August 14, 2015

Ten Scoops of Chowder

*Dedicated to Nathan "Chowder" Malachowski, aka The Big LeChowski, aka Nathan Bacon Deserves a Spankin', aka Natron, aka Flock of Seagulls, aka Leslie

1.  Nathan was my first boyfriend and still my best friend (except for Meghan, who is my BFF).  We met while we were in high school and eventually moved to Germany to become hair twins.
Nathan and Katt in Germany.  People mistook us for Nordic siblings, but he's 100% Polish, and I'm majority Native American.  Our jam sessions usually ended by him asking me to stop singing 'Nathan Is A Dirty Pole".  Later I wrote a song called, "This Song Isn't About You Nathan Malachowski, Geesh, Get Over Yourself.  Not Everything Is About You."

2.  Once a big black dude in a bar mistook him for my sister and began stroking his head.  Nathan thought it was me.  When he finally turned around, they were both were surprised.  

3.  My dad was hard of hearing and wouldn't do anything about it.  Man, it was annoying.  One night he came home after Nathan had fallen asleep on the living room couch and asked me who my friend was.  I whispered, "Nathan", and he responded "Pardon?" to which I loudly hissed, "Nathan!"..."What's that?"..."Nathan!!!"..."Who?"..."NATHAN!"..."Leslie?"  By then, my dad was standing next to Nathan's head, who was pretending to still be asleep and suppressing laughter.  When the room was clear, I observed to Nathan "You know, not one letter in those names is the same."

Dad and Baby Katt in Hawai'i.  He was Cherokee.  Notice that he looks like he belongs on a pack of tobacco, and I'm as white as an Irish mailman.  

4.  Another time, my brother kept calling my name at the patio and when I came in through the living room, he realized that he had mistaken Nathan for me.

5.  And another time, Nathan was driving my sister somewhere and a car of guys pulled up and said, "Hey ladies!" was just the two of them.

6.  And another, another time, he was driving both me and my sister somewhere, and a bunch of men in the sedan next to us at the stoplight said, "Hey!  A car full of ladies!"  When the light changed, they zoomed ahead, and I heard voice in the distance  remarking "Hey!  That one's a dude!"

7.  A few days ago, Nathan texted me with the tragic news that there was a giant, unreachable zit on his back, and I was powerless to help him because he moved to Austen, Texas a couple years ago.  

8.  For the record, when Nathan told his friends that he had sex on prom night, it was a lie.  He was up till 4am playing video games while I sat in my dress, drinking the beer he bought with the money his parents gave him for my corsage.
The Velour Goldmine

9.  As soon as I became Nathan's girlfriend, he ignored me.  I wasn't used to dating and unaware that ignoring me is standard protocol, so I didn't take it well.  In response, I went to a party at his parents' house (they were out of town), asked to speak privately, then sat on him until he agreed to be my friend and ordered him to call me the next day.  Sure enough, he called.  

10.  Nathan and I lived together on and off for years, usually sharing a bed despite the (mostly) platonic nature of our relationship.  When we moved to Freiburg, Germany, I lived in his dorm room, and we shared a twin size bed.   While sleeping, I'd hog the bed, and occasionally Nathan would wake up with burn marks on his side from where I pressed him into the heater.  

And They Call It Puppy Love

I'm house-sitting for the first two weeks in August.  Here's my new friend.

"Hi, my name is Snuggles.  If you touch me, I swear to God, I will cut you!  Nice to meet 'cha!"

Smells Like the Teen Spirits

Done and done...and I mean done

This is the door to the teenager's room where I'm house-sitting.  Look carefully, you can see the candelabra in front of the window.  On the ceiling is a poster of Bauhaus (of course there is).  The message is unnecessary because I'm too creeped out to go in her room anyway.  She's either a pagan, wiccan, or methodist.  I can't remember.  

Backyard Party

This is the backyard where I'm house-sitting.  There appears to be a clothesline, cage, and zombie in a blue corset.  

Dunno what they're into...
but count me in.

Just an ordinary day on the compound.

I Bore Myself Awake

Once I had a dream that I was waiting in line.  It was so boring that I woke up.  Just last night, I was forced awake because the plot of my dream went nowhere.  If I was a fiction writer, you would probably be asleep by now.  (The ghost of O. Henry just gave me a high-five.)  

Recurring dreams tend to be unoriginal.  Mine is the Billy Madison-like one, but I can't figure out how to go to classes.  Maybe because I'm Native, but probably because I'm kind of balmy, dream interpretation makes sense to me.  In this case, I feel anxious because I can't catch up with my peers.

Yeah, I'm thirty-five, and have never been married or pregnant.  Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out the name of the career that I'm pursuing (more on that later).  The first two are on me though because I'm way too nice and let men know right away that I'm smothering and idealistic.  (You're welcome.)   Funny how I've never worried about that pushing away friends.  I think they interpret it as genuine care and acceptance, at least, I hope so.  

What I'm saying is, I'll grow up at forty, and thank you for being my friend even though I'm smothering.  Also, yes, I'm idealistic, but I do see your flaws- I just don't care about them.  Because I don't want to.    

As a treat, here's a reel of my most boring dreams:  
What did the snail say on the back of the tortoise?  "Weeee!" -Nathan Malachowski

Parting of the Mediterranean Sea

I'm house-sitting.  There's a large painting of Fabio in the dining room.  
Lah-ove me. 

Smelly Kat, Sleepy Girl

I just finished watching all ten seasons of Friends and am still in disbelief that it began airing over twenty years ago.  I've had dates who were born after the Friends premiere (yes, recently.  Shut up.)

For the ten years it was on (and longer), people sang "Smelly Cat" when I introduced myself.  In return, I had to swallow my irritation and come to terms with what a hackneyed world we live in.  At some point, my younger sister started just calling me "Smelly", but that turned out to be because I thought heroin was more interesting than hygiene maintenance.  It didn't have anything to do with the occasional bouts of homelessness, which is what happens to moochers who aren't Rachel and Joey.  

After January 3rd, 2007 (my sobriety date), I began gradually following a more curious path.  Eccentrics like me, who are sensitive and intuitive, tend to wind up as either ascetics or occultists.  The "dark side" involves more teamsmanship, whereas the path of "peace and joy" compliments my intermittent desire for people to scoot.     

Me at 29 years old
Resting on my loveseat when I lived in an Orthodox parish.
In my search for infinity and beyond, I wound up homeless for seasons.  Twice, I lived in Eastern Orthodox parishes, the last of which was on property that didn't have plumbing yet.  It's common for an Orthodox parish to have a monkish wanderer living in a closet or shed.  Not once was I stinky.  Even by the time my clothes became rags, I smelled like hope and sunshine.  
Now both lives are behind me, and my journey as a writer has lead to a new horizon of snacking, napping, and binge-watching TV on my phone.  My hygiene is pristine, and I smell like Sirocco vintage perfume.  That's from doing "European Laundry", where I spray a mix of it with water and alcohol into the pits and crotches of my rags.  Go ahead and say "TMI".  I'm at peace with your hackneyed quips.  
Me at 35 years old
Resting on my futon because I can't handle my beta-blockers