cat-cat goes to the park

You’ve heard about it, and if you haven’t, you can phone the SPCA after this post and lodge a complaint.

We took Hannelore to the park the other day. It started as an impetuous romp to the river valley and ended up with violence and intrigue as we smuggled the felonious feline out of the building, claws out.
My cat is not very old….and accompanying her impressionable age, is the fact that she only usually leaves the building for traumatic events: being abandoned outside by the security guard, the vet, the vet pt. II. Thus, when she was forcibly removed from the bag and placed on the grass, her first instinct was to not be on the grass. Claw your way to safety on the nearest familiar object!  The nearest familiar object of course, happened to be either Bento or I. By the end of the far too overstimulating adventure, we were walking bleeding flesh puppets, but it was thoroughly worth it to see her experience everything for the first time. Burrs, mud, grass, wildlife and eating dirt. Funnily enough, the most traumatic things for her the whole time were all the different people on the path we ran into, and the traffic noise when we were downtown.

Cats have a funny behavioral quirk like moose also, in that they think if they hide their face, that they can’t be seen. They’re invisible.When you’re invisible nothing will eat you. Trees were horrifying. The river was horrifying. Fields were horrifying, and so was short luscious green grass.

It was a beautiful day, and cat-cat slept all the way home nestled in a backpack. When she got home, cat-cat promptly passed out and slept for an amazing four hours, just to be hyper again, at three a.m., something I’d hoped I’d thwarted this time.

Anyways…it was fun, despite how terrible it sounds. We might do it again, because it was relatively easy to do, and she did enjoy it at certain points, quite a lot.

what’s my problem? My problem?

I’m not a very happy person right now. I’ll tell you why since you won’t ask. Because you are the internet, and the internet never asks us for anything but a password or our credit card numbers.

a. I wait a lot for things to happen. I’m stuck in this seemingly huge long transitional point where I have to wait for everything to happen that I can already see on the horizon, but cannot address on my own time. So, in this waiting game, I should be thinking of great fantastic ways to while away the time, and my imagination fails me, because the stimulation I crave, is at the end of the road– the destination I’m trying to arrive at. Funnily enough though, a lot of the problem is that I can think of a billion things to do in that time, but can never decide on one thing, because none of those “things” has nearly as much priority as said destination. Granted, they are important I’ve realized, because everything shapes you as a person, not just one thing.

b. I’m running myself to financial ruin.

c. I can’t stop smoking. I should have stopped like T-1 year ago, and it just hasn’t happened. I will probably smoke during my practicum again, and this pisses me off incredibly. If I don’t smoke during my practicum and I quit now…chances are I will lose my mind. Sounds dumb to you internet, but, it’s guaranteed.

d. I don’t know what I want. I know what I want …but none of that comes before I graduate. It’s not a monetary thing either. It’s where my creative inspiration is headed, where my personality needs to be, and where I will be peaceful. But right now, I don’t know what I want, and I can’t make decisions about anything. Even coffee. It’s pathetic.

e. I still can’t just fucking say no to people. I try to make people happy all the time, hugely at my own expense, and when I get angry about it, I get it in my head that I would be an awful person if I wasn’t doing so. It’s a scary flashback to highschool sometimes, where I was everyone’s girl but mine.

f. Financial wrack and ruin. It is bad enough to get mentioned twice. I may have to start selling crack.

g. Jesus fuck dude….why’d you have to go do that? I know the world is a terrible place, and we’re all screwed up, but we’re alive. The beauty is in the details of living. I’m so angry right now. I don’t feel I have the right to be angry at all, and that yeah, it’s probably inappropriate, but fuck.

I miss you already

I just found out an old friend of mine who is my age passed away recently. He committed suicide, and it seems like such a cruel joke. I could tell you a little about Kenny, but there was so much to him just waiting to be discovered that there is no way I could do a description of him justice. He was a musician first and foremost, a guitarist and amazing vocalist, but also a writer, composer, and a poet, bursting with ideas and inspiration about the world around him. He will be missed. I’ve added on some tracks that he recorded last year with a former band to give you a glimpse of who he was.
track 1

track 2

track 3

how many broads does it take to screw together something anyways?

I have this aunt who has a thing about independence. It manifests itself materially in that instead of getting someone else to fix something, or say…make something for her, or maybe, she might borrow something from people, that she just will not do it. She’s excessively independent, and it’s almost like she’s not even able-bodied enough to be that way anymore.

In anycase….she decided she wanted to make a wooden box to go on the outside of the gas meter. It’s 20″ by 25″, and not completely square. Rectangular, with an open back. Now, if you had one half of a brain with a nail sticking out of it, this would really appear initially to be a relatively simple thing to do. Build a frame. Put plywood  on the outside. Oh wait, you want a stupid little door for the gas guy to be able to use? That won’t hurt him at all ergonomically….let’s fucking do it.

It took us roughly five hours, and we got one half of the frame done. One half of the frame, if you need an explanation, consists of 16 three inch screws that need to be inserted into pieces of wood that took three seconds to measure, 10 minutes of a 50 year old woman building up bravado around a table saw, and roughly five minutes to use said table saw to cut shit.

I’m angry, and I want to cut you because I love you, you silly girl. It was so incredibly lame that it turned out to be hilarious.

The moral, if there is a moral, is that you should get someone else to do this crap. It’s a waste of time and money. She has an admirable collection of power tools now, but I despair that the junkies in the back alley will only break into her garage and steal them. Selling them. For the drugs, you know? These kids of today, they’re right fucked I tell you.

Ticking time bomb

What do you get when you hang out with four people who love to talk and be listened to, and absolutely loathe being interrupted or unheard? I become the quiet diplomatic force of mediation. I listen a lot. I hear you. I care. Really.

Well, most of the conversation was good and hilarious, but I can’t stand it when someone is so desperate to be heard that they spontaneously introduce a new topic of discussion that has nothing to do with what is currently discussed. It’s a shameless method of trying to get attention that just throws everyone off into the land of awkward.

Damn my cat is annoying!

You see how that works? My cat has changed the subject, and focussed my attention that was once hurtling along the track of finishing that rant, on her. The selfish bitch.

I should really be sleeping right now.