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Musings of an insufferable cunt

I don't have to fucking impress you.

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exquisite whore



January 30th, 2013

Hazel - No signs of life

exquisite whore
Hazel liked to walk alone. Particularly at night. Her black wool trench coat buttoned up, concealing her full figured frame against the moist Northwestern breeze, she would walk for hours. It was harder now, what with being pregnant and having a day job was going to make it even harder, but she would try to work a long night walk in on the weekends. Seb didn't mind. When her husband was absorbed in a video game or music production, she would kiss his cheek and say she was going to go to the store. Maybe she would drop by a convenience store for a hot chocolate- it wasn't a total lie- but she usually just walked. Up to 82nd, then down Duke to 52nd, maybe take a rest in Brentwood park, then head over to Woodstock. Nothing was open but Safeway, but she still liked the storefronts, all kitschy and Portland chic. She liked them even better empty and darkened. No signs of life.

She wasn't showing yet. She'd always been big, so no one noticed her weight gain and sudden love of all things cake. That's how she had always been, for the most part. She hadn't told any of her friends about her pregnancy for fear of their reaction. She'd just gotten this job at Welmeant, the super-thrift store conglomerate. Seb hadn't had a job in ten years. "Working Artist" was the term she used for the judgemental strangers who would ask what he did, but "House Husband" was a better definition. Not many of her friends liked him, and they absolutely HATE the idea of her having his baby. Fucking hipster dipshit assholes. Most of them had never been in love, or sacrificed anything for anyone else, or done something bigger than themselves. She would have to explain that many people in far worse situations than hers had multiple children and were fine. She'd get on WIC, she'd have food stamps, she would have a job with insurance, it was all good. She was maybe two and half months along. She had time.

Yet, she didn't. In seven months, she would be a mother.

February 17th, 2012

Lord Fuzzlebottom III

exquisite whore
When Shawn and I realized we couldn't have children, we decided it was high time we got some cats. We've always had cats, they're his favorite animal, so we went hunting on the adoption websites for a furry baby-replacement. Turns out, it costs money to adopt cats through agencies, money we didn't have at the time. So, we put it on hold.

Then, one day at work, the crazy cat lady that came in 4 times a week mentioned that one of her many feral cat Mommies had just had a small litter of three kittens- two had survived. They were half Siamese, half tabby, and if I wanted them, I could have them as soon as they were ready to part with their Mom.

Four weeks later, two tiny kittens were dropped off at our house. One looked very siamese, white with gray and beige accents, and one was just a gray ball of long fluff. They were insanely cute. We had the option of just taking one, but they had grown up together. They slept together, cleaned each other, played with each other... they were all they had in the world. We couldn't separate them. They were family.

We bounced names around for a week, but Shawn eventually came up with the perfect names; Tanuki for our siamese baby, and Lord Fuzzlebottom III for our gray persian fluffmonster. It took them another week to adjust. Fuzzle would hide from me and miss feeding time because I was too close. Still, if we were quiet and still, they would entertain us nightly with their ferocious playing. They realized we weren't the enemy, and soon they were snuggling up with us to watch LOST after they were done terrorizing each other.

They couldn't be 10 feet away from each other, in kitten hood. Fuzzle would start yowling if he couldn't find Tanuki. Sometimes she was just behind a pile of clothes, it didn't matter, he couldn't see her, so he would flip his shit. She would always find him and calm him down. They were an excellent team. The only survivors of a small litter. Tanuki was the runt, Fuzzle was a fat ass.

We got to watch them grow up and become adult cats. We got them their shots, got them spayed and neutered, figured out what food they liked best. They slept cuddled up together a lot, even in adulthood. Tanuki would help Fuzzle clean himself. He had a lot of fur, it was a two cat job. Their size disparity made for interesting play times, as Tanuki learned that while Fuzzle was stronger and heavier, she was faster and more agile. They both loved running across my face as I tried to fall asleep, then waking me up at 5 a.m. trying to get fed 3 hours ahead of schedule.

Fuzzle was a giant, but thought he fit on any available sliver of lap you had open. He had a weird purr, it was more like a snore than anything. He had a teddy bear face, with beady, endearing little eyes, always full of mischief and love. He loved being brushed, or just touched in general. He was a lovely little monster.

We don't know what happened. He was one generation off from pure-bred, so health problems and genetic predispositions are common place. Our best guess is organ failure, but we'll never know.

He got sick very quickly. Tuesday he quit eating. Then, he wouldn't drink. Wednesday he was still fasting, but he was also playful and acting normal. We figured he had eaten something that wasn't sitting right. On Thursday, he was ok the first half of the day, but by the evening he was lethargic and yowling in pain whenever you moved him. His condition deteriorated so rapidly. We resolved to take him to the vet Friday. He died at 1:47 a.m. on Friday, February 10th, 2012. He spent his last hours on our laps, being petted and told he was loved.

