Gratuitous Pussy Shots

I don't have kids. I think I spent so much time trying to not have them, that once I wanted one, it might be too late. So I have a cat. Now I'm not some crazy cat lady, just a fan of the furry little ones.

I have this friend Ben, and he and his lady found a litter of kittens last summer in a trash can in the parking lot of their apartment. My dad was dying, I just went through a shitty divorce, realized I had feelings for my best friend, I was falling apart on the inside....I needed a non-judgmental friend. So I adopted the little dude. I named him Papi Chulo because that is what I called my father, seemed fitting and right. Ben and his lady kept two of his litter mates, and my other good friend, Caitlin, adopted his brother. We kept the family, "in the family".


So over the last year, we had this weird pseudo experiment happening, where a litter of kittens grew up apart, but with people that know each other and could report on similarities, growth, habits, etc. I learned that Papi and Tay, (Caitlin's cat), both will ONLY drink from coffee cups. They both chew on their nails.....they also both are obsessed with the outdoors. I knew that Caitlin let Tay out most of the day and he did fine, so my partner and I decided to start letting Papi out into the fenced back yard. He LOVED it, and never tried to hop the fence.


Then one day, Papi started to puke.....and puke, and puke. My partner and I were up all night, trying to figure out what was up. I was a vet tech for many years, so I thought he had something stuck in his belly, so I checked under his tongue for string or something, and nothing. The next day we took him to the vet, and sure enough, he had a linear foreign body. Pretty much the worst kind of block. They told us that he would either need surgery, or be put to sleep. As I stood there petting him and sobbing, the vet said they could try one thing that might help, and was $500 less than the surgery that my partner and I knew we could never afford. They did this barium study where they feed him this paste that shows up on x-rays, and can see if the blockage is moving, and how bad the block is. It can also sometimes act therapeutically.

Papi came home with us, after having been at the vet all day, totally lethargic, and us unsure if he was going to be put down the next day. It was a very long night.

The next day we took him back to the vet so they could do the study, and the vet said he would call me throughout the day to keep me posted as to how or if the barium was working. I was a hot mess, sobbing off and on and at random. Having been a vet tech for years, I had to euthanize many, many, many animals. Every time, I would whisper into the animals ear, "I'm sorry", even if they were already near death. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Being native, I don't believe in "God", I believe in our creator and our ancestors. I also feel like euthanasia is humane and I wish humans had the option for a dignified exit instead of suffering, but that is a whole other post. Anyway, I never felt guilty, I just felt sad for the humans left behind. Especially kids. Now I found myself on the other side of death, and was torn.


Then in a stroke of brilliance, Caitlin, Ben, and Shana told us to set up a PayPal fund for Papi, and we did. In 24 hours we raised $500, and a renewed feeling of community, something I have not felt here in Portland in years. Then we got the call, the barium worked, Papi would pass the blockage and be ok. I have never felt so relived in my life.

We drove like bats out of hell to the vet to pick up our little fat ball of black fluff, and hugged and pet him so much, we had fur all over our hands. This cat is NOT a shedder either. A day after he came home, Papi was back to his normal, chatty, weird cat self. Playing fetch with his fish, chewing on his nails, and waking us up at 3 am for no real reason. No matter how much he annoys me and my partner in the wee hours of the morning, I would rather have him around. He is the closest thing I have to a child, and he is totally a part of our tiny family.

Dysfunctional Family Day at Ikea

I love me some cheap Scandinavian decor, I am after all, Native American AND Finnish. It's in my blood. I like to think my "home decor" is Scandinavian meets funky thrift store, meets creepy. What I do not like, is going to Ikea and finding every single dysfunctional family in Oregon and Washington pushing and screaming their way through the big blue and yellow warehouse.

This morning my partner and I got up nice and early to "splurge" on the $1.99 breakfast and $.99 coffee at Ikea before heading into the belly of the Skandi whale. And of course, a fun family of 6 screaming people were in front of us. They were dragging their feet arguing over who get's fruit, who want's bacon and who get's a sticky bun.....*deep sigh*. I don't think they even cared that everyone behind them was being really cool about how long it took them to get through the simple cafeteria style line. It's $1.99, there are 20 people qued up behind you, not to mention the fact that EVERYTHING in Ikea is set up for streamline ease and flow. These people did not get the memo. Grandma is hurrying up the youngest boy who decided to spill his water onto the floor to see if anyone would notice. Mom and Dad say nothing....it felt like the son is starving for attention from his parents, how sad. Interesting factoid, dad had a creepy Elmer Fudd holding an AK-47 tattoo on his calf.



With full bellies, we bolted down to the main floor searching for dishes, one picture frame, and the tool that takes my bed apart. See we decided to redo our entire 2 story, 2 bedroom apartment. We got the downstairs done in one day last weekend, so we planned today to be the "swap the bedroom for the office" day. We thought it would take 3 hours, max. Ha, it took about 5.5 hours......

