Rain.

*Johnna playing in the rain.
*Image originally stolen from Nicole.

Flying motorhomes.

Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb. Other days you're afraid that you'll step outside to find several motorhomes floating about in the air. Today was one of those flying motorhomes days.

The weather likes to sneak up one. Once I'm feeling that we're safely far enough into fall to avoid dramatic weather occurrences, a thunderstorm sneaks up out of no where. Damnation. The only good thing is that the apartment is Betty free and so I can sleep up here without sharing a bed with that cursed dog, Kim, and Johnna (who is a massive bed hog).

So now that I'm past the delightful vision of motorhomes gracefully prancing around the camp, onto the big thing:

Why is it that people who like to give ultimatums freak out when they receive one? Is it a control issue? That's the only thing I can come up with. Its must be easier for these to say "Do this or such and such will happen" than to have someone demand the same thing of them. It also makes me curious about commitment issues. Do people who like to give but not receive that those dreaded demands have some inability to follow through with their actions? I think that may be the deep seeded issue. Its safe to give someone a choice and a time line, but when the tables are turned, it terrifies them to suddenly be devoid of choices and no specific time in which to do them. I would love to ask Adam about this since he's a prime example. Somehow, though, I feel I've pushed enough of his buttons for the night. Go figure.

Its exasperating being in a relationship. Sometimes I wonder why people even go through it. It must have been nice back in the day when we were all naked heathens sexing it up at random. Then the concept of ownership and the emotion of jealousy came into play and its all gone drastically downhill from there. Perhaps at first it was a good thing. One constant source of affection (or abuse, depending on which category your personality falls into), sex, and anything else needed from the opposite (or same) sex; one convenient package for all your needs. I've done the slut and serial monogamist scenes. As much as I like my little hunk of Japan, sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't have been better off as a prostitute. Prostitutes don't worry about the future of their relationships, they get paid for what most couples give up for free...questionable legality, abuse on the streets, and STDs aside, its a wonder more men and women don't do it.

Moving onto my next tidbit of woe, Kim gave me some pictures of my birth dad. Did you know that in 1986, a year before I was born, he was the National Water Jumping Champion? That's frightening. Suddenly he seems far more human to me.

My favorite picture is one where he's holding me and he looks like a mix between a more masculine me and Dr. Wilson from House. Its charming.

Now I hasten away to bed. I'm afraid my Blogger will vomit from the bitter taste I've left in its mouth. And yes, I can be bitter. I'm 21 with no real college degree, job, a relationship that's more stress than love, stretchmarks, and questionable parentage. I like to think I'm entitled.

Little catastrophes.

The other woman cried
despite the ants crawling behind her eyes.
She coughed up the memories like sand
She wanted to forget the time you held her,
covering her ears while the storms blew by.

She scrubbed herself,
up and down,
up and down,
until she thought she couldn't smell your sweat.
You came back like the unwanted cat,
even as she held you under.
Water leaked from your Cheshire grin
saying "Hey babe, the other woman never wins."

Natsilane thoughts.

I know you've always envied me
the way you shove your successes at me,
hoping to choke me,
but I've given life to the clay.

Now they come for you,
the blackfish,
the blackfish to catch you
in their teeth like pegs.

They'll feast on your conceptualized life,
believe me its nothing personal.
You don't know the blackfish though,
darling,
they're out for blood.

Oyster's Lament

You came with your diving knives
to pry her from my flesh.
It seems so long ago
that I took in his grains of sand,
transforming them into something recognizable,
heartbreaking and obstinate.

So you have a pearl
with champagne flesh,
of atomic beaches,
and red suns.

Where women part their sleek black hair,
and entertain Western men like school girls.

You wrapped her in
trappings of gold filigree
and ignored the husk she left,
rent and opened, a pathway
of tunneled scars and bitter tastes.

No one was ready for her,
her amber gaze,
no, you weren't quite ready.
She broke your herring bone ribs.

She might be draped around your neck
and you might be able to capture from her
the sound of the ocean rushing in.
But you can see a bit of oyster in her,
hiding behind histories of radiation.
Just a little clover, caught in her teeth.

A general update of life.

1.) I've returned home briefly before I leave again for Minnesota and school/work. I'm sad to report that Helga (who I'm shocked that I haven't written about) has disappeared. Helga was, and hopefully still is, a borderline obese brown spider that was living next to our door. I was tempted to squash her at first because of my dislike for her entire kind but we came to develop a truce. I would not squish her if she stayed out of the apartment and off of my car and in turn, she would not spread horrible stories about my secret like of My Chemical Romance's song 'Helena'. It was a good friendship, built on the firm foundations of knowing mutually embarrassing facts about one another (she was off her diet again, hording little fruit flies in her web). I'm sad to see her gone.

