sunday in the park with “george”

the funniest thing that happened to me recently:

i take my dog about 4 times a week to a dog park so he can run around and swim. by this point, i’m on a first name basis with many of the other regulars of the dog park.

one guy there all the time has lost the bottom part of one leg from the knee down. we’re not friendly enough for me to ask how he lost part of his leg. but i have seen him enough to say, ‘hey, how are you? how are your dogs doing? nice weather, huh?’ he seemed friendly enough, very chatty.

a couple of weeks ago he was excited because he was getting a new prosthetic leg because as he said ‘the one i have now sucks ass.’ i said, ‘well, that’s nice. good for you.’

i show up at the park a few days ago.

he got his new leg.

he got a designer model.

the plastic part that covers his knee and connects to the metal rod leading to the shoe has a design on it.

the man got an artificial leg completely emblazoned with a confederate flag.

our conversation was something like this:

i said, ‘i see you got your new leg.’

he said, ‘yep, it feels much better than the old one.’

i said, “uh-huh. well…uh… what’s up with the flag on your leg?”

he said, ‘this is the one i liked the best. the other patterns available were weird.’

i said, ‘they didn’t even have beige?’

he said, ‘nope.’

i said, ‘well… i’m kinda scared of you now… i’ll see you later.’

if we were better friends, i’d offer to take him to michael’s to buy modge podge so we could decoupage his leg with pictures of unicorns or butterflies. it may be sexist, but even decoupaging nudie pictures from playboy would seem more reasonable to me.

completely true story!

come on, “george”… just bite the bullet. learn spanish, start buying hip-hop albums and get yourself invited to at least one lesbian commitment ceremony this spring.

you’re bound to enjoy at least of these things.

it’ll get you out of your racist rut.

what’d you say, floyd?

floyd is a service manager at the mercedes dealership in greensboro. he’s originally from waynesville. but i guess the bright lights of the triad lured him away from the mountains. he was fine to work with, except for not even attempting to spell my last name and giving me one of those ‘you ain’t from ’round here, are ya, son?’ looks when i walked in his office.

that happens everyday. so that’s not my point.

i needed my car serviced. i haven’t heard good things about the benz dealership in asheville. i especially didn’t want a trainee here working on the car. my sister lives in greensboro. so i could say ‘hello’ to her and get the car checked in the meantime.

besides the scheduled maintenance, there was only one thing i needed them to check.

when the A/C was set to medium speed, it made a weird noise, kinda like a playing card put against spinning bicycle spokes. but it didn’t make the noise if the A/C was manually set on ‘high’.

i thought a fan blade was loose or a piece of paper that i put in the glove compartment slipped into the A/C vent.

i was wrong.

i got floyd’s interim report about noon. here’s how i remember the conversation:

floyd: well, we found out what was making the sound in your A/C unit.
me: oh, OK, that’s good. what was it?
floyd: uh, well… it seems a rat built its nest in the system and that was interfering with it’s working properly.
me: what’d you say, floyd? (said a la diff’rent strokes’ “what you talkin bout willis?”)
floyd: uh, well… i’ve heard of it happening before. if a car is stored for a long period or kept on a field, small animals can climb-up into the engine compartment to set-up a sweet little den for themselves.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well… we know it was a rat because the technician was using pliers to pull-out the nesting material and one of the things he pulled out was the rat’s head.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well…we can keep the head for ya if you wanna have a look when you pick up the car. the tech still has it.
me: what’d you say, floyd? …

so it seems that every time i turned on the heater this winter my A/C was slapping a rat in the head, like moe slapped curly in the “three stooges” films.

the moral of this story is to quit smoking.

what?

i smoke. i knew smoking affects the sense of taste. but now i know it affects the sense of smell to the point where i don’t notice the odor of a decaying rat in my car.

wow and yuck.

construction update

the addition to the house is coming along.

the biggest news is that the klansman is now apparently the construction foreman.

my complacency created a middle manager.

sorry.

fill my hole

(oh, puns. i am powerless against the power of the pun.)

my hole is now full of something that looks like a building.

but there is still a little room around the edges of my hole.

my hole has to be approved by the city’s inspectors before it can be completely filled-in.

come on, mr. inspector. help me fill it up!

oh, yeah! mr inspector, sign that form and complete me!

jeffrey kalinsky can kiss my ass

i left new york for the same reason mrs. jackson likes to shop at the dollar palace.

after a certain age, you just don’t feel like putting on a show for the neighbors.

for example, if you’re not planning on seeing the same people over the next few days, or even a week, let’s say, what’s the point of changing clothes everyday?

a nice pair of scrubs can take you from day to evening and back to day again.

if your bits ‘n pieces don’t stink, why bother?

