Aug 30 2006

Obsession.

Hmmm… what’s this?

Oooh… Twisty! Bendy!

What is it attached to?

I know! I’ll follow it!

Oooooo… Glowing… Noisy… AWESOME!

Love the Vaccum. Stroke the Vacuum.

(Hello! Cameo of crazy dog.)

Vacuum? You are beautiful. Yes, you! I love the way your attachments snap so nicely to your body.

Vacuum! Where are you going? Come back Vacuum! COME BACK!

Yes, Cole is obsessed with the vacuum. I must admit, it is a rather nice one, but, in my opinion, not worthy of the sort of fascination he has for it. He follows us around the house trying to lick it or stick his fingers in it, which…Ew. To each his own…

Also, check out the mad real crawling skillz.

(Also note: LAST DAY BEFORE VACATION! I’m OUT, peeps… or something like that. Never been so good with the slang. Foul words, yes. Slang, no.)

Aug 28 2006

Old Pee.

Regarding the question about whether someone actually peed on my couch, I wrote about it back on August 8, 2003:

**************

On Friday I helped a customer with a pair of Chacos. As she was trying
on the sandals she started wiggling and asked if she could use the
bathroom. Because of previous problems, we no longer allow our
customers to use the bathroom. I told her, as usual, that the bathroom
was out of order. She said no problem, I’ll just run over to the
restaurant next door when we’re finished here. She paid for her shoes
and left. A few minutes later I went over to the couch where she had
been sitting. This particular couch is actually a rustic wooden bench
with dark blue silk throw pillows to cushion the seat and two big
leopard print pillows- one for each corner. I noticed that one of the
leopard print pillows was misplaced and picked it up to put it back.
But, when I looked underneath, I froze. There was a huge, dark, WET
spot where this woman had been sitting. She had PISSED on my mother-
fucking couch and left it for me to clean up! SHe wasn’t old- she
couldn’t have been more than 60 (probably in her late fifties). She
wasn’t wierd- she was dressed nicely and (mostly)behaved properly. Why,
oh god, why did she piss on my pillow? We will never know, but I’m the
lucky one who got to bring it home with me to see if the dry- cleaner
can do anything about it. I feel so privileged.

****************

There you go. It really happened. You want to know a secret? I never was able to get that pillow cleaned. The dry-cleaner said it would get ruined. So I let it dry, sprayed it with disinfectant stuff, and put it back on the couch. I never sat on that couch ever again. Horrible, isn’t it?
Aug 28 2006

Well, it’s something at least

I didn’t expect questions about painting, yet both questions were (I’ll get to the one other question in a moment).

When did I start painting? I’ve always been into art. My mother is an artist (somewhat) professionally- meaning that she has successfully sold stuff many times. She always encouraged us to be art-y. She used to catch bugs or lizards and trap them in jars so that we could paint or draw them from life. It was actually pretty fantastic. Lizards are surprisingly beautiful, especially their bellys. We always had access to art supplies. We always made our own stuff- cards, decorations, etc- instead of buying.

Then I went to a Waldorf school from 5th grade until I started High School. In the Waldorf school, we didn’t have pre-printed text books. We wrote and drew our own from lessons the teacher would give us each day. We did watercolor daily. We had art lessons several times a week. We knitted, we sculpted with wax, we whittled. Art was in everything everyday. It was wonderful.

Then I went to high school. The only art class I took was a Photography course my senior year. I wasn’t interested in the other classes. I don’t really know why. I was in the art club, however, and ended up with my first real crush… but that’s another story.

When I went to college I started as a Child Development major. I wanted to teach Photography to deaf/hard of hearing children. I thought that a child development background would be helpful. But it turns out that it was pretty worthless, for me anyway. So I changed majors and went into Art Studio.

I started in Photography, got bored; went to Jewelry, got bored; spent quite some time in stone Lithography, didn’t quite cut it; and then went into painting. I hated it. But it was a requirement and so I did it. Then I had to take another advanced class and so I chose painting because the other choices were sculpture (never been my thing and I HATED the teacher) or Graphic Art (which I have just the tiniest prejudice against).

