and then...

Wham!

Just like that, and thanks to a case of shingles, I'm back on the invite list.

damn the seventh wheel.

I did have plans for NYE.

Exciting, fun, looked-forward-to plans that were made last NYE.

But the logistics of the evening changed, and my dumb ass got bumped from the festivities.

Now I have no plans for NYE.

Anyone want to go see a movie or something?

merry christmas, bitches.

Love,
Cricket (et. al.)

that with which i have been given during this season of good will towards men and similar ilk....

1. a $25 gift card to Caribou Coffee, from T.B., a client.
2. a $10 gift card to Starbucks, from R.N., a client.
3. a card + cash, from J.U., a client.
4. cash, from S.S., a client.
5. a subscription to Games Magazine, from Tifling.
6. a tin of butter cookies, from my landlord.
   
7. a hardcover copy of Diablo Cody's Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper, from Matty.
8. a slice of lemon-poppyseed bread + a $20 gift card to Caribou Coffee, from B.F., a client.
9. a card + cash, from G.J., a client.
10. a membership to Western Colorado Congress, from my cousin in Colorado.
11. delicious Ouray-made truffles, from my cousin in Colorado and her family.
12. lots of Burt's Bees hand and foot lovin' gear, again courtesy of the Colorado cousin 'n family.
    
13. a $10 gift card to Caribou Coffee in a cute little stocking, from S., my ASM.
14. a small gift bag of Hershey candies, from H., my GM.
15. a card + cash, from Pappy.
16. a Black & Decker Scumbuster, from the 'rents.
17. a bag of meltaway mint, from Santa.
18. a tin of chocolate hazelnut pirouettes, from Santa.
19. Pirates of the Caribbean Dead Man's Chest on DVD, from Short-Round.
20. Sarah McLachlan's Wintersong CD, from Princess Stinkerbell.
21. a copy of Robert Sabuda's pop-up book, Encylopedia Prehistorica Dinosaurs, from Daddy 'n Short-Round.
22. a pretty bead necklace made in Ouray, from Mom.
23. a Tinker Bell magnet set, from Princess Stinkerbell.
24. a card + cash, from Mom.
25. Graffiti Zoo Pink Flamingos (candy), from Mom & Short-Round.
    
26. the first season of 21 Jump Street on DVD, from Mom.
27. a cute pink jewelry bag with pink bead accents, from my cousins in California.
    

hopefully more to follow...

(I have also received over 50% return of holiday cards, which is impressive to me.)

and now i can't give the shit away...

Last week, I decided to take responsibility at work for making sure that three boxes of stuff was donated to a women's shelter.

None of the damned shelters will get back to me, so the boxes are still sitting in the stock room.

Today after work, I stopped in at Starbucks to drop off Toys for Tots.

Only to discover that they no longer collect for the charity.

Then, on the way into the grocery store, I decided to put a couple of bucks into the Salvation Army bucket when I left the store.

And as I was exiting the store, cash in hand, I realized that no annoying bells were being rung, and no bright red bucket was to be seen.

what i want to know is...

Which bitch outed me to the local charities?

I happily donated to Felines, Inc. because that's where I got my beloved little Posey-kins, but now I've got the Night Ministry, PAWS Chicago (Pets Are Worth Saving), The Chicago Fund on Aging & Disability/Meals on Wheels Chicago, and Father Scott Donahue from Mercy Home for Boys & Girls all beseeching, begging, or otherwise hitting me up for charitable donations to help the kitties/puppies/homeless/aged/infirmed/abandoned/abused in my area.

I can ignore large-scale national organizations like Easter Seals and Amnesty International with no problem, but when I've got a heartbreaking letter from the president of a local charity telling me that his shelter is overflowing with abused and abandoned children, it's got a waiting list a mile long, and that my $35 could "make a real difference in a hurting child's life," I feel like a total fuck-o for not whipping out my checkbook.

And what about the poor, abandoned, homeless baby animals? My $27 could buy antibiotics for six kittens or puppies with respiratory infections, or my $103 could provide critical medical care for a sick homeless pet.

First, jury duty summons, now daily guilt-trips.

Aiugh.

As an aside, thank you Matty for the book-love. Reading about someone else's strange voyage makes me feel a little less weird about mine.

in case you were wondering...

The reason I haven't been posting is because I have felt (and still do feel) like shit for most of this month.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and probably any other -ally of which you can conceive.

Thankfully, ennui keeps me from caring too much about it.

i went to los angeles this month.

And you can quit callling it a transcontinental booty call, thankyouverymuch.

i'm so immature

Following a misleading link from a shelter magazine's email newsletter, I found myself at a search engine page full of links to information about curtains.

Just because I could, I typed "penis" into the query box, and hit enter, which yielded many things, like say 20 advertised listings that included the following, courtesy of Ads by google:

The Truth About Penis Enlargement
Do penis enlargement programs really work? Free information reveals the real truth about penis enlargement. Don't get ripped off - before you spend a dime, read this first.

Prescription ED Meds Discount Price
Cialis $52.94, Levitra $46.94, Viagra $29.94 FedEx free. Processing fee. U.S. licensed pharmacy. 24 hour phone support.

Big Dick Bukkake(dot)com - Only $2.97 for 3 Days!
Big Dick Cum Bath! Watch these insatiable whores take face-shots from Huge Cocks! Get it all here! Thousands of vids and pics of hardcore Bukkake action. Also live sex feeds! Cum inside and Join Now!

Okay, I could have absolutely predicted that. Online ads about enlargement, drugs, porn, etc.? Totally expected.

penis in the Free Online Encyclopedia
Read about penis in the free online encyclopedia and dictionary. Over 1,000,000 articles on any topic and completely free access to the entire content.

Over 1-million articles? Wow. And of course, one of them being an extremely informative, very straight-forward article about the penis, including pictures, diagrams, and a link to the Icelandic Phallological Museum, which is, as you may have guessed, a museum solely dedicated to the study and education about, and I'm borrowing a colorful colloquialism from dooce's youth, Wee Waw.

Looking for Penis?
Find Penis and more at Lycos Search. No clutter, just answers. Lycos -- Go Get It!

A search engine directing me to another search engine? Sure, I'll believe that.

Penis
Find Penis in and around your area.

Yeah, I believe it's referred to as going out to a club.

Find penis
Shop and compare great deals on penis and other related products at MonsterMarketplace.

Okay, I totally smirked at that one.

Find penis
Search local business listings for penis in your area. Find the right business near you!

That one made me snort. And then snort again. And then probably smirk. But then I lived next door to Touch of Mink for 6 years, so it's an automatic response.

JCPenney Official Site
Save on great clothing, home furnishings and more.

Presumably, penis would fall under the "and more" category.

Although it is probably an accidental hold-over from the original "curtain" listing, it is clearly my favorite listing from the search.

i have a confession to make...

As has been previously established, I am a frequent victim of what I like to cleverly refer to as "lizard lips." It doesn't matter how much gloss or balm or whatnot I smear all over their surface, how much water I drink, nor whether or not I regularly treat my lips with some crazy at-home spa treatment -- think scrub, masque, moisturizer, sealer.

I am cursed with dry, wrinkly, cracked lips.

Earlier this week, I attended a cluster training class for work, and was given a full-size Lip Fusion XL lip plumping product. My first thought upon its receipt was, "Woo hoo, now I can put it away with all of the numerous other lip plumpers I have received as gratis and never use. I wonder if I can sell it on eBay..." because I have never considered myself in need of a good lip-plumping.

