Gonna Be OKAY - Just Dance!!!

What's up in my periphery? Earthquakes in Detroit (and Toronto), Kwame handed 19 federal indictments (yes, I voted for him, but only his first time running, when he PROMISED SOOOO much for our city, I voted Freeman Hendrix in round two and lost), torrential downpours in Pittsburgh, a slow and silent and solo night at the homestead with the kids, a little thunder and lighting to keep Wilson and I on our toes, cats lurking in the shadows. There's a whirlwind of great change afoot, I can feel it. The tectonic plates are shifting, justice is being served, but it continues to rain in my dining room, so as much as things change and heave and bob and weave, they also stay the same.

Such as it is, with crashing booms and equally powerful yet non-descript moments of quiet reflective bouncing around and dancing and singing with no one here to see or judge or care, I find myself oscillating like the $20 Home Depot fan in my sweet light purple cave of a bedroom, between one side of love, one side of life, one side from here to there and back again with every subject and facet of life's strange adventures and unpredictable variances with a well-oiled ease. Moving smoothly, flawlessly perhaps, from having real love and a real relationship to the exact opposite, from having a friend who is a friend and not a lover to the exact opposite, from having a lover who isn't even a friend to the exact opposite. From being unemployed to employed overwhelmingly, from being re-charged into my phd work to suddenly underwhelmed by its presence in my life at the very critical moment I think I'm finally ready to jump through another hoop and knock it all out with a 1-2 KT punch. Nope, the fan keeps moving, keeps shifting from side to side, blowing my wits and bits off guard. I may not have felt the quake in PGH, but I feel it every day in my heart and my mind. Just dance.

It's also too hot to go for a run, which I'd love to do, though I'm slow and don't jog more than a few+ miles, but I go go go, hustle, and I blast my Gaga along the way. So instead I'll work on my web presence, rebuilding the site taken down long ago when the petty little twerp I spent five years with deactivated the website I spent a year building. It's okay, the fan blows that away too. When that gets boring, what I have control over right now is the way I sway, shake my hips and shoulders, the volume of the shitty dance pop music I'm blasting, the dishes in the sink that I can't wait to wash, the dirt on my face and hands, the dirtyness of my insatiable appetites left to deal with later. The whirlwind of change is here, it's now, and I know I can also, always control the speed of the fan with which the winds blow about me. I can also turn the fan off.

Baby Old Lady Kitty came home and I remember being 16

My little 17 years young old lady cat, a respectable if not a totally smelly pillar of yucky mucous, sophistication and adventure, took off last week Wednesday and was returned home this Monday evening by 3 sweet and kind little girls up the street. I want to kiss and hug these kids so bad right now. After days of searching, posting ads on Craigslist, putting flyers up around the neighborhood and overall prayers to the universe, Britches, aka Dragon Toes, Britchy, Stinky Britches, Grandma, Bwitch, is safe at home, and wearing a collar with her name and my phone number on it. The veranda from where she escaped is barricaded in an ugly way, but cat-proofed nonetheless. I want to make sure this 6 lb feline equipped with full-on liver failure and fearlessness holds on to what I'm certain is likely the last life she has in her tattered bag that once held 9.

Now, I'm not quite sure if Britches is 17 -- I actually think she is older since I have no idea her date of birth or from whence she came. I suspect she came from Long's Farm, which was right next to our subdivision in Commerce Township, where I lived from 16 until 19 with my then very drunken father, who said one day "Who's ugly grey cat is that?" My sister Katherine and I replied that we didn't know, and he said, "Well, she's yours now, I've been feeding her for weeks."

And that's how simple it was and it came to be that Britches would live a life of romance, recklessness, adventure, drama and happiness and travel along my side. From the farms of Commerce, to the indoor day-spa of dad's house, to the shithole apartments in Detroit, to the nice places in Detroit too, to Richmond and now on to Pittsburgh, Britches and I were only apart for one year in all this time, during which time sister Katherine, who lived next door, housed Britchy with Fifi as I felt I needed some time to be cat-free in my tiny studio apartment.. No less than 6 months later, I find Iago, twinkie-sized and scared shitless, screaming, hungry, he fit in the palm of my hand, in a nasty dumpster on Prentis and then 2 weeks later I adopted little teeny Jupiter, who is now a bully and a pig-cat, weighing in at kitty-sumo level of 21 lbs. And for all his love for humans, he is the alpha-male, he is the cat version of Eric Cartman. So, I brought Britchy back home with home and it's where she's been ever since. The boys, 12 this summer, know she is the Queen of the Castle.

Britches is also a friend to Wilson as much as she is a friend to humans and cats alike. As opposed to Iago and Jupiter, she likes Wilson, I dare say she loves him. It's part of her fearlessness, her friendliness, her willingness to accept and be part of the pack that makes her so special to me. He likes her too, he's not afraid of her like he is Jupiter, she doesn't taunt him, attack him, back him into corners, box his nose with her paws. She doesn't mind sharing space on my bed with him. (One mean look from Jupiter sends Wilson cowering, but don't tell anyone what a puss he is when it comes to pussy).

