first season
IT IS TIME TO DISTRACT OURSELVES FROM THE HORRORS
Clearly the best way to distract from the horrors is kitten photos.
We did the thing I had been waffling on for over a year and picked up Bug from a shelter this past Friday. He is the sweetest thing in the world, and hard to photograph when standing up because he is always advancing toward the cameraperson for pets. Bug (shelter name Demetrius: excuse me but wtf) is a lovey lovebug who loves love.
He has not fully met Murphy yet for several reasons: one being a little shelter cold (some sneezing, a leaky eye) that seems to be clearing up but that I do not want to spread to my OG cat, and the other reason of just following the standard advice of slow and careful introductions. We swap rooms and smells and Murphy so far does not seem to care too much: he did a hiss once when there was eye contact but it was more of a “fuck off, why are you so small” hiss than an “I’m going to kill you” hiss.
ISN’T SHE LOVELY
I have many Deep Thoughts about the Muppets (sorry not sorry) but my most recent one concerns Miss Piggy. I feel that in lesser creative hands Miss Piggy would come off as a joke, literal “ha ha lipstick on a pig,” and there would be quips about this narcissistic pig who thinks she’s some kind of queen. But Miss Piggy is not a joke at all. Miss Piggy is deadly serious as a character, and it works in part because she is legitimately a beautiful diva and the show treats her as such. The eye makeup, the jewelry, the blowout, the felt cleavage! The way everyone in the cast is slightly scared of her! (Sometimes because she literally hits them, which even as a kid I found kind of problematic, but that’s an essay for another day). The way she never fawns over celebrities (negging Martha Stewart!) because she knows she has just as much star power if not more.
A NEW WAY TO FLIRT
This past weekend I went to a goth dance party hosted by a Chicago-famous DJ, and it was great to see all the GenX bats and all the baby bats and drink a THC seltzer and wiggle around like a sea anemone under the blacklights.
I tend to be more aware of my fellow event-attenders on a dance floor than I ever would be at a rock show; there are just fewer places to direct your attention. So you either dance while staring at nothing or with your eyes closed (not great for balance unless you keep it super basic), or you end up noticing the people around you.
So I was goth-dancing my little heart out, spellcasting spirit fingers in full flutter, and I kept noticing this woman who would dance and then go stand on the edge of the dance floor for a while. She was holding this…thing. It was a light pink and looked to be made of some sort of plastic or something similar. It was shaped like a joystick and had a base like you could set it down somewhere and it would stay upright.
Okay, I’ll just come out and say this: it looked like a smallish dildo with a scrotal base. The woman, who was around my age, was holding the dick part near her face so that the balls part was pointed at me. Occasionally, probably because she noticed I kept glancing over at her while I was trying to figure out what the thing was, she would smile at me and sort of gesture with the object. Like, “Hi! See my dildo? I brought it to the club.”
I briefly thought it was the oddest possible form of flirting until I realized the thing was a personal fan, and because of the darkness and the spinning I could not see the fan part being a fan. I don’t know if I was relieved or disappointed (mostly relieved). This had the potential to be a real Douglas Adams, stranger-at-the-coffee-shop-eating-my-biscuits type of story, so I am glad I did not do anything strange like be “hi, your dildo is so cute” before I realized the facts of the matter.
—mimi smartypants is driving home with the sun in her eyes.