Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, Story Time, The Chronicles Of Diane Kitten, They Call Him Mister Tibbs!, We're All Mad Here, Who Is Alanna?

R. I. P. Diane Kitten

(Well, not really.  I mean, kind of.  Like you think you know someone for a whole year and then they turn out to be a completely different person so you sorta feel like the person you knew is dead.  That’s where I’m at right now.)

Alessandro and I finally took Diane Kitten to the vet after almost a year of having her (not out of neglect, we’re poor) but because she randomly started coughing and it was clear she was having trouble breathing.  We rushed her to the kitty Emergency Room and found out she has asthma so it’s all good and she has medicine and feels much better now.

We found out some things like she’s about 2 years old and has a little tracker in the back of her neck (which I totally wanna remove, especially considering we looked for her owners for a longggg time and nobody claimed her so they’re clearly just bad people).  We also found out she is not a she.

Caitlin Jenner Diane Kitten Vanity Fair Cover

Diane Kitten is a boy.

Then again, how am I supposed to know how he/she identifies?  It’s my fault for assuming he was a girl, but apparently he’s neutered so it makes sense why I was confused.  Also I hoped he was a girl for solidarity purposes, imposing my own desires concerning his gender upon him which is totally philistine and not at all forward-thinking.  I never thought I’d be this type of mother (cat-owner) and my surprise as well as my feelings of loss at the news were quite disconcerting.

I looked it up though, and there exists a phenomenon within the transgender community that people don’t really talk about.  There is often a need to mourn the person you (or your friend/family member/etc.) used to be so that the true person can live and flourish in their real identity.  It’s actually good to grieve the loss of the prior identity and gives the transgender person a feeling of closure without any guilt in moving on.

I’m likening my feelings to this phenomenon because even though it’s just a cat, I feel like I got to know him as “Diane Kitten” and in my childish brain, I built up this whole personality surrounding that female identity.  Now I feel like I have to get to know him as a boy and mold an idea of who he is around this knowledge.

The worst part is changing the name. I was proud of that name.  (She even has a twitter account.)  The deal was that if we found out Diane was a boy, Alessandro would get to pick the name, so he picked “Mr. Tibbs”, Sidney Poitier’s character from the movie “In the Heat of the Night”, which is a badass role and Sir Sidney Poitier is probably the coolest person you could name someone after, but he already has lots of social media accounts and Virgil Tibbs had to deal with so much racism and bullshit which I would like to shield Diane/Mr. Tibbs from.  “They chew you up and spit you out.”

Sidney Poitier Mr Tibbs Cat Face

“THEY CALL ME MISTER TIBBS!!!”

So here we are, going through the gender identity process together.  Tibbs has certainly taken to his new name like a justice-minded detective to the mean streets of Sparta, Mississippi.  I’ll miss Diane, but I can’t wait to spend the next couple decades growing and learning with my perfect little boy.  :)

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Nightmare On North Pine Street

(Or maybe it’s “Inception”.  Either way, somebody is screwing up my dreams and I don’t know what to do about it.)

So Alessandro and I have officially decided that we’re gonna get engaged once he gets a proper engineering job and saves up enough money for a ring (please hold your excitement and congratulations for the post where we actually get engaged and I have a giant-ass diamond on my finger).  What’s bothering me though is that someone I haven’t seen or thought about in YEARS keeps showing up in my dreams like Freddy-stupid-Krueger.  Like I don’t know this person anymore, I have no idea what they’re doing with their life, I don’t even know what they look like now.

(In fact, he could actually look like Freddy Krueger.  Maybe he was in some type of fire incident that involved him killing little kids and the townspeople taking their revenge?  Or he could look perfect and handsome, exactly as I remember him but now grown up so perhaps better.  The point is I have no idea and shouldn’t even care because I am happy with the person I’m about to spend my life with SO WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME???????)

The story of this person infecting my life begins with myself at the tender age of 12, attending my first track practice of the year in early March. I actually took a year off from my little private school to see what public school was like and was only on my old school’s track team because the public school didn’t have a track team for 6th graders. I had also finally gotten out of my awkward stage, grown 5 inches, and (if I do say so myself) achieved quite the little body in six-grader standards. Plus, my bangs had finally grown out from the year before which taught me a great life lesson about never ever getting bangs ever again.

