Front Porch Revisited

I have not been able to enjoy my front porch for a long time. I had too many wonderful memories of sharing time out there with great company. But, it was a shame to lose the part of the house I once loved most.

So, I finally found a way to enjoy it my own way, in peaceful solitude, without ghosts.

I now sit on the ROOF of the porch, instead of the porch itself. I like it up there. :)

The view:
ahead and left

down and right

straight left
Up

Is this MY house?

Well, it's still FAR from clean, but I found a couple interesting things....
Under all the filth and dirty dishes, there was an actuall COUNTERtop in my kitchen!
then, after sorting through about 5 months worth of old mail, and throwing out 3 big garbage bags full of junk, I discovered there was a futon and a FLOOR in the office/studio. Who'da thunk it? Hey, I'm just as surprised as you are.

RedDanceBlue

The latest thing I painted. It's still wet, and I took the pic with my phone, but I'll take a better one when it's dry.

Sorry I haven't written much lately, folks. I've been very busy. Sometimes I post on myspace as The Smoking Tongue, but mainly I just have no time. Working at my wonderful new job, painting, etc.... not much time for blogging. I hope everyone is well, though. :)

What I wish I was made of...

(Smallest cage unit of diamond, which is purportedly the hardest substance known to man)

mmmm.... cheerful hamster. Yum!

 

Unexpected Sun

Swirls of winter grey
blur to a radiant gold-
a lush vibrant glow.

Over-achieving,
An anomalous sun smiles
its odd enthusiasm.

I do not entreat-
Don’t pray for more or longer,
But I simply bask.

The surprise of warmth,
from such daunting chill-blown skies,
Is too great a gift

In any increment.

Unexpected Sun

Swirls of winter grey
blur to a radiant gold-
a lush vibrant glow.

Over-achieving,
An anomalous sun smiles
its odd enthusiasm.

I do not entreat-
Don’t pray for more or longer,
But I simply bask.

The surprise of warmth,
from such daunting chill-blown skies,
Is too great a gift

In any increment.

music for one apartment and six drummers

Absofricking BRILLIANT!!!!!

Art Show Success!

Well, last night was the first night of the art show.
I displayed 5 pieces. 2 are now sold, 2 others have offers already. Someone suggested I start conducting art classes, and said she'd send her teenage son if I did. Someone gave me a reference to show at a well-known gallery in Louisville.
Yikes! I'm a total amatuer at this, and my paintings need a lot of improvement and work. Yet, people already dig my work!
Pretty darn cool. :)

So many things to do... things I should've already done over the past couple days. But, I'm in migraine mode at the moment.... shades drawn, lights out, monitor brightness turned way down, phone ringers off... plans I was looking forward to cancelled...
I guess I'm just stressed. Can't let stress get to me, though.
I'm taking some excedrin (out of my migraine prescription, and can't afford a refill right now), and am about to lay down for a bit. Hopefully, I'll wake up better and ready to get some stuff done.

No time to wallow

I did everything I could think of to help me get up in the mornings. I go to bed early. I set my very loud alarm across the room so I can't hit snooze in a sleepy haze, etc... But, I was so tired I slept right through it. It must have been going off for about an hour before it woke me up. When I realized what time it was, I had instant dry heaves from panic. I showered and got ready for work in about 10 minutes. Barely had time to get wet. Ran out the door and got in the car and called the office while on the way. I knew I'd likely be fired when I got there, but I had to try. Sure enough, I got fired. I can't blame them.

I'll be in the hospital one night and one day next week for sleep apnea/narcolepsy testing.

In some ways, maybe I'll be better off. I've never in my life worked with such difficult people. One of the ladies from the escrow department (sort of shares an office with the title plant where I worked) asked me just this morning how I could stand to work with them. She said it was like preschool over there and that people were getting mighty sick of the way they behaved. Still, I didn't really care all that much about that. I just wanted to do my job, and to do it well. And, as difficult as some of my coworkers may have been, I respected them as workers for what they did professionally.

I intend to start job hunting right away. I need to type up my resume today and start looking online for leads. Then, I need to spend the rest of the week going out and dropping off my resume at places. I'll probably lose my house anyway, but I need to keep going and get myself a new job.

