Off Buying Stock in ABCFamily

Hello there my little chickens and goats. It’s 103° and I’m snuggling with the Grey Fuzz under a blanket. Don’t judge. I’m also watching the new season of Make It or Break It. Look, I told you not to judge. I would read, but I made an agreement with Fink-Nottle to stay my progress in our re-reading of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. (Wow, this episode of MIoBI has a bunny in it for no apparent reason, which just proves how great this show is.) We decided to re-read it after I raved about The Night Circus, and how I am eagerly awaiting the release of Shadow of Night (second in the All Souls Trilogy by Deborah Harkness, releasing on July 10). Thus, I had time to dose myself with even more magic, and Fink-Nottle and I agreed that re-reading JS&MR was the perfect solution, and he would read it, too. We needed to work out a schedule to stay somewhat on track with each other, so I can’t read until tomorrow. How bored are you by those details?

Would it be more amusing to hear about how I gave ET a bath yesterday? NO? Look at that face!

What about if I told you the Grey Fuzz decided to jump in the tub to hang with ET? Which necessitated me giving him a bath to get all of ET’s poopy bits off of him. Surprisingly, he really didn’t mind my holding him in the sink under running water, but he sure does put on a good sad face.

Okay, look, I’m obviously distracted by the awesomeness that is MIoBI, and am doing a piss-poor job on this post. I apologize. The best I can do is provide you a link to my friend Aimee’s blog. You’ll remember her as the one a lot of you so generously donated money to after she was hit by a car a couple weeks ago (she goes into details, click and read it!).

Thank you to all of you who responded to my plea to donate. It was amazing and beautiful. I wish I could have you all over to snuggle with me. We could watch MIoBI or maybe Switched at Birth. I’ll even let you guys choose what teenaged trash we watch! Because I want to be as giving as each of you are. You can even rub the Grey Fuzz all over your body, because he is amazingly soft and open to such intimacies. Though, his butt often stinks. I’m sorry about that.

Addendum

Seems like they have also set up a PayPal donation account:

Use PayPal account: weloveaimeejohnston@gmail.com
NOTE: Please email this address with your contribution details.
This will allow us to keep track of the funds, unless you wish to be anonymous.

Directions for PayPal:
Log into PayPal
Click on "Send Money", which is at the top, second from the left
Enter the email weloveaimeejohnston@gmail.com
At the bottom there are two tabs: "Purchase" or "Personal"
Click on "Personal"
Click on "Gift"
Then fill out the dollar amount, click Continue and go from there.

Apparently the Go Fund Me Account has fees associated with it, which I didn't know when I wrote my previous post. But hey, all donations are appreciated even if they come with crappy fees.

Thank you to each and everyone of you who has already donated, and contacted me asking how else you can help. You are all such wonderful, magical unicorns. I want to run around the world finding each one of you to hug and kiss.

She’s Always Going to Win the “My Life Is Worse Than Yours” Contest

This will not be a very funny post.

There was this wonderful girl I knew in college, though, really, honestly, at the time I didn’t know how awesome she was. She was quiet with an impish smile, and I liked how she’d occasionally exchange conspiratorial glances with me, but I never bothered to really get to know her. I was a bit of a self-centered jerk back then (or at least, more so than I am now). At this point I couldn’t even tell you how many classes we had together; though, I’m pretty sure we were in at least one writing class together, because I can picture her in one of those musty old classrooms with the grey winter light seeping sleepily through the windows. She had such astoundingly awesomely round cheeks. I’m not sure we’ve ever even touched hands, give each other a hug or a friendly arm squeeze.

Yet, I have spent the past day crying for her. As with many people I kind of sort of knew from college, we reconnected through Facebook. We’ve exchanged some delightfully raunchy emails that I won’t give anyone the pleasure of reading, because they are so honest and trashy. She is someone I would definitely enjoy getting to know better, and getting drunk with, and I’m pretty sure she knows how to have a thousand times more fun than I am capable of mustering. She is, if this is even possible, a bigger animal lover than I am. She is sweet and a badass, which is a fairly rare combination. And her life motherfucking sucks.

You don’t even know what a bad day is until you know her story. Yet, I’m willing to bet she is still grinning and giving people shit. My friend suffers from Crohn’s disease (go ahead, click that link if you don’t know what that means, and then weep that this is just the first thing I’m telling you). For over a year now she has been fighting an aggressive form of breast cancer…in her mid-30s. She kicked that fucking cancer’s ass, and just got her port removed (oh, you don’t know what that is either, go ahead, imagine living with that). She’s looking awesome, and having a kickass time with friends. While she was busy going through the grueling chemotherapy, and doing her best to not die from cancer, her husband was cheating on her. Yes, you read that right. They got divorced while she was still going through treatment, and their two-year anniversary would have been last week, and he had the fucking nerve to text her, and start up shit that he had no business starting.

