Sunday, May 29, 2011

In a cat's eye, all things belong to cats.

My cats don't like the weekends. 'Tis something we have in common; and funny enough, we both dislike the weekends for food-related reasons. 

On weekdays, Mum gets up earliest, at around 6.15 or 6.30. And the first thing she does when she gets downstairs? Feed the kiikiiis. But on weekends, we sleep in. Daisy especially does not like this, and the later it is on Saturday morning, the more pissed off Daisy gets. 

Her patience only takes her so far. After that, it's time to wake up the slaves, because Daisy wants her damn breakfast. 

You know when, even though you're deeply asleep, you jolt awake because your subconscious KNOWS that something is in the room?

Even though the cat is completely silent, they're sending brain-waves. A telepathic message that says, "Wake the eff up slave!!!"

And you open your eyes and kitty is there staring at you with a look of pure disgust.

Because as a slave, you have FAILED. 

Yesterday morning, this got me pondering the psychology of house cats. This one time I was sleeping at my cousin's house--we had partied hardcore for Halloween and crashed at her place. Normally Cousin and her girlfriend leave their bedroom door open a bit so their 3 pitbulls, 1 Alsatian, and 9 cats could go in and out as they pleased; but since there were quite a few people in various stages of extreme intoxication all staying in the house, they closed their bedroom door that night. 

I opened my eyes at 9.00 the next morning to find all 9 cats sitting beside the bed, staring at me. I have NEVER--before or since then--seen all 9 of Cousin's cats. Only 3 of them are friendly. The others either stay outside all the time, or hide when there are people over. But it was breakfast time, and since the usual slaves had shut their bedroom door, the kitties came to demand that I get their breakfast. 

Because your cat does not love you unconditionally like a dog does. Your cat has a Bast-Complex.

Kitty is God, and humans are there to serve her. And if her humans aren't doing their job Properly, Kitty might just go and find better slaves. 

I had a friend whose cat spent a lot of time outdoors. The cat would go visit Friend's neighbours, and the neighbours would give the cat treats. After a while, the cat just moved in to Neighbour's house. The Neighbours tried to bring it back to Friend, and apologized profusely, but Cat preferred Neighbours and would not be convinced to go home. So now Cat lives with Neighbours. 

We have a cat who comes to visit our house. I call him Chaaaaaaaaarrrliieee (like the unicorn). We feed him treats, and even though my cats will fight with any other cats who come into our yard, they don't have a problem with Chaaaaaaaaarrrliieee. And I'm pretty sure that if we let him inside, Chaaaaaaaaarrrliieee would stay with us forever.

People have this funny idea that when your cat brings you dead animals, Kitty is actually bringing you a "present."

This is incorrect.

When Kitty brings you dead animals, Kitty expects Praise. Because clearly, if Kitty killed something, then she has some mad skills. 

Also, Kitty is reminding you that if necessary, she would have no problem feeding herself. But you are Slave, so you will continue to feed her. Because that is your lot in life.

But this is why I love cats. They put you in your place. They remind you that you are only as good as the job you're doing as their slave. They will not do tricks, or take orders, or put up with shenanigans. If you want love and affection from your cat, you really have to EARN it. 

If you're a good slave, you will be rewarded. You may be given the benefit of a cuddle, or of having your cat snuggle on your lap...
...and kneading your lap with its claws.

This is an extra special honor if your cat isn't really lap-sized, or if she isn't really the kind of cat who normally sits on laps.

(Daisy weighs 16 pounds.)

Or they may reward you with some free cleaning.
If kitty wakes you up in the middle of the night to clean your face, you better believe you're doing a really super epic awesome job as a slave. 

My cats are spoiled rotten. Daisy is supposed to be on a diet (according to the vet), but we have trouble sticking to this. It's very difficult not to give her the usual amount of food when she gives you that glare that says you failed. Callisto is even more spoiled--she gets a bit of whatever we're eating (within reason--I asked the vet to make sure we're only giving her things that won't upset her delicate digestion), and she spends all of her time sleeping, or being cuddled, scratched, and massaged. 

Because seriously, how can you NOT spoil them?

Hope y'all are having a good weekend! And I hope those of you who are Stateside are having limited anxiety for the long weekend and holiday stuffs. I'm off to a barbecue later, so now I'm going to the gym to do some preemptive damage control. 

Laters! <3

Friday, May 27, 2011

Sodomites! Caught right in a sex orgy! Is that what you learned in private school?! Oh God, the children are having SEX!

