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Are y’all messing with me. Because seriously.

I am so busy i shouldn’t even be writing this, but i can’t not tell you what just happened. I CANNOT KEEP THIS TO MYSELF.

I stayed home from retail-work so i could build special cat furniture to keep one of them from peeing on the bathroom floor right next to the litter box, like a total asshole. She refuses to share. Then i spent hours sweating as i moved/organized boxes in the garage because we have new roommates a’comin’ and they might need some space up there. Then i had an intense prep session with my co-presenter for our cats in coffee workshop on Tuesday, which lasted just under five hours. I was about to start working on stuff for the next issue of Nightmare (woo!) when, i shit you not, the ceiling began to leak a mysterious, dark brown fluid that smells like delicious smoked sausages.

Let’s go over that one more time, folks.

The ceiling began to leak a mysterious, dark brown fluid that smells like delicious smoked sausages.

photo: ystery liquid leaking from our ceiling


art: Last panel of Bill Watterson's October 25, 1986 "Calvin & Hobbs" strip

Cats in Coffee!

poster: workshop on painting with coffee i'm running with a co-worker

I’m running this workshop with my friend and co-worker Maegen. If you’re in the area and it sounds like fun, sign up soon… I think we’re going to run out of space! (If it’s popular enough, though, we’ll do it again, so even if you miss it this time you may not be out of luck entirely.)

Twelfth dog, best dog

Because Hanzo is an enormous male pit bull, almost no one wants to pet him. But because he’s also a doofy, sweet, good-hearted kitten of a dog, it hurts his feelings when people avoid him. They walk across the street rather than pass him on the sidewalk, and he watches them with his ears up and his tail wagging slowly, and more slowly, and then stopping as they go away. And i admit, i hate them a little bit every time. Not enough to want them to get hit by a car or anything; just enough to hope they develop rectal polyps or contract pink eye.

I’m queer, but i’m not the kind of gay where you put your dog in clothes–at least, i never was, until i realized that it made people more likely to pet Hanzo.  And i’m queer, but i’m not the kind of gay where you sit down on a couch with a bunch of other dudes and get emotionally worked up over even more dudes sweating and rubbing all over each other. But if some sports love will get people to pet Hanzo, for them to treat him like a living thing with feelings instead of some kind of scary deathmachine? I’m on it.

photo: my pit bull Hanzo decked out for his (not my) Seahawks fando

It’s not just a trick i’m playing on people. “Got ya! That dog you just patted on the head because of your voracious fandom is a reviled pit bull!” This dog is genuinely a good person. You know what he did today?

He walked into the animal bloodbank–he led me in, while i was trying to go down the street–and i figured i’d let him snuffle around for a minute and weigh him before convincing him to leave. The receptionist saw him and dropped her jaw. “I was just going to call you–we needed a dog of his blood type to donate today.”

My dog voluntarily saved another animal’s life. He doesn’t even know that! And he hates being sedated, he hates hearing other animals be upset, but he strode right in there, because he’s such a bucket of love that he somehow sensed that today was the day to be awesome.

I wonder, of the people who cross the street to avoid him, how many of them have donated blood recently, or taken their animals to donate blood. I’m not foolish enough to think there’s a correlation between charitable acts and fear of strange dogs. But you know… the part of me that sees Hanzo droop and wants them to instantaneously develop a kidney stone? That part can’t help but wonder.

Leo making faces. Well, face.


photo: our bearded dragon, Leo, in the Christmas treeWe thought Leo might like to climb around in the Christmas tree after we divested it of ornaments and lights. Turns out he likes to just sit wherever we put him and never move, forever. Sometimes i think he might qualify as a plant.

But then he does things like zoom around the room looking for crickets we might have just accidentally poured all over the floor, because that’s how low his opinion is of our housekeeping abilities.

photo: our pit bull Hanzo being jealous that our pet lizard Leo is on my lap, not his.Hanzo watched Leo racing about. (And by “racing,” i mean, “scrabbling in place like a cartoon because little spiny claws are crap traction on polished wood.”) Hanzo clearly wants the spiny little dog with a skin condition to like him, but he’s not really sure how to make it happen.

Christmas in pictures, tweets, & tumbls

photo: my mom's yearly sacrifice to the grandpuppies.

This is actually pre-mortem photography. It will not be an open casket funeral.

My mom’s yearly, hand-sewn sacrifice to the voracious grandpuppies was popular for the entire ten minutes that it lasted. The cloth guts on the floor were too graphic; i simply cannot show you the carnage.

photo: our holiday meal and our tree

You can’t tell in the photo, but the tree has orange-and-purple Halloween lights.

Keffy visited and quickly became the unofficial pet photographer:


photo: Leo, by Keffy

Honestly, December hasn’t been a good month for me, and Christmas wasn’t perfect either, but i still feel like we’re ending the year well.

