Rock Haus

Boys will be Girls...

Okay. I know that in the past y'all have felt the occasional twinge of jealousy because my life is just so cool and you just *wish* you could live in my shoes for just one day (and the best part about my shoes is that there's room to bring a friend!) but now, NOW YOU WILL JUST BE BESIDE YOURSELVES (and not just the regular beside yourself, oh no, I'm talking writhing on the ground screaming "WHY!!! WHY OH WHY CAN'T I BE MISS LIS!!!!!????") {/sarcasm} .

Next weekend, when all of you poor fools with your lives and families are drinking beer at some backyard barbeque somewhere, with loved ones and all the char broiled meat products your constitution will allow - *I* will be eyeballs deep in marabou, glitter and falsies, at the Miss Continental Pageant*. Go ahead, you can weep - it's okay.

*worst most neglected website I've seen in some time but it was all I could find.

Now for your daily dose of creepy bastards...

I was always more than a little put off by Cabbage Patch dolls, so this article - yeesh - *shudder*

Link pinched from The Spin Starts Here

Why is J. the best DJ EVER???

I'll tell you why, because in the midst of spinning old punk and garage, he was kind enough to play my favouite Journey song AND told the bartender to give me a shot of Stoli when the song started, J. is my hero.

Silent Ron is also my hero, because he gave me a ride home. Silent Ron rocks. I can't wait till scooter season is over and I get to see him more often. AND Happy Birthday to Ron too, btw...I know his birthday is this month some time, but he wont tell me when...so happy birthday and big hugs and love to my very favourite scooter boy.

I've always said Dave Matthews is a shitty band - here's proof.

Thanks to Miss Kathy for sending me this article.

In other news, to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of John Tesh, live at Red Rocks, The Teshmeister will be releasing John Tesh - WORSHIP at Red Rocks. Kick ass. And! AND!!! DID YOU KNOW - if you join the John Tesh fanclub, not ONLY do you get a lovely autographed picture of the Tesher himself, you ALSO get, should you be lucky enough to have him come to your town, a VIP pass and get to not just meet but also GREET the man himself??? Wow.

This concludes the Rock Haus shitty music update.

Olympic baby tossing

Okay, this post has fuck all to do with the Olympics.

The other day Hamstress and I were discussing the practise of baby throwing aided pickpocketing. Whether this is an urban legend or not I don't know, but the gist of it is, working as a team, one person throws a baby at you, and you, being a fairly decent sort*, try to catch the baby - as you wrangle the baby, you are pickpocketed...

That really has nothing to do with the following...

Today I was walking back from the Dunkin Donuts where I had gone to pick up my first caffeine fix of the day, as I was passing the Sears, there was a lady with a baby in a carrier, standing next to a parking meter. As I passed her by, she says "excuse me, can you watch my baby while I move my car?". I look at her quizzically. She points at the car in the next space, about 10 feet away "I just need to move it up a few feet...."Um...okay" I say...what else could I do? "No lady, I won't watch your baby! you go straight to hell and you die!!" So I stand there next to the baby, she hops into the car. As she got into the car I thought HOLY CRAP WHAT IF SHE JUST DRIVES OFF?? I mean, I don't even want to get another cat, I sure as HELL don't want a baby**. So I was quite relieved when she moved the car up to the next space and got back out of the car. Then I got to thinking, HOW DID SHE NOT KNOW I'M NOT SOME DERRANGED BABY SNATCHER?? I just don't get people.

*I mean really, even if you don't like babies at all, are you really gonna let it drop on the ground? No, if only because a baby with a head trauma can only be a bummer.

**yes, I know had this actually happened, I certainly wouldn't have kept it, I know there are rules about these sort of things..

Done and done...

This morning I was able to get all the loose ends tied up. I dropped Stoli off for cremation, after deciding all the urns offered were tacky, and overpriced, I elected to get him back in a tarted up coffee can. Called an artist friend (those of you who attended MICA most likely remember Spot, yes?) I asked him if he would be kind enough to craft a box for me to keep Stoli in. Spot lived with Stoli for 5 years so he was very fond of him and said he would be honoured.

So that's that.

I woke up pretty bummed this morning, but then as I was watching telly, and thinking just how much fun it would be to douse Nick and Jessica in gasoline and set them on fire, I realised I'm gonna be just fine.

I think this post will conclude all my cat lady rambling for the time being. Thanks for bearing with me. I will now return you to my regularly scheduled bilious ranting and tales from the drunk front.

Farewell my friend.

15 years ago, in a photo lab, in an art school far far away, some chick I don't even remember came in, with a box, containing 4 kittens. They had been abandoned in a parking lot. There were 3 black kittens, and one black and white one. I called my roommates to see how they felt about getting cats. They requested the black and white one. I went to the box, and grabbed the black and white one, who was to become Charlie, Sherri's cat, and then was faced with three sweet little faces, huddled together in the end of the box, from which I could only chose one. As I've mentioned before, kittens have a tendency of causing me to experience spontaneous brain damage, I was at a loss, they were all so cute - how was I to choose? Then the smallest one, seeing the need for a decision to be made, broke away from the group, came to the other end of the box, looked me in the eye, and greeted me, with a reedy little meow...see, I never chose him, so much as he chose me. So began a beautiful friendship. As a kitten he was tiny enough to sit in the palm of my hand, he would ride on my shoulder like a parrot, a habit he continued through adulthood, even when he was a robust 18 pounder, who needed 2 shoulders and a head to lean on to maintain his balance. He loved to play with strings of beads. He fathered four kittens: Napoleon, Madison, Loki and Darwin. He killed a mouse once. He liked to have his belly rubbed. He had a knack for stealing my pillow as I slept. When I was sad he would jump into my lap and nuzzle my face. Although he hated cigarette smoke he always seemed to stick around when bong hits were involved. He liked peanut butter. Through 3 states, nine residences, a handfull of boyfriends, and a lot of growing up on my part, Stoli was always there. He was the Best Cat. Ever.