I have a horrible camera grin, and one of my lips is slightly less cupid's bow-endowed on the left side, but I have never taken issue with the relative pillowy fullness of my smackers. I have even, in the past, been informed by more than one makeup artist that I have nice, just full-enough lips.

And most lip plumpers work by introducing an irritant or stimulant -- it mostly depends on who is talking up the product at the time -- to the delicate labial surface, creating increased blood flow and swelling in the area.

Or, in my case, horrorific burning and stinging from the cinnamon terpenoids or the phenol capsacin. Swelling, stinging, burning, rashiness and other "Oh my God make it stop make it stop Ow Ow Ow Holy Hell my lips are on fire!" types of sensations.

But then, immediately after I was given the Lip Fusion XL, I was informed that it worked through a completely different mechanism, is non-irritating, and would make my lips smooth, soft, and wrinkle-free. However, it's the sort of thing to be used at bedtime, because it was so strong it could potentially create issues if used constantly during the daytime. Call it a night time treatment for the lips.

So, I gave it a whirl when I got home, and was gratified to learn for myself that it didn't burn or sting, my lips got all full and luscious, and were smooth, soft, and devoid of any lizardy characteristics.

And now, I must shamefully admit that I am addicted to lip plumper.

At work, you can often find me at the Lip Fusion tester center, smushing a disposable lip brush into a tube of Blush Lip Fusion Gloss, muttering that my lips aren't smooth enough, or that they're starting to look deflated.

But happily, I have discovered that Sovage Lip Plumper also doesn't irritate my lips while still creating plumpness, and I just happen to own an unused, full-size tube of Sovage Lip Plumper from some previous vendor gratis experience.

So I can keep be my Angelina-iest (so not even close to that, but still, I can pretend) at all times.

well, crap...

I met this girl with lovely skin, and she gave me the name of her dermatologist.

I recently quit using Retin-A because it thins my skin, and I don't need any further assistance in turning translucent, as my body seems to be doing it very well on itself.

So, I've been considering going to the dermatologist, to have him check out my skin.

Except that I just saw on the news that police are now searching for his KILLER, after his body was found in his office by his daughter, yesterday.

Damnit, now I need a new recommendation.

why it pays to be on mailing lists, sometimes...

The Dresden Dolls vs. Panic! At The Disco many of you may have already seen it, but if you haven't, our new bootleg video for "backstabber" is up on youtube! featuring: the dresden dolls! panic! at the disco! lies! betrayal! murder! intrigue! ponies!!! long story short, we cooked up this video with panic! at the disco during the july tour.... it's a wonderful love feat of DIYness made with the help of our fine film-making friend, michael pope, who hopped onto the road with us for about week. last week it was displayed on the front page of youtube and has received over 650,000 hits to date. if you haven't seen it, GO SEE!!!! and send everyone one you love (and/or hate, and/or want to amuse) the link. help us keep the viral vortex spinning. CLICK HERE TO GO TO YOUTUBE AND WATCH THAT SHIT it's the FUTURE! Amanda Solo Show tickets recently went onsale for my upcoming solo show at the Paradise in Boston. There are only a few remaining so please get them while you can HERE Amanda Palmer Solo November 27, 2006 Paradise Rock Club 967 Commonwealth Ave / Boston, MA Doors: 7 PM / 18+ $16 with very piano-slayin' special guests Elizabeth and The Catapult & Casey Dienel see you there rock on with your smock on love, amanda

Pax

it's kinda like a real life memento, but not really, except sorta.

Might I suggest getting a tattoo on on your dumb ass?

From abcnews.go.com:

"She said Ingram had a similar amnesia incident in the mid-1990s. However, there's no indication as to what caused him to suddenly forget everything a few weeks ago."

Like maybe, "My name is Jeffrey Ingram. If found please call (contact number)?"

priceline is on my list...

From priceline.com:

"In most cases, Priceline Vacations Packages cannot be changed; cancelled, refunded or transferred once your package is purchased. This policy is what allows you to save so much on your vacation."

That's what it says in the customer service area of their site.

To me, "in most cases" implies that in some cases, packages can be changed.

American Airlines has two flights departing from LAX on the same day, for the same price, one at 6am, and the other at 11:10pm. I want to get off the 6am flight, and get on the 11:10pm flight.

Priceline says it's not possible.

American Airlines says it's not possible because the tickets are from Priceline, who says it's not possible.

Ironically, if I would have gotten the damned tickets from American Airlines in the first place, instead of from Priceline, I would have paid about $26 less for the same fucking tickets.

So, I officially do not endorse the use of Priceline, as they are inflexible pricks.

I gave them a plausible and understandable reason for the flight time change.

The people at Priceline don't care that theoretically my entire family will be in L.A. on that Sunday, following a theoretical cousin's wedding on Saturday, theoretically gathering together for the first time in over 8 years, and wanting to get together for a theoretically impromptu reunion that doesn't involve a ceremony or a reception afterward.

They're all like, "Too bad, loser. You bought the tickets, so live with it."

Me, I'd be all like, "Oh, my gosh! Everyone together for the first time in over 8 years for the celebration of a loved one's nuptials? Since the rules can be tweaked every once in a while, let's do it this time so that a happy gathering can happen just this one for this woman's family. How sad if they were all there except for her."

Sure, I really want to stay the extra few hours so that I am getting the most bang for my buck -- who takes a 3-day trip out of town to only really be gone two days, and leave before the crack of dawn on the third day? I mean, really? I'd have to be at the airport at like 3am on Sunday morning, for fuck's sake. That's CRAZY.

I really can't imagine that there are zillions of people clamoring to get back into Chicago at 5am on Monday morning. after all. Otherwise, not the same price for tickets and whatnot.

I sent them a nastygram, and am publicly condemning them for now.

dana made me do it.

SAVE THE CHEERLEADER - SAVE THE WORLD!

and he hasn't called since...

You know, I talked to the Dirty Boy at length a while ago.

Wherein he learned that other than a brief trip to Mexico as a toddler, I have never left the States.

And that I do not have a passport.

He travels around the world. A lot.

He works and saves money, travels a bunch, then works to make more money and travel again.

He isn't worried about security or responsibility.

I wish I was so brave.

I could probably be making more money where I work just as a stylist -- all the clients I have shuffled over to the new stylists I could have instead cultivated as clientele for myself, and probably have the same benefits and none of the responsibility. But, I'm afraid to lose the instant security that guaranteed salary and benefits offer. I also like making the schedule, and don't want someone else dictating to me when I can and can't take time off or do things I want to do.

Oh, and the swag. I love free things, and I wouldn't necessarily end up with all the loot I get if I weren't in charge. Is it worth the price of freedom? Probably not. But I'll never have to purchase shampoo again.

Maybe I should just take some time off that I want to take off, and go somewhere that isn't here.

cryptofun

I like doing crytogram puzzles. In fact, cryptograms are the new kakuro in my household.

However, I do not like the cryptofun that you have to enter all over der interweb to combat potential spammers. I find it irritating.

Matty had it on his site, and my argument against it is that utilizing it is prosiac and unimaginative, because everyone else already has it.

I think that anyone I would describe as an 'elitist, sassy, culturally-enriched, demi-hausfrau,' would shun the commonality of the "type the following gibberish into the box below, exactly as you read it" game that everyone seems to employ on their sites.

Especially when he moderates the comments already.

Cryptofun when I'm verifying an online concert ticket purchase? Yes, I'm not some maniacal bot fucking with commerce.

