Medicated.

Things are still low. But watching three dudes who truly love music play some songs makes me feel a lot better.

Anywhere but there.

Yesterday, the call came that I thought I was completely ready for. I knew Annie was getting old, getting sick, I'd been trying to prep myself. But, just to hear those words, the word "cancer", in my sweet puppy dog, broke me down. Sadly, the tissue is really aggressive. We'll probably have to visit the vet sometime this week, before she starts suffering.

I had a few hours of weepy hell at the mall. My dad somehow convinced me that it would be a good idea to go hang out with him. It really wasn't and there's no worse place to be a moopy pile of mess than the mall. Roommates, present and former, proved to be saviors and I managed to actually get some sleep last night. Not much, but a little.

It will be a really hard week.

A Track, B Track, C Track.

So, about a week ago, "Democratic Presidential candiate and man who Americans recently realized might be black" (gawker.com) Obama gives this speech about race. And he says some things that people are wow-ing over, drop-dead happy excited about. "The first great speech of the 21st century", even. I'll certainly give Obama credit for how charismatic he is, the man can speak. (Really though, we haven't had much of a presidential standard to look up to). But, what did he really say that we didn't know already?

Good ol governah Beardy says "Senator Obama has started a discussion in this country that is long overdue, and rejects the politics of pitting race against race." What Obama actually said was being a minority sucks. But so does being in the majority. He basically said race issues are lame. He started a conversation happening to Compton and the North East Heights right now. Revolutionary.

I think what people are going crazy about is just the fact Obama said it, we all thought it, we all talked about it, but the next President actually said it. It's terrible that we live in a world where we reward main-stream politicians for being honest. Not to mention the fact the only reason he gave the speech was because his wacko preacher ended up on youtube. And the media coverage, oh, the media coverage it got. All the networks were broadcasting it like a beckon of hope throughout the country-side. Terribly good PR.

Now, I like Obama. I like HIllary too. In fact, the differences between the two of them are so minor, it just makes me laugh that it's such a death match. I will give Obama a lot of credit for not playing the victim. But just how dramatic and excited everyone is about it... not feelin it. In my opinion, his staff has done a pretty decent job victimizing him. He didn't have to say it. I wonder if Hillary would get the same response if she gave a speech about gender. But, she doesn't have to say it either.

This is the campaign of advisors. Samantha Powers, the aid to Obama who called Hillary a "monster" just happens to have a Pulitizer Prize in non-fiction for an incredible book she wrote on genicide. Geraldine Ferraro, the first woman to run for vice president on a democratic ticket, took a lot of heat for, once again, actually saying Obama's a black man. And last but not least, my favorite, Jim Carville (L. Ron Hubbard much?) said "Mr. Richardson’s endorsement (of Obama) came right around the anniversary of the day when Judas sold out for 30 pieces of silver, so I think the timing is appropriate, if ironic.” In. Love.

Thankfully, in the middle of all this, Spencer Pratt started an advice column on radaronline. "I personally would never want to be with a girl who gets so wasted that she's pissing in bed." Good morning.

Blessed be thy name.

Last night was the first night back to working in the El Rey. And there's nothing like standing for 10 hours to welcome you home. Attendance was poor, I think partially because it was Easter weekend and we had a week and a half to promote it. But I was really happy to see Joe Anderson and most of the Launchpad crew there. Take that, rocksquawk haters. I told Daniel this morning I feel like I had a weirdness hangover. You can still smell the smoke in the lobby, see the taped-up doors. We were projecting the film Dan Garduno shot in the saloon all night, so I watched it about 50 times over. In a way, it was comforting to be back, like a necessary step for the healing process, to get to be around my work family all night in the place where we're best aquatinted. But it was also just so, so odd to be next door to nothing. It's just not the same place, don't think it ever will be.

I'm honestly having a terrible time moving on from this. And I didn't expect it. It just doesn't seem to go away.