2.) Twiggy is staying in our apartment for the time being, put up in our spare bedroom. She is flourishing and well, and may have a new home once her kittens are born, weaned, and homed themselves. It'll involve a little finagling with pet transport organization but overall its a good sign. She is absolutely adorable and fit despite her elbow, which is beyond repair:
There she is with her baby bump. Someday we'll wake up to kittens. Its like the old Miracle of Life video except a thousand times more cute. I'll take newborn kittens over the glorified wrinkly parasites that are newborn humans. Damn them and their creepy newborn-ness. Perhaps I'm biased but the only cute newborn I've ever seen was Johnna.

3.) Johnna, by the way, has a broken arm. No worries, its not serious, and the soft cast she's in how now become a combination snot rag due to the cold she has passed on to me and weapon. Honestly, there can be no better weapon for a two year old. She can innocently clonk me in the face and being the tender hearted creature I am, I instantly forgive her after a squeaky "Sorry Dig!". If I were a real human, I'd whip her into shape. Alas, deep down I'm a soft female.

4.) Benadryl is the new wonder drug. You can have your Mary Jane and crack. Keep your Percocet and Vicadin (codeine is another story all together). Give me some benadryl and after half an hour I'll be in heaven. An hour later I'll be in a mini-coma. Its better than the time I tried to put myself to sleep during a storm by mixing Equate PM and over the counter sleeping aides. Something about those little hot pink pills just does the trick. What could be better than thirty minutes of tongue-tingling sensation, vapid thoughts, and the distinct impression of having one too many Lemondrop martinis followed by twelve solid, uninterrupted hours of sleep? Nothing. So don't even try a comparison. Once you go pink, you'll never go back.
...Okay so its not as snappy as 'once you go black, you never go back' but toss me a bone. That saying never worked for me. I went black (or at least mulatto) and ended up of the Asian Persuasion.

5.) Not this past weekend, but the one before I got trainwreck drunk after meeting a six pack of Miller Chill and a bottle of Merlot, whose name I can't remember, in a dark alley. In my defense, I'm pretty sure Bryan was trainwreck drunk as well. Most of the night remains a mystery to me. Bryan tells me that I became enraged while eating a mini-pot pie and finding the amount of chicken to be lacking. It turned into a symphony of me shrieking "Less pot, more chicken!" while stabbing the pie viciously. My desire for chicken unslaked, I proceeded to drag him into a midnight round of patrolling the campground on the little Gator that has a broken parking brake. Rain and swerving aside, I'm pretty sure I did a good job of driving it. I'm generally an excellent drunk driver. The night ended up with me passing out on the kitchen floor, or so Bryan claims. I woke up in the motorhome. He didn't take me there, handyman Chuck didn't take me there (though in the morning he expressed worry over whether or not the Gator was somewhere in a ditch), so the issue remains unresolved. The only explanation is that I, in my awesomeness, managed to navigate my way not only down the apartment stairs, but through the store, out over the gravel, up the motorhome stairs, out of my clothes, and into bed.

And should anyone converse with Bryan do NOT let him guide you into thinking that I tumbled through two doors under my own intoxicated power. I don't remember much of that night but I do remember those two incidents. The first was that he opened the backdoor, which I happened to be leaning on while smoking. The second was when we went out onto the apartment porch to have a smoke and he 'forgot' to close the door all the way behind him and I leaned on that one as well only to fall through. Take that Bryan and your tricky door shenanigans!

6.) So this last weekend was our big Renaissance excursion. On all fronts it was a success. Adam and I stayed in our large seven person tent, snubbing our noses at Alex and Cory who slept in a mere three person tent. Meanwhile they carried themselves with an undue sense of pride over the fact they had an air mattress. Tent rivalry aside, it was a blast. Adam chopped wood with his hatchet, about killed me with an errant flying log, and he and Cory touched wieners over the fire. Okay, so two guys roasting hot dogs and making inappropriate comments is not probably hilarious to the general population and definitely not to Alex, but because my mind never moved past the sensibilities and humor of a 13-year-old I found it to be quite funny. It was drizzling rain the entire time, we had a hell of a fire, and beer. The Renaissance was muddy, rainy, full of freaks, and in general quite delightful. Cory found a drinking horn, Adam got another cup to add to our collection, Alex replaced her blownglass necklace, and despite my horrendous cough (which I'm not quite completely convinced isn't due to early onset emphysema) I managed to drink my fill in mead, hookah it up, and buy a gorgeous glass one-hit. I will probably never, to my disappointment, use it for delightfully illegal activities but simply owning it brings me much joy.