“Sparkle, Neely! Sparkle!” is a hard lifestyle to maintain.

i don’t fit into any of my ten suits thanks to this newfound respect of drawstrings pants and ingles’ bakery department.

i’m tired; admittedly, not as tired as mrs. jackson, but tired nonetheless.

i just want to sit and have cake.

heritage pride is not a hate crime

this truck has parked in front of my house for a week.

ok, here’s my point:

if i’ve said it once, i’ve said it a thousand times, “moral outrage is a luxury of the young.”

i admit that for a minute i thought of complaining to the general contractor about the klan’s regional rep working on my project’s construction crew. (those are his bumper stickers on his ford F-250.)

‘hey, mr. contractor, what’s up with the grand wizard assigned to work on plumbing?’

yes, of course, i could have asked that question.

but i didn’t.

this fucking garage has taken months to get started. am i willing to wait until every construction worker involved in the project is vetted to ensure they all appreciate a rainbow coalition utopian ideal?

HELLLLLLL, no.

as long as i can’t hear him saying i represent everything that’s wrong with america, i will have no part of slowing down this job site.

i figure i can cleanse his bad mojo by asking my jewish black trannie wicca lesbian friend to take the first official dump in the toilet he worked on…

…flush his negativity down into the sewers.

(the scariest part of all this is that mr. wizard has access to my house keys.
that’s why i’m just gonna keep smiling pretty and saying, ” good mornin’. how ya doin’? you’re lookin’ especially aryan today. you musta got a good night’s sleep; no rally last night or did it just end early? …ok, have a nice day. bye-bye.”)

behold the power of kibble !

i took the dog to a park that has a pond. he now swims to fetch sticks. the first couple of times he went in i kept the lease on him in case i had to drag him out like a lobster fisherman.

now he jumps in on his own.

yes… yes…, i know most of you lead much more interesting lives so you have no time to fawn over wet animals. but, to me, this is a big deal.

given my background and personality, i shouldn’t have a dog. and even if i did, it should be one of those tiny, neurotic, yippy dogs named ‘chantal’ or ‘alexandra’.

i somehow ended up with a cool dog.

(thanks, ray-ray.)

lil’ TT update

there has been a boatload of emails asking how lil’ TT is doing in her new home.

to be honest, once i handed her over to mrs. e, i didn’t look back.

but my sister doesn’t have the willpower i do. so she had to know how the puppy was doing.

this is her email report to me:

I broke down and called Ms. E today. She seemed fine..neither happy nor sad to hear from me. I told her who I was and said I just wanted to know how it was going. She said, “we have a biting phase we have to get through”.I thought, “ut-oh”.
She said the dog has bit her a few times and has drawn blood.
YIKES.
She said they have a talk everyday about who is really in charge! I said, “I hope you are happy that you got her.” She kept saying, “we have to get through this biting phase”.

She also said that she started “puppy school” last week and that the puppy has already learned how to “Sit”. They are working on “down” now. She said that T.T. was hiding behind her legs the whole time…and finally started to try and play with the other pups once the class was over..she said she was much smaller than the other puppies.

She said that she took her to the vet to get her rabies shot and that it went well…and she now weighs 5 lbs. She said that she tries to bite her other dog Sugar and that Sugar snaps (but doesn’t bite her) and that the puppy will run to hide under the bed…all the while whimpering/crying and when the lady looks under the bed for the puppy she is there holding up her little foot…trying to get attention.

I said she is a little drama queen. She said “yes that is what i call her” and I said, “oh yeah, what is her name now?” and she said, “Muffin” but that her husband calls her “Banana Nut”.

I asked if she likes to cuddle and she said “No” but that she always wants to be around people…she will follow the lady or the husband from room to room but doesn’t want to be picked up and cuddled….the puppy does climb onto the sofa and lay on their laps or lays next to them…but it is more on her terms. She said her other eskies were the same way at times.

At one point I said, “Well I hope you love her”…and she said, “Oh yeah I do…she is so sweet BUT we have to get through this biting phase”. She then went on to say that maybe it is bc she was the runt and the runts always have to fight for what they have.

