Board / Mind : Games

Well well well, my kittens. Do you remember me yapping on about a certain Serpiente? The bar tender I dated who was both very attractive and talented and brewing this and that. He'd left to the US after the inevitable boredom of my brain.
I'm in California right now, where he happens to be.
Almost a year later and I find that the bitter resentment has faded into a dull past, in favor of a new regard that admits amiability. I am glad of it, for I feel as though the saga of crud that was romance has come to an end with Zoo (who is neither a twig nor evil, sometimes this is still confusing to my friends).
But I feel as though the erratic and flippant disposition of before has caused adventures with minor harm, and major regret. Regret not of my actions, but of the cause of the actions, which brings us right back around to disposition.
I regret my regard for my past conquests being so very little, they fluttered between being less than nothing to more than everything according to nothing but the boredom of thought. Now I feel as though compensation must be made, in some respect. I see two lots of these people of mine, one which screwed me over and gave me an arsehole personality, and one which suffered for the actions of the first.
All of this happening when I was very young. Now with Zoo, I feel no need to push and pull and prove time and time again. It is much more simple, one of simple respect and affection. Something which I had not happened across when in search of continual infatuate passion. One of my findings on this search was Serpiente. Who may be driving up to see me.
I can only remember devotion, happiness, contentedness and then boredom.
I must fly my kittens, comics await.

Love and Freindship.

Jhonnie Cat

Baby, You Can Drive My Car.

Hello my kittens,
Well I promised an update soon with regards to the whole hello-fellow-hell-and-jello situation. If you have been reading my blog from when it was a mere foetus of a web journal, worming its wee fingers out into the world through (if not a soggy hole) than atleast a brain and a mac --- than you will know that I went though a fine number of bumblers.
There was Chup, who now parades his pretty face with even more vehemence than before, although now it is rather well known that there is nothing behind that pretty face but dust and the occasional termite feces. There was Serpiente, Ankle and others, all of which have given me the collective award of Medllion De La Maneater. However, it may interest the more slutty of my readers (love yah) to know that I've had a fellow for my own for a while now. But before you conclude him as another disposable spleen, hear me out my kittens.
If you've read the infatuated crap I manage to churn out at the start of every new relationship, at least in 2008 (oh to be slightly younger, and slightly more evil) you'll know that on average the affection lasts as long as... well something else lasts. However I find myself of late become steadily more and more decent, having been dating a certain someone for six months or so.
And no one I've heard of can "last" six months, unless they put their poor little one to work in the fields with different kinds of oxen, to learn the ways of stamina from the creature that bears the load without question. Unless they have put their peck to fend for the merest morsel of food in the nomadic wilderness, ever searching for the appeasement of desire, but never deficient in will to strive onwards. Unless they have put their johnny to toil forth in the earnest and humble rice patties, learning that patients and endurance, not to mention recision is the way to ultimately draw satisfaction.
Even then, I'm not sure how much i'd like a peen that had been a nomad, a rice patty and an ox.
Then again who knows, maybe it would generate a sort of x-men style stamina.
In any case, this fellow, Zoo, does not compare in terms of experience to those veterans of the past, whose clock work oranges ran out and hung loose with skill (although I grew bored of pretty much all of them). Zoo is a different variety.
For one thing, he is lacking in that certain spark of artistry, musing and general gaping arkse -hole demeanor. Due to this lack, he is not as intent as those in my past at squeezing the freaking life out of me for inspiration. I think he is more concerned with the squeezing of my amazing and perfectly crafted hiney, truth be told. Hey, some have fallen for the mind, the charm or the harm, some have decided on liking the 'tude which was born from too many nerve endings getting on my nerves and ending. I guess this one just likes the hine.
Hopefully other things too.
But what I adore about this one is that his delight in my happiness is stemmed from the happiness itself, as opposed to the expressed gratitude and 'returns'. But hedonism and vague desire to assimilate with the mentality of intoxication govern the rest, as may be expected. I suppose it is the simplicity itself which causes the fortitude, and not the simplicity of mind (he's not stupid) but that of disposition. The regard held is much less full of crap than previously seen, and the honesty is one I am partial too. And even when he does lie he's terrible at it, and its completely transparent.... so the honesty is not only delightful, but somewhat incidental.
Apparently you don't have to hurt each other in a perpetual cycle of hatred and passion to give a rats arse about someone.

Love,

Jhonnie Cat

Cry Me A Liver

Well, first off I suppose I should offer my apologies for it being so long since I last updated. It doesn't mean I will offer my apologies, it just means that I realize I should. Here we go.
If you have been reading this number for a while, you will no doubt be aware of the way in which I treated the general male population. One of the other models I work with puts it very concisely (as she too adheres to these rules) :
'use them, abuse them, and loose them.' ... This illustrates the general boredom that is felt within about nine days into a relationship.
Cute.

It has been an eventful two weeks, one crammed with lots of pretentious people all wearing shoes that are more attractive than most faces. I find there is a delight to be had in many of these people, as once you submerge yourselves amongst them, you feel as if you've grown some rights. The right to hold a champagne glass. The right to glance at someone's outfit and lift a quiveringly disdainful nostril. The right to think of a race as trendy. The right to insult people and tell them it is constructive criticism. The right to sweep the streets before you with exaggerated mascara and prod the peasants who dare cross your path (this path should be littered with jackets thrown down by lesser men).
I do this anyway, but if you are surrounded by these tightly buttocked men and women it seems more like a natural course of behavior.

I've recently done a few shows that have given me some things to mull over, not so much food for thought - as I'm fairly certain that food is seen as basically illegal at these events. At least judging by the chopstick wives and tai-tai lives.
One of them was over in a shiny hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui, the interior of which reminds me of sticking my head inside the silver surfer and swishing it around for a bit. Basically it was gooey and metallic. And may or may not have super-powers.
Bluey, the agent who casts me for most of these, made her usual witty remarks on the place while prodding us to hurry up. I did the show with Collar, who is probably one of the most attractive people I know. After we removed some of the slop painted on our faces, after the shindig itself, we headed to Kashbah and Dragon-I.
One of the fellows that took us to d-i has the first table and ordered champagne that was on fire. I took a photo which is now the background on my phone.
Its to remind me to be rich one day.

