Juniper, a fuzzy glimmer in ma eye!
This blog won’t be all about Juniper, but since he will be the big new change in my life I should mention him, and he does deserve the title. I am having trouble getting to sleep, so here I am, wanting to blog because I read some good ones today.
Juniper is a dilute orange and white tabby kitten. No, not a MAN, I’m not moving a human male into my apartment. Just this sweet very cute kitten from the country, someone who’s been around a little dog and hopefully will fall in love with my little dog and I’m hoping will make me being gone less stressful for my pup. My pup has been barking while I’ve been gone, more than he used to when we had Schrodinger. Sooo, well we’ll just see what happens when he has a friend. Either way he used to get more exercise when he played with a cat all day, and I think he needs someone to play chase games with.
But also, I love cats. I’m not a cat person, more of a dog person, but I admire the different traits of a cat that you can’t get with dogs. Like head nuzzling and purring and the insistent meow of a cat when you’re not quick enough to sling out some grub. And they way they always look out the windows for hours, staring at the birdies and daydreaming of kitty carnage! Beneath the cute kitty fur beats the heart of a killer!
So I have to get ready for him to come home this weekend, if all goes as planned. Scrub out the litterbox so it doesn’t have Schrods smell on it, clean the bowls and clean the apartment. Get a couple brand new toys for him, something on a string. I still have catnip from Schrodinger, but kittens aren’t interested in catnip. Only grown up cats like catnip. At least, that has been my experience. I don’t know why that is.
I’m a little bit daunted by the idea of breaking in a brand new baby! Kittens are tremendously difficult characters. Schrodinger was always trying to kill me when he was small. Either way I am not going into this assuming he will be all sweetness and light. I know I’m going to end up with scabby arms, it’s just a given.
Anyway, that’s the poop on the new kitten!
In OTHER news, I saw this terrible news story today, with an accompanying video! Zikerria Bellamy, a 17 year old African American Transwoman, was applying at a McDonalds in Orlando Florida this summer to be a shift manager. The manager taking her application made her fill in the male/female gender box and got upset when she marked down “male.” This is the voicemail she got from one of the managers later, saying “We do not hire faggots.” Have a listen:
UGH! How am I going to indulge my sick cravings for fries and “100% beef” with this injustice tainting my already dodgy meal choice?
It really makes me think about how many times I have seen a visible trans person working in customer service. Once! My mom and I met a transman at a PetLand/Cetra/Smart/Idontrecall who was well into transition but still just those whisps of the past were in his voice. It’s similar to how rarely I see a butch dyke working in customer service. No, not quite, I must admit I have seen more than one butch dyke doing customer service work. But I do remember what it felt like to have someone be all up on my qualifications until they meet me and see the short short hair and the boy clothes. Butchphobia kinda straddles the line between transphobia and homophobia. On one hand, it is because you are obviously a lesbian, and on another, it’s because you don’t fit in with the gender binary.
Apparently Morgan Freeman was born to play Nelson Mandela. At least, that is what the television is telling me today. When you go crazy, as in a full blown psychosis of either the manic or depressed variety (I’ve never had depressive psychosis but it must suck!) the nurses always ask if you are getting messages off of the television. Yes. Yes I do, and have, and will. Right now it is telling me that hoarding can be solved by the aid of a clean up crew and 1 800 Got Junk.
Actually, my mother has been learning a whole arsenal of new lingo from A&E to apply to my life. Her favorite right now is Hoarders, as she believes I am one. I think I am messy, but not a hoarder. All the same she has started making jibes at me. A case in point: When helping tidy she asked me “Are you saving these menstrual pads or will you let me throw them away?” Before you get grossed out, they were not lovingly arranged on my bookcase, or even strewn across the floor, they were IN the garbage BY the toilet! They were clearly on their way out! And I’m not one of those artists that uses menstruation as part of their practice. My response was a plaintive “Muuum!”
HOWEVER, she does have a point. I know this has been an ongoing complaint in my blog, that I must clean, but I really do have to clean!! I let it build up until even the fire department takes issue. OKAY, not always, but in Vancouver the fire marshal came into my apartment while I was gone (the landlord gave us no warning) and said it was a hazard. And it was because it was two rooms and too much stuff. But it’s more reasonable now. No boxes everywhere. But there is paper around my hallway, and things to trip over in the night, and if there’s going to be a baby here something has to change!
I’m just hoping she doesn’t take her cues from Intervention. I really don’t want to be sent to Palm Springs to recover from marijuana use/abuse. Or DO I? Nah, I’m not fancy enough to get to Palm Springs, I’d be in Calder here in Saskatoon. I don’t wanna go to treatment! I just want to be a responsible party-er.
My psych nurse got the lady who runs dual diagnosis groups to call me, but they are all during work hours except for one I could go to on the 31st. But LADY! That is NeW YEaRS! I’m for sure not going to quit drinking/toking then!