And if that wasn’t enough, seriously, if that wasn’t fucking enough, she was hit by a car as she crossed the street in front of her house last Thursday. I had been absent from FB for a couple of days, so didn’t even know until Sunday afternoon. And shit, it’s not pretty. Both her legs are broken, and so is her pelvis, and she has some facial injuries (I honestly don’t know how bad). She’s going to be in recovery for months, and due to her other illnesses, it’s going to be even more complicated. Why can’t this woman win already? I was sitting around yesterday all bitchy about something extraordinarily stupid, and this was one hell of a reality check.

Obviously she’s been only able to work a very limited amount due to the cancer, and just when things were starting to get better, she is knocked about as far down as someone can be knocked before being declared officially dead. She doesn’t have a lot of money, and had been walking dogs as a part-time gig. That’s going to be really hard to do from a hospital bed when her lower half is broken.

This is the sort of thing I have a really hard time handling. My mind just kind of skitters around it. I want to be able to go visit her, but she’s in Boston, she’s in ICU, I’ve never visited her before, etc. Thus, this post is the best I can do to honor her. I know this is extremely weird to ask, but if you have some extra money, and don’t mind donating it to an amazing person, would you consider donating to help her pay for her always-increasing medical expenses, and to take care of her animals, and her other bills? Anything will help. Or, if you don’t want to do money, will you make her something? A card, a piece of art, something that is surprising and fun, that will remind her that while her life really does suck that even strangers can offer love. That’s so damn cheesy, but really, imagine if that was your life? I know I would need many people rooting for me, because I would have wanted to kill myself way before getting to this point.

Either contact me, or go to her donation site. Please and thank you.

PS: Any details I did not get 100% correct, I’m sorry—it’s not like I could do fact-checking with her at the moment while she is laid up all swollen and woozy.

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This is a bit more cheerful.

On the List of Things Your Boyfriend Should Refrain From Pointing Out to You

Me: Shit, I’m still really hungry, why am I so hungry?

CSP: ….

Me: Oh, I know! I haven’t had any cheese today!

CSP: (laughing snottily) Really? You’ve had no cheese today? REALLY?

Me: (slightly puzzled, but not letting it deter my enthusiasm for cheese) Really! No cheese!

I merrily skip joyfully to the fridge to get the fixings for a cheese quesadilla.

CSP: Um, what about those queso fries you had at the movie theater today?

Me: (crestfallen) Oh, those.

CSP: A whole bowl of queso with fries in it.

Me: (undeterred) Doesn’t count. It was liquid cheese.

I proceed to make and happily eat my quesadilla firm in the believe that it was my first time having cheese that day.

The Grey Fuzz

As the grumpy writer of this blog, I do not believe I need to give a good reason to explain why I’ve been so absent recently, but I actually have a fantastic reason for it. If you have an easy gag reflex to insanely cute, you may want to scroll down quickly.

Thank you, I knew you’d understand that a teeny tiny grey kitten is more important than writing, NO, even breathing! He’s so fuzzy, and is very sweet in that he actually likes me touching him (ahem, looking at you Brekkie and Clementine). He is fearless, and I’m pretty sure there is a kernel of evil in all that cuteness. I just know he’s going to break every last thing in this place with his manic running and climbing and chewing.

He’s also a terror on my fancy all-wood Catan board that Frijole and Fink-Nottle gave me for my birthday. They are two of the best people I know, and I would have said that even if they hadn’t given me a special-edition WOOD Catan box of wonderful.

He’s also an aggressive toe biter. I realize he looks very sweet and innocent, but he’s not. I just want to warn you that he will eat your toes, too, when you come to meet him. Please come meet him. We’ll eat some hot dogs, drink some beer, and play some soccer with The Grey Fuzz (he’s English, and thus demands the Anglicized spelling).

Goodbye, Chocodile, My Love

The bad: I had to put Bear down a week ago today. He was the grumpiest, handsomest cat with beautiful thick white whisker and little white toes. It hurts.

Here’s a picture of him plotting something evil. Like murdering baby bunnies by throwing them off of highway bridges. That shit is evil, but he would look so dashing doing it.

I’m pretty sure he’s belting out a pretty ballad about the bloody stool he’d like to squeeze out on my mosaic. He was punk rock like that.

