Augh!

Boys SUCK and I am well quit of them.

I usually don't like to publicly write about the more private aspects of my life because I hate when shit turns into Chelsea's Adventures in the Wasteland that is Men, but really, boys are stupid, and you should throw rocks at them. BIG ROCKS. AND THROW THEM HARD. This post really has no point to serve other than for me to talk about being so over dudes and their crap; like I don't even. I'm at the point where I'm almost not even dreading being a year older, because only assholes go for the "barely legal" thing and also? I think I'm ready. For better guys. Like, really, give me someone mature with a backbone, if that even exists. And if it doesn't then I'm totally going to be single forever, and get eaten by cats because I just cannot even, anymore. I'm DONE with "truth by technicalities" and being seen as the equivalent of a coloring book- an excellent time killer, but still cheap and not really what you consider worthwhile- and I'm done with flat-out not being appreciated for being the amazing person I am, and I will never, EVER, take less than I deserve, ever again.

Friday: Fairs, Fighting, and Family

I had a happy Fourth of July- actually, I was working at a fair so I was very tired, but I had tons of fun watching fireworks with a very dear friend of mine! And then yesterday I did another event, and you know, I think that people need to maybe NOT hang around my booth if they have no intentions of buying things? By all means, look around and take your time and enjoy my display, and if you decide not to buy anything? I'm not even mad! But if your sole intention is to, like, chat me up, because you're not buying what I'm selling, but you'd buy SOMETHING ELSE that really isn't for sale, you should knock it the hell off.

I mentioned this to my mom, and she told me to quit giving everyone bedroom eyes all the damn time, which is a gross overstatement of how often I give bedroom eyes. And then I'm like, "It's how I get affection, because you're an absentee parent," and she's like, "YOU ARE TWENTY YEARS OLD," and then I accuse her of loving my brothers more than she loves me and harass her until she says I am her favorite. That's how everyone interacts with their business partners, right?

Oh, and there was totally some guy stomping on some other guy's face and shouting about his sister, and I wanted to know what the stompee did to his sister, but it seemed like really poor form to ask. I think it's more that I'm nosy, than that I'm concerned about the well-being of strangers. And I do care, but I'm very, very nosy. "Curiosity killed the cat" is so apt, because when I don't know things, I feel like I might die a little. Believe me, that never causes friction in my personal life. Not even a tiny bit.

For the Birds

Nothing terribly important happened over the weekend, except I decided to start getting over my fear of birds. It's getting silly because I HAVE a bird, and I like him, I really do- but when he starts with the bird stuff (like LOOKING at me), I just can't even. And there's a nest of baby birds on my balcony. I saw them once, poking their heads out, and it's since been easier to pretend they aren't there.

I'm not entirely sure what I have to do in order to not be afraid of birds, but I'll totally do it. I'm probably going to have to ask someone to MAKE me touch one or something, which sounds marginally preferable to death, at least.

Anyway, today I hung out with my cousin, who I'm determined will end up nothing like me. ("Random Teenage Heartthrob is so awesome!"... "You know what's really awesome? STUDYING HARD AND BEING YOUR OWN PERSON AND NEVER TALKING TO BOYS, EVER.") She was watching a Disney Channel thing and I got sucked in, but I was really impressed that the message was "Don't date terrible people, no matter how cute they are!" Because I've had so many moments where I'm like, "YES, I know he's a misogynist who can't spell and possibly has a criminal record and is maybe insane, BUT HE HAS PRETTY EYES!!" And then all my loved ones are like, "Yeah, sure he has pretty eyes, and he keeps them in a jar on his nightstand, and thinks of them fondly when he feasts on the neighborhood cats." But if Disney is going to encourage NOT dating cat-eating whackjobs, I completely approve.

- Last night I really felt like I KNEW what I was doing at work (and no drunk ladies kissed me, which was kinda nice, because, like, I really wanna sell hair accessories without sexual harassment). And the guy in the next booth was maybe being flirty? I don't even know. He was cute, but, like, I'm just not even... doing that. The looking at men thing, I mean. I just make the worst decisions with that kind of stuff. Like it's not even fun to talk about, because at this point it makes me look like I have bad taste instead of bad luck.

