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It seems as though most are desperate for love.

They think they are lacking some power from above.

But if there really is one perfect mate for each soul,

then logically thinking, you’ve reached your goal.

While you may not have laid eyes on the one you dream of,

your soul knows what it’s doing so relax, you’re in love.

© Autumn Siders 2015
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What a Cat Hears

No doubt you have heard some of the new hot songs on the radio like Cheerleader, Shut Up and Dance, and Fight Song. I am sure you even think you know the lyrics to these songs, but I am here to tell you how the songs really go. At least this is how the cats are singing them.

Oh, I think that I’ve found the best kind of dinner,

Tuna, shrimp and salmon are always a winner.

 

Oh don’t you wake me up

just keep your paws off me

I said, “don’t wake me up”

She said get up and play with me!

This woman is the ruin of me

she said blah bla bla blah

get up and play with me.

 

Like a small fish

from the ocean

to my dinner plate

in quick motion.

Like how a single meow

can make a bag open

I might only have a few claws

But I can cause a commotion.

What a Cat Hears

I Have a Black Eye?!

So yes, I unfortunately have gotten myself a black eye and don’t even have a good story to tell. That doesn’t stop every person I have interacted with from asking me how I came to have this hideous injury. The thing is, it doesn’t hurt and I often forget that I look like I went a few rounds with Ronda Rousey. Alright, it doesn’t look that bad, maybe I just said something inappropriate to her in a bar. I imagine I look pretty confused though when someone asks, “what does the other guy look like?” or “What happened to you?” So here are some better stories that I will have memorized for the next person that asks.

-I fell off a donkey.

-I was caught messin’ around with the wife of a jealous man.

-I decided to experiment with S&M but I forgot my safe word.

-I walked into two drums and a cymbal. It was actually kinda funny.

-My cat and I got into a fight. She won.

-Well I was Tom Cruise’s stunt double for the new Mission Impossible movie and it’s a good thing I was there for him. We are the same height, you know?

-Pema got mad that I blogged about her.

-It’s not a good idea to use the pick up line, “punch me in the face if I am wrong, but I think you want to come home with me tonight.”

 

I Have a Black Eye?!

#tbt

Once upon a time there lived a girl named Eliza. She lived in New York City and was an artist. She roamed the streets every day to find new inspiration for her work. Like many other struggling artists, she thought true art could be found in the realities of life. She searched for art in nature, in the hustle and bustle of the city, in the homeless, in the rich, in the simple, and in the extraordinary.

Eliza had just had her first success as an artist though. She had her work shown in a gallery for the first time. However, after her first triumph, she was having difficulty finding new inspiration. She decided that it was time for drastic measures and she said goodbye to her apartment and went to live on the streets.

This was a crazy idea, and Eliza knew it, but she was always able to find something beautiful among people who had absolutely nothing but could still survive. New York streets were not a safe place to be, but to her the dangers were worth what she might find. The very first night she quickly discovered what it was like to have no place to sleep. The shelters that she tried were all full and she felt wrong taking a place from someone who needed it anyway. So she set off for Central Park and found a bench.

The next morning Eliza awoke to a police officer nudging her.

“You can’t sleep here,” he said and moved on to the next bench dweller. Eliza immediately realized that although she may find beauty from an outsider’s perspective, there was not much about actually being homeless that was inspirational. She removed herself from the bench and went to the nearest coffee shop.

After she ordered her drink, she reached for her wallet and realized that because she was trying to stay true to her adventure, she left her wallet at home. The barista could tell that she had a rough night and he was accustomed to seeing folks down on their luck come through his doors. Eliza was about to explain to him her predicament when he smiled and said,

“Coffee is on me today. Just pay it forward when you can.” Eliza smiled too and rushed home to paint the most inspirational moment in her life.

© Autumn Siders 2006
#tbt

Oh Boi

There isn’t a day that goes by where at least one child and possibly even an adult addresses me as a boy in some way. This happened even before I chopped off my hair and started to look like a Buddhist nun. Yes, I am a tomboyish dyke, but my hips sure don’t lie. Nor do my boobs… Usually I ignore the comments or stares, but there are times when I just want to let go with the perfect response to shut down these narrow minded individuals who think that gender is determined by how you dress and act. Here are a few of my favorite responses that most of the time I keep to myself.

The most common question I overhear from some adorable little girl dressed in pink or handsome young man with some sort of vehicle on his shirt is, “Mommy, is that a boy or a girl?” My reply to the brainwashed brat would be such, “Actually I am a person and next time you wonder about my gender, I would appreciate if you address me as a human being rather than an object. Now get out of here you diesel dyke and fairy man!” Too harsh?

Just yesterday, a little boy came into the store with his grandparents and they told him “give your book to the lady so we can pay.” The lady they refer to is none other than yours truly. So the shy little boy hugs his book closer and says adamantly, “That’s not a lady, Grandpa.” My desired response was such, “Who told you? It was a one time thing, please don’t let it tarnish my reputation. I swear I am a lady!” Okay, I may not be a lady, but can I at least be a gentleman?

Bathrooms are the worst. I was performing in a concert one time and so I was dressed up with a great red shirt, awesome Christmas tie, slick black blazer, and I even still had long hair at this point. After the concert, I went to the bathroom and as I was washing my hands, a woman gave me a very dirty look. She opened her mouth and right as she was about to say something to me, I stared at her instead and walked out. What I should have said is, “Don’t you hate long lines in the men’s room?”

Another time I was in the restroom and when I came out of the stall, there was a young boy standing there. He was staring at me. I thought he was a little too old to be in the women’s restroom, but it was a shady part of town and I thought his mother probably didn’t want to leave him alone. So I carried on and went to wash my hands when I noticed in the mirror he was still staring at me. Then the question came, “You’re a boy! Why are you in the girls’ room?” This time, I did not hold back, “You’re a boy! What are you doing in the girls’ room.”

I don’t mind being called a boy, I mind that it is even a question. It doesn’t matter if I wear a dress or a tux, there will always be someone out there who questions my gender because it is more important to them to figure out if I have tits or a dick than to find out if I am a good person. Appreciate a person’s soul, not their anatomy.

 

Oh Boi