Ut-OH!!!

I told her good luck and that I hope everything went well and that I hope puppy school would help with her manners.

so the dog went from being ‘letitia’ to ‘muffin’.

i don’t know about you, but i find that hilarious.

banana nut muffin ?!?

hilarious.

good luck, muffin.

the transformation is complete

i moved to asheville in the first week of september 2007.

i didn’t think it would happen so quickly; but today my transformation into an ashevillean is complete.

i can no longer look at this place from an outsider’s perspective when i’ve succumb to so many of the traits that make ashevilleans, ashevilleans.

the latest part of this personal evolution was when i handed over my credit card to pay for a north face jacket at the frugal backpacker today.

fucking north face, for goodness sake.

that wasn’t the only evidence of my quick assimilation into granolaville, the other stuff was:

• i used homeopathic medicine to calm the anxiety of the puppy.
• i went to a radical faerie party.
• i save yoga class schedules.
• i had a 20 minute conversation about the textile art of rural indonesia.
• i drove past a flock of canadian geese feeding on a neighbor’s yard, but didn’t freak out and wreck the car.

at this point, the only thing that could make me more ashevillean is if i have gender reassignment surgery to become a pot-smoking lesbian with 4 cats, a subaru outback, and a student loan for massage therapy school.

it’s obviously too late for me, but save yourselves.

turning ashevillean doesn’t hurt; but knowing it happened is kinda creepy.

namaste, y’all.

free at last, free at last

in the grand of tradition of twisting political speech into a pretzel of half-truths and partisan spin, i present a self-serving excerpt from martin luther king’s ‘i have a dream’ speech:

“…sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank Dog* Almighty, i am free at last!”

why bastardize the words of the civil rights leader on the memorial day of his life’s work?

well… besides being topical, it’s the best way for me to express the relief and joy i feel at having gotten a permanent home for ‘lil TT.

now the only thing biting, snarling and peeing in the house is me.

thanks to ‘mrs. e’ for adopting ‘lil TT.

i’ve been accused of not bonding with ‘lil TT because of my subconscious misogyny.
…i’m not paying for therapy again. so i guess we’ll never know.

what i do know is “free at last, free at last!”

here is my description of TT and i’s last moments together:

i met mrs. e at the vet’s office last night.

she got there before me. the whole fucking receptionist staff was also waiting.
6 mountain women in their puppy-and-kitten print scrubs were waiting to see the blind date between mrs. e and TT.

when mrs. e held TT for the first time, some of those receptionists started to tear up.
no joke.

i think the staff waited for me to get there so they could see this first meeting because 10 minutes after i got there 4 of the receps went home.

these mountain people are extremely sentimental or they got nothing better to do.

bye-bye, TT. i guess i luv ya, but my cold, cold heart won’t let me admit it.

(*as many a lesbian’s bumper sticker has taught me,
‘god spelled backwards is dog’)

out

the blizzard of ’08

i experienced my first snowfall in the asheville mountains this tuesday.

i lived in the snow country of japan for 2 years. i never got a day-off then because of snow. those people don’t let a blizzard, let alone 2 inches of snow, keep them from work. before i got a car, i had to bicycle in the snow to get to work. they’re the #2 economy in the world for a reason. those bitches don’t play.

after 10 years in new orleans, LA and orlando, i got as nervous and excited as any other snow virgin.

i was too scared to drive the car, terrified of driving on ice with summer tires. so i had a snow day with the dogs. the older dog was confused for a minute. but he was running around like gazelle on coke for the rest of the day. the puppy just licked at the snow a bit, pissed and whined to go back inside.

another example of youth wasted on the young.

out.

ps
i’m not saying people around here have no common sense. i’m just curious why the gas company employee who came to the house to mark the underground gas lines prior to construction on the garage sprayed the yellow lines on the snow.

this is not antarctica. there is no permafrost.

the snow will be done in a day; won’t the pipeline marks be as well? if the contractor cuts a gas line and my house explodes, i’ll sue…

…right after i get out of the hospital.

don’t tread on them

don’t fuck with the avett brothers !

trust.

that’s the second most important lesson i’ve learned about living peacefully among the locals of WNC.

the most important lesson is not to go to ingle’s between 5pm to 6:30pm on a weekday. the first and last time i did that it took 45 minutes in line to buy 3 items. people started to get testy; itching for a fight.

i’d rather pay CVS prices.

i complained about the lack of musical options on local radio. the original visuals (which i have since revised), not the written part, on the post may have implied that the avetts were part of the problem. let’s be clear. i did NOT write any such thing.

i heard grumblings of torches and being tied up like a pig for slaughter if i even look at the avetts funny; let alone question their sanctity.

again, i didn’t say nothin’ ’bout them boys.

please don’t hurt me.

quotable quotes for $200, alex

“It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important.”