Yeah Monday's binge was baaaaaad. I had 3 doughnuts. And one of the Dunkin Donuts cashiers. 

OK FINE I had both of the cashiers. And the kid behind me on line, but I could hardly leave witnesses, could I?? ....I've been doing better the rest of this week. 

I have writer's block!!! >:O 

So since I can't think of anything witty or clever or humourous to post, I thought I'd copy Cinnamon Brown and  post some gorgeous pictures of the women I have adored since pre-puberty...

Isabella Rossellini makes me happy. 

I saw Blue Velvet when I was like 11 or 12. I didn't understand it at all, but I fell in love with Isabella. Then I saw her in that made for TV movie of The Odyssey:

I was in my Greek myth phase, and she played Athena. 

So I made Mum get me her book:

And I treated that thing like my personal bible. 


When I was 11, Mum let me rent Pink Flamingos.

If you have ever seen this film, you're probably thinking OH MY GOD, WHY would anyone let their 11-year-old watch that!!?!?

Mum never bothered censoring what I watched, nor did she ever read the back of any of the videos I picked up on our Saturday evening trips to the Super Video Store. 

That film warped my already slightly deranged mind. And introduced me to Mink Stole.

She's just fabulous. All the time. 



I'm not sure when my Jessica Lange fixation began. I think I saw that Frances Farmer movie at some point in middle school. 
And it escalated from there.


And of course there's Daryl Hannah:

I just love her face. How sometimes she looks all sharp lines and very chiseled, 

and then other times she looks all girly and delicate.

She seems to have vanished from Hollywood, though. :(


I always liked Anais Nin's face.

She wasn't really conventionally pretty, but she had a very unique face.

Aside from her diaries, she wrote two collections of erotic fiction. I found them both in Mum's closet when I was in 7th grade. She never said anything when they went missing.

Oh yeah and Anais had an affair with Henry Miller AND his wife, which makes her all sorts of awesome. 


Ooooooh and Billie!!
She makes me happy.

Gaaaahhhh!!! :D


And you all know how much I adore Marilyn.

And she had such an incredible life story.  If none of you have ever read a biography of Marilyn, YOU SHOULD. She was the child of an insane mother, went through one foster home after another (many of them with very abusive foster parents), and managed to become the most beautiful woman who ever walked the planet. 

Until she was murdered by the Kennedy administration.

This is one of my fav photos of her, because I just love the expression on that one guy's face:

She performed for those soldiers in Korea, in FEBRUARY. It was bitter cold, but she still got up on that stage in that tiny dress and sang for the soldiers. 

Top that. 


So who do all you gals idolize? Aside from the usual starlets, like Marilyn, or Audrey. I want to know!

Monday, May 23, 2011

I have not vanished.

I'm just eating. A lot. 

I had planned on doing the usual one day of liquids only >200 cals per days binged (2), but then something in my brain fizzled out this morning at work and I started in on the peanut butter pretzels. 

It all went downhill from there.

I really want a doughnut. 

And you know what? I'M GOING TO GET A F**KING A DOUGHNUT. I am. Maybe I'll even have 5 doughnuts. And the Dunkin Donuts employees, while I'm at it. May as well make a clean job of it. 

A proper [better] post later. I promise. 


Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Spring time, the only pretty ring time, hey ding..... a ding a ding...

 I am now going to complain like a spoiled little rich girl. 

I debated posting this. I might have been a pampered child back in the day when Mum and Dad both had really awesome jobs, but I was still taught good etiquette. That's the difference between Spoiled and Brat. 

But sometimes lots of petty, stupid things start to pile up and get me t'ed off. In real life, I do not voice these complaints because I know I'm being a spoiled obsessive compulsive efftard and it would be best if just kept my mouth shut. 

Take every other Thursday, for example. Betty, Mum's cleaning lady, comes to clean the house 2 Thursdays a month because both Mum and Little Sis are too lazy to do it themselves, and I'm not going to clean up after myself and 2 other people just because they're such pansies they can't even work the hoover.

.......where was I? Oh yes, Betty. I don't think we need a cleaning lady, mainly because we don't have any money. I do adore Betty--she's teaching me Portuguese and if I happen to be home when she's there, I make her coffee (she totally loves Cinnamon's South African coffee btw!), and I help Betty clean and change everyone's sheets and do laundry so she can leave earlier. 

Since I work 9 - 5 all week, I usually only see Betty for like an hour in the morning. She changes all the bedding after I leave. It's totally awesome coming home to the bed made (I hardly ever have time to do it in the morning so it's a mess during the week--pretty much like a nest).

