The Electric Kitty Litter Box of Insanity...

no one can see me...

laundry...fresh from the dryer...

So, I live in a home with two kitties. They are sisters, and I've known them since they were tiny kittens. They look almost identical, which is part of their, "It wasn't me, you obviously have me confused with somebody else" scam.

Several years ago they were left in a box on the porch at the house where I was staying. Of course, upon discovery, they used all of their "supernatural kitten powers of unreasonable cuteness" to get adopted by these homeowners. I mean, it was ridiculous.

Anyway, they aren't mine, but I'm quite attached to them (the cats, not the homeowners...although they are lovely people).

Back then the kitties ended up with their own room. I told you...TOTAL con artists. They have no shame.

It's now several years later, and I'm back in Arizona...again staying with my friends...and with these unreasonably cute cats. My friends needed to relocate, and they ended up moving into a smaller space with one less room. I am really fond of these fuzzy little jerks, so I volunteered to have their litter box and food dishes in my room.

Shut up. They're really cute (the cats, not the dishes and the litter box...although they are just lovely).

Anyway, they don't just have a regular, run of the mill litter box. No. They have some kind of fancy, motor driven, electric litter box that cost several hundred dollars and has a lifetime guarantee. I'm surprised it doesn't have a horn and an airbag.

Or maybe it does.

All I know is that for some reason both cats have to poop at around 3am every morning...and it's an extended, sequential sort of endeavor. I will be sound asleep, in the dark, and I will hear, "scratch, scratch, scratch......scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...............................scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...," until I finally sit up and yell, "REALLY?" at which time the first cat will finally stop scratching and exit the box.

For you to fully understand what I am about to describe to you, I must tell you that the electric kitty box is motion triggered, but that it also has a five minute delay (so as not to disturb the fuc***g kitty)...so, just when I start to get settled back into sleep, the dark silence is suddenly broken with, "RRRRRRR...rrrrrrr...RRRRRRR.......RRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRR.........squeak, squeak, squeak...RRRRRRR...rrrrrr...RRRRRRRRR...thud."

And then, it is quiet again...and dark...and peaceful...and I am just drifting off, back to sleep,,,when I suddenly hear, "scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.........scratch.............scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.................scratch, scratch, scratch...," until I finally bolt upright screaming, "ARE YOU FUC***G KIDDING ME!!??" at which time the second kitty will abruptly exit the box. (while also dodging my slipper).

By now I'm wide awake, huddled in the dark, tormented and WAITING,,,,because there is a five minute delay...and I KNOW it's coming...any second...any second now...it's coming..., "RRRRRRR...rrrrrrr...RRRRRRRR...RRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRRR...squeak, squeak, squeak....RRRRRRRR...rrrrrr...RRRRRRRRRR...thud."

And, it's done. There is peace...quiet...for a few seconds...

Right until both kitties decide that they are hungry, and will go over to their little glass food bowls, and I will hear. "clink, clink, clink............crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch...clink, clink...crunch, crunch, crunch..."

By the time the kitties decide they need to bury their leftover food for later, I am close to losing it, and they will claw pointlessly on the wall.

"Scratch, scratch, scratch......scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.................scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch...scratch, scratch..."

That's when I always clumsily turn on my bedside table lamp and maniacally flip the covers back, only to see both cats retreating hastily from the room.

This is what I usually look like in the morning.

No, not really. That was after I got some sushi from a gas station. (Don't ever do that).

Anyway, my friends think the cats might be doing it intentionally to purposely mess with my head. I don't think so, because every time I see them the next day, they are SO friendly, and unreasonably cute.

And besides...I always ultimately manage to get my sleep.

Right up until they climb into my venetian blinds.

Poetic Justice Delivered Via Fighter Jet...

I'm not usually pro anything when it comes to violence, or news about war and political unrest. It's always sad, frustrating, depressing...and I, like many I would imagine, feel helpless to do anything but watch it unfold.

So, I found myself a little surprised that I was actually slightly giddy about one of the items that came across my news feed.

It seems that The United Arab Emerates has their first female fighter jet pilot. It also seems that she drew the assignment of bombing the crap out of some ISIS targets in Syria,

It was her job, and I'm sure that it wasn't personal...right? But, there is a certain poetic justice involved in the fact that this obviously extremely competent and driven female soldier, from an Arab country, was firing missiles at men who would stone her to death if she inadvertently revealed her ankle at the bottom of her Burka...at men who would deny her access to education...at men who would punish her severely for failing to walk behind them in the street...at men who might actually kill her if she dared give voice to any contradictory opinion...

