Look who was slacking on the whole-post-a-week thing again…
Sorry, but I’m here now so it’s all good. Please don’t shun me 🙂
As usual, it is 9:30 and I’m starting a blog post, for some reason I am unable to write anything in daylight hours. Maybe I’m a vampire, maybe a ghost… Or maybe I’m just supremely lazy. Who knows?
Anyway, I want to start off by saying that I have been writing, just not for this blog. I have been working on a short story for my writers craft class and I just finished a “good enough” copy to hand in. However, there is still much to be done.
**Okay so, I wrote the following a while ago very late at night, It is not the aforementioned short story, but it is pretty good I think. The original jumble I had on the paper makes no sense, so I have finessed it a bit to make some sense.**
It is a writing prompt from a tumblr blog that is my saviour, Writing Prompts that DON’T suck. It is #681 – Junk Drawer.
In this very strange story, I had to use the words: kittens, a half-eaten pizza, telepathy, a radio call-in contest, a sleeve of saltine crackers, magic, a six pack of beer and existential angst.
See if you can spot them!
As I walk into my apartment after a long day of retail, my only goal is to just kick off these heels, lump on my bed, wrap myself in a burrito of blankets and watch some Netflix until I doze off. Oh – and I would really like to be covered in kittens too. I do not have a cat nor do I have access to said kittens but it would still be nice.
I start to boil up some ramen – the only thing I know how to cook – then stumble into my bedroom and boot up my ancient laptop so it will hopefully be done as my ramen finishes cooking. My fully awake self knows that’s not going to happen as we are talking about my circa 2005 Hewlett-Packard note-block. It may be slow, but it works. Being a 2nd year university student who is already in $50 000 debt, I’m not exactly allowed to be a “mac person” if you know what I mean.
Wow, this thing is taking it’s sweet time preparing itself for the inevitable long night of streamage.
I hear the timer go off in the kitchen, signaling my water is happy and ready to be useful, and trundle down the hallway that is littered with assorted food wrappers and past due bills. The cold tile of the kitchen makes my toes tingle and I plop my ramen noodles into the boiling water, watching them as they break apart and become giddy with joy, or pain… It can’t be all that enjoyable to be boiled.
After about 3 minutes of mindless packing around the kitchen and pointless tidying, I pour my noodles into a bowl and add the dehydrated flavour packet. I stir it around until it looks about as appetizing as its going to.
Defeated, I go back to my bedroom where the dinosaur is still booting its old ass up. Wonderful, I guess I’ll put my pyjamas on and listen to some radio. I have a feeling my Netflix is going to be a while…
I unhook my bra and shake my hair out of it’s messy bun, long blonde waves wash over my shoulders and travel to the bathroom in order to remove my face. Not literally, its a metaphor, I meant that I took off my makeup. With that sorted, I look back into my mirror and see pimply, red unpleasantness staring back at me. I find my way back to my room and dig around my closet only to find some old, grey, sweatpants from with “ROYALS” screaming across my tiny Irish butt. Ahh, the sweet bliss of removing one’s skinny jeans and then feeling the fuzzy euphoria of a good pair of pants brings as they envelop my aching legs.
Stepping over my boyfriend’s half-eaten pizza in order to get back into bed, where my computer still sits, thinking. Great. I know this is going to take a long time so I turn on the radio. Yes – I still have an actual radio or boom box, whatever you want to call it. I smoodge myself into becoming one with my covers, grab my ramen, and begin sipping the broth from my cooling noodles. The old-ass radio I own skips a couple beats and switches stations a couple of times like a mid-song crisis and when it stops being a drama queen, I hear the radio host “Cool Carl” announcing “Call now to win! 906-877-1122” Now, I do not know what I am calling for nor do I know why I set my ramen down and begin to type the number into my flip phone. It may be my lucky night, and we all know that my laptop isn’t getting its shizz in order anytime soon.
I wait for a while on the line, and after about 2 minutes, an operator comes on and simply says “You are the 64th caller” then puts me on hold.
Holding… 10 minutes
Holding… 15 minutes
I’m going to have to reheat my ramen.
Just when I’m going to hang up, Cool Carl comes on the line and screams
“Congratulations caller 64!!! What is your name?”
“Um, Kelly.” I say.
“Well congratulations Um Kelly, it’s your lucky day – you have won the CCMIK giveaway!
I ask, “What is the CCMIK giveaway exactly?”
He sucks in an offended breath and screams ” O.M.G. The CCMIK is only the single best radio call-in competition in all of South Florida!” He pauses and then continues with “CCMIK stands for Come Cover Me In Kittens! – and you ma’am have just won an immediate CCMIK treatment.”
