And Deanz-o is his name-o!

As you all know, I have a clutter of cats: Beans, Zucchini Walnut Muffin (Zuki), and Deanzo. Each one has his/her own distinct personality. My roommates even have fun names associated with two of them, "Fuckin' Beans" and "Pukey McPukerson," (Zuki).

However, the cat that steals my heart and I mean really steals it, is baby Deanzo. I love him. He's this little white furball that I am glad to come home to everyday. He follows me around, answers (9 times out of 10) when I beckon him and he's always DTC (down-to-cuddle).

However, on a sadder note, Deanzo is retarded. I mean REALLY retarded. I've noticed he's a lot slower than the other cats. So, I took him to the vet. Had all sorts of test done on him... the last being a kitty brain scan. Homeboy has neurological damage from stress to the brain. The back story on this is that my friend's boyfriend got Deanzo (named Dean James back then) from PetSmart; this boyfriend also had a pug puppy that used Deanzo as his personal chew toy. To make a long story short, I cat-napped Deanzo (wrong on so many levels, but so right). This guy wanted to put dynamite up this cat's ass on NYE. I did a liberty and stole him and it is a decision I will never regret.

Well, bottom line is that I love Deanzo and he loves me. Apparently so much so that when cats are outdoor kitties, they run around and if they love their owners enough, they will bring them presents (dead mice and such). Being as I am not about to let me precious furry friends tramp around outside (I'd worry way too much about their well-being and Blue Diamond is a raging hot mess), I keep them indoors in a climate controlled environment. Since little baby Deanzo doesn't have access to the elements and other rodents, he brings me stuffed animals, oven mits, and my roommates slipper. It's hilarious. Karlee's son even thought I stole his stuffed penguin, which she said, "No, Jessica didn't, Deanzo did."

There have always been random items in my room and I had no idea how they got there. For example, I was in bed the other day and I roll over and there is a little stuffed tiger on my bed. This morning, Karlee's slipper was at the foot of my bed. Tomorrow, Kristi's "Hello Kitty" oven mit will show up at my threshold.

How do I know it's Deanzo? I wish I was home more often, cause the image in my mind is precious. Apparently, he sees the said item (sacrifice), eyeballs it for a while, goes up and teases it, then places it in his mouth, then he waddles up the stairs with said gift, meows at the top of his little, kitty lungs and finally presents the goods to my room. Isn't that beyond cute? I don't know why he doesn't do this when I am home. Maybe it's my reward for slaving all day...

I know I am not fancy on kids and the last thing on earth I ever want to be is a Mom, but Deanzo is my baby and I am his mother. He melts my heart and has healed it so many times. I love him more than anything, even when I scoopin' his nastiness out of the litter box. He's the best. My other cats only love me when they want something, specifically food.

Yes, this is a blog about my cat, but I fuckin' love him and I know that if he read this he'd melt inside, too. He'd also probably get me the burrito I always ask him to get for me and he's probably leave all of those random presents for me.

I am destined to be a crazy, cat lady, but I don't mind so much. I just feel bad for all the other cats out there. They are nowhere near as pimp as my little low IQ reason for living!

Britney Spears, I'd put it in you.

OMG. Really.Omigod. I love her. I just do. Brit-Brit and I have been in a love affair that has carried on for over a decade now. Today being her 27th birthday, it only seems fit that I declare my devotion for Ms. Britney Jean Spears.

I first encountered Britney when I was 17 years old. She came on the television, singing a song so infectious I couldn't help but sing and dance a long to it. "Baby, One More Time" became my jam. I would watch MTV non-stop hoping and wishing and praying she would grace my television screen. However, I was deeply in the closet about it. Brit-Brit didn't fit in to my collection of typical music (at the time I was heavily involved with Hole, Garbage, Smashing Pumpkins, Reel Big Fish). It was bad enough I had a secret obsession with *NSync (they were and still are my original McDreamys) that I had to keep to myself.

So, I kept these "pop tarts" to myself. I bought their albums claiming they were for my little sister (who was 15 at the time). I would walk around school with them blasting on my Disc-Man and kept them concealed in my Garbage v. 2.0 case and pretend it was Shirely Manson that was singing to my soul.

However, once the "Sometimes" video hit the airways, I couldn't contain my love for her anymore. I outted myself and declared my love for her and my boys *NSYNC. Britney was everything I wanted to be. She was flawlessly gorgeous, she could dance like no one's business, and she sang songs that spoke to my adolescent loins. She was my American Dream and I hopelessly worshiped her.

My dad bought me tickets to see her live. It was amazing. I got to take a trip down the bayou to good old New Orleans, where to my shock I was surrounded by 10 year olds to teenagers to grown ass women. Britney, I found out and much to my surprise, spoke to the masses. Seeing her belt out "I Was Born to Make You Happy," "Baby, One More Time," and "Crazy" live were the first orgasmic happenings of my youth.

As time passes, I have matured and Brit has kept pace with me. She got married Vegas style, I got married Vegas style. She went a little nuts and I, myself, got a little crazy. (Damn quarter-life crisis) As her sound transitioned from the unrequited love of our youth ("always and forever you and me, that's the way our lives should be") to the awkwardness of that between stage ("I'm not a girl, not yet a woman, all I need is time, a moment that is mine, while I'm in between"), to the fun and frivolousness of our early twenties ("baby, I'm a freak and I don't really give a damn"), to the self confidence found in latter half of our twenties ("there's more to me than what you see, you wouldn't like when I'm angry"). Britney and I have grown together and although we lead to very different lives, I get her. I dig her. I know how great she is.

