I left them under terrific semi-professional cat care for 4 days and 3 nights to go to another state for work. Another state as in Oregon rather than altered by too much coffee. If nobody hears from me tomorrow, these bitches have killed me during the night. After they talked to Charlie and discovered his kennel care situation, they still think they got the bad part of the deal. Cats. It’s never enough. I give and I give.

combined with the other excretion, but this is the kicker – The tremendous waves of pain shooting thru my guts every 5 minutes for 8 hours made me wonder if labor is really is the most painful pain. Which reminds me of a very recent phone conversation I had with my mom while shopping for groceries. Yes, momentarily I was one of those people who push the cart sideways with one hand right into your cart because I’m the twatface on the cell phone. So my mom goes, “I bet you’re getting some good organic food – you are the healthy child.” And I said, “Right, healthy as in the only one left with a uterus.” She goes, “You know, yours is UNUSED, you could make good money having a child for other people.” I fainted.

Anywho, I made the trembling decision to go to the doctor because The Pains would not ease and I had just screamed the bile out again and couldn’t stand up, but since it was 6am I went to the ER. Full of retards who, knowing I was severely dehydrated, RAMMED an I.V. right into the only puny vein they could find. I love this bruise, it looks like a sunset.

Day two, and the contractions are a half hour apart. What I don’t understand is how a “viral something what” could cause such terrible pains, like all my innards have broken ribs of their own. I think I am dying. Also, this is the first time in my life that I am clenching my teeth about missing work. I suppose I’m an adult now. With an UNUSED uterus.

Jeans. I went on a mission to find some since I have only one wearable pair. The other pair needs an appointment with thread and a needle. Also, pair? Is that because there are two legs? So, I go with a co-worker to a consignment shop on lunch and tried on some used jeans. They smelled funny and didn’t quite fit. I gave up and we went to Macy’s and tried on 4 more.

Me: Well. Are these alright?

Co-worker: Kind of looks like you have a turd in your pants.

Me: What if I wash them on warm?

Co-worker: Then you can’t gain ANY weight.

Yep. Those are the ones I got.

I have to work really hard to work really hard. After a rewarding day of manual labor, it’s almost as good as a long blissful day in bed (I would imagine. I’ve heard, I mean. Not the details. Also, does anybody have a hot tub?). I’m too tired to figure out how to rotate this picture. Help me.

Charlie and I earned our keep at the family cabin. He brought everybody his own choreographed dance and polite snarffle when folks were tired and ready give up.

I asked my dear old momo mum if I could get away with saying, “Damn” throughout the day. She said, “You can say damn and hell today.” I fainted.

At first I was all, ew. Now I’m like, oh hey. I don’t even blink and kill them with my fingers. But I still consider myself all Earth friendly and stuff – I know, total hypocrite. The duplex where I live is near the river on the iffy side of town, and is a real old nest for critters. One of the exterminators my landlord sent out said they’re mutants, only found in this part of town. The new exterminator is oblivious to what “ant nests” are, but whatever. It’s said the stuff they use is pet and kid friendly and let me just say; it’s like allowing Bud Light in the fridge. I just cringe and look away. Bad, bad, terrible stuff. Nevertheless, nothing kills them or makes them go live somewhere else.

So my pantry is sealed in the dishwasher, and my counter tops are real clean, but still they come. It’s a partnership, really. At least they only come in when it’s cold. Half the year is better than all of it. It’s like the glass is half full, only I kill tiny creatures every day and I feel bad. It’s either them or my grilled cheese, yo. I don’t mess around.

Indeed. Still has laryngitis, so tequila’s not helping.
(pic taken last month, labor day weekend)

I’m struggling with how much to say. That Facebook makes everything seemingly real-ish, where everybody can get in semi-protected nooks and cranny’s if they are paying attention. Do I speak of what is truly on the front, middle, and back of my mind, or do I keep it safe and easy-peasy? I’ve encountered this same struggle with this blog, but now it’s rattling around again. There’s a nice balance that has been happening here. But nice is different than good. Easy-peasy is boring, but also part of everyday life, which can be a relief.

