Slushkitty and Higher Power… K-I-S-S-I-N-G


More Steps 2 and 3 writing for y’all! The history of my relationship with my Higher Power. Part 2:

The Blurry Years (20 of Them):

There was a point in my life when I was interested in the occult and the esoteric, specifically astrology and psychics. But back to childhood for a sec… From a very young age, I believed in ghosts, and I still do. We lived in a haunted house! One time my mom was cleaning and went down to the cellar to look for rubber gloves, and when she came back upstairs, there was a pair of workmen’s gloves in the middle of the stairs! There’s no way she could have not seen them on the way down. One time I was coloring in the living room and looked up and saw the light unscrew and shatter onto the middle of the floor. She said she always felt a benevolent presence in the house. I say I always felt scared shitless in the house. I became interested in astrology somewhere along the line, mostly because I liked the descriptions of Aquarius, the sign ruled by Uranus (ha) – it’s the sign of genius (but you’ve figured this out by now, dear readers), quirkiness, human kindness, unpredictability, freedom, friendship, eccentricity, beauty. (Yeah, OK, I lied about the beauty part. Yeah, Libra is indeed all about beauty, yes, Libra, you you you. Go give yourself a congratulatory kiss). At the time, these traits were much more flattering than how I normally described myself. I think the common physical traits of specific signs are also spot-on sometimes — the murderous loins of Scorpio, the moon face of Cancer, the crossed eyes of Libra (crossed from kissing mirrors). Calves and ankles are supposed to be the most erogenous zones for an Aquarius; and it’s suggested that suitors decorate mine with body paint and wild images to catch my fancy. I simply cannot count the times my suitors have walked up to me and started lustfully painting my legs. Uncanny! I had my chart read once, but my eyes rolled back in my head when I saw actual charts and maps. Math?!?!?! All I wanted to know was where the love of my life is and when would I meet him, and why every mirror-kissing Libra I’ve ever known has broken my heart! (Yeah, Libra, you know who you are because you’re so vain. I bet you think this blog is about you. Don’t you? Don’t you?). This makes no sense! We Aquarius and Libra are both meant to be emotionally detached yet have hearts where our eyes should be. Me? Emotionally detached?? HAAA! I’ve been known to become hopelessly and emotionally attached to scaffolding and coffee filters. So, I wanted a little more accuracy than the mathematical study of celestial bodies (yeah, not yours, Libra), so I started going to a psychic. (See “Allexx” at the Tremont Tea Room – seriously!). The first time I saw Allexx he made my hair stand on-end. He said that 1). he saw me in a yellow shirt sitting outside with sunflower seeds making hats, 2). I was writing to someone named Jake and he’s seen me twice, but I have never seen him, and 3). he saw me flying over bridges and living with someone named Christie. WELL, 1). At the time I was in-between a geo-relo (geographical cure) living with my mom in Boston.. MAKING HATS WITH SUNFLOWER SEEDS IN A YELLOW SHIRT OUTSIDE ON MY MOM’S DECK, 2). Was WRITING TO SOMEONE NAMED JAKE – he was actually a Jason Priestly impostor and he stalked me twice but I never saw him because what kind of stalker would that make him, right?, and 3). I moved to San Francisco a few months later and FLEW OVER BRIDGES (par avion, of course) AND LIVED WITH SOMEONE NAMED CHRISTIE. How do you explain that? I can’t. He used Tarot cards. This inspired me to get my own deck and give my clairvoyant potential a gander. It’s important to note that this was at the same time I was in the wanton throes of my steamy crystal meth love affair. Watch out, Miss Cleo! I was talented! Being up for days on end, I had visions of biblical and spooky measure. I was so psychic in fact, that I frightened myself… and others. But being both psychic and psychotic, I was also frightened to leave the house, so let’s not give a girl too much credit. My captive audience of speed freaks eventually escaped captivity, and I eventually retired the deck. It was but a brief endeavor ~ onward and upward! Back to important stuff like staring at the wall and praying my roommate wouldn’t do something terrifying and appalling, like turn on a light.


