Let’s go

I want to put a tiny camera on Miso cat. Where does he go? 

It rained here in Vegas yesterday. Only for a couple of hours. I fed Miso in the early morning as I do, brushed him, pet him, loved him, searched his fur for fleas and other bugs, nada, and then he went about his day. He had to go. He had things to do. I watched him saunter across the street and disappear in between apartment buildings. Hours later when it began to thunder I went out looking for Miso kitty but couldn’t find him. I went out when the clouds grew dark. I went out in the lightening, the thunder, in the rain, searching for my little hobo kitty but he was nowhere to be found. I really do love that cat. I just wish I knew where he goes. He thinks my kitchen is haunted.

Miso kitty doesn’t like my kitchen. The last couple times I fed Miso in my apartment he would stop eating and just stare into my kitchen. Then he would cautiously patrol my kitchen as if searching for something, someone. The last time Miso was in my apartment he went into my kitchen and got so spooked he suddenly ran around my apartment in circles and then sat on one of my drawings in the living room and chattered his teeth, loudly. I never saw him chatter his teeth before. Totally freaked me out. I haven’t fed him in my apartment since, he won’t eat in my apartment. That and I wanted his flea and tick medication to fully kick in. 

I started another drawing. Totally unlike anything I’ve ever done. In the movie Pride And Prejudice, with Mathew Macfadyen, there’s a tiny one man sailboat of that era abandoned in the yard of the main family’s house. You only see the sailboat as the camera pans across the yard but it’s those little details I appreciate in films I’ve watched over fifteen times. My drawing is about that sailboat. And of course... 

There’s a cat.

It’s too bad no one will sponsor a summer urban art project for the kids here. I’ve always believed it’s an artist’s responsibility to pass down their knowledge. 

As for the corporate liquor company I previously mentioned interviewing with, the HR woman who contacted me after the first interview has very little comprehensive reading skills. Nothing irritates me more than when a supposed educated person takes it upon themselves to assume not one thing remotely close to what I had specifically written. I don’t work for stupid. I have a diplomatic way of saying that should this idiot woman write me again. — And oh good she did. 

Good Lawd, I hate stupid people. 

Professor Killjoy

There’s no fleas in Las Vegas. It’s too hot in the summer and cold in the winter for fleas to survive. LIES!!! I plucked a flea off Miso cat who is Las Vegas born and bred. After combing his fur he only had two on him but still... LIES!!!

My distrusting nature, I was prepared.

After treating Miso with flea medication an hour or so later I plucked a few dead ones from his paw he no doubt scratched off his neck. So to you nay sayers, if fleas didn’t exist in Las Vegas, why would stores sell flea medication I wonder? Next comes the joy of giving Miso worm medication I’m sure. I’m always looking at his butt now. Dreading. 

Just like Sherlock Holmes, I too have a nemesis professor. His name isn’t as cool as Moriarty, but it does take my evil genius to save others from his. These blogs aren’t meant to change the colors of your world, Professor Killjoy, but I’m more than happy to dispel all these so-called facts of yours like fleas not existing in Las Vegas, to help others prep their pets for upcoming summer months. 

Aaaaaaand

There’s a body in my front yard bushes. Again. On occasion people leaving the festivities of Fremont Street Experience, drink a little too much, get lost, and pass out in the bushes in my front yard. Be that as it may, I don’t think this is that. As long as he’s not hurting anyone, dying in my front yard bushes is just as good a’place as any. We’re both in Vegas to do the same thing it seems. Be my guest. Go first. 

The other day I witnessed a woman taking her sleepy toddler for a stroll. The woman suddenly stopped pushing the stroller in front of a homeless man. She then reached down and gently slapped the toddler across the face a few times waking the toddler just to make the kid look at the homeless man’s cat lounging freely on top of filthy stacked garbage bags. “Look. Kitty.” The woman said.

(Sigh) Greetings from Las Vega... fuckinghell what’s wrong with you people?

Before I continue with today’s blog o’ bleh, I should probably first explain...

