Spidercamp

spoons gets the vote

So, the cat exploded; kitty's first pee disaster, really my own fault for not reading the signs. It felt weird to hand a bag full of peed-on stuff to the dry cleaning lady, privileged, like, here, I've got money, YOU handle this. Not weird bad. Weird exhilarating.

I've always wanted a cat that could talk, not for cuteness, for completely practical reasons. Because I never know what they want. Yes and no would be enough: DO YOU WANT TO GO OUTSIDE OR WHAT. Well I have got the next best thing: Spoons knows how to vote. When I’m unsure whether she's asking for milk or food, I can show her the yellow can and then the purple box, and she will freaking VOTE for one with a nice loud meow. This also works for toys: do you want the cardboard tube or fishnoodle? FISHNOODLE PLEASE! It's amazing. Then I showed her the litterbox and she was like "cool, I’m housebroken now."

And I have never once been able to make her bite her own tail, which is sort of a shame, but her brother more than makes up for it. He... struggles. He repeatedly clonks his head on walls, chairs, and floor. He stays out in the rain. He likes laptime on occasion, but doesn't understand how to work a lap - he slides off and lands on his poor fat ass. Sometimes I toss him a toy and it lands ON him and he doesn’t even notice. We have named him Moose, because that's perfect, but I might always think of him as Bonk.

kitten photos: logan says i shouldn't pollute the internet; i say that ship has sailed

My photoblog is now located at flickr (there’s also a link in the sidebar) in case anybody cares. It's going to be mostly cruddy cameraphone pictures of tomatoes and cats. I do not give a damn.

The cats: dude if you knew what kind of angst these cats have put me through over the past few months you would understand why I am adoring them maybe a little too much. They lived in a crappy old abandoned dog cage in the neighbor's filthy backyard. Their mother left or died so they were forced to get weaned cold-turkey, not yet old enough to find their own food. They got rained on and stranded up trees and one time we tried to kill them with the car, whoops. This neighborhood has big mean dogs, a horrible snarling opossum, and a hawk with ankles as thick as whole other birds. Add "Please come in the damn house!" to the list of things the neighbors have heard me yell out the back door a hundred times.

Since April I have seen them gradually get over their fear of running water, paper towels, laughter, room that aren't the kitchen, my hand, Logan, the color yellow, the letter S (sibilant words used to freak them out), shoes (lying around is ok. worn on feet is NOT), the sound the stove makes when I light a burner, the sound the catfood makes when it hits the bowl, and eye contact. They were at one point feral and it is quite a big deal to me that they will now curl up in my lap without even being invited. And I'm going to take pictures of it.

As for the tomatoes, I don't know, my calendar says stuff like "don't forget to watch the tv show about the cakes," I’m boring.

the fascinating saga of the day I decided to buy pepper spray

It’s a nice neighborhood. We live one block from a church and an elementary school, two blocks from a grocery store and another church. People of at least four races live side-by-side, from babies to old ladies, and everybody has cats and dogs. People improve their houses and take care of their gardens and have sweet little hokey shit like lawn statues and house flags. People noticed when we moved in and they said hello. The mail lady waves from her truck. Friendly cops drift idly by. Neighbors nod at each other across driveways. It’s all very civilized and Sesame Street because everyone knows how to behave, except for the ones who don’t, who are really fucking it up for me.

You know what I wish? I wish it were legal to carry a fucking pistol around, so when the construction worker (seriously. dude. you’re embarassing all of us.) is all like HEY HAW BABY A HUH HUH YOU WANNA? YOU WANT SOME YOU WANNA YOU WANNA??? fucking luigi idiot bullshit stereotype greasy asshole douche, I could march across the street and put the muzzle to his head and just start fucking screaming. This is what I FEEL LIKE when I go for a walk around my block. I guess it is good for my heart rate but jesus christ!

One dude is not even the issue. It’s that I dealt with that guy by sternly ignoring, because what else could I do, seriously, should I yell FUCK OFF across the street or is that asking to be raped then & there? God yes I would like to yell, but every situation has its own secluded street or lack of other people or overhanging trees to consider, and is yelling at him worth the risk? I guess it isn’t because I never do.

- so I ignored that one, walked away, calmed reasonably down, and there’s another one. Ignore, breathe, THEN ANOTHER ONE. Sometimes they say filthy things. Sometimes they just look at my tits and go uh-huh, MMM - seriously is there one guy out there who has ever gotten laid by the uh-huh, mmm technique? thanks for putting the word out and ruining neighborhood walks for all the women in the god damned world.

Number three followed me on his bicycle, yammering and laughing, for two blocks. In the end I only screamed at the big mean boxer to FUCK OFF BAD DOG, because that’s the kind of winner I want my neighbors to know I am.

All this in broad daylight, and within half an hour. So on average, once every ten minutes I can get myself a free dicking on the street. Super! I will buy a can of mace and then I will storm around my fucking block any time I want to, feeling it hard and powerful in my pocket like something I can use to fuck you right back.

I aint forgot the little box they try to wiggle me in

Some mp3blog did a Lyrics Born remix contest and Oliver Fenner's Brassmix is hands down the best. It sounds like it could have easily gone on the actual album and it is awesome. My favorite bit is halfway through when the trumpets just give up and let the man have his say; it's freaking triumphant.