kelland

One of my best friends died last week. My cat Meeko. My family adopted him ten years ago to this month. Meeko was an affectionate cat. An agreeable cat. He rarely misbehaved... and even when he did, he always fashioned that adorable, completely forgivable face. He was a slender Siamese with gigantic blue eyes, a slick, sleek coat, and a tongue that couldn't resist the human face. I remember watching From Dusk Till Dawn on the couch when he was baby and I was nearly a baby. Every time I got scared, I would hide underneath a blanket and squeeze him tightly. He was scared too, I could tell. I remember Shannon and I training him to hop up and down our stairs at the old house. He always made noises when he ate cat food. And we took so many pictures of him as a baby. He was adorable, and he stayed small for a very long time. He always slept with me. He stayed in my bedroom and tolerated the noise while I blasted the Spice Girls. He waited patiently while I played Super Mario 2 every summer afternoon. He witnessed all of my awkward phases growing up, and he never made fun of my ridiculous hair or my dorky wire-rimmed glasses. He was my loyal friend. In January, we found out that he had congestive heart failure... and last week, after I got off work... he was struggling to breathe on my living room floor. I stroked him and whispered to him and felt the rapid beats of his heart. I left him with my sister and my mom, and I drove off to visit Dan. Ten minutes later, Shannon called me crying. Meeko died. My baby. My sweet, sweet friend. I love him so much, and writing this is difficult. Here is a picture of my beautiful boy. It's a few years old.



I have been okay otherwise. I am sitting at Dan's right now attempting to type this. His chair is very high compared to his computer desk, so I opt to sit on the floor with the keyboard on my lap. It works. Yesterday was an interesting day. In the afternoon, Damein, Dan, and I went to my grandma's to get psychic readings. (Yes, my grandma is a psychic.) It was, overall, a very good experience. Afterwards, we joined Damein's girlfriend and went out for Mexican. Then Dan and I took a trip to Mansfield and went to the mall where he graciously purchased some new glasses for me. I bought some new earrings that make me look like a hardcore badass. We played video games. Dan kicked my ass. We bought fire red hair dye, and once at my house, I died Dan's hair. It's pretty, and I'm proud of myself. Pictures later.

On Sunday night, something scary happened. The marker that indicates what gear my car is in was off... so, for instance, when I put my car in reverse, or, at least, when the marker indicated reverse, the car would move forward. Shit like that. Well, I sort of thought I figured it out, and I drove to Dan's house (after stopping at Wal*mart to purchase some food for his starving self) with the marker in neutral, thinking that meant the car was REALLY in drive. Well, as soon as I attempted to turn onto the exit off the highway, my car started sputtering and smoking and acting altogether not right. When I reached the end of the exit to turn left, my car shut off. In the middle of the road. And it was smoking a lot. I was very scared, to say the least. I called Dan, and he came quickly, and with his help and the help of a friendly girl that happened to stop, we pushed my car onto the shoulder. Eventually we got it to start, and Dan drove it (while I followed in his car) very carefully to his house. Where it still remains. Cougy needs a new radiator. Apparently I was driving it in 2nd gear the entire time without knowing. That equals bad for the car. So, essentially, I'm sad.

Next Thursday, I begin the moving process. Moving to Athens, that is. I'm excited and nervous and delighted and nostalgic and regretful and hopefull all at the same time. All of my friends are already gone.

Not to sound sexist, but I generally don't like female comedians. At all.

I also don't like Mountain Dew. At all. Fucking hell. Stop drinking it.

Enjoy your day.