Las Vegas is a giant barren wasteland desert. I’ve said this before because it’s true. Parts of Las Vegas used to be a pig farm. Other parts of Las Vegas was used as a garbage landfill. Still is by the homeless and tourists just like Los Angeles. Streets, houses, apartment building, casinos, and other businesses pop up here and there, AND THEN roads are are constructed to get you to and fro. When people complain about how poorly roads are designed here, gosh that’s why, it’s a desert for goodness sakes, nothing was meant to live here but snakes, scorpions, and cactus. 

Karma finally got me for the tourists I accidentally gave bad directions to. And it went a little something like this...

After running errands to the bank, Albertsons, DVD library, Target, and Starbucks, for my season’s first mocha Frappacino, also the only Starbucks with no electrical outlets, I had to run to an AT&T store. Only the AT&T store Google directed me to was actually a tiny AT&T stand inside an Asian fish market. As could be expected this particular AT&T stand did not have the item I needed. So the nice kid working the stand directed me to the nearest actual AT&T store. But I soon learned when the kid said go left at Flamingo, he actually meant go right. No harm done. It happens. I simply turned around and continued in the right direction. 

Across town...

When I got to the AT&T store, I learned I had the wrong company entirely and needed to get the item I was seeking from a different company located about an hour away from where I live. Technically about 30 minutes from where I live but because Las Vegas is a giant barren wasteland desert, there are no streets that will take you directly there. It’s one road that winds around the desert, circles back, figure eights, loopty loo’s, and then dumps you off a half mile from the front door sans concrete road, just rocks and gravel. In other words it requires three hours of your day and I just didn’t have that kind of time. So instead I went to the 99 Cent store, and Walmart. Those nine errands took six hours. Six. Hours.

Today I was going to make a pilgrimage to that far away company out in the middle of nowhere but it’s 97 degrees out and I heard Miso cat crying from a little piece of shade across the street. I ran across the street to him and he jumped into my arms. I carried Miso to my apartment so his little paws wouldn’t touch the hot pavement. His toe beans are getting calluses. He ate his usual big can of soft food, and a scoop of hard food, he let me give him a sponge bath, and now Miso kitty is fast asleep on his favorite blanket I washed this morning. I wash Miso every day I see him. I’ve washed more spiders out of my hair than his. Spiders are everywhere right now. I try not killing the big ones. They eat all the other insects like flies, but when a big brown spider tumbled down my face the other night, flies be saved, I flushed that damn spider down the toilet. 

I look for Miso every morning on the hour from 6am until I have to leave, and every night on the hour when I’m home. Maybe a day might go by when I don’t see him but he has a bed, cold water, a drawer full of food, toys, brushes, baths, hugs, kisses, and a lot of love any time he wants it. I’m told he lives across the street but if that’s true his humans clearly don’t care for him the way they should. He’s not even fixed. One day soon kitty, we’ll move into a pet friendly building. I’ll take you off the streets for good. ROXANNE!!!

That day it rained in Vegas

OMG save the lemurs of Madagascar! Thanks to Morgan Freeman, I’ve never loved (March Of The) Penguins or lemurs as much as I do now. Any film about animals narrated by Morgan Freeman, suddenly becomes the most important issue in the world to me.

It rained here in Vegas for one day, last Tuesday, which also happened to be when I had my first interview for my second job. Next comes the corporate interview. I don’t mind working for corporate companies so long as I don’t have to pay union dues. 

Taxes. Union dues. Insurance. I wish I could invent a lucrative hustle such as these.

The rainwater was nearly a foot deep directly outside my apartment. The kitty was nowhere to be found that day. I went out looking for him in the pouring rain when I got home from my interview. No kitty.

If I get this second job then both my jobs will be south of the Strip. South of Town Square heading into Henderson. Nowhere near Fremont Street Experience, which is where I happen to live. Figures.

The other morning I stepped out of the shower around 6:30am and heard one of the fire alarms in my building going off but no fire, naturally. It seems an early morning junkies of Las Vegas thought it amusing to pull the fire alarm yet again. Worry not, I was able to finish my shower, blow out my hair, put on makeup, moisturize, dress, and finish my half cup of tea before the fire truck “hurriedly” arrived. 

