Much sadness

Billy, the cat in my picture, is going to have to be put to sleep this weekend. He's gone downhill really fast with the FIP. We brought him to the emergency vet this weekend, and he said that Billy is really beginning to suffer now, and his liver functions will shut down within the next couple of days. The poor baby. We are all so very sad. My sister pretty much has cried for two days straight (he's actually her cat, although he did live with me for three years when she and I were roommates, so it's like he's mine). Why does this have to happen? He wasn't very old relatively speaking -- he was about 11. Considering that my cat, Bubbles, is 16½ and still as bitchy and slashy as ever, he seems so young. Poor thing. I'm praying for a miracle. You should, too.

Wanted: New friends that actually go out

Really. I might even pay you. Of course, if you do get paid, you have to say nice things to me all the time and brush my hair and get me iced teas and let me be right all the time and oh, forget it, because by that time I'll hate you for being a suckup, albeit of my own creation.

What I mean is, being my age (mid-to-late thirties but not yet 40, bitches), I find that my friends would rather stay in and watch TV than go out and do stuff. Every stinking night -- including weekends. WTF? Even on the weekends. I reeeeeeallly don't want to sit on someone's couch on a Saturday night, unless there's a possibility that I might get some. You know, SOME. Otherwise, take me out someplace (bar, restaurant, truckstop, pool hall, police station) where I could meet a guy that could give me some. Wait, do we know what some means these days? I don't mean drugs or anything. Weirdos.

Moral of the story: I need to get laid.

Billy might have to be put to sleep

He's stopped eating again and has been losing weight rapidly. The vet thinks it's FIP, which is Feline Infectious Peritonitis, a horrible disease. He might last a couple of months if the diagnosis is correct, but after that, his quality of life must be determined.

I don't think I can handle his going away.

Friday night I had my heart broken.

You'd think that I'd be past the idea that someone might actually want to make a connection with me, as I'm old enough to be driving the bitter bus. But noooooo, I had to go ahead and get a schoolgirl crush on this guy I work with. He's really sweet and nice, and we've been flirty emailing back and forth for a while. We've even been out for drinks after work together, and I, being the uberspinster that I am, began to let my hard little heart melt just a bit.

Friday night I organize a group of work folks to go out for some martinis. God knows I needed it, and you'll understand why when I repost about my job sometime in the future. Anyhoo, I wound up with about 10 people there, including him. Let's call him Jake. Jake is everything I'm looking for in a guy. He's funny, smart, cute, and ambitious. He is also taller than I am. Just thought I'd throw that in there. Not that it means anything since I'm a short chick, but for some reason, short guys love me. And nerds. And vagrants. And dudes over 60. And dudes with carrot aversions. Don't ask about the last one.

What was I talking about again? Oh, right, heart being squished and all.

Now since Jake and I had been flirty in the past, I thought he'd make a move. Or I would after my third mojito. Or his third mojito. But lo and behold, let me introduce to you, my reading public, the other woman in this sad, pathetic story. Let's call her Lisa. Now before we get all hating on Lisa, let me state that she's actually a really great person and had no idea that I even had my eye on Jake. The bitch.

So Lisa sits down with us. She's friends with both Jake and I, so we have a good conversation. But as I sat there, I watched Jake become more and more interested in Lisa and less and less in me. I stayed in the game, though, working the conversation as best as I could. I even held my pee. Unfortunately, that pee didn't want to be held too long, so I went to the ladies room. FATAL ERROR. I should have let my kidneys explode. On my way back, I saw Jake and Lisa exchange numbers. They even programmed each other's cellphones.

The loud shattering sound that resonated across the bar was my little heart breaking. Technically, I can't be angry at either of them, because I obviously read too much into what Jake and I had going. However, technically sucks. They suck. What should I have done differently? Semi-slutty sweater with cleavage out; check. Makeup just so; check. I'm Easy written on forehead in invisible ink; check. Whore heels; check.

You know I'm going to die alone in a recliner with my cat and a copy of Knitter's Digest in my hands. SAVE ME.

I'm a TERRIBLE blogger

Or so they say. New deets coming soon. Like you care.