Saturday, September 07, 2013

48 down: i am writing a novel, and no you can't read it. (yet).

there are many reasons why i haven't been very good at keeping up ye olde blogge.  some are just circumstances of adulthood: marriage, baby, work, netflix, a stack of new yorkers that goes back over a year.  some are more complicated: loss, grief, guilt, and a general state of being, existentially, in a bad place, that makes you feel like you are walking underwater.  time softens these feelings; it doesn't kill them, but it makes them easier to live with.  a bit heavy when really all i need to say is i don't often find the time to write anymore.

which is actually untrue - i AM writing again.  for a two-year span all i wrote were letters to my daughter in her adorable woodlands creature notebook that serves as a baby book, and stream-of-conciousness rambling directed at my sister, who died in october of 2011.  i have to write at work as well, constantly, really, but those are emails and reports and project plans, and the less personality and creativity i put into them the better.  but now i am writing, for real.  i am working on a novel.  it doesn't have a name, and i don't have a good synopsis to share.  i can't actually say what genre it is, either, because if i say that the main character is an 18-year-old girl, that somehow automatically makes it "young adult," and if i mention that it takes place in the year 2125, that makes it "science fiction."  and i'm sorry, but i am not writing a YA sci-fi book.  i am actually, simply, writing a book that i would want to read, and one that delves into several themes that i am interested in, including:

  • environmental disaster
  • suicide
  • how you would live your life if you knew what age you would die
  • what a culture would be like if everyone knew this
  • family relationships, particularly sisters
  • popular music of the last half of the 20th century

i wrote my first-ever sex scene this week, and i am proud that it is not gratuitous or disgusting, nor is it swoony and victorian in its prudish avoidance of actually describing the fucking. all of the characters are named after countries, cities and states, and they live in chicago. and that's about all i can tell you.

EXCEPT i will say that i work music into the story quite a bit, and have started a playlist of all of the songs that i mention. while the novel is currently only 48 Word pages long (double-spaced; i estimate that it is about 16% complete), i have name-checked 57 songs and/or albums. i am hoping, at the end of the writing process, to have basically the ultimate playlist of the best songs from "rock around the clock" to whatever late-1999 track i manage to get in there; if not the best songs, then the ones that are the most meaningful to me, or are somehow representative.

i mention black sabbath's album paranoid in the novel, and as i built my playlist in itunes i realize that my affinity for black sabbath comes from listening to the record in my college boyfriend's dorm room, drunk and chain-smoking, and that i actually don't own it. i went to the itunes store and, after a bit of clicking around, realized that you can only buy live albums, covers, and kareoke backing tracks of black sabbath. i blame sharon for being a money-obsessed control freak. i ended up purchasing just the track "war pigs" from the rockabye baby series. it is actually kind of adorable - chimes and little birdie noises, a frog ribbit - you can barely discern that the missing lyrics begin "Generals gathered in their masses/Just like witches at black masses/Evil minds that plot destruction/Sorcerers of death's construction."

our friend ng gave us the nine inch nails rockabye baby album when nos was born, and i cannot stress enough that it is some of the creepiest fucking shit i have ever heard, and you are a terrible parent if you play this record for your infant.  i love nin; when it's done on a tinny xylophone, slowed down, you really do feel like you are about to be murdered.   

anyway, i am writing a novel, i don't know yet exactly what the message of it will be or where the plot will go, i don't know if anyone other than a few very tolerant friends will ever read it, and i don't really know WHY i am writing it, other than, simply, because i want to.  i hope to be done by march.  so, maybe i will periodically update this blog with updates about the novel and the writing process; not because all four of you who read this are dying with anticipation to know how very dumb the book has become, but because i think if i force myself to keep track of my progress, i will actually keep plugging away at it.

so: 48/300 today.  and believe me, i am a slow writer, so don't expect massive gains anytime soon.  


