Indecisive Cat



hi, friend.
i'm devyn.
none of this makes sense
on ne vit qu'une fois
i. home ii. flagged/me iii. ask iv. arbitrary pictures v. a secret ©
prettycolors:

#858dff

prettycolors:

#858dff

dickscratch:

turn on: people that make you feel good about yourself

officialunitedstates:

  1. one
  2. two
  3. three
  1. four

dont-harshmyvibe:

if you tickle me it’s either going to lead to kissing or an extreme act of violence

officialunitedstates:





Wednesday night was bingo night at the senior center closest to my home.  I used to go every week, sit at the table with Doreen and the gals, and try my best to pull out a victory.  I had terrible luck of course; I never won despite there being only a couple dozen old folks who I was competing against.
After a few months of these losses, I got fed up and decided that I was going to take control of this Bingo competition scam.  I knew that the only way to beat ‘em was to outlast ‘em. 
The first night I tried going around to every table and telling the ladies a really boring story about my cat.  I thought that would make them bored and fall asleep.  However, the exact opposite happened, and they were just happy someone was talking to them.  I don’t even have a cat.  But if I did its name would be Apples.
The second week I knew I had to take more drastic action if I was to win.  After a long look at the ten page Bingo Night rulebook, I noticed that there was no penalty for yelling Bingo if you didn’t have a Bingo.  This was my in.  After the 9th false Bingo yell I could tell the ladies were getting annoyed with me.  “Pay attention to the numbers!” Doreen yelled at me.  Go punch a rock, Doreen.
Slowly, one by one, the ladies got so aggravated with me slowing down the game that they started to leave.  My voice was hoarse.  I was getting tired of yelling Bingo but I knew I couldn’t give up now.  I was so close.
Doreen was the last lady sitting.  It was all down to this.  The woman who was reading the numbers had given up by now.  The janitor had come in to mop up the spilled punch and cookie crumbs.  It was just me and Doreen, just me and Doreen.  Whoever left first was the loser; whoever remained was going to get the title of Wednesday Night Bingo Winner. 
"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."
"What??" she said, apparently unable to hear me.
"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."
"No." 
I could see the look in her eyes, the fierce competitive spirit in her fluffy white hair.  I pulled out my sleeping bag and three Nintendo DS’s.  She pulled out her two knitting pointy things and a string of yarn.  We were both in it for the long haul.

officialunitedstates:

Wednesday night was bingo night at the senior center closest to my home.  I used to go every week, sit at the table with Doreen and the gals, and try my best to pull out a victory.  I had terrible luck of course; I never won despite there being only a couple dozen old folks who I was competing against.

After a few months of these losses, I got fed up and decided that I was going to take control of this Bingo competition scam.  I knew that the only way to beat ‘em was to outlast ‘em. 

The first night I tried going around to every table and telling the ladies a really boring story about my cat.  I thought that would make them bored and fall asleep.  However, the exact opposite happened, and they were just happy someone was talking to them.  I don’t even have a cat.  But if I did its name would be Apples.

The second week I knew I had to take more drastic action if I was to win.  After a long look at the ten page Bingo Night rulebook, I noticed that there was no penalty for yelling Bingo if you didn’t have a Bingo.  This was my in.  After the 9th false Bingo yell I could tell the ladies were getting annoyed with me.  “Pay attention to the numbers!” Doreen yelled at me.  Go punch a rock, Doreen.

Slowly, one by one, the ladies got so aggravated with me slowing down the game that they started to leave.  My voice was hoarse.  I was getting tired of yelling Bingo but I knew I couldn’t give up now.  I was so close.

Doreen was the last lady sitting.  It was all down to this.  The woman who was reading the numbers had given up by now.  The janitor had come in to mop up the spilled punch and cookie crumbs.  It was just me and Doreen, just me and Doreen.  Whoever left first was the loser; whoever remained was going to get the title of Wednesday Night Bingo Winner. 

"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."

"What??" she said, apparently unable to hear me.

"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."

"No." 