Well. The advanced paiting class was an ENTIRELY different animal than intro. It was abstract life-painting. We didn’t have to use just paints- in fact, we were encouraged to use nearly anything that would stick on paper. It was challenging and exciting and the best class I ever took. So I took it again. It was different, but still marvellous. Most of the real work I’ve ever done in my life was accomplished in that class.

And I haven’t painted much since.

Partly it’s because I don’t have access to nude models often (or more like ever!). I can’t stand still lifes- Just can’t go there. And it’s really hard to paint from memory.

Partly it’s because I don’t have the time or the space. I get messy and involved when I paint. I don’t have a space in my house where that would be appropriate. My dream would be to buy a house where I could build a little studio or turn part of the house into one. Once Cole is older I may have some more time to myself when I want it. Who knows.

So, to answer the second question of when I might start painting again- For sure? I can only say: in retirement. Unless I get some hugely rich patron who pays me to stay at home and paint. Anyone? Anyone?

That’s what I thought.

I do want to investigate the process of professionally reproducing some of my stuff and selling it over the internet. Maybe. One day.

I love art and painting, but I love being with my son and not having him around the harmful chemicals more.

Wait, let me amend that second answer: I’ll paint again when Cole does. Finger paints fuckin’ RULE, man!

Aug 25 2006

I’m Scheming and Plotting

In other words, I’ve got nuthin’ today. Absolutely zilch. Nothing to tide you over for the weekend. Nothing to make you laugh, make you cry, make you wish you never started reading this damn blog in the first place. Now that’s really nuthin’.

I’m really glad it’s Friday.

In the “nuthin’” theme we have going,  I have to warn you all that I will be on vacation from Thursday until Tuesday. Good for me but bad for having posts up. I’m going to the “wilderness” of no internet connection to camp.

So help me out, lovely readers. I need something! Anything! Hey, how about questions!! You ask me all of the burning questions you have inside about me, my blog, make-up, art, costuming, pop-psychology and I’ll answer. If I don’t know I’ll make shit up and that could be interesting, too.

I have tried this question thing before and got ZERO questions. Do you all already know everything (considering I write about EVERYTHING here, that is a possibility)? Do you not care? Do you not really have the time and energy to do my work for me while also leading your busy lives?

Well, I’d love questions if you have the time/interest/time/time again (I know it’s my biggest problem!).

Hit me!

Aug 24 2006

Programming notes

In case you don’t go back and read my comment sections obsessively (gosh, why not? You must be CRAZY not to.), I will make a general announcement.

I turned 27. I am now 27. 27.

(Knock, knock, knockin’ on thirty’s door, Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah, Knock knock, knockin’ on thirty’s door…)

Actually, I’m not upset about it. I have everything that is really important to me and I feel very successful so far in my life. Plus, have you seen my kid? That gorgeous one? Yeah- I’m cool.

Of course, if anyone wants to offer to be my patron so that I can stay at home and paint and take care of Cole, I wouldn’t turn you down. Just sayin’.

**************************************************************
On a mostly unrelated note, but since I’m in an announcement kinda mood:

The picture at the top is mine. Please don’t steal it. Please don’t make too much fun of me for it, my almost 30 year old feelings are very delicate. It is (sort of) of my sister. I’m very fond of it. And of her, come to think of it.

I will be doing some slow work on the site- mostly just adding some of you lovelies who come here so often and say such nice things to me (you ROCK!!). Many of you have so generously given me some space on your sites and I am happily going to return the favor. Just as soon as I have time.

Aug 24 2006

If there was ever a photo series meant for his yearbook…

Adorable little devil.
Charming. Just charming.


What a precious child.

*Gasp* Isn’t he just the handsomest?

Of course, he comes by it naturally.

The face he made when he saw me through the screen.

But he still loves me bestest.

Actually, he was laughing his tiny butt off at the faces I was making and at the fact that I was copying him. He just LOVES to smash his face against things- the pack-and-play walls, his crib slats, the wall, my face. I think it must be a teething thing- pressure headaches because of the shark teeth slicing through his gums at a geologic rate. At least I hope it’s a teething thing.

