RIP DIPSTICK DOLLABILLZ the thuggest of all the felines.

My cat died this past week.

Ms. Dipstick Dee Dangles
(Her nickname, “Ms. Dipstick DollaBillz”, was the result of a drunk conversation about how my cat was more of a thug than me. Which is true.)

I’m not too sad and that sounds callous, but she had a really long life for a cat; a solid 16+ years.

I actually saw her being born and I think that was the moment that I decided I would never, ever had babies.
Dippy’s mom, Emma, was pregnant and all the children in the house had been warned that Emma was not allowed in anyone’s bedroom, because my mother wanted to prevent this exact scenario.
But, I snuck Emma onto my bed and about ten pages into a book, I glanced down to see a paw sticking straight out of her derrière.
Horrified, I slowly got off the bed and then ran to find my mother where I demanded she promptly remove Emma from my comforter before things progressed further.

Obviously this did not happen.

Instead, my mother called all the siblings into my room so we could witness first hand the miracle of life and that’s why I will never provide her with grandchildren.

Anyway, Dipstick was named after a puppy from 101 Dalmatians.
I really wanted a dog, but my parents said no and thus, in protest I named my cat after one.

Why I chose that particular dog, I have no idea.
I think I liked that the dog Dipstick had a tail that looked like a dipstick (the kind you test your car’s oil with). I like witty names.
I named one of Dippy’s brother’s Spotson, after Sherlock Holmes’ partner. (Spotson had a black spot on his back, hence the variation on Watson)

I was a weird child.

I’m not sure where I was going with this post, but in closing I’m going to say that Ms. Billz’s death was unfortunate and that it also marked the second time this year I got to use the excuse, “. . .because I have a dead cat in my car.”

This is the last photo taken of Dip, before she embarked on her journey to the big litter box in the sky.
❤ Rest in peace my love ❤

Hide Your Crazy

I’ve been kind of a mental case lately.

For the few of you who know me really well, this is not news to you.
The past week has reminded me of the importance of finding people who can tolerate your crazy, even when you tell them to fuck off.
As my friend Kelsey always tells me that life is about finding your own people. The ones who get you and love you no matter how much of an ass your are.
Her favorite saying regarding this topic stems from story I told her, that I’m now going to share with you.
Once upon a time, I dated someone who had an armpit fetish.
I’m pretty open and I’ll try almost anything once, but I’m not personally into armpits, which was what made me realize things were not going to work between he and I. 
Kelsey took this story and turned it into a fable with the lesson being: everyone has their own people. In this kid’s case, he just needed to find someone with similar interests.
From this story she coined the wise phrase: “If they’re not weird enough to fuck your armpit, they’re not your kind of people.”
In relation to this, my mother kindly reminded me that it is also important to not be a psychopath all the time because it makes having friends and lovers, hard. 
As I was leaving Easter she hollered out the door, “I love you! Try to not let your crazy hang out too much!” 
In closing I guess life’s a balance of finding people who are willing to love you even thought your family is strange as hell. . . 
and sometimes you don’t act as nicely or as classy as you should.

Cat lover at all costs

ME: “Look at this bruise I have!”

BOY: “What is that from!?”

ME: “You don’t want to know. . .”

BOY: “No, I do.”

ME: “I was standing on these stairs outside the concert venue and there was a cat walking down the street and as I was craning my neck to watch it, I fell down the stairs a bit.”

BOY: “That’s embarrassing.”

ME: “I know! I was mortified for a second.”

BOY: “No. That’s embarrassing, for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flash forward to the next day when I’m telling my mom~~~~

MOM: “Alli, don’t tell people that story.”

Despite what they say, they love me. I know they do.

Happy easter?

I’m a week late, but I trust you all had a nice Easter?

Personally, I find it kind of a bizarre holiday, but I’ll take any excuse to gorge myself with jellybeans and chocolate.

This Easter was more relaxed than usual.
There was a nominal amount of yelling and no one had a frustrated breakdown over lost eggs.

Let me explain the importance of that last part.

Growing up, my mother took an enormous amount of pride in her annual Easter Egg Hunt.
We lived in the country and my front yard was really more of a field, making it perfect for hiding eggs.
Bethy, as I lovingly call her, had a great system. There was four of us who partook in the hunt and to make sure that everything was fair, she had a color coded egg system.

There was a series of about 10 eggs, each a different color and/or size, and everyone had to find one of each egg.
This kept things fair by insuring we all got the same amount of candy, but did not negate vicious competition which could have been avoided if we each were searching for our own colored egg.

The hunt was fun for about ten minutes, but once we got down to the last three eggs, it became a matter of blood, sweat and tears.
In part because we would all usually be hunting for the same color, and so the first one to spot the egg, also had to be the fastest to get to it.
Adding to the fun, Bethy hid the damn things in the most ridiculous places. Most parents kept the eggs in obvious areas, my mother found it more interesting to put them on the edges of brier patches, in trees, or hidden in high grass.
Matters were complicated by my mother’s memory, because every year, with out fail, she would completely forget where she hid at least two of the eggs, shorting someone and thus leading to the aforementioned breakdown that became a beloved family tradition.

This has “Beth” written all over it…

Straight from the Camel’s Mouth

*Boyfriend jumps on bed scaring me into a state of consciousness*

ME: “Why did you wake me up!?”