The week after this Collar and I did a show in the convention center, along with Spy. Spy is a lovely girl, who was very exited about her paycheck. Endearing stuff. I feel sorry for Collar and Spy, though, because their first outfit involved large false shiny things that poked them most uncomfortably. I was lucky, and ended up in a sequined thing that made my species questionable. I looked something like an ork that had decided to desert the red eye of mordor and seek out a life as a thai transvestite. The garment exposed my midrif, which is better than a side riff or bottom riff. Or even an ostinato, if I have any music nerd in the crowd tonight
*dum dum chhhh*
The second garbberment was essentially a kinky sailor outfit with bizarre shorts. There is such a thing as high-waisted, which I can understand. But these shorts looked like they wanted to escape to my lungs, and hide there stealing away my oxygen until I was dead. I can only assume that once I was dead, these shorts would steal away into the night, brandishing their dangerous waistline at other un-suspecting people. Beware of pants.

After an epic battle in the hair and makeup room, I bested these foul shorts, I had a bit of a frodo moment throwing them far from me where they will never live to cause harm to mankind again. I kept all my fingers though. I have small hands. They must be good for the egos of the men I date.

After this little escapade, I headed on over to wanchai with Collar and Spy. In trafalgar, we yapped and relaxed. Across the street was the dull light coming from that pit of vulgarity, Carnegies. s of bingo-wings and cheap perfumed armpits danced out onto the street from that vile hole. I wrote a previous entry regarding Carnegies and how shall I hate thee, shall I count the ways?

As for personal gossip, because you care so much, I shall pen up an entry soon.
Love in the time of Oliver's,

Jhonnie Cat.

PS. if you want to find that entry before when I was talking about Carnegies - word search 'Serpiente' for that is who I was dating at the time. photo reference, for those of you who have me on fb.

The Fact of The Batter

Hello there my kittens,
So sorry that I haven't been penning to you properly but I've been much preoccupied. The common rumour and rumination at the moment is that me and a dear friend of mine are on the dark side of the lawn. No not the law, the lawn.

In terms of my feelings towards the police at this current state of affairs, I've never felt so much rage against the machine. Granted, I am an semi-Asian girl with little to no respect for gravity so if I were to mosh with passion in the middle of a crime scene (brandishing come stereo typical noodles and bowing a little too much) it would be quite the sight to behold. There is a club here called behold. Golly gee.

I saw star trek the other day, and I'm sure your buttocks are now inching slyly to the edge of your seat to know what I think. I'm sure the perspiration is dancing a blotchy waltz about your face in anticipation of my opinion.
Well who am I to disappoint?

Its very good, and I should like to give particular kudos to whomever plucked spocks eyebrows. Really, they were very well done. Those eyebrows were about as precise as an obsessive compulsive chemist with symmetrical nostrils.

Toffee, I've got to fly soon, This is not due to the fact that I am fly. Those two factors do coincide with each other however they do not directly relate. If you are really interested in the fact that I must depart and the fact that I am undoubtedly groovy than you can hold a town council in your local area and get back to me on the results of the seminar or the debate. Conversely, you can use Cai squared to figure it out.

A friend of mine sent me a copy of 'Repo : Genetic Opera' the other day. Its just about the only form of media where paris hilton doesn't look like a stretched elastic fish about to take a marginally large crap.

This film does have a habit of taking thither to vaguely cruddy actresses and what not and transforming them into something halfway decent. I didn't like the girl from SPYKIDS at all, ofr example, but I have to admit she is truly superb in Repo.

Moving on, up and down.
If you are male and are reading this then I'm sure you had a good smirk at that one.

Crud.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

American Idle. Thex Thells.

... as I only blog when I am profusely bored and am in denial about having a drop of american blood in me.

So my kittens, where to begin?

Shall I say this, at the very least, dears? That desire does not now nor shall it ever be a healthy thing. The only healthy aspect of desire may well be the desire to ram ones body onto another persons flailing (usually unclad or otherwise user-friendly) body and perpetrate such action that involves flapping legs at each other and turning he kind of red that would make a baboons heated backside tremble with envy. The subsequent rhythm produced can often create either intense friction or an interesting clapping noise (all sorts of anatomy can applaud all sorts of action, my kittens).

This kind of behavior is usually a fine form of exercise, unless the other person in a great deal smaller than you, you are out in the sunshine and they decide to sleep atop you. In which case you will develop a very abnormal tan-line.

However, aside from the mutual naked twitching of over-active endocrine systems, desire can be immensely inconvenient.

I suppose all of this mental-mush is on my mind because of Blue J. Its all grown very wearisome, I'm sorry to say. Granted, I tell myself all sorts of lovely things (about myself, although I occasionally acknowledge that other people exist somewhere out in the universe.. or so I've heard) to make myself feel better and all that jazz, however I find these mantras of self assurance quite useless when in the company of Blue J.

Well, I knew this was going to happen... even though I did make an exception from my usual taste.

I believe he is Pavlov... showing me, the finest drooling dog to ever face this earth, large pictures of circles and giving me food... and then showing me eclipses and making me paranoid.

If you don't know about that case study than you can either kiss my fine pavlovian buttocks or console your own rump and its inadequate knowledge of psychology.

Come to think of it, Pavlov has not been prancing about the main stage of my noggin (otherwise known as 'first thoughts' or 'prefrontal cortex', if you want to put on glasses, tuck in your shirt and perspire with gusto). Its been more of a Freudian circus, what with thinking about this business of 'Desire' and what not... considering any family I have is a figment of my imagination I do not refer to the Freudian slush portrayed in popular culture, but merely to his obsession with fornication (huzzah for fornix).

Some of my dearest friends have been extrapolating on their experiences to do with desire both TO and AT me... much to my delight. My ears are greedier than my eyes, although neither are vegetarian like my mouth. It seems that hormones are all the rave (and, indeed, rage) and that there is nothing more hip that hips.

Female friends have been recounting the tales of a beautiful male who will soon swoop in from some other corner of the globe and for all I know stand around being blonde, tall, and apparently over endowed in pectoral breadth and rigidity... all thigns which I find mildy revolting as I like my males very slender, very dark-haired and, given my record, very evil.

'Prince Charming' would be an unbelievably corny thing to call this Aryan beast-man man-beast on this blog, because for one thing Oscar Widle did it first, and for another corn is packed with fiber of a rather dangerous and jolly color.

(I should hope my readers have the ability to give forth turds to the world in whatever color they choose, and therefore will not impose anything corny upon their minds and digestive tracks. I am not racist even with feces.)

This male will apparently, according to legend, swoop into our city for a visit with a shellacking of appealing characteristics. Judging by the things I've heard, I'm expecting him to stand upon a rock, gleaming with the kind of sun rays that jesus would begrudge, with a defeated lion or two under a manly foot.
Glinda can play hercules on the piano... maybe she can accompany him.
The Senator (his name) may even find a dragon or two in Hong Kong. Although they will mainly be big gold and tacky, not to mention pungent with fumes of the chinese food in the restaurants they've spent their days presiding in.

