I'm vacating the premises. The new Kitty Power is officially open for business...if not that cool looking yet. I was just happy to get it up and running really. Adjust your links accordingly.

It's been a good run here at Blogspot. Minus the occasional disappearing archives, page load mishaps, inability to link to post directly and downtimes. No, really it's been fun. But continuing my transition into a web nerd -- without the technical ability -- I've bought my domain and a heap of space and now I'm ready to have some super dynamic blogs with pictures (!) and more room to write without flodding your screen...unless you like that sort of thing.

So. thanks for dropping in. And with that: Good morning! And in case I don't see you: good afternoon, good evening and good night!


So, there is another Kitty Power site. But, don't go there. I'm working it on it...unless you want to leave a comment of the "go you! You rock!" variety which is always welcome. I'm fiddling about with everything in there, trying to figure out a way to make it all spiff and such. I'm gonna hold my massive fashion world entry for the new site...or at least until tomorrow. I'm sleepy and I took notes like a good girl. I'm off to dream of a beautiful template design that I can actually make work.


Today I've been experiencing a renaissance of sorts. I went to the laundry and washed clothes. I thought to myself: "Man, I'm hippy hippy hippo, I can't take looking like this...I need to get off that "see food, eat it" mode. And I'm too broke to buy everything I could possibly need if I keep getting larger than my bleeping clothes." (With that said, this coat is way pretty. A little busy, but being that I've been complaining my personal style is kinda blah and plain, this would definitely brighten it all up.)

Anyhoo, I've been a television fiend today. I watched ATWT. It's the only soap I've managed to stick with all these years. It's some good stuff right now. Then again, anything's better than AMC of the raped lesbians and putting people on meathooks in cold storage. Bump that mess. I also watched the stuff a girl's sci-fi, eye candy dreams are made of on the WB. Smallville and Angel. My husbands are so pretty. I might even tune into Tarzan on Sunday to see the pretty man slink around in a loincloth. Lovely, just lovely.

I don't remember the last time I've just sat around and watched TV. It's been excellent. Sometime last spring, I just fell out of TV watching and believe me, for a person like me that's tragic. I still have the syndication schedules of the local channels burned in my brain because when I was a kid, watching the boob tube was practically a lifestyle. TV is fabulous for simply letting yourself get washed over by stories, fantasy, and prettiness. And also for honing your critical gaze and snark to play with the kids at TWoP. I'm loving it while it lasts.

Hmm...pretty definitely appears to be the word of the day. Ah well.


This is why I love Sars and have her linked up -- besides the fact that once upon a time I wrote into the The Vine and she sent me pens when I got published.

Great article from Salon...definitely worth those stupid premium commercials.
I've gotta say that this article sums up just about everything I love about "While You Were Out." Except for the kitschy goodness and the quiz for prizes at the end.

Also on Slate, the Diary feature is a medical anthropologist in NYC researching sexual decision making in minority poor MSM -- or men who sleep with men, in case you haven't heard that. Back when I was writing my essay -- seems like forever ago, I doing a lot of reading trying to incorporate that topic into my research about the sexual agency of young black women, but it was way too much to tackle. I'll be reading the week's dispatches with interest.
Apparently the Friendster "it" pickup line for a Candice is referencing Prefuse 73. Not that I'm complaining...I guess. I am single after all -- not that I wasn't before -- but single and looking again, compared to the single yet tempestuously involved with someone of the past month or so.

But, I've realized (as conceited as it might sound) that I'm tired of guys hitting on me. Not altogether, just the shameless, lame lines having, leering, obnoxious ones. It's driving me nuts. They won't leave me alone, whether the bus, the train, the streets, in stores, in the building at work. It's like fuck, I don't care if you find me attractive, step off! Then again, I just might be experiencing a bit of "grass is always greener on the other side" because I spent years of complaining that no one ever noticed me.

The problem I think is that I'm the sort of person who likes to proactive. If I like you or find you attractive, you'll know it because I've gotten pretty good at flirting (sometimes) over the years. Besides, it's just no fun waiting for someone to come to you. Sometimes it can be advantageous, like when I'm sitting at my bar, chilling and feeling cheap (or broke) and minding my business when some guy wants to step up and chat and offers me a drink (or 3). I don't discourage it yet I'm not doing anything but sitting in the corner most of the time so I'm not encouraging it either. I'll take the drinks, we'll chat, end of episode. But, the reason I embraced things like Nerve and Friendster so is that I get to be choosy and go after someone without the immediacy of a potential hit and miss at a bar/club. When you're talking back and forth online, you can develop a preliminary rapport and it's kinda playful and fun. The ultimate in no pressure. You can meet and even if nothing romantic happens, you can still be cool because you've developed a nice sort of friendship. Win-win all around. And of course, the occasional something else might happen and that's always excellent unless he's annoyingly bipolar and starts to make me crazy. That gets evened out because I'm kinda bipolar too and I'm sure I've dished out plenty of that. Ah well. Here's to a tentative reintroduction to the "dating" world.


Currently cracking me up:
11. Drinks with "sexy" names. Bar patrons who order a "screaming orgasm," "sex on the beach," "blow job," or "long slow screw against the wall" are 77% less likely to get laid than the ones drinking beer. Wonder why.
18. Your cats. Attachment to a non-human mammal that doesn't give a fuck about you bespeaks emotional damage. It's the kind that transforms you from "alluringly quirky" to "certifiable."
19. Little digital cameras on your cell phone. These are for taking dirty pictures and posting them online, not for snapping your fully clothed friends in bars. When will the populace understand this?
35. Friendster.com. For a few months, it was a secret cute-kid sex party. Then all your exes heard about it. Then Courtney Love got on it. Then strangers started insisting you'd shared some magical experience with them outside Tuscaloosa. You told them you'd never been to Tuscaloosa and that they must have the wrong person. Then they told you your pet hamster’s name from when you were five and you started shaking.
36. Employment. People always talk about "becoming their job," which is the most heinous thing ever.
43. Blogging about your sex life. People who do this are under two delusions: a) that everyone wants to fuck them, and b) that their writing is interesting. Which is worse: sexual megalomania or an inability to edit? It's a dead heat. The online equivalent of that excruciatingly monotonous blowjob scene in every porn movie ever made.

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