Cryptofun when I'm mocking someone's literary decisions? No thank you.

days of yore

Today, the dirty boy and I spoke on the phone at length, and I realized a lot of somethings about myself.

One of which being that I'm so very, very boring now.

I didn't use to be like this.

Once upon a time, I drank, I smoked, I inhaled, I stayed up for days on end, I was promiscuous, I was careless and free-wheeling, I had nothing, I wanted nothing, I was silly, I was pierced, I was dangerous, and I was fun.

I'm the one that wore the sheer black body suit with nothing underneath the top but a star and a moon made out duct tape, pretending to be pasties.

I'm the one that work the fishnet body stocking to a party with only tiny black panties and a black bra underneath.

I'm the one that wore the black corset, black vinyl hotpants, fishnets and black vinyl 5" platform stiletto boots that lace up to the knee to an anti-Valentine's Day fetish ball. Topped off with yards of black tulle and an elaborate black-veiled headpiece, I made a smashing evil anti-bride.

I'm the one that was the "sex kitten" at Alexander the Great's Halloween party, way back when.

I used to wear a motorcycle jacket that belonged to Bad Betty.

I loved the Sextacy Ball. Lords of Acid, Thrill Kill Kult, God Lives Underwater, Jack-Off Jill? Awesome.

I was a dirty, dirty girl.

A lot.

And now a typical evening includes pajamas, television, a microwaveable dinner, and sudoku or a crossword puzzle.

Do I still have a drag fetish? Of course. Boys dressed up like slutty girls are the yummiest.

My feelings on spanking? When you've had enough to drink, are having an obscenely good time and someone smacks you on the ass, it doesn't necessarily seem like such a bad idea.

Yes, I still have the boots, the hotpants, the fishnets and the corset.

The fishnet body stocking and motorcycle jacket? I gave those to an old roommate. Somehow they looked appropriate on him.

I think the naughty might still be in here somewhere, I'm just not sure how deep you'd have to dig to find it.

quel fromage!

C'est la vie. C'est la vache. C'est la guerre.

more stargate fun

Right before I went to Stargate Con, I stopped at a place in my neighborhood to get my nails filled, because sweetie, celebs don't need to notice outright that I wear acrylic nails, and that much space between enhancement and cuticle is a dead giveaway.

So, after I get outta Magic Nail, and am walking back to my car, some old dude stops me and asks what my t-shirt says.

Now, dig this: I'm wearing my hair up in a touseled blonde faux-hawk, I've got girly accessories and blingy whatnot, pink mirror shades, and I'm wearing low-rise cropped Levi's and a concert tee. Total rockstar.

"It says, 'hooray for boobies!"

He nods.

"Most people parse it as either Barbies or babies, but it's just an old concert tee."

More nodding. "Do you know the pink building?"

I point eastward towards the very visible pink building. "Yes, the one right there."

Nods and smiles. "I've lived there for quite a while. This is a great neighborhood."

"Yes, I like it, too. That's why I live in it."

"I'm a professor at the Art Institute."

"Um, that's nice, but there's my car and I am running late."

"Oh, okay. Have a nice day," he says, waving vaguely in my direction. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, thanks." Run away run away.

*****

Only much later did I realize that Posey had peed in the laundry basket, and had mildly odorized the seat of said Levi's. No one else noticed, but I was painfully aware that my ass smelled like cat piss all night.

And, perhaps unrelatedly, it was decided among a broad spectrum of people that I was the prettiest chick at the convention, which is pretty sad for a gathering that size. I'm used to being cute, and sometimes the cutest, but prettier than all other females present? That's unnatural.

Stargate seems to primarily attract older, overweight women with little to no fashion sense, and often a mullet of some sort. And young, plain teen girls with a encyclopedic knowledge of every freaking thing that has ever had anything to do with the show, ancillary things like books about the show, and even fiction novels based on the show.

Both subsets of womanhood seem to be somewhat rabid, as well.

Believe me, I like the show, but not enough to drop a coupla grand to visit Vancouver for the Con there, and pony up $200 extra to take a tour bus through sets and other places that they've filmed the show.

I got stuck looking at a photo album that belonged to one older woman who was a fine candidate to represent her kind, and I recognized only the Camelot sets, photo-documented in explicitly detailed shots, bit by bit, every cobble stone and wooden joist accounted for.

I wisely tuned out the narrative that went along with the pictures, just nodding regularly and saying, "Uh-huh" or "Mm-hmm" a lot.

blame the diamond council.

What are you doing the rest of your life?
North and South and East and West of your life
I have only one request of your life
That you spend it all with me

All the seasons and the times of your days
All the nickels and the dimes of your days
Let the reasons and the rhymes of your days
All begin and end with me

I want to see your face in every kind of light
In the fields of dawn and the forests of the night
And when you stand before the candles on a cake
Oh, let me be the one to hear the silent wish you make

Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes
In the world of love that you keep in your eyes
I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes
It may take a kiss or two

Through all of my life
Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall of my life
All I ever will recall of my life
Is all of my life with you

Dusty Springfield --
"What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life?"

(Music by Michel Legrand, lyrics by Alan & Marilyn Bergman)

*****

This would be that to which I am currently rocking-ish.

It suits my mood and my current state of affairs.

It's a more refined and eloquent version of running away to join the circus.

And it's in someone else's words.

an update of sorts...

Okay, the last weekend in August, I went to the 3rd Official Stargate: SG-1 & Stargate: Atlantis Convention Tour in Rosemont, where I met up with friends from the previous year. There are pictures, and you can wait for them.

Jason Momoa is very cute, very down to earth and sweet, having been largely raised in Norwalk, Iowa, and quite unlike his dense dude with a big gun on Atlantis. He also digs jazz.

Beau Bridges told some amusing stories about working with Jeff on the Outer Limits episode "Sand Kings," and in the movie Fabulous Baker Boys.

Joe Flannigan cancelled at the last minute, so they got Don S. Davis to substitute. He is probably one of the nicest guys you could ever meet, but I've now met him three times, and he just isn't yummy man candy.

*****

Then, I went on a date on August 28.

With the assistant tight-end coach of a national football league team.

Least likely date ever, mind you.

We did dinner and drinks, talked a lot, shared a cab, exchanged pecks on the cheek, and he asked me if I'd like to go out again while he was in town. I said yes, he said he'd call, and I haven't heard from him since.

I'm sure this surprises the hell out of everyone.

*****

My family visited over Labor Day weekend. Good times were had by all, of course.

*****

One of my stylists was also classy enough to call me on Labor Day, and inform me that s/he was not going to be returning to work, except to collect her/his gear.

*****

The second weekend in September, Sackie, who was the first person I befriended at the 1st Official Stargate whatnot, called me and left me a voicemail to see if I was willing to work at a convention, because they were desperately short of volunteers.

I said I would, and proceeded to have a fun time at the Official Star Trek 40th Anniversary Convention Tour for the rest of the weekend. I drank a lot, I sassed celebrities, I made a statement in my biography factually inaccurate, I was a terrible brat, and generally had a blast. There are pictures, here.

I also was a horrible bitch to someone that didn't deserve it. Slightly embarassed by the previous night's "demanding petulant pretty pretty princess" mode into which I had slipped after many, many drinks, and the activities that resulted thereafter, I was cool and stand-offish to someone that was only guilty of being a physically-affectionate, dirty, dirty boy named H.