Monday, June 10, 2013

kind of a link dump: i am really mad at google reader.

oh lord jesus why am i so goddamned tired?  i am a person who has always cherished sleep, and i have the sort of toddler who i don't want to talk about too much because it comes across as bragging (because she is fucking perfection) but let's just say that i don't get out of bed -- ever -- before 8:30 am on the weekends, and she is still asleep when i leave on weekday mornings at 7:40.  i have woken up at 10:15 on a sunday and had a total moment of panicky "oh fuck i bet she's dead in there" and nope, she's just fucking awesome, still sleeping, or laying there amusing herself like the rad little kid that she is.

so anyway, we sleep in this family.  we lay in bed and we read, and then, when dumb shit like work doesn't get in the way, we loll about.  there are no morning jogs in my house.  there are no up-and-at-em, let's hit the farmers market before 7 and then run a 5k before lunch sorts of sundays.  naw, we're pajama people, catch-up-on-the-dvr,  maybe-i'll-make-pancakes-around-10:30 sorts.  and that's how i like it.  i am personally insulted every morning when my alarm goes off at 6:30 (7:00 if i took a shower the night before, 7:15 if i stopped giving a fuck).  and there are nights, like now, 8:45 pm, and i am fucking exhausted, for no reason other than maybe i didn't sleep in as late as i wanted this weekend, maybe i got up early this morning.  and like i said, it's not like i have the toddler who is demanding and screams at 5 am.  god help me if i have another one and they are an early riser.

i might be too tired to read tonight, and that's fucking my plans because DUDE i need to get through my google reader.

do not even get me started on how pissed i am that they are killing off the google reader on july 1.

i know that it requires like ZERO coding effort for them to keep it going.  no staff needed.  no redesigns or massive amounts of storage or resources have to be dedicated to the reader.  please, google, i beg of you, leave it alone.  it is how i read the internet.

i have a vast number of "starred" items, meaning things that i saw pop up in my reader list/newsfeed, didn't have time to read or watch, and starred so i could come back later.  i used to have well over 1,000 starred items, and have gotten it down to a manageable 300ish.  the problem is that i am definitely lacking in time.  sure, i could plow through 300 items, maybe, for the rest of the month, but some items will surely have to be sacrificed.  here is a smattering of what i have in my long-ass list that i don't know if i will be able to get to:

* "American Juggalo: The Movie" - i've been meaning to watch since Sept 2011, when i first starred it.  it's only 23 minutes and IT'S ABOUT JUGGALOS.  what have i been waiting for?

* it's an hour, and sure to be fucking amazing/depressing - a documentary called I.Think.We.Are.Alone.Now, about middle-aged men obsessed with 1980s pop star tiffany.

* a ton of posts about roger ebert from when he died, which i want to read, because i loved him, but, like, ugggh, no time.

* four million fucking recipes and design ideas and other stupid shit that i will pin to my pinterest boards, never to be looked at or thought of again.

* and then like 18,000 articles ranging from how taking tylenol can ease your existential crisis to stuff about how to be a better parent (step one: stop reading parenting articles on the internet) to silly things like posts about world goth day or long articles other people have recommended, like the moron who wrote friday night lights and then spent over half of a million dollars on gucci clothing.

okay, so i have signed up for a new account with the old reader (um, catchy name?) and i have 20 days to get cracking.  which i will do RIGHT NOW.  sigh.  i wish i wasn't so zzzzzzzzzzz.


Monday, June 03, 2013

my art collection: kozik nirvana show poster


the first time i saw a frank kozik print was in a feature of him in details magazine in the mid-1990s.  details used to be soooo awesome. it was written for men who like good music and cleavage and/or maybe were a little gay, and for the women (teen girls) who could overlook the men's grooming articles and actresses-in-bikinis pictorials because otherwise it was super effing hip.  i bought TWO copies of the february 1995 issue, one to cut up and hang photos on my wall and one to keep FOREVER, due to michael stipe being on the cover and a black and white photo of him hitch-hiking, pantless, inside (PS: how is that photo not found anywhere on the internet?).  


this was pre-internet, of course, and it was difficult to find cool articles and photos of bands and musicians i loved, like tori amos, veruca salt, elastica and liz phair, and my bedroom walls were a collage of photos ripped out of details, spin and rolling stone (all sassy magazines were too holy to deface or dismember).  the kozik article (which i cannot find online) showed a few of his prints, and the nirvana poster blew me away.  i tore the page out and hung it not only on my bedroom wall but took it to college and to my first apartment, and several apartments after that and, due to hoarder tendencies, i bet i could find it (as well as that stipe details) within 20 minutes in a box in my basement.  i LOVED it.

i'm not sure what it is precisely that i am so enamored with.  the unexpected darkness to a happy image, of course: the perfect boy and girl from a 1950s picture book dancing in a field with a deformed monster, the little girl's metal hook for a hand.  part of it may even be just the position of the monster's hand, finger delicately raised to a butterfly, frolicking in the sun.  the bands are fucking brilliant - nirvana headlining with the breeders and shonen knife opening - what a completely early-90s lineup: the best band with the best side project and the best japanese oddity (sorry, cibo matto).  the colors: flourescent (even after 20 years, still day-glo and bright), but not too loud.  it says everything about what i find funny and true without really making a statement.    