The first day of practice was freezing cold and even my heavy sweatshirt and thick sweatpants couldn’t keep out the piercing wind. I met one of my friends on the hill overlooking the track to chatter about nonsense and current 6th grade gossip when I made the unfortunate mistake of looking down onto the football field. 200 yards away (maybe, I have no ability to judge distance) I locked eyes with the single most perfect human being I had ever seen (he even put 2005-era Chad Michael Murray and Ashton Kutcher to shame). While my friend rambled on about whatever it was (I wasn’t listening), me and this demigod continued look deeply (and from far away) into each other’s eyes and I couldn’t feel the bitter cold anymore. I interrupted my friend asking, “Who is THAT?!?!” She looked down at the young man also standing with a friend and said, “That guy? Oh that’s [yeah-right-I’m-not-saying-his-name-I-know-who-reads-this-now-and-you’re-probably-all-laughing-at-me-cause-you-know-exactly-who-it-is]. He’s friends with my brother.” My very first words regarding this person was my reply: “I’m going to have his babies.”

(Sixth-grade-Alanna was quite the little minx and very brazen. She also had recently learned what sex was due to her newly-found public school education and something called “health class”, otherwise unheard of in Catholic school.)

My friend got all excited because this type of news was her oxygen and she continued to support me through the years of ups and downs from my perilous unrequited love.

Flash forward to 9th grade (since then, I’m still crushing hard and have reentered Catholic school), the first day of high school, first period Latin class: I’m wearing my “cool” new uniform and am feeling all grown up, ready to take on the world and let the real learning begin because nothing could distract me from my pursuit of higher education. I was pretty nervous so I wasn’t actually looking at anybody as the rest of the class filed in. When it came time for our teacher to assign seats, she said, “Okay, [I’m-still-not-saying-his-name]? Switch seats with Alanna, that’ll be your desk.” I didn’t think anything of the name since it’s pretty common and got up to let this person take my seat. The kid behind me gets up and our bodies touch as he passes by me in the narrow aisle and I almost faint because the boy I’ve been obsessed with for 2 years was totally within kissing distance not 5 seconds ago. My brain stopped working for what seemed like a short time but was apparently a while, and I wasn’t roused from my standing-coma until the second, “Alanna? Your seat is behind [this-is-getting-embarrassing-but-as-you-all-know-I’m-too-candid-for-my-own-good]. Isn’t that funny? You two were sitting in each other’s assigned seats totally by coincidence!” He turned around and smiled at me (fully aware of the crush I’d been harboring for him all this time) and for the rest of class, I didn’t hear a word anyone said except his, all of which made me blush to the point where my face was the same color as my hair.

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This is our only picture together.  What a cute couple lolamirite?

I continued to be in love with him until November of my 11th grade year when I made the conscious decision to fall out of love with him. I changed up all the ways I walked in the halls so as not to see him between classes, I stopped going to lunch and study hall (he was in all of mine because the universe has a sick sense of humor), and I avoided all school events he was likely to attend as well as stopping going to church because our families always went to the same mass. Eventually, I stopped thinking about him and met my very first boyfriend. That year, my crush graduated and other than a couple times watching Penn State football games and a few Christmas masses, I haven’t seen him again.

Until about a month ago, that is. And not in real life either. Just whenever I go to sleep.

I’ve actually tried staying up days at a time, but when I finally fall asleep, the dreams are longer and more vivid than ever. I have no idea what’s happening but it needs to stop. It’s actually come to the point where I wake up and am surprised by Alessandro being next to me instead of him. Maybe I should re-watch the “Nightmare on Elm Street” movies and see how those kids handled it. (Although I’m pretty sure they all either killed themselves or got locked up in insane asylums. If I stop blogging, you guys know where I am.)

Alanna and Freddy Kreuger Nightmare of Elm Street

So why is this happening?  Can somebody dig up Freud to help me?  At this point, I’d kill for a night of tossing and turning over ghosts or killers.  High school is truly to be feared…

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I Like Pina Coladas And Pretending To Be Sane

(Jimmy Buffett & Rupert Holmes knew what they were talking about.  I just figured out how to make mixed drinks with my NutriBullet so I think it’s safe to say I’m getting my life together.)

Hello, my darlings.  It’s been a long time.  I’ve longed to feel your sweet caress against my parietal lobe.  Or whatever part of your brain can see blog notifications.  Once again, the world has taken me hostage with homework (avoiding it), bleakness on the news, and the fact that I JUST discovered “vlogging”.