Which probably greatly confused him after all of the drunken friendly warmness from the day before. Being generally all square and sober, and not really down with the pda in front of strangers, I was touchy and brusque.

And now, being generally all square and sober again, I am shamed by how callous I was to H, even though I was just trying to be cool and non-chalant.

Frankly, I suck at effectively communicating with the other sex on a personal level.

Of course, he's got my email address, and I don't even know his last name or contact information. I do know he lives in L.A. and wants to move to Australia. He travels a lot, and he wears neatly tailored suits. The knowledge of which isn't particularly helpful.

*****

On the plus side, I made some new friends with the crew of SG-69, who do security at these sorts of events. I've seen them on the sidelines for the last three years, and now I actually know their names.

And I got to get my picture taken with Connor Trinneer (He played Trip on Enterprise, and he plays Michael on Atlantis), for whom I also fetched coffee (he takes it with milk, not cream). He is very cute in person, and very sweet.

And then I got to line wrangle for John de Lancie, which basically meant that for a furious 30 or so minutes, I made people give me their items to be signed, handed them to Mr. de Lancie to autograph, and then told them to collect their items down the line somewhere. I got to say, "Items for Mr. de Lancie, please," several hundred times. Oh, I also told people many, many times to give the Connor pix to his people, and not me.

Mr. de Lancie is very attractive in an older, haughty, gentlemanly kind of way. Which means he was way hotter than I expected.

I got both of them to sign my Stargate poster from two weeks earlier, telling them that while I knew they weren't at the Con, Joe Flannigan was supposed to be and he wasn't, and besides they were both on SG-1 and/or Atlantis.

I also met Natalia Nogulich (Vice Admiral Nechayev) and Suzie Plakson (K'Ehleyr) from ST:TNG. And also Michelle Scarabelli, who played Susan Francisco on the TV version of Alien Nation. And Bobby Clark, who played the lizard dude, Gorn, in that episode of ST:TOS called "Arena," where Kirk battles a lizard dude in order to save his ship and crew.

*****

Let's see, the next week I went out for a nice dinner with Tifling, Willlybean, and Willybean's brother, Dr. J. We sat outside at Chef's Station, which was nice, but a little chilly. Damn you, fleeting summer.

Willybean's just gotten the guitar-equivalent of Dance, Dance Revolution, called Guitar Hero, so he and Dr. J and Tifling took turns playing the guitar controllers in time to such classics as "I Love Rock & Roll," "Bark at the Moon," and "Cowboys from Hell." The controllers are fun, and come complete with whammy bars and all. Willybean even has the Flying-V guitar controller. I'm sure he can't wait until November 7, when Guitar Hero II comes out.

*****

I've been a little extra blue lately, so I've lacked super high-quality entertainment value. The mucky weather, an unhealthy diet, poor sleeping, and just being generally worn out isn't doing a lot for me. Fortunately, I've got a meds check with my doctor next week, so I can address that with her.

*****

I've tentatively hired a new stylist that actually graduated from my old beauty school, and am on the hunt for two more, hopefully one of which will return my call tomorrow.

*****

We're under a tornado watch in Chicago, and loud sirens were going off all over the place, but just stopped. The NWS says a tornado touched down in Humboldt Park, and would possibly wend it's way towards Downtown and/or Lincoln Park.

I think if one hit here, it would technically have to be a hurricane, what with the proximity of the lake and all. I will tell you, though, that it's all kinds of windy down on the ground level. I can hear debris and leaves whipping around down in the parking lot.

I suppose I might take the flood warning seriously, though.

8 bits of rage.

Today, reading Dooce led me here.

Which led me here.

And then here.

Which ultimately led to here.

And I have to say, Luvbeat makes me cackle with glee, even if they are on myspace.

EFF PSA.

i love myself because...

..I actually tell people things like,

"Any advice I have to offer has nothing to do with (subject), and everything to do with an impolite spatial suggestion relative to areas of your personal geography and the potentiality of foreign objects to be encountered therein."

apparently i'm an authority now.

I was cited as a source on spastay.com, regarding eyelash crap.

How surreal.

rude things.

I'm not entirely sure whether Cricket pestering me whilst I am asleep in the wee-hours looking for attention is her way of getting back at me for scritching her head when she's in the litter box making concentrate-y faces and can't really do much else, or if the scritching is my way of paying her attentions back at a time that she finds terribly inconvenient and irritating.

a parable, if you will.

(inspired by a conversation on Matty's site)

I hired a new stylist this last week, and he is very sweet. He is an incredibly professionally experienced, 48-year old Puerto Rican stylist and make-up artist that not only performs in drag, but also professionally styles other drag queens. He is also very gay, and very Christian.

Friday, the two of us were talking about the differences in people, which went on a tangent about people's belief systems. To illustrate some point he was making, he told me a version of a parable concerning two young eagles and a bunch of turkeys. Another version of the parable, presumably the more religious of the two can be found here.

The version I was told:

Two young eagles -- a boy and a girl, fell out of a nest, and were found by a bunch of turkeys, who took them in as a part of the group.

Being young, the eagles didn't know what made them different, and tried to fit in the best they could.

The first rule of being a turkey that the two were taught was that you should only eat the berries from the bush, and never from the ground.

When asked why, the turkeys told them that they had always only eaten from the bush, because that is what had always be done.

After a while of living as a turkey, the male eagle expressed to the head turkey that he wanted to learn to fly, and was told that turkeys don't need to fly.

Dissatisfied with this answer, the male eagle told the female eagle that he wanted to leave and find a better way.

She resisted because she felt comfortable only eating berries off the bush, and never trying to fly, so he went out on his own to find the truth.

After a while, he came across another group of turkeys, who again took him in as one of their own.

And the first rule of being a turkey in their group that he was taught was that you only eat the berries from the ground, and never from the bush.

When asked why, the turkeys told him that they had always only eaten from the ground, because the berries on the ground are definitely ripe, but the ones on the bush aren't guaranteed to be so.

And again after living with the turkeys for a while, the male eagle expressed to the head turkey that he wanted to learn to fly.

This time, he was told that while turkeys didn't need to fly, they could teach him to sort of jump and flap furiously, but that they didn't know how to really fly.

And it was suggested that maybe he should visit the wise old owl, because he flew every night.

When the male eagle told the owl that he was a turkey, but wanted to learn to fly, the owl laughed at him.

The owl told him that he wasn't a turkey, but was in fact an eagle, and that he could already fly -- he just needed to spread his wings and go.

So the eagle did.

And the entire time I was being told this parable, I kept thinking over and over and over again about the following quote from the movie Heathers:

"If you want to fuck with the eagles, you better learn to fly.*"

Which I didn't mention, mostly because it was neither germane to the conversation, nor particularly work appropriate.

I also wanted to ask if the eagle went on to hunt the turkeys and eat them, but I didn't have the heart, because he was being so sincere.

I just nodded my head a lot and said, "Uh-huh." a great many times.
____________________

*The entire quote is actually:

"Dear Diary: Heather says she teaches people real life, she says "real life sucks losers dry. If you wanna fuck with the eagles, you better learn to fly." I said, "So you teach people to spread their wings and fly?" She said, "Yes." I said, "You're beautiful.""

this doesn't sound anything like me at all...

Portrait of an ISFP - Introverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving
(Introverted Feeling with Extraverted Sensing)
The Artist

As an ISFP, your primary mode of living is focused internally, where you deal with things according to how you feel about them, or how they fit into your value system. Your secondary mode is external, where you take things in via your five sense in a literal, concrete fashion.