Her absence was heartbreaking. At worst I thought she'd run away to die - this liver failure is real, her senility is real, her craziness is real, death seems real. At best, I figured someone might have mistaken her for a kitten and decided to keep her. My ads were very clear, she is not a kitten! She is an old lady, the Betty White of cats! But in this absence I began to think of things I might have carried with me in my life as long or longer than her.

My name, for one. Some photos. A Stephen King book or two. And a pair of black Converse All-Stars I wore in high school and still have and that actually don't smell bad. What do you have from 17 years ago? From the time you were 16? It's a strange way to think about life, and death, and loss of not only the things and materials you love, but the living, breathing, loving creatures that grace us with their presence. I've spent half my life with this animal, this harbinger of sweetness and effection, and snot rockets the size of rockets, the color of electric green algae. I've spent what, thousands? of dollars on her food, litter, health care - including 2 surgeries to have her rotten teeth removed, which rendered her desensitized to treats, tuna juice, cheese, or any other delicacies other than her constant need for bowls full of her one and only culinary delight in this world -- original blue bag Purina Cat Chow.

Britches is my girl in my life filled with boys. Of all the boys and things and places and pieces of myself that I've loved and lost and changed and grown out of along the way, Britches has been with me, sleeping on my head, purring in my ear, looking at me with her beautiful huge green eyes, her Pixie Bob petiteness, with a devotion and care that keeps me humble, happy and human.

Welcome home little old crazy lady cat. I love you so much.

A Friday Toast

Jameson Irish Whiskey is delicious, but did you know it is even more so with Pellegrino? As I sip on the last of the economy-sized gallon bottle of whiskey I bought just in case I go broke, feet up on the lovely veranda in my rustic-urban, shabby-chic flat, a gorgeous Friday evening in June winds down as do the pennies I've scraped up over the years and the student loan funds I have to start paying back in August. Yes, my tastes are refined, my palate luxurious on Irish booze and Italian water, but my accounts are empty. Thankfully I have my professional babysitting skills to rely upon!

So cheers, let's toast this Friday evening, a night of KT hanging in PGH, a rare Friday night off from aforementioned second career path, reflecting because that seems to be the theme of the day, to only celebratory occasions with class, sexiness and true joie de vivre!

I passed my comps, ahem, high passed.
Two essays + 3 days + 32 pages of writing and bibliography = One crazy lady.

Vacationed in Detroit. Except for Heather, I spent more time with more friends and family than all of last summer? The list: Heather, Greg, Zoe, Susan, Peter, Hernan, Natalia, their 3 cool NYC friends, Colton, Marianne, Leia, Klipper, Vaupel, Spivak and Spivak, Selmin, Carlson and Brandy, the regulars at Jumbo's, Allan, Beth, Sandy, Dave, Faina, Bridget, Jenny, the Cass folk at Beth's BBQ, Mom, Buddy, Katherine, Grant, Tobie, Kim and TC, Dad, Nancy, Winsome, Parker, Gunther, Matt, Meshawn, The Detroit Tigers, and host of familiar faces and places and smells and spells. Awesome.

Next, it was Slim and Kim, Episode Number 2. This time no spinning couches, but Greg having to get tough with a guy named Christy (for real) who wouldn't stop hitting on me at Brillobox. My lady-crush from the InSeams was there with pomped out bangs. I think I have a crush on her not because she's all hot, but because she sings in a fun band and plays guitar, and does so with such a calm cuteness and mellow ass-kicking-ness -- I think it's more of an admiration than a crush -- touching on my dreams of being in a similar band but settling for karaoke.

I have a new housemate too! Tim! After months of deliberation, hemming and hawing so much in that 2nd bedroom that I never got a fucking thing done in that 2nd bedroom, I made the decision to rent the second bedroom. The 101 Dalmations room. I moved all my shit out of there - all 1000 books, 200 records, 4 bookcases, huge Ikea desk and million other boxes of my life into different areas of the house -- by myself!!! Oh holy soreness the next day! Looks amazing, a complete transformation of my living/working space, with room to spare. Then on a whim I looked on the rooms/housing wanted section of CR and found an ad that I liked from someone who sounded not only like fun, but responsible, professional and easy-going and MALE, wrote my own ad and sent it to this person. Why male: because chicks are crazy. Then we met for coffee and lunch and hit it off really well. How well do you ask? Well, Wilson humped his leg and he didn't freak out! So Tim moved in last week sans furniture, which unbelievably still hasn't arrived. Making the best of it all, he's got a cozy space on my couch, covered nightly in cat-love and dog visits, until his life magically appears at our doorstop, date as yet unknown. But the 101 Dalmations are history, the room painted Midday Mocha with Chocolate trim -- a real man zone! Even inspired me to put a fresh coat of paint on both sides of the bowling lane length hallway in our railcar apartment. Place feels like home.

So while the Jameson thins out and the dining room window leaks something most foul, putrid and awful and some bill somewhere is late, pending, hounding me, I fondly toast again to Pittsburgh. I discard those few ugly moments when I regret moving. I don't blame Pittsburgh, I don't blame anyone for the weird rut and fact is, I love it here. We love it here, myself and my 4 kids. I live in a beautiful neighborhood, I can catch the bus anywhere, I am solo and single and there are many prospects, thanks to friends like Kathryn and Jeremy and my own strengths and marketability. Not to mention the least of which being I simply finish my PhD. Simply. Finish. My PhD. Simple.