- Also, last night, I wore way too much makeup, like I do every day and especially for work stuff, but I added glitter eyeliner. I like Too Faced Starry Eyes in Restraining Order (so named because it makes you look so foxy you'll have a million stalkers, I assume). I've had it for a while and wasn't that blown away by it, but I fell IN LOVE with it last night. I even wore a tiny bit today, because I'm really, really demure and tasteful when it comes to my appearance.

- Lately I've been into, you know, sleeping at night (or at all) so I take melatonin. I've tried it before and it makes me do things like take off my clothes or unmake my bed or tear through my purse like a raccoon IN MY SLEEP. It hasn't done that this time, but the dreams are insane. Very vivid and usually kind of terrible, but maybe worth it, since I wake up feeling rested, and my dreams are always terrible, anyway.

- Speaking of, I used to have raccoons. I mean, they weren't mine, but they lived in my garage and ate my food and broke my dryer like really big, angry cats. WITH HANDS. Once my mom threw a beach ball at one to scare it away, and it just HISSED, because they are awful creatures. They'd just hang out there, when you'd want to do laundry and things, and refuse to leave/chew up my copy of Dolores Claiborne and scatter cat food everywhere, which really attracted a lot of stray cats. I'm nothing if not brave in the face of wild animals, so what I did is... quit going out into the garage after eight or so in the evening.

Dead Things. All the Dead Things.

- I have my Nook charging, because I'm going to read terrible erotica and blog about it. I really don't even know how I'm going to do this, because I have to literally type out all my entries on my phone and email them (SUCH IS MY DEDICATION TO MY CRAFT) in order to post them, so there will be no links, italics, or bolded words.

- Apparently, the turtles can do tricks, but all I've ever seen them do is silently loathe me.

- I really like reading those lists of things about themselves that people sometimes post on their blogs, partly because I read them in this bizarrely flirty tone, and then it's like some random stranger is hitting on me. But not in a weird way. But then I try to write one, and it's not sexy at all, because it's a lot of talking about lipstick and finding dead bats. Apparently that's NOT the best way to be flirty? If that's true, I'd never flirt with anyone, because I REALLY LIKED THOSE DEAD BATS. Some of them were HEADLESS. We kept one on the windowsill for a while, because I had a very average home life, growing up. Why do all my posts turn into me talking about playing with dead things?!

- Instead of saying I'm writing a novel/book I usually say I'm writing a thing because it makes me sound less like a jackass. But I'm... writing a novel. About dead things. NO, REALLY. It's about dead things, but it's not, like Dead Things I Have Kept on My Windowsill, because that's just silly. Sometimes we also kept them in the flowerpots. Look, I lived in the hills, I had cats, dead things were everywhere, and if you found one that was in really good shape, you kind of... well. You kept it. To see what would happen to it. It was one of my mother's hobbies. Actually, I find it kind of comforting now- like, last weekend I found a bird head*, and I was like IT FEELS LIKE HOME.

*I didn't keep the bird head.

In Which I Am So Very Cool

Ginger and I spent the weekend watching the apartment/dog/guinea pig of a family friend. It was fun- on Friday I wound up having a really emotional conversation with my mom about cat death that involved screaming at each other (it gets more fun, truly), but then I snuggled with the best dog ever and stayed up all night watching Wizards of Waverly Place with a glass of wine, because I am a grown up. Saturday, I was EXHAUSTED and running around in three inch heels doing work stuff, and having to sit down and have laughing fits because this is my brain on NO SLEEP AT ALL AND WIZARDS. Then my mom lost her iPhone and we had to chase after it in WalMart and the parking lot and just everywhere, ever, and then it was in her jacket pocket and then I killed my mother. I'm totally kidding. I only roughed her up a bit a reserved her spot in the worst nursing home I could find. And then today on the way home, the car started making this... sound. It sounded like the ocean, but also like you're being sucked out of an airplane? Anyway, it was a scraping sound, because the bottom of my mom's car was dragging on the ground. So we pulled into a parking lot and kinda poked at the car with a stick and this chick pulled up and my first thought is OH MY GOD SHE IS GOING TO SPIT ON ME and then I thought that maybe she saw two women sitting on the ground, poking at a car with a stick and wanted to help? But no. She wanted to know what the park was called. Um, I don't know? The Bottom of the Car Fell Out So We're Poking at it with a FUCKING STICK Park?!