I took my grandmother to church this morning, which is always fantastically awkward. I see so much of myself in all the little girls at the church, zipped up and tied into the most adorable and uncomfortable garments, all in the name of Easter Sunday. Man, have I ever been there. And it never fails to amaze me how even after all these years, I still remember all the words to all the prayers. My grandma also unloaded about 5 million baby pictures on me, most of which involve me in those god awful (pun intended) frilly dresses. So, if you're up for a laugh, swing by my new apartment and check me out, circa 1989. I was damn cute, biggest eyes in the history of baby.

Church also means I got lots of parading in. My grandma loves to show me off, college degree and all. I don't she catches the sneers I do when I tell people my degree's in film. It's either "that's so cute" or "oh". I don't really care for either. Hey little old lady, go try the job market in 2008, thanks.


The prognosis for Wiggle Pants is wavering. The vet had to take out two more teeth and was not happy about how she was responding to the antibiotics. So, they took a tissue sample from the infection and sent it to the lab for testing. Might just be a nasty, nasty infection or it might be cancer. Needless to say, I'm hoping for the first, but I'm preparing myself for the worst. We'll know by the end of the week.

Working in conservative office has made me want to retreat into high school retardation whenever I'm not there. I almost got Kyle to play Chinese Fire Drill with me on Montgomery the other night. If anyone's up for that, let me know.

We offer our sincere appreciation.

PAYDAY! PAYDAY! PAYDAY! PAYDAY! PAYDAY!

I have literally been living off of change for a few days now. After much anxiety, direct deposit came through and here I am, much, much richer. It'll go so quickly, but I am hoping to indulge with some of it for room decorating. I've been dying to frame the polaroids I took on my trip, as well as some I took in the Golden West. I also might buy some art for my walls. I am seriously in love with this painting:



Also known as Nocturne in Black and Gold, the Falling Rocket, by James Abbott McNeill Whistler. Unfortunately, I can't find a print of it anywhere! So, I think I'll be ordering this:



Perroquet vert, by Jean Paul Riopelle from the Quebec National Art Museum. Much more impressive in person, very similiar to Pollack. HERITAGE. ON MY WALL.

I have had a lot of caffiene today, I'm to the shakey point, but I'm sure it's the only reason I'm still awake. I had to come into work at 6am, meaning I was all alone for 2 and a half hours before someone else got here. There was some early morning office dancing. I have no idea why that sort of thing is so fun when no one else is around, but it really is. I wanted to start texting the world. Why aren't more of you up at 6am?!?

By the way, why exactly does it feel so degrading to have your coffee order be forgotten about at Starbucks? Any other place, it's just sort of annoying, not a big deal, but there, I don't know, it just feels dirty.

Have I mentioned PAYDAY! PAYDAY! PAYDAY! PAYDAY! PAYDAY!

I'm also planning something of a birthday trip this year. I'm not sure where I want to go, but something tells me I'll end up in Oklahoma, at the Vista, with Matt and Chelsey. I'd really like to go to Bonnaroo the weekend after my birthday, but I need to find a posse, a posse willing to drive with me to Tennessee, live with me in a tent for 3 days, and spend $250 on tickets. Anyone?

$20 billion and 80 million acres.

I'm feeling "rage phase" set in. I don't like it, don't quite know how to combat it, either.

I have to be at work at 6:00 tomorrow morning. BOO. But, I do get Friday off.

That means I should be in bed already. I just wanted to say that God invented Cameron Crowe to introduce a new generation to Tom Petty. Among other things.

Mass Cane and Gouldian Finches.

Tonight was Emily's birthday party and it really was fantastic. Everyone was happy and they all looked fabulous. I felt quite shabby by not dressing up, but I really had NO idea what to wear. Ask Kyle, he had to deal with about 30 minutes of "What shoooould I weeeeeear?" Which I'm sure was unbearable.

