Cat Mentality

So I know I said on my Facebook that I would draw more sharks on fire, but this is going to be about cats.

I, and my sisters, have believed for some time now that our cats Priscilla and Charolette, may they rest in peace, have been haunting our house for the last few years (since their death I mean. Although cats haunt places when they're alive as well. They're really just haunters). And probably we are crazy for thinking this (and I know I'm probably crazy for a number of reasons--no just kidding, I'm normal. Look, here's a shark <O< ) but recently a Dashing Young Man (aka my boyfriend) came by and, whilst he was relaxing on the couch, remarked, "I say, is that a member of the feline species stalking your stairs? Forgive me, it was just a trick of the---" "GHOSTS" I finished for him (even though he doesn't talk like that in real life). And thus it was that a third party, unaware of the previous suspicions held by me and my sisters, came to reaffirm in me that my old cats DO stalk these halls in death...

Which is why I'm writing about cats. Because after the Dashing Young Man retired for the evening, I began to wonder what my old cats must have thought during their alive years. And this is what I came up with:

Charolette's Thoughts Regarding Humans

1. The humans cannot be left alone. They seem to be afraid the moment they find themselves without other company. Yet they continually lock me out from places. No matter, to protect them I scratch for long minutes upon the doors, reaching to try the handles. Eventually I am let in, with reluctance I don't understand. 
2. Humans do not have fur and therefore, I am sure, will die of cold very quickly, even in warm weather. I try to help them with this, by curling upon their laps. It is tiresome, resting upon their bony legs, saving them from death, when my only reward is hardened food morsels.
3. There are strange noises from the place beyond the invisible doors. I watch the humans come and go from the place, but I cannot fathom what could be more important than lying in the sun beams on the floor. They do not seem to grasp the true simple joys of life. I wonder what it is they could be seeking...

Wow, I was going to work on that being more like the funny images in my head (a drawing was going to be included) but I'm actually having a little difficulty continuing...Erm, I didn't think it would be this sad to write about my old cats. Damn. I thought I was Stone! Beyond the emotions of mortals!

To make up for me going into the Sadlands, here's a shark that I drew/colored: 

Things Are Looking Good

Also titled: Scott Pilgrim Starts to Get it Together

(Image: Bryan Lee O'Malley. Occasion for posting image: Because)


I made myself Scott Pilgrim. Alyssa vs The World!

Waitressing: It's what's for dinner.

One of my favorite professors from Whitworth told me to get a job after graduation that allows me to still be creative. I just started waitressing at a sushi restaurant, and while it's not something that exactly makes me feel like rainbows might come out of my eyeballs, it leaves me with a lot of free time during the day. And free time is the time given by the Fitzgerald gods to do things of worth. (Fitzgerald's free time was the sober periods of his day between the "I'm-still-drunk-from-last-night" mornings and "No-seriously-why-are-we-in-France" evenings, and the occasional "When-did-I-get-a-daughter" Saturday afternoons.)

I bring up the Fitz, or as I like to call him, Fizzy, because he was a great writer who spent most of his life feeling worthless, getting kicked out of fancy clubs, and then completing a book in one week.

It's hard in the Facebook era to not 1) try to spell "era" "are" and 2) compare oneself to everyone else on one's newsfeed. At times I feel so overwhelmed by appreciation for things others are accomplishing and abject despair that I am not accomplishing anything. It's a kind of emotion that is bottomless: Fill with amazement at awesomeness other people are doing; all that feeling is emptied by the bottomless hole that is your despair at not doing anything. Repeat.

All the juvenile comparisons aside (and a duckling's teardrop wiped away), what I'm worried about the most is that I just don't enjoy the very basic delights of life. I don't really know what else to say about that, except to give a metaphor: It's like I keep forgetting that dinosaurs existed.

That's really the best way to put how I'm feeling about life right now.

One of the ways I'm dealing with my abject despair or dinosaur amnesia is to apply to everything that I think would make me sound really cool to be doing. But I really don't think that's going to make me feel better in the long run. Dinosaurs must be restored to the gaping head wound.

I'm also working on my sketch art a lot. Latest is the anime character Ururu from "Bleach" because she is such a badass. I kind of mixed her with some Mord-Sith details. Maybe I'll post it later this week when I'm trying to boost my creativity midi-chlorians.

A Rather Humorless Kind of Humor

I feel like Aragorn, at the moment in the first LOTR movie when he kneels before Frodo and says in that heartbreaking whisper, "I would have gone with you to the end, into the very fires of Mordor."

At least, in my head I feel like I keep saying that over, and over. It might be similar. Frodo replies, "I know." Because you know Aragorn would have gone, but his place was elsewhere. And Frodo knows that Aragorn's place is elsewhere, and that is why he lets Strider go, as it were. (And, as a proclaimed Tolkien nerd, you might be wondering why I'm referencing the movie, and the answer is: because in my head I'm kind of like Viggo Mortensen, but a girl--a badass girl with weapons galore and a five o'clock shadow...no, too far. No beard.)

Break-ups usually leave me feeling the pangs of Aragorn's dilemma, as I think of it. Not because my relationships are always worthy of a Fellowship, but because I don't know what to do when the relationship is over. In a way, we fought battles together, overcame "Boromirs", of a sort, and kept the Ring secret and safe, or something, and now it's time for me to ride off and find a new kingdom and bring the armies of Middle Earth together in a final battle--what was I talking about? Oh, hobbits.

I don't have any hobbits to save. Maybe, if I did, I would stop reaching for my cell phone to text Frodo about some mundane activity I did that no one in their right mind would want to know about that, for some reason, people in relationships live to know about.

I suppose no one is taking the hobbits to Isengard...? No? Fine, but I'll look into some warrior classes, just in case...

Anatomy of a Dinosaur T-rex Edition

Essential facts that a survivor needs to know (see previous post for specific 'raptor survival instructions)

To begin: A t-rex is bigger than you. Not in the way that a basketball player is bigger than you, or your older brother. Not even in the way a bully can appear bigger than you while really being smaller. To properly appreciate the size of a t-rex, attempt to push over a medium-sized skyscraper; it will be unaware of your existence, your efforts are vain, and you look ridiculous.

Second: Unlike that skyscraper, the t-rex is aware of you. He is always aware of you, even when you are standing very, very still. He is aware. Imagine that the world's best sniper is using a laser to pinpoint your exact spot, but he is leagues away from you and the laser is overly sensitive to anything moving in the area. It is just a matter of time before the laser adapts and narrows in: Target acquired.

Proceeding: The t-rex does not have a sniper rifle (thankfully). He has something worse (uh-oh). Uh-oh is the correct expression. Think of a great white shark's teeth. They are used for shredding and snapping seals, and other prey, quickly and viciously, ending life or dismembering limb in a single snap. The only thing similar between a great white shark and a t-rex is the sharp first row of teeth. Only, a t-rex has larger teeth. And, unfortunately for you, a t-rex does not end life in one quick snap. He gnaws, twisting at a limb until it is ripped off, holding down his prey with his large skyscraper-like back leg. And then he finds he is bored and leaves his victim, probably alive, for a later snack.

To conclude: I have briefed you on the basic dangers of this goliath. You may wonder, What can I do to survive? You can join the revolution.

With me.

And my velociraptor army.

Or perish, probably.