– Martin Luther King Jr.

for a wide variety of social issues, this idea is the most important role of government.

out.

ps

here’s a miscellaneous asheville observation:

employees at the asheville barnes and noble are allowed to work in crocs.
yikes.

like julia roberts in ‘pretty woman’

i love ‘before and after’ pictures.

…the power of transformation.

it doesn’t matter the topic. i have to buy any magazine with a ‘before and after’ segment …architectural digest, glamour, national enquirer, star magazine… popular mechanics; whatever it is. i am drawn to it like an ashevillean to a sports sandal.

a plain, fat girl transformed into a hillary duff clone.
a crack den transformed into a trendy, urban loft.
a bobo mercedes transformed into a pope mobile.

why is this on my mind?

“raking autumn leaves” before:

“raking autumn leaves” after:

i hope the neighbor lady is proud of me.

the rake is now for sale on craigslist.

out.

ps
of course, i didn’t rake the leaves. todd did.
thanks, todd (the henry higgins of landscaping).

sucks big hairy chunks

asheville radio sucks big, hairy chunks of badness.

the fact that public radio earnestness runs right next to evangelical diatribes on the dial was funny for a minute. now that i realize that’s basically all there is, it’s not so funny.

the lettering on the ‘scan’ button of the car’s radio is faded from my having pressed it so much in the last couple of months. i can program up to 9 stations on the car stereo system. so far, i’m using 3.

i realize catching radio signals in the mountains may be tough. there’s a huge antenna on mt. pisgah, use that for something worthwhile.

i wondered ‘who is going to pay for radio?’ when sirius and xm radio debuted. now the stiletto 2 is probably going on my amazon wish list.

yes, i have an ipod. but it’s a closed system. you only hear what you put in. there is no chance to be excited about a new band you just happen to catch on the way to the grocery store.

there’s an opening in the marketplace…come on, creative class, start researching how to fix this problem.

clear channel communications started somewhere.

out

ps
WRES is doing their best, bless their hearts.

editor’s note: (12/9/07)
the original post was edited after receipt of intelligence reports that in its original form the post would have lead to social unrest. if you are in possession of a screen capture of the original, unedited post, please destroy immediately. thank you.

bumper car philosophy

after new york, asheville is the most liberal, progressive place i’ve lived. or least that’s what many people living here like to tell me about their town.

for good or bad, asheville seems the perfect bobo paradise.

the most fascinating aspect of this place is the tug-of-war between real progressive action and the bumper sticker approach that feigns action.

would the last city council voter participation numbers have been higher if every person who has a bumper sticker on their car, also made sure they went to vote?

progressives are very good talkers. but changing words into action doesn’t seem their forté. is righteous indignation their goal, not their starting point? …oh, and smug. those suckers can be smug.

(i’m not judging. i’m just typing out an observation. obviously, i’m no better.)

damaging your car’s paint job with a bumper sticker is a slightly sad and ineffective way to attempt change.

nevertheless, the variety of topics i’ve seen on asheville bumpers is impressive.

C U

hot or not ?

quite an eventful weekend; i got to be neighborly.

i am first in line at the light on merrimon and chestnut headed downtown. the light turns green. from the far side of the street, a light blue gran torino pulls out too slowly from the bojangles drive-thru and gets hit by a minivan headed north.

tiny cute versions of me as an angel and a devil popped up on each shoulder. the angel on my right shoulder said ‘be neighborly. pull over and offer your help’. the devil said ‘mind your own business. nobody died. they’re adults. they can take care of themselves. no one asked for your help’.

i stopped.

the accident was completely the gran torino driver’s fault. so i offered my name and cell phone to the minivan driver. then i remembered my camera was in the car. i told the minivan driver he could use the camera and i’d email the pics to him later.

poor baby, he was all flustered. he couldn’t figure out how to use the camera, bless his heart. he held the camera backwards and took a picture of his eyeball. [actual photo above]

so i took over the photo-taking.

while taking the pics, i noticed HIM, one of the firemen… 6ft2, huge guns, and warrior-concentration face… in short, a big hunk of manly man.

now sitting here typing this entry, i reviewed the photos. i too must have been affected by the shock of the accident because he’s not as pretty in the face as i remembered.

because of their job, firemen automatically get 10 extra hotness points compared to a regular guy. but even with that head start, i’m not sure.

you tell me, hot or not?