If I was a marvelously knight-like male like The Senator I wouldn't waste my time with dragons or lions... I'd be too busy standing around in bits of glorious sunlight laughing in slow motion (which is the proper way for beautiful people to laugh).

Glinda is having a party soon, its almost her birthday and we are born a day apart. If anyone is going to steal my thunder (and I'm a psychotic tenor, I can really REALLY thunder) then it better be good. Fortunately Glinda's parties go down in history (and legend, and religion, eventually passing into mythology where they sit around with Zeus and play strip-poker).
I'm more exited for her birthday bash, I say bash as I will hit anyone who inhibits it, than becoming a year further away from being squirted out of a pouch of amniotic fluid and other anonymous and probably self-satisfied goo.

Okay my kittens, I really must fly. I've got to get though a little more Descartes before I hit the hay/smack the sack/catch some Zzzs/catnap... or, you know, 'sleep'.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

The Motion of The Lotion

Hello there my kittens.... how does this fine day/evening find you? (I don't actually care but I know if I affect to give a flying/flaming/generally flamboyant turd I will appear a nicer person than I actually am, something I so not bother with most of the time)
Well then shall we tally ho about me?
YES. we shall.

Monday was an interesting day on many levels like a wedding cake. Of course if you read me faithfully me like a good little kitten ought to then you should know I'm a hula-hoop dancer amongst many other things that will get me absolutely no where in life. Every Monday night I attend Hong Kong Jugglers, a club here in the gorgeous and insane city of HK...

Blue J & Average came with me and took photos with big pretentious cameras with tripods. Then we were awfully artsy and sat around reading poetry and generally hating on the world. It is interesting to sit around on the ground with too much eyeliner and a slightly out of tune guitar when you are surrounded by approx 20 carnies with spinny lights and gaudy attitudes. Love.

Average, Blue J and I then went to hit up some raw fish languishing on rice, other wise known as japanese food... although we ended up consuming some jubilatory beverages. Average then went home, after more revelry, and Blue J and I went to the pier... where I threw a shoe with gusto. It was eight meters of gusto.

Yes, my kittens I have impressive toes, when I work them to their uttermost potential.

I have more to tell, and wittier to be, but I really must fly as I've got some serious... herbal essence to attend to.
So long, my kittens...

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Please Sir, Can I Have Some Whore?

Well if that title didn't get your attention then you need to either masturbate or read Charles Dickens.
My apologies for being a little crude there, but I bet you're reading this now, eh?

So then my kittens, as you may remember I was most aggravated at Serpeinte for his misconduct. If you have a truly fantastic memory, or ability to scroll down, then you may recall that I was actually ultimately glad of his being somewhat evil as it means I have an easy excuse for booting his ruddy behind.

Its all due to my Stickyfinger-Sister, who is possibly the most legendary Asian to have ever graced the earth wit her presence. Yes, my kittens, this is getting hyperbolic.
Let me set the scene, dears.

I'm incredibly aggravated at my then beau, for aforementioned rudeness. Stickyfinger-Sister and Glinda know this, Glinda being a fabulously intelligent individual she prodded me forth to break it off. I should remember next time that Glinda is always right. Stickyfinger-Sister lives on a separate island from Hong Kong, one that is a ferry ride away.

I had a job the Wednesday before the Easter break, a Spa add. (if you have me on face book, I should have it up). During the photo shoot my phone goes all out of wack and I can't exactly wrangle my spasmodic popularity into comprehension when my face is being lit and prodded by the wrath of a thousand Q-tips. So I continued contorting my visage into postures of relaxation and, truth be told, extreme need of caffeine. (I do not actually relax when lacking in coffee, in fact I start to gradually hate the world as I vibrate in quietly withdrawn rage... and I also loose the ability to jig)
My phone continues to shudder like me contemplating cellulite. Mystery....
The male model a worked with, Bow (only he knows why this nick name), very kindly offered to pay for the cab back from the shoot and so, rummaging for my phone I see that Stickyfinger-Sister has called.
When I returned her communication, I was slapped over the ears with a wall of exited sound.
"JHONNIE CAT! I FOUND SOMEONE PERFECT FOR YOU!" Her face bellows. In our dialect of spinglacantarinish (Spanish/Cantonese/mandarin/English, a language I'm fairly certain only she and I can understand) we discuss this person. I'm going to call him "Old Soul" on this blog. The primary description that gets repeated time and time again, and later by other people, is that he is me with a penis.
I said, ME with a PENIS.

I write a condescending blog all about myself, my life, my friends, and how much me me me there is to go around. In case you haven't realized I am a narcissist.
Please proceed to put two and two together. Or in this case, One and One.

Can I get a hell yeah from any random member of the audience?

You can better you're bottom dollar (and your buttock penny) I ditched Serpiente as fast as Nokia would allow.
...

So the next day my lovely sister introduces us. We meet in the timeless domain of Balalaika LKF, and I must say I agree with Stickyfinger-Sister on her reaction. Bless that girl to bits. Its gotten to the point I don't really need to ask if this or that is a favourite or not with Old Soul.
I had a very long discussion with Stickyfinger-Sister about why I had nicknamed him Blue Jay (in general, not on this blog) - that being because "Blue " = slightly dark or distressed people are more interesting and also J being a letter of relevance.
Although its been settled on some thing else, obv.

...

On another note, a Tramp, Slut, Coquette, Whore, ect. is defined by a female who takes other peoples mates or has more than one at the same time. I realize I've been skirting from both males and females rather quickly but I should like to add this.
None of them had significant others to any degree, never more than one at the same time.
Flower once redefined 'slut' as : 'a woman with the morals of a man'. I'm not sure weather this is right or not. I'd better ask Glinda.

On another note again (thus completing a rather nice chord), I've started my fourth book having finished the first three. Having a Muse again is wonderful.

That's all for now, my kittens. More later.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

I Do Believe In Baileys!

My kittens, what tidings...
First of all, my dears, I must teach you all to hunt and kill snakes, like good cats.

Do you remember the individual whom I so fondly nicknamed on this blog, 'Serpiente'?
Well he has managed to aggravate me to a level that eczema would be envious of... he has far outstripped any diaper rash that has ever trailed its woeful spell across the many buttocks of infants worlds wide, in terms or pure irritation.
Okay, I've been good to this one. I have.