Right now, however, I'm going to bed. My first impulse was to go drink myself silly somewhere, but that's unwise. I can't afford to do things the stupid way. So, I'll take a nap and will have to get up and get right back to working on salvaging my worthless life. No time to wallow.

Chad Vader - You have GOT to see it

This is just the first episode. There are more on Youtube.

Deserted Island Songs

You know the routine... you're stuck on a deserted island with just an ipod and maybe one or 3 other people (the ipod has endless battery).

Of course, since my answer to the "what three books would you take to a deserted island" includes "Desert Island Survival for Dummies", and "How To Get Rescued from a Desert Island, For Dummies", then I will set in place a rule that says "No... Songs chosen just because lyrics contain survival advice don't count, if any such songs do exist".

Sex Beat (both the originial The Gun Club version, and the awesome Alejandro Escavedo version, but not the slow Escavedo version [only the sucky slow one is available from v-cast, the jerks]).

Temptation, by Tom Waits (along with tons of songs from Mule, Franks Wild Years, and then there's the awesome older albums -oh, nevermind. Let's just say at LEAST 20% of the songs he's done.)

All the Love In The World and Closer by NIN

Condemnation and Little 15, by Depeche Mode

Chubb Subb, by MMW

London Calling, by the Clash

When the Lights Go Out, by The Black Keys

Paper Bag, by Fiona Apple

Sideways and Appetite, by Citizen Cope

Try A Little Tenderness and None of Us Are Free, by Solomon Burke

Delicate, The Blower's Daughter, and Cheers, from Damien Rice's album, "O".

Maleguena, by Carlos Montoya

Too many Nina Simone songs to list, but inluding Feeling Good

A couple R. L. Burnside tunes (but Bad Luck City is the only song name I can recall at the moment)

the classic Minnie The Moocher, by good'ol Cab

I have to give up on this list. There's just too many to think of.
Throw in a couple Lucero songs, some Greenday and System Of A Down, perhaps, as well as Mass in C Minor by Mozart, a few songs from my favorite musical, Chess, and a few songs by Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday. etc... etc... etc...
I haven't even touched on Vivaldi, Tool, And Parliament Funkadelic. You all know there'd have to be lots of funk.

Anyway... I'm going to nap, I think.
Later

White & Nerdy

My theme song. I nearly died from laughter over the bootleg tape. That thing IS impossible to get.

I just discovered that my home email is down. It may have to stay down till next payday, but you can post stuff in comments here if you like.

Rebirth

I know that I'm not likely to get my own art show until I build my gallery in the front room (especially since I'm not likely to get out there... meet gallery owners, etc... etc... I'm too much of a shut-in introvert) BUT...

I know what the name of the show will be.

Rebirth.

My first painting in 10 years was called Rebirth. It was named that because the subject was the spirit-cleansing pain-amnesty thing I experience when I enjoy a good shower. It's just me and the water in there... no past or future... no clothing to define or misdefine me... nothing but pure water... the most beautiful and simple of things.

So, the name comes not only from the painting, but from the rebirth of me that began with that painting. I've painted several things since then. I have 3 in progress right now. Before long, I could easily have enough for my own show, although I don't need a show for this body of work to have meaning. It's that I created it that matters, and it will always be a show of rebirth, whether it is seen or not.

Sometimes my depression keeps me from painting. But, when I can paint I am alive.

Planning what to wear for the company christmas party... making sure I have a long-sleeve dress for un-namable reasons;...

Making it to work each day, despite the weight of the mask that stumbles me...


So hard. it's all so fucking hard. But I'll keep on going.

I just do the best I can.

The Truth

I was ok at first. I was free from one pain, anyway.

Maybe you know. Maybe it's obvious.
But sometimes admitting helps recovery, right?

I'm in the midst of the worst depression I've ever known.

Just keeping my job is a huge struggle. Just getting up, brushing my teeth and getting dressed... it's a tremendous struggle. You have no idea.
No idea how hard I fight just to keep on going.

This isn't working.
I pray it will get better. I fight my own darkness constantly.
Surely it must get easier. Surely it will.

So, I hold on. Mainly for Tori, but I hold on.

Braided Nerd

 

Me before I chopped my hair off.

 

I've been watching this movie called Art School Confidential. I love it, for the most part. All the BS of the art world... so true.