this print became sort of the holy grail of awesomeness for me.  i wanted it, of course, but i didn't know where i would ever find one.  ebay became a thing, later, but i was in my early 20s and broke and/or spending money on things like vacations and booze, so i never even looked for it.  i think i did once, because i ended up with some other koziks (maybe i will post about them later) that were not expensive at all - $40 each, maybe.  i can imagine spending up to $60 each, but that's it, and i never got them properly framed.  framing almost always costs more than the thing you are actually framing, of course.  

i do know, around 2004, that the standard price i was seeing for the nirvana kozik print was around $400 (it's currently in the $250-300 range, methinks).  and then someone offered it, FRAMED, with FREE SHIPPING, for $300 on ebay, and i ended up winning the auction, and i was soooooo stoked.  i ended up paying $364 for it and couldn't believe my luck . . . until the seller let me know that she had accidentally broken the frame, and did i still want it, and if i do, do i still want it framed, and yes, i purchased it framed so get it fixed, and then . . . silence.  she kept my money and never responded to my (increasingly annoyed and probably crazy) emails, and i had to spend three months asking paypal and ebay and my credit card to get my money back.  

this was in 2004, during friendster's heyday, before facebook, and i found the seller online.  she was a fashion designer in new york; her show, consisting of white satin gowns with DANZIG bedazzled on the ass, was even reviewed by the washington post (it mentioned crooked hemlines and the like), and i took a certain perverse glee in being *kind of* a crazy bitch toward her.  nothing seriously mean.  after it became pretty apparent that she was just going to keep my $364, i set up a friendster account under the name "Nirvana Poster" - my photo was the one that she had presumably taken in her living room - and, under "career" i entered something stupid like "hanging on (seller's name)'s wall" and, under "hobbies," i entered something even stupider, like "wishing that i lived in chicago, with the girl who bought me but was ripped off."  then i sent the seller a friendster rose - apparently the 2004 equivalent of a facebook poke or a stupid online dating wink or whatever - and BITCH SENT ME A MESSAGE BACK THAT SAID "HEY, I HAVE THAT POSTER, TOO!"  then i replied with something that was almost certainly ridiculous and perhaps a little insane.  nothing threatening, just a simple "hey, fuckface, i want my money back, or the poster, you choose," or similar.  

what?  i was younger then, and i don't handle being disrespected or stolen from very well.  no apologies for that.  

so then i gave up on the dream for a while.  it was definately back-burner, when i have more money, someday . . . 

and then, out of nowhere, on the morning of my 35th birthday (damn, gurl, you middle-aged already?) my husband brought a long brown cardboard mailing tube into our bedroom with a sweet smile.  i hyperventilated when i saw it.  it is just as awesome as i always knew it was. more, because he got it for me.  he actually saw nirvana on that tour (i never got to see them) and understands my 90s rock geekouts.  it's signed (kozik 93, in pencil, at the bottom) and numbered (kozik 93-47 - i assume that this is #47 from the original run).  

i was super pleased, when i took it to michael's to get framed (gotta wait for those 60% + 10% off coupons for custom framing), that the guy who took my order looked like a mid-40s alice in chains super fan - long hair, chain wallet, black boots with his khaki pants uniform.  he was stoked to see it - "awww, man, THIS poster!" and we talked about kozik and nirvana and bands we wish we had been able to see but never did.  

it now hangs in our bedroom.  i like looking at it every morning.  naomi likes it, too - we talk about it.  girl, boy, silly kitty, butterfly, flowers.  it's very kid-friendly, with a sharp edge.  it's 20 years later and it is still seriously fucking awesome.  