This woman not only participated in the bombing raids. She led them. And she was apparently disowned by her family for doing it.

I admittedly don't understand all of the cultural and religious complexities over there, and I admittedly use my western sensibilities as a yardstick by which to measure the "rightness" or "wrongness" of things...and this is biased and only partially informed.

As much as I am aware of this, however, I can't seem to overcome the impulse to jump up and down and fist pump the air over this story.

I know that sometimes crews on bombing missions would paint names on the sides of their bombs. I've always thought they should put female names on them...and I guess sometimes they do.

Then give them to Maj. Mariam Al Monsouri, and send her up in her F-16,

BOOM!

A non-sequitur moment

A waffle bird, For no apparent reason.

Thank you.

If God barfs Fruit Loops, MY mom can photograph it...

Look at what MY mom can do! She has the MAD skills with scenic and wildlife photography, Thanks to her love of nature and the lens, I grew up in and around some of the most wild and BEAUTIFUL places in the United States.

I am quite proud of her....

I have often longed to have the artisitic eye that she does.

I think her work is just amazing...she really has so much to do with my ability to see the world and all of it's beauty. These are just a few pics that she put up in celebration of Autumn, which is her favorite season.

I can see why it is! Who could ask for a better and more enthusiastic subject to photograph. It's nature, all dressed up! Or as I remember hearing that one of our friends' children described it, "It's like God threw up Fruit Loops."

Beautiful, right?

My mother's work has always made me wish I had the talent that she does. I'm going to keep trying in the hopes the photography gene might have been passed to me. Here's one of my most recent:

It's just our toaster, but I have to start somewhere.

I think maybe the photography thing isn't genetic. Dammit.

All up in my colon...yo.

So, it has been a long time since I've written anything publically, that was intended to be seen by anyone more than my friends and family. I'm trying the "freelance" writing thing (code word for 'I'm still broke).

I had to write a LOT in graduate school, and it had to be technically correct. Professors hated when I didn't spel stuff rite. Dammit. I would get my papers back all marked up with red ink. Go figure.

When I started actually TEACHING college (stop laughing) Washington State University (Go Cougs) had initiated a "writing portfolio" program. This is a program whereforeby (hee, hee) every undergraduate had to take a basic exam, and also submit three pieces of writing from their academic adventures before WSU would grant them a degree. These pieces of writing had to be approved by the professor or instructor of the course from which they originated. WSU, apparently, wanted to be sure they were producing literate graduates.

Whatever. All I know is that a lot of MY students wanted to submit papers that they had written for the courses that I had taught. So, I ended up having a whole bunch of students showing up at my office asking me to sign off on these term papers so that they could include them in their writing portfolio. Students and papers that I hadn't seen in several years...and I had to look at them from a whole new grammaristical lens.

Yes, I know I just made up a word. Stop judging.

Anyway, I invested in my own red pen (mine had sparkly ink), and I went to town, quickly discovering that I had no idea what I was doing. And, I still have no idea what I am doing.

For the record, I want to state now that I am fully aware of this. Although I am revisiting the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation on a "need to know" basis, I am going to continue to completely offend grammatararian sensibilities. I am going to continue to use creative spelling and to just make shit up when I am lacking a vocabulary word. I am going to continue to completely obliterate the rules of syntax and punctuation. My participles are going to freely dangle, and my tenses are going to have a time/space continuum crisis. Most importantly, I am going to continue to misuse these thingies.........these...thingies....

It isn't because I have no respect for the English language. It is because I'm lazy and ignorant. Duh!

Actually, I am going to take the time to refresh myself on the "rules." I would rather have a sharp stick directly in my eye than do that, but I can't call myself an 'author' (or 'autor' if I'm using the keyboard with no "h" on it) if I don't do the WORK. Blech. Ugh. Gross.

It will probably take me a few years to figure out the appropriate time and manner by which how to properly utilize......these....thingies....so, in the meantime, don't be a hater. Yo.

My first effort at filmaking...bugs in Oklahoma

I think I might be an Oscar contender...although the actors were a bit over-dramatic.

Post by Joanna Nicholson.

Who is narcissitic? Meme! Meme!

So, as part of this whole "freelance" thing, I apparently have to produce online "content"...which, translated, means I have to write a lot. I mean, a LOT. Which, first of all, means I have to get out of bed. Like, EVERY day. Bummer.

But secondly, and even more importantly, I have to write about singular topics. As if my brain can even stay on one topic long enough to actually form a linear

Squirrel!

Anyway, as I was saying, I've always wanted to try whitewater kayacking in an actual kayack.