Teal, Dear

- I'm being such a PILL. I keep writing posts and trashing them because I'm reading them in this shrill voice. Not MY voice, even though I've been called shrill before. I suspect that's less about my actual voice, and more about how I endlessly harass all my favorite people about everything.

- It occurs to me that Scarlett O'Hara got to pal around with Rhett Butler and save Tara, and all Melanie Hamilton got was dead. Granted, you don't LIVE with Rhett- he's only there to buy you hats and make you feel charmingly vapid- but even so, better to be all bent out of shape over Rhett than devoted to Ashley Wilkes, who goes around kissing your sister-in-law and lacking character. And then, like, dying. In short? Being a bitchy opportunist will KEEP YOU ALIVE.

- Earlier all those turtles ate their own worms and no one fought. Hating me was kept to a minimum, even. Although the bird did SCREAM at me for trying to watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Eventually I gave up and let him watch cartoons.

- So Cat Marnell is writing for Vice now. I read her debut- I still love her writing, I love that she isn't as cleaned up as she was for xojane/SAY Media, but I'm not sure I'm loving that the entire focus of her column seems to be self-destruction? Even though, I get it- I deleted an entire blog because it was basically becoming a tribute to my self-destructive urges- when you're in a certain place, it's hard to talk about anything else. If she never writes about beauty again, I'll be so sad- I wasn't so into the "getting healthy" parts of her story, but when she talked about being awful BUT EYELINER MADE IT BETTER, I really responded to that. But also? Mostly anything I read that isn't an actual book, I read for fashion/beauty, which is shallow and I just really don't even give a fuck.

- Actually, I also like to read about ghosts and finding dead stuff. And taxidermy. I do love taxidermy. I'd pursue it as a hobby, but I don't live alone, and I think I'd be upset if someone brought corpses into the house and I wasn't allowed to play with them or anything. And, like, I don't really like to share, so I'd wind up wanting my OWN corpses and I'd have to get extras so that no one would touch MY SPECIAL DEAD THINGS and I don't even know where I'd be keeping all these bodies. I suppose I could get them their own freezer, but now I'm buying freezers AND spare corpses and this is all before taxidermy supplies. MONEY DOESN'T GROW ON TREES, YOU KNOW. You'd think there would just be dead things all over the damn place, just WAITING to be preserved, but not even. I can't believe that people pay for bottled water AND dead bodies, like water and dying aren't free. CONSUMERISM. *shakes fist*

Return of the List

- I looked at one of those birthday books- the ones that SUPER SCIENTIFICALLY use your birthdate to predict your future. It said I never fall in love at first sight, and upon reading that, I laughed forever.

- I watched one of those ghost shows. I love them because GHOSTS but hate them because, fuck, every late night noise is a ghost who wants to eat me I JUST KNOW IT. Anyway, the lady with a haunted house basically said, "Well, when we bought the house, we knew about the cemetary behind it but I figured that at least no one would build there" because live neighbors are way worse than decomposing bodies in your backyard. Then later she finds something in her backyard and she's like, "It looked like a woman's pelvic bone" as if finding human remains on your property is totally normal. ONLY IF YOU PUT THEM THERE. And actually, why do these people keep living in houses with ghosts/bodies/mummy babies? Because I'd just leave and never, ever come back. As it is, I once saw a huge spider outside my front door, and I was pretty much ready to move.

- These turtles are just out of control, honestly. They're giving me anxiety, because I'm all kinds of worried that they're going to escape, or, like, DIE and I have to touch worms (and I will never, ever shut up about worms now) and they really seem to hate me. And one of them is always in the corner, being really unappreciative of the worms I give him.

- This weekend I'm house sitting near where this guy I was interested in for like a minute lives, and I texted a friend to ask if I should ring him. She asked if he was terrible. "Not even that terrible!" I said, then promptly sat down and thought about my choices. Ha. Kidding! I accepted "not that terrible" as okay.