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The good: Seeing Jeff Mangum Sunday night at ACL’s Moody Theater. Sure, I literally cried through almost the whole thing (except a Daniel Johnston cover song—I felt no emotion for that), and sang those well-loved Neutral Milk Hotel songs through some serious blubbering. It was a bit of much needed magic in my life.

I don’t have any pictures to share, because I got in trouble just using my phone to check the time. Since almost everyone there was so in love with Jeff Mangum, everyone obeyed the no-photos edict. We wouldn’t dare disappoint our beloved recluse.

Instead, here’s the first of two sangrias I had before the show (which forced me to pee during Naomi, but thankfully I made it through Ghost first—I would have gladly peed myself to avoid missing that song).

When Past Injustices Are Repeated But With an Adult-Oriented Theme

When I was a child living in Alaska, I had a really hard time fitting in with the rough and tumble lives of the kids. They were mean little shits. Lots of rubbing my face in pretty fluffy snow that just happened to have a hard layer of ice and rocks underneath the surface. On the playground, a boy showed me his penis when we were sitting on the jungle gym—he told me a pea would come out of it. It was years before I realized he meant urine. I cannot even say how many times I imagined a small green pea coming out of his urethra. That cold place was where I learned to curse in the spectacular way that I still do to this day, it’s also where I learned a harsh lesson about gift exchanges that still rankles.

It was sixth grade—I’d find out in just a couple months that we’d be moving to Texas. We had moved so often that even though I was miserable in Alaska, it was still a known quantity of suckitude. Thus I was still a relatively happy nerd child in December eagerly looking forward to my class’ Christmas gift exchange. I don’t remember what my contribution was, because the gift I drew from the pile was earrings. Oh woe is me.

One of my mother’s crazy parenting edicts was no pierced ears until first menses. WHY? I have no fucking clue. Because you know, first George totally means you’re a lady worthy of having baubles dangling from your ears. It makes perfect sense. Do you know how many kids get their ears pierced either as babies (which I do think is wrong because the kid has no say in the matter) or in elementary school? A large majority, that’s how many. Or so it seemed to my 11-year-old non-menstruating self. So, I had a pair of earrings, and no pierced ears.

I should mention there were parents there at this gift exchange, because what happened next is a fucking travesty of bad parenting. The child who brought the earrings, plucked them out of my hand, saying something like, “Oh, you don’t have pierced ears! Ha ha!” Chortled with a snicker and way too much glee. The mom of this child, clucked her tongue at me, and said what a shame, and told the girl to keep the earrings for herself, and then they both walked away leaving me presentless! Fucking bitch. I still hate her for it. I have no idea who you are, you twat, but you owe me a motherfucking gift, and I’m expecting it to have seriously appreciated in value after twenty-five years.

Fast forward to this past Saturday. It was Urban Family Get-Together Zombie Jebus style. We were instructed to bring plastic eggs filled with anything but candy. I hopped on over to Toy Joy, and purchased many delightful items (plastic babies, cute zodiac animal pins, unicorn poop, zombie glow-in-the-dark figurines!), and what do I get in the eggs I collected? Marijuana and pills (I’m pretty sure one is an Ambien, but I’m not sure what the other is). Sigh. I also got a mustard packet. I don’t do drugs and I hate mustard. So it goes, people. I left the mustard packet behind, and gave CSP the drugs. I did get some lavender argyle ankle socks, so I didn’t have a total angsty meltdown where I yelled, “Where are my motherfucking earrings, you twat, my ears are pierced now goddamitt!”

Four Days of the Wedding Present & Eleven Other Excuses Plus One Thing I Hate

SXSW has rolled out of town on this great big gust of wind that we are experiencing right now. Unfortunately all the trash that is left behind is plastered up against fences and in our creeks. I really hate how much waste SXSW produces. It’s disgusting. Today all of Austin is recovering from the sticky, noise hangover, and I’m trying to find someone who still wants to leave the house to go see TC Boyle with me. I’m not having any luck, and even my body thinks I’m crazy for wanting to get off the couch for I have not really been spending the lovey-dovey time with it as I should be.

To recap my life of late:

Wednesday, March 7: The day before CSP’s birthday, much spazzing but playing it cool in his presence—I’m not even sure what we did that night because I was in a panic-induced fog.

Thursday, March 8: CSP’s 40th birthday. Meat on swords! Men in puffy pirate pants. Mass quantities of meat and Pão de Queijo consumed (will someone please bake these daily for the rest of my life, PLEASE?). I almost vomited at the table. Some smuggling of the bread was involved—but not with my vomit, that was eating too much meat, not bread.