At the party, I found myself in the same place I've been in about a dozen times. Someone was talking about the Golden West and I got so excited that someone cared about the only thing I can bring myself to care about, I dived right in. The only problem is it always yields the same result. Like I said before, it's not really depression, just this huge void in my life, recognized.

I don't like how I've gotten to be this way, this trauma junkie. I feel like I'm slowing down for a car wreck every time I dive into the discussion. A part of me knows I really should just distance myself, try to get away from all the message boards, all the media, the negativity, and just be Cat. Not Cat, defender of the honor of the might and noble Golden West (or should I say Kathy Zimmer?). But, I'm just not there, I just can't do it.

The thing about that bar is that it was so irreversibly intertwined with my life that I can't get it out, especially not now when she's sinking more and more every second. It's the mark of a true theater kid, irrational attachments to spaces. I genuinely missed the Shuler when I left Raton. When I found the Golden West, the El Rey, I felt that loss lift. New theater, new space, new home. Screw that noise about that place being my second home. It was MY home, especially after I stopped paying rent in June. I can't tell you how thankful I am that the El Rey is still standing. I don't want to imagine where I would be if that was gone too.

Reality is slowly sinking in about it. All of it. I went through 2 weeks of shock and awe and now I can feel the reality sink in. It's. Not. There. Anymore. It's sad, but maddening all at the same time. I'm not there, but I'm getting close. Even today when I stood in the Saloon, it didn't feel real. It just looks so different, I still can't believe it's the Golden West. I listened to a lot of Elton John last night and had a nice hour-long cry (by the way, best sentence in this blog, by far). It was terrible, but in a way it felt like I was progressing. I honestly haven't had a good cry about the fire since it happened, just little bursts here and there. But the thing that scares me is the anger I feel coming on. About 70% of it has to do with my own personal objections to the management of this whole debacle, the other 30% coming from internet speculation.

It hurts a lot that it's becoming warfare. I almost enjoyed the mild rivalry we had with Joe Anderson and the Launchpad (which you know, give me a break, we were nothing but a mosquito compared to that empire). It was fun, high school sports. And trust me, I loved that place just as much as the nest person. Burlesque, suspension, some of my first punk shows. I've had some great times in that place. But now it's a blame game. If we would have taken care of the rags the right way, it never would have happened. If Joe would have had a firewall and a roof, it never would have happened. If someone had answered my phonecalls at any of the 5 hardware stores I called the day before about applying linseed oil, it never would have happened. If we would have hired someone to do the floors. Your fault. His fault. My fault. Kathy Zimmer's fault. This has nothing to do with fault and everything to do with pride.

I adore Aunt Virginia, Kathy's aunt who turned the Saloon into a saloon and turned the El Rey into a nightclub. She is the definition of a tough, old girl. Sometimes, I can just see her running around that theater, the way Kathy does, taking notes, yelling at lazy security, monitoring her bartenders. It really is a fantastic image. And I keep asking myself, what would Aunt Virginia do? More than anyone in the world, that is HER bar, her theater. And the answer is, fight to the death.

That makes trying to turn my back on this divine mess that much harder. I want nothing to do with a battleground. A scene war? That is so impossibly far from Cat-territory. But it's hard when it involves one of the true loves of my life.

I love the way I feel when I laugh about it, breaking up those terrible insurance-related conversations with little inside jokes and memories. Like when Daniel dropped Patrick to the floor. Or Pornogate 08 in the office. When the pigeons got through the roof and were nesting on top of the tin ceiling and we could hear them cooing. Kathy's freaking Christmas carols over the holidays. Kyle's unofficial 21st birthday party with Nothington. After hours with Le Chat. I'm smiling right now.

That's where I want to be, able to relive it all, without having to drudge 13 paragraphs (metaphorically most of the time) of somber babble. To remember how great it was, to think how great it might be again.

I know a good chunk of it is all the other stuff going on. New job. New room. Sick pets. Sleep deprivation. Adultness. Maybe it would all make sense if everything else was clear in front of me, but that's never the case.