I related to the main kid a LOT (in the beginning, at least). My style of drawing is very traditional, at least at first glance. I'm in love with the beauty of subtlety... the exquisite humanity of the overlooked... that's what I draw. Most people see a figure, drawn representationally, and never look beyond it. Never notice the subtle differences.

I felt some pressure, in college, to have a "style" that stood out. But, I love art too much to cling to gimics. I suppose my "style" happened on its own when I started to actually paint. I am SO fascinated by the strokes and pigments, that I love to let them show and not over-finish a painting, if that makes any sense. It isn't a style so much as a fact... you can see by looking at them that I just love spreading the paint on the canvas. The subject matter is inconsequential.

Is this my defining style, though? Who gives a f---. Maybe what I paint next year will be totally traditional and representational. Maybe not. Who cares? I do what I do out of pure love, though. If no one else ever gives it so much as a nod, so be it. I beleive in what I do because I love doing it. I paint what I want to see on the canvas. That's all that matters to me.

As for the movie... I hated the ending. The kid had a passion for art, and he chucked it in favor of notariety. But hey... they sure revealed the BS of the art world well. It was no exageration at all. 100% true.

tonight...

I cooked ahead for tomorrow.
For lunch, I'll have bits of steak with a tiny bit of diced persimmon (picked up a nice fresh one, sweet, not tart - very mild) covered in a bombay-style curry sauce (I cheated and used jarred sauce, this time) and saffron rice.
For dinner, I'll be having a cajun oyster et toufee (I can cook it, but not spell it) with asparagus. I made a side of spicy creole rice that I piled up with red bell pepper, sweet corn, and yams.

Some of that may sound a bit odd, but you'd be surprised at how good it is.
Maybe I'll make chili or meatloaf next time to balance my habits. :P

Gotta cook ahead to eat healthy.

I realized something about my own tendencies towards choosing avatars. I don't like pics that are too flattering. Just natural. I look sleep-deprived in the new one, but that fits. I'm worn out, these days.

G'night folks.

Cowboy Junkies-Misguided Angel

blink 182 - i miss you live on pepsi smash

Wet Paint

As much fun as watching paint dry.
I have no idea why I recorded this, other than this is who I am. This is what I do. I spread colors on canvas.
I paint therefore I am.

A Badge of Honor

I honestly try not to get paint on myself. But, when I finish painting and see the lush colors on my plain skin, I feel a little more alive. Some people can feel alive just with air in their lungs and blood in their veins. But, for me, it also requires Prussian Blue and Burnt Umber on my hands.
 

The Glass Cage

I think my favorites among my paintings are those that I slop together in two hours or less. This one took maybe 20 to 30 minutes. Expressive slop. I really like making fun, expressive, slop. I may end up tweaking a couple tiny shadows or something before I wash out my brushes. Dunno. But I'll probably just leave it as it is... an impulsive little burst of creativity. 

Just Josh'n

I went to Indy, this weekend, to visit Joshua. Would ya beleive it's been about 15 years since I've seen him? Wow. It was terrific to see him again. Just awesome. :D And, who would beleive, that the other third of the "JoshKatJosh" club (as I had titled a pic of us back in the day) lived just down the road! So, we went to visit JoshJ, and take a gander at his awesome art. I love the spooky monkey. He draws a terrific spooky monkey.
In addition to seeing too old buds, I made a new freind as well. His name is Max and (Sheba forgive me) is probably THE coolest cat I have ever met. He plays fetch, by the way.
I managed to only laugh coffee out my nose once, but there was much laughing. Much fun. :)

Rest in Pieces

As a dark joke on the mourning, when a loved one dies you are expected to pick a phrase or poem to put on those little pamphlet-like things that people take home from funerals. You might choose a bible verse, an uplifting poem, an old Irish blessing, or whatever. Me, however? I want mine to say "Does this coffin make my butt look big?".
That's what I want mine to say, and I'm NOT kidding. So, take notes family. So far I have two requirements, now, for my post-death plans. A) I want Nina Simone and Billie Holiday played during the visitation. B) I want my little flyer-thingies to say "Does this coffin make my butt look big?".

A friend of mine had a good one. He said his should say "I knew this would happen."
THAT would be perfect for your dry-witted pessimistic loved ones. I think that's genius. That just kills me (no pun intended).