But she effs up my blankets and mattress. And when you have OCD tendencies, that sort of thing is enough to cause a grand mal obsessive compulsive seizure. 

I've got a memory foam mattress topper on my bed, and it's extremely awkward. (BUT SO TOTALLY WORTH IT.) It's not quite as big as the mattress, so you need to secure it at the headboard or you end up with a big gap between the memory foam and the mattress, and when you sleep your face will end up wedged in the gap and it sucks. My comforter is kind of awkward too,  because it tends to get all tangled up in the duvet cover. 

These things make me MANIACAL, so I go to great lengths--using safety pins, which fix everything--to make sure that the mattress stays where it should be, and the comforter doesn't turn into a nonfunctional blob.

Certain Things need to be in Certain Places, and Operating According to Plan or I will start killing people.

It takes effing AGES to fix the comforter when it gets all wonky in the duvet cover. And in order to properly fix the memory foam thing, you need to pretty much disembowel my bed because of all the pillows and blankets and the canopy thing getting in the way.

So every other Thursday evening I come home to my nice made bed, and once I get a better look at the state of the mattress and comforter, I have an electrical storm somewhere in my orbitofrontal cortex. 

But as I said before, I am well aware of how ridiculous I am. I take a deep breath, and deal with it. Because it's really not a reason to complain. Someone comes to my house and puts clean sheets on my bed and hoovers my floor; and I don't have to pay for it. That's f**king awesome. So DUH, I'm not going to complain just because my comforter is a little messed up. 

I still think it, though. Even if it's only for a split second, that Thought still formed. And I feel like that makes me an arsehole. Like what Sister Clara always told us in grade school--even if you THINK bad things, you are a SINNER and you are going to BURN. 

OCD is so fun, right? ?


It gets worse as I get older. And I think it's kind of funny that Mum and Little Sis are so used to my madness by now, that they don't even question me. The opposite in fact--I'm slowly training them to cater to my compulsions. 

Take the dishwasher, for example. 

Dishwashers are the fruit of the gods. You put the dirty dishes in it, you put the soap in it, and push a button. You don't have to sit there with your gloves and fairy liquid and a sink full of gross water. You don't have to do ANYTHING. 

Except load the dishwasher Properly. 

The dishwasher in my house is like an outpost of the third reich. 

There is a REASON for this--I'm not just doing it for fun. If you Load the Dishwasher Properly, you can fit the maximum number of dishes in it, and have a far easier time  emptying it when everything is clean. 

The other members of my household do not share my wisdom. They'll just fling the dirty dishes anywhere and make a huge mess of the dishwasher, and then we end up having to run it two or three times more often. 

The dishes MUST be segregated. 

So I rearrange everything Properly. I tried being stealth in the beginning, but Mum always catches me. (She likes to make fun of me for this.)

After years of this, however, Mum and Little Sis have started being more careful how they load the dishwasher, so that I don't have Dishwasher Spastic Time multiple times a day. Because even Mum must admit that when I have loaded the dishwasher Properly, it takes only half as long to empty it when it's clean. 

My madness does make sense if you really think about it. 

Saturday, May 14, 2011

A BLACK sheriff?!?

... I think I've still got it. It's all in the subtle facial expressions. If you can appear lost, helpless, sad, and yet still refined, it's easy peasy. But it is also about targeting the right victim. Men over 35 are generally more susceptible, and I have also noticed (here in Bergen County, at least) that men from the lower-middle class, rather than the stuck-up POS white collar execs that make up most of the population here, are much quicker to lend a lady a hand. 

Oh yeah, and the Bend And Snap actually does work. Like 99.9% of the time.

There's also some behavior analysis that goes into it. But mainly all you need to do is learn from the Master:

She is the reason I went blonde and cut all my hair off. Because she's perfect. 

I think I'll just stop right there, because if I get started talking about Marilyn, I could go on for hours. 


Just one more.


There's this really delicious guy at my gym. Unfortunately, I can't seem to work my wiles at the gym because I'm sweating, and either not wearing [much] make-up, or it's getting blotchy and smeared from me being sweaty. 

And of course, the last few times Hot Guy has been there, I've had no makeup on. On Thursday, he showed up (he usually is only there on weekends) and I had just started on the elliptical, so I was like YYEEEESSSS I don't look like a mess, I can totally seduce him!!!

Then I was like oh wait. I'm wearing the most ridiculous shirt ever.