It’s blogging, but with videos.  (Otherwise known as crack.)

Ghost Hunting Shane Dawson Psychic Twins Youtube Vlog

Shane Dawson is currently my favorite, as well as anything with ghosts.

Supposedly, vlogging has been around for over a decade but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the new hip thang yo.  Sure, I used Youtube for listening to music, but I had absolutely no idea there was so much awesome stuff out there.

Ghost hunters, conspiracy theory videos (my long lost love), and people reacting to things… it’s like I was in an internet-coma and finally woke up.  It’s actually making me consider making my own “vlog” but I’m not totally sure how to do that and I don’t know if anybody would bother watching because my life is terribly boring.

I could vlog about the ghosts in my attic?  Although they’re not too talkative these days.  My hope is that they’ve moved on to heaven or whatever but it’s more likely they’ve decided to haunt more interesting/less-talkative type people.

(Perhaps my Burmese nextdoor neighbors?  A nice spooking with the added benefit of being introduced to a different and fascinating culture.  Good for you, ghosts.  Eat, Pray, Love and all that.)

real ghost gif sheet lol

The other reason I’ve been absent is because school.  It’s trying to kill me but I remain strong.  Plus I’ve been getting involved with people and things which is completely out of character for me.

For example, one night I had rum and pina colada mix and my Nutribullet was like, “Hey there pretty lady, ya know you can add those ingredients to me with ice and have a party,” and I was like, “OMG WHY HAVEN’T I THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE?!?!?!”  And my Nutribullet said, “Because you’re not the sharpest blade in the blender,” and I was like, “Good one, Nutribullet.”  So I took the advice of a household appliance and got pretty tipsy on some delicious iced cocktails.

Then I was all pissed cause Alessandro was watching Fox News and the world is getting on my nerves with political nonsense so I thought to myself (out loud), “Why don’t I write a letter to people and tell them to shut up because they’re being annoying?” and Alessandro was like, “You should do that,” but I wasn’t talking to him so I said, “I wasn’t talking to you,” and set to work on writing a rum-and-stupidity-fueled piece to Thought Catalog (which I had no idea that they’d publish because I mean come on, but they did).

Alanna Open Letter To Millennials Thought Catalog

Anyways, I made the mistake of assuming nobody in my real life pays attention to me or what I do on social media so I posted the link on my actual Facebook page.  Somehow, people saw it and then started seeing links to my blog and my instagram and twitter for my blog, and now everyone(ish) I’ve ever known since high school found me and is following my stuff.

“Why is that bad?” you might ask.  Well, if you’ve been following me or know my writing even a little bit, you know my candor vis-a-vis the people I know in real life and how I say terrible things about them as well as revealing many secrets about myself.  So whether it’s libel or slander or just being a dick (because what I say is true so technically it’s not libellous), I’m gonna piss a lot of people off.

Have you guys ever posted something you’ve later come to regret?  Or have stories of family and friends kill you for what you write?

Tell me about it in the comments.  Or come to my house and chat because that’s how easy it is to find me now.

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Just Your Everyday Neighborhood Nonsense, Story Time, The Chronicles Of Diane Kitten, We're All Mad Here, Who Is Alanna?

Coming Clean Into 2016: I Finally Showered!

(Jk.  I showered in the interim.  But only because the back of my head turned into a giant dreadlock and my cat fell in the toilet.  It’s been a tough month.)

This isn’t really a cohesive post because I’ve been sick and I have to go back to school next week and I want to jump off a cliff.  I’ve been hiding in bed with Rufus (my giant stuffed dog), Nyquil, and large bags of chips.  It’s also come to my attention that I’ve gained weight because apparently when you turn 23 you can’t sit around eating bullshit and drinking entire cases of beer anymore.

(I don’t actually know what to do now because that stuff is pretty much all I do.  In addition to buying novelty pillows on Amazon Prime.)

Huggable Pizza Pillow Amazon

It’s becoming a serious problem.

Not to mention that evvverrryyything is falling apart.  Over Christmas, Diane Kitten decided to celebrate the holidays by eating tinsel and scoot around the apartment dragging a long shiny string from her butt with a little turd ball on the end, and I couldn’t even snap a picture because everything was happening so fast and my body was in a laughter-seizure.