I don’t even know what to say back so I just make some sort of walrus laugh and Cool Carl Says to stay on the line so they can get my address and will immediately dispatch their kitten men.
Kitten men. Just let those amazing words sink into your brain.
It’s like they used telepathy to know that just earlier this evening I was dreaming of being covered in kittens. I guess I should make an effort to tidy this place up before my Kitten men arrive, I shove all my clothes (dirty and clean) into my closet, pick up the half-eaten pizza on the floor and sweep up the overdue bills with the food wrappers. I make my bed as best I can and straighten up the paintings on the walls. My dinosaur is still booting up in the corner – it’s been 34 minutes. There’s a sleeve of saltine crackers poking out from under the bed, I poke them back under with my chipped toenail. I decide that I should move the six-pack of beer bottles sitting on my bedside table leftover from the tipsy truth or dare I played with my boyfriend on Sunday. It was now Thursday. I don’t want my kitten men to think I’m some sort of drunken slob. Speaking of drunken slobbenliness, I should probably put real pants and a bra on.
Okay, I think I have prepared my mere human body for the kitten-covered-magic I am about to experience.
There is a knock at the door and I jump a little, because I realize it must be my kitten men. I walk to the front and fiddle with the lock for a minute before I open the door to four burly kitten men staring at me and my tomato face. The men push past into my tiny entranceway and they set up in my living room. I can hear the carriers mewing. My heart cannot take all the cute and beats at my ribs like its trying to escape.
The men finish setting up and motion for me to lay down on the couch they had covered with a clean, fuzzy blanket. The kitten men haven’t said a word to me this whole time. Chatty bunch. They begin to glare, so I lay down and they start pulling out every type of kitten one could dream of. Calico, Tabby, Hairless, Scottish Fold, Maine Coone, the whole nine yards (Sports reference?). I can feel fluffy little bellies ticking my skin, a feeling better than sweatpants. Not much is better than sweatpants so this is kind of a big deal. Their little eyes stare into mine and there are a couple dopey ones that run into others. The kitten men watch over the little fluffy jellybeans coating my body with a watchful eye to make sure all kittens stay on my body and don’t fall off. Soon, I can no longer see my clothes or feet because I am so covered in kittens. This is bliss, true bliss.
Even a person with the worst case of existential angst could feel bliss in this situation I swear. Kittens cure all, they could cure cancer for all we know.
I wallow in the warm, purring blanket for what only feels like seconds when the kitten men start to take the little furry things off my body. Apparently it’s been half an hour and the kittens, which are mostly all asleep at this point, need to go back to their foster homes and the adopt-a-thon.
All good things must come to an end I guess.
I wave goodbye to the kitten men as they squeeze back through my tiny hallway and front door.
I just sit on the couch for a good ten minutes, just in disbelief that just a short while ago I was covered from head to toe in kittens. I sigh and decide to return to the bedroom.
I find cold ramen, a made bed, my sweatpants in the corner, and the saltine cracker sleeve is poking out from under the bed again. I thought I put that away? Hmm… I poke it back under and 2 seconds later its pushed out again. Next, I hear a tiny “mew” from the saltine sleeve. I crouch down on the floor and move the saltine packet, behind is a tiny kitten. It looks like a Maine Coone, fluffy as all hell. It has tufts coming from it’s ears and a squashed face, making it look a bit like an Ewok-rat. The little tail that it has is almost hairless, hence the rat part. It is so freaking cute though, in a strange way. I decide to call her (I determined it was a girl) and named my little kitten R2 (after the droid in star wars called R2-D2). She snuggles up in my arms and I bring her up to my bed, with my cold ramen still on the bedside table.
I decide to give up and eat the cold ramen, with R2 poking at the spoon whenever I set the bowl down on the bed. She looks up at my face and then runs over my laptop keyboard, which was still booting up – It had been a hour. When she ran across it she must’ve hit something with her little paw and made it finally boot up.
I log in and open Netflix – another fifteen minute affair.
We (R2 and I) curl up in the covers and watch some How I Met Your Mother. After only ten minutes, R2 is snoring and I am beyond tired. I write a note to my boyfriend for when he gets back from bartending that we got a cat – I’ll explain in the morning.
I place the note on his pillow and my laptop on the floor and doze off into blissful Star Wars – kitten dreams.
It was a pretty good night if I do say so myself.
So? If you made it to the end tell me what you think… I’d love to know!
This is an Ewok by the way.
And, this is my real-life cat Lucy when she was a kitten, the inspiration for R2.