ISFPs live in the world of sensation possibilities. They are keenly in tune with the way things look, taste, sound, feel and smell. They have a strong aesthetic appreciation for art, and are likely to be artists in some form, because they are unusually gifted at creating and composing things which will strongly affect the senses. They have a strong set of values, which they strive to consistently meet in their lives. They need to feel as if they're living their lives in accordance with what they feel is right, and will rebel against anything which conflicts with that goal. They're likely to choose jobs and careers which allow them the freedom of working towards the realization of their value-oriented personal goals.

ISFPs tend to be quiet and reserved, and difficult to get to know well. They hold back their ideas and opinions except from those who they are closest to. They are likely to be kind, gentle and sensitive in their dealings with others. They are interested in contributing to people's sense of well-being and happiness, and will put a great deal of effort and energy into tasks which they believe in.

ISFPs have a strong affinity for aesthetics and beauty. They're likely to be animal lovers, and to have a true appreciation for the beauties of nature. They're original and independent, and need to have personal space. They value people who take the time to understand the ISFP, and who support the ISFP in pursuing their goals in their own, unique way. People who don't know them well may see their unique way of life as a sign of carefree light-heartedness, but the ISFP actually takes life very seriously, constantly gathering specific information and shifting it through their value systems, in search for clarification and underlying meaning.

ISFPs are action-oriented individuals. They are "doers", and are usually uncomfortable with theorizing concepts and ideas, unless they see a practical application. They learn best in a "hands-on" environment, and consequently may become easily bored with the traditional teaching methods, which emphasize abstract thinking. They do not like impersonal analysis, and are uncomfortable with the idea of making decisions based strictly on logic. Their strong value systems demand that decisions are evaluated against their subjective beliefs, rather than against some objective rules or laws.

ISFPs are extremely perceptive and aware of others. They constantly gather specific information about people, and seek to discover what it means. They are usually penetratingly accurate in their perceptions of others.

ISFPs are warm and sympathetic. They genuinely care about people, and are strongly service-oriented in their desire to please. They have an unusually deep well of caring for those who are close to them, and are likely to show their love through actions, rather than words.

ISFPs have no desire to lead or control others, just as they have no desire to be led or controlled by others. They need space and time alone to evaluate the circumstances of their life against their value system, and are likely to respect other people's needs for the same.

The ISFP is likely to not give themself enough credit for the things which they do extremely well. Their strong value systems can lead them to be intensely perfectionist, and cause them to judge themselves with unneccesary harshness.

The ISFP has many special gifts for the world, especially in the areas of creating artistic sensation, and selflessly serving others. Life is not likely to be extremely easy for the ISFP, because they take life so seriously, but they have the tools to make their lives and the lives of those close to them richly rewarding experiences.

my birthday activities.

1. Many times during the hours between 4:30 am & 8:30 am, I was mauled with noisy love-seeking from Cricket.
2. At 9:30 am, I got up, & I made the bed.
   
3. I abluted and popped my handful of pills.
4. I changed my ringtone to Super Mario Bros.
   
5. I was well-wished by my family.
6. I finally received a package of birthday goodness from Matty.
   
7. I puttered around on junkbbs.
8. I got dressed and gussied up my general appearance.
9. I drove to Lincolnwood, and had lunch at Olive Garden. I ate the zuppa toscana and salad, and drank a raspberry lemonade. I also felt a little lame.
10. I drove to Best Buy and used my Reward Zone certificates to purchase Spirited Away, which I have never actually seen all the way through without constant commercial interruptions.
11. I drove to Target and bought new 4 new pillows. I also bought 3 Sterilite under-bed storage boxes, 2 kitchen fatigue mats with roosters on them, 3 bowls of microwave brownies, and a 3-pack of cinnamint Orbit gum.
12. I purchased a strawberry mango smoothie and a bottle of nectarine white tea snapple at the concession stand.
    
13. I then went out to the car, where I realized that I was missing the bag with the brownies and the gum, and went back in for it, only to discover the weirdo in line behind me had apparently made off with it, probably by accident, but you never know.
    
14. I got 3 more brownie mixes and a pack of gum, and was checked out.
15. I drove home, where I ended up having a long conversation with my landlord, Mike, about how the city made him get rid of the stuff piled up behind the building as storage, and bemoaned the lack of general storage in the building.
    
16. I put the new pillows in cases and threw away the old pillows. I also put everything else away where it belongs.
17. I changed into pajamas.
    
18. I rearranged some underbed storage.
19. I ate half a medium bag of almond m&ms.
20. I rearranged furniture.
    
21. I watered the plants.
22. I watched a lot of Discovery Channel about the activities in KV-63, and how they relate to KV-54.
    
23. I shredded half of the shredding that I've been stockpiling.
24. I waved a feathery toy thing on a string and a stick for a long time whilst Posey happily chased it around like a little crazy person.
    
25. I watched Venture Bros. & Family Guy.
26. I cleaned out the litter box.
    
27. I did this.
28. I abluted and went to bed, where I intend to work on a crossword puzzle and then sleep.

i've now officially outlived jesus.

And me, I'm rocking some super serious pizza face.

My skin looks like I'm 15 again, and not in a nice way.

i'm not exactly certain why...

but for some strange reason, it makes me feel old to see Dermot Mulroney playing middle-aged roles.

I still see him as the guy that gets passed over for someone more mature, and now he's playing the role of the guys that get the girls that he didn't used to get.

It's all very perplexing.

something i tried once...

Once upon a time, I came up with the idea of " The Pixiemartin Lifestyle Fund," the premise of which was the following:

As far as ways to spend money, might I suggest participating in a new organization in the spirit of groups like The Christian Children's Fund, or the Adopt-A-Whale Program? I like to call it "The Pixiemartin Lifestyle Fund." For a certain donation each month, you can sponsor an important part of my lifestyle, and in return each month, you will receive pictures and letters from your sponsored item.

Examples?

• For $15/mo, you can help provide cellular support via the Pink Barbie Phone.
• For $25/mo, you can help provide hours of entertainment through the Big Talking Picture Box.
• And more!

For a larger, one-time donation, you can adopt and name a larger item, like the car or a piece of furniture, and receive a special certificate in recognition of your support.

Sadly, it did not fly, much less take off in any way shape or form.

And then this morning, I was thinking of all the thousands of dollars that I owe -- or would like to owe -- various medical establishments, and I was reconsidering the viability of the fund.

For less than $1 a day, you could help maintain a reasonable air temperature in this studio!
Think about the kitties and their little fur coats!

For less than $2 a day, you could make it possible for me to talk to people that aren't on the television or that happen to be cats, all without leaving the confines of this studio!

For about $5 a day, you can help keep it possible for me to coordinate online bill payments, entertain others as I mock strangers, or even help expand my intellect through the order and purchase of books from Amazon!

For a one-time, non-tax deductible donation of $1000, you could be awarded the status of Porcelain Crown Patron, and have a bridge and a crown named for you or a loved one!

commentary

Today, because I had the day off and had some errands to run where I should look nice, I wore a pretty cream, pink- and orange-flowered above the knee sundress.

That manages to reveal more real estate than has ever been seen by the people at the place where I work, what with all my pasty arms, legs, and upper torso visible to the public.

At work, I was asked if it was laundry day.

At Target, after I walked past them, I overheard one black woman say to another, "Whoo-oo! That girl need to get some sun."