I don’t understand fire alarms on the outside of a building but what do I know? I’m not an architect. Be that as it may, the firemen come at their leisure and I get an added alarm clock in the event I even think about going back to sleep. The fire alarm is always pulled early in the morning. Why bother pulling it during the day when people are awake? 

And now the fire inspector is coming out next week to check our units. Genius. The fire alarm goes off because early morning zombies pull the fire alarms located on the side of the building. Isn’t it interesting all these high paying jobs people have to determine the obvious even a five year old could explain. 

Anyway 

A girl friend from Los Angeles was in town over the past weekend with her boyfriend. On the day we were all going to get together she cancelled. She and her boyfriend were fighting, she said. I’m rather certain we can all guess why.

I have two girl friends who want to break up with their men, for a long time now. The one girl friend who was just in town, and another girl friend from Orange County, CA., who wants to divorce her long time husband. Neither one will leave their men however. We’re all the same age. They see how long I’ve been single and it frightens them. Terrifies them. 

If not for my long time platonic male friends, and Miso cat, I wouldn’t have any steady male companionship, not since 2012. The last time I had a dick in me other than oral was September, 2017, and it was horrible. It’s amazing to me what grown men consider good sex. It was just awful.

I have a male friend who absolutely hates his wife. But when he was unemployed, when he was flat broke, when he was sick, when he needed someone to take care of him, his wife did, many times over. And all she wants in return is to be able to say she’s married. I think he got the better end of that deal, eh? 

I don’t judge my friends. We’re old. God knows no one else will be there if you get rid of your spouse. Sadly, it’s now easier to be killed by terrorists than be re-married over the age of 40. So if you and your partner can tolerate each other’s bullshit day after next, why leave? I couldn’t tolerate my husband anymore. I couldn’t stand being in the same room with him. That’s when it’s time to get out, before one of you commits homicide. 

And now I’m at that age where getting laid means nothing to me. I’m excellent at giving myself orgasms. I want to actually like you. I want us to like each other. 

Las Vegas isn’t one of those towns where you get to know people. Neither is Los Angeles. Then again maybe that’s why we live here. We say we live on the west coast for the weather, the beaches, and in Vegas for affordable living, but truly, I think we live here just to be lost. To be a net for the bigger better deal that will never come. We refuse to give up the dream. We’re dreamers. 

I love reading online profiles where the women always describe their marriages and relationships as “We’re madly in love with each other”. I have only ever been madly in love once. He was my first (and only) love when I was 20 years old. Our relationship was doomed the moment we said hello. I loved him then. I love him still. I can’t say that about anyone else and I was married. No. Only him. I will love him until the day I die. And when people ask me why that is, I can only explain it this way, watch the movie Dirty Dancing. He was Patrick Swayze, and I was Jennifer Grey. He’s the one. He never stopped being exciting. He was Johnny Castle. He was Dallas Winston. He was Doc Holiday. My villain. My hero. My Romeo. My wound that will never heal. He broke my heart into a million pieces three months after we met. In 2007’ish I found him on Facebook. He was in a loveless marriage, I was separated from my a-hole husband, and we entertained the idea of having an affair. His wife learned of our flirtation and threatened to kidnap their 8 year old daughter and make certain he would never see her again. Naturally this ended he and I once and for all. Afterwards my husband and I reconciled until there was never a moment when I didn’t want to punch him the nose. 

And alone I’ve been

All my nets in the water 

Waiting for Motorcycle Boy. My poet. My philosopher. My muse. My bigger. My better.

Madly in love, you say? If you’re both over the age of 30, I don’t believe you. Your needs, desires, and regrets are far too complicated now to be satisfied by love. Madness, yes. Love, no. If you’re over the age of 30, you’ve been broken at least once. Now, you want the bigger better deal. You’re not a simpleton after all, are you?

Like Tina says, what’s love got to do with it? Absolutely nothing. Still, it would be nice to actually like you... for once.

Since January my steady companion has been this kitty. They say couples start looking like each other. 

Do we?