Even through my more altered states, I always believed in a power greater than myself. Whether it was a single, loving figure like God sporting the white beard, or some cold and mystical energy involving math and planets and shit, I felt (and feel) part of something much bigger. I felt (and feel) there was/is a plan for me already mapped out, like a reservation in Heaven if I am a kind and loving person, or being forever tapped into the universe if I continue being a genius.


As with my altered states, I also always believed in a power greater than myself through my suicidal states. I never asked God for help when I was gasping for air. I never beat my chest and blamed God when times were truly unbearable. And oh they were unbearable. I hit my bottom seven years ago when I moved to Boston, and scraped that bottom until one year, two months, and 15 days ago. So, I say with no exaggeration that I was actively suicidal for over six years – hoping to die, trying to die, praying to the Big Guy in the Sky to help me die. Being Catholic, suicide meant going on a vacation to somewhere warm, eternally. In my heart, I did not believe that applied to me – I was already in Hell and God’s master plan for me was for me to be a cautionary tale. “Hello. My name is Don’t Do Drugs”. I was put on earth so others may be saved. Now, this made perfect sense to me… until literally last week when I was telling this to a lovely friend “Sleve” who is a devout Catholic. Sleve pointed out that that’s called “martyrdom”, and I was like, “Oh Jesus Christ, for the love of God, Hell No!!”. I never thought of it in an Immaculate Sin of the Crack Pipe kind of way, I thought of it more in an “After School Special” kind of way, starring God (as Himself). Besides daydreaming of deliberate suicide, I also had very colorful suicidal ideations. My favorite was the one where I ran into traffic on West Broadway to save a kitten that had wandered into the street. I’d get flattened by a car, the kitten would be untouched. It would be all over the news – make even national news and the “Today Show”, people who thought I was a raving maniac will be interviewed and say what a beautiful soul I am, boys would realize I am The One Who Got Away. The kitten’s owners, guilt-ridden and inconsolable, would devote the rest of their lives to helping pass laws that would make it illegal for cat owners to let their cats outside in the city without a leash. I would be canonized. The SPCA and PETA would petition to have a National Holiday named after me – Saint Cara of de Kitty.


Slushkitty and Higher Power, Sittin’ in a Tree…

Hi! Happy Friday!


As part of Steps 2 and 3, Nelissa has asked me to write about my history with my Higher Power…since birth. Hold on to your halos! I need to do this in installments. Here’s birth through high school…


Early Childhood:

I was raised Catholic which means I went to Church every Sunday, CCD (Catholic Christian something-or-other, or “Central City Dump”, depending on contempt level) once a week, and was most assuredly going to Hell if I ever offer someone a piece of gum but secretly hope they would say “no thanks” again. Bad, bad Catholic, said Sister Ann. But despite the facts that Sister Ann threw me across the library once (for no good reason, I might add. And there ARE good reasons to throw a 10-year-old nervous wreck across the library), and Sister Audrey threw me down a flight a stairs once for wearing mascara, even though Rachael McCarthy looked like Alice Cooper or perhaps a goddamn (literally) hooker and no one said a goddamn word to her, I never resented these women-eunuch brides of God (ooo snap! Going to Hell for that one!), nor questioned my faith. I said my prayers every night. I did not kneel though – I said them in bed. I thought that in the olden days, the world was in black and white (like old movies and old photographs), so I used to thank God that we have colors now, and prayed that, when I got older, we’d have even more colors! and was excited to find out what they would be. I prayed that when I died, I’d wake up in Heaven and be an angel… and as long as I happily and selflessly and Catholicly offered whoever a piece of gum and truly and honestly and Catholicly hoped they’d say YES, I was most assuredly going to Heaven. So, when I got to Heaven, I’d wake up as an angel, and I’d pray to be a full-bodied angel, not one of those head-only angels with their wings coming out of the backs of their heads. Those chumps must have been only marginally good Catholics, living in the Section 8 projects of Heaven. And how the Hell would I pat my Springer Spaniel in Heaven with no arms? Here we go again – that age-old question – is Dog Heaven a neighborhood of People Heaven or is it in another cloud altogether? A maddening mystery! Anyway, I mentioned earlier that I prayed in bed and not on my knees. I now think that whoever suggested the knee thing was on to something – you’re less likely to fall asleep on your knees praying than in bed praying with your Springer Spaniel. I was taught that you start your prayers by blessing yourself – in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen – then say your prayers, and then end your prayers by blessing yourself again – in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. Inevitably, I’d bless myself, start saying my prayers, then fall asleep, dreaming presumably about Technicolor full-bodied angels. I’d wake up and be like “oh shit – did that prayer count since I didn’t bless myself to close it?”. So, I’d bless myself again – in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen – to close the prayer, presuming that the night before, I’d blessed myself, started saying my prayers, then fell asleep. And then I’d think “But God knows I was finished, right?”, so I’d bless myself again – in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen – thinking that the blessing I just gave myself was the beginning of a prayer, not an end. I’d bless myself again for good measure – in the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. Maybe once more will cinch it. In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. Where was I? In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. Zzzzz…