BOY: “It’s 9am! Anyone who sleeps past nine is lazy.”

ME: “I’m OK with that. I was having a really cool dream! A camel was serenading me with ‘Somebody to Love’ by Queen.”

BOY: “Animals talk regularly in your dreams?”

ME: “Occasionally.”

BOY: “That explains a lot about you.”

ME: “How so?”

BOY: “It just give a lot of insight on your perception of reality.”

I have no idea what he was insinuating, but if animals can’t sing in my dreams then I don’t want to dream.

I don’t know if it’s relevant, but the next night I had a dream that my scalp was flaking off in such huge chunks that half way through the dream I became bald on the very top of my head, with a rash that resembled ringworm all over my face.

I should probably stop eating before bed.

Last Friday Night

Last Friday I saw a really awesome band called The Devil Makes Three.
I’ve posted their music here before, but if you didn’t check them out then, you should now.

For those obsessed with local music, Joe Fletcher opened the show, and I also will advocate for your hearing his music too.
The really amazing part about Joe Fletcher playing was that he featured MorganEve Swain on fiddle. For those of you who don’t know, MorganEve is one half of the group Brown Bird. Sadly her partner, in life and performance, David Lamb, passed away about two weeks ago from Leukemia.
Seeing her on stage was heartbreaking, inspiring and a bunch of other emotions I really can’t explain.

Anyway, I’ve put a few videos on here for you all to check out.

Number 7 by The Devil Makes Three
What did the Deep See Say by Joe Fletcher

About that update….

With the close of the semester, things have been a bit hectic, and my posting has been pretty low.

I’m going to start posting on an actual schedule and kind of change the format of the blog a bit.
I think I’m going to clean up the format too.
That black and red design, while my favorite colors, is a little dark.

In other news, I am ONCE AGAIN not graduating this May.
My parents are so proud of me.

I would like to say that I’ve been doing better things with the past 5 years of my life, such as: backpacking across Europe trying to find myself, starting a company, publishing a book, or curing the common cold in a lab I built in my bathroom.

In reality I’ve just done a lot of nothing.

Regardless, congratulations to the rest of you who have had some success in your lives.
Please send me an outline of your five year plan and how you achieved it so that I may emulate you.

Here’s to hoping I’ll graduate by the end of 2015.

And so begins the waiting. . .

Two days ago I finally sent my PDF to an agent.
Go me.

The irksome part of this whole process is the waiting. Partially because I obviously want to know NOW if you think what I wrote was decent and in part because if they hate what you wrote, there is no firm “NO”.

Basically, you send in your manuscript and if they like it they will contact you back in 6-8 weeks.
If they’re not interested, they just leave you hanging.


I would prefer a rejection letter, it doesn’t even have to be personal.
I find rejection letters, a tangible reminder of failure, to be an extremely motivating thing. When I got my rejection letter from NYU, as a high school senior, I tacked that thing to my wall in my bedroom and I even put it up in my dorm.
It sounds sadistic, but I used it as a reminder to work a little bit harder at my goals.

Any how, I’ll keep you all posted on how this turns out.

Also, starting next week I’m going to be trying out a new format for this blog, so stay tuned!!!

Shameless (not the show, but an adjective for a self serving act)

Yesterday I did the most self serving, shameless bit of self promotion by friending about 200 people back onto my Facebook.

I went from 60 friends (45 of who were probably family) to 240 overnight.
I was friending people so fast that Facebook had the balls to insinuate that I wasn’t using the feature correctly and then made me verify that I wasn’t a robot.

I pretty much stuck to only friending people I knew, but one kid sent me a message and asked who I was because he thought I looked familiar, but he couldn’t place me.
*I was so busted*
I had to (embarrassingly) explain that we went to high school together (for some reason I thought he knew me, but sometimes I’m such a creep and I get to know people so well from observation I forget they don’t know who I am in real life)

I then had to admit that I really only friended him to promote this blog.

Thankfully he understood and liked my page anyway.

This all sounds cold and callous, my asking for friends just to fulfill my own agenda, but I would like to think that this blog is a way for me to connect with people.

Yes, some of my friending was completely just because I want you people to read my shit and tell ALL your friends about my shit.
Seriously, tell your friends. Now. Right now.
also, I’ve received about 5 messages from people who were genuinely curious about how I’ve been the past 5 years and that’s pretty fucking cool too.

Before this post gets anymore rambly (yeah I’m making that a word right now) I want to say HELLO to all my new Facebook friends and a massive THANK YOU for those of you who liked my page. Please feel free to tell your friends and family about me.
Finally I want to say to everyone who messaged me and asked how I was, that it was really good to hear from you all.

THE LORAX IS COMING and boy is he pissed.

I am actually about to go through everything I own and recycle the shit out of it all.
I’m going to sell everything I own, buy a Tesla, live out it and travel the country petitioning for Greenpeace.



and this can only mean one thing.
The Lorax is coming.
and he is NOT happy.

Seriously though, there’s a really big fucking problem when selling air is a form of protest art.
Maybe because I respect and completely fear the Lorax, maybe it’s because I hate the idea of being too poor to afford air, but this event has really inspired me to try and be a bit greener.

No one wants to wake up to a house full of raging Barbaloots, rallied behind an angry orange rodent threatening to strangle you with a thneed!

Seriously, clean your act up, or we will all pay.

*~Links for further reading~*