Can't a girl just be extra girly sometimes? I have lots of dresses and pretty jewelry and darling shoes and handbags that are all sitting in their respective storage spaces, collecting dust and cat hair...

And dude, if it's good enough for Nicole Kidman to be pasty-ass white, it's good enough for me.

Zardoz (1974)

Channel surfing, I came across this movie as it was starting, and seeing that it had both Sean Connery and Charlotte Rampling in it, and it was about an Outlander shaking up the order of an immortal people, I thought what the hell.

And in the first five minutes of the movie I heard this giant floating statue head on the screen utter the following words, which I wasn't sure I had heard correctly and had to look up online:

Zardoz: "The penis is evil. The penis shoots seeds, and makes new life, and poisons the earth with a plague of men, as once it was. But the gun shoots death, and purifies the earth of the filth of brutals. Go forth and kill!"

Lo and behold, I did hear it properly, and it still makes me snicker. I can't wait for the rest of the movie.

Update: the giant floating statue head resembles Janus, and is apparently some sort of modern ship. Sean Connery is wearing a red bandolier and a red pair of speedos with a really short pareo that ties in the front in a big red bow, he had a long black ponytail, and a big handlebar moustache. And also, there are shrink-wrapped nekkid women. You even see boobs.

Update: He's also got burgundy thigh-high boots. And found/took a big honking ring that is holographic, voice-reactive, and educational. Oh, and big-ass mutton chops.

Update: He passed through some sort of portal between Zardoz and one of several places referred to as Vortex, where the immortals live. It's an idyllic society where everyone is snotty and genetically grown in big bubbles, so there's no need for sex. There are thought crimes and punishment is being aged. Oh, and everyone's got their own big ass shiny rings.

The immortals decide to study him, referring to him as a creature, a beast, a thing, or a monster,
they keep him in a cage, and seem particularly interested in his sexuality. His name is Zed, and he is being studied by Meg and Consuela.

There is a segment of the movie where he is shown erotic stimuli, in an attempt to give him a chubby. None of it works, but he looks at Consuela and pitches a tent.

The immortals are all apparently capable of merging all consciousnesses with each other on some "second level." When one of them Friend refuses, he is aged, cast out of the Vortex, and they take away his big shiny ring.

Friend is exiled to a dance hall full of old people in tuxedos and evening dresses, which is apparently what hell is like. Dancing with the Renegades.

And apparently after gaining entrance to Zardoz but before entering the Vortex, Zed killed some immortal named Arthur, who was in charge of Zardoz.

Update: In his former existence, Zed was an Executioner, responsible for hunting down and killing the regular old grubby mortals outside the Vortex, with a group of other Executioners.

On a raid, he stumbled upon books, and taught himself to read. When he read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, he had a little breakdown, realized Zardoz was only a man behind a curtain, which made him decide to enter Zardoz and fuck with the order of things.

Update: Meg's name is actually May. I got that wrong before.

Zed manages to whip up the normally very stoic immortals into a mob frenzy, and he is forced to run or be hunted down and massacred by the masses.

He ends up hiding with the Apathetic -- immortals with severe ennui -- who all lick and kiss him and like a bunch of psychic vampires, sap his energy and make it theirs.

Zed is told by a super-ancient Renegade that May holds the key to their immortality, called the Tabernacle, and with its help, they can actually die.

Thanks to the thrill of the hunt, since the Apathetic joined in chasing him once they all got an energy jolt, a big ol' orgy ensued, disgusting the rest of the immortals.

Zed, of course gets the Tabernacle from May, has a ego battle with it, and ends up being able to rewind time. Consuela confesses her love, and he, Consuela, and a small band of like-minded immortals break away, with the small band leaving Vortex, and everyone becoming mortal, most wanting to die.

You can tell Consuela loves him because she kissed him and gave him a big ass shiny ring of his own.

It is revealed that Arthur and Friend conspired together to bring about the end of Vortex, and Arthur actually used his time and energy to selectively breed the unwashed masses into their savior and chosen one, Zed. Arthur was in fact the person that led Zed to the library, and the Oz book specifically.

May asks Zed to kill her, but he can't. However, the hordes of invading Executioners have no issue with slaughtering all remaining members of Vortex.

Zed and Consuela escape, then live a normal mortal life, with her having a kid. And they eventually die.

The end.

Plotwise, it's straight 1974 sexploitation. Tits ahoy and all that. You can tell that from the fact that every single female wore tiny flutter tops, wardrobe malfunctions a near-constant state of existence.

Oh, and the fact that Sean Connery is mutton-chopped, mustachioed, ponytailed, bandoliered and wearing a speedo with a big bow on the front, with thigh-high burgundy boots, and wielding a pistol.

Because bare furry man chests and guns are all sexy and the like.

Plus the boobies.

And the pansexual kissing and groping phenomenon. Girls on girls, girls on boys, boys on boys, boys on girls, etc.

It's all very scandalous for 32 years ago, you know.

And if you're keeping any sort of countdown, my birthday is in 2 weeks.

my trip to las vegas.

see here.

can't wait until next sunday...

The Trial of the Monarch

The Monarch: This all started soon after 'The Flight of the Monarch' was published. A mean little tell-all-book filled with nothing but lies and pictures of also lies.

(Cutscene to The Monarch's Floating Cocoon)

The Monarch: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

#24: A book?

The Monarch: No, but you would think it was right? You can read it like a book, here I'll show you:

The Monarch reading:'...riffiling through his pockets for change, the Monarch accidentily launches a sodium-pentathol tipped dart deep into his own thigh. Upon hearing a girlish symphony of shrill wails, a waitress comes to his aid..'

#24: Told you!

#21: You told me he wouldn't find out.

#24: You're such a d*ck, you put his face on the cover!

The Monarch reading: *there she was subjected to a lecture concerning her weight problem and the evils of over* '...plucking her eyebrows.'

The Monarch: Oh, it's almost exactly like a book. There's even some pictures, here's one of me a Danceteria making out with Stiv Bators and Lydia Lunch. (closes book) But this is not a book, this is a suicide note. Good news! The euthanasia will be carried out by me. The author has twenty minutes to seek my aid before I just KILL all of you. You'll find me in my room... crying!

...

Hank: And they kill clean, don't let dames get in the way.

Brock: Honestly, Hank, where do you pick that stuff up? I never see you read.

Dean: It's weird, right.

Brock: It's like he channels dead crazy people.

Hank: You think it's a cry for help?

Are You There God? It's Me, Dean

#24: Come on! They have one female servicing a large group of males. That implies a species that lays eggs.

#21: Oh my God, you're crazy! They're so obviously mammals!

#24: Please! She'd be in estrus 24/7 if she didn't lay eggs.

#21: Smurfs don't lay eggs! I won't tell you this again! Papa Smurf has a fucking beard! They're mammals!

Tag Sale -- You're It!

#21: Here is where you are wrong, my friend. This woman has killed before.

#24: Allegedly.

#21: Okay, whatever. But she was a big girl. We are talking about a large, healthy woman of questionable stability.

#24: Oh, you are totally underestimating the never-say-die scrappiness of a survivor.

The Monarch: Hey, guess what? Nobody cares who would win in a crazy fantasy fist-fight between Anne Frank and Lizzie Borden.

someone i noticed on flickr...

she's almost like a euro-dana...

but just not quite.

cricket martin's new arch-rival.

Meet Posey Martin.

She is Cricket's "wicked stepsister."


And by wicked, I of course mean sweet, loving, adorable, cute and playful.