- When I was a kid, my mom's friend had a bare spot in her yard, and I thought it was a BEAR spot, and no one could convince me otherwise, so I was TERRIFIED of her yard, because BEARS. Leaving SPOTS. This is irrelevent, but I was in my own yard today and all of a sudden, I was like "Remember the BEAR SPOT?" And I think when I have children, I'm going to tell them that bare spots are caused by bears because a healthy fear of bears in your backyard is something I can get behind. Or maybe I'll just tell them that the bare spots are there because there aren't enough dead bodies acting as fertilizer. I bet serial killers have the BEST yards.

Body Image, Jealousy, and Cat Marnell

Cat Marnell won't be writing for xojane.com anymore, which has me really sad. More sad than I should be, maybe? Because she wrote about being tormented by "a terrible little math problem multiplying and dividing forever in your head that equates rather exactingly your own hotness with the rest of the world's ability to love you" and I related to it. And that's all I can really say about that, because I've totally emailed her to tell her that I love her work, and now I'm blogging about her, and I don't want to be creepily obsessed with Cat Marnell.

But I do think about that quote a lot- particularly when I'm cranky but without the energy to be angry and nasty like a cornered raccoon. And I think about what body image means and whether or not looks actually matter, when compared with intelligence or personality or any of those things other people seem to care so damn much about, when they think of personal development. Examining that is hard, though- because my reaction to people who care about being smart or interesting or even just, you know, NOT male gazing their entire lives is white-hot jealousy. I console myself by remembering that I'm prettier (and I'm totally confident in calling myself pretty, because, my god, I WORK at it) or younger... but then I need to have that validated, so it feels like it's okay to be so willfully vapid. And then I'm even more attached to my focus on my appearance, and the vicious cycle starts over. And over and over.

It gets worse the older I get (and, oh, how I hate thinking in terms of "older"- not because I'm worried about LOOKING old, necessarily, but because I'm terrified that one day I'll wake up and look old... and it won't even matter. Which will mean that what I've cared about for so long was meaningless), the more I see people NOT caring about this stuff the same way I do. And it's awful- I get offended! Really offended that someone is DARING to be able to pass by a mirror without STARING, because obviously, they're doing it just to spite me and show me that I'm doing it wrong. Clearly, some women are fine without lipstick or eyeliner or taking time to pick apart their looks and zero in on every pore, because some people just WANT to watch the world burn.

Not that I really endorse my worldview. I'd like to hear that I'm smart/interesting/funny/creative and feel the same spike of pride I feel when I hear that I'm nice to look at. What's that like? Is it nice? Does it drive a person to do MORE things that require intelligence, etc? Because that sounds more productive that what "you're pretty" can lead to.

The Finer Points of Turtle Care (or DEAD FOREVER FROM TOUCHING WORMS)

So I'm currently responsible for the care of three turtles, which is different because they aren't anything like cats or guinea pigs. Like at all! They eat WORMS, which means that I have to GIVE THEM WORMS like some kind of worm-toucher. Anyway, I put on gloves prior to getting out the worms, because I'd sooner die, and really, even with gloves it was kind of scarring. You know what makes worms just slip right through your fingers? Wearing gloves. So I'm PINCHING these worms to get a grip on them, and SCREAMING FOREVER, while these turtles are looking up at me, distrustfully HISSING AT ME WHEN I AM TOUCHING WORMS FOR THEM. And all I had for breakfast was half a cream cheese bagel, and it wasn't even real cream cheese, it was light cream cheese! I DO IT ALL FOR YOU, TURTLES!

Also, two of the turtles kept fighting over one worm when there really were plenty of worms for everyone, because turtles are idiots. Though I was warned that they might escape if I turn my back, because turtles are nothing if not stealthy. Little geniuses in shells, just darting around, being elusive and hard to catch.

Murder Has Always Been My Favorite

Whenever I go to the laundromat (aka the seventh circle of hell because STRANGERS TALK TO ME and it's always crazy hot), I like to visit a used book store in the same shopping center. (I picked up Salem's Lot and the first Sookie Stackhouse novel because for someone who doesn't usually enjoy vampire novels, I sure love buying them.) My grandma and I perused the YA section for a book my ten year old cousin might like, and rejecting Diary of a Wimpy Kid got me thinking about what I liked reading around her age.