We got lost on our way to the Eden Prairie Mall until Alex and I convinced Adam and Cory that there is nothing jackass-ish about asking for directions. Of course I was the natural choice as the direction seeker and my suspicion that I tend to be the one voted into unpleasant tasks was confirmed. We did find our way, though I'm sure that Cory tried to willfully mislead us, and I finally finished my quest for a decent haircut. Now that I've gone into a dramatically layered bob, I find that I want it shorter. Shorter, shorter! I love getting my haircut and at this rate, I'll have not a hair to be seen. Alex drug Adam and Cory from shop to shop to watch her pick out clothes and we ended the day soaking wet, crowding around a roaring blaze that more than once threatened to get out of control. Later, Johnna played in our tent, had a wonderful birthday party, and good times were had by all.

7.) Ah yes, I started school again. Back into the role of student. Onward with my quest to become a certified veterinarian technician! Now only to find a roommate to stay with or to find the cheapest studio I can. Nothing much more to say about that. School is school, same day different shirt, so on and so forth.

8.) Benadryl...to quote my sister, 'that reminds me of a story'. Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I decided the absolute best course of action regarding my tattoos would be to cancel my funds for my left sleeve and work on what will be a true piece of art. A raptor claw on my left lower back, red dotted line with the words 'slice here', and then a red X on my right lower back. Should raptors attack, you will all be wishing you had left them painless instructions.

9.) Adam just gave me my anniversary present early. I wasn't sure...I figured it was a toss up between the opal/pink sapphire/diamond in white gold ring or the tourmaline with the white and yellow gold band. Its the opal, a ring I've been coveting since I first saw it ages ago. What can I say. Adam is now officially free of all rage/annoyance directed at him for at least the next six months.

Twiggy update.

I want to post a sincere thank you to everyone who has supported Twiggy's recovery and need to find a home. From New York to California, I've had kind people online who have donated their love, prayers, and even money. Every day there are cases of animal cruelty, many of which are seen on T.V. If you watch enough episodes, it becomes hard to imagine there's anyone left who really cares about the welfare of animals.

The world is a big, scary place. I belong to an online community that has more than once been accused of being harsh and flat out bitchy. There are no punches pulled when it comes to discussions. Everyone says how it is, whether or not it wants to be heard. Other communities have labeled the members as selfish, immature, cruel, etc. This is simply not true. No where else have I seen people who only know each other by expressed opinions and screen names rally together in order to help someone they do not know, and a cat that very well could not exist. It would have been easy for them to think that I were a scammer, pass off Twiggy's story as made up, and go about with their lives. Instead, they've reached out to help me find resources, given me excellent advice, and because of the quick thinking and actions of the members, a disaster was prevented.

Yesterday Barbara and I gave Twiggy a small portion of Children's Tylenol. It was suggested by a lady who was a veterinarian technician. She said that the Tylenol would reduce the swelling of Twiggy's damaged leg (which she believes that was indeed kicked or stomped) and help manage her pain. I reported this to the community who has been helping me with the situation. Immediately one of the users pulled up recent research that showed Children's Tylenol, despite being prescribed frequently to both cats and dogs with pain, is in fact very deadly to cats. This was a couple of hours after having given it to her. In a panic, I called the first reasonably close emergency vet I could find to be told that I had to bring her in immediately or she would die. I broke down while on the boards, meanwhile calling Adam and almost dreading checking on Twiggy for fear she would be dead. The users talked me down while I sought a second opinion. The next vet I called reassured me, telling me that if Twiggy was not symptomatic after so long then chances are that it had already been absorbed and passing through her body.

I was up all night monitoring her, waking up every 45 minutes. She was perfectly fine through the whole night and still shows no sign of having any ill effects. Yet it could have ended very badly for her if the users hadn't done some research for me and found the studies that show Children's Tylenol is toxic to cats.

Because of these caring people, we now have $250 towards Twiggy's medical care. The vet I called this morning (same gal, incidentally), said that it would be enough to cover her basics: check up, deworming, vaccinations (limited because of Twiggy's pregnancy), and ear mites. However, in order to do a payment plan for x-rays, leg cast/splint, and ultrasound, I have to have at least half up front. It seems like a long way to go, but yesterday there was nothing except the $5 in my billfold and Bob and Barbara's kindness taking care of Twiggy. Today there is $250, which is a world of difference in her physical care.