One day....

It's nerve-wracking sometimes, being OUT with no makeup on. 

Ok well actually "no makeup" for me means that I have on a powder concealer, some mascara, and light-coloured lipstick that could sort of pass for my natural lip colour. 

If I'm outside with no makeup on whatsoever, then that means I'm either sleepwalking, or my house is on fire. I've had boyfriends who never saw me without makeup. Mt roommates even--they never saw me without makeup. Damo was actually quite disturbed by it.

I need to wear makeup. I'm NEUROTIC about this. Why?

Well, duh--because I'm hideous without it.

All imperfections must be obliterated if I am to leave the house for anywhere other than the gym.

Let me explain:
I know I'm a bit insane. I know that some of these cannot possibly be covered by makeup. But for some reason, I believe that my application of makeup is almost like magic, and everything looks better once I've put on all the foundation, concealer, eyeshadow, mascara, etc., etc., etc.....

Completely Irrational:
1.)  Make up is not going to fix my hair. And my hair is retarded. Some bits are pin straight, some are varying degrees of wavy, and then 

2.) there's a couple spots with perfect ringlets, that will not respond to any hair products, blow dryers, or straighteners. Apparently this is like the Official Stamp of Pure Irish Blood. Thank God for Aquanet.

3.) Make-up will not cover up my overbite. Continuing to wear my retainer probably would have been more effective. 

4.)  I don't know why my eyes are always red and bloodshot. Sure after smokey treats, THEN I know why, but on a day to day basis? My nose randomly flares up into redness as well. I have noticed that other extremely pale people seem to suffer from the red nose and eyes. Like Nicole Kidman--her eyes are always red. And she's fabulously pale.

5.) The double chin (which I may or may not have, depending on my mood) cannot be altered with makeup. Neither can the fact that I have a weak chin, and no neck.

The other stuff actually can be fixed with make-up:
6.) The red blotches. They're always there; they just become more apparent if I'm drunk, exerting myself, or out in the sun. Those and the blackheads are the reason that I MUST wear concealer at all times. No exceptions.

7.) BLACKHEADS. I squeeze them out, but yet they still return. I have tried every exfoliant, and even face washes that are more or less sand in a tube, but to no avail. I imagine that if I didn't wear so much makeup on my face, I probably wouldn't have blackheads, but if I think about that for too long, but my brain will melt and leak out of my ears.

8.) My eyebrows, when I am in full make-up, look as though they have been tweezed and shaped by God Almighty Himself. Without cosmetic assistance, I don't really have eyebrows. In some kind of nod to vintage Japanese fashion, they only grow up to a certain point (almost to where the arch should be), and then I'm pretty much bald. A number of my female cousins share the same eyebrows. I suspect inbreeding is behind some of these facial and hair abnormalities. 

I sat down at the computer with the intention of typing out more of one of the books I recently finished. That was over an hour ago. Now it's time to leave for dindin with Mum. 
Oh, bother. 

I'll never understand why writers are such procrastinators. 'Tis a conundrum. 

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Oh Robin, I'm so HEPPEH!

Finally finished cooking the rest of the kidney into more pies. They go into the freezer tomorrow, so we can have them anytime! The whole house still reeks of kidneys. 

My friend took a nice photo of me baking the steak and kidney pies on Sunday.
(You can tell I've been drinking because my nose and chest are red.)

I have been trying to drink more water (~8 cups/~2 liters per day). I have one of these things:
Stepmom got it for me for Christmas. It holds half a litre. 

I hate water. 

I've never been a water drinker. Sure I love my tea and coffee and occasional fizzy drink, but I don't like water. Once in a while, I might be hit with an incredible thirst and down two glasses all at once, but aside from the glass of water next to my bed that I (unconsciously) drink during the night, I don't really drink water.

I went on this website and took the quiz, which said I only need between 1.7 and 1.3 litres a day, based on my height, weight, gender, average daily exercise, altitude, etc.; but since I don't really drink any water at all ever, I thought maybe I should aim higher. That way, I'm more likely to end the day at the number I'm supposed to. And yeah apparently the whole caffeinated-drinks-don't-count-as-water thing is a myth. Woohoo! Obviously water is better, but it's good to know my coffee and tea count as water beverages. 

So at this stage (day three Lots of Water), I may as well just move into the bathroom. Instead of my usual have-to-pee-every-half-hour, now it's like every 10 minutes. 

