I am the Cat Lady's Tabby...

[furrows brow]

Where to start?

[cocks head to side]

Well...

[cracks knuckles]

Hmmm...

(I didn't actually crack my knuckles. My mom always told me that would give me "man hands." I metaphorically cracked my knuckles)

Bit of news, I suppose:
I have moved from being an assistant director to being an actor. Yup. Other Caroline (obviously the inferior of the two) didn't work out, and I guess Jason and Daniel were at a loss of what to do next.

"Let's get the girl with the booty to play an androgynous waiter. We'll just shave off her hip bones."

So that's that. It was weird, Friday I ran rehearsal with Ryan since Jason couldn't make it, and by Sunday, I was in the cast. Hmph. Now I guess no one has to listen to me anymore, which is fine, because I often tune myself out.

[cat stretch]

I've decided that I should not be allowed to listen to any sort of nostalgic music while I'm on my period. Friday was fine, after rehearsal, me and the boys (pick a boy, any boy) smoked pot and listened to They Might be Giants, which damn, took me back. Some serious back. But I was still pre- then, so it was giddy.

Saturday I was hit with cramps not to be trifled with. It kept me inside all day, just smoking pot to dull it, with the occasional shot of whiskey to wash it down. But during the course of that day alone, I cried and laughed and basically acted like the crazy spinster without the cats. Your basic bi-polar field trip.

And at some point, I busted out a CD that maybe I shouldn't have. The thing that is so great about music is it's ability to universally connect you to events that the music itself is not meant to stand for, but we contextualize it to where if the circumstances permit, you can find yourself getting misty-eyed to "ADIDAS" by Korn. I thought maybe I had given myself some time, enough time, but the wave of sadness that hit me implied otherwise.

Funny the only thing he gave me was something I took. Funny how it was the only thing worth any merit about the whole thing, and I can't listen to it. Funny how I want to listen to it again, because the music is so good, but I can't since out of emotion, I may have scratched the whole thing all to hell by not treating it with care. Funny how that sentence works for the entire encounter.

Funny. But not ha-ha funny.

But I have concluded what lead me to such melancholy feelings. So, as of now, once a month I can only listen to Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. And not all of Christina, either (so sue me).

[meows, does a back-flip]

Sunday I was feeling closer to human and less of harpie, and so I took the time to go see "The Gates." I walked around the park by myself, taking in all the orange in amoungst the grey and the dead that is winter in New York. UT would have been proud. Chances are it probably was. I was amazed by how many people were walking around Central Park on a Sunday in February, talking about, of all things, art. Most of it was pretentious bullshit, but I saw a father trying to explain to his little girl why it was art.

Dad: "You see, sweetie, it stands for [fill in some crap line about art]"

Little Girl: "I just like the orange."

Me, too.

I imagine the real definition of art lies somewhere between the pretentious bullshit and a child's response.

For the first time, I felt like New York was home. I've been here for 6 months, and have felt like some secret tourist. And now here I am, alone in the city, and enjoying a day in the park where something I could never see in Texas was being displayed. I felt a pang of loneliness when I saw how many couples were holding hands and walking around, but then again, I don't want to share this city with anyone. Not for now, anyway. Since moving to the city, I had been embroiled in some man-drama. Eric, then Sleazy, and now...

And now...

Just me and the pretty orange.

Lonely, maybe. But not alone. Or maybe even alone, but calmly resigned to it.

RANDOM UPBEAT SIDENOTE TO END THIS ONE ON:
The 40 Days of Reckoning are starting to wear on me. Loins buzzing like a bee, I try to silence them with pot. And then Ashlee reminded me I'm on, like, week 2.

This could get a lot worse before it gets better.

[heads to the litter box, thinks better of it, pisses in your shoes]