I could see the look in her eyes, the fierce competitive spirit in her fluffy white hair.  I pulled out my sleeping bag and three Nintendo DS’s.  She pulled out her two knitting pointy things and a string of yarn.  We were both in it for the long haul.

awwww-cute:

Today my 7 week old puppy saw himself for the first time

awwww-cute:

Today my 7 week old puppy saw himself for the first time

officialunitedstates:

I was nervous, I admit.  It was our second date and I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible.  I had even gone so far as to fill up my car with the second cheapest gasoline type.  I had no idea what it was or why anyone would ever buy it but I decided that no expense would be spared.
I had also baked some fresh muffins.  Those took me about six hours to make because I kept changing my mind on what flavor muffins I wanted.  At first, I wanted to make some with nuts but then I changed my mind after about ten minutes of them in the oven.  So, I put on my mitts I knitted the day before and took them out, promptly dug into the muffins with tweezers to remove each nut, and then decided to replace them with chocolate chips.  This worked well, until I remembered that I hadn’t asked her if she was allergic to chocolate or not and didn’t want her not to be able to have any.  So, I put on my mitts I had knitted the day before and took them out of the oven, got back out my tweezers and tried to remove the chocolate chips.  They were all melted and everything but eventually I managed to get them out with a straw.  I replaced them with bananas because I had never heard of anyone that was allergic to bananas and I thought that was a safe bet.  After about three hours of cooking at 100 degrees they seemed warm enough to be done. 
Her apartment was a short drive away.  I got out of the car like a gentleman and rang her doorbell instead of playing my Linkin Park song so loud that she could hear it from inside and know that I was there.   Her doorbell had a nice ring to it.  Like really nice.  I loved the notes and the rhythm to the chimes and everything.  It was nicely paced and not too rushed.  It really gave off a welcoming feel. 
She answered the door with a smile. 
"Hey, I really like your doorbell," I said.
She stepped out and glanced at it. 
"How much?" I asked.
She laughed right in my face.  I assured her I wasn’t joking.
"I can’t sell you my doorbell. How would you even get it out of my house? Isn’t it built into the wall?"
"That’s not important. I’m willing to go as high as $100."  I had seen half a season of Pawn Stars; I knew what I was doing.
"500." she countered.  She knew what she was doing, too.
"Meet me in the middle at 300?"
"350."
Dang, she was good.  She must have seen at least two seasons of Pawn Stars, maybe even three.  But I really wanted those bells. 
"Alright, I can do 350," I said as I went in for the handshake.
I spent the next hour and a half punching her wall to get her doorbells out.  Then I drove home and installed them.  I forgot about the date and the banana muffins completely.

officialunitedstates:

I was nervous, I admit.  It was our second date and I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible.  I had even gone so far as to fill up my car with the second cheapest gasoline type.  I had no idea what it was or why anyone would ever buy it but I decided that no expense would be spared.

I had also baked some fresh muffins.  Those took me about six hours to make because I kept changing my mind on what flavor muffins I wanted.  At first, I wanted to make some with nuts but then I changed my mind after about ten minutes of them in the oven.  So, I put on my mitts I knitted the day before and took them out, promptly dug into the muffins with tweezers to remove each nut, and then decided to replace them with chocolate chips.  This worked well, until I remembered that I hadn’t asked her if she was allergic to chocolate or not and didn’t want her not to be able to have any.  So, I put on my mitts I had knitted the day before and took them out of the oven, got back out my tweezers and tried to remove the chocolate chips.  They were all melted and everything but eventually I managed to get them out with a straw.  I replaced them with bananas because I had never heard of anyone that was allergic to bananas and I thought that was a safe bet.  After about three hours of cooking at 100 degrees they seemed warm enough to be done. 

Her apartment was a short drive away.  I got out of the car like a gentleman and rang her doorbell instead of playing my Linkin Park song so loud that she could hear it from inside and know that I was there.   Her doorbell had a nice ring to it.  Like really nice.  I loved the notes and the rhythm to the chimes and everything.  It was nicely paced and not too rushed.  It really gave off a welcoming feel. 

She answered the door with a smile. 

"Hey, I really like your doorbell," I said.

She stepped out and glanced at it. 

"How much?" I asked.

She laughed right in my face.  I assured her I wasn’t joking.

"I can’t sell you my doorbell. How would you even get it out of my house? Isn’t it built into the wall?"

"That’s not important. I’m willing to go as high as $100."  I had seen half a season of Pawn Stars; I knew what I was doing.

"500." she countered.  She knew what she was doing, too.

"Meet me in the middle at 300?"

"350."

Dang, she was good.  She must have seen at least two seasons of Pawn Stars, maybe even three.  But I really wanted those bells. 

"Alright, I can do 350," I said as I went in for the handshake.

I spent the next hour and a half punching her wall to get her doorbells out.  Then I drove home and installed them.  I forgot about the date and the banana muffins completely.

maxonshreaves:

when your otp is in an intense argument and their faces get closer together but then they stop talking 

and they look at the others’ lips

rhubabe:

look at this kitten from the shelter

rhubabe:

look at this kitten from the shelter

i was told….

customers who wanna start some shit  (via karencartwright)