My moods have been going up and down like crazy. This is a fairly recent development. Previously, I was calm, flat, Zen-like, and more or less braindead. All the time. Unless I got irritable, but since I have an extreme amount of patience, the irritability was rare. And then there was RAGE--even rarer than irritation. To this day, only 3 or 4 people have ever seen me escalate to actual RAGE. 

But in the last few months, my moods have been riding a rollercoaster of internalized spastication. I reveal nothing on the outside, but inside has become a war zone. In the space of 90 seconds, I can feel:
Calm-->Hopeful/Looking forward to the rest of the day-->Dreading the rest of the day (even though nothing whatsoever in my plans has changed)-->Restless-->Random wave of euphoria-->Distracted by shiny object/loud noise/interesting fact/etc.-->Completely hopeless/what's the point/I should just give up on life-->OMG I should totally go write now-->Writers block-->Irritable-->Distracted-->Calm-->start over

I'm probably not describing this as best as I could, but Emotions are a new phenomenon for me. I'm not really sure what all of them are called, nor what the rights words are that describe them.

And I don't like this ONE BIT. I very much enjoyed my antisocial personality flatness. 'Twas comfortable. 'Twas familiar. 'Twas very simple and unfettered by human nonsense. 

I think this mental thing may have actually started with the cessation of my womanlies. We're into the final countdown now before I'm due for the yearly check-up with my lady-doctor. I've got less than 2 months to decide if I'm going to come clean and tell her I haven't gotten my womanlies in almost a year, or lie and say everything's fine. 
[Right now I'm leaning towards the lying.]

Idk what to do about my moods. I can't really afford to see a therapist every week (plus I don't like the idea of giving up 30 mins+ of gym time). I have a feeling I would be sent to a psychiatrist if I did opt for therapy, and they'd want to put me on medication. I'll take sedatives without question, but I don't want antidepressants or anything like that, because I'm not depressed. And then there's the fact that people like therapists send me into Perfectly-Obliging-Polite-Charming-Fairy-Mode, which in turn makes therapists believe I'm totally normal. But then what if this anti-antisocial mood swing thing is affecting that part as well? WHAT IF I CAN'T TURN ON THE CHARM ANYMORE?! Are my days as a con artist OVER?!?


...Let's not panic yet. This is something that can be easily tested. The Damsel In Distress Act hasn't failed me yet (knockonwoodknockonwoodknockonwood). I've been conning the male population into carrying things for me for the better part of a decade. (Especially when traveling: a lady ought not lift her own luggage higher than her waist. It's unseemly.) I just need a decent challenge to make sure I've still got my mad skills.

Note to self: test this in the morning. I'll get back to y'all on that...

I got a lovely package from Cinnamon Brown on Monday. Thank you LOADS, pretty lady!! You're too generous. <3

The slippers make me deliriously happy.

The bells are driving Mum and the cats bonkers. :D

The bracelet is stunning. 

And I've modeled the gloves because they go nicely with my luminous white skin. 
This is what I'm doing at nearly one in the morning because I can't sleep.

I've collected some fabulous little things for a thank-you package. So be excited. 

Alrightly I think the sleepies are finally starting to kick in. Later, loveies!

Monday, May 9, 2011


OMG guess what. 

! ! !

They put a link and a little blurb about my Millennium post up on Lance Henriksen's website. And my blog is listed under "Friends."

Excuse me while I dance around the room and squeal like a little girl. 


Anonymous 1: I have never actually watched Dexter, but it is on my list of things to watch on the internet. I don't have any of the fancy movie channels, so I couldn't watch it when it was on TV. :/

Anonymous 2: YES, of all the Millennium episodes I picked that one. Sure some of the cliche ones are on my list of favs (A Room With No View, the Mikado, Jose Chung's Doomsday Defense...), but SBoG is still at the top. 

Fasting today, since I pigged the eff out yesterday. But I did NOT binge on Friday or Saturday. This is an accomplishment. yesterday was unavoidable, what with Mother's Day and all. 

It was a good Mother's Day. When you have 5 siblings, holidays and birthdays become a form of trench warfare--all of us trying to outdo each other with making our parents happy. I brought Mum breakfast in bed. Took her out on a lovely walk.

(Sunday is my "day off" from exercising. Mum strictly enforces this, so I must get crafty.)

For dinner, I made some of Mum's favs--steak and kidney pie, and rhubarb crisp.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find lamb kidneys in America? Impossible, because apparently that's considered offal and thus illegal to sell. I went through 3 different Irish butchers who had always supplied me with that sort of thing in the past, and none of them had any. Apparently the health department or something had caught them and threats had been made. 