Today at around 5:30, he suffered what I can only assume was a heart attack. Thankfully it was quick, less than a minute. I was there holding him as it happened. He is gone now.

I thought I had had my heart broken before. I was wrong.

Goodbye my friend. Thank you for choosing me, and for being part of my life for all these years. You were the finest cat a gal could ever hope to have. I will miss you so so much, know that you were very very loved. I will never forget you.

Thanks to all who have been so supportive and understanding, it's helped me get through this.

Further not happy at all cat stuff...

Stoli seems pretty married to the whole not eating thing. I've been force feeding him infant formula with a small syringe. He did however just lick the juice up off a tunafish offering. That was more exciting to me than I ever imagined anything involving tuna could be...

Despite this, unless he starts actually eating, this situatuation will not be improving.

Tonight I talked to my vet tech friend and although she can't do it herself she had a vet friend who probably can come and put Stoli to sleep for me at home. I have put Stoli's pet carrier away in the closet, as I have decided he is never going to the vet again* I'm conflicted about this, it seems pre-emptive, but really - he's a termanilly ill cat. All the medicine in the world wont make him healthy again. It seems more humane to me to let him stay at home, when he has comfort (currenly his comfort zone is sitting in the bathtub, but whatever blows your fur back I suppose) and security, and love, rather than shove him in a box and take him somewhere that scares him, where things will be done to him that he finds upsetting, only to prolong his life of what primarily consists of nothing more than sitting in the bathtub, with the occasional interrruption of me, coming in and petting him and then starting to cry again. What kind of life is that? He's no longer himself, he just seems exhausted, and not so much physically speaking. Some time next week I will have to decide to do this, and no matter how right I feel it is, I will still feel like the executioner, like I'm giving up on him, like he's become too much trouble. It will be a very hard day.

Todays shout out goes to J. Who gives good hugs, and was able to make me genuinely laugh for the first time in days. He'll never know how much it meant to me.

* this is in no way a statement against my vet - Dr Hoyle is one of the finest vets you could hope for your pet to have.

Home again

Continuing along the "big fucking downer" theme...

Heart disease - is there any more lovely a coupling of words in the English language? I think not. Stoli has heart disease, and will, most likely, be dying shortly. He seems to have decided that eating is just not for him. Vet sent him home having rehydrated him, in the hopes that perhaps he will eat at home. So far, the Iams that he usually scarfed down with gusto (damn, you bet) has been ignored, tonight I'll hit the Wallgreens and get a variety of other goodies I hope will tempt him, tuna, chicken baby food, Pounce treats...if this doesn't work I'll have to hit the grocery store to get the big guns: minced liver. If he still refuses to eat, the next step is syringe feeding, which I'm not particularly enthused about, since the poor lamb has already endured enough in the past couple of days that I have no doubt left him thinking "damn - that sucked". I don't want to make his life suck any more. I don't want to prolong his life for my benefit. I asked the vet about this, is this to his advantage? am I just being selfish? Vet said he'd like to see if Stoli would eat at home, if he starts eating, he could be okay for a little while longer.

In related news, I have gone from being the girl who never cries in public to being the girl who spontaneously starts bawling on the train. Hooray for me. So if you see me around, don't ask me about Stoli, or how I'm doing, unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences. You have been warned.

further news

Well, it's not looking good. The vet drained 4oz of fluid out of his chest cavity, he's got an enlarged heart with thickening in the heart walls. All other organ functions are good, and any weirdness in his bloodwork could be attributed to stress. This was all conveyed in a message from the vet while I was in the shower. I have to call the vet in the morning and see how he's doing...but as we all know, in the organ family, the heart is a pretty big contender....if surgery is suggested, that will be nixed immediately, in my opinion, to subject a 15 year old cat to heart surgery and the ensuing convalescence, would be selfish and sadistic, pure and simple. If there are drugs he can take that will make him comfortable and let him be himself for a while longer, that's fine, I would much rather he pass away at home (I will in fact be speaking with a couple of folks I know who work at a vet clinic to see if, if necessary, I can arrange for euthanasia at home, since the whole idea of taking him to the vet and having him put to sleep, when he's terrified and freaked out, breaks my heart in ways I can't even contemplate) so really, that's what I'm hoping for.

And of course I feel like the worst pet owner in the world - how did it get this far? How did I not notice?

I don't know what's gonna happen with this, I might get to have him back for a while longer, I might have to say goodbye to him tomorrow. This sucks the biggest bag of dick imagineable....seriously, like a big ass Hefty lawn and leaf bag, stuffed to capacity with dick, that's how much this sucks.

Big giant love to Mrs. Susan and Mr. Chris for all their help and support, and to all y'all out there who have sent kind words and good thoughts.