No. That's NOT what I was saying. What I was saying was, if I want to write and get paid for it, I am going to need ideas. And then, I'm going to need a thesaurus. And THEN, I'm going to have to write about stuff that is both interesting and coherent.

Stop laughing. Gawd. It's not as if

Squirrel? Where!!??

Anyway, as I was saying, that seems like an unusually long gestation period for a fruit bat.

No. That's NOT what I was saying. I was saying something about content....content...

Oh! I know! I've discovered memes. I have a "meme generator" (back off, ladies). I don't think it will necessarily help with the actual "using of the words in a proper syntax and reasonably close spelling or punctuation" kind of way, but it does seem to be sparking some ideas. I've made a bunch of them. I will go ahead and apologize RIGHT NOW.

I will also apologize right now for what I'm sure will be my WILDLY subtle attempts to garner an audience, and to generally draw attention to my...CONTENT.

"Hi. How are you? Would you like to come upstairs and see my...content? Hey, where you going?"

Did I use "garner" correctly? I still need the thesaurus. And a computer with a fuc*^ng "h"...

Anyway, as I was saying, it is completely illegal to do that with a snowman in Vermont after Labor Day. Go ahead. Google it.

So nofabitch

So.myfriendTo   nyasuggestedI      solvemy"h"prob           lembysimplyattachinga                  keyboardtomyUSBport.An   d I saystoher"well,thatwouldtotallymakesense!"       Whichnormallywou   ldmeanthatI          wouldtotallyNOTdothat.

              Ispenta   whole   fifteendollarson   thisf**^#ng    thing.

Godd*^$nspacebar      eithersticks,              oryouhave   to    stab   itlikeitatethelastpieceofpizza.

    Stupid!Stupid!Stupid!

Motherf*^%$ngstupiddumba**co^#suckingboneheadedsquirrelhuntingbackwoodsmotherfu**#ghelmetwearinga**hole!!!!!

Wat te ell!!??

So, I am trying some freelance writing. Yes. I'm kind of excited about it. Wit one notable exception. I am trying to write on a keyboard tat as no letter ayts. I'm not sure ow I will do it. But someow I will overcome tis obstacle.

It all started wen I first traded tis computer for some camo pants. Don't ask, tat is for anoter blog entry. Ey, I also got a really cool Dodge Ram Extended Cab Pickup truck with matcing red canopy, for a 1972 Onda CL-motorcycle. Craigslist is a neat invention...and my friend Cwis is a genius! But, I digress.

Tis computer, a Tosiba Satellite Media Edition, is really cool. I can ook up surround sound speakers, or play video games until I explode! I can do tis wit te coolest grapics you could imagine. I can stream movies, and play my extensive music collection in forty seven different modes, wile also designing blueprints for my next gazebo project (peraps anoter blog entry).

Yes, tis is a cool laptop. But te aytse was loose on te keyboard. My friend Randy originally traded the aytse key for te "alt" key, and after some adjustment, I was off and typing. But, a few monts later, te aytes key just popped completely loose and flew rite off te keyboard.

My friend Cwis and I tried taking it to a computer repair person, woo informed me tat ee couldn't replace te one key, but could order a replacement keyboard for te low, low price of $110.00. Wits was stupid! Stupid!

I carried around my broken off aytse key for monts. Monts, I say! Several people tried to re-attats it for me, to no avail. Te stupid ting would just pop off again. After my ex-spousal person told me tat I sounded like Elmer Fudd, my friend Mary decided tat maybe it just needed some super glue. So, se tried tat. It didn't old my aytse on, at all, but it did goober up te keyboard so tat no key would ever go tere again. No "aytse", no "alt", no "f1-f12"...

So, as I move fort wit te umble task of reacing tose new lofty literary eigts...of sowing off my genius...I will ave to ope tat I will not be called upon to review "Orton ears a oo"..or discuss orrifying alitosis...or write an article for e-ow about ow ard it is to andle andguns wile aving earing impairment. Or someting.

Guess I'll be borrowing Mary's laptop for a wile.

Oly ell.

Apparently, she's an oxy-moron...

Inigo Montoya in 'The Princess Bride' uttered the wonderful line, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think that it means." Inconceivable!

Remember the little kid who was recently captured by a local newscaster using the word "apparently" a lot? I think he was about four years old. It was so cute, this little guy including such large vocabulary in his responses. We would have expected him to yell something about Legos, or how his hamster doesn't like pizza. But no. Apparently, he was so cute he made it onto Ellen.

I received this text a few weeks ago. It said, "And I'm not even sure if this is you, but if it is it would be nice to let me know that is you. I am aware of how oxymoronic that sounded, but you know me. I'm very redundant,"

About a week later, I received, "I'm up at the annual campout that my dad goes to every year. Wow. That was oxymoronic..."