I'm wrecked. I really loved that guy. He was the personable, loving cat. He was the yin to 'Nuki's yang, the Vince to her Howard. She's confused. She slept on the bed with us, last night, which she never does. I went to feed her this morning and she hesitated to eat.... she was waiting for Fuzzle to join her. It was super sad. I cried right there in the computer room, Tanuki looking at me like I was crazy. It's going to be a big adjustment, but I know we will get through this. We are a strong little family, and we will be grateful for the time we had with Fuzzlebottom, short as it was.

I love you, Fuzzle.

May 17th, 2011


exquisite whore
Nervous breakdown check list:

!. Urge to buzz my hair off.

@. Crying intermittently throughout the day.

#. Forgetting things, important things, that are obvious and necessary.

$. Not sleeping well.

%. Paranoia and anxiety crawling up my spine.

^. Feeling of absolute hopelessness, followed by nothingness.


*. Resignation.

(. Self hatred.

). Just wanting to go home.

I just want to go home.

April 27th, 2011

List (cont.)

exquisite whore
2. The grief is finally manageable.

A couple of days before the anniversary of Zooey/Phinneus' demise, I felt a weight sort of lift off of my shoulders. I wasn't as grumpy at work, I felt like going outside, I wasn't as vaguely suicidal. When I took the anniversary off as a vacation day, I just sat around my room and read. Not in a gloomy way. Just in a very comfy, cozy way. Shawn and I snuggled and everything felt OK.

Coming to terms with what happened did steal a year of my life, but in some ways, I feel like I have gained much more than what was initially taken.

April 26th, 2011


exquisite whore
Good things (?):

1. I have lost a little over 40lbs. since March 2010. It still feels weird to say that. My body doesn't seem real to me. I didn't mean to lose this much weight. I figured I would bottom out at around 170, about a size 14, like I always do. I'm comfortable there. It was, until now, the thinnest I had ever been as an adult.

Now, I'm a size 10. I haven't fit in to a size 10 anything since, like, fifth grade, probably. I weigh 150lbs. I look gaunt and gangly to myself. I still carry myself like I weigh much more, too, which makes the gangliness that much worse.

I did not starve myself. I didn't stress out about it, or punish myself. I just decided to be healthier. I ate oatmeal or a protein bar for breakfast with my coffee, a big, high protein salad for lunch, and then whatever for dinner. I have denied myself nothing. I just started eating better.

I've had to completely shift my self image. I am no longer plus sized, I cannot really refer to myself as pudgey, and I can look at what I used to think of as "normal people clothes" and say, "That might actually fit me,". I now only have the problem of stuff being too short. I am still tall, after all.

March 3rd, 2011

How would you react if you found out someone plagiarized your work and published it?

September 1st, 2010

Reverend Misses

exquisite whore
Ok, Portland music scene. You don't like me, and I am mostly ambivalent towards you, but I have this band. It's me, my creative partner for the past six years or so, and our unabashed need to be heard. We call ourselves Reverend Misses. We kick ass.

I have always wanted to be in a band, to play music that people would listen to, and I've worked really hard at becoming a proficient musician to achieve that goal. The first time someone asked me what I do and I was able to say with all confidence that I was a musician, that was the first time I felt whole. The first time Shawn looked at me in our old apartment on Glendora and said, "You've gotten really good at guitar. You're better than me. And Eddie Vedder," that was bliss. Granted, it was disguised as a joke, and it's not hard to be better at guitar than Eddie Pearljam, but the compliment was there.

It came to pass as I lived my first year in Portland that I stopped wanting to just please people. I wanted to make music that I wanted to hear. I searched deep in my soul, dug my heels in to my distortion pedal, and started writing these dark, southern gothic grunge songs. Oh yes, these songs are about demons, sex, death, re-birth, and being female in a world that still isn't quite equal. These songs are musings on losing a baby, losing your sanity, losing your best friend, debilitating sickness, almost losing your husband because you'd rather dance with devil, and generally being angry.

I don't like the label "Chick Band". It's always left a sour taste in my mouth. I've met a lot of men who loved Hole, or Tori Amos, or Babes in Toyland, and had no shame. Just because we are a band with two women as the principal song writers doesn't mean we can't be meaningful to a male audience, does it? I am a storyteller, at heart. I don't always write about myself. In fact, I'd say I'm about half and half: half confessional/ catharsis, half storyteller. I like to paint pictures with melody and lyrics. I put my whole body in to these songs.

When I gave Becky my practice guitar, I figured it would just be good stress relief. After a long day at school or work, or on a break from homework/ running lines/ hashing out jokes, she could sit down and fiddle around on the guitar and blow off some steam. I didn't expect was her to write a ridiculous amount of songs in a short period of time that were in the same as the ones I had been working on, most of which I had not played for her. It was so intense. I had been talking about Reverend Misses for months, about how I would just get up on stage and play, I guess, hope no one got bored and booed me off or threw rotten roughage. And here was my kindred, doing what she does best: blowing me away. So, we joined forces. I won't be so apprehensive with my best friend on stage with me, and I have a sounding board for ideas. We help each other with our songs, and I'm really happy with what has been forming each time we practice.

