miscellaneous_fanblogry

Be nice to them. They’re doing an important job. Do not chase them, grab them or harass them. 

Always bring some food with you, it’s just polite. 

Approach them slowly, and let them come to you. Sometimes you might have to sit on the ground and tap it a few times. This is what you brought food for. 

At some point after you have managed to touch the cat it will turn and sprint away. This is when you start following it.

Cats do not want you to get lost, but they can be fast. Never lose sight of them, you should stay with it until your return. This might still look like your usual street but you are in a liminal space already. Try not to get lost. 

(NOTE: do not follow cats with mismatched eyes. You can pet them, but the moment they run away you should immediately turn your back to them and walk in the opposite direction.)

Black cats:

Follow black cats into the floor-level vents. Don’t worry, there are many spider webs but there aren’t any spiders.

Do not lose sight of them in the dark.

When you emerge, you will be in the same street you were before, but there will be no people to be found.

Do not stray, follow your cat. Sometimes it might want to just catch a bird and go back. Do not stay longer just to explore.

 If you hear the sound of a crowd in the distance do not try to follow it. Your cat will never lead you there.

You can take anything with you but you cannot take pictures or record video or sound.

Orange cats:

Orange cats hang around train stations for a reason. Follow them into the next train. You will not need a ticket.

If the cat wants you to scratch its ears during the trip, do it.

The landscape will not look like the area around your town.  Do not panic - this is normal.

The people in the train will not speak a language you understand or recognize, but they will have clothes and devices similar to yours. They are usually nice.

Get down at the same stop as your cat. You will not understand the name of the station, and no one will get off in the same station as yours. You should follow your cat, but it will never leave the station. Follow it into the next train to get back home.

Never stay in the train. Never wait for the last stop.

White cats:

White cats live on the edges. They will take you to many places but at the same time they will never take you anywhere.

If you meet them during the night-time, the sun will start rising, regardless of the time. If you meet them during the daytime, the sun will start setting. It will stay like this for the duration of the trip.

Follow them to the edge of a forest that smells like honeysuckle. You will hear the song of birds and the flow of water. You should never stray and enter the forest on your own. Your cat will not follow.

Follow them to a building where a fancy party is being held at. Through the windows you can see the food and the champagne. The guests will ask you to join them, but your cat will keep walking. Do not accept the invitation, and never eat the food or drink the champagne.

Follow them along the edge of a swimming pool. People will be bathing, playing and laughing. It will be hot, regardless of the season. Do not step too close to the edge, because they will try to grab your ankles and pull you into the water. Keep walking.

Once the sun finally sets or rises you will be back home. Never enter your house until you are completely sure the sky is changing.

Calico cats:

Calico cats are the safest. They will follow you instead.

Walk around your town and you will see everything is the same, but you will not be able to make the connections between the streets.

If you want to go to a certain place you will find it is no longer where it used to be.

You will not recognize anyone. Every single person in the street will be a stranger. They are not dangerous but do not look them directly in the eyes.

Never try to find your house. Because you will find it.

When you want to come back take the cat back where you found it. This might be more difficult than you expect.

Remember to always take some food with you, something make of iron, and comfortable shoes.

And remember to always be nice to the cats!

100 Thousand Reblogs and I will let Dark and Wilford live.

I just got off the phone with mom, and we came to the realization that my family has lived in a series of unplottable houses for a couple generations now.

-The First Unplottable House is on my dad’s side of the family, in Delphi, Iowa.  The directions to it are the stuff of Buried Treasure:  Turn off the county road with a fraction in it’s name, to the Named Dirt Road, then turn at The Discount Eggs Sign on to the Unnamed dirt road that takes a meandering path THROUGH a corn field, DO NOT take any forks on that road or the farmer will shoot your ass, then take the paved road that dead-ends on ALL the way to the end- No, farther, the road keeps going it’s not a cliff-The only indication that You Have Arrived At The Correct Driveway is that a fat gray pony will charge the car, screaming, then escort you the rest of the way there.

It’s on the side of an enormous river, they’ve owned the property since 1911, and that’s the ONLY route there.

-The Second Unplottable house is in Bedford, Ohio and belonged to my mother’s parents.  It’s at the corner of two side-streets, right across from the tiny Italian grocery store.  Due to strange development decisions, the house is about 30 feet above street level and rendered invisible by a chestnut tree so majestic Hyao Myazaki would probably put it in a movie.  The driveway, however, is VERY visible from any of the surrounding houses, the grocer, or the street.  

At least in theory and old photos, becuase if you actually GO there,  your eyes slide right past it to the neighbor’s lillac bush, or to the retro neons of the grocery store or up the Chestnut tree.  it is literally HARD to look at that driveway, all the world around it wants to pull you away.

-The Third Unplottable house is in Salinas, CA, home of my paternal grandparents.  It is the single most BORING house possible- like, if you were to ask a third-grader to draw a prototypical house, they would draw my grandparent’s house.  Utterly Unremarkable. 