Hmmm…

Aug 24 2006

A miracle…of sorts.

Holy shit- I’m actually facing in the right direction. How’d that happen?

Anyway, I guess this is proof that I actually do things right sometimes. The beautiful, perfect child I created, I mean.

Aug 22 2006

Happy Birthday to MEeeeeee!!!!!

This week… This week will be interesting, no doubt. We have no idea what this hand pain is all about, but I, in my usual fashion, will not go to the doctor for it. Nope. Refuse.

(But damn, it hurts.)

And it’s slow here at work. So PAINFULLY slow. Where’s all the work we were promised? Where are all the reports to read? Did I hurt your feelings with my red-lines and now you are taking your reports elsewhere? Don’t cheat on me like that!

And I gave a particularly idiotic and disfunctional performance in a public place on my birthday last Sunday (that didn’t involve alcohol but did involve the abuse of hip-wiggling privileges).

On Sunday, after spending the morning first losing key bits of my sewing machine and then cattily chatting the ear off of the ever-patient (except with kipper snacks) T. Kamice, I shook my fat stuff at an event in a local hotel.

I have been belly dancing a month. Everyone else there has been at it well over a year, and most far longer than that. I was asked to improvise, which has never been something I’m any good at, even with (what I consider) my best skillz. This is not one of them.

Then I was asked to be a part of a troupe routine. That I have done once. In class. Badly.

What I have to say about that is twofold- 1) At one point I was faced in an entirely different direction than anyone else in the group; and 2) O my fucking gawd- it was my fourth grade “talent” show all over again. I have only recently gotten over those nightmares.

The weird thing is I wasn’t embarassed at all on Sunday. In fact, it wasn’t until the 50 million^100th time I ran it through obsessively in my head that I became completely horrified that I’d ever have to see anyone EVER again.

I never once had stage fright or jitters that day. I wasn’t obsessing over my fat belly, thinking omigawd that totally skinny girl hates me right now because she can’t even look at flab without wanting to vomit and she was, for once, actually enjoying a bud light without thinking about how she’d have to throw it up later. None of that. I didn’t register anyone but my fellow dancers. And I had fun despite forgetting everything I ever learned in class and finding myself doing some sort of retarded salsa move to middle eastern music.

For once. I had fun.

But again, in classic ME fashion, I couldn’t let it last. In the version currently playing in my head, I not only turned the wrong way but I also peed myself and then got up in front of the crowd to sing an extended Inna Godda Davida complete with air guitar and head banging.

Why can’t I just let myself have a good thing? Why can’t it be okay that I got up and fucking TRIED for once, instead of being a chickenshit sitting on the side watching everyone else have a great time? Why can’t I allow myself a failure because I’m not perfect at everything the first time I try once in a while?

Surprisingly, and not at all in usual ME fashion, I am planning to go back to class tonight and face the possible wrath of “those who I made look terrible because I suck and don’t know my motherfucking right from left.” Previously, I would have stopped dancing. And perhaps fled the country.

But I’ll go back. Because I’m working on it, this work in progress that is ME.

I could have used a less mortifying birthday, but it will probably be a memorable one. If I get any pictures where I am facing the right way, I’ll post them. Especially because Cole looked so freakin’ cute in his tiny harem pants and sash. Oh! And he had a bindi on, too (one of the sparkly, stick-on “fashion” kinds that matched mine.). Cutest. Thing. Ever.

Aug 21 2006

just let me go.

I think I have the beginnings of Carpal Tunnel.

I think I should stop typing now.

I’m having a bad day.

Aug 18 2006

Just an aside…

The other night I was wandering around the grocery store wondering at all of the adults that seemed so…happy. It seemed like they were all about to go to a really great party, and perhaps had already started imbibing at home. I could not figure out why until I overheard a kid say “It’s the first day of school tomorrow, isn’t it Mom?” And she said “YES!”

Back to School. By the way, Mervyn’s is having a great sale in celebration. Cole now has clothes for a while.