UPIs

Unidentified Party Injuries: Many years ago I picked up this saying from a bloke in Australia. Yep, boys are blokes in the land of Oz. It's not my favorite word, but I like to stretch my vocab and if I have to go international to make it happen, so be it. SO BE IT, i say!

Unidentified Party Injury, or UPIs as I affectionately like to call them, are the war wounds from a good night out. Mine are most always in the form of bruises- I often look like the victim of a bad car accident. Broken nails, scratches and cuts all make the list of accepted UPIs. Most often, there is no recollection of how these injuries came to be. Hold on Carly Rae's Call Me Maybe is on.. must dance.

And I'm back.

I would like to add a sub category of UPIs. I think I can do that as I pretty much own the rights to the word. Pretty sure it's not even a valid addition, but again, it's my blog and I can do as I like. *please note that I said that in a snotty British accent.

With the power vested in me (by no one) I proclaim Lost Items to officially fall under UPIs. The only reason I even am broaching this is essentially so I could segue into telling you about my really terrible streak of losing things lately. A confession perhaps it could be considered.

Two weekends ago I got slightly boozy and lost my clutch. No wallet, no cell phone, no lip gloss for TWO DAYS! I was super duper lucky and it was found and I got it couriered back to me. Everything intact, pretty amazing. Total happy ending on that one, which means that I totally didn't learn any kind of lesson. Clearly - considering last night I somehow managed to lose my wallet AGAIN (that makes 2 out of 3 weekends). We went on a boat cruise Saturday and ended up at a friends house and the bar afterwards. A full 12 hours of drinking, it would be fair to say that I had a few- like thirty - drinks too many. So many bad choices. I ended up with a mad (or perhaps disappointed, which is way worse) boyfriend; no idea where my wallet had gone to; and a missing bathroom bag. PS i AM super sorry, Nick.

Man oh man. Waking up with a pile of regrets, still dressed in last night's clothes and remembering the idiot face I proved myself to be the previous evening sure makes for a less than sunshiney Sunday morning. I took stock of my UPIs and found some pretty impressive bruises, a cut on my finger from a shotgunning stint gone wrong, and a lump on the back of my head from unknown origin. Unfortunately it's impractical to spend the entire day in *face palm* position, so I had to live with myself and continue on.

After checking around for my wallet (to no avail), we watched the musical portion of the Olympic Closing Ceremonies - super enjoyable -and then I moseyed on home and proceeded to berate myself and then went to bed early.

The next morning I awoke to a message from Johnny saying he had my wallet and bathroom bag. I flew out of bed and did a little jig. ... what? never seen me jig before? It's a sight to behold- lemme tell ya! Another lesson gone unlearned. Although I AM actively trying to figure out a way to not lose my stuff when I go out drinking. So far I have no solutions. Someone suggested I try drinking LESS. I filed that under Nahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Watsons (not so) Great Escape

Silence greeted me this morning -no meowing cat demanding breakfast at 5:30AM. Hmm, wonderfully interesting, I thought to myself. I then proceeded to get ready for work and it wasn't until I was getting dressed it that  hit me that watson still had not made an appearance. I'm thinking she's still sleeping, and proceeded to check any and all hiding spots.

Nada. Nowhere. I lean over my balcony and check to see if Wendy's door is open- it's closed. I take a cursory glance below the balcony and don't see any furry remnants. I call her name and shake her food to no avail. I check the hallway. Nothing.  I'm thinking the only logical explanation is that she's slept over at Wendy's or has gotten inadvertently locked in there. I email neighbour Wendy, subject line: Watson's Whereabouts. I ask if they had been hanging out this morning. I leave for work and get on with my day.

Lunch time rolls around. I check my emails and there is a reply from Wendy stating that she kicked Watson out last night at about 8 and hasn't seen her since. Insert pale face followed immediately by a look up, trying not to cry face. I had a work errand to do, so I left the office, dropped some stuff off and raced home. I head to the back of the building, all the while searching for the Watsonator. I check the bushes under my area of the building and don't see anything. Crushed. I'm pretty sure she's run away from home. I design a Lost Kitten poster in my head.

I continue to search the bushes along the walkway and suddenly I see a gray and white furry blob. Insert puke face. I call out a tentative "Watson?" and hold my breath. A small little meow is her reply. A flood of relief flows through me and I tromp through the (rather prickly) bushes in my (not super long) dress. She is hunkered down against the wall looking super terrified. I kneel down and move up to her slowly as I'm scared she's going to bolt and also that she might be hurt. I kind of give her a pokey jab to see what her response will be. No cry or hiss or much of anything, so I take it as a good sign and haul her up into my arms and run into the building.

In the stairwell, she launches herself from my arms and runs into the corner. Huge scratch across my stomach- ouch. lucky i am super in love with her at his point and I do not get mad. I collect her and manage to get my condo door open before she does another flying leap away from me. Scratch number two. insert swear word.

The first thing she does is walk up to the patio door, which i promptly close in her furry little face. I shake her food bowl and she runs to it and starts chowing down. I give Watson her obligatory brushing. I pretty much only brush her while she is eating. I started this habit as I realized that while she is eating she is too busy to attack me, so the brushing is usually a painless event.

I head out the door to go back to work, quickly sending Wendy an email to let her know that Watson is OK. She lets me know that she would be happy to take her to the vet and pay any vet bills. I thank her for her very kind offer but reiterate that Watson is unhurt. I decide to let Watson once again roam the balcony, so that Wendy can see for herself that the Miss is alive and well. I heard them chatting outside, so I think Wendy is appeased.

Since her escape, the furry girl pretty much won't leave me alone. I think she realized how awesome she has it up here on the third floor with a pretty decent mom and super great surrogate neighbour mom! I think we will go cuddle in bed now.

xo. shelly & watson.
PS. Stay tuned for the unavoidable, but surely entertaining Future Adventures of Miss Watson!