Pissed.

This is my cat.

His name is Nuke.

I just watched him pee on half of my clothes waiting to go into the washer.

I hate this cat. 

So adding these pictures is really pissing me off.

Should I try to wash the clothes?

Or should I throw them away?

Or should I just cry? Because that's what I feel like doing.

It's not that I'm attached to those clothes per se, it's that my effing cat urinated on my clothes. His owner's clothes. MY clothes. Does he pee on my bed, too? On the couch?

He just peed on my HEART. 

/cries

lol

We don't have the money to replace these clothes. 

I hate this cat right now.

Itemizing.

Has anyone else itemized their purchases for their taxes? I don't know too much about taxes, but Adam told me last year to see how much I spent on crafting, because we may have been eligible for some kind of a deduction. I tried to add it up by just going off of how much I spent at Hobby Lobby according to our checking account statements, but I knew it wasn't accurate. We ended up not itemizing because it wasn't quite worth it in the end.

This year I saved all of my receipts. And now I'm going to add them up. This is going to be embarrassing! 

Does anyone else itemize? 

Priscella.

I'm so obsessed with my iPod.

<<checks to see if I even posted about my TOTALLY FREE iPOD>>

Nope. 

STORY TIME

Well, I got a free iPod almost a month ago to the day.  It was free.  100% totally free.

No, it wasn't from those ads that are on every-website-that-was-ever: 

*WIN A FREE iPAD* 

*OR LAPTOP*

*OR A ZILLION DOLLARS!*

Adam apparently racked up so many reward points on his credit card that he's had since before I came along, and he didn't know he had reward points.  I guess the points last like 5 years, and his company was nice enough to send us an invoice of his point balance and a brochure of some of the items that you can redeem your points for.  Small things were on the list, like workout DVDs and barbecue utensil sets, but there were also HUGE ticket items like 60" TVs, fancy schmancy laptops, iPads, etc.  Adam looked through the brochure and said he didn't want "any of that crap", and said that I could get use the points if I found anything I wanted.

So I went online and found that they had iPods. Which I've been wanting for like... ever.

And we could afford the 32GB one.

OMG, I ALMOST DIED.

Priscella

That's my baby.  Her name is Priscella.  You want to know how awesome she is??

1. She takes videos, two of which I made yesterday and sent to my mom so she could help me with a sewing project I'm having troubles on;
2. She has 578,915 apps.  And by 578,915, I mean about 31 apps;
3. One of those apps lets me call and text anyone;
          Anyone. For free.
          As long as I have WiFi, which is where I'm 99% of the time: at home or work;
4. She also is an enabler to my music and Pinterest habit; and
5. She takes magnificent photos.

I've been complaining about my crappy photos since before I was born.

I'm going to try to upload a bunch of pictures and create an auto-publish for all of the posts I'm going to put them on. 

I've been crafting like crazy. And it's fun. I would hope it's fun... otherwise that kind of defeats the purpose of a hobby.

I leave you with this unbearably humiliating photo:

If you haven't read the jumble of text above, you'll want to read this story.

It's our new Capital One credit card.  (what's in your wallet?)  It's an elephant, which I love, and which I've loved for years and years and years, way before they were cool to like.  The embarrassing part is that I was so excited when I got it that I immediately posted the picture on Facebook.  Unedited.  Meaning, no blur.  Meaning, I totally posted my credit card information, even with expiration date, all over the internets.  Totally.  For DAYS, my Facebook "friends" kept messaging me and telling me what I did, even though I took down the photo literally 100 seconds after I posted it.  I mean, these "friends" are people I haven't heard from since High School: no lie.  Days.  I was humiliated for days.  

I win the internets.