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I have the power

3 Jun

I just farted so bad in bed it woke up the dog and the cat. They both looked at me with that apocalyptic face saying “dear lord what is happening?”

Thats my body releasing my emotions, furry friends.

It happens

7 Jan

So here’s my last two weeks in a nutshell.

My old English professor came over in a bathrobe, crying, so now he’s staying with me.

My colleague already lives with me.

My colleague told HR I wanted to file a sexual harassment complaint and that wasn’t real.

Then the man I never wanted to file a complaint against crashed a motorcycle and died.

Then my friends got in a fight, kind of, and I spilt town. Went and had a Santa Fe day.

I can’t do it. Call me when it’s over. There’s too much drama at the holidays.

Spirit Animal

26 Jul

I come from a bobcat. True story. Explains a bit, I suppose (I’m also a descendant of pirates).

So before I get to the story of my birth, let me tell you about my brother’s. It’ll give you a little context to my understanding of life and death.

My mom and dad wanted to have a kid for forever and had all these complications and then finally my mom got preggers with my bro. So as she went into labor and headed to the hospital my family was all abuzz and excited. My Grandmother and great-grandmother got in the car and headed down the mountain (we’re Appalachians) to the hospital to see him be born. It was a time of excitement and happiness. But a terrible car accident happened on their way and my great-grandmother died. My Grandmother was badly injured, I think she broke her legs and all. The joy of my dumb brother was interupted by this tremendous tragedy. So I always assumed that my great-grandmother, Granny Meade, was my brother’s spirit because he kind of is a little old lady on the inside. Very much.

So then came me, the whoops baby. Or as I like to say, the most awesome miracle and best news ever.

My dad worked for the phone company while he was doing his post grad. He climbed up the telephone poles and fixed stuff. I don’t really know, it was back in the days of land lines. He found a stranded kitten one day, put it in his shirt pocket, and brought it home to my mom.

Oops, it’s a baby bobcat.

Anyhow, they raised the bobcat and named it Chris. There are pictures of Chris cuddling with my brother as an infant and then as a toddler. He was a good *big* cat. So anyway my mom was pregnant with me, broke her femur (largest bone in your entire body. Go big, mom) waterskiing, was recovering from getting the cast off her leg, and Chris started acting weird. He curled up under the table and was having trouble breathing. My mom, extremely pregnant, still mostly one legged, crawled under the dining table to lay with him and hold him. She called my dad crying. My dad, thinking she’s gone into labor, rushes home. And as they sat with Chris the bobcat as he died, under the dining table, guess who came into the world?

If you guessed me, you’re right. So my brother has Granny Meade and I have a bobcat’s spirit.

It all makes a little more sense now, huh?

Out back

6 Aug

Roam out back
Rub my back
Love me back

My friend Jim

25 Jun

On Friday we get to express our love for one another and our love for Jim Phillips, who brought so many of us together. He was an impactful and influential person for every second he was with us, and I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Jim opened doors for me and helped me shut doors that needed to be locked and reminded me what it is to be a good human and a good friend. And now it is time to say good bye. And to thank him.

Sometimes it is hard to put into words what a person has meant to us. Jim was a writer, a farmer, a musician, and a friend to everyone. We all have a different Jim story, which is appropriate for such a Renaisance man. For me, Jim was a close friend but also so much more than that. He understood me, got me, and loved me anyhow. He loved me relentlessly and was always my ally, always Team Lindsay. That’s a rare find and a good man. He deserved a medal.

Jim and I grew up about an hour and 20 years apart, and could always talk southern things together. That’s how we became friends. We stayed friends because just as southern charm doesn’t wear off, good friendships don’t either. We’d get together over fried catfish and he’d help me with boring stuff like car loans, or fun stuff like driving me around to the animal rescues until I found my perfect Mr. Frank. Once, while going through a break up, I tried to cancel lunch because I was sad. Jim wouldn’t have it and demanded I come to lunch, and he sat with me as I cried over my salad and margarita and told me what a crappy person the dude was until I felt better. And true to his word, that crappy dude remained dead to him from there on out. He was stubborn like that. When he loved you, you knew it, and you felt it, and if he didn’t love you, well then you knew it and felt it all the same. He had a presence about him that drew you in and made you want to make your world better. He could make you feel like you were the most important person in the world and that all of your molehills were mountains and at the same time that it’d always be ok. He was daring like that. He wouldn’t let you run at the sight of white on the waves.

Part of his charm and presence was due to the stories he always told. He could go on and on about a chicken pot pie he had in California once and he’d have you on the edge of your seat the entire time, your mouth watering, your heart racing. Man, I’m going to miss his stories. But what I still have are the writings of a brilliant man, the memories of a once in a lifetime friend, and the wonderful network of friends that I met through Jim. He had a way of bringing us all together and he left us set up with a huge safety net of love and support. I can never thank him enough. I’m definitely not ready to say goodbye, but it is time.

I will always miss my big brother Jim.

Kittens enough to juggle

23 Jun

The little terrorist demon cats can’t sleep through the night. Each evening around 2 or 3 a.m. the little monsters start ping-ponging across the bedroom to the steady soundtrack of Rrrrrrrrrrwwwwwww*Crash*Bang*Shattering glass. It’s terrifying. They are so small, but so scary.

No toes are safe anymore. There are literally monsters under my bed.

Sadman 19 « Dave Jordan Art

5 Mar

Dave does the coolest comics, y’all. ‘ Tis true.

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