Except for the part where my Grandfather, spurred by his success with the “non-fruiting” peach tree, decided to plant a California Redwood Tree, and it grew to approximately 150 feet over the course of a few short decades.  It is the tallest damn thing for miles around, and SOMEHOW deliveries keep being missed, mail is delivered to the neighbors, and any non-blood family that tried to visit would end up on the other side of town.

-The Fourth Unplottable House was the one I grew up in CA.  The Directions to it are as follows:  It’s the Bright Orange house Right Across From The School.  You know, the one with six flamingos and the Volunteer Avacado Tree.

SOMEHOW, we got everyone’s mail but OURS (we still wonder about the letter from Fort Knox for Mr. Thomas Saxophone), the other kids got lost trying to visit and ended up in Mr.Phan’s yard on the other end of the block.  Officer Brown, Mom and Dad’s friend, who had GPS back in the early 90′s becuase silicon valley, regularly got lost looking for our place.  The Flamingos did nothing.

-My parent’s current house is the second house on the right  after two right turns off the state highway that runs through town.  Sounds easy, right?  

Except that due to a couple small trees and a bend in the road, the house is invisible from the road.  I have to stand out in the road if i want my pizza delivered.  The Mailman is the only person who could reliably find the box, but he drives a subaru that’s older than my sister from the passenger side by leaning over, and delivers mail based on the aztec lunar calendar, so he’s probably not actually human.  I tried to host a party, tied rainbow balloons to the mailbox, and all nine friends had to be waved in from the street.

-My current apartment building Does Not Exist, according to my Bank, medicaid, Google, and City Hall which was a bit exciting when I first moved in and had to call everyone that yes, I was sitting in a building that really exists.   

Guliya’s roommate recalls me dropping her off at the dorms, which is really peculiar.  Another classmate, Jeff, was at the party with Guliya, and they thought it was my place too.  Jeff is a jackass and I’d never invite him to my place.

No sooner do I set foot in the door, and Mrs. Nguyen snaps up and shrieks YOU!!  and I am much distressed and confused, because I adore Mrs. Nguyen.  She kept My Intended alive last passover when the cafeteria covered literally everything in flour.

She insists that some time in august I had dined with a large group of friends and then skipped out on a $200 dollar tab.  This is even more distressing and also impossible, as I had been in Oregon at the time, and only have like 3 IRL friends.  She is livid, and absolutely insistent that it was me, and that I pay the tab or she’ll call the police.  Being very distressed and not eager to have a panic attack in front of police, I pay up $216.87 and am banned forever.  I go home in tears, without my Pho and am very sick for a fortnight.

Two months later, it’s Polish Butter Christmas, and I locate the source of my woes.

Polish Butter Christmas is the invention of my Intended’s friend/domesticated internet troll, where everyone deemed a friend or at least interesting party diversion is invited to their house and we all consume massive amounts of Traditional Polish Cooking, which is about 60% butter by weight.  everyone eats way too much, most people also get shitfaced and i usually end up on the floor playing with 4-6 corgis, depending on who’s invited that year.  in 2014, it was all six of them, rustling under the table like a pack of obese furry sausages.  

Among the guests invited are myself, my Intended, The Troll’s girlfriend, and her friend.  The latter is 5′2″, whiter than mayonnaise, with bright purple hair and green glasses.  I also am 5′2″, glow under black lights, had bright purple hair and still have green glasses.  We learn furthermore, that we have the same first name and live on the same side of town.  This is laughed off as Most Amusing, at first.

The celebration goes on, and I become steadily less amused as I learn that Not-Me is a BITCH.  Racist jokes, yelling at the dogs to make them cower becuase “They look so funny!”, and generally abrasive and cruel.  Everyone is uncomfortable and Troll confides quietly to me in the kitchen that she is not invited next year, but needs an excuse to throw her out, or his dad will have a fit.  Troll’s family is as much a gang of cryptids as mine, and cannot go around Un-Inviting people without Due Cause.  So we agree to suffer quietly and laugh about it next year.

Eventually, the conversation turns to “Youthful Shenanigans”, and while most people have the sense to tell stories where they did something dumb but not actually illegal, Not-Me recounts with utter glee “That time me and my hoes dine-and-dashed that one chink place hahaha”

I suddenly put two and two together and realize that This Bitch Has Personally Wronged Me.

“You CUNT.” I tell her, furious at the realization ad the fact that she’s been steadily ruining Polish Butter Christmas for the last three hours. “Mrs. Nguyen thinks I did that! I HAD TO PAY THE TAB!”

“Oh, uh my bad, haha…” She laughed awkwardly.

“HA. YES. FUNNY. WE ARE GOING TO THE PLACE, YOU ARE APOLOGIZING TO MRS. NGUYEN AND PAYING ME BACK YOU INSUFFERABLE BITCH.”  I yelled, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door, Corgis yapping excitedly at our ankles.

“Whaa?  No!  fuck you!”  She said, winching her arm out of my grip and doing an amazing four-inch-heel-sprint for the bathroom, locking herself in.  