Then for the New Year (and because she only drinks water that poses adventure), she was sitting on the bathroom sink watching me pee (it’s weird, I know, shut up) and when I got up, SHE JUMPED INTO THE GODDAMN TOILET.  I screamed and she screamed and it was totally madness (not at all Sparta), but luckily Alessandro ran in and saved the day by fishing her out and covering all of us in my urine.

In light of all this crazy, I barely did any work on my novel, washed none of my clothes, didn’t clean my house at all (except for the bathroom), and wasted my entire break in bed/playing Grand Theft Auto V.  Also, my body is turning on me because for the very first time in my life I threw up after drinking.

Diane Kitten with Vodka

Two things I love that are trying to kill me.

So now I have to lose weight, stop drinking, do my laundry, and find a new therapist.  (The one I see at school for free is great, but she’s really nice and I tend to lie to her so she doesn’t see how nuts I am.  How are you supposed to tell a sweet little Christian lady your opinions on the best methods of torture/execution or details of the dirty dream you had about your cousin?)

You can read all about it in my book.  If I ever actually finish.


 

Anyways, so I don’t bum you guys out too hard, I’ll end with a conversation between me and myself which Alessandro so rudely interrupted…

ME:  They say, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”, but why the Hell not?  Are they self-conscious about their teeth or bad breath or something?  And if so, somebody give them a mint and some Crest White Strips.  Or is it because they’ll bite you and then they wouldn’t technically be a “gift horse” but rather a “punishment horse”?

ME:  Or is the expression, “Don’t PUNCH a gift horse in the mouth”?  Because at least that would make sense.  Nobody likes being punched in the mouth, including gift horses. Also, what even is a “gift horse”?  I have to look this up…

ME:  [Making a verbal reminder on my cell phone]  “Lookup ‘gift horse’.  And the expression about it.”  I’m picturing a horse with a fancy hat that rides into towns in the Wild West, bringing gifts to all the good pioneer people, like a sort of equine Santa Claus.  Unless you punched him in the mouth.  In which case he comes to your house and takes a giant horse-dump in your stockings.  Instead of coal.

ALESSANDRO:  [Poking his head into the bedroom with a look of great confusion]  Who the HELL are you talking to??!  Are you alright?!? 

ME:  I’m reminding myself to lookup the origin of why you shouldn’t punch a gift horse in the mouth.

ALESSANDRO:  It’s, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

ME:  Why not though?

ALESSANDRO:  Because a horse’s teeth indicate how healthy it is, so if someone gives you a horse it’s considered rude to look at its mouth since you’re assuming they gave you a weak or sickly horse.

ME:  Well then the saying should really be, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth until after the person who gave you the gift horse leaves and then you can be all kind of judgemental about their crappy non-gift horse.”

ALESSANDRO:  …Uhhh…. I guess so

 

Exactly.  Get with it, colloquialisms.  Nobody wants to end up with a broken horse.  (Actually… yes you do.  Oh well.  You guys know what I mean.)

horse plays with ball and falls lol gif

So, how’s everyone’s new year been?

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I Haven’t Showered For A Week Because My Dedication Knows No Bounds

(Yeah, that’s right.  I’m being honest.  Gross, but honest.  Because the truth will set you free.  Free from hygiene and other human beings, perhaps.  Yet sometimes we must get ugly to create something beautiful.)

I gotta say, though, chilling in my own filth isn’t too bad.  It gives me an excuse not to run errands or hang out with my friends and Alessandro hasn’t bothered me for sex while I’m trying to write.  Also, I don’t even smell.  You’re probably thinking, “Yeah right, Alanna.  You probably stink like shit but can’t smell yourself because you’re gross and noseblind.”  But then again….. Idgaf.

it's always sunny the gang broke dee tumblr

yolo.

The reason I haven’t showered (in case you were wondering) is that I’ve been busy with very important things like banging my head against available walls until words come out, reading a part of my novel in front of other human beings (!), and attempting (unsuccessfully) to take videos of cats having sex outside at night.

(“Kitty Porn”, perhaps.  But the videos are just of blackness and me drunk and laughing in the background which is probably for the best.)

In other news, I had to actually read the words that I wrote out loud and IN FRONT OF ACTUAL PEOPLE.  I opened for Jon Sealy, author of The Whiskey Baron, at my college last month.  In a huge auditorium with about 30 billion people.  (Or like 30.  I’m not Rain Man, with all the counting and stuff.  I was just trying not to throw up.)