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

i made this: pull cords for closet lights; alternate title: rambling about beads n shit

pos bought our house in 1998 (i was in college, eight years before we started dating).  it's cute and well-maintained and has a lot of great features, and we can't wait to move.  i was kind of planning to not bitch in blog experiment 2.0, unless it is truly warranted, and it's seriously a FIRST-WORLD PROBLEM to say whhhhaaaa, i wish i had a patio, booooo, i want a bigger kitchen, so i will not indulge my inner brat.  i will, however, brag a little if i make something crafty and cool to improve my house.

i have stopped trolling music blogs for mp3s, now that spotify exists, and also, i am sad to report, i think i don't really care that much anymore.  oh, a solo artist i have never heard of recorded a cover of a semi-offense hip-hop song?  zzzzz.  (unless, of course, it is "my neck my back" by elle king - so rad).  my reading tastes have started swaying more towards indie rock girls who craft and home-owner blogs, people who show how to change the appearance of your fireplace, or "lifehacks" for improving your kitchen storage.  

i saw this example of a super easy little crafty project that spoke to me as: it's easy; it's cheap; it's something i can take with me when we do indeed move (whenever that may be.  are you interested in a three-bedroom chicago bungalow in the garfield ridge neighborhood?).  

i am a lucky lady for many reasons; one of them is because my husband keeps all of his clothes in the basement, both in the laundry room and in what we affectionately call "the gimp room," named as such because it is a creepy little square drywalled off in the southwest corner of the basement and, at one time, had a crappy plywood half-door, presumably for the previous homeowner's dogs but, in our minds for amusement, the room is meant for, um, other pets.  the gimp room is over-run with sterilite bins containing clothes i wore 10 years ago and still, for whatever fucking reason, want to keep, as well as every single baby item we ever purchased or had gifted to us, just in case.  i mean, it will pay off, obviously, if i have a second daughter someday, but for now it is a maze of plastic bins stuffed with pink corduroys and hello kitty sleepwear.  (and i say this meaning both the clothes i wore 10 years ago and naomi's clothing).  

all of pos' clothes in the basement mean that i get all of the closets upstairs. naomi's clothes obviously occupy the closet in her room (along with the spare bathroom items like biore strips and razor refills, as well as the costco hauls of toilet paper and a hanging closet organizer containing our kitchen and bathroom towels).  the closet in the "front hall" (two square feet of space) holds our coats, winter accessories, and rain boots, as well as: all of the gifts i purchase through the year in advance of christmas or birthdays because i love a deal, you never know when you will need a quick present, and because i have hoarding tendencies; a blue duffel bag full of things from my sister's apartment that i am not ready to either open and deal with OR write about here; and a stacked organizer of crafting materials (see my remarks re: gifts in closet).  BUT this means i get the closet in our bedroom (which holds pants, suits i need for work, and dresses) and the closet in the guest room/tv room/play room (which holds tops).  also, there are shoes, like, everywhere.  

they are simple closets - a door, two shelves spanning the tops, room on the floor for a shelving unit to hold our sheets in one and a firesafe lockbox in the other.  there are plain lightbulbs that screw into the fixtures on the ceiling with short ball chains to turn them on or off.  tied to the ball chain in the bedroom was a white string with a weird heavy pull at the bottom; in the guest room, it was a mustard-yellow piece of yarn.  both, i firmly believe, were tied there well before i was born.

my craft materials hoarding is not a new thing; to make my new light pulls, i dug out an old jar full of beads that i have had forever.  my mom used to take my sister and i to auctions - classy yard sales, really - and we once made off with a pile of old jewelry and loose beads, enough to last us for decades, apparently.  my sister and i made jewelry all the time when we were younger, and i was never terribly discerning about what materials i was using - when my friend stephanie's beaded car seat cover (remember those?  were they meant to "massage" you?) broke, we used those giant wood beads to make necklaces, and i would string random things on a chain and wear it - a whistle, plastic charms from the 80s, a tiny bottle of perfume.  i used to love buying polished rocks at national park gift shops (random hobby) and i wrapped one of my favorites in wire and strung a cord through it to wear it. one kid in my class remarked that i would wear anything as a necklace, and i agreed, and he brought me in a small square of wood with a hold drilled into it, strung on a length of sewing thread, meant to be a good-natured joke, and i wore it, thinking it was funny and sweet that this kid would carefully drill a hole into a chip for me.

i hadn't paid any attention to the jar full 'o beads in a good 15 years when i pulled it out and started sorting through them.  for some reason there were a lot of asian-influenced beads and pendants, fake pearls, and some really bright and beautiful glass beads in all sorts of shapes. i kind of regretted not doing anything with them for years.


the first pull i made is mostly the colorful glass, with some beads from a necklace i distinctly remember buying at urban outfitters in 1992, the end a beautiful art deco clear glass flower, like a barely-opened angel trumpet.  it's hanging in the tv room closet.