I LOVED Fear Street. I've been really enjoying reading blogs devoted to recaps of those books because they were just so insane. There's murder. A LOT OF MURDER. Everyone gets murdered in those goddamn books, all the time. IT WAS THE BEST EVER. I think my very favorite book was about this teenage boy who murders his love interests when they're too slutty. Come to think of it, pretty much every guy in that series was a psycho/stalker/murderer/abuser and everyone was like THIS IS NORMAL which apparently had a profound effect on my impressionable mind. Also fun was the miniseries about cheerleaders being hunted down by an evil spirit, which made me wanna be a cheerleader so bad. And there were HISTORICAL Fear Street novels, including one that took place during the Civil War. The war breaks out, like, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of the protag's birthday party and her fiance has to go fight for the North, HEAVEN FORBID, and she's stuck in Georgia eating worms to survive. Also, there's voodoo and someone gets stomped to death by a horse which was a lot of fun when I was seven.

I also really liked the Harry Potter series, and the Sabrina the Teenage Witch novelizations, though they sadly lacked random, gruesome death AND abusive boyfriends. I graduated out of YA really early, and read things like Always Running, which is about gang culture and Practical Magic, which is still my favorite book. But the part where Gillian has to sleep with her boyfriend or he'll beat her? Eleven year olds just really do not grasp the concept that this isn't a thing that's considered healthy.

Currently, I read YA here and there, and actually enjoy Twilight a lot because I just love things that are awful. I also love The Hunger Games because I approve of destitute children killing each other for sport. Oh, and I Capture the Castle, which is really quaint and lovely.

Tongue-in-Cheek 4Eva

So I typed out a looooong thing about what an asshole I've been, but the amount of narcissism it contained was way too fucking much, even for me. I'm a raging narcissist, but I only approve of it when it's darkly funny. I also didn't have coffee, so I'm kind of rambly but LOOK AT ALL THE FUCKS I GIVE (other things I've been not giving a fuck about: using my turn signal and being a decent human being. Also, I don't really care for orphans and if dolphins are so fucking smart, why can't they AVOID the tuna nets? I don't want to eat dolphins. They creep me out).

Anyway, I guess there was an earthquake yesterday? I was too busy self-obsessing to feel it, but my mom said it was even scarier than a rattlesnake, or even TWO rattlesnakes, and she stopped talking to me when I asked if it was scarier than EIGHT MILLION rattlesnakes, in her BED. I think if I came home and found that many rattlesnakes in my bed, I would pretty much just die, right there on the spot. That's way scarier than an earthquake, because it's RATTLESNAKES. Also scarier? Like a billion centipedes. Or even, like, three centipedes. And I don't even like earthquakes! Or wildfires. Or the beach (I litter on purpose). I'm so bad at being from California.

Saw my paternal grandma and made plans to see that side of my family tomorrow night... which is good but difficult? Because talk always turns to my dad and I'm never quite sure how to handle it. Anyway, I really don't want the message of this blog to be CHELSEA MCQUEEN HAS DADDY ISSUES!!!!! But I do. And some days it totally feels like there's a glaring neon sign behind my eyelids, declaring it. I'm sure that means I have to actually, you know, unpack my feelings and examine them, but GOD sometimes I just cannot even give a fuck about that. It's not like my feelings are going to pack their angsty baggage and go (NOT THAT I'D COMPLAIN). I can always examine them later, because that's a philosophy that's worked out well in the past.

Anyway, I don't care for feelings and prefer to be actively, furiously shallow- so I picked up an issue of Glamour. Two, actually! One's a special SUMMER edition which means it's all about being KIND OF naked but not that naked or else you'll burn yourself when making Engagement Chicken. Regular Glamour has an article about nail ideas which got me all kinds of excited until I saw the ENGAGEMENT MANI for when you totally want everyone including your 100000 cats to know that you should be ENGAGED, and goddammit, if you could find someone to choke down your ENGAGEMENT Chicken, you probably would be!