…a little cro-magnon, right?

as is my nature…

my car getting shot at has made me reflect quite a bit on the situation i’ve created for myself.

the most important thing i’ve confirmed is that i am NOT running away from a tough situation. if my car got tagged because of my race, creed, gender or sexual proclivities, my attitude is ‘bring it on, mutha-fucker. bring it on.’

come up to the house, ring the doorbell and tell me to my face that you’ve got a problem with me.

as is my nature, i will politely listen to what you’ve got to say. who knows, you may have some insight that hasn’t crossed my mind.

unless that happens, i’m not changing one thing about my life.

i worked like a dog to afford a house and a fancy car (please refer to anthony hopkins’ character in ‘remains of the day‘).

i’m not getting rid of them. and asheville is not easily getting rid of me.

so ‘suck it’, mr. shooter. i’ve got things to do.

out.

autumn bites me in the…

i’ve raved about the beauty of the smokey mountains in more than one entry.

i still maintain that the last couple of months have been a pleasure to experience… pretty, pretty and more pretty.

now it’s time to pay the piper. autumn has turned to bite me in the ass.

there is about a half inch layer of leaves covering the yard. i thought i’d wait for them to turn into mulch on their own. but so far nothing’s happened. i guess my trees are all the anti-spontaneous-decaying-into-mulch varieties.

the neighbors have started to notice.

i did sweep the porch once. and wouldn’t you know it, the next door neighbor, a lovely woman by the way, saw me and walked over with a rake in her hand.

‘hi. would you like this? i have an extra one.’

‘uhh, well, i… uhh…’

‘please take it. i don’t need it back. i have 2. by the looks of it, you don’t have any.’

‘uhh, well, i… uhh…’

‘here, please, it’s fine. nice to see you. byeeeeee.’

fuck.

i guess i have to go rake the yard now.

lone gunman theory

thanks to everyone for their advice about what to do about my shooter.

here is some of the advice i’ve gotten so far:

• move back to new york
• sell the fancy car
• change from a louisiana to a north carolina license plate
• buy night vision goggles for a stake-out
• stop blogging about the neighbors
• hurry up and get the garage finished

these are all under advisement.

meanwhile, i remain on the lookout for the perpetrator(s).

if you see a teenager that looks like (s)he has ever even thought of holding a paintball gun, go ahead and kick him in the balls. he may not have shot my car, but i’m sure he’s done something worth getting busted for.

a preemptive strike, as the bushies would say.

the ball-busting won’t work on a girl, so just call her ‘fat’.
that will hurt just as bad.

smal biznez

i’ve previously mentioned business ideas (or, at least, names) that started in new orleans and have sprung up in asheville.

i didn’t mean to imply that mountain folk completely lack the entrepreneurial spirit that has made this country what it is today.

for example, around here all the supplies you need to start a catering company are easily found around your home:

1978 chevy 1500
plywood
duct tape
bowie knife
barbecue grill
boom box
propane
black marker
weathervane
shotgun

good luck
and
bon appétit

the price of fame

thanks to blogasheville.blogspot.com

they just included me on their list of asheville bloggers.

do you think it’s a coincidence that on the same day i get listed, my car also gets shot at?

no, i don’t think so, either.

my razor-sharp insights into the workings of the smokey mountain man mind have started to ruffle some feathers around here. ‘the man’ (probably a bearded man with a plaid flannel shirt, cargo pants and sports sandals) wants to silence me before i can wake the local populace from its home-brew and american idol stupor to form the activist coalition that will teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.

the car was shot with a paintball gun, not a beretta or AK-47. that may make it harder to trace. but after i post this entry, i am straight onto google to find a forensic paintball ammunitions specialist willing to work pro bono.

cher’s character didn’t back down to ‘the man’ in ‘silkwood‘ so neither will i.

