Pauley P Dot Com

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Hurricane Blues

I was four months old in New Orleans
when Hurricane Camille hit.
We lived in Kenner.
I think it's gone now.
My mom used to push me and my sister in a carraige
on a path by the levee.
I think it's gone now.
My dad was telling me all these
stories today.

The images and reports of what is happening there
right now and everywhere in the path of destruction
are just impossible to even comprehend.
So much suffering.
So much suffering.
So much suffering.

So sad,
so helpless,
so stunned.

Like everyone else.

God bless every rescue worker
who is doing all they can
when even that is not enough.

www.redcross.org

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

WOOF

I sleep with one dog against my right side,
head buried up under my arm,
body tucked up against my torso,
and another on my left,
same position
and a big, giant cat sleeps on my leg.

It's wonderful.
The only thing that sux,
is that it makes it almost impossible to get up in
the morning,
Who would want to disturb that?
Little snuffles of doggy dreams,
and the peaceful snooze of a happy feline.

The other day, I tried to lie down and take a
quick nap,
(although that's never happened for me,
can't nap, so I listen to my i-pod and pretend to)
and I realized that my pillow smelled
like dog food.
And I thought it was adorable.
Yup,
Things become incredibly endearing
when you live for your pets.
Doggy drool on your pillow...
Sweet!

There are also the really strange moments
like when one of my pups gingerly brings me
a present out of the cat's litter box
and places it in the palm of my hand
as a gift while I'm sleeping...
Gross?
Yes.
Adorable?
well... Yes.
And when I have company over and
one of mine happily presents them
with one of my undergarments
as a sign of friendship...
Embarrassing?
Yes.
Adorable?
Yes.

A friend of mine was telling me the other week
that one of his friends who is also an animal rescuer
had said something about him having such a
big apartment in Manhattan that he should
have more cats.
(in addition to his beautiful, wonderful
pound princess kitty that he adopted several
years ago).
My friend said she acted like it was some sort of crime.
I laughed and answered him honestly,
"God, I have DONE that!".
I work at rescue and have always worked at
rescues and with animals my whole life.
Whenever I see someone with a big,
delicious fenced in yard and no dog,
I think about the hundreds of pups sitting in
rescues all over the place,
and yes, I think,
"Why oh Why don't they go rescue a dog?"
Or if they have one dog, I think,
"Man, why not two?"
and yes, I have said it to people.
Of course, it is none of my business.
BUT...
I know how edifying pet love is.
People with pets live longer, by the way.
And pets with partner pets live longer, also.
And kids brought up with pets have advantages
and security that those without will never know.
And I also know how many beautiful dogs and cats
are sitting, waiting for someone to take them home.
And yes,
that leads me to
THE PROBLEM WITH BREEDERS.
There are SO many wonderful animals that need homes,
and deserve them,
and have so much love to give.
Then, there are people who are forcing
other animals to breed,
creating more and more
only for financial gain,
when there are too many already.
That is INSANE to me.
Also, inbreeding,
animal and human,
is a bad idea, folks, hello.
Bred dogs are not as smart,
often not as healthy,
and are CERTAINLY not as grateful
as some lonely mutt rescued after
being abandoned.
I support all animal rescues,
and love the people who work for them,
work with them,
donate and pay attention.
The one I actually work with now is
www.chihuahuarescue.com
(although we have many other breeds).
Just go LOOK at those faces!
And there is a similar rescue in A Town Near You!

There is a certain celebrity type person
who has an online journal that I frequent.
I am a big fan of his political views, humor, etc.
But one time, he wrote this thing about
trying to adopt a dog in NYC and the process not
being easy enough, not that it was difficult,
even by his own account.
I can explain this VERY simply.
Yes, you can go to a breeder and buy a dog,
or even order a dog from a breeder
over the internet and have it shipped to you.
Breeders often don't really care, as long as the
check clears.
Rescue facilities want to know that the animals
are going to a good home, often do house checks
and, by definition, are about the welfare of the animal.
Sorry if that seems burdensome, but we
don't want to put an animal who has already been
rescued into a situation that may be detrimental to them.
We aren't going to ship an animal to some unknown
someone in another state who wants to impress their
neighbors with some sort of pedigree paper and price
tag. How about impressing your neighbors with your
philanthropy, generosity and your awesomely unique
rescue mutt?

OK...
I'll stop the rant.
Ummm...
Did you know that they interviewed tons of criminals
to see what would prevent them from breaking into
a house and the number one answer was a dog...
Any kind of dog, no matter what size?
Did you know...
Cats are a fantastic way to lower your blood pressure?
Did you know there are thousands of little guys
(or big) sitting there waiting at a rescue near you,
just waiting for someone to come take them home?

A few nights ago, I went to visit a couple that I
hooked up with this wonderful dog we had at
our rescue. The dog was sweet and funny and smart
and amazing, like so many of them. I knew my friend
had a love of "fuzzy faced dogs" and this mutt was
as fuzzy as can be. I sent them her picture and they
fell in love and adopted her. I walked into their home,
where this little girl doggie from my rescue is now the
center of the universe in this family.
They are wonderful people who did a wonderful
thing, and all they do is thank ME for introducing them
to this little mutt.

My rescue mutts are hard to identify, as they are mixed
as mixed can be, and one is kinda funny looking,
in that way that makes it the cutest dog ever.
People always ask me "What IS that?"
inquiring about breed,
and I say "A Dog".
Because what REALLY matters, is how they run in circles
and make me laugh, talk to me in some unknown
dog/cat languages, understand english so well that I have
to spell important words like "out" and "car",
sit on my lap (all three of them at once sometimes,
like right now while I'm writing this)
and stare at me for hours, and, yes, sometimes bring
me little presents from the cat's
litter box while I'm sleeping...
NOT what "breed" they are.

My pillow smells like dog food,
and that makes me VERY happy.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

GAY MAFIA

"Gay Mafia"...
Of course, the term is stolen from the ridiculously Hollywood
Ovitz attack about Geffen and Co.,
but it is a HEAVY term of endearment to me
that I have stolen "ON PURPOSE".
Just wanted to give love to my own personal
"gay mafia".
D, M, B, C, K, K, K, G, M, A, D, A, Tony, Tony,Tony, JT, S, S,
A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U
V,W,X,Y and Z.
OK, three of them are straight, but they are cool enough
to be included.

I have a big, big circle of gay, male friends.
(and a very few, cool, smart straight ones)
They are my heart and my soul.
My everything.
They know everything about me.
No matter what any liar says,
The truth.
And when someone attacks me?
These fags are the toughest, stand-up,
most honest, hardcore, lovely, loving people
in the world, ever.
Not that they aren't amazing in their own lives
separate from me,
because they are, in every way.
But I could not ask or pray
for a better group of people,
who surrond me,
astoud me,
who give me love and support,
who know me and aren't afraid to
stand up for me when persecuted
and tell the truth.
The great thing is that we don't tell no lies.
We don't have to.
We have been together for years.
We know the truth.
I confide in them.
And they are with me all the time.
Phones, faxes, planes, trains, and automobiles.
They are with me when I cry, when I laugh,
when I look awful, when I pull off looking good
(with their help, "GET OUT OF BED HONEY,
AND FIX YOURSELF")
when I am scared,
when I celebrate
(which has been rare lately, sorry guys).

Sometimes I think straight men do not understand
the insanely close relationship between women and gay men.
It's actually simple on one level.
Gay men are MEN,
REAL MEN,
who do not "want" anything from you as a female,
except what is on the table, FRIENDSHIP.
It's pure.
They don't want to sleep with you,
marry you... etc.
The other part is more socio/politico.
Like other members of society (like women) who have
a long history of being persecuted,
they tend to find their own strength,
find their own selves,
find the truth amongst lies,
and have the ability to stand up
and speak out,
truthfully, bravely...
because this was something that was put
upon them not by choice,
but by societies' ignorance.
And one becomes brave.
Really brave.
And has a commitment to truth.
Something straight, white, males
may never understand.
As they have been fed their own importance
and power
their whole lives.
They are busy puffing their chests
and stepping on people they already
have the upper hand on anyways,
because society is ruled by the ignorant,
which is the majority.

So, straight, white, males...
know...
that everytime you are disrespectful and abusive to
a fag, a chick, a black/brown/yellow/green/purple person
because you think you are superior
there are multitudes of us
fags/chicks/blacks/browns/yellows/greens/purples
that see you not as powerful,
but weak
and ridiculous
and ignorant.
And you may "win",
because of our societal hierarchy
but you are still...
weak
and ridiculous
and ignorant.
Winning does not make you right.

And, yes,
I have my own gay mafia
(with three evolved straights who get it)
We are strong and truthful.
We are brave and have been through the gauntlet.
We pity you
and pray for you
And will fight you for the truth to be told
about all of us.

And we see
And we know.
We know.

How hateful you can be.
How afraid you are.
How ridiculously weak you can be.

I could go on for hours,
because it is so blindingly apparent
to those of us who see.

But I just wanted to say...
from A to Z.
My gay mafia,
and you know who you are.
I love you.
You inspire and amaze me every day.
I am nothing without you.
I love you more.
You give me hope,
and light,
and love.

There is nothing that compares to you.
You are so beautiful.
I love you.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Tom & Charles

I'm sitting here
Again
Listening to an endless
playlist of Tom Waits songs
Again.
I'm alone
and drinking
and thinking
Again
after a long day,
no...
a long week,
no...
a long year,
no...
a long lifetime
of hard work
and hard knocks
My pets know all the Waits lyrics
by heart I say,
as I always play
Tom Waits
when I'm away
so they have someone
who knows what it's like
to listen to.
Then I come home
and tell them similar stories.
And they are like,
"you remind me of this song I know".
I know.
If only I had Bukowski on tape,
they would get another familiar earful.
I told my adopted Jewish parents once,
"I'm just a walking Bukowski story".
They laughed,
and kinda nodded.
They got it.
OK,
so,
I don't do drugs
and I don't cheat,
and don't fight
and I don't get to write
that much
because I work
so much
and
I don't drink liquor
only beer
and
I don't accept drinks
from a random stranger
I pay my own way
always have
always will
and I always
pay the bill
for everyone
and I'm not mad
only sad
But I like to laugh
and I like to dream
and I like to make others laugh
even more
So...
I guess me and Mr. Bukowski have absolutely
Nothing
In
Common.
Except understanding despair
because it's there.
It's everywhere.
And knowing that
all too well
Makes you really not care
about much
except
sitting, tired
with a beer in hand
knowing
that at least
Tom and Charles
understand
everything.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

ZIPPER

There was this moment when I was young,
not super little,
but young,
early teens.
I went to sleep over at Mary's house.
I didn't really like her.
She had a big poofy blonde perm
and she was a cheerleader with the
cheerleader mom to go with it.
I was the weird church kid.

We waited until her parents went to bed,
and then we "snuck out".
We didn't know what to do.
We had never done it before,
just heard about it.
Our parents would've freaked out.
We were good, good girls,
But we wanted to "sneak out".
So we just went over to the
sign that annouced their private subdivision and stood there.
Later I would learn that "sneaking out" was
supposed to be for
drinking and smoking and cursing and...
everything that wasn't allowed at home.
But that night,
it was only about a strange freedom.
We got out, undetected.
We walked through that exclusive neighborhood,
and the passed the pool I wasn't allowed to swim in,
because I didn't live in the exclusive neighborhood.
And we ended up at the
greeting sign to their subdivision and we just stood there.
And it was great.
Me and Mary and her blonde poofy
perm and the dew on the grass.
I specifically remember the dew on the grass.
The grass was illuminated by the reflection
of their street lights on the moist, manicured blades.
I could feel the grass under my bare feet.
I felt mysterious and happy and free.
We stood there for a long time,
Silent.
She in her poofy slippers
and me barefoot and dreamng.
We waved at somebody in a truck.
Stood there a bit longer.
And then we went back.
That was it.

The next day I came home and my mom was there,
because she was always there, waiting for me.
I saw her and I loved her
and I thought I would explode if I didn't tell
her everything about the night before.
I wanted to share it with her so bad it hurt.
I wanted her to understand how special
and silly it was.
I wanted her to laugh.
She was asking me how my sleep over at Mary's was.
I heard myself telling her
only about
Mary's parents and
Mary's house and
Mary's bedspread and
Mary's poofy slippers.
She laughed.
And I kept waiting to see
what I would do next.

I paused.
I hugged her,
I turned,
and went upstairs to my room.
The one where all secrets would learn to live.
And I was sad.

I had created the tomb.
My Room.
The one where I would bury everything I couldn't tell my parents.
The one where we would become strangers to each other in certain ways.
The one where I would cry alone
and the joy of experience would stay imprisoned
in silence
for judgemnet may be outside that door.

The roses on the wallpaper and my pink beadspread
and my old bed set and my cat and my guinea pig
and me.
We lived there.
The rest of the world was full of judgement and misunderstanding.
I had learned that.
Better to keep stories there,
safe,
than endure the pain of disappointment.
Pets and beadspreads and wallpaper don't judge.

I have been and lived around the world now.
But...
That house is still there.
I'm sure the room still exists.
I hope the decor is different.
I wonder if there isn't someone there now
looking out my old window
all the time like I did.
Closing the bedroom door.
Looking at the stars.
Looking at he sky.
Learning to hide.
To cry
To die
To dream
in silence.

I wonder if they can feel me.
Feel the pain of hiding
but also,
maybe,
some nights
feel of dew beneath their feet.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

The Biggest Angel

I believe in angels.
Like, REALLY believe in angels.
Perhaps someday I will post some of my wonderful
angel writings about my mom and my grandma.
But today,
I awoke to the news that my friend Matt McGrory
remained sleeping.
Big Matty, God, I love him so much.
I met him at a picnic years ago.
We have been in bars drinking together ever since,
as he's a great drinking buddy.
But more special, were the times we had dinner alone.
It was hard.
He didn't really fit in any chair.
He could manuever a booth.
And people stared at him to the point where I've seen him
STTTTAAAANNNDDDD UP and confront them
He is a giant.
I think he's 7' 9", and everybody knows he has a size 29 1/2
shoe. Guiness world record, baby.
Here's what everybody doesn't know,
he was one of the finest people I've ever met.
He was SO tough, so cool, so hardcore, so smart
and he REALLY loved his friends.
He was like this little punk rocker
hidden inside an enormous frame.
If you got him alone in the back of the bar, he could
talk true shit about the phonies like nobody's business,
and hold your hand and make you feel
so loved at the same time.
He was the Giant in Big Fish.
He was the giant in Rob Zombie's movies.
He was the giant in Carnivale.
And a bunch of other stuff.
This was not just because of his stature.
Matty was a great actor.
Matt was serious and had great respect for acting.
He wanted to be a great actor, and he was.
The "hey wow look how tall that dude is" thing
would certainly wear him thin sometimes.
Like, really thin.
Especially the inevitable "how big is your...?'.
But, you know? he got it.
People are shallow and lame.
They missed out.
The ones of us that got to hang out,
drink and shoot the shit with Matty about
everything else in the world, other than how tall
he is, were the truly blessed people.
I love this man so much.
And I will miss his love and complexity
for the rest of my life.
And his hugs.
And his humor.
And his love.

This morning, after sobbing,
I realized what an ENORMOUS angel I have.
Love from above,
with a body that works right now
and is bigger than the universe.
And I am SO grateful to be one of the many
who knew him for real,
and now have an angel like Big Matt McGrory.

I love you man.