Flipped to an article about how to wear leather tastefully and on the adjacent page is an ad for Justin Bieber's new perfume, which is weird because he's got this chick all over him- is that exploitation?! How old is he?! WHY IS A TEENAGE BOY TRYING TO SELL ME PERFUME? Because everyone knows how teenage boys always smell so wonderful (not that I've smelled one in a while). Though I love that instead of doing a his n hers set, he's only selling to girls. I feel like it's good to be honest, Biebs, and I'm happy that you've accepted that most men don't want to emulate you. I don't actually dislike J. Biebs, I'm mostly bitter and angry that his eyelashes are BETTER THAN MINE because life is soooo unfair.

60s inspired fashion spread: "Fantasy moment: You've got the chubby baby and chiseled guy. Now all you need are the clothes." Babies are like handbags, but I don't even know where to buy one. Also, my favorite thing about handbags is that I'm never going to have to give birth to one. Handbags>>>>babies. Unless that baby has magic powers, but you know what? Babies wouldn't even know what to do with magic powers because THEY'RE BABIES. I'd love a magic handbag. I'd totally give birth to that. Even better if there's a baby, or, like, an iPad inside it.

Anyway, I really loved the pictorial with Ryan Seacrest's girlfriend. I didn't read the article, but FEATHER BOAS. And BLONDE. God, Glamour is making me wanna be blonde so bad, which is their goal, and why women read magazines- they make us feel like we're just not good enough, but ALMOST THERE. Just a LITTLE tanner! Just A TINY BIT thinner! Just put on those $600 shoes! You'll be THERE! I started reading Glamour/Cosmo when I was 11ish, around the same time I started wearing makeup, and fuck, that's almost 10 years devoted to the pursuit of Barbie doll perfection, and thinking about it makes me wanna scream, it's so fucking ABSURD. Wear makeup, but not too much makeup OR ELSE HE'LL THINK YOU'RE A WHORE! Work out! Starve! Why are you putting a down payment on a house when WHAT YOU REALLY NEED IS EVERYTHING IN THIS EDITORIAL?! What's the POINT of college if you aren't earning your MRS?! Engagement chicken! Scrunchie tricks! FUCK.

Attack of the List

Some things:
- I really think that if Ginger were a person, she'd speak in Paris Hilton's "baby voice" and say things like "The extra weight looks so good on you!"...to people recovering from eating disorders.
- I did some tie-dyeing yesterday so I spent the entire morning rinsing it all by hand like a 14th century laundress. I particularly like a dress I did AND I AM GOING TO BE MARRIED/BURIED IN IT BECAUSE I BASICALLY KILLED MY HANDS FOR IT.
- I've been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift lately and it reminds me of when my ex said he'd cheat on me with Taylor Swift, so I said I'd cheat on him with everyone, ever, and apparently that made the game "not fun anymore" or whatever.
- I walk at least a few miles every evening and I found out that there's a track with BUNNIES like right next to my house, so now I'm going to start going there. I'm very happy because spending all that time walking so close to Target was getting expensive.
- I am kind of obsessed with rattlesnakes lately. I don't, you know, WANT one but I keep thinking about them. A lot. All the time. I think I have Stockholm Syndrome because of all the rattlesnakes.

Meet Ginger

I'm not a huge fan of the fact that two posts after I wrote about my dead cat (and I actually refer to him as "my dead cat" in conversation because it horrifies people and I use humor to deal with grief) I'm introducing my new friend, but she's a big part of my life and will be a part of any blog that touches on my personal life.

My companion's name is Ginger, and she's a guinea pig. She's my therapy animal, and I project onto her way too much because she's a rescue and I just KNOW her feelings were marginalized! And her previous owner called her SNICKERS, which is ridiculous because she's totally a Ginger (even though I almost called her Alexa as a tribute to Alexander McQueen). She even knows her name! Or maybe she just thinks that my voice is like angels singing, or maybe she just thinks she'll get food if she responds when I talk to her. She's right about both of those things.

Anyway, she's my precious. She makes me happy, no matter what, and accompanies me to Target and gives me kisses when I need them. The special thing about rescued animals is that you wind up really wanting to make sure their circumstances are improved by being adopted by you- and I hope hers are, because she deserves it.