I recently cut my hair again. I like my hair this length. I suppose that’s among one of the benefits being alone, I get to wear my hair any way I damn well please without a man nagging me to grow it out. 

And he doesn’t seem to mind.

Loathing in Las Vegas

Venice, CA., has fucking homeless people. Las Vegas, NV., has fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucking homeless people. I’ll be among them one day soon I’m sure. 

They’ll book anything in Las Vegas. I still don’t get Tape Face. He’s a mime with duct tape over his mouth? Menopause the Musical @ Harrah’s. Whatever. I believe I made my point.

I was at the Cosmopolitan the other day. Two men in their 40’s sat on a loveseat behind my chair. For about 15 minutes all they did was bash women in the casino. “It’s getting scary in here. Women used to dress to the nines in this place, and now look how they’re dressed.” 

It was 5:00 in the afternoon, Thursday. If you want to see cocktail dresses maybe not hang out at the casino lounge directly by the front doors, in the middle of the gaming floor, during the time of day affectionately referred to by most of America as happy hour. 

No one “dresses to the nines” at 5:00pm. Back when I was young and adorable 5:00pm is when I’d finally roll out of bed for the day and look for caffeine, debris from the night before stuck in my hair. And oh look, there’s a Starbucks next to the casino lounge. Oh sure. If that doesn’t scream high end surroundings, well my goodness I just don’t know what does. 

The bottom floor, the main floor, is designed for gamblers, hence all the gaming tables and slot machines. Welcome to Las Vegas! The main objective here is gambling. If you don’t gamble, why are you here again? Ah. Right. To go shopping, attend nightclubs, pay $20 per drink and get laid because you definitely can’t do that in your home town. Gotcha. 

Some people are truly horrible at paying attention. And then wonder why they have problems getting anything they want. 

Be that as it may, I do agree that BOTH men and women have gotten lazy with their night time attire. You don’t have to be rich to have style. Have your own style. 

Rich people snub poor people. Poor people snub rich people.

Smart people snub pretty people. Pretty people snub smart people. And while the two aren’t always mutually exclusive, let’s be honest there’s a lot of pretty people whom without security detail would get mugged at a Jamba Juice. 

The haves vs the have nots. I’ve had sex. I’ve had money. Neither one means a damn thing to me anymore. You can always tell the 40 year olds who didn’t have enough sex or money. They act like complete idiots around both. Diamond teeth? FMF threesomes? How boring. 

To be fair nothing excites me anymore. I may as well buy a cane just so I can start shaking it in anger at nothing and no one in particular to show my general disgust towards the human race. 

While putting on lotion I noticed a lump the size of pea under the skin of my left forearm. Later that night I dreamt I had a giant mound growing on my arm, and then it burst open and all these black insects came pouring out. 

I have an interview Tuesday for yet another alcohol industry gig. These ridiculous blogs might finally get interesting. Lies. No. Probably not. I gotta stop saying that. These blogs will never be interesting. 

God smite me now. No fear. Just loathing. Las Vegas.

Just a farm girl dusting crops

C3PO, “What a desolate place this is.” 

Welcome to my world.

Obi Wan, “Mos Eisley Spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.”

Welcome to my world! Livin’ the dream.

I’m kidding. Vegas is not so desolate and wretched. After all, there’s motels with affordable family units directly next door to an adult sex superstore complete with jerkoff booths, you know, in case the kids get bored and need something to do. 

Apparently my secret admirer was outside my apartment last night. The other day I checked out the original Star Wars trilogy, watched the first two DVD’s last night, and this morning I found an empty light saber box in front of my building. This is how old men woo women in Vegas. They buy something relative for themselves and leave the empty box in her front yard. 

I might have accidentally sent a few tourists to their deaths yesterday. Oops. Sorry. I was on Charleston and this couple, obvious tourists from the Midwest, asked where Las Vegas Blvd was. They were looking for the famous Pawn Shop. First of all, it’s in a seedy shit part of town. Second, don’t come here looking like a tourist with your flip flops, khaki long shorts, Hawaiian shirts and fanny packs. When this couple asked me for directions I was turned around for a minute and got Main St. confused with Las Vegas Blvd, and accidentally sent the couple down Main. It’s only like three blocks away from LV Blvd, and I’m sure they have Google maps, but still, the khaki long shorts and fanny packs undoubtably got them mugged. Again, sorry. 