A friend of mine is developing a new kind of Jell-O, one that is supposed to resemble a species of cocktail and he needs to do a lot of research for it, including interviewing bartenders. Serpiente (my apparent beau) is the bar tender to Maya. If you want my opinions on wanchai then read a couple posts ago, they are obnoxious and accurate.
I'd set up an interview date.
I was intended to record a piece of music for a very important portfolio, myself being the singer and Serpiente playing the guitar. I can play guitar but he is more accurate if otherwise musically crippled (although he can identify different kind of car by their unique song of flatulence).
I'd set up a date and time for him. I'd also asked him to accompany me as an escort on a gosee (it sometimes not being a good idea to venture into such matters on your own) and he'd agreed. Also another shoot I'd had coming up at the time.
Well he managed to forget all such engagements and appear in affectionate photographs with another girl on facebook over the weekend.
WHAT A GENTLEMAN!
Tell you what though... I'm all rather glad of this.

I may gripe about his misconduct... but truly, better fruits have been born from it.

Thanks to my lovely Sticky-Finger-Sister...

Goddamn that girl is a legend.

See next post for why Serpiente can kiss my sweet asian ass.

All my love, Kittens,

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

Immortalized!

At last, my kittens, the time has arrived where the fabulous foursome is forever (decomposing doesn't happen in superficial places like Hong Kong) immortalized on the wall of Balalaika. We've been polaroided. Also, we are right in the middle, replacing the random chick who was there before in her none-polaroid frame.

This was all yesterday - which was spent delightfully.

It started off (by the day starting off, of course I mean from about 2 pm onwards) with Glinda & I both receiving awards for different things. It was one of the swell (and possibly swell-ing) pretentiously wonderful events that entailed piano music and people in suits singing each others praises. Whoop.
Glinda won her award for her superb Spanish, and she did look just gosh-darn golly-wobble great. What the dick is a golly-wobble? Can I get a wtf from any random member of the audience?

I performed in a show the other night which is the most cheesy event every year. As one of the conductors said, 'there's naught wrong with cheese.' I sang 'I Kissed A Girl' (very much against my will) and I did a very appalling job of it.
Most people who are completely awful don't know it, luckily I am both aware and unapologetic - seeing as I auditioned with Giolio Caccini's 'Amarilli Mia Bella'. I can't sing pop for peanuts, and just about everyone in the concert hall is highly aware of that. But hey, at least this means that I get to hide in a niche of classical music now, growling at anyone who walks by (a bit like gollum-sp.).

I watched a video for an old amigo of mine, a music video. 'Blind Generation'. I watched it because I've been approached by a number (a big number...) of people who have seen it and know I know him. Most of these people have urine dripping down there legs due to having 'pissed themselves laughing' - and mocking comments escaping their every orifice.
I can't blame them for an opinion.

I myself did not think much of the video at all, primarily because of the music and not of the dancing around in untidy hoodie and apron. The acoustic version is much better than this plugged-up electric track. It makes it sound like any other rock song floating around on the ethernet. However I know that some of the music was not his choice. I commented 'Eh' on the video as 'Meh' would have been a little bit too mean. So I removed the M.

They should have changed the entry with the buskers, because that can easily be mistaken for the music - and when someone doesn't change every four bars with a beat of 120 bpm it wont sell.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTHjgtpDTfE

Went to a party last night at Club Living. But then I ditched the place.
I'd right something more humorous about the fact that we were donning electric rabbit ears but my head is complaining too much right now.

The Whom?

Hello there my kittens, yes I'm blogging within two days of the last one because I have to make up for the lack of activity.

Friday nights and the lights are not so much low, more completely off. If I was abba, I could have bought a clapper (just to be delightfully tacky). Went over to the HQ of one of the places I dabble in work (I say dabble, as an actual work ethic only possesses me when it applies to useful things like learning the accordion). This particular profession involves magic and my hula-hoop dancing, something which is just a shade more handy than a handful of lightly salted, frozen, and hostile scrambled eggs.

Serpiente was there, being ridiculed by the owner for some inconsequential misdemeanor. He was at that moment wearing some garish garment and out doing some performance or other, probably DJ-ing. So, awaiting his return to HQ, I found his street clothes in the office and changed into them. When he rang the bell to re-enter he was greeted by a grinning female manifestation of an alter-ego, eating a lollipop and demanding inappropriate things. Golly gee willickers bat-man, I even surprise myself sometimes.

After we changed into out respective clothes, respective and respectable, we scurried to his abode. We cheerily procrastinated burning time and energy. I'm happy to say that his dwelling place NEVER smells revolting. I've been in lairs of such a vile stench I've wondered at how the smell doesn't disgust itself and leave for greener pastures (to stink in). I've known better things to move away for another man. Serpiente'd gotten some shirts made for winter, that is out of winter-appropriate material, and donned them for another job of his.



He is occasionally working as a bar-tender at Maya. Maya is one of these bars consisting of sliding doors, black mirrors, trendily bad electronic music, staff in black, murmuring mascara-masked people, sleek taps, low lights, floating screens and elaborate drink menus... the kind of scene I prefer so much more than that of Carniges.

Carniges is this pocky little foul den of filth that smells of mid-life crises, beer stupors and the ever-present wanchai stench of pretentious tweenagers bearing there somewhat lopsided premature bosoms to the sweating underbelly populous of 852. They have things like 10 $ Vodka night, and girls with love-handles swinging their cellulite two-and-fro on the brass poles on the bar. The great pendulums of fat jostle for attention and clamor for air between the sweaty over-grown clumps of grime and salty perverts who freckle the unidentifiable sports junk on the wall. Glinda once got into a fight there (for which I love her dearly).

Give me to translate chinese Tolstoy before pushing me into that cesspool.

Other than that there are no real notes of consequence from friday, other than that the day before Glinda & I had performed in City Hall (an interestingly robust concert hall in hong kong, usually inhabited by orchestras and well-dressed people). Bless that soprano. Her solo was fantastic, I gave a large ungainly hug to her after the show. Serpeinte did not come. I am not at all impressed by that. Kaz was there to bestow flowers on us after the show, and the orchestra we performed with were superb.

On saturday I performed the usual nothings in an establishment of high price and little vice in Hong Kong's fat-cat side. Marble floors, tiny food, useless but impeccable staff. This particular show involved singing and wearing silver heels, something I usually only do when offered a fat wad of cash/starbucks.

After that I supped with stickyfinger-sister, and spent the night with her and then with Serpiente delighting in the antics of people with far more disposition to work at being funny.

All in all, my ducks... Bloody Mary never caused anything like Jesus to be, and the Holy Mother probably didn't come wielding a bottle of tabasco.



Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

Catch Me If You Kanch

Hello Kitty.

Did a runway the other night for L'Atier De Kanch/Kanchan Couture, I'm sure if you read this and know me then you'll be aware of the abundance of photographs that have emerged rather cheaply on facebook of this event. I wore an enormous blue get-up that had to be taped on and then held there, so my night entailed keeping my hands on my hips for the entire evening so as to not be abandonned like a dramatic woman by her clothes (and the trecherous adhesive thither applied).