How about you guys? Got any funny ideas for those weird funeral-flyers?

PS: I also want cans tied to one end of my coffin, beneath writing that says "Just kicked!", and maybe a bumper-sticker that says "Valhalla or bust". Also, a tap coming out of my coffin that dispenses beer would rock.

Damn.... if my family really does follow my wishes when I kick, then I'm gonna miss one hell of a party. I seriously hope they do, though. The tap would cost too much, but I hope they do the rest of that. :)

Feel free to have Karaoke, too. And be sure to dress me in go-go boots.

To Crazy and back (well... not quite back yet)

I mentioned, a month or so ago, that I wanted this phrase on a t-shirt. Joshua put this cute drawing with it and put it on a shirt at cafepress. Is it awesome or what?

okgo treadmills

I'm in love with this video. I want to go play on some treadmills, now!

Fiona Apple

She has so many great songs... I could fill my blog with them.

If people had the slightest idea of how much darkness slushes around in my head, they would all write me off as crazy and stay far, far away. (and they do)
However,
If people fully knew the extent and nature of that same darkness, they'd laud me as a tower of strength for walking around and breathing despite it.

Cat Ballou - The Ballad of Cat Ballou

I'm not wicked, I'm just drawn that way.
Actually, this is from a movie. Have you seen it?
I haven't seen it in years, but it's a great movie and I just love Lee Marvin.

This is my dad, back when he was yet a wee navy pup. I just think it's a cool pic.

The Best Borscht

I love Borscht. The broth is so rich and flavorful. Yum!
I usually make my borscht with beef, but this time I made the broth with a big bambi bone, and then added ground turkey to the finished soup. It still tastes very beefy, of course. I love that crazy ruby color. It's strange to eat soup that looks like rasperry juice, but it's good stuff. (also I painted my lips with the beet juice while chopping them, and acted like I'd been shot when my hands were all red with beet blood, but I just like clowning around with my neice.
Although I am an "eat your vegetables" kind of aunt, and I do inflict cruel and strange rules on them (like no Nintendog at the table in a restaurant), I do beleive adults should have fun with kids. And, Tori is a mighty fun kid. By the way, there was a large amount of meat on the deer bone I'd made the broth with, and I was going to seperate the bone and meat out so I could put the meat back in the soup, but I turned my back on the dog and... well... you can guess the rest. He left nothing but a tiny peice of bone, and licked every drop of the juice off the floor. Ick.

My day

Harry was being such a cuddly little baby this morning, that I didn't want to get out of bed. He kept rolling around and laying his head on me and being so cute. But, I eventually got up and started cleaning the house... The pets simply can't resist a clean and hair-free couch, so they declared a truce (they normally wont get very near eachother) in order to join forces and pepper the couch with fur. (the photo is dark, but I suppose you get the idea).
Then, Tori came over. We sat and talked quite a bit, chatting in the office, and then went to the coffee shop and the grocery. Then, I showed her the trumpet and asked if it was similar enough to the french horn (which she plays) for her to work.
She played some school band stuff, then I pulled up some Miles Davis on the computer to see how she'd adjust to jam with him. I was quite proud, considering her age and all.

Then, I had her show me how and I took a turn.

Why I love my father:

1) because he once parked at the side of the road, aiming a hairdryer at traffic. Yes, people slowed down.

2) during one of THE most stressful, awkward, and direly serious moments of my life, he sang a Dr. Dimento song with me and laughed.

3) He lives in a pole barn.

4) He isn't always right, but he always has some logic to his thinking.

I could list plenty more reasons, but those came to mind first.

While I'm on the topic of some of the people I love...
My sister is beautiful, and I'm blessed to know her.
Brandi is my hero.
Josh Powell is an angel, and I send him a huge hug.
Dave Siltz is the weirdest normal person I know, and I love him for it.
One of the greatest friends I've ever had, knows how to be always with me and give me tons of joy without even being in the room. (haven't seen him in almost 2 years, yet he is ALWAYS there for me)
My aunt Connie is one of the coolest people I never see.
George and Vic rock.
The Grey Ghost is a wonderful, impressive person, and is a special pocket of creativity in a rather uncreative land.
My neices are amazing, and I'd best sign off and clean the house before Tori gets here. :)

Hair cut of the week

I am still growing my hair out, but it needed some sort of shape during this tweener-stage, so I shaped it up just a bit, and added bangs. Most of it I left alone, though.
My hair is always changing these days. I like to have fun with it. I added some brown streaks a week or two ago. 