We’re in a new spacious house, with a wonderful imported roommate and her hilarious, lovable cat. Even if i’m poorer than i was a few years ago, i still love each of my three jobs. I’ve been with the same indescribably splendid man for almost fourteen years; we know and love each other more every day. I’m growing a secondary relationship with a woman who constantly surprises me in all the best ways. As a bonus, i get to see her boyfriend often–there’s a chosen brother i never want to lose. The concept of chosen family has never meant as much to me as it has this year. Thank you, 2014.

You’re invited!

photo: bin full of snacks

Goodbye “Haunt on Dupont” Party!

When: Noon to darknoon (12:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m.), Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Who: Anyone who wants a last chance to see the ghost that made me stop saying “I don’t believe”

Why: We’re bribing you with pizza, snacks, beer, soda, and good company. Yeah, we’re cleaning and painting the house we’re moving out of, but you know us… it’ll still be a party.

Seamus is even setting up some rock show-worthy speakers and playing music to which you can sing, dance, and scrape ancient Halloween decals off the windows. We’ll also be building some cat furniture for the new house, and right now, the front room has a “moving sale” in which everything only costs as much as you feel like paying. (Seriously, we’re not going to argue with you. And there’s some awesome stuff, including a real wood entertainment center, a lightdesk, four matching dining room chairs, and a bunch of books that don’t suck.)

Where: If you don’t know where we’ve lived for the past ten years, e-mail hauntondupont @ plunderpuss dot net and i’ll hook you up. (This IS the Internet. You say the words ‘free beer’ in public and you never know what loser is going to show up and make it dirtier than when we started!)

What to bring: We’ll supply all the cleaning equipment if you supply the hands to wield them, and we’ll supply all the noms if you bring the mouths to chow them!

I haven’t really gotten to see any of my friends for over a month, since it took that long to clean out my superhoarding catastrophe,  so this is as good of an excuse as any to hang out for a little while. I can have just as much fun with you while we swat spiderwebs as while playing a videogame, and hopefully you feel the same way, because it’s a really big-ass house for just two people to clean.

Come see the ghost before we give it up!

photo: fridge door full of beer

I didn’t just try, i’m still trying

photo: me smiling and being embarrassed

I’m learning to be better about accepting less challenges at a time, but i’m also learning that overestimating myself feels better than underestimating myself. I cannot possibly meet all the goals i set, but i would rather have them and fail than not try.

Failure doesn’t bother me; it’s a part of life, like sleeping, eating, shitting, and eventually dying. I can be hard on myself when i don’t expect it, when i fail at something in which i expected to succeed, but it’s not a mortal psychological wound, just a disappointment.

The jaw-droppingly vile historical excuse for Thanksgiving doesn’t work for me, but the sentiment of counting your blessings is powerful. This year i’m finding that i’m also thankful for what i don’t have, for all the things i tried to attain and didn’t grasp, and where those experiences took me. I’m even thankful for the things i thought i wanted and it turned out to be like expecting a juicy apple when you bite into wax fruit.

I’m me because of those things, and i’m thankful that i’m me.

This is how i feel today


plunderpuss with cartoon heart eyes
This is my challenge: Go forth and do something you haven’t done before, something that makes you also feel like this.

Clown rabies

photo: closeup of sprinkles all over my lips

Pretending to be ghosts

photo: some graves at the edge of the cemetery

The other night, Briar and i took a trip to Bayview Cemetery. She was respectful and did not pee on any graves; i was respectful and didn’t climb on them, not even the really cool tall ones with good handholds.

photo: me and my pit bull briar posing under a streetlamp

I actually feel a little guilty for going in when it’s closed, but we all evaluate rules and decide which ones we’re willing to break.  I’ll break the rules because for me, the cemetery during the day isn’t a pleasant experience, but i still think i should get to visit it just like anyone else.

photo: moon behind clouds over top of building
It’s worth inconveniencing a rent-a-cop because while I’m walking on top of thousands of sleeping skeletons, i can feel my own skeleton inside my skin. I feel like my flesh is made of concepts, like everyone’s is, something insubstantial and alien in silent moonlight. I don’t feel that way at any other time, in any other place.

photo: moon behind clouds and streetlamps below
We were lucky enough to visit under a werewolf-movie sky–the clouds would cover the moon and it would be dark, and then suddenly, it would pour silver moonlight on everything for awhile before dimming with clouds again. My camera isn’t great, as i’m sure i’ve mentioned, but it took some interesting photos of our walk.

photo: Whatcom Creek in one of the less touristy stretches of the path

I always think i’m going to find a body in Whatcom Creek. I don’t know why–the expectation hovers even when i didn’t just spend over two hours walking amongst fields of the dead. It has the kind of overgrown look that strikes me as a more realistic hiding place for a half-decomposed corpse than the pebbled beaches they always use in crime shows.

(Thanks again Maeg, for driving us up there. I appreciate that you’re willing to put my four-legged flea festival in your Maegenmobile. )