So, in conclusion, I am in a band that I'm proud of, we might have a drummer, and I am finally motivating myself to do something that means a lot to me. Fuck yeah, adulthood. You're an Ok dude.

March 30th, 2010

(no subject)

exquisite whore
Today, I almost sent this to my ex-boyfriend who recently joined facebook and thinks we are cool:

"I hate you i hate you i hate you i hate you you're life is perfect and you don't deserve it and i fucking hate you,".

I hesitated. It remains unsent. I may be hormonal and grieving, but I'm right. He has kids he won't even acknowledge. His son is amazing. Such a bright, beautiful, tolerant baby boy. He loves his father no matter how many times he has let him down in his short little life. Unconditionally. I can't even stay pregnant one trimester. He gets to have it all and neglects it.

My hormones are FUCKING ME UP. I have been angry, depressed, hungry, and then angry again. It was really bad today. I walked to planned parenthood to have a check-up, and I cried the whole way there. I could barely tell the nurse what had happened, I was crying so much.

I was so calm at the ER. I was cool, I was knowledgeable, accepting. Now it's hitting me. It happened again, and this time I was ready. I was going to be a mommy. Shawn and I had names picked out. We would talk about how we would raise our child, what morals and beliefs we would instill in our little one. This was the next big step in my life. I was thrilled. Scared shitless, but still exhilarated at the prospect and honored to be given such a gift.

Now, I have to re-prioritize. I have to look at the pro's of the situation. I have more time to plan, now. I know I want children before or by the time I am 25. I know I want to get my music career going, too. This gives me time to detox and get in good shape, and work on my songs. This gives me more time to become better acquainted with work and even move up to Floor Lead in a shorter amount of time.

I am dealing surprisingly well, honestly. I guess I'm DEALING with it, which is different. I am devastated, but I feel like life will keep going and i will have other chances, even if it is adoption (which I am extremely open to). We both knew this was a possibility, so the fact that we are coping so well is partly due to common sense. Plus, we have each other. Shawn has been amazingly supportive and so open to me. I am a very lucky woman.

20% of medically documented pregnancies end in miscarriage. It's nothing the mother does wrong, no outside force. The fetus just isn't genetically viable and dies, then passes. I'm not neglectful and I am totally healthy. These things just happen. And that sucks, but it's also OK.

Goodbye, Zoey/Phinneus. I wish we could have met, and that I could have been your Mom. I love you.

December 16th, 2009

Day 4

exquisite whore
Day 4: Favorite Book

Oh, Jesus. This is a doozy. Really hard to pick just one, but I'll go with the collected poems of E.E. Cummings. I got my copy at a Goodwill in my Grandmothers home town, Little Brush Creek, Kentucky, when I was 13. That's a weird place to discover him, trust me. It has been my bible ever since.

E.E. Cummings wasn't just a poet. He wrote plays, novels, children's stories, and was an accomplished painter. But, his poetry is what will always enrapture me again and again.

He is my favorite poet. He reinvented the sonnet, in my opinion. He is avant-garde, he painted with words and gave them a place on the page like no other poet. He wrote using dialect, he skewed structure in a brilliant, jarring way, and he gave words and phrases his own meanings. He didn't name his poems. He didn't have to. He was a maverick, a true "Beat" innovator, and a friend on paper when I needed him most.

I press flowers in his collected poems, and they always turn out perfect.

Here's one of my favorites:

"'kitty'. sixteen,5'1",white,prostitute" by E. E. Cummings

"kitty". sixteen,5'1",white,prostitute.

ducking always the touch of must and shall,
whose slippery body is Death's littlest pal,

skilled in quick softness. Unspontaneous. cute.

the signal perfume of whose unrepute
focusses in the sweet slow animal
bottomless eyes importantly banal,

Kitty. a whore. Sixteen
you corking brute
amused from time to time by clever drolls
fearsomely who do keep their sunday flower.
The babybreasted broad "kitty" twice eight

—beer nothing,the lady'll have a whiskey-sour—

whose least amazing smile is the most great
common divisor of unequal souls.

December 14th, 2009

Day 3

exquisite whore
Day 3: Favorite TV Show.

Right now, I have a few favorite shows. A lot of them are Sci-fi, like Dollhouse and Fringe. I'm Really into the V miniseries. I also love Dexter and the Mighty Boosh. That's a weird combination of shows, now that I look at it.

Growing up, I loved sketch comedy, like The Kids In The Hall and the State. Later, I got in to Mr. Show. I was a huge X-Files fan, as a kid. Newsradio will always be at the top of my list. I mean, Dave Foley, Phil Hartman, Andy Dick, and Stephen Root in one cast? Fucking hilarious.

I'm real picky with TV, so that's about it.
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