the second one i made is in my bedroom.  i found a long string of small polished tiger's eye chips with holes drilled in, obviously another gift shop purchase, but i am pretty sure they were my sister's - extras left over from one of her projects.  she loved tiger's eye, and they remind me of her.  well, pretty much everything reminds me of her.  i added some small fake (probably, i guess) pearls to the top and the bottom, added a pretty mod-shaped orange bead, and capped the end with a white plastic elephant.  i think it looks pretty sweet.

i made them two weeks ago and i am always happy to see them when i go into the closets.  i want to make one for the front hall closet; the light in naomi's closet is broken, but i could make one for her after that is fixed.  they are coming with me when we sell the house and leave.  unless, of course, i can add another thousand to the cost.  then we'll see.  

Sunday, May 19, 2013

recommended reading: new yorker profile of george r.r. martin


it's sunday, which is usually tv night for me.  all of the big, amazing cable shows are my sunday night viewing: breaking bad, mad men, downton abbey, game of thrones, dexter, girls.  back in the day, six feet under, which will forever be my favorite, was my sunday night viewing; sometimes i would go to an awesome dc indie theater called visions and watch it at the bar.   


i didn't think i would like game of thrones.  dragons and magic - fucking barf.  it still perplexes some of my friends how i don't like the lord of the rings, and i haven't read a "fantasy" novel (harry potter and vampire high schoolers included) since the lion, the witch and the wardrobe was assigned in sixth-grade reading class.  it still takes me great pleasure to imagine my husband, pos - who i met as an awesome, confident, indie-rock-loving mid-30s man - as an awkward, zitty, mulleted, dungeons-and-dragons-playing nerd teenager.  he is unapologetic about his dork past, other than the hair.  

i mean really, i HATE fantasy, as a genre and even as a word.  i can barely look at old led zeppelin album art without rolling my eyes, and i love led zep.  it's just that the real world is so much more interesting and full of possibility than made up lands with little puppet people and magical powers and medieval throwback bullshit.  EXCEPT FOR STAR WARS, cuz that shit is awesome.  okay, it's an imperfect and irrational hatred, but trust me, the fantasy genre is not my thing.

but then people kept talking about game of thrones, and pos would come home from work sunday nights and make a beeline for the dvr so he could watch it, and people who i never thought would be into it were telling me to give it a chance.  so i started with season one, using on-demand, skeptical, and crammed the first two seasons in as quickly as i could while still holding down a job and not neglecting my child.  i thought it was awesome: sprawling, creepy, funny, dramatic, and addictive, not to mention fantastically acted and written.  by the time dragons were introduced, i was like, fuck yeah, the dragon eggs are gonna hatch!  i love how big of a bastard joffrey is.  i love daenerys' story arc.  i love how sometimes i have no idea what the hell is going on.  i love that i just tried googling "peter dinklage" and all i had to type in was "pete" for him to be the first auto-fill choice.  i am a convert.

i have zero interest in reading the books, however.  i am still not interested in fantasy as literature, and i have a stack of things i've been wanting to read that will take me into next century.  in fact, i was reading from the bottom of my pile of new yorkers this weekend and came across a great profile of george r.r. martin, published before the game of thrones series on hbo started, and before the publication of the fifth book in the series, which was apparently rather delayed, much to the severe consternation of his obsessed fans.  

check it out, even if you have no interest in him as a writer or the books, because it is also a great exploration of what fans think they are owed by their favorite artists.  

also, i would be remiss to not also post this amazing behind-the-scenes video, courtesy of snl.  the nudity and sex doesn't always further the story or make sense (i'm looking at you, completely gratuitous scene when littlefinger (ug, that name) instructs two of his hookers how to get it on), but i have a soft spot for awkward fantasy dorks who have never seen real-life boobs.



Saturday, May 18, 2013

no idea how that happened.

hi.

it's been a while.

a lot has happened.

a lot has changed.

i don't know why i want to start blogging again; i have missed it, but not terribly.  i have stuff to say, in general, the way that people, in general, have opinions and thoughts, but i don't want to be a reviewer, mommy blogger, pop culture snark, or diarist.  i don't want to make money off of my blog, i don't want anyone other than my friends to actually know who i am, i don't want to humblebrag about my kid, i don't want to gain self-respect and fulfillment by showing step-by-step instructions on how to create wedding centerpieces out of mason jars and glow sticks and dead butterflies, and i don't want to thinspire you with my weight-loss journey.  

no offense if that's what you write, or what you like to read.  i have pinterest boards dedicated to things like brunch recipes and wrapping-paper storage, and i never met an online diatribe about the show SCANDAL that i didn't enjoy reading, so i'm not exactly above it all.  maybe it's being 36 (fuck, no idea how that happened), and married, and a mother, and mid-career (at the same job, mind you, that i had when i started this blog - fuck, no idea how that happened), and . . . just adjusting, every day, to what this life is that i both decided on and was unwittingly given.  

now i am boring myself.

no one cares why anyone else has a blog.

hope you visit again.

hope i keep writing.  