The most entertaining part of the show came later. They'd painted a large section of my face purple (I forget who the makeup artist was), and this stuff is really very tricky to remove. Serpiente (like a good beau) came to see the show, sat right up in the front with his camera and got two very useless and endearing photos (endearing due to the attempt).

He picked me up after the shows and the shoot, and was charming enough to arm-in-arm me. To truly explain how much makeup I was wearing, I could feel the tops of my eyebrows using only my eyelashes (the fakes).

A deformed begger (hong kong has a lot of them) shouted at Serpiente as we bustled past her 'And you wont pay for me?' in her creaky cantonese.

Good times.

I tore off those damned tarantula-genital eye lashes when I got to Serpiente's. They are still at his mini bar.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

You Can Have Whatever I Like.

Well my kittens, I've been interrupted. I've realized that this blog is not nearly as witty as I should like it to be, possibly because I am not that much of a witty person. There is a difference between making constant innuendoes and simply declaring that timeless syllable 'sex!' whenever things get too quiet.

I'm the ghoul in the burrow.

In any case, dears, I've been hong konging very vigorously in the last few weeks. I found a booze-stirrer that looks like a giant plastic sperm thanks to my dear amigo Dr.Melonhead who works as a bar here in HK. He is a delightful man who has seen me go through a copious amount of 'oxygen sharing apparatus' (otherwise known as swains) because I like to bring them to his bar.

Went to a fundraiser/cocktail party for cancer at 'FINDS' a charming bar/lounge in Lang Kwai Fong. Got the invite from Dee who wore Christian Louboutin, and I went with Serpiente (current Beau) who wore a Hugo suit (Dolce being previously donned on valentines day). Jay Parmanand, Monica Blanch & Scott Thompson were the mixers, flown in from some destination to booze up the wondrous world of hong kong, each with their own specialty drinks.

Serpiente started on the Apoteke, which apparently tasted of absolute balls. By the time we arrived we were both a couple of olive-juice/iloveyou martinis forward and so, deciding to take it slow, I went straight for the Triple O's (orgasm) three shots.
It was delightful, and in the color of a traffic light (never a sign to stop).

For a cancer-cocktail/fundraiser the hubbub-pub bubbs spent a lot of time smoking, but this is 852.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

More?

My oh my, life has really taken off in a very extravagant manner.

I haven't the work-ethic to update my life completely, all the shenanigans that have occurred since my last post and this are probably so elaborate and detailed that they are what I started to blog for. Naturally, due to the nihilistic kaka-de-toro that is the ethernet, I've neglected to update.

Well, lets see then...

About a month ago, four weeks ago tomorrow, I picked myself up to Wanchai. See, I'd been hearing an inordinate amount about a particular individual who was both reputed to be actually amiable (something generally unheard of in this city) and more importantly unmarooned. We got to talking before an actual face to face encounter, with him sending off a message to me and I giving the usual charming and unconsciously sardonic reply.

After further exchanges of goodwill and compliments, practically in harmony, we arranged to meet. He works as a bartender, and so I headed over to his place of trabaja on that fine February afternoon. After that we scaddadled to the Peace Steps with a corona a piece and good intentions. For once my good intentions had good results. I'd given him a half-hug as he had shouted my corona.

Ahhhh I must fly!

More later, lovelies.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Odio Patatas Part 1

I was told today that I must blog about Glinda. SO this post will be all about her.
And then the next one will be updating on my life, because you all care so much.

I was told this by Glinda, and it is because of that that I must oblige. Considering the usual satire and verbosity that goes around this blog, this may be a tad tricky. Because I have intentions of being nice.

I went with Glinda to another choir rehearsal, the show is soon and we are all getting ready blah blah blah... Some of the members are truly starting to irritate me. I made a girl sit a seat down from me so my yummy black coach bag could sit on the chair next to me instead of her. The alto in front of me was possibly the most flatulent person I have ever encountered... but I didn't want to swap places with my bag for fear it may disintegrate with the toxic fumes escaping her ruddy bowels.

Charming, I know.

After the rehearsal both Glinda & I had auditions, she sang 'Psalm 23' (if you don't know it then go stick your head in a hole and blubber like a suffocating yak). Compared with the other auditionees Glinda was very good. She has a charming voice, (encanta-style) - although I know that opera / classical isn't really her favorite genre, she sand Psalm 23 very well.
The other auditions were really ppp-ing it up, (or rather, down) and their vibratos were due to skittish nerves or plain anxiety. And then Glinda stood up (and stayed standing, mind you) with a ff to be proud of. She later told me she always sang at forte. Can I get a 'rock on' from any random member of the audience?

ANYWHOODLE...

In good Glinda, Mahi-Mahi & I tradition, we went for drinks after singing hymns.
Mahi-Mahi met up with us and we headed up to Shake-Em-Buns (a greasy sleazy establishment with plaques that suggest that the proprietor enjoys intercourse more than food. well, I know I do.) where they both chewed down on fries, and we all made merry.

I'm not sure if I have written enough about Glinda yet.

I must write a lot or I will never understand spanish again.

Glinda sang Dowland piece 'Come Again, Sweet Love Doth Now Invite' (oddly, I am listening to John Dowlands 'Can She Excuse My Wrongs' right now).
Trevvs played the piano exquisitely (what. a. shock... I know) and Glinda sang the counter-tenor line.

Fad Thai

So then, ladies and gentlemen.

I've been in Thailand for the last week or so abusing the holiday better known as Lunar New Year.

Went to Hua Hin, stayed in the charming Railway Hotel, (formerly known) a victorian establishment with charming tea every day and a dark-wood library to die for. The whole place was a complete anachronism, with actual carriages in certain parts, and a lot of gardens and grounds.

The only really modern aspect of the hotel in Hua Hin was the gym, where I spent most of my time catching up with the world on F TV and exercising my butt off (literally).

And then the four seasons in bangkok for a little while, which was lovely.

Well now I'm back in the big 852 and the first thing I did [within an hour of landing] was to find Mahi-Mahi and Flower, who invited me to a fooding session (otherwise known as lunch). And then on wards go to Bala.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Never has so much...

There, the title was one for Flower as I know it is engraved up on a certain wall in prison. It is engraved there in its entirety, however.

Today was a fine day, I had reproaches hurtled at me for the better part of the morning and then my flute broke. Candy, my flute, is my oldest instrument and is unspeakably dear to me. She is not overly-wrecked, yet the piping around B & A is in a sorry state indeed.