I have to say though, it feels good to have new spaces set up in a house that you are trying your damnedest to love. I have a love-hate relationship with Portland right now, so making my living space comfortable, makes those days when I am not so in love with my city, palatable.



I realized during this process that home is what you make it, and I haven't been able to do that in the 6 years I have lived here. I lived with my ex in many different homes, and none of them had a good flow, for whatever reason. We always lived in cool neighborhoods, but the spaces themselves just never felt "right". Maybe it was just our mis-matched chemistry.



Now, I love my apartment, but hate the location. Gun shots, bar fights, meth dealing neighbor, possible sex trafficking across the street, and tons of loud cars. It's what I can afford, but honestly, dealing with all that in Portland, feels lame. It would feel more normal back in LA or in NY. In fact I expect it there, not here where I have 80 year old spruce trees in my yard and a view of Mt. Hood.



I moved here to have the funky small town life, but because of gentrification and yuppie condo's, I (and every other broke ass Portlander), have been pushed out closer to the woods but with this strange David Lynch undertone. And not in a good way. It's hard to explain, maybe I am just growing tired of this kind of life. Maybe I feel really pissed that I can't afford to live in neighborhoods where things I am interested in are within walking distance.



I like the taco stand across the road and the little thrift store, but that is where it ends. I love my tiny back yard, but can't stand my drama-fied neighbor that has a serious meth-drinking-sex worker issue. There are at LEAST 5 different dudes in and out of her house daily, and I am a HUGE sex-work advocate and supporter....just not when meth dealing is also involved and possible sex trafficking. Then on the other side I have the machismo dude and his interesting lady friend who I SWEAR was giving him a hand job on the hood of his car when I got home from work yesterday.....I think I do live in David Lynch land.

It makes for interesting stories for sure, but I'm ready for a space that is quiet-ish, green, and where my neighbors genuinely say hi to me, like I do to them. So for now, inside my house is my sanctuary.

Zeptember &. Roctober

There is no time of year that makes this little lady's heart more full than the fall season. Crisp air, crunchy leaves, layering clothes, fingerless gloves, busting out of all my favorite scary movies, spending hours in my studio painting while playing records, and cooking.

I have this friend, I like to call her "T-Boz", she and I used to do steak night once a month where we got together and cooked different variations of steak. After being vegetarian for 16 years and vegan for 5, I woke up one day and ate a piece of bacon. That was 3 years ago, and I knew that the need to eat meat would not last too long, so mine and T-Boz's choice to do a monthly steak night was not going to be a very long lived venture. Well my body decided that steak night was over almost a year to the day of it's inception.

With the news of my impending non-meat eating life, we decided that we would continue the monthly cooking but change the inspiration, and just in time for FALL! We met up this week and decided on a Fall/Winter bake fest! I KNOW.....

I am not much of a baker, but I was married to one so this is the time to work it out and bust out some of the skills I picked up. Portland's cold wet weather lasts ohhhh about 8/9 months, so I am scouring the interwebs, my old cook books and asking friends what their favorite baked items are. What's yours?

I had intended on using this blog to document a year of my life, daily, and incorporate my photography into it, (and I plan to do so once Rocktober ends), but there might be some food porn and possible ramblings of cooking thrown in, and I know how overdone and obnoxious reading about someone cooking can be, just bare with me. Even as I sit here, in the back ground I hear Alton Brown rambling on about ginger, and it's many uses.....over the muffled snoring of my partner who lays beside me. Not real intriguing to read, but just stick with me, it will be worth it, I promise.

Freaks

I was always pretty fascinated with freak shows and side shows at circus's and county fair's as a child, a mixture of fear and intrigue. Perhaps that sparked my interest in body modification and tattooing in the mid '80s.

I got my nose pierced on the Venice boardwalk when I was 14 and had downed an entire 40 oz bottle of Budweiser. Needless to say, I passed out and fell off the stool. My mother was mortified and I loved it.

Later, when I was 15, I got my first tattoo in a hotel room in Mexico by my best friend, Jenny Brown. It was a very crooked "Black Flag" with the flag bars on top, also very crooked. My mother REALLY hated that, and with that I was hooked for life.

I lost count of how many actual tattoos I have, I do know that I am fully sleeved on both arms, my back is partially done, and I have 3 tattoos on each leg. My most creepy one is my vampire bite that is located on the right side of my neck.....most folks do a double take upon first discovery. My favorite one at the moment is a tie between my jar of french mustard and my stargazer lilies.




Every piece I have, I got when something big happened in my life....a new city, new love, someone died, best friends, new life paths, feeling pride in something, whatever. It doesn't take much for me be convinced that something will make a good piece of art.

I also have had a few piercings. My septum has been pierced for about 15 years, and had to be re-done 4 times due to surgeries, allergies, loosing jewelry while on tour, whatever. I have had my tongue, lip, labret, ears several times, and almost.....my nipples. I totally chickened out after having a breast reduction, I really didn't want to mess around anymore, my boobs are pretty amazing on their own....not to toot my own horn, but toot toot.