The Bitch is Back

I can blog again! Not because I have a computer but because my brain turned back on and I remembered that I CAN POST FROM MY EMAIL. Anyway, a lot has happened since my post about my dear departed kitty and I'll go into it at some point but I was so excited to restart my blog that I had to say something!

TEST

Email test!

Goodbye, Dear Friend

I didn't want to write this post for a really long time- actually, I wanted to never have to write it, but I had hoped that I'd have some time before I had to write it.

Yesterday, I came home to find my beloved cat, Mudpie, dead in my bedroom.

There's not really anything that can prepare you for that.

He was only ten- not a kitten, but he should have had at least five more years, considering that he was kept safely inside. He hadn't been "sick"- I had noticed some weight loss and some lethargy (though because of our recent move, I had attributed that to stress and having to be temporarily kept mewed up). The last night that I saw him, I'd seen that his eyes weren't as bright, and they were a little runny- but he didn't act sick. He didn't act like he was in pain, and he was still sociable. (I feel that it was likely kidney failure that caused his death, but I didn't order an autopsy. It makes no difference, now.)

I hope he wasn't scared. I hope he didn't feel alone. I really, more than anything, hope that it was quick and painless and that he hadn't been trying to tell me he needed help.

I was asked if I wanted his ashes returned to me, and I said yes. I don't really know what I'm going to do with them- I don't feel ready to let go, yet. I don't know if I made the right choice- but it was mine, and mine alone, to make. So I said yes. I wasn't there when he died, and in a strange way, I couldn't handle the thought of just letting him go like that, without knowing what happened to his body.

It's a blessing that I don't have memories of him as a sick kitty- I only have good, happy memories of cuddling with him, and dressing him up (he had a few shirts and a hat and often let me put scarves, etc on his head)- the way that he was MY cat (he didn't like many other people), the time my grandparents' cat got into my bedroom, and Mudpie chased him around, howling the whole time. The way he couldn't figure out how doors worked. The way he INSISTED that showering was a group activity, and my favorite sweater was his bedding, and he used to jump into the sliding glass door, multiple times in a row, because birds were outside and he wanted them (though I don't think he'd know what to do with them once he got them). The way he used to curl up on the middle of my back if I were lying on my stomach and curl up under the blankets to sleep with me.

He was such a special kitty- I'm very lucky to have had ten years with him.

cravings

Things have been hectic (which is actually a lot better than having things be stagnant) and I find that there are a few things that I'm CRAVING.

1. Writing. Oh my god, I long to write, HOW I FUCKING LONG TO WRITE without stress eating my frazzled brain or someone/thing making continuous loud sounds (like the LOUD SOUNDS coming from the kitchen RIGHT THIS SECOND). Writing is my release; I use my words and I find it very effective and I really miss being able to do it.

2. On a related note, I also really want it to be quiet for more than 30 seconds. Actually, at this point, I'd pretty happily take 30 seconds worth of silence. The funny thing is that I'm not even usually a "silence" person- I grew up in a Loud House, and I don't generally mind noise but I've reached my breaking point and IT JUST NEEDS TO BE QUIET FOR A WHILE.

3. A good cry. I'm actually starting to miss crying, and I just... can't, right now. It's kind of physically impossible to cry- like I can feel my tear ducts kind of... do something? And there's a little bit of dry heaving? (It's a really sexy process.) And then... nothing. I suspect that once I start crying about something, I'm going to start crying about EVERYTHING that I need to cry about, and while it's going to be a relief to see that I don't REALLY have ice water running in my veins, I'm not exactly looking forward to it. Knowing my luck, it'll be during the next time I have sex, and while there's not really anything wrong with a few tears, I don't really want to start sobbing. And now that I'm worried about it, I know it'll happen for sure.

New Year, New Blog!

I'm newish to the blogging thing- this isn't my first blog, but I've never stuck with one for very long. The last one was fun until I just wasn't funny anymore, and I like to be funny. (Because life isn't really ONLY about daddy issues and situational depression! It's also about drinking wine and dressing up cats.) I also like pretty pictures, talking about books and every so often, opening up and sharing more than just what meets the eye- and all of those things will be part of Hideous and Sexy.