Tween Years:

I asked my mother what happens when you die… because I needed one more thing to obsess about, I guess. She said it was like falling asleep and never waking up. This terrified me. Two things going on here: 1 – the thought of being dead in nothingness for an eternity made me want to throw myself off the roof. This actually makes sense, even if only to those who have OCD, like moi. The thought of having to wait a lifetime to find out what lay ahead for an eternity was dizzying – the suspense would be unbearable! May as well throw myself off the roof… and wait and see what happens, hopefully not for an eternity though. Dammit! Stuck in the OCD loop again! Anyway, I completely disagreed with her – it was contrary to the way I was raised, too. I still am certain that there’s a Heaven, and I cannot explain why I believe this. (HP in the house yo! Woo! Woo!). 2 – If she was correct, that would mean there was no God. Now, I did not grow up sitting in front of the fireplace saying rosaries and reading the Bible with my family. I don’t recall ever discussing God shit at all actually. But we did go to Church and it seems that was enough foundation for me to know a spiritual life. I felt comforted and protected by an ever-present and kind God character. If I did unto others as I would have others do unto me, I would be a good person and get my heavenly wings (and a matching body). It was as simple as that. I don’t remember if I ever questioned where God was during the droughts and famine inEthiopia, even though the images and my Catholic guilt haunted me. I want to say that I precociously believed that one day I’d understand why there was such suffering and misery in the world, and when I was older, I would do all I could to ease others’ pain. But I was probably playing Ms. Pac-Man and telling tasteless jokes. What do you call an Ethiopian with buck teeth? A rake!


High School:

God was at the mall. I kept looking but never found Him. My hair must have been in the way.


More to follow….  Amen. In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen. In the name of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. Amen….



Dear Rubbah Fox

Dear Alkie,

I had a friend of the opposite sex who has expressed attraction to me but felt it would be the “wrong” thing to act on. I then became attracted to her, and expressed that to her. She then just stopped speaking to me without any real discussion around that decision with me. I’ve had a hard time just being accepting of the situation because I truly love and care for this person, and valued our friendship dearly.
How do you suggest I be handling the situation?

Dear Rubbah Fox,

Thank you for your question! I apologize for answering 1.5 months later. I am going to ignore your snippy comment about withdrawing your request for my advice because I took too long to reply, and your mysterious “situation” of mutual “attraction” deflated itself… not unlike a flat tire on your highway to spiritual enlightenment, I imagine. Do I seem unsympathetic? I’m afraid you were pinned in the center of the Ground Zero of my Imaginary Boyfriendland during the infancy of my sobriety, when fellas were a new species to me. Does that sound like a frightening place to be pinned? Yes. Yes, it does. I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but you and I had a pretty nasty break-up last summer. You remembered my name after only having met me once so, clearly, you were in love with me, but then you cheated on me and I was shocked, simply gutted! Gutted! Shocked! I didn’t talk to you for several months and you didn’t even notice. That was cold, dude. But, alas, I’ve evolved since then, and I’ll have you know that I did not snicker when I got your question above. I actually felt really bad because, as skeezy as affairs are, like mold festering in dampness and darkness, I know how disappointed you’ve been lately because all the girls you like turn out to be lesbians (coincidence?). At least you know that jezebels who consider cheating on their boyfriends may be interested in you, whereas lesbians will never be. So, you’re heading in the right direction! Keep up the good work, sunshine!

