Welcome to Slinky's Selective Round-Up of 2004!

(it's a little late, but Slinky’s been out playing bridesmaid, so...)

A whole bunch of things happened in 2004, and there's not enough time or strength in me to go through everything. So here's just a few of the truly stand-out things which will remain burned in memory. Whether I want it to be or not. Too bad for anyone who doesn’t want to read this, or doesn't like what they read. I'm going to be clearing my mental rooms for 2005, so it’s not going to be pretty. Consider yourself warned.

The Year in Slinky for 2004:

• The first part of the year was piecing together the debris of the emotional car-crash that was 2003. And we’re talking about speeding Ferraris going at 320km/h hitting each other head-on type of car crash. Followed by an 18-tonner coming along after that to bulldoze everything into a flat, flaming mess. Bad, bad things happened in 2003. Slinky was a very fragile kitty.

• The rebuilding of my poor psyche took a major setback when sweet rock star What-If Boy which I had a major jones for waaaaaaay back when I was 16 and wore Doc Marts (gah!) revealed that he had been a lovefool for me too. And still was. Despite the girlfriend. And The Boy. (Again, gah!) Major drama ensues, more than if Days of our Lives, Gilmore Girls and Ally McBeal had an orgy and produced a lovechild that is Slinky’s life. Culminated in the sudden appearance of What-If Boy about 500km from where he was supposed to be on my doorstep, sans map, credit cards and petrol (I have to admit it was impressive, although I began crazily to feel like a Dashboard Confessionals song ). A threeway of screaming accusations, tearful protestations, wailing, rabid jealousy, guilt, crazed, naked heaving emotions throwing up in Technicolor, the whole shebang, been there, done that, got the T-Shirt. So much for rebuilding.

• In the middle of the entire screaming vomited mess, I decide I have had bloody enough of things. So after one-and-a-half years at the venerable firm of Screw & Rapeyer, which means one-and-a-half-years of wondering if I should just move my bed into my office to save time, having parents which have forgotten that they have three daughters and not just two, and knowing where every single unit of alcohol is stashed in office, I amend a very special document which has undergone 12 generations, and send it to my Boss, Darth Vader. It is titled ‘Resignation’, and baby, it feels so good. Slinky goes out as number 24 in a blaze of fame and glory, a statistic reported amidst the general exodus in the local newspapers, whereupon The Firm tries to cover it up by saying that it was part of the ‘normal’ turnover. Slinky does the dance of joy on her files in her office on the last day when she thought no one was looking.

• I take some time off, and spend it eating a lot of ice-cream, spending a lot of cash, and hanging with The Boy, who had the foresight (and the courage) to tender before I did (as number 17, I believe). I come to the conclusion that the ideal life involves a lot of money, Ben and Jerry's and nookie on call.

• I go to Barcelona, which is the best trip of my life until the Maldives. I bask in the discovery of Gaudi, tapas and bocadillos. Paella, oh god, yes. Wallowing in the gorgeousness of Parc Guell, the Sagrada. Dulcinea for thickest, creamiest xocolata in the world, oh god yes. And Boqueria, and the strawberries, and the grilled mackerel, oh god, yes yes yes. Nearly give in to temptation to buy a ferret kitten from La Ramblas.

• Slinky and The Boy drink too much of the damn water at the Placa de Catalunya and get stranded at Amsterdam on the way home. KLM sucks ass.

• I finally discover what weed smells like, and realize exactly how anything is on sale in the porn quarter of Amsterdam (straight sex though, is hard to find). Didn't get to find men on sale though. Very disappointed. I tried to get high on second-hand smoke from the joints, but no dice. Bummer.

• I join a vet clinic, where the vet in question is famous for barbecuing the dead corpses of beloved pets instead of cremating them (true story). There, I learn to medicate, restrain and put down various animals, although the last not without some wailing on my part. I also meet the Owner of the Jesus Dog. I still do not understand how he walks and breathes as the same time, he is so stupid. I also discover what it’s like to be stereotyped (nurses are nurses because they are too stupid to be anything else), when one particularly dim specimen of humanity looked at me behind reception and asked me doubtfully if I could speak English. I wanted to drag him over the counter, throttle him while spraying spittle in his face, screaming, “I have an LLB, you undereducated heartlander dumb fuck!”. Be nice to vet nurses.

• While working there, I experienced the worst attacks of murderous rage I’ve ever felt in my life (well, maybe excepting certain choice dates in 2003), especially when a poor silky terrier with a rotting puppy still stuck in utero was brought in by an owner who obviously didn't care about its wellbeing, but was using it merely as a brood bitch for her pet shop. I’ve never seen a more pathetic animal, or smelled anything worse in my life. I don't think it would have survived. I swear, my nails were dug into my palms so hard in an attempt not to rip apart the fucking bitch who brought that poor animal in that they bled after that. (People, get your pets from ASD or the SPCA or ask around the various dog clubs to rehouse an unwanted pet. DON'T buy from a pet farm.)

• I realized that people did not want to sit next to me on buses as I carried the delicate aroma of eau de animale with me after work.

• I experience the brain-bursting euphoria of being able to knock off at 5pm on the dot, and see sunlight. Sunlight was a stranger during my days at The Firm.

• I grudgingly give in to economic pressure and return to do 'real' work at my present firm, where the people are actually human beings (and human = humane) and you can actually have something of a social life because you do not get off work when everyone is asleep and your hours do not mean that every cab driver in Lakeview Taxi knows your name by heart.

• The PinkTwit saga begins.

• Blog wars ensue, crazed illogical monkeyhood is demonstrated by both PinkTwit and LittleDick, violent tendencies by Slinky, friendships are broken, the Group is divided but the Sisterhood holds true. "She had no choice!" must rank as the saddest excuse ever.

• I go the Maldives! I catch a big fish, I see a lot of little fish, I eat a lot of fish, I come back looking like an islander. Ooooohhhhhhhhhhhh. ‘Nuff said.

• Christmas and Boxing Day. The Boy, my friends, my family, and lots of pretty presents. (My father, Mr. Tiger-Are-Big-Dogs, actually bought me Von Dutch! I was deeply shocked that he even knew what that was, and oddly touched.) Me and The Boy find Paradise together. (no, that's NOT naughty euphemism, you should be ashamed) Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.

Happy 2005!

No partying for Slinky come New Year's Eve. So how did Slinky welcome the new year? Here’s how. She was bathing when the Boy says something she can’t hear through the shower, and he yells again, and tells her that she has 2 minutes to midnight. Slinky, frantically washing conditioner out of her massive hair, thinks, “2 minutes, I can do this.”.

Five seconds later, The Boy says, “Actually, you have ten seconds, nine, eight, seven...” WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY TWO MINUTES?? Slinky thinks as she desperately rinses, then hurdles out of the tub and yanks open the bathroom door, just in time to plant a smooch on The Boy at the stroke of midnight, dripping water all over the place like Daryl Hannah in Splash.

Let's hope this doesn't set the tone for the rest of the year.

Things Slinky has done in 2005

Bear in mind, these aren't resolutions. I don't make resolutions. These are just some of the things which I've already done, just to start things right.

1. Break up with the Marlboro Man. Slinky has been fag-free for three days and counting. Man, am I ever jonesing for a nitcotine fix.


I'm only five days in, gimme a break.

The Slinky Cat says spread the love, sugar, and spread it on thick.