Sticky-finger sister looked really good today, although she needed to chanel-it a little bit ('always take off the last thing you out on' - referring to over embellishment). Her eyelashes were very well done, so much so that I told her I'd blog about it. And lo and behold, I display again my amazing memory for useless information and my lack of priority to have something else better to do. Pardon the cynical snip snip snip.

Did a photo-shoot, was pleasant enough. I am usually very much the lone-diva-wolf who simply does not like working with other models. Its not a competition, its simply because I don't want to end up having to work with a complete cat of a girl who is prissy and will insist on talking about some new horrible regurgitation of Stephanie Meyer. Can I get a 'BLECH! GROSS' from any random member of the audience?

The girl I worked with today, lovely asian model (formerly signed by Disease Models), was a real delight. Her agent recently moved to Beijing and so work has been thin on the ground. I talked with her about the usual things (lighting malfunctions, university, my extreme love of fruit-tips the candy) and I recommended two agencies to her. She's got a lovely face, and that really is the best word I can think of to describe it... its not cute-sey or super-angular, and she doesn't look like an alien (thank dear god that trend in on the way out, walk of the runway you invaders from mars). Zooms for Giselle.

Did some shots with a lute and a flute, artistic kinds of portraits, all that jazz. Simply because we had such delightful props at our disposal. After which we got started on the actual promotional stuff that ultimately made for some nice shots, or so I believe.

Took a lot of photos that will ultimately be bedecked with logos and all that, and hopefully not all of them shall be posted on the ether.

Speaking tomorrow to another merry conglomeration about Antigone and Orwells 1984. Excitement in the realms? Excitement.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Hail To The Chief

Stayed up until 1 in Hong Kong to watch the inauguration of President Barack Obama.

Riches & Britches

What an interesting past this and that is has been!

Well well well seems I've a new Captain to concern myself with, as Contemporary is being doubly silent. Oh oh so much for so much. There is a nasty rumor circulating about me in Prison, one that manifests in the statement that I am a complete coquette who will make myself horizontal for any passing male.

Well, there is a difference between disregarding male pride in any respect and loosing ones own. Fortunately, I do not care a fig for the males of Prison so far as I can see. They all seem most supremely dunderheadish...

This rumor is amusing, in that it entails that someone actually bothered to get up and make up things about me. I pity who ever this is, as they have a complete lack of imagination. Honestly? You couldn't come up with anything worse than that I was a common-or-garden coquette?

This is only surpassed in its entertainment value by the interesting rumor circulating that both me and Flower have obtained odd ruptures.

I have a distinct knowledge of who has started these pathetic excuses for revenge. Chup is no doubt behind the one of my conduct, as to the one concerning Flower and I's punctures... well I don't give a fag-end.

Chup is an inmate of no imagination and certainly little to puny moral balance, and he is the only inmate who may have a little vendetta set up against me. You see, I've done nothing wrong when it concerns that individual (at least, not intentionally or with my being aware) other than perhaps the fact I'd given my best friend all the dirt on his anatomy and its... irregularities. Proportions are funny things.

Captain Contemporary has been completely out of touch, while one of his acquaintances of an entirely unpleasant and miraculously tiresome nature will insist upon being irritating to me. So correspondence has fallen into a hapless nothing and truth be told, anyway, particular items of a rather immense significance were not immense or significant and certainly not particularly either... if you get my meaning.

Considering there has been no official me and some-other-swashbuckler I am free to do as I please and I must admit that it is this power that is affording me a great deal of interesting shades of feeling to explore. First and foremost is the growing desire for money and revenge... a not untypical mindset in Hong Kong. Our economy is based on money, our society on revenge. Perhaps that is an extreme epigram but it most certainly makes me smirk. So, bite me.

Flower brings me tidings of some such individual by the name of Serpiente (blog name, for now). I very much desire to view this person, as Serpiente sounds a fine specimen. I say specimen as that is how I have come to view most organisms surrounding me.

Mahi-Mahi, Glinda and I went for Triple-O's today. Glinda and Mahi-Mahi eat Triple-O'h whereas I usually spend my time and money in the restaurant with them, with a coffee from the near by Starbucks. Mocha me. We spoke of interesting things, most of which concerned that old favourite I have afore mentioned... Money and revenge.

And while this standard of riches and britches makes its pretty shapes around us, we learn that love is expendable, and more expensive than cheap thrills and spills.

Been speaking with Captain Cello much of late, our topic of conversation being mainly music. This is that other Captain I spoke of earlier.

Put it this way, however many Iliads may dock their extremes Poseidon still rules the sea.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Pander-Lexia

Frabjous tidings, my fellow samaritans (I know, I know, what a joke).

Beltbuckle has finally kicked himself where he belongs and opened up (and disrobed?) to she who has been tapping her foot and rolling her eyes for far too long. She's been metaphorically tapping her foot and rolling her eyes because those things are unbecoming to this charming lady who gesticulates in french.

Alas, mate, has been too long.

Anywhoodle, I should start from Zero [as the street tag goes]
Friday, then, my dear nothings.

Friday was spent in doing absolutely jack-squat until the afternoon where I actually managed to harass myself out of my stupor-minded state (something that burning out writing the day before will do to you). I did some yoga at Pure for a bit, it was a really good class and the instructor was superb.

Night was spent going out to Balalaika, just to give my Ola's and Howdy's.. although admittedly it was because Herbert was there and he had afore mentioned that he would hurl a book at my visage if he saw me. Naturally I realized my deep disregard for my features (Flower helped on this one, by smashing her face into them at an art fair we went to ages ago).

Ooh, I must scadaddle to Yoga!
Shizzer, I've got to run, more later my loveies.x

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

I Shove You

Wednesday finds me most amused by the antics of my dear fellows, namely Glinda.

I saw her today in the morning, if such a time of wakefulness can ever be referred to as a morning, and she took one look at my garb and said 'laundry day?' alas that lass knows me far too well.

Anywhoodle, I spoke today to some lollygaggers about my literary magazine, while trying not to notice that the green tape on the mic was peeling off and causing my grip on it to be ever so slightly uneven.

Spent a while on the phone yesterday with Stickyfinger-sister, talking about everything and nothing... our usual topic of conversation. She said she'd obtained a top for me from Cotton-On, and that she liked it so much she was just going to keep it. That girl is truly priceless.

Stickyfinger-Sister also has been on a positive lexis rampage, glutting herself (something that she needs to do more often due to her intensely tiny waist-size) on vocabulary. She said something about a Spanish ship in the morning, to which I replied 'a Galleon?' and later on we talked about her new found words such as 'filibuster', 'misdemeanor' ect.