Particularly evil, note her stumpy tail.

That she wags.

Like a dog.

Which is even cuter.


Quite the opposite from Cricket's general sunshine-y disposition of grumpiness, whining, hiding, and the stinkeye.


Although, she does give a pretty good stinkeye if given the proper motivation.


Like the automatic flash.

a hypothetical job thing

So, let's say there's this KID who LIKES BANANAS.

KID actually says he LIKES BANANAS, he smells like BANANAS, dresses and acts like the atypical BANANA-LIKER, and mentions that he SHARES BANANAS with his COHABITATOR.

KID has multiple VISITS for JOB, coming across as being PERKY and LIVELY each VISIT. And BANANA-y. Very very BANANA-y.

So KID gets JOB at PLACE.

On KID's first day, he is supposed to ORIENTATE all day, PAPERWORKING, then VIEWING, and QUIZZING about VIEW, using paper TOOL with same info as VIEW.

And KID PAPERWORKS, VIEWS and QUIZZES.

During ORIENTATION, it becomes rapidly apparent that KID is not so much PERKY or LIVELY, but is instead ADD. (an abbreviation)

Also on that first day, KID manages to NO-NO the DON'T-BE-BAD -- that he has just PAPERWORKED -- three times, with three OTHER PEOPLE.

He also NO-NO's the HUSH that he has also just PAPERWORKED.

And he manages to NO-NO the four times RUDELY.

Now, each of these NO-NOs can independently RESULT, especially in an at-will state.

However, PEOPLE each don't report the NO-NOs to BOSSES until the next day, so the LOTS of NO-NOs isn't immediately apparent.

On KID's second day of JOB, KID immediately NO-NO's and semi-SNITS to de-NO-NO. When he returns, BOSSES INFORM OTHER BOSSES that KID is OFFICED, where BOSSES INFORM KID that NO-NO's of HUSH and DON'T-BE-BAD will most likely cause RESULT.

BOSSES also mention OTHER DEEDS that KID NO-NO'd.

OTHER DEEDS like QUIZ doesn't match VIEW, which KID claims is VIEWING DISABILITY.

KID never INFORMED BOSSES of DISABILITY until OFFICING.

KID is also reminded that TOOL with VIEWING answers QUIZ.

KID then INFORMS BOSSES of TOOL-USING DISABILITY.

KID denies and refutes the NO-NO's, CRIES WOLF, and eventually TANTRUMs.

Then KID stops OFFICING, and SNITS before RESULT or RESPONSE can occur.

Later, KID CONTACTS BOSSES at PLACE, and INFORMS BOSSES about OVERREACTIVE intent, to get BOSSES RESULTED because BOSSES RESULTED him for LIKING BANANAS, and he's going to OVERREACT PLACE and COMPANY, and maybe even BOSSES and PEOPLE.

KID is told that LOTS of COMPANY and SOME of PLACE happen to LIKE BANANAS, because COMPANY is part of an extremely BANANA-FRIENDLY industry. Ironically, SOME of PEOPLE happen to LIKE BANANAS, and all BOSSES and PEOPLE have LOTS of CIVILIANS that LIKE BANANAS.

KID eventually finds his way to COMPANY HR, where HR begins INQUIRY.

KID is offered JOB at OTHER PLACE by HR, because RESULT or RESPONSE never actually happened, and KID officially RESPONDS.

BOSSES and PEOPLE STATEMENT and CONTACT with HR about KID's NO-NO's and TANTRUMS and SNITS and LOTS of CONTACTS to assist INQUIRY.

However, KID CRIES WOLF and wants BOSSES RESULTED, and continuously CONTACTS BOSSES at PLACE to DEMAND, when he should only DEMAND to COMPANY HR.

BOSSES and PEOPLE STATEMENT and CONTACT HR LOTS about KID's CONTACT and DEMAND.

HR then INFORMS KID that CONTACTING BOSSES, PEOPLE or PLACE is NO-NO.

Which pretty much boils down to OVERREACTION never occuring, BOSSES and PEOPLE never RESULTING, and KID CONTACTING HR and DEMANDING about INQUIRY until the day KID dies, CRYING WOLF.

BECAUSE KID is a PETTY, VINDICTIVE BITCH.

And he makes a bad name for BANANA-EATERS everywhere.

As an aside, if BOSSES and PEOPLE actually got RESULT because of KID CRYING WOLF, OVERREACTION to KID and COMPANY would occur.

don't worry, cricket's okay.

To: comm-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx@craiglist.org
Re: I am moving and my black cat needs a new home

(5/18/2006)

Are you still looking for a home for your kitty?

I am a 33 y.o. hairdresser living in a nice-sized studio, and I'm a total homebody, so if I'm not at work, I'm at home.

I can definitely afford to get a cat regular medical care if needed, good toys, a cat condo, and quality foodstuffs. I've even been seen giving a cat water from the Brita pitcher.

The last cat I have had was very hands-off, and spent a lot of time skulking and hiding, and was only affectionate on her terms.

Someone lovey would be a nice change of pace.

Please let me know -- you can email me here, or you can call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Thanks

pixie

Hi pixie,
He's still available for adoption. He's really sweet and playful. And LOVES attention. If you are interested, I will also provide you with all of his supplies (i.e. litterbox and food dishes). I've attached photos of him. Let me know what you think.... THanks!
S.

I am still definitely interested. And I'd love to meet him!

Great! You are more than welcome to come over and meet him. I work a regular 9 to 5 but, I am available in the evenings. I live in Wicker Park.
What works for you?

I could even meet him today, as I have the day off, or I could meet him sometime tomorrow after 7pm. Otherwise it'd have to be next week sometime.

Well, you are more than welcome to come over tonight if you like. Please call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx. Thanks!

Just to let you know,

We made it home okay, and Max's first official act was to bite through my nail, acrylic and all (just deep enough to bleed a bunch, but no real trauma), and then go hide under my bed, where he remains.

He finally stopped growling, so that's good sign.

I'm just gonna leave him be, and let him work it out on his own, until he wants my involvement.

I think we'll both survive, so no worries.

pixie

Hi pixie,
Thanks for the update.... yeah, give him some time. It took him a little
bit to warm up to me.
But he should be okay by the weekend.
Take care!
S.
..........

(6/3/06)

Hi pixie,
How are things going with Max? Let me know when you get a chance... thanks!

S.

(6/4/06)

S.,

After Max bit me and went to hide under the bed, he proceeded to growl, hiss, spit, and make some of the ugliest noises I've ever heard come out of a cat.

Later he came out and growled at me in person, hissing and swatting at me, while I was watching television, unprovokedly from several yards away.

He pretty much scared the crap out of me, and considering the damage he did to my finger, I was even more terrified when he leapt upon me in the middle of the night and started growling, hissing, swatting and spitting at me, before racing back under the bed, where he proceeded to growl and make very angry cat noises any time he heard the slightest noise, or seemed to think he'd heard a noise. I pretty much didn't get any sleep at all.

Friday morning, greeted by more growls, noises, and hissing, I decided it was a good time to start carrying around a yard stick, just in case he decided to take another bite out of me.

I left food and water, went to work, forced to wear a vinyl glove on my left hand all day because the bite wound would not stop bleeding. It also felt like I was being stabbed by a thousand needles every time the finger touched or bumped something. I did quite a bit of hair that day, so I went through about a dozen or so bandaids and a couple of gloves, before I noted the red streak tracing up the side of my finger.

A couple of hours later, it had creeped up the back of my hand to my wrist bone, when I decided it was in my best interest to cancel my last appointment and go to the hospital to have my hand looked at by a doctor.

I ended up staying in the hospital for a little over 25 hours, hooked up to an IV, woken and/or bothered every 2-3 hours to have my temperature and blood pressure taken, sharing a room with an insane, surly, screeching old woman, my only entertainment being Saturday afternoon television, which pretty uniformly sucks, and watching the catheter bag attached to the side of her bed drip urine on the floor.

I had to call work and have them cancel or reschedule all of my appointments for Saturday, which is my busiest day -- and I was booked solid the entire day, telling everyone that I was in the hospital being pumped full of antibiotics for a vicious cat bite.

Saturday afternoon, after the line widened and crept up to my elbow in a painful stripe of red, a team of doctors decided that after 3 horrible hospital meals, no sleep courtesy of the old lady snoring like a lumberjack during her frequent bouts of snoozing, and my constant begging and pleading to be allowed to stop being in the hospital, despite them wanting to keep me another day, it was safe for me to go home, as long as I promised to return if any complications should arise.

The concensus of the medical staff was also that I should return Max to you first thing on Monday, which I agreed with wholeheartedly.

I was then given a prescription for 10 days worth of ridiculously strong antibiotics, and eventually released back into the wild.

I don't know if you've seen Pet Sematary, but Max continued to bear a striking resemblance to Church, post-resurrection from the evil Indian burial ground.

My warm welcome home was snarls and growls and whatnot from under the bed.

I checked on the food and water situation, and then went to bed, yard stick at my side, cocooned in a protective layer of pillows, hopefully to make up some of the last couple of days worth of lost sleep.

Bright and early Sunday morning, I got up, yard stick in hand, and went to go use the facilities. As I started to flush, I noticed a large, bristling ball of angry in the hallway, immediately between me and freedom.

I carefully washed my hands, dried them on a towel, and as I turned to face the hallway, Max continued his noisy antics before hurling himself sideways into the closet door, popping it open.

He proceeded to knock over most of the stacked crates of clothing, as well as tear down some of the hanging ones, before jumping back out into the middle of the hallway, ears back, fur bristling even more menacingly, as he slowly advanced towards me, yowling angrily, pausing every couple of nanoseconds to spit and swat at the air between us.

Not quite sure exactly what to do, I decided to snag a pair of pants off of the floor and flip them over him, holding them in place with the stick while I ran the other direction. Which worked, and seemed to make Max even angier.

I guess that he was angrier only because the noises he was making as he shot past me and under the bed were at least twice as horrifying as the ones he made the first night, which until that point had been the scariest cat noises I'd heard.

We're talking trapped and caged wild big cat angry. Times at least 2.

I called my mom for advice, and she suggested getting the cat out of the house then and there, to which I reluctantly agreed.

I put on several layers of clothing and some gloves, and tried poking at Max to get him to flee the bed, but ended up having to climb under the bed after him, because he was out of the reach of my yard stick.

When I finally touched him with one hand, he made a noise that most closely resembled a person screaming bloody murder, at a volume that I am sure suprised the neighbors for several units above, below, and around me.

He then shot out from under the bed and ran into the kitchen, where I thought I had him cornered.

My original intent was to shoo him back into the carrier, but he didn't feel agreeable enough to assist me in that venture, so I followed him slowly into the kitchen.

When he saw me, he shot up straight into the air, landed in the sink, spun around, and launched himself at me, managing to hook one claw about a quarter inch below my lower lip, just a little to the left of center, the tip of when exited my lip just at the lip line, where the flesh starts to turn pink.

I managed to pin him against my torso, facing away from me, with my right arm, as I tried to carefully unhook his claw from my face, which took a couple of minutes. In the meantime, he scratched the hell out of both of my cheeks, clawed me so hard in some places that he left bruises along with scrapes, and sliced up my wrists between sleeves and gloves.

I somehow managed to wrangle him across the room and into the carrier, closing the door, and going into the bathroom to see what damage Max had wrought.

Most of the facial scratches were extremely bloody, but superficial, and I think that only one of the wrist wounds will scar significantly, but the claw through the lip left an oozing slit in my face that isl definitely healing into visible scar, with a small lump of scar tissue on the interior. It's gross and tactile.

When I came out of the bathroom, the carrier was shaking violently, much like the velociraptor crate and the beginning of Jurassic Park, to use another cinematic reference.

I decided that before I would go to the ER again to have my face patched up, I would get Max out of the apartment, and I didn't want to leave him in the car, because what if they wanted me to stay another night?

I initially took him to Anti-Cruelty, but was turned away because they wouldn't take a biter. I was instead referred to Animal Control, somewhere in the 27th block of South Western.

With much regret and many tears, I decided that it was best to take him to Animal Control, and let them deal with him.

After filling out all of the paperwork, and sadly telling him goodbye, I cried for10 minutes, waiting for the man that took him away to return with the carrier.

When he did, he asked me how long I'd had the cat, and when asked why, told me that he'd worked there a long time, and that in his experience, Max was the most vicious cat that he'd ever handled. He said it took TWO grown adult professional men to subdue him enough to get him from carrier to cage. And he said that I was extremely lucky that a few scrapes and a couple of future scars are the only thing I got out of it.

That Sunday, he was put on a ten-day rabies watch, after which he would most likely be humanely euthanised.

Which would have happened during the middle of this last week.

Let me say at this time, that I never in all of this blamed Max for the circumstances. I'm pretty sure that being given away to a stranger and taken to a new environment just snapped whatever final string of sanity in his adorable head that was holding him all together in one piece. Clearly, there was something fundamentally wrong there to start with, and I'm not sure exactly who is to blame for that, whether it was nature or nurture.

I made a very poor value judgement in agreeing to take him, considering that he was much larger of a cat than I really wanted, and that he was so particularly standoffish to me in the first place. I've never met a cat that didn't like me, and I suppose that like you, I just thought that he'd get used to me, and while never a lovey lap cat, he'd at least make a reliable companion.

And you made a very poor value judgement in giving him to me. You had to have some gut instinct that Max wasn't going to do well with a new owner, and you should have followed that instinct.

Never once in this entire experience did I ever witness your description of him as "He's really sweet and playful. And LOVES attention." to be at all accurate. Not even when I was at your apartment in the first place.

At first I didn't contact you to let you know what was going on because I was angry, and there was nothing you could have done to save him.

Max was broken. Maybe not all the way at first, but I think in retrospect, that somewhere between Wicker Park and Edgewater Beach, he snapped.

I didn't tell you at first because I was angry, but then I eventually decided it would be easier not to tell you, because that way you could continue to believe in your heart that he was okay. That he got to my house, settled in splendidly, and after I'm done typing this note to let you know that everything's great, we're going to go play with some wonderful new cat toy I got at Petsmart. Then you could enjoy your move to Seattle, and not worry about past things.

But I also decided that if you asked, I would tell you the truth.

The truth is, at the end of things, he was all wide-eyed and cowed, a circle of white completely surrounding his irises. He was mewling and butting his head against the carrier and I was scratching him on the side of his head, telling him he was a good boy, and that I was sorry it had to be this way. I scritched him under his chin, and I gave him away to a man I don't know, while I blubbered and snuffled like an idiot.

Then I drove to the ER and got patched up again.

The truth is, we're both sad, but I'm the one with the $1k in deductibles and co-pays that my insurance won't cover.

pixie