up this title was written on the dog in lipstick.

What Your Sleeping Position Reveals About You

Fetal Position: You are *completely normal.

Fetal Position - Tight Curl: You really need to start meeting those payments.

Face Up, On Back: Your boobs hurt.

Face Down, On Stomach: You apparently have the ability to breathe through your ears.

Center of the Bed: The only reason you have a personals ad is to get your mom off your back.

Head Under the Covers: Monsters are trying to eat you.

Extreme Edge of Mattress: You own a cat.

Extreme Edge of Mattress, Legs Tucked: You own a cat and a dog.

Diagonal, Head at Top of Bed: Rebel

Diagonal, Head at Bottom of Bed: Drunk

Sitting: You have three people on hold, all rebooting their computers.

Standing: You are a horse.

Hanging: Hope you've got some pillows under you for when your legs fall asleep there, goth boy.

While Having Sex: You are a new parent.

With Your Shoes On: You are forgetful.

Arms Curled Protectively Around Head: You are sleeping with my boyfriend.

Flailing Wildly: You are my boyfriend.

*extremely repressed

Why does this title have drool on it, Max?

12 Ways My Dog Outsmarts Me

1) Waiting until I'm distracted and then asking for a second dinner.

2) Withholding poo to get multiple walks.

3) Annoying a cat just enough to make it complain, then asking for a belly rub when I come to investigate.

4) Sleeping in front of the door so that I have to reach the grocery bags in and set them, unguarded, directly in front of him - leaving him alone in the house with a week's worth of food while I attempt to turn into smoke and pour myself through the keyhole.

5) Not breaking the "no touching my food" rule, but breathing so heavily on it that I don't want it any more and give it to him anyway.

6) Rushing over to sit next to house guests when I give him a command he doesn't want to follow. Yes, it always works.

7) Waiting until I'm too immersed, wet, and slippery to effectively chase him away before playing "what things from the recycling bin float in bath water?"

8) Knowing that when he escapes from the yard the time to lay down, scream for somebody to dial the humane society and refuse to budge unless I let go of his collar is not when I first catch him, but always and only when we're in the exact middle of crossing the street on our way home.

9) Substituting the stuffed toys that I have restricted from his diet with my socks.

10) Aggressively farting until I break down and buy the expensive dog food.

11) Picking up his food dish to act as an amplifier when he feels his barking is not being adequately heard.

12) Convincing me utterly that I absolutely positively need to have 100 pounds of shedding, barking, mouth breathing, toxic farting, thieving, manipulative dog flesh on hand at all times.

It's my title. I called dibs!

How not to be mom's favorite:

Step One: Be born almost a full month late. Bonus points for waiting until the highways are all but impassible from winter storms if your family lives in a town without a hospital.

Step Two: Develop a penchant for disrobing publicly.

Step Three: Use new-found powers of speech to inform any and all friends and relatives trying to feed you that their food is "disgusting".

Step Four: Demand constantly, for a full year, that the family move into a camping trailer permanently.

Step Five: Throw a tantrum about being taken to kindergarten.

Step Six: Throw a tantrum about being taken home from kindergarten.

Step Seven: Paint the cat. Not a picture of the cat. The cat.

Step Eight: Paint the dog. With Cheez-whiz.

Step Nine: Sell all of your toys. And most of your brother's.

Step Ten: Be the only girl in the whole school clever enough to find pictures of naked people in school library books, and distribute widely with lascivious intent.

Step Eleven: Repeat step ten after being transferred to a christian school.

Step Twelve: Demand a trumpet. Play it enthusiastically and often. Never learn any actual songs.

Step Thirteen: Develop large breasts early and a willingness to wear a bra late.

Step Fourteen: Demand all of the privileges of young adulthood. Accept none of the responsibilities.

Step Fifteen, and this is crucial: Have a sibling that does none of the above.

Sneaky bastard!

You've probably never heard of this title.

My next roommate will definitely not be a White Rhinoceros. I had fun until the novelty wore off and everything - having a rhinoceros for a roommate was more ironic than pipe smoking and sweater vests combined. Eventually, though, there are only so many fake mustaches and crocheted kitty ears you can put on the thing before you realize that actually? Doing the same things everybody else is doing is still doing the same things everybody else is doing, even if you are doing them to a White Rhinoceros.

So now I'm stuck with a used White Rhinocerous to unload. I'll never get book price for the thing - you can totally see where all the mustache glue left a mark - and I can only sell it on Etsy if I taxidermy it first. A lot of extra work, but at least there I stand to make extra on the deal if I throw in all the leftover mustaches. Of course they're handmade!

Anyway, once it's gone that's it. No more rhinos. It was a stupid, shortsighted and entirely wrong thing to do. But it was my idea. I do just want to say that. I did it first. Nobody else had rhinos when I got mine. Now it's like everybody has one.

Seriously. Rhinos are just so corporate now.

Frankly I'm getting tired of looking so desperate to be trendy anyway. Once I do unload the thing I'm just going to take the money and spend it getting dreads.

Oh don't roll your eyes at me! I'm not that obvious. Yeah, I'm getting dreads, but get this - I'm also getting a mullet.