She has made a rather serious error in the Troll is both 1. a 6′6″ Sasquatch of a man, and 2. TOTALLY WILLING to take a crowbar to the bathroom window he’d been planning on renovating anyway, esp if it mean he gets to haul a bitch out and toss her into the back of the minivan with the three least-obese corgis, so that we may drive her, sobbing about injustice the whole way.

Nothing in my life will ever be so satisfying as dragging Not-Me into Pho 67, and seeing the look of horror and recognition cross Mrs. Nguyen’s face as she realized what had happened, then having Not-Me withdraw the money from the ATM at the front.

We then returned to Polish Butter Christmas and had a splendid time feeding buttered pork to the corgis.

So last night I’m out walking Charlie at 2AM becuase it was the first break in the lightning we’d had since 6PM, and I go around the corner and literally for half  second I thought I was about to walk into a mirror becuase I found  my local doppelganger and this time it’s WEIRD.

I’ve got weird curly brown hair that goes kind of Bride-Of-Frankenstein when it gets long, have a weird hound mix from AZ, and am art major with a science background.  I grew up in the bay area and moved to CO in middle school.  I’m a night owl with a bad habit of signing up for morning classes.  I’ve got a super-common first and middle name, and a less-common irish surname.  I’m in 105D

SHE has got the same hair and face, her dog is a weird hound mix that’s like a paletteswap of charlie also from AZ, possibly the same ranch, She’s a biology major with an art minor, grew up in CO and moved to the bay area in middle school, is a morning person with afternoon classes. We have the same first and middle names, in reverse order, and she has the other spelling of my last name.  She’s in 105A.

Statistically, some of this is not surprising- both combinations of names are common, and there was a lot of cross-traffic between CO and CA in 2004, all Rez dogs are shaped the same, and Art/science isn’t that odd a major/minor combo.

She did throw that party back in novemeber, and I was much relived, and she was glad to find out I exist-  We’ve somehow gotten into the same circle of art/science/queer friends without meeting up, and Guliya was bugging her telling stories of My Shenanigans, and attributing them to her.

This coffeehouse has bathrooms located at the end of a U-shaped hallway, so I was going to wait in the hall and Doppelganger in the main part of the cafe.  After a bit of chatting, D would get up to use the restroom and we’d swap places.  The idea was to see how many times we could swap before Guliya noticed something was amiss.  I hear Guliya arrive, and wait.

After about 15 minutes, D comes down the hall, gives me a quick update on the convo so far- the self-inflicted-illness of a professor and the astonishing number of bears about- and I go out.

Guliya notices NOTHING.

We talk more about bears and the terrifying lack of life skills some freshmen have and I go back, complaining of bladder issues.  D and I swap places 3 more times like this, before Guliya notices that we seem to be ill and she can recommend a specialist, so we decide to end the game.  We both walk out while Guliiya is texting someone and sit down across from her.

Knowledge is often described as “dawning’ on people, the soft illumination of understanding. This was like watching someone get caught by the totality of an unscheduled eclipse.  She looked up from her phone, delighted to continue the conversation and watching her face collapse into wall-eyed horror is something that I will treasure for ages.

“There are two of you!”  

“Yes!”  We said, in unintentional creepy unison.

She stared at us for a few moments, surprise giving way to puzzlement, then, relief.

“Thank Fuck.”  She sighed. “I was beginning to wonder when the hell you slept.”

Apparently she had conflated out two identities into some sort of double-major two-jobs constantly-awake superbeing and had been worried about keeping up with Us.

“I mean I don’t anyway. I have terrible insomnia.” I said, unhelpfully.

“Which one of you has the rant about Carvaggio?”  She asked.

“That’s both of us.”

“And the one who nearly got eaten by bears?”

“Still both of us.”

“Well how am I supposed to tell you apart?”  She grumbled.

“I’m the one passed out on the chemistry building couch, they’re the one on the figure-drawing couch.” D offered.

“We can only sleep when surrounded by dangerous chemicals and poor judgement.”  I explained.

“It reminds us of our home dimension of Madness.” D continued.

“Fuck both of you, and any other of you out there.” said Gulia, downing more macchiato for strength.

“Don’t be mean to 27.” I said.

“He had nothing to do with this.” D continued.

I’m considering coming out to my family as non-binary, and so today I brought up the subject of non-binary gendering/transgendering with my Dad as a casual conversational topic. He’s told me that if somebody is born a boy then they “should stay a fucking boy” and not trans to a girl or be a boy some days/girl other days/genderless other days.

I told him that I think gender identity should be something one can choose for themselves, and he says that nobody thinks like that and anybody who is trans/non-binary will just be shunned by every member of society they meet. He doesn’t think that people support n-b/t communities, because he doesn’t. He says to me that not staying one’s natural gender is wrong and against the point of being born a boy/girl.

i wanna come out to my mom as pansexual but when ive hinted at me not being 100% straight, she’s said its not a thing and that im too young to know (im 19) what my sexuality is and it just makes me SO MAD bc i want my mom to accept me but i think i need some support

If you’re a cis woman and you can see this post, reblog it. Reblog it if you don’t hate trans women, or think we’re all confused men obsessed with vaginas.

I wanna see where this goes.