CATZILLA

Since Erin won't let me name Cleo (the fugitive cat) Catzilla, and since I have a dark void of despair in my soul from Jazz's absence (because my goddamn building won't let me have dogs), I have decided to make myself feel better by adopting a Roborovski dwarf hamster and naming all 4.5 centimeters of him Catzilla. Ignore that he is neither a cat, nor a godzilla, and ignore the fact that I will probably end up stepping on him and squashing him before I even get him home, and focus on the fact that I can tell my off-beat biological clock to stop weeping because I have something ridiculously small and fragile that I can love like it is from my own womb.

I represent your insanity

My god, that was a horrifying sentence. I forgot I don't actually want kids or yearn to have something burst from my womb - I was reading my Cosmo article again. Damn you, Cosmo!

Anyway, I'm going to get Catzilla a giant rolling ball so that he may roll around to his heart's content (and so I wont inadvertently kill him by stepping on him.) I also want to get him a baby sling, so I can carry him around with me. And get him a designer uh... scrap of cloth or something so I can fashion him an outfit. And maybe stick his head through a ring so he can have a shiny collar. And put him in my Louis Vuitton makeup case and tote him around with all of the men in Dupont Circle that are carrying around their Yorkies in their Louis baby carriers. Gay men, eat your heart out - my animal is small enough to hide in that weird little pocket on your jeans that nothing actually fits in. Oh yeah, that's right, I said it.

Speaking of lost and endangered animals, there is a girl outside my office who keeps pacing up and down the hallway, looking in vast confusion at a resume of some sort, and peering curiously at the office doors. Now, there are only two offices on this floor, and they are both clearly labeled, so I'm pretty sure if you're not applying to either company, you should be pretty damn sure that you're in the wrong place.

And speaking of lost, endangered animals in the wrong place, there was a man outside earlier today, walking through Farragut Square wearing a chicken costume. While there are always odd sights in the Square (the homeless, college students wandering out of Foggy Bottom and having heart attacks, Republicans, etc) this was perhaps the strangest, especially because I'm pretty sure he was carrying around a chicken sandwich. I'm not entirely sure what point he was trying to make, other than cannibalism is good. If that's the case, power to the chicken. Just don't take off that costume and start eating people instead.