Spoke to some authors today about more this that and the other things. Woman from ‘Women In Publishing’ spoke to me as well, trying to get me to e-mail her and obtain connections or some such blethers. I don’t really know if I desire to be associated with such a group, from what she said it sounded a little bit Opra for me taste… And I already have some interesting individuals to confer with if I want to flap my face noisily about literature.

Speaking of which, next week I’m talking about a particular text to 1200 students, and a 100-odd conglomeration of staff members… trying to kick some life into a generally senseless crowd about books. Thought of doing a speech on A.Huxleys ‘A Brave New World’ and Othello, because of the connections … but the crowd may be a little young. Hoping to hop back to NYC this summer to Columbia U and do some more poetry jazz.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Tram-vestites

So and so long?

Today was a marvellous day in certain respects... Lollygagged in bed until around 11 or so, and then fell out of it on the right side. Not a bad start to a tuesday, as far as tuesdays go. Had a delightfully interesting photoshoot, after I fell out of the afore mentioned right side of bed.

In involved wearing a cobalt blue get-up and black heels, (wait for it) on the roof of a (wait for it) tram... moving through hong kong at wind-friendly speeds. The afternoon was therefore spent teetering around on this anceint tram, for this is one of the old-style trams that were in use when HK was a british colony.
There were some orchestral swashbucklers in black aswell, providing some interesting shiny objects (an oboe, a cello,a violin, french horn, ect) and we were all truly freezing when the archaic tram would canter along throgugh central. Plebians were taking photos from the glass bridges and humming side-walks of this fine specimen of a city.

After that interesting hootenany, Glinda & I hit up IFC and then Pier 3 for the delightfully cheap libations they provide, although I merely enjoyed their reduction on the price of their coffee. Their coffe is by no means bad, and so I entertained myself by sipping one... and blowing bubbles when the more sophisticated eye was turened.

Captain Contemporary's brother was atop p3, along with some other folks. I had a brief conversation with him and his cronies/friends. I said that the other day was the first ever time I had ridden in a golf-cart and Captain Contemporary's brother asks if it was thiers.

Startled I asked if he was indeed the hermano of my good crime-fighting partener, and he said he was and thanked me for the twizzlers. I had bought a package of them from Canada. He had gotten a haircut, and so I had not recognized him.

Later on talked to his elder Contemporary, who did not seem happy at all. Indeed his texts to me today have had no affectionate embelishments whatsoever, and I spoke with Glinda about paranoia and puncuation when I was confued about how to end a particular communication.(.../?/x)
'When it doubt, do all three!' She exclaimed, and I chortled in my highly unattractive tenor... something I do when I have only female company.

Glinda looked very good today, she was wearing blue, and so if her eyes popped out of her head anymore they would have been rolling around on the pavement.

I must fly, knife, fliberty and pursuit of crappyness awaits me.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

Longbottom Leaf

Here we are, then, my friends at the dawn of a new year.

Anywhoodle, friday saw me across the newly widened river styx to greet someone considerably higher up the naval rank than a ferry man, even though I seriously doubt weather it could ever extend into a profession.
Was in such delightful company, I'd elaborate exquisitely on the details but I think that it would be best to keep those particulars safely in my head.
The only problem was that that day I was having a seriously hideous day. I'd spent the morning exfoliating, quite forgetting my appointment, and so looked like an absolute abomination to existence when I showed up. I was also ill and continually mortified by the immense imbalance in physical appearance, model though I may be, I was ill and actually ate a meal that day.

Granted, I did not pay for it.

It was self-explanatory panini.

I do not think the waiter understood my order for coffee, as it needed to be translated.

Watched more Flight Of The Choncords that night, it was delightfully funny. I just wish I wasn't so damn ugly that day, anywhoodle...

The really distressing this was that the next day I had a very good one (physically) with spiffy hair and what not, this was not amusing. But fate has its ways of playing its hateful little tricks on me.

Got a nice chunky tip today at work, did a show for a bunch of hairy children who were possibly the most vigorously irritating conglomeration of ignoramus infants I have ever chanced upon. By god, but they were hairy. Truly, yetis would have run for their archaic purses.

Did a simple little magic trick in the show, they all went nuts, I essentially filled the children with as much processed sugar as I could so as to retrieve from their vapid depths a twitch of motivation. As it transpired the children turned out to be interested only in themselves and were rude to their superiors. I worked with Glinda, and fear deeply that I may have offended her in the morning. It is still irritating me, nagging at me in my head to be more careful with my choice of words.

Captain contemporary and I listened to a good deal of metal the other day, it is so charming to listen to such music without the usual load of slandering. Orion is such a great track. We spoke of the bunk flying. Also listened to some Jimmy and I have found a new liking for guitar, much though I did adore it before it was never in my eyes much of an elegant or musically malleable instrument... yet Captain Contemporary is actually changing my mind about its versatility. With the aid of the lute, (not terribly different, at least not as different as harmonicas and pyro-organs) namely the pieces by Dowland.

I was most delighted to hear Glinda (soprano, I believe) singing Dowlands 'Come Again, Sweet Love Doth Now Invite' and I must say she did a truly superb job. Her support is particularly fantastic for the refrain of 'to sing, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die with thee again...'
I would have told her at the time yet I was worried it may receive an odd look, so decided to blog about it instead. What an age we live in. Truth be told the number I truly desired to do of Dowlands Lute works is 'Flow My Tears' or 'Wilt Thou Unkind Thus Reave Me?'

Captain Contemporary was lending a fine ear to 'Marriage of Fiargo' the other day, although I must admit I never did like too much strictly classical music, I find a lot of Mozart 'not my stchtick.' Hence, the title
'Baroque Girl Mastermind (comes with free dictionary)'

The dance 'Fear No Danger / The Baske' from Purcells Dido & Aeneas is continually stuck in my head. Its so fantastic. I've the recording of The Academe of Ancient Music (which would explain the incredible technical mastery). Was singing 'When I Am Laid In Earth' while trotting to work today. Got some odd looks, but alas, I would have anyway. Its the price one pays for literally trotting.

Speaking of music, I received as one of my christmas presents a compilation of late Baroque German music, which actually includes Pachelbels Canon. Well, I suppose I should own a copy of it at last. Its a little bit like having Symphony number 9 of Beethoven, Fur Elsie, or Claire De Lune (Claude Debussy). One never actually thinks of going out and getting it, and it seems comical to actually own. Or at least that is how I see it.

This Hugo work is taking forever to finish, because I've no time for reading. Zounds.

Currently listening to Purcell Fantaszias (Bb Major, to be precise). Its certainly less elaborate that some of the other works of his I have heard, obviously, but is just so pleasing in its lulling manner. I almost giggled today, but I stopped myself just in time.
Oh, now its F Major. This one sounds a tad like a scalic. Mmmm.