People come to Vegas thinking it’s all neon lights, showgirls, and Elvis Presley, and it is, so long as you don’t leave the casinos. The moment you leave the casinos you have sand people, zombies, and every kind of criminal all looking to at the very least rob you. If you’re a tourist taking the Deuce, or WAX, or SDX from the strip to Fremont Street Experience/art district, do not get off the bus until you’ve reached your destination unless you know EXACTLY where you’re going. Senile old women like me might get east confused with West for a desolate hot desert minute and accidentally send you to your deaths. Again, my apologies.

I will never understand the thinking that goes behind parents bringing their children to Las Vegas on vacation, especially babies. Especially WHITE babies. 

Hey America, please watch POVERTY INC. 

I’ve had these conversations with (I’ve lost count how many) people regarding free aid, donating, and recycling. If you want to donate something, donate it to your friends, your family. Trust me, someone you personally know needs your help. Guaranteed. 

Recycling only makes you feel good about yourself. It costs more money to recycle than the worth of all the cans, bottles, and paper, combined. If you really want to help the environment do not buy bottled water. Use a water filtering system. They’re very affordable. When I see people who can afford water filtering systems buying cases upon cases of bottled water every week, I’m disgusted. Absolutely disgusted. 

When you go out to eat, and you know you’re only going to eat half your meal bringing the other half home, bring a washable reusable Tupperware storage container from home. That’s how you help. Older generations waste so much because they’re thoughtless and lazy. It’s disgusting. 

Poor people are not stupid. Haiti. Africa. They’re disconnected from global trade. Cell phones. Internet. Computers. That’s how you help poor people. Commerce and trade. Even here in the states. Give away older model cell phones and computers. More free WiFi. Let us idiots buy the new iPhones. You know we will. No one’s losing money. 

Living downtown, seeing all these kids with nothing to do after school, I had an idea to donate time to teach free art and writing classes to them over the summer. I DO live in the art district for crying out loud. But the only people interested in sponsoring art classes for kids, wanted the classes held in wealthier neighborhoods. Damnit Aunt Becky! 

Oh hi. Hello. How you doing? I’ll be you art  teacher today. 

Sally take my hand

Greetings from the barren wasteland.

Directly east of the strip. 

They're shutting the water off in my building again. From 10am-12pm. This is the third time this month the water has been shut off in my building and it's only the 9th. Quite possibly another reason why tenants don't stay. Along with not allowing pets in the building. Games? 

Where have all the pretty things gone? The beautiful feminine pretty things? When my girlfriends and I were young and adorable all our clothes were pretty. Our dresses were worn to wrap us up shiny and tight like a pretty martini glass over lacy lingerie and garter belt. Chic black. Floral pattern. Elegant pastel. Royal blue. Ruby red. Now it seems girls just want to be socially wrecked and naked with a stitch of fabric here and quite possibly there, leaving nothing to the imagination, only, most young females who dress this way do not have the body for it. But that's not the point. A random naked woman is as useful to men, as a random naked man is as useful to women. Serves no purpose. 

I care more for the moth who flew into the middle double panel glass window I cannot open. Poor thing flew in, apparently could not find its way out, and died. And there it now sits. Dead. Sadder still I cannot retrieve it until I find a very long skinny stick to scoop it out. Poor thing. Every morning when I open the blinds and windows I see the dead moth. What an omen. Perhaps I'll leave it there. One day someone will find us, the two pretty things that died and shriveled in this apartment. 

"No one gives a tinker's fucking curse!" 

The English are very good at swearing. Poetic. That little gem comes from the movie Phantom Thread. I'm jealous. When I curse it means I was unable to find a word justifiably equivalent to when I think something is absolute shit. 

I'm the first to admit regarding social improprieties my generation (X) are incredibly lazy. We'll complain about it, oh you betcha, but we won't do anything to change it. Unless of course you consider Falling Down, doing something. My generation is very good at Falling Down. Furthermore my generation did the worst job raising children. Isn't that right Aunt Becky? Much like how Baby Boomers are excellent at blaming everyone else for the woes in their lives. Never taking responsibility. Oh my goodness no. Can you imagine a baby boomer taking responsibility for their own failures? No? Neither can I. I've yet to meet a common baby boomer who wasn't selfish. They only do things for others if they think they'll be praised and rewarded ten fold in the end. I don't mind when people take from them. Not at all. Take everything they've got. 

There's a movie I want to see, ROMAN J. ISRAEL, ESQ. I don't know how I missed it. I like Danzel Washington. He's among the rare dying breed of great gentlemen actors. 

I am of the belief that regardless of your occupation, you will do much better when looking and being your best out in public. Especially women. I find myself judging women even more so as I get older. Is this the best job you can do? Is that man the best you can do? Wouldn't you rather starve? Why there aren't enough women in the arts is because they aren't willing to starve and suffer for it. Had my friend Simone hung herself because she couldn't bear suffering for her art any longer, I could reason that. But she killed herself over her sufferings of men, over one sided love, and I simply cannot, will not let that go. 

I finally saw the film, Professor Marston and His Wonder Women. It was a pretty picture  but unfortunately the movie was a long boring dick pic of a film. If Angela Robinson wanted to make a soft core porn, than that's what she should have done. Not this. 

What we need is another Sparticus, Gone With the Wind, Raging Bull, Godfather, Titanic, What's Eating Gilbert Grape, something, ANYTHING about anything not sex. That's what pornography is for. And let's face it porn really only needs to be about five minutes long. A giant variety of five minute porn. 

When I step into a movie theater, when I watch movies at home, I want a story. Tell me a story. Make me feel something, make me think about something, else. 

I always stick around longer when there's something else. 

Something better.

You don’t know where I been Lou!

They shut the water off in my building again. There’s a leak. There’s always a leak in this place. In seven months there’s been at least seven leaks. The last one took almost ten hours to fix. Ten hours with no running water. So far today the water has been shut off for two hours and twenty minutes. 

I just fed Miso on my stairway. Crazy cat. Last Monday he spent all day with me. He ate, slept, and cuddled with me while I wrote. Then yesterday he came by to eat but snubbed his food and randomly hissed at me a bunch of times. And just now he came by, ate enough food for three grown cats and immediately left. He’s a weird animal but I love him. I would leave bowls of ice water on the landing if I thought my neighbor who I share the landing with was ok with it. I’m back to not feeding Miso in my apartment for a few days at least. When he gets crazy and hisses at me for no reason he’s difficult to get rid of. 

Pets aren’t allowed in the building. I’m not sure how my neighbor feels about Miso. He seems ok with seeing Miso come and go. He hasn’t mentioned being deathly allergic to cats or anything like that.

My neighbor who I share my security gate and stairway with lives opposite my front door. Meaning I can see his apartment door out my peep hole, and he can see mine vice versa. On occasion he’s passed Miso on the stairway but so far hasn’t said anything that I’m aware of. He’s the third tenant to live in that apartment since I moved in seven months ago. The guy who rents the apartment below him is also the third tenant in that apartment since I moved here. Las Vegas is a very transient city of people coming and going. Although I’m sure the crazy junkies trying to break into our apartments every 15th and 29th day of the month has something to do with renters not sticking around. 

“Heil Hitler. White power!” The white homeless man said squatting down in front of a beauty store a block away from my apartment building with his pants around his knees. 

Venice, CA. One of the most expensive cities in Southern CA to rent in and it’s infested with drugs, the mentally ill, and homeless, not to mention I also had a nutjob stalker landlord with Alzheimers. I guess living there for a year and a half makes living here easy, peezy, Japaneezy. Pretty soon the constant 110 degree Vegas heat will drive the crazies underground until 3am when it’s bearable outside for about an hour. My poor stray kitty. What am I going to do with you when it gets to 110 degrees out and I have to leave to go to work? 

I would have gone to the library once I discovered the water in my building was shut off again, but the closest library is two and a half miles from my apartment and I wasn’t in the mood to walk it again. I walked it yesterday. It’s not a library of books but rather a library of dvds and Blu Rays. My look how far we’ve come. As I may have mentioned before, Las Vegas isn’t exactly a city filled with readers. Nonetheless movies are good. I love movies. I checked out the entire third season of The Musketeers, and Trumbo. 

Trumbo, that’s the movie I went to see in West Hollywood and was carded upon entry resulting with me cutting off all my dyed black hair the next day and growing out my natural grey hair color. And I’ve not regret doing so. Not for one single minute.

Today is Byron’s birthday. I wonder if his brothers thought of him of at all? Rhetorical question. Of course they didn’t. Death, when family can finally kick your rotting corpse to the curb, loot your valuables, and never have to think of you ever again. 

I lived in Los Angeles for 25 years. Naturally as one can imagine I’m now dead inside. I don’t care about the general population anymore. Not really. Not like I used to. Professional fighters got nothing on Nat Geo Wild Animal Planet. Who do you want to win between a skin and bones starving polar bear and a cute fat adult sea lion. That’s where the money is. That’s the real fight. Boxing would be more interesting to me if two random people were plucked from the street to fight over the multi million dollar purse professional boxers make. Fight Club! Which animal do you want to die so another may live? 

By the way, I finally watched Fight Club. I don’t understand the love for this movie other than boys liking it for the blood and gore. 

It seems Miso finally caught a bird. He came over not long ago and a little feather fell from his mouth. Poor birdie. I’m proud of Miso, but sad for birdie. 

Some junkie and her little shitty dog were walking by my building. The junkie had her dog on a leash but wasn’t holding the leash. Kind of defeats the purpose, eh? All of a sudden I heard a cat scream MROWWW!! outside my window. I ran outside and saw this junkie’s shitty little dog chasing Miso into the bushes. I told the junkie to collect her dog but said it in a way assuring her if she didn’t collect her dog immediately she’d be scraping her shitty little dog from the bottom of boot.

Which animal do you want to die so another may live? 

The water in my building has been shut off now for three and a half hours. I just spoke with the workers fixing the leak and they said they’ll turn the water back on around 8pm.

Let’s see. What else.

I’ve been re-reading and revisiting books and movies from my young teenage days. Primarily S.E. Hinton. 

Salinger’s Catcher In The Rey, Laura Ingram’s Little House On The Prairie series, and S.E. Hinton’s That Was Then This Is Now, Rumblefish, The Outsiders, and Tex, were my favorite books when I was about 11 - 13 years old. Those books meant a great deal to me. Still do on account of being part of my childhood. Look at all the actors in those movies directed by Francis Ford Coppola, back when movies made movie stars, pin ups, interviews, no social media, no internet, and we couldn’t wait until they made their next film. Now there’s no need to wait. Every actor has Twitter, instagram, Snapchat, there’s hundreds of online movie magazines, gossip television, reality tv, podcast, and YouTube. 

Much like The Musketeers, I love stories about people. Especially stories about men. If honorable men are to be non existent in the real world at least we can write stories about them. Legends. Alexandre Dumas wrote the greatest line in the history among honorable fighting men, “All for one. One for all.” As for myself, I’m still searching for that one cause to live and die for. Nature will simply have to take its course with me until then. 

There is nothing more glorious for a red blooded (heterosexual) woman than heroic men in uniform saving the day. I’d like to think I’d be willing to die for some great cause like saving children from a burning fire, until then feeding and protecting this stray cat will have to do. 

My bank is like four blocks from my apartment. The other day while walking to my bank an older man perhaps in his late 60’s stopped in his tracks as I walked past him, leering at me sexually, leering at my bare youthful face, that is until I said, “I’m 50 years old.” In response he quickly looked away and grunted in absolute disgust. Yup. Works every time.

“Tex Mccormick is trying to become a man. And it’s not easy.”

Ah. The water’s back on.