I really am trying my best to not late-night blog, not listen to sappy Elton John, instead go out, be social. But sometimes I think you need a little sadness to get there.

It's not that complicated, really.


I just miss it.

Strictly Rude.

Emotional irrationality continues.

I have a monthly parking pass for a downtown garage and the damn thing is so, so danty. I have to make sure to swipe it once, and only once when I try to exit the garage. If for some reason it doesn't read, the machine assumes I'm trying to steal parking and blocks my card. This happened to me today, for the second time in a week, and when I asked the parking garage attendant to open the gate (which I knew she could do. Another attendant did it for me earlier in the week) she interrupted my request and very rudely told me she couldn't open it and I would have to call a 1-800 number for help. Not to mention she was on the phone the whole time.

I. Went. Off. So much so I shocked the attendant so much, she froze. I thought she was going to call the police. I called the 1-800 number, got out, and cried the whole way home. Not normal, no sir. I think half the reason I was crying was because I was so mean, that whole feeling of completely losing sight of yourself, but mostly my brain just feels like a game of boogle. Sometimes, there's words, coherent thoughts, but most of the time it's just bits and pieces. And I'm tired of trying to make them fit. I've never been good at being graceful, but I feel like any little bit of grace I had is completely gone now.

I need more sleep and Brazilian meat. Too bad I'm broke like joke.

Lights in tunnels.

Whenever Annie gets sick, she seriously has the oddest medical problems I've ever seen. Like her butt exploding. Well, this time it's a hole in the roof of her mouth. Apparently she had a cavity (which the vet told my grandmother about, and not to worry about it. FURIOUS) that festered then got infected, causing an absess which both me and my grandma assumed was a swollen sinus gland, seeing as she's a hound dog. As I well know, when there's an infection, your body will do anything it can to push it out. So, it started pushing it out. Through the top of her mouth. I cannot even imagine how painful that must be for her. Poor, poor baby.

But, the good news is it'll probably clear up with anti biotics. And if not, surgery's an option (and one that my grandma can afford). Mostly, I think my grandma's just frustrated with Annie, which I, of all people, certainly understand. But, I'd never think and never thought about giving her up because of it. My grandma's got a big heart. Let's just hope it's the high stress from the move.

4:30 is the new 5:00

I can't blog about my job, but here's some basics you all need to know.

1. A woman calls me every morning named Rhonda Neilson and she says she's the President of the United States of America. She says she would like us to buy some land.

2. I'm right across the street from a cupcake store. So whenever I'm having a terrible day, I can just go get a cupcake.

3. Everyone I work with is fantastically nice and helpful.

4. There's cable TV in my office. ANTM!

5. Piercings. Gone. I'm trying really REALLY hard to not get emotional about it, letting myself indulge in the luxuries I never got before, like lip gloss, but it's still kind of hard. Nape is still in, because it's discreet when you have long hair, as is septum. I think I'll go visit Noah for some creative jewelry options for it. Make me feel better.

6.With that said, I must be a fancy-pants now. Literally. I've never had a job where dressing up was required. Once again, trying to find the perks like tax write-offs and such.

7. I almost started crying when I saw the health insurance I'm going to have. And how cheap it will be.

8. Your tax dollars pay for my salary. Congrats!

9. I wish I had a window.

10. All in all, it's not too bad.

Other than starting new job, moving into new apartment is going well. My desk got in last night, which was fantastic. It faces my window, and I have a big, fantastic tree to look at. It's going slowly, bit by bit, but it's much nicer than having the stress I had with my last move.

I feel like the shock of the fire is over and I've moved into grief. It's not a depression as much as it is a feeling of loss. I'm not overcome with any kind of sadness, but it feels like there's just something huge missing from my life.

