A Girl...

Radiohatred

Simon was in charge of music last night while he unpacked from his trip and I did the dishes (shock! dazzlement!). For the first little while, we listened to a recent Jurassic 5 album, which was just fine. And then...then the cd changer clicked over and something new came on. Something vaguely familiar, although I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I didn't know what it was, but it was upsetting and...suicidey.

Could it be? No, it couldn't possibly. Simon would never put on Radiohead when he knows I hate them as I hate all Montagues. It is widely known that I think Thom Yorke is affected and overwrought and he sings like a cadre of mortally wounded cats having difficult, yowling sex on the roof during a full moon. It's just not enjoyable. Whenever someone so much as mentions him or his "band," I ritually slice open my wrists with an imaginary knife, shoot an imaginary gun at my uvula, and then hang myself by the neck with an imaginary rope until I am dead.

So yeah, it couldn't be Radiohead. Simon loves me and respects my boundaries. He would never be so cruel to me, the doer of his dishes, the bringer of the bacon(strip). It was probably just some other stupid indie twit getting all emotional and dramatic over the teen angst he's still reveling in at age thirty-three. (The hate!)

So the music plays on and I resist the urge to wear all black and write symbolic poetry, but not thirty seconds later Stan waddles in and body slams his heft into my legs in kitty protest. And then he starts yowling--a steady stream of pitiful, howling meows. And he won't shut up.

I found Simon in the other room. "Stan hates this music," I said. "He hates it and he wants to die."

"Maybe that's because it's Thom Yorke having cat sex," he replied.

"No wonder I wanted to suicide myself."

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Note: Photographic evidence of Awesome Christmas Present Extravaganza 2005 is still forthcoming, but first I have to take some pictures in which you can actually see the gifts. All I've got now is this, which hardly does the job and which, by the way, what the hell was I taking a picture of there?