Do I speak of things like how I worry about my 75 year old sweet mother who struggles to stay well, or about how I have spent a lot of this year trying out a relationship that I never thought I would encounter again, and that I am letting it go now for real, or how I reconcile who I work for with what I believe, or that I don’t really know what to focus on right now, or how difficult it is to find friends in this town that are similar to me – the gay aspect being one, or that I enjoy living on my own and like the company of my fur posse more than spending time with most anybody.

No. I do not speak of these things.

Which is mildly better than Butthole Watch: 2009, where the house was full of splattered poo. I was speaking with some intelligent people the other week, and they mentioned one reason they don’t have animals is because they would have to pick up poo daily. I quickly went into contemplation mode (painful. every time.) and realized that yes, yes I do. I pick up poo daily. From a dog and two cats. Every day, from them all. At least 3 poos. (Gus often buries his near his weekly bird kills, so I do not bother unless I’m pulling the poo OUT OF CHARLIE’S MOUTH because he found it inside the fenced yard) I digress.

I feel used, abused, and also poor – I mean really, feline colds for possibly all three of them. (And do not get me started on The Great Flea Treatment – a family member irresponsibly, unwittingly & without permission took a guest’s dog with fleas to the cabin.) But I learned something new: Lysine helps cats keep their defenses up so colds don’t get too bad. It’s something that also helps humans, and it’s a natural remedy. Gus, The Bringer of Evil, is the culprit, and the Vet told me it’s better than him bringing mouth/throat herpes or chlamydia. And I was all, if he could just bring beer instead…

Poor quirky talkative Chi Chi, with her throat all red and a lymph gland all swollen, and the hoarse whisper of cussing in Spanish. la madre terrible, por qué es usted haciendo esto a mí. It has come to this: Wrapping her tightly in a towel, like the Virgin-Whore she is, and forcing the antibiotics and lysine down her sore throat.

The Facebook.
It was Never going to be in my world. Murphy’s Law. Said Never.
And then – I did. I don’t know. Just whatever.
One of the last few hold-outs.
Also, Fur Posse don’t care ’bout this crap. They keep it real.

Not for a week? Well, it started early for me. However, I just stumbled on this, and I just have to say: It Will Be on the Next Yule Mix. Meow, Amen

The Cinematic Orchestra – All That You Give

Watch Ms. Bass. Watch her sing to your soul. Also, I want to own a night club like that someday.

You know how people show you pics of their vacation, and at first it seems like, sure – you might want to see some. And then after 3 you’re so done. You don’t care. You took a better vacation once, and you have a better eye for the camera shots. This is where I should sign up for Facebook so I can see your life. I am so self centered.

This is Upper Bidwell Park, in my hometown, Chico, California. I didn’t contact any family while I was there. I mean, why – it’s a vacation. Instead, I swam with fishes, ate the best Mexican food in the region, had the best shake made on planet Earth, drank all the tasters at Sierra Nevada Brewery, and walked and walked and rode a cruiser bike with Charlie’s ass in tow. It was rad, and I should have ate and drank more.

Then to the coast – Fort Bragg/Mendicino region. Camped at a special place that I grew up going to every summer, where there the tide pools are particularly terrific and the beaches are amazing. Charlie was perfect, totally perfect, well-behaved and easy to travel with, and such a stud muffin prince. I’m just saying. He’s perfect.

Up to the thick redwoods, to Prairie Creek State Park, a ginormous fantastic magic place. We scored a camping spot right on the beach. Charlie summoned his animal friends from the sea, who would follow us up and down the beach. We even saw dolphins, but they were too far away to get pictures. I’m not lying, dude. There were two dolphins hunting with their bird friends on wee morning, while I was just sitting there having coffee with Charles at my side. But these dudes were way fun, and weren’t afraid of Charlie.

Anywho, it was a great & thrifty trip to a coast people forget about. Your mom sure had a great time.

The end.