Thursday, February 24, 2011

vote for panda

when i married pos, he came with a few things neatly built in: a house. a car. an insurance agent whom he and other members of his family had used for years. so adult! i was a bus-riding renter who had filled out an online form to cover my apartment's contents in case carol, the elderly hoarder next door, fell asleep (or died) and a candle she had forgotten about burned all of her newspapers saved since the mid-80s and gutted our building.

i didn't realize that "i have an insurance agent" could mean "i will now receive totally ridiculous and insanely unprofessional emails from this person."

the first email was to announce her sister's dog's participation in some online beauty contest or some shit like that (i didn't really read very closely). i saw "hello to my family and friends" and assumed that she accidentally CC'd me. i mean, seriously, i've never met her; all i know is that she did FUCK ALL for us when our basement flooded with sewer water this summer after the city's infrastructure basically crumbled after a flash flood. that was an increadibly pleasant experience and i certainly don't resent my ruined basement, lost youth (goodbye to my CD collection and years' worth of writings, mementos, and irreplaceable items), or the fact that i was five months pregnant and surrounded by city of chicago fecal matter and gallons and gallons of bleach. interesting that FEMA came to our door, looked at the damage and wrote us a check; THANKS SO MUCH, INSURANCE LADY, FOR YOUR ZERO ASSISTANCE. i mean, what's insurance for, anyway, if not for us to pay hundreds of dollars a year and then be turned away when we actually need help, due to fine-print exemptions?

Hello to My Family & Friends:

We have entered Panda, my sister Rosalie's long coat Chihuahua, into the BISSELL'S MVP Photo Contest. Because of Panda's unique coloring/markings, we felt he had a good chance to win. With your help, if Panda wins, we would love to donate the first prize money, $10,000, to the Hinsdale Humane Society. Additionally, Panda would be featured on the Bissell Pet Vac advertisement.

Panda is Charles brother. Charles is my Long Coat Chihuahua that is a volunteer at the Hinsdale Humane Society. He is on the Pet a Pet program where he visits the assisted living facilities bringing joy to many of the elderly residents.
See their picture together attached.
If I have sent this email, please know I consider you family or a close friend. It is not often I do something like this, however, it is for a good cause. The Hinsdale Humane Society would benefit greatly to be the recipient of this prize.

So,
PLEASE VOTE DAILY for PANDA. Just in case you forget, I will send you a reminder each day to Vote till the contest ends. If you wish not to participate, please reply to this email and write UNSUBSCRIBE ME in the Subject line.

i guess i could have unsubscribed, but i hadn't read that far. i obviously was not voting daily for panda.

the second email arrived the next day and said:

Reminder, please vote for today if you have not voted yet.
Thank you.

i deleted it, annoyed. the third arrived five days later. it was in giant, bold letters:

Last Day to VOTE for Panda., in this session Lets come in strong to get him into the finals.
Grand Prize will be donated to the Hinsdale Humane Society. Thank you to all my wonderful family and friends for voting.

the only reason i am sharing this is the fourth email, which just did it for me with its ridiculousness. there are so many unintentionally hilarious things about this email. also, how does she know that i didn't vote? and i kind of doubt that it's "ok too."

she's pissed about BLIND CATS. so fucking awesome.

Sorry to say, Panda did not place.

Sessions 1, 2, 3, and now 4 Blind Cats have won...Panda is not only the wrong species, he's not blind. Therefore, I choose not to enter him into the remaining sessions 5-12.

Blind Cats have a much bigger following than a cute little Chihuahua named Panda could have. However, I want to thank all my loyal friends and family who took the time every day to vote, I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

Each and everyone of you know I would drop everything to help you, so your taking the time to help me for a good cause speaks volumes to me. I know who you are, and I really love you for being so wonderful....and those who didn't vote, I know who you are, and that is ok too.