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Emily and I watched The Night of The Hunter last Friday. There's this prison scene where Harry Powell is trying to get the kids' father to say in his sleep where he hid the money. Harry is on the top bunk and when the father wakes up, Harry leans his head down in order to talk to him. When the father realizes what Harry was up to he punches him so hard that Harry gets knocked off the bed and across the cell.
Emily turned to me and said, "That's what I imagine your sex life is like."
Did you know that Randy Travis is gay? I didn't. But my father swears it's true. Which is weird, because Randy Travis also looks like my dad. And speaking even more of my dad, Gawker has been all over that cult he joined when I was kid, MSIA, because Arianna Huffington is also tight with John-Roger. JR is the one who predicted, on tape, that I was going to be a prophet when I grew up. I'm going to look for that book JR wrote that my dad gave me, "Manual on Using The Light" and scan some pics to post here. It's pretty priceless, The Light is represented by a stick-drawing version of a star that comes to help stick drawings of kids when they are in trouble. It also talks about how The Light is manifested by the god Sugmad.
Stay Tuned!
Feline Infectious Peritonitis took Bela from me this morning. The symptoms came on fast and furious -- in the middle of the night he woke me up, crying. I thought he was hungry so I lifted him from my side and put him on the floor so we could go get some food. His legs collapsed. He kept trying to stand but he had lost all control of them. It was two in the morning, I stupidly thought his legs had just fallen asleep so I carried him to his food bowl but he wasn't hungry. I carried him to the litter box, where he peed, then I carried him back to bed. He kept mewling as if he couldn't get comfortable but I fell back asleep. Around five I woke up and he was crying terribly, he had defecated all over himself and me. I lifted him to the ground and he just laid there, staring up at me and crying.
I rushed him to the ER vet on Fifth and Fifteenth. They admitted him and discovered it was FIP, there's no cure. They said they could stabilize him for a few days but there was no way he would live out the week. They brought him to me and he couldn't move anything except his neck and head. He was crying so loudly and was in so much pain because his kidneys were so swollen. I held him and kept my cheek on his until they administered the injection.
It was instant, but gentle.
I only knew you for eleven days little one, but that was enough time to know your tiny beautiful soul. I hope we find each other again someday.
I ran into my favorite gay homeless junkie today! I thought I'd already written about him on here, but I searched around and couldn't find anything.
I first met him at the LES needle exchange. He's tall and has big buggy eyes and long hair. You could tell he was pretty handsome at one point before the drugs really took over his body and he got that oily, leathery skin that comes with the territory. I could feel him checking me out from across the room while Rambo: First Blood II played on a huge flat screen TV in the rec room (how come the harm reduction center has a giant flat screen and I don't?) when he finally made his way over to me and complimented my tattoo.
"Thanks," I said.
"I've got two," he said. He rolled up one sleeve and showed me something nondescript like a skull, I can't even remember what it was, it was that boring.
"My other one is right here," he continued, proceeding to roll up his pant leg, never taking his eyes off of me, while he revealed an upside down triangle with a rainbow inside it on his lower calf.
I burst out laughing and he winked at me and THANK GOD my drug counselor came out and called my name so the conversation couldn't go any further.
I ran into him again two weeks ago, at night, walking on 1st Ave. I didn't recognize him, I just knew some homeless guy was following me and cat calling. I didn't realize it was the same guy until he was walking almost side by side with me and said, "Nice tattoo, check out mine."
I turned to look at him and he was shuffling along beside me with his pant leg rolled up, showing off his rainbow triangle again. I cracked up and said "Dude, you already tried that trick on me once, it didn't work then and it's not gonna work now."
"It's not a trick," he said, slightly insulted. "It's a move."
"It's still not gonna work," I said, but in a friendly sort of way. He followed me to Houston and I was able to ditch him there.
I saw him again today on Allen Street. He was in the midle of asking me for spare change when he recognized me and just said "Aaaaaaahhh" with a big grin on his face.
He's really starting to grow on me. But don't worry, I'm not in my twenties anymore so there's no chance of me dating him.
He has finally arrived, and he looks like a Kenny Rogers Roaster. He spends most of his time sleeping but he's super vocal when he's awake. O is not having him at all, and is lashing out at me in protest but everyone tells me this is normal with an older cat and a new, younger one. Any tips on how to get my first born to accept him are appreciated.
PS - He just molted. He looks hairless because right now, he is. His new coat will grow in soon.
While I was searching for a photo of a fly to add to the post below, I came across this picture. It is seriously freaking me out. Today is WEIRD.
The creepiest thing in the world just happened to me. I was on the phone with my sister, who had called to ask what it had felt like when I got appendicitis because she was having severe abdominal pains on her right side. As I was talking to her, I had my cell phone held between my ear and my shoulder. I was closing the refrigerator door with my right hand and my left hand was clutched in a fist because I was nervous - she was refusing to go to the hospital and I was trying to convince her it was worth it to just make sure she was ok (she hates hospitals).
As I closed the fridge door I felt something moving inside my clutched fist. I freaked out and opened it fast and a HUGE black fly flew out of my hand and disappeared somewhere into the apartment.
WHAT THE FUCK????
I find it hard to believe that I would have accidentally caught a fly in my hand without knowing it. I went to Ikea the other day and itched for about seven hours after sitting on a bunch of couches, so I'm super sensitive to this sort of thing. So the only deduction I can come up with is that this was a prognostication of things to come if my sister doesn't get her ass to a hospital immediately.
She's in a cab now.