As long as there are people willing to lend aid to a small cat in need through a person they don't know, the world might not be completely doomed.

Help save Twiggy.

I don't know who actually might stumble on this but its worth a try. If you are located in the MN/IA region please greatly consider homing a sweet, young dilute calico cat. She's a special case as she is only seven/eight months old and pregnant, and has an injury to her right front leg that causes her to limp.

Twiggy is currently underweight though she is loyally being fed by the work campers Bob and Barb, as well as Heather, the young woman whose campsite Twiggy has deemed home. She is sweet and beautiful, being mostly tabby-striped blue and white with a couple of cute spots of faded orange on her belly. Her eyes are striking gold and are clear of any trouble. Her ears are dirty but unlike most animals out her, she seems to have no problem with fleas. Twiggy is too sweet to simply call animal control on.

The past couple of days she has happily endured children pulling on her, carrying her, and examining her. She has not bitten or scratched even when her bad leg is roughly handled. She loves to talk and is better trained than a dog; last night she walked with me right at my heel, stopping only to visit a couple of passing teens. Twiggy would wander a bit but if called, she would snap right back at attention and return to walking near my feet. She loves having beneath her chin scratched and is very playful. If someone is willing too look past what she needs financially, they will find a cat that with some TLC will be ready for a new home.

Please email insaneanime@hotmail.com if interested in placing her and her kittens. I will be willing to meet anyone traveling halfway and though I don't have much cash, I will donate what I can to her care. Twiggy is loving and with a good bath (she tends to roll around in the dirt when begging for attention) she'll fit into any home. She's already proven she is exceedingly tolerant of children and has not expressed any undue fear or aggression towards the dogs that she has passed while making her rounds on the campsite.

Addict.

My brain is liquified;

I like the taste of Riesling in the afternoon
take that as you will
I'm a lush waiting to happen.
Let it breathe for a night
so its taste is sour on my tongue,
the fumes ready to burn;

then I'm ready to tell you
you're the best I've ever had
because my mind works in cliches
too paranoid to deviate from the standard format.

when the bottle is half gone
I'll tell you you're all I need.

I say the sweet words in a little girl's voice;
fuzzy lips wish you would just fuck me.
I never stopped being a slut, just changed the song's tune
to monogamy and ivory.

if I told you, you'd ask who'd want me.
I'd say no one, sweetheart, just you.
I'm selling the wares but no one's buying the goods.

then we're all drunk up and dry;
I could tell you that I fantasize
about when sex never meant love
before you became the only thing that I had;
that I twist at night, slick with the thought of getting stoned
but I'm a good girl now; only you could buy that.

Killa from Wisilla.

I'm going to scare you. Ready? Okay!








.....Keep going.









Just a little more...

HOLY FREAKING BOO!

To quote an AP article:

"She has defended Alaska's right to shoot down wolves from the air to boost caribou and moose herds for hunters, and — contrary to a view held by McCain — is not convinced that global warming is the result of human activity."

"She also opposed a ballot initiative barring the shooting of wolves and bears from aircraft except in biological emergencies. It was also defeated.

Under Palin, the state Board of Game authorized for the first time in 20 years the shooting of wolves by state wildlife officials from helicopters. The order resulted in the controversial shooting this summer of 14 one-month-old wolf pups taken from dens on a remote peninsula 800 miles southwest of Anchorage — an act that environmentalists claim was illegal."

Think about it, Americans. Should McCain be elected, and should something happen to him, your President will be someone who finds it morally a-okay to shoot puppies. Personally I find the thought that our potential VP doesn't find anything wrong with shooting pups a tad bit scary. Good thing she's Pro-Life otherwise I'd start worrying about the children.

She's insane. There's no way around it. Please, for the love of all things cute and furry, do not vote for this ticket. I'm dead serious.

Bud Lime got the best of my brains. Have some lyrics.

The Pocket Knife.

(Curtesy of PJ Harvey. Who I would marry in California.)

Please don't make my wedding dress
I'm too young to marry yet
Can you see my pocket knife?
You can't make me be a wife
How the world just turns & turns
How does anybody learn?

Mummy, put your needle down
How did you feel when you were young?
Cos I feel like I've just been born
Even though I'm getting on
How the world slips by so fast

How does anybody last?
As the world keeps coming
And the bees keep humming
And I'll keep running

Flowers I can do without
I don't wanna be tied down
White material will stain
My pocket knife's gotta shiny blade
I'm not trying to cause a fuss
I just wanna make my own fuck-ups
I'm not trying to break your heart
I'm just trying not to fall apart

(PS I don't know why its in bold.)