'Tater'misu

I'd have to say that the concept was a great success, though this particular experiment (test 1) was a failure. I've never cooked with tapioca before (especially what I rough-ground myself) so I underestimated it's moisture and time requirements in order to cook properly. You could just about crack a tooth on the crust. That's super-easy to adjust for, though. Plus, I think it needs more almonds anyway, so I may just make the crust entirely of almond meal and butter next time. I LOVE that almond meal - yum!

The rest of it was perfect. I've been scraping everything off of the crust and eating it. Mmmm... mascarpone cheese... such divine stuff. I even drizzled a touch of extra almond liqueour over this slice, but I think that was too much. The amount already in the desert had been just right. So anyway... the sweet potatoe pie has gone italian gourmet, kinda sorta, and I like it. I don't know what to call it, but it's pretty dern good. Oh, and by the way... I layed that tile all by myself. That's on the kitchen island we built. I started recording some "music" tonight, too. I was going to try and wing a few notes on the trumpet to add in to the mix, but apparently there is some sort of know-how involved, and the most I know about a trumpet is which end to blow in to. When I get the recording done, I'll share it with you. It'll probably just be odd noise, though, much like CoffeeBeerandCigarettes was.

Later, ya'll.

I'm drooling in anticipation... ovens are so slow!

I often am grabbed by sudden flashes of inspiration. Sometimes it’s a sculpture I don’t have the tools to make. Sometimes a painting I haven’t the skill to make. Sometimes it’s a song, a book, a dress, etc… Sometimes it’s food. After all, what can be more inspiring than food? J

Today I had a sudden craving for sweet potatoes. Then, that craving spiraled into a more complex craving… cinnamon, mascarpone cheese, almonds… (after all, inspiration is, in my opinion, little more than a complex craving or impulse).

So, I went to the grocery and rushed home to cook. Cooking was put on hold for the one person important enough to make me choose talking on the phone (which I hate) over food (which I love)… my neice called me. Tori always trumps food, even mascarpone cheese.

Anyway… I finally got to it. I made a crust from real butter, tapioca pearls that I roughly ground in the coffee grinder, and a bit of almond meal. Then I blended cooked sweet potatoes with Saigon cinnamon, fresh-ground nutmeg, more butter (can you tell I love butter?), and a bunch of clover honey. I spread that layer over the crust. Then, I blended mascarpone cheese with a healthy dose of almond liqoeur, a bit of cinnamon, and some Stevia liquid for sweetness. It looked so pretty, spreading in fluffy ripples from the mixer blades… ah, food. I love it.

Then, I carefully spread the mascarpone layer over the potato layer and drizzled it with more honey (which I hope will brown into a carmely-glazy top). I topped it with slivered almonds and popped it into the oven.

Cross your fingers and let’s hope it was a good idea. J I can’t wait to taste it.
Now I guess I’d better get to chopping beets. I’m making some venison borscht.

By the way, my apoligies to those of you I need to get in touch with. I can't email from work, and home is usually either a rush to cook and take care of the pets, or just time for crashing. I've been very tired, and was sick over the weekend. I hope everyone is well, though.

Madeleine Peyroux - I'm All Right

World's Tallest Geisha

The wig was beat to hell, already, by this point, and my make-up was awful, but it was still fun to wear my favorite kimono. My shoulders hurt for a couple days, though, just from tying that Nagoya obi. Those are rather difficult.
 

Vagabond

I have this canvas, see…
It’s a rather large canvas, so I would like it to end up being something worth while.
I’ve had some beautiful starts on it, the best being one I started when I was young (early 20's?)and full of life. However, all of my efforts on it turn from beauty to failure. I’ve tried to tell myself that it doesn’t matter… that the practice acquired through even my failed efforts is a payoff in and of itself, something to make me a better artist.