Flower & I Have a new place to sit around and be useless in. Its a charming corner of this decrepit world that treats us well and has some truly delicious drafts, although we only sampled a very little.

I hated that my boss actually called a particular person I know, and spoke to her. I hate that so much.

Musical reccomendation time. Schuberts String Quartets are something truly extraordinary. Naxos Vol. 7

Jackass reported that I verbally berated him. What right pussy, had to run to another indifferent ear. Well, it isn't my fault or concern that he looked positively repulsive. I have no idea what I saw, mind you I was short sighted at the time. (technology has now taken care of my myopia)

I do hope Glinda is feeling better tomorrow, she was really down today, I think she mentioned that she was sick. Flower went to protest about all those goings on in Gaza. I hate how people get blindly fanatic about matters such as this, passion is one thing but loosing the capability to have rational comprehension of your opposers points is ridiculous.

I've read the reports, seen the news, (infrequently, admittedly as I never watch tv) and the papers and still do not understand why they cannot coexist in the same place. We do it HK, NYC, just to name a few. (those are two places that I'm familiar with, and so use them as examples).

I'd best fly soon. Been reading 'The Love Song OF J Alfred Prufrock' despite that that vapid whore was quoting it quite at the air when last we were on amiable terms. It is a great work, one of my favorite poems, had she not so stained it with her clumsily infected digits.

On the whole, my fellow blogworld, life is looking up. Good things are happening, and mainly, to me. Huzzah.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Saturday Bites Live

Greetings,

Well well well... now back in the lovely land of hootenany! I am so delighted to be back, even though it means going back to the slof of work on monday.
The first thing I did when I got off the fifteen hour flight, and this is before sleep or food, I cleaned myself and went straight out.

And who should I run into? None other than an individual who used to donn only becoming shades (if any hue can be said to be becoming of that personage) of black, dark black and faded black (with the dollop of red or white, naturally) and now I perceive this person over the salty brim of 'welcome home tobasco' as wearing a break-back mountain jacket and decidedly homosexual accesories.

I can hate a person but respect them for their acheivements, but bad taste is something that causes involentary vomiting.

By the way, I've nothing against homosexuals, that would be massively hypocritial, my ex-girlfriend would agree.

I spoke that night primarily with Stickyfinger-sister, she is well and working I beleive. I wish her all the luck with her art, it seems that her current undertaking may require an undertaker and rate at which she is working. if that makes any kind of gramatical sense.

She has recently happened upon 'A Clockwork Orange' a novel I adore, and am willing to discuss with strangers most of the time. It was very good to talk to her again, I missed her greatly while voyaging.

I must sup.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Happy Zoo Year

Its new years day, I'm not in HK, I'm not with my friends. Commence major gripe.
Been working half a tail off on a presentation I'm to do when I make my glorious return to the big 852. Rebellion in Antigone, 1984 (Antigone/Julia). I'm basing most of it around the usual kumquat-sized wisdom, although I'm considering altering it for 'Hedonism in 1984/Oceania (orwell)' we shall see. It seems a much easier topic and one that would be less easy to parrot.

Herd briefly from Flower & Glinda, no news yet from Captain Contemporary (I am not terribly felicitous when contemplating Captain Contemporary, at least of late. More on this later). I miss the threatening threesome so much that I am actually becoming faintly wretched. Anymore wholesome ambling about in winter wonderlands with frolicking vertically impaired humans will cause me minor cranial internal bleeding... its. not. my. scene.

Flower tagged me in a note on facebook, was very sweet to read and makes it so I am most impatient to be back at her side... Pier 3 beckons with its glinting cheapness and corona extras.

In vancouver at present.

New years day, bitterly cold, the streets are iced and glare out at the sky in streaks of mud and frozen expressions. The rain comes down in half-frozen tatters and all canada appears to be huddled underground for cover. So I go on an outing to the Zoo. Naturally.

It appeared to be a most miserable prospect at first, but then some truly lovely things happened. We were the only, i repeat ONLY guests in the entire Zoo, and this is an enormous one. Everything from bears to giraffes to tigers and what not. After we entered the one staff member working put on the track that looped for the day. A mix of pretend rainforest tunes and peruvian fluting (I hope I've made you proud, Glinda). On approaching the enclosure with Cheetah, a most marvelous thing happened.

The cheetah leapt out of the cave, went right up to the fence, looked up boldly to behold out frost-bitten forms. And burst into a positive flurry of purring. Such delight! I also saw a gigantic fiery tiger take a gargantuan crap in the snow. A fulfilling day.
I have a cousin, who is seven and today dressed in a red pillow-like aparatus that I beleive canadians call jackets.

We discovered the cougars were following him, as far as they might.

For breakfast I meandered across the street to Mcdolalds (felt the fat in the air attack my abdomen upon the first step on the threshold) and helped myself to the biggest coffee the ordered. Luncheon today was four huge cups of iced-tea and a bit of tortilla... fitting, I'd just finished 'Like Water For Chocolate'

Currently reading some Baudelaire works, and Victor Hugo. Managed to get my paws on some more Purcell and what not.

Now, on the matter of mister modern.

I suppose it is a little cheap to put out this information on the ether for any prying eye to spy, yet I doubt it is overly destructive, as its nothing too serious.

- MJCK -

Now for the social update

I've recently fallen into relations with a charming individual, one who is certainly more worthy than the disaster of Chup or the bigger disaster of Jackass, (the list of conquests goes on, believe me) and so far things have proven most dandy. Admittedly, I do not usually have such trusting relations from the start of meeting someone, although something about this individual made it so that I trusted him more than I do most. Males are, if we are to believe Flower, Jhonnie & Evolution, expendable.

Anywhoodle, we got along swimmingly.. although now I am maddened by his superfluous ability to stagnate social adaptation and maturation. It grieves me to note his inexplicable attitude towards solidifying what already is.

It grieves me, but in all honesty does not surprise me. I'm yet to meet a man with balls.

Also, I have not been in town for the new years, and am apprehensive as to what I may discover upon my return. As well as being feeble, I've known the ridiculous feminine antithesis to be fickle.

I was somewhat stung by the lack of official alteration, and I know this to be most persnickety... yet what can I say, revenge is sweeter than wine. And real affection rings truer than revenge, so I just want to know once and for all, or the devil take this whole situation. Pardon me, been Victor Hugo-ing far too oft.

I don't know quite what to do about this Captain, and I LOATHE dithering. And I know that I'm being overly-sensitive. Perhaps its because of the lack of that kind of affection for quite a while now.

Perhaps I just need a toy.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat