Here Kitty Kitty

A few years ago I was in a liquor store near The Misery (the old apartment complex I once lived in -- see previous post for full, horrible explanation) called Stardust Lounge. In Michigan, we have party stores, something that thrilled me beyond all belief when I moved here from Texas where counties could be dry (no alcohol -- have you ever seen someone weep openly in a convenience store?) to semi-dry (only beer and wine) and blue laws that govern when alcohol can be sold. The Stardust had the air of brokeness that I'm drawn to, along with a nod to bygone glamor (the name of the place, the tiny worn out stars that shot from the banner) and had weekly specials. That week, wine sold in bottles the shape of cats were on sale. The cats were black and white, and I suspect the wine was pretty rank, given the low cost.
Even not being a wine fan, I can say with fair certainty that the finest vineyards do not resort to such witty packaging in hopes of sales.

The store was mostly empty that night save for a man and his beaten-down looking wife who accompanied him. He saw the wine cats and said for all to hear, That's the kind of pussy I like. One that gets you drunk and doesn't talk back. He debated with his wife about what color "pussy" to buy to compliment the massive load of Pabst Blue Ribbon he had carefully selected for the evening's pleasures. She wanted the white, but he wouldn't shut up until she had agreed on the black one. I clutched my bottle of vodka like it would save me, but from what, who knew? Unless I suddenly hit him over the head with it, I'd be forced to listen to Mr. PBR Pants rant about how great the wine cats were and how he wished he could take all of them home. I'd never run out of pussy, he said, and there'd be a new one every day. The clerk rolled his eyes and said, It's all the same thing no matter how they package it. Outside, the sign glowed, haloed by the street lights, looking sadder and more beautiful than ever and somehow I knew it might be a long time before I'd be back.

Michelle's Spell of the Day

"My soul can only feed upon truth. I have always said to God: Grant that I may see things just as they are and that I may not be misled by falsehood." St. Teresa Bendicta of the Cross

Here Kitty Kitty

1 shot of light rum
1/2 glass of club soda
1/2 glass of crushed ice
1 lime
1 lemon

Combine all the ingredients and squeeze in the entire lemon and lime. Garnish with the sugar rim.

Benedictions and Maledictions

First published in The Circle:

Hank

The sky, gun-metal, reminds me you're not here.
Last night I dreamt that I'd watched you die
and could do nothing except be there, more than
reality, less than what I wanted.When I heard
the news, my Buddhist neighbors chanted your
name for an hour, their ritual for the dead. With
so much quiet, I can still hear your name through
my walls, thinking of all the times you'd said you
would have hated it entirely except for Hank
Williams, me thinking I'm so lonesome, I could cry.