Currently I have plans to re-do my back piece, an homage to circus freaks. Specifically female freaks, Betty Broadbent, Monya The Snake Lady, Violetta The Half Woman, and some amazingly awesome female fire breather. I also want to cover my calf pieces with my favorite fruit and veg and a huge piece of Nick Blinko's art. But all this costs money, a lot of money.....that I currently am lacking.




I never seem to realize how tattooed I really am until I'm naked and dating someone new, or when the warm months come around and the layers come off.

I love that I am part of "weird" American history, being a tattooed woman that is not ashamed of my freakishness. Funny thing is, I don't think I am all that "weird", and in contrast to other people into tattoo culture, I really am pretty normal.

Equinozio di Autunno

What happened to my posting daily, weekly, or even monthly? Oh you know, life got in the way. I got walking pneumonia, my cat almost died, my partner's lung is a fuck fest, then I found myself on the verge of unemployment, (although I am almost positive that I have another job lined up) due to the lovely feds deciding my program didn't need to be refunded. I feel an uneasy sense of stress in general, but I have been doing a kick ass job at avoiding it's hold.....for the most part...I did stay up for 24 hours the other day, unwillingly.

That event of restlessness thrust me back to the days of drug addiction and when staying up all night was actually fun. Now it's just me pacing the cold hardwood floors of my living room so my partner can sleep, flipping channels between old episodes of Iron Chef Japan, CSI Vegas, and some crazy shit called "Hoarders" on A&E. This does not help when you tend to be a person that likes to clean and re-arrange when feeling uneasy. Luckily I rearranged the entire first floor of my home this weekend, so I had to force myself to sit still, and hope that sleep would find me.

It didn't.

I went to work feeling like I had been up on acid and mentioned it to my co-worker and he offered to be the driver for the day...I truly owe him one, he's a good guy.

So with all that going on, I have neglected this thing, and did not plan in time for Mabon, which is tonight. I guess I could do a ritual tomorrow night, and might very well do so. I get home late from work on Wednesdays, so I will still be in up mode and maybe my partner will join me.

He was raised catholic, and when we met 3 years ago at my last job, we played 20 questions via email. I enjoy playing 20 questions with new friends, it's a great way to get to know weird facts about people without being a creep. Although I think he thought I was pretty weird from the get-go. Anyways, during our early time as co-workers and friends, I learned he was raised Catholic but was non-practicing, and he learned that I studied religion in college. I found that earth based faiths made the most sense to me. Being Native American it seemed natural for me to have an interest in some pagan ceremony and traditions since they also follow a strict guideline of respect for others and the earth. Now all of this might induce having visions of Ren Fair fails, sad looking gothy teens, and bored Valley housewives hanging out at "Raven's Flight" in North Hollywood. All milling around the aisles looking for dates and "love spells", dressed like some Stevie Nicks reject.

I find that because of the aforementioned issues around being a "witch" or Pagan in general, many have stayed in the proverbial broom closet. My religion and faith has been a closely guarded secret, only told to those I feel are "in the know" (aka others like myself), people I date longer than 6 months, and friends I know that would never care or ask really obnoxious questions. The ceremonies I have been a part of are not something I share to just whomever. They are sacred and I intend to honor my ancestors always. I never wanted to be judged or questioned as I feel that faith is a personal connection to whatever it is you believe or do not believe. I guess what I am saying is that I do believe in religious freedom, and with that comes being open to criticism and being told you are wrong. To that I say, what-ever.

Needless to say, without practice, I feel out of sorts and struggle with keeping my emotions in check. My father was diagnosed with congenital heart failure in the summer of 2008, and we spent the next year talking candidly about faith. He knew that I had a strong hold on our Native traditions, and strongly urged me to get back into practice.

After he passed away last October, I decided to dig out my books, and box of oils and herbs and jump back in. But again, I found that life got in the way, well, I let it. I went through an ugly divorce then was hit with a slew of back problems.....in retrospect, that was the BEST time to start practicing again, but whatever. :)

So I told my partner that I needed to get back to my traditions and in-touch with my spirituality. Hence the vegetable garden, the multiple camping trips, etc. He has been a good sport and totally interested in seeing what my traditions are all about. Tonight we are supposed to do a simple Italian, (he is Sicilian and First Nations Blackfeet), Mabon ritual, celebrate the final harvest, bury some nails around our yard to place a barrier of harmony and stability, bowl of dirt at the front door, you know the usual.

So if anyone is really reading this, I challenge you to get back in touch with your roots, what grounds you and makes you feel safe, happy, and normal. Go back to the free things in life that feel good, or the not so spendy things. We are living in what seems like an overly stressful time, where we work more than we rest, where we are more concerned with what iphone-pad-mac is new and has the best apps. What I am saying is simply this, get out of your ass and get real. The world will feel a lot less hectic when everyone around you is calm, centered, and happy.

I will step dowm from my soap-box now and go bury some nails.