And so, I begin and begin again. Each time, though, it is harder. The ridges and gouges of past strokes show through, and the thick-caked history beneath threatens my efforts a little more each time. But, although the work I’m starting right now will be imperfe, with seemingly random past textures confusing my new strokes, I know that these hands of mine are capable of sweeping gestures that can conduct pigments into meaning. I know I can create something from this battered canvas.

My hands are special, because I can give my entire soul through them. The movements of my hands are more important than the contractions of my lungs, because it is through them that I breathe in the world, and give of myself.

If this canvas was meant to receive something from me, I can give it, no matter what chaos of mistakes may clutter the background. If this painting I am starting is what my soul was meant to be a part of, then it will turn out. If it doesn’t work out, I will cherish the process and the intimacy I am now sharing with the canvas. Painting is truly intimate to me. It is spiritual and carnal and pure. If I let my doubts prevent my painting, then my life would have little meaning.
By the way, I would like to send a huge thank you, again, to Josh and his friend, and to Lisa, for contributing to my art supplies. There’s no way I could afford them on my own. Air and water are free, but for me… paint is more crucial than both, and without the supplies given me, I would be damned to suffocation. Thank you. :)

guy- Escuse me, lunch lady... The food was edible, and all, but I have a complaint.
LL- It was cheap and it was food. Why split hairs?
guy- Well, mam, I'm not one to split hairs, normally, but... I don't normally eat them, either.
LL- Are you saying there was a hair in your food?
guy- Yes ma'am. A Harrier hair.
LL- What? A hair can't be hairy. It is simply a hair.
guy- No, not hairrier, but Harrier. The breed of dog. A sort of hound.
LL- I can assure you, sir. We do not employ Harrier's in this cafeteria, and all of our lunch ladies wear hair nets.

blah blah blah

Anyway... here's Harry (aka, Harrison T. Harrier), dressed as a lunch lady.

Preparing for this years costume...

I just want an excuse to wear my best kimono, of course, so I bought a cheap $14.00 wig and just styled it as geisha-like as I could. I used my vintage japanese kanzashi (hair sticks).
You'll see it on me whenever I get the whole costume together and on.

Rear view:

Side View:

Last year... a refresher

I was Kagero, from Ninja Scroll (an anime flick)

Florence Weather

Today is an "Italy day" outside. When I was in Italy, it was December, but warm for December. I didn't even wear a coat most of the time, just maybe a Firenze-bought cashmere scarf to keep the crisp breeze off my ears. We walked everywhere, which was part of the charm. Today, I walked the dog to a tiny corner store... the wind was crisp and chill, but the sun warm. The little shop was quaint and the staff friendly. I was even wearing my hat from Italy, since I didn't feel like messing with my hair. So, it brought memories back.

After losing my passport, being trapped for a day (foodless) in a french airport, and then flight trouble in the US on the way home, Brandi and I thought we'd never want to HEAR the word "travel" again. But, within a few weeks we were both surfing Florence sites online, finding B&B's and interesting places to stay. I wanted to go back and rent a room for a month, live and shop and cook and walk there. Of course, I haven't the money to go again, but it was a nice trip.

So, I love this sort of weather. It's rather sentimental for me.

Snippet of a Conversation...

... between TwistedNoggin (aka Kat) and her friend "hat girl".

Kat: (laughs awkwardly) "How come something like this always has to happen to me before we have a slumber party?"

HatGirl: (laughs also) "Yeah, I know. I've missed you. I knew 'strong Kat' had to be in there somewhere. I just didn't know where she went. She went on a little vacation."

Kat: "yeah, a vacation to crazy town. I need a shirt that says "I went all the way to Crazy town, and all I got was this stupid T-shirt".

___

Anyway... yes my life has been pretty crazy here lately, but it has been hard and stressful for a while. While the recent happenings seem awfully tragic to those who know me, it was a long time coming, unfortunately. I'm better off, and doing much better than I would have anticipated.

Strong Kat is back. She's taking her house back, her life back, her self-esteem back, etc...

I can't go into detail about all the happenings of late on a public blog. I try to treat people with respect, even if it's just out of respect to who someone was only part of the time. To the few of you who do know, be respectful. My stories are for me to share, or not share, as I see fit. If anyone wants to hold a grudge, that is my right alone, and honestly I hold no grudges, so neither should you. Life changes. Things happen. You learn and you start over.