I really must stop reading rocksquawk. All it does is make me so furious my face turns red. Yesterday turned into Hate On Kathy Day. People were saying the most disturbing things. Appartently, in their brains, she was sitting around with lighter fluid and bottle of linseed oil, just waiting to ruin Joe Anderson's life. Not quite true, guys. I guess they missed the part about the fire being accidental. And the part about how we've treated our floors with linseed oil before and this never happened. And the part about how ATF had only heard of this kind of thing happening. One of them said that if Kathy wanted help from the community, she would have to be part of it. Well, that's somewhat true. She was never part of their community. I know why people don't like her. Trust me, I completely get it. And she does some things sometimes that I don't agree with at all. But, she is far from a failure or a community-ruiner.


I certainly found a community because of her.

And not only that, say what you want about the bar. We never gave a damn about our reputation. BUT YOU FLAMERS LEAVE THE "JANITOR" ALONE. Once again, did ya get the memo the fire was accidental? You have no idea what "the janitor" is going through. He did exactly what he thought he should have been doing. I called 5 different hardware/floor stores and no one could give me an answer about the application of linseed oil. No one. Spontaneous combustion is more urban legend than anything else. He even washed out the rags. Repeatedly. The water actually made it harder for the oil to break down. This wasn't just carelessly leaving rags lying around. He doesn't need your judgments.

The point is, it's bad enough what happened. You don't need to bash on the situation on an internet message board. I'm not asking for you to pretend you loved it, that you went there every weekend. Just have a little heart. As far as I'm concerned, that building was the best thing in the world. For several reasons. But, right now, because it held in that two alarm fire. Without much trouble. It could have destroyed the whole block. But it didn't. And for that reason, people should love her.

The other point is I'll never post that on rocksquawk. Mostly because it's not even worth it, but a tiny part of myself is terrified of internet warfare, as previously mentioned.

When it rains... Annie has to go to the vet tomorrow. I'm very much getting the feeling that my grandma's giving up on her. Her health is getting worse, but I'd call it more inconvenient than anything. I think Grandma's leaning for putting her down (something that makes me cry just to type) and of course, I want to fight for her. But, I don't know how much say I have in the matter since she's really not my dog anymore. I can't keep her, and I don't know a single person who would want such a high maintenance creature. Like I said, not looking forward to that discussion tomorrow.

Trying really, really hard to be positive about all of it. Trying even harder to find constants in all this change. But, both seem impossibly hard sometimes.

One, two.

Okay so, maybe I'm a little over emotional lately, but when I saw this today I just started bawling. Sobbing. Hysterically. With only Kathy's cat to witness it.

I want you to dress like this.

A conversation.

Cat: "Excuse me, what are you doing?"

Random carpet cleaner man trying to profiteer on disaster walking into the El Rey: "Oh yeah. I'm with a carpet cleaner. Steam cleaner. I have an appointment."

Cat: "No you don't."

RCCMTTPODWITER: "Yeah I do. I have an apointment. With Christine."

Cat: "No you don't."

RCCMTTPODWITER: "I have a licease- an appointment."

Cat: "No. You don't. Try the Launchpad."

RCCMTTPODWITER: "Oh. Yeah. Maybe I'll try that."

RCCMTTPODWITER didn't have an appointment with the Launchpad either.

Smile like you've got nothing to prove.

Yes. I am wearing shorts.

Detroit Red Wings ones, even. But what makes this picture even better than the mirror closet doors it contains is that it's the first picture of MY NEW ROOM. That's right, my days of living out of a duffel bag are over. At least for the time being. And not a minute too soon. After ten months, having a closet, especially one with mirror doors rules pretty hard. I moved my mattress in today, along with some basics, mostly books and clothes. The rest will come after the weekend when Maria's old roomie gets her bed n stuff out of the room. I was just a tad eager to get in here, as you can see.

But having my own space again was exactly what needed to happen today. It was frustrating, as moving always is, but the sweet release I'm having right now, of blogging on MY internet connection on MY bed in MY room, is just too fantastic. There's a few ounces off the weight on my back. So worth skipping the Murphys for.