Then we actually talked on the phone. I heard the word repeatedly. Because she's very, well, redundant. The thing is, she kept using that word. I do not think it means what she thinks that it means.

An oxymoron is when two apparently contradictory words appear together. You know: Jumbo shrimp. Dull roar. Government intelligence.

Smart blonde.

I know an oxymoron when I see an oxymoron, and ma'am, you are no oxymoron. It's bitter sweet.

Coleyzzz: In Sickness and in Health

Coleyzzz: In Sickness and in Health

Morning Hair Collection

Sometimes my hair is awake way before I am.

I love it's enthusiasm.

Playing Arizona

 So, I'm back to playing...and about to make it a focus again. The community here is incredible, active, fun, and supportive. While I'm here I am going to have fun.

Well, I already am....:)

I think I would have to make a real effort to NOT have fun. After careful consideration, I've decided to enjoy myself. I've met a lot of enthusiastic, inspiring and beautiful (inside and out) women.

 I'm having a blast. I'm fairly certain I'll be able to come out of the pool soon, as it is starting to cool down. Which is good. It's difficult to play guitar if it is on fire.

Mobile Bosemobile

Meet my new car, or as I like to refer to it...my mobile Bose.

It has tinted windows, heated seats, an automated moon roof, and a 6 CD Bose stereo system.

 It has dual climate control, brilliant sound reducing tires, a telescopic self adjusting steering wheel, and a Bose stereo.

It also has leather interior, and a Bose.

The seats auto adjust to each driver when you put the key in. And it has a really cool stereo. It's a Bose.

It has navigation and digital readout.

And a Bose.

It isn't my Red Rambo...but my Red` Rambo didn't have a Bose. This thing has a Bose. Did I mention the Bose? It has a Bose stereo. It can vibrate the dust off of my boots.

So, sometimes I find myself in the garage, just listening to music. On the Bose stereo. Which is apparently surrounded by a very nice car...with an impeccable maintenance record and low miles.

If it does ever develop a clang or a clunk, I probably won't know for a while. My Bose stereo might be up too loud.

This is the nicest mobile stereo I have ever owned...my Bose on wheels. My Bosemobile.

Stick to the road! Don't go out on the moors!

So, I might go to England.

Spot on!

I'd love to catch the trolley to the lift, but I'm stuck in the loo watching the telly.

Someone has unexpectedly offered me a plane ticket to England. Someone I don't know, but who has followed me for years with my music, on my facebook page, and on this blog. And I am actually considering it. I'm going to go ahead and get my passport...which involves lines at the post office, and bureaucratic fun...and I probably won't get it until I need a walker...but I'm going to at least start the process.

Why would I go to a country I've never been to, on a continent I haven't visited since I was an infant? And put my trust in a total stranger? Might you ask...?

Because, life is short, and I don't think I would do much worse with trust in a total stranger than I have with those who claim to care most about me. And, I am trying to start again from nothing-and I am very tired. Very, very tired. Came to Springfield to open a thrift store, ended up in a friggin' domestic violence shelter...

The last two women expressing romantic interest in me turned rather abruptly when I either did not feel the love connection, or had concerns about anger and sobriety stuff...one punched me in the face and called me a whore, the other threatened me with witchcraft. The one who punched me in the face also beat up the one who threatened me with witchcraft. Oh...dyke drama. Gotta love it.

Thank goodness my friend from eleven years ago, from way back when I was in this region applying for grad school, had returned to Springfield. I'm staying in her room with her...an uncomfortable arrangement that I can get out of, AGAIN, if I take a deep breath and do a bunch of stuff I don't really want to do again...again...alone...with change in my pocket...dependent...no room of my own (as Virginia Woolf would observe)...to start again...

I've run all over the United States.  Why not a totally new continent?

England! Big Ben! Driving on the other side of the road! I'll be the one with an accent! Tea! Royalty! Castles! Diversity! Lingering resentments over the whole "Independence" thing!

 I'm insisting on a round trip ticket. Unless I abruptly get married over there or something (thank goodness I'm not impulsive like that or anything), I would come back...the ugly American...although, it's pretty groovy to think that someone thinks I'm shagalicious enough to fly me across an ocean.

No, I'm not a plane ticket ho. Unless it's someplace tropical.

Just kidding! No shagging on the first intercontinental date.

Maybe I'll meet a lesbian named Helga with really bad teeth and run away to Holland, where I will learn to milk cows properly and yodel while wearing wooden clogs.

It is much too soon to hope for such things.

Oh, BEHAVE!