it isn't galleryofzestycharisma. I wish it were. I wish I were.
sigh.
still reading? YES! cat chat! or le chat chat, iffin yer tryin' the cultivated continentally thing.
so today I took pictures with both ladies...
-tombs. someone who's known her for years but hasn't seen her since she started to sprout her unicorn horn came by the other night. "ugh" they said. I described the volume level of the white noise I use to drown out her mucoid tumor-rattle. "yeah" they said.
her head smells like death. but she's STILL, nearly a year later, doing frustratingly well. may I employ such an offensive adverb? SHE is FINE. I stagger through my days feeling bleary and loopy because the stinky little bitch keeps me up all night, but I adore her too much to do anything drastic. as long as she's happy, I will continue to complain dully. I mean, damn it. she's curled up against my hip right now and she still meows whenever I acknowledge her. and she just scarfed food like a teenage boy, then went to the litter box and took a dainty crap that she totally didn't bury. she's such a sassy asshole. she's a SASSHOLE! to know her is to be respectful yet repulsed by her, and that makes me very proud.
-entropy. revolted by hecatomb, scrupulously covering of her feces, shredder of paper, temperamental harlot. she is so fucking cool. and I love her expression in this photo. she's like "don't make me a prop in your sad-ass life."
-and a fountain in the u district that so eloquently captured this rapturous fall day!
I finished reading Davy Rothbert's "my heart is an idiot" tonight. I read the chapter "shade" twice.
1962, "Sunset Dinner Party Cookbook": insert a stuffed green olive into a cooked, pitted prune. wrap it in bacon. bake at 350 until bacon is crisp. serve with sparkling wit.
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