I think today was just the day the first real, brutal emotional waves set in. I've felt myself pulling inward, not returning phone calls, just wanting to be alone. But today I think the weepy stage of grieving set in. Of course, triggered by a terrible day at the "office". It's become hard to leave work at work, but I am trying.



While work drains my soul, I get to visit this little lady every day. Kathy has a ocicat, also known as a very expensive kitty with fancy coloring. But, Pookie is dang precious and she's taken quite a liking to me. Why must my boyfriend be allergic to kitties?

I look like trouble.

Inhale, exhale. I swear there's still smoke in my lungs. Life just feels like this giant haze.

I got a job offer that I can't blog about. Which means I'll probably hate it.

Fact is, I just can't handle any more change right now. I'm also supposed to be moving into Maria's this week. It's just a lot. The thought of removing the rest of my piercings (corporate proofing) makes me cry. It's always the little things.

I'm right in the thick of it now. Kathy can't stop moving, her brain's just gone.

I'd give just about anything to be back at my grandpa's right now.

Something constant under my feet.

Ready for the good?


My kitty made an almost full recovery. $500 and 4 days later, they let him come home. He'll have to be on special kidney food for the rest of his life, but thankfully he likes it. He's energized, he's happy, and it warms my heart to see him running and playing.

Ready for the bad?


Before I left for my trip, I tagged the El Rey. I guess it was sort of a tradition, former employees leaving little calling cards. They seem to be all over the premise of the (former) bar and the theater. Under the stack of letter C’s for the marquee in the theater’s utility closet, I wrote, “Someday it will be your theater too.”

When I first starting working there, Kathy told me that same sentence. I remember feeling uneasy about it, wondering if I could hang out in that place long enough to call it my own. But somewhere in the last 3 years, between Ska Prom and inventory, it did become my theater.

I’ve spent more time in that building in the last year than I have anywhere else. It wasn’t just my theater, it was my home. So, standing in front of it Thursday morning, watching black smoke fold out in front of me, was quite possibly the single most heart-breaking thing I have witnessed.


You can't do anything, you just have watch it wash out into the streets; 3 years of your work, 3 years of your life. I stood outside of what was the Golden West for 7 hours, completely helpless, completely useless, occasionally breaking into tears, and hoping for just some kind of decent news. Just some sign that there was something good in all of that. Really, I would have taken anything. No one was hurt. I needed to remember that.

The Golden West on the other hand, is completely gutted. When I say that, I mean gone. The only thing left standing is the front wall and the beer cooler (of course…). It looks like a sound stage, a movie set. Once the smoke settled, it was just like a completely different dream. By far, the most surreal day of my life. How can a structure like that, with so much in it, so much to it, just vanish? And that’s literally what it did. You’re all breathing it in right now.

But, the old girl, the 80 year old lady, did exactly what she was supposed to do. She contained herself. For the most part. The Launchpad shares our wall, which is why there was damage to it. It looks like most of their damage happened when the roof caved, pulling some of the wall with it. The rest of their damage is water and smoke. The El Rey is almost perfect, minus basement flooding and and some smoke damage in the lobby. The Golden West protected her babies like a champ. I couldn't help but feel a little swell of pride, as silly as it sounds.

Where I am right now, I'm trying to make sense of it all.

It's pure tragedy. It's no one's fault, just a gaping loss. I don’t think I’ve ever processed something like this. This weekend, I just felt devastated, but completely numb all at the same time. I am coming to terms, with each walk-through I do, each beer I have with Daniel. It’s just… not there yet. I keep trying to rack my brain, thinking of all the amazing things that have happened in the old girl. But, the memories aren’t coming. I think I’ve somehow managed to block them out.

But something amazing happened Sunday. For the first time in all of this, I started finding the comedy in this, letting myself laugh about it.


That makes it feel a lot better.

There's lots more photos here. And more to come.