I was kidding about affairs being skeezy and like mold festering in dampness and darkness. Someone called me mold once – this is a close second to my favorite term of endearment from an old boyfriend: “shifty-eyed motherfucker” (I’ve mentioned this before but, really, it’s priceless, and bears repeating). Being insane, I delighted in both compliments. Someone actually did liken our torrid affair to mold – “our love is not a love – instead it is a mold festering in dampness and darkness”.  I was devastated. I was 17. Let’s call him “MhristianUno”. MhristianUno was 18. It was 1989. Our torrid affair consisted of him “cheating” on his girlfriend by taking me to see My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult at Ground Zero, a terrifying band (for me at that age) at a terrifying dive (before dives were a.w.e.s.o.m.e) in Central Square, which I think is a gay bar now. Why they let a 17-year-old preppy teeny bopper in, I do not know, but it’s kind of a cool story now – makes me sound edgy. I was so not edgy. Anyway, MhristianUno wanted me to move to San Francisco… oooooooooo, my dreamy kittycat lovemuffin, let me graduate high school first and then we shall begin our precious storybook love (and I’ll be sure to wear a flower in my hair)…. but then he abruptly changed his mind, called me mold, and I moved to Stockholm instead. I did eventually move toSan Francisco, but 7 years later. And there we ran into each-other ALL the time… and pretended not to know each-other – this is a typical punch line of my many storybook loves that would follow in the years to come. And check it yo – I was hanging out inBrooklyn a few years ago with a friend and some of his friends, and this gal asked me where I was from and, wouldn’t you know! She is good friends with MhristianUno! She texted him and said “Guess who I’m hanging out with!!!” and he said something like “Are you fucking kidding me?” but as per some contemporary social mandate, he sent me a friend request, and we’re now Facebook friends. I unsubscribed to his status updates though. Take THAT, Moldy MhristianUno!

The one realistic belief I have about love is that you can’t help who you fall in love with, or when you fall in love with them. Have you been watching The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee? Yeah, I don’t really care either EXCEPT that I practically lose consciousness with bliss every time I see Prince Charles and Camilla! Have you ever seen the ol’ chap so happy, so in love? Camillagate was misery, MISERY, for them, for the poor duchess! Why could no one understand?? He loved HER first! He wanted to marry Camilla NOT Diana! But Diana was cuter and younger, and Charles was a total mamma’s boy back then, and he had to marry Diana, and Diana was like, dude, check out the digs! and they were both like, whatever, I do. Yet no one could extinguish Charles’ and Camilla’s decades-long white hot passion (eeew), and Charles declared their love “non-negotiable” (awwww)… and look at them now!!! I defy you to find a picture of them not laughing, and not the canned poses either. They truly look like they’re in love, and have such fun together. Even The Queen has taken a shine to Camilla, and they’re spotted lunching on cucumber sandwiches together often. Diana and Fergie just made fun of The Queen’s shoes. The Queen and Camilla seem genuinely fond of each-other. A few weeks ago, Charles substituted as weatherman for some TV station, and Camilla was standing by the camera, and they were both giggling like little kids. I do not exaggerate when I say I had tears of happiness for them streaming down my face, as I sat with my three cats in my 1-bedroom paradise in Southie, yes, waiting for my prince. How.Sad.Is.That? ANYway, my point, RF, is that what may seem “wrong” to act on, may just be bad timing. Sometimes, you have to kiss a lot of frogs. And sometimes things come full circle. I hear.


Oh, hold the phone! I just got around to reading your question. Does “wrong” thing to act on even mean she has a boyfriend?? I just assumed that’s what you meant. Or does she mean “wrong” in CDC kind of way? Or does it mean that you did not have a year of sobriety yet, and that it is “wrong” to break the AA law? Speaking of having a year of sobriety, congratulations! Neither of us are AA jail bait anymore!  We should just get it over with. What do you say? [Refer to “Dear Slushkitten” if you have reservations – I am not a skank, nor do I have any STDs. I can prove it. Or does that Rubbah you the wrong way?].