A lot of people talk shit. Imagine from the age of 13, being told how to do everything. From what you drink, to what you wear, to what you eat, to what you sing about; step back for a minute and imagine almost every aspect of your life being controlled. Now take it a step further not only are you in a controlled environment you are enduring the awkwardness that we all go through in our late teens and early twenties. Top it all off with being followed non-stop by the paparazzi and almost every sanction of your public life being photographed or taped... you would go a little crazy, too. Britney Spears is one tough cookie.

Then there is the lot of you that will argue, "she chose fame, she chose this life." We all have dreamt about fame and fortune (c'mon on now). When little Brit had that twinkle in her eye at age 12, I don't think she could fathom what a wet dream she would become. What 12 year old has that great a grasp on reality? I mean look at her now. She is a pure sex machine. She doesn't lie on that new track, "all of the boys and all of the girls are beggin' to If You Seek Amy," (read between the lines). I'd give it to her if she let me; I'd gladly take Justin Timberlake's and K. Fed's sloppy seconds.

I love Britney. I do. Her music makes me shake what my mama gave me (which is plenty, thanks mom). Last night, I drove on down to Zia and bought her latest collection of amazingness entitled, "Circus," (which the kind people of Zia let me buy at 11:55 PM and they also had Candy Cane flavored Pop Rocks (double score)! Just like her previous efforts it is a good time. My only beef is that the track "Radar" appears on this album, again. It was my least favorite track on "Blackout" and I still don't fancy it. She could have at least remixed it our something.

I just bought my pre-sale tickets for my sister and me and this will be my fourth (damn ovary) and my sister's fifth time seeing Ms. Spears (cause we're nasty like that). We love us some Brit-Brit. She can do no wrong. It's just not possible. I love her: the good, the bad, and the ugly. She always has and always will be my American Dream.

A Decemeber to remember

On the REALS, y'all. Yes, I am gonna bust out my Louisiana slang, I have to…

Ms. Britney Spears' new album Circus drops on the 2^nd, which is tomorrow and I am picking it up at midnight, like all good Brit-a-holics should. I cannot wait. Just wait, there will be many wine and Britney nights in the near future (PODO –pants off, dance off), people! Bring on the Cabernet Sauvignon and the Rieslings, wait for it… just wait.

Then, one of my BFFs from high school in Louisiana is gracing me with her presence! Wahoo, Lindsey Hartman! I love you and cannot wait to have you here. It will be a blast and people will look at us funny as we blurt at y'all and say our looooong vowel sounds. Super hero stance! Charlie's Angels! Super Twig! Wahoo… I cannot wait. We may also head out to California and hit up Disneyland… I may have a cold that weekend, can't work, boo… ha.

Once Hartman gets here it is time for the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party (2^nd annual party of this nature). I promise I won't get too drunk this year and go around telling everyone how much I love them. At least I am a happy drunk and I will make you feel special. However, with our Canadian (Gen, my love) out of town and not available for a safe ride home and deep political (liberal, mind you) conversation, I think on a scale of 1 to 10, I am gonna be a 2 on the sober side… yes, sorry. I digress, if someone wants to throw on "Frosty the Snowman," I don't mind giving a second show. It only seems fit as this is the 2nd Annual Ugly Sweater Party... It's all about the DEUCE and I don't mean POO.

My love of all loves, my email buddy, my barista sister, Stephanie is coming to town and I love the beans out of this lady! We will have lots of fun talks about life, God, politics, men, sex, and all other lovely girl things women talk about... See you soon, friend!

It's almost Christmas! Holy shit. It's the most wonderful time of the year. Really, I love Christmas. People generally turn into lunatics of various sorts. You got the big gay wads (such as myself), you have the angry, disenchanted who just hate the world (no matter what), you have the crazed, stressed people (the OCD type) who need everything to be perfect, lastly there is the unaffected ( Johava's Witnesses, Un-Christian people, and the Ebenezer Scrounges of the world).My favorite part is getting to see magic in children's eyes (remember, I am gay). I know for a fact that I am definitely on the naughty list, I don't think I have ever NOT been on the naughty list, but whateve. I like all this coal I have been accumulating, one day (fingers crossed) it will turn in to a bunch of diamonds, but I am not quite sure how to cultivate it properly, but I think for now "Coal Earrings" are a fierce fashion statement. (Damn my optimism!)

It's a new year, almost! We get to say "Peace the fuck out to 2K8" or as Scott-i-licious has been referring to it as "THE OCHO." I have a year end blog that I will put out and I am sure as I have done before probably talk more about Britney than I talk about my husband/ marriage (which is a lovely, lovely story). That's just how I roll. I love New Year's time though. Everyone has the best intentions… ahh, good intentions pave the way to Hell. But people really are generally at their best and kissing ass. It's phony, but it's pleasant. You can't blame them either. People like presents and people like FAT Christmas bonuses.

So yes, this December I am going to be exceptionally gay. I am full of cheer and merriment. I am not upset about anything and I pretty much happy and satisfied with most parts of my life.

Also, on a quick segue (SIDEBAR), December is the last FULL month we have of good, old President Bush. I will deeply miss his hilarious commentary (so-called Bushisms). To one last month with Georgie-boy!

December, I am only 12 or so hours into your goodness and it's all ready been grand, I still have 30 and half days with you, cheers!

PS: Hilary Clinton was just named Secretary of State... Oh December, I am going to make sweet love to you... in my car, cause it has not been broken in yet...