Friday, March 9: Drunken happy hour with friends. CSP ability to read a map after at least 10 drinks is (not surprisingly) significantly impaired. He was able to proudly show me how his Android and my iPhone had the exact same map on them! Wonderful, now tell me if I need to make a fucking right or left turn up here. Also learned that he is a fan of declaring himself not drunk while holding on to the fridge for dear life.

Saturday, March 10: CSP’s family arrives in town from Iowa. My first time meeting them, and under the inauspicious timing of a surprise birthday dinner for CSP arranged by a friend of his and CSP’s mom (a delightful women except when it comes to birthday planning). The original plan, or my marching orders, was to drive CSP around in the country, and do this bait-and-switch restaurant thing, which would involve me missing a turn and driving for at least 10 more minutes while somehow convincing him I wasn’t insane. Plan was amended to him driving us out to the restaurant with his family, and the surprise being his friends were there (which was actually really nice of them since it was far out in the country on a rainy night). For future reference, I hate surprise parties, and I am severely night-blind, and would never drive at night where there is limited light and lots of deer. I’m no fun at all, I know.

Sunday, March 11: Play with the family.

Monday, March 12: Work, come home and clean the joint like I will be arrested if there is a speck of dirt. The family comes over for about ten minutes, thus making my maniacal cleaning frenzy so worth it. We go eat barbecue, which also was worth all my efforts.

Tuesday, March 13: Was treated to a lovely dinner by Cowhide. Then she introduced me to House of Lies. I wish I could spend more time with her. I will gladly cheat on my couch with her couch.

Wednesday, March 14: Day one of seeing the Wedding Present.

Thursday, March 15: Day two of seeing the Wedding Present, but missed the Magnetic Fields.

Friday, March 16: Day three of seeing the Wedding Present, and managed to see the Magnetic Fields at their official SXSW showcase at the ACL Moody Theater. That was two very long, agonizing hours of waiting in line having no idea if we’d get in or not. We did, and I only cried twice.

Saturday, March 17: Day four of seeing the Wedding Present. And a lot of morons wearing green. What percentage of those people have any actual Irish heritage? Why the shamrock knee-highs and plastic beads, and tiny, plastic Leprechaun hats? Have some dignity, and shut up while the Wedding Present is playing.

Sunday, March 18: If I had been paying attention, I could have seen WP for a fifth time, but sadly, I was too busy having sexy times. Okay, not sadly at all. Those were good sexy times. The rest of the day was spent doing errands, like finding CSP new glasses. While not a rocking good time, it was very nice to spend the day doing something a bit mundane and necessary, and didn’t involve beer at 2pm.

Thus, I am home even when my favorite living writer is just a couple miles down the road. I just can’t bring myself to mill about a bookstore alone.

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Other reasons (beside seeing the Wedding Present four times in a row) why I have not blogged in so long:

• It’s been raining a lot, thus I’m cranky and pretend my fingers are water-logged and incapable of typing
• Watermelon Sour Patch Kids
• Angry Birds’ Cherry Blossom (I never stop playing Angry Birds until I have 3 stars on all levels)
• Friday Night Lights (I’m pretty sure I’m reliving my own Texas high-school days, but there were no attractive football players on our team—actually, I’m pretty sure one of the players was 40 years old by the look of his paunch and bald spot, and our coach taught history and health)
• Various game nights where I triumphed at least once each evening (that’s the most important thing, right?)
• Work, oh, god, work, how it tires me, and makes it so I can only fathom coming home to watch FNL or make out with CSP
• There was that really sucky week where my car died, and Ex-Cop had to jump me (he was impressed I knew how, and I had to work on not being snarky to the man whose help I desperately needed in the moment), and I had to replace the battery (hybrid batteries are more expensive, but it’s a three-paycheck month, so I guess it could have been worse)
• Weed eating the yard, and ruining my One Stars since I didn’t realize, as the privileged allergy-sufferer that I am, that grass turns the whites green, how incredibly fucking lame
• Contemplating how and when Brekkie’s nose went from black to dark orange…this takes up a lot of my brain space, really
• Then there’s the whole problem of America going mad and hating women; that’s really wearing me down, too
• Also, someone is a little worried about the owls in the tub—it’s very upsetting

• I’m sure there’s other stuff, but Frijole will be calling at any moment, and last Thursday was her birthday, so send her some love!

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So help me, I want to kill the next person I see wearing peep-toed boots. I’m in no way exaggerating.