I'm determined to make this start my best one ever. I will paint. I will treat even myself with some respect. I will spend time with friends. I'm gearing up to quit smoking, but haven't set the deadline yet. No more mourning over my several lives lost. Better to make this one count. :)

Bona Sera ;)
Konbanwa :)
nighty night

Afterparty at my place

Yes, it is true. I went to see a show, and ended up bringing home the entire band. All 7 of them. Those of you who know me know that, while I beleive in showing the same kindness to strangers as one's own family, I am not a big party-girl, not all that outgoing, and definitely not the trusting sort. Yet, I brough 7 complete strangers home with me so they'd have a place to crash.

I was quite embarrassed for anyone to see my house in the horrible state it was in, but I figured it had to be better than 7 people trying to sleep in a van.

I garauntee this is not going to be a new habit of mine, but the girl I'd been talking to was not only a good egg, she was a bit nerdy. I gotta support my fellow nerds. :)

We ended up having an impromtu jam here at my house. We sang, Steve and the band played, the dog ate up all the wonderful attention he so loves... We even taught the Kansas City group about the local terror of the Crider (aka spricket, cave cricket, or camel cricket). A couple of them braved our basement for a bit of Crider hunting, and The Afterparty (name of the band) now has a mark on the "kill list" (I started a scoreboard a while back on my little chalkboard where Steve and I mark a point down for killing insects). I wish I would have had something to feed them for breakfast. Touring like that has to be rough... playing in a different town every night and sleeping in a van. Yikes, that's certainly earning your musician stripes.

Well, I was a little freaked at my boldness, when I realized I was really bringing 7 complete strangers into my home. But, I'm quite glad I did. They were a great group of people and it was definitely a new experience for this little introvert.

Not all of the night was so great. I got WAYYYY too drunk. I may have to just quit drinking for a while, because I don't seem to mind my limits very well. Or at least, I need to set a limit for myself before drinking and just stick to it. I acted like an idiot. I was not myself. I hope I didn't scare off a new friend of mine. But, that's another story.

There is other news, but I think that's enough for now. Life changes, you adjust. I've got my painting, and I've learned that I can be braver than I knew I could be. I've been going out by myself, even. I went to Mac's Friday night and ended up having a great time. At least I didn't embarrass myself that night.

Take care bloggers.
The ever-twisted Noggin

More "music" -sort of

A bit of noise, all done by me (which explains why the bass is slightly off).

http://esnips.com/doc/1db6fc40-b015-4a0c-82bc-ccac1433ac2b/cofbeerandcigs.mp3

Testing...

These are pretty amatuer recordings, but they're all I've got right now. Some recordings of me singing a little, though certainly not my best possible efforts, I suppose. Song 1:http://www.esnips.com/doc/995aaf08-3f71-418e-9969-325cc97005ae/whip-mix.mp3Song 2:http://www.esnips.com/doc/a6638f20-d044-4a62-a434-9b8bd7fbee73/dickandjane.mp3Song 3:http://www.esnips.com/doc/7dac64cb-a13d-47c9-9354-d77e908cae9d/workplay.mp3

bass blue

I posted this pic before (months ago, when it was taken), but I cropped it and messed with the colors just for fun. That's me attempting (and failing) to play a simple bass line I was shown. 

Noggin's Gone Multi-Color Again

Kat is calico again. It's been a long time (years), so it's fun to finally do again. Still the red and blonde combo, though. I love the look of red against my blonde. 

It should be raining,
Pouring over me,
Till I feel nothing else.

I should be fallen,
But I know, if I crumpled,
No one would pick me up.

I should be bound tight
In strong arms or long white sleeves
Till I am safe from myself.

So I shave my legs.
I dye and wash my hair.
I sit and stand and walk and work,

As if there is a person, here,
Operating this machine...
As if I knew what I was doing.

Looking "I" in the eye

Am I a security blanket,
Not a woman?
An excuse for a would-be martyr,
Not a love?
Am I an enabler,
Not an inspiration?

I can’t know.
I don’t read minds.
But I do know my own mind,
And know…

I am tired of loving
In exchange for being tolerated.

I, even I,
Deserve to be someone’s dream,
Not just a placekeeper,
Or to stand alone, should that never be.

So, I am groveling on my knees to God,
For