Finding/Making Another Dante Circle

And life is too short and too long to live in perpetual dissatisfaction of the moment you find yourself within but what a load of complete bullshit that ends up being when your “moment” consists of five panting, completely-terrified former feral kittens (your first Best Friends Animal Society foster kittens of the year) and an overheating car on the hottest day of the year with every vehicle in front of you from kitten pickup place to your residence in BFE [why do I live there? Who did this to me?!] acting as if the ONLY thing they’ve ever wanted to do in their life is taunt you like a matador with their brake lights.

And I was pretty powerfully high-octane as the engine temp needle inched to red zone—and the heater (turned on to cool down the car) blasted through the car the smell of kitten poop coming from the carrier of justifiably-panicked babies—and so it is that the five black and whites plus my daughter Livy received an anointment unbecoming of even the most basic state of human decorum when over the course of the half-hour journey they all became dipped in the blessed white-hot passion of “Mom is Completely Losing Her Fucking Shit.”

But all was not lost actually because, in the end, the babies arrived home safe without heat stroke (I turned on a/c when the car was moving and able to cool down a bit) and my cars block didn’t crack so, in retrospect, it was quite the learning moment. For I really don’t think you can ever truly understand gratitude until you’re finally released from Hell by opening the door of a stifling catshitmobile after 30 minutes of being locked inside with a deranged angry person screaming “you stupid fucking asshole” at a stranger’s brake lights.

Failures RIP

My day: 1) Shannon’s dogs won’t come out to pee in the rain so I stand outside the door and try to lure them with treats but they know they’re just milk bones *yawn*cough*not worth it* so I now feel very wet and failure;

2). I can’t get blood from Stella’s ear to figure out her insulin dosage so we sit there and she comforts me which tastes vaguely of her self-destructive victory.

3). I see a Snoop Dogg post and rally because life is too short and too long to suffer and most people don’t truly know one another anyways and if we did, there’d be no jealousy and we’d all be rooting for each other. Life is good

4). I bend over (like a dumb bitch, wtf, Amy?) and hear my 20 yo Sundance pants rip/RIP and now here’s my butt like she doesn’t even know enough to be ashamed but I’m feeling her vibe so strong that suddenly I’m transformed and I’m pretty sure I can pull off lunch at Oasis Cafe before heading home to change them.

Pull up a pyre

I was going to post something about the dystopia of living in a society where the feel good stories are about the masses huddling together over burning GoFundMe pyres because that’s all capitalism will let us have. But this FB memory from 2015 popped up and just last night this same walker-slayer—now 18–and I watched Maximus slay the fucking hell out of an unjust world in Gladiator so I guess I’m just gonna wish everyone in Dystopia America a peaceful day around the pyre and remind them that intolerable situations can make mighty empires weak so long as we collaborate and make sure to keep our bbq tools sharp.

Flamingo Go-Pool, Vegas, during EDC weekend 2019

Go Pool Flamingo Hotel/Porn Hub Auditions during Julia’s 21st birthday trip to Vegas. Those butt cheeks teased him backwards, turned around added some facing him, then clueless to the fact that people were pointing and laughing in shock—communing on our mutual disbelief, shaking our knowing heads at one another over their brazenness—covered themselves up with a towel and finished up. Yes; yes they did. Didn’t think they would but I was wrong and now I can cross “she got off him; she got back on; it escalated; they’re doing it” texting narration to my children (who were up in the room and missed the whole thing) off my bucket list.

Oh and, PornHub, if you’re interested, I got other videos. Message me.


Lady at the Costco eye center counter last week when I was ordering: “Are you sure? They’re too big for your face.”

Me (inner eye roll, like she thinks it’s amateur hour): “No problem. Been wearing broken ones for 15 months; lost two other pairs in one year. I’m not even gonna have these long. It’ll be okay.”

[Sees them on my face; they’re too big; but they’re not broken and I can see and shits imperfectly perfect and it’s gonna be okay].

The rundown on dead glasses are as follows: lost a brand new pair in 2016 by dropping them from the Sundance ski lift during their final fall Full Moon run, lost an almost brand new pair in 2017 (dropped them in a rental truck) during our move to the Logan Avenue house, dropped/stepped on a pair of year-old glasses on New Years Day 2018 which I still wore lopsided as fuck for a year plus, and then these too-big ones which I think brings us all up to speed on why contacts are such a good choice for some people

To: “That” guy

In about five minutes I’m going into a house to try to help a kitty—Henry/Cheeks; a new family to me, an 8 yo recently-adopted rescue—feel safe.

Henry/Cheeks is a long-haired grey and white kitty who ended up at Best Friends Animal Society after having been found tied with rope around his waist that was cutting into his skin, having had lost all of his paw pads to hypothermia and with a BB under his skin, and yet two weeks into his new relationship with his mom, he is showing clear signs (not resisting when she pulls him out from where he’s hiding, purring constantly while on her lap, coming to “help” when she’s at her desk) that he feels safe and loves her for their new life together.

And I hope that I can duplicate the trust he has built with her so that way he can eventually expand his circle of support. But that is pending; we shall see.

What I really wanted to say is: if somehow the man or men (he’s scared of men so we assume the psychopath was male) who perpetrated this crime are scrolling through the Internet, unknowingly angry at the messed up shit they’ve endured: welcome to my website, I hope you’re getting the help that you need and if you’re not getting the help you need, no offense to your journey and stuff, but if our paths ever cross and you’re still “that” guy, I’m going to jump you in an alley and beat the fucking shit out of you.

What would my asshole cat do?

The collective anxiety right now is incredible; lots of people unable to feel a sense of safety so it’s coming out as worry, desire to control things and a reaching out for near-constant reassurance from the world which in other circumstances would be eased by their own effort via coping skills and established resilience.

If you are having a hard time—and pushing shit off a table seems unlikely to help—consider that while right now the world is in flux and things are changing and making it more challenging for us to adapt, you do not have to listen to the voice in your head that says we’re fucked. Because we’re bigger than thoughts, can do hard things, and in truth already do, all day every day, in waking up to a world flush with injustice, war and disconnection when all we really want is to spoon with our pet.

So if it’s one of “those” days, take a deep breath, know you’re doing a great job facing daily hardships, and when the anxiety hits, toss the thoughts into the river of unrealized experience, know they don’t have to be real and ask “what would my asshole cat do?”