Please Happy

Found an awesome slideshow on Design Observer today: feline wonders, and the designers who named them.

I was a bit offended that Rolo and I weren’t invited into the slideshow. But, maybe it’s because I only just now ordered my first non-pirated version of Photoshop and it’s still in the box. (As in, not much of a designer.) And Rolo’s schedule is packed with smearing pine on his face to create dreadlocks, scattering feathers and blood in the bathroom, mauling my friends’ hands and crawling into the trash can to retrieve scraps.

Still, if we had been asked, I’d for sure use this photo:

Apologies for yet another cat post, but it goes along with the true title of this blog: CatsAndBabysitting.com. I mean, let’s be honest. These two are my best and favorite subjects. (And, no, yet have my Google Alerts set for “cats” … or “babysitting,” for that matter. But, clearly, I should. …)

My favorite from the slideshow, by the way, is Chesterfield, Domestic Short-Hair Beanbag Amerika, Brooklyn, NY. That light! Those eyes! Plus, I like the names. It’s not really clear which one’s Chesterfield and which one is Beanbag. Or Beanbag Amerika. Maybe all the listed names belong to the kitty: Chesterfield Beanbag Amerika The Third.

Rolo’s full name is Rolando Whaley. But, now I’m thinking he needs a middle name like Beanbag. All I can come up with in this moment is Eviscertaor or Birdmurderer.

I’ll keep thinking.

Foxes are referenced at least twice in Wayne’s World. And, this shot makes me want to be a graphic designer and photographer. I found it on the blog The Efficacy of Wonder. Great name.

Foxy!

I say next to two dudes on the chairlift Friday. They were headed up to do tricks in the terrain park. I was headed up to take some laps on groomed runs to soothe my ego that had been bruised along with my knees in the chunky snow out of bounds.

They were probably about 11 or 12 years old. Locals. Or at least long time visitors.

Dude One nods to me: So, what? You like those skis?

Me: Yeah. I love them. They’re perfect in pretty much all conditions.

Dude Two: What’s that graphic on there? A mountain?

Me: Nope. Unfortunately, it’s a geisha with huge boobs showing her cleavage.

Dude One: Boobs are cool.

Cleavage is hard to make out in this pic, but it’s there. I promise.

Me: Yeah, but on a woman’s ski? It’d be sweeter on a dude’s ski. Give me a girl ripping it or at least some cleavage with muscles.

Dude Two: Mine are Atomics. Who makes yours?

Me: They’re the Völkl Auras.

Dude Two: Auras. Auras. Auras. Like, Aurrrrrya goin’ skiing today? Or, Arrrrya gonna trade me your boobs for my Lil Punx?

Chairlift drops us off. We part ways.

It’s worth noting that the skis he was using for barter, are called Lil Punx, officially, but the graphic reads Lil’ Punxs with an S.

So, why does Atomic make a ski that has both an X and an S? Doesn’t the X replace the K and the S in punKS? And what’s up with that anyway? I mean, I guess it’s the cool way to write? The graffiti way? It certainly doesn’t save time or space. Example: Thanx vs. Thanks.

Maybe it’s just slang and cool, like replacing S and with Z in boyz and skillz?

Maybe punxs is the plural of punx (which is already a plural I think).

I mean, if you’re going to double pluralize, at least make it cool. I may write Atomic and suggest that if they’re hellbent on keeping a consonant after the X, it should be a Z.

Lil punxz.

And no, I did not trade my boobs for the Lil’ Punxs.

J: Rolo is such a mellow dude. I love it.

Me: Yep. Except when I get home from skiing and there is a bathroom full of feathers and blood. And I have to rip a headless bird away from his growling highness.*

Feather close-up. Click to see the whole scene.

* I had exactly 15 minutes in between skiing two runs at Teton Village and going to Shift Two of babysitting. I’m on the phone talking about family dynamics and relationships and I have to pee. I run upstairs to find my entire bathroom covered in black, downy feathers. Rolo is devouring a bird on the white rug (I had left the door open so he could come and go as he pleased today). I laugh silently, while listening to the “intimacy in the Whaley family” talk and change into my babysitting clothes. I get a plastic bag, pick Rolo up by his neck scruff, who is now trying to swallow the bird whole. I wrestle it from his mouth. He is fully belly growling now. … and throw the bottom half of the bird away.

Babysitting tonight for the usual crew: five-month-old boy and his three-year-old sister, F.

Baby in the Baby Björn on my tummy facing out. He’s “talking.”

Baby: Ahhhh. Ha. Ha. Ahhhhhh.

Me: I wonder if he’s hungry. Tired, maybe? F – what do you think he’s saying?

F: He’s saying Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

[And runs down the hallway, stops, spins her Twirly Girl dress, and runs back.]

It’s snowing!