But on Friday, Other Secretary called up a butcher near her house, and praise be to God, he had lamb kidneys. It was the sketchiest thing ever. When Mum and I went there Saturday, he brought them out in a paper bag (so no one could see what was in it) and told us to keep in on the DL. 

But YAY, I got lamb kidneys!
I left the pic small to minimize the horror. 
5 whole pounds of them. Since no one answered my summons of free lamb kidneys (I only needed like 1 or 2 lbs of them for Sunday's dinner), I shall be making 2 or 3 more steak and kidney pies tonight and freezing them. 

Ok fine, maybe it's a bit gross; but I don't think it's any nastier than people eating solidified rancid milk. And my S&K pie was pretty delicious. Mum said it reminded her of home. :D

It did, I guess--it tasted just like Granny's. I miss Ireland. 

When I was a kid, Mum shipped me off to Ireland every summer. This gave nanny time off to go back to Jamaica for a while, and meant Mum was free of parenting for 3 months. 

I went to Polranny, in Achill, out in the western boonies of County Mayo.

Check out these guys' blog: Polranny Pirates. Their photos are amazing. I LOVE it there!! If there were jobs there, I think I might move. Just waiting for my writing career to take off...


In summers in Ireland, it gets light out at 4 in the morning, and doesn't get dark until 11 at night. As a child, you were expected to get the feck outside and come back for dinner. Then get out again until it's dark. We had tons of bog and shoreline and mountains to wander around in, because there's so much unowned land--crap land that's hard to build on, can't be farmed, and gets destroyed by non-stop wind and rain, so no one wants it. 

Sometimes the carnival would come to Achill and camp out in the football field down the road from Granny's. 

They were tinkers. Trailer folk who drive round the country. Like gypsies, I guess?

One of my cousins (I have like 28 1st cousins just on Mum's side) and I were bff's, and most days we would walk into town to get lunch, wander in the supermarket, the chemist, and her uncle's shop, wander around the abandoned Protestant church, light all the candles in the regular (Catholic) church and go exploring in the attic (they just left it unlocked?), or wander down by the water and look for seals. 

Just having the craic in general. 

So this one morning (I think I was 10 or 11) we went walking and we passed the carnival that was camped out in the football field. 

I use the word "carnival" loosely. It had maybe some battered old excuse for the teacups and a haggard pony. 

So when we're a little ways past the field, Cousin says she thinks someone is following us. I tried to be subtle when I turned around to look.

There was someone following us. 

No joke. 

A guy in a gorilla suit was following us. 

Like what?

When he followed us past the pub and all the way over the bridge to the supermarket, we started to get nervous. So we ran into the supermarket to hide. 

And buy candy.

But mostly to hide. 

After a while, we figured he might have gotten bored and left, so we left the supermarket. We checked all around--no gorilla. So we continued on our merry way. 

The f**king gorilla was still there. Idk where he was hiding, but he started following us again.

He followed us all the way to Cousin's uncle's shop (her uncle on her mother's side, so not my uncle, which means it's ok that I think his son is hot as hell). The shop is more or less a convenience store, though they don't call it that. It's just The Shop. 

Cousin told her uncle that there was a gorilla following us. He gave us the same response all Irish parental figures give to children who come to them with these kinds of problems: "Stop talking nonsense. Go outside and play."

We tried to make Uncle believe. Told him to look out the door and see for himself. After much bothering from us, he looked; but of course the gorilla was crafty and hid. Uncle didn't see him. We were booted out of the shop. Gorilla was still following us.

So now what? We had planned on going to the playground behind the church (the normal [Catholic] church) to go on the swings. But the playground was set kind of far back from the road (and not even a main road), and was separated from the church property by a big patch of woods. Basically the playground was completely isolated, and once you were in it you could not be seen or heard by anyone (clever spot for a playground, no?). Cousin and I were not dumb enough to go there with some gorilla-man following us, because surely that would lead to our ultimate demise. But we didn't want to go home, because we didn't want him to know where we lived.

We wandered around town just to make sure we were surrounded by people, and as luck would have it, we ran into one of my aunts in the supermarket. We begged her to drive us home and she agreed, though she did not believe us about the gorilla. (He had conveniently disappeared again, as soon as he saw us with an adult.)

For the rest of the week, until the tinkers and their carnival vacated the field, Cousin and I only took the long and perilous way into town, through the bogs and the abandoned railway rather than along the road. No one ever believed us about the gorilla.