if it wasn’t a conspiracy to scare me into silence and just some bored asshole teenager; nevertheless, no stone will be unturned to bring the perpetrator to justice.

by justice, i mean that when i find that little shit i will strip him down and individually pluck every pube from his tiny postpubescent nutsack.

thank you for your support.

whole heap of love

this cross is on an overpass of highway 240 on riverside dr., asheville.

is this festus related to that ‘gunsmoke’ festus?

or is it related to the modern ‘festivus’ tradition sweeping the country?

at first i thought it might be a memorial for some guy named festus who died during a crystal meth-fueled rampage when his silverado quadcab hit the overpass. (i’m assuming it was a chevy or similar. i’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been a honda ridgeline. those are kinda gay. i don’t see a ‘festus’ driving a girlie truck.) but wouldn’t his mourners put his full name on the cross and the date of death?

so many questions, so few answers.

out

ps

i’ve lived in the mountains for about 2 months now. do you think that’s related to me thinking that gunsmoke’s festus looks kinda cute in that there photo?

agnostics, pagans and grinches, oh my!

the last entry was how city life and country life can be different. both places can be wacky. they just head to wacky town in their own way.

today is how both the city and country can both be a pain in the ass; namely parades.

new yorkers complain about the puerto rican day parade, the gay pride parade, the st. patrick’s day parade, etc, etc.
they aren’t necessarily against hispanics, the queer community, drunken child abusers, etc. etc.

they just hate the disruption in traffic.

new orleanians suffer through the same problems during mardi gras. (though you should go visit this coming year to help the local economy. they’re hurtin’.)

asheville had a christmas parade on saturday…a beautiful day for fresh-faced families with strollers and folding chairs to visit downtown and begin the joyous holiday season.

just one problem…

every major street in downtown was barricaded.

even though i went to catholic school for 12 years, i have nothing against religion or the celebration of quasi-religious events (the parade is co-sponsored by the asheville merchant corp., uh-huh.).

it’s just that i had things to do. having moved here only 2 months ago, i only know one way to go to each of the places on my to-do list. when downtown is closed off, i’m fucked.

if asheville is the progressive town it heralds itself as, i propose that the city issue a bond initiative to cover the cost of GPS systems for all new residents that do not want to celebrate any holiday with a parade. the machines can be distributed through the county library system to ensure only residents get the systems. there can be a one year borrowing limit after which the systems have to be returned.

come on, how reasonable is that?

i’m not saying saying ‘cancel the damn parades.’ i’m just sayin’ help the uninterested get around them.

i envision a grand coalition of agnostics, pagans and grinches rising up to demand easy access to malls, dry cleaners and chinese restaurants 365 days a year. i’m sure greenlife will let them set-up a petition table at their entrance…

or just contact your local representative.

thank you for your support.

gutterpuck trannie

i’m not sayin’ living in the city is better than living in the country. i’m just saying it’s different.

in manhattan, one of my neighborhood homeless people was a trannie. but a very specific kind of trannie. she was a goth, marilyn manson, trent renzor-type trannsexual homeless person. she was not just an older gutterpuck. no, she was the prerequisite koo-koo as well… muttering to herself, applying kohl in a 3-inch radius around her eyes, carrying all her stuff in a laundry cart, sleeping over a subway grate kinda koo-koo.

…oh, and a fetish latex corset. she always wore her fetish latex corset.

i have not seen her equivalent in asheville yet. but i did see something today that i have not witnessed in my life journey so far.

the cashier at the asheville airport parking lot has a pet cat set-up outside her booth.

the cat has a blanket and food bowl in front of the cashier’s window as you pull up to pay for parking. it’s a black cat with white paws. as i approached the booth, the cat got up from the driveway, stretched, and sauntered over to her bed. i may be exaggerating the cat’s bitchiness, but she seemed genuinely perturbed that i made her move.

of course, the cashier was oblivious that any of this might be considered unusual. she just took my $2 and asked if i needed a receipt. since a goal of living here is not to upset the locals, i just said, ‘no, thanks’ and drove away without mentioning the cat.

as you fellow ashevilleans fly home for the holidays, keep a lookout for the cashier’s cat. i’m sure running over a cat during kwanzaa is not kosher.

oh, and if you find out the cat’s name, please let me know. i’m curious.

out.

ps

yes, i know the typical spelling is ‘tranny,’ but i think ‘trannie’ is more feminine. that’s the point, right?