I don’t have many pictures, but here’s one I can share with you.  It’s a screenshot from a video my mom took with her phone that neither of us can figure out how to move onto a computer or even Facebook.

Alanna Reading 1

I’m wearing all black because I assumed it’d be a “90’s coffee shop” setting with a guy playing bongos and berets as far as the eye can see.

My piece was incredibly dark and personal because I didn’t know the protocol for reading in public and had no idea so many people would be there (including other students who got front row seats to my crazy).  In the video, you can hear my mom gasping when I swear or say terrible things about self-harm or alcoholism, which is funny but also quite upsetting, and my voice is ridiculous.

They need to develop the technology to make you sound like Patrick Stewart ASAP.  (Meanwhile, NASA is having Scott Kelly take instagram pics of space.  Priorities, people…)


Speaking of priorities and instagram, here is the latest installment of The Chronicles of Diane Kitten.  Truly, there is nothing she can’t do.

Diane Kitten Books Instagram

So well-read and freshly-bathed.  An inspiration to all.

Apologies for the nonsense post, I wrote this at like 3am and am in desperate need of a shower.  Goodbye for now, amigos!  Have a fantastic day and may all your books be wonderful!!!

Feel free to tell a story about the longest you’ve gone without bathing or what you’re reading at the moment.  Perhaps your feelings on gun control or Patrick Stewart?  I wanna hear it alllllllll… <3

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Sylvia Plath Is A Buzz-Kill

(Also, I’m losing my mind. Somebody get me a cocktail or I might take a bunch of pills and hide in a hole in my basement. Because apparently that’s what great literature is all about.)

I recently finished The Bell Jar and although it’s an awesome book, you probably shouldn’t read it if you’re emotionally unstable. Nobody told me this so I’m telling you all.

I think I’m going crazy.

Granted, I’ve been there before, but I was totally handling my shit and feeling fine. Now I’m too scared to leave my apartment and paranoid about the government watching our every move.

(Klonopin can only go so far.)

So thanks a bunch, Sylvia. You’ve made me question my sanity and increase my vodka consumption. I hope you’re happy.

(NOTE: Ovens are for cookies and chicken breasts, not human heads. Just in case anyone was wondering.)

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I HAVE NEWS AND VODKA. Come Over For A Drink And Some Knowledge Bombs.

(‘Cause my life is blowing up. Much like [insert innapropriate reference here]. There’s really no joking about bombs. Unless they include Jäger. Which supposedly means “hunter” in German. Ergo, comedy + bombs = NEIN!!)

(Also, comedy + Germany = nahh. No offense, Germany. You just have yet to make people laugh.)

Anyways, I saw a tiny alligator today. That’s not my news but I feel like it should be mentioned.

Isn't she cute? Also, she goes well with my neighbor's camo shorts so she's fashionable as far as alligators go. I'm assuming, of course. I don't know how they dress.

Isn’t she cute? Also, she goes well with my neighbor’s camo shorts so she’s fashionable as far as alligators go. I’m assuming, of course. I don’t know how they dress.

But my news is totally non-gator-related. It’s actually pretty awesome and possibly unreal. Perhaps even irrational. (Maybe if an alligator bites me, I’ll wake up and realize it was all a dream like how last night I dreamt LeSean McCoy pooped on my shoes. Which is a story for another time.)

My big news is that I’m working with one of my professors to write a novel.

GAHHHH!!

I’m sorry, I’m just stoked.

Also, she’s badass and a published author of amazing stories so you should all check her out and buy her book because it is totally worth it. I’m not just saying that either. It’s fantastic and also award-winning.

Seriously, though. Buy it. (Or else.) (Sike, not "Or else". But maybe. You never know...)

Seriously, though. Buy it. (Or else.) (Sike, not “Or else”. But maybe. You never know…)

So that’s why I probably won’t be writing much on here in the next few months. My book is gonna be about some serious stuff like mental illness and institutionalization and the like, but no worries folks; I’m only here to make you laugh. But in secret, I do have another side. It’s dark and crazy and a little bit sick. Maybe you’ll like it, though. So wish me luck and hope I get published.

If I make it as a writer, everybody’s getting a boat.

So, ya know… send good vibes. You might just get a boat.

(And who doesn’t love a nice boat?)

No one, that’s who.

Here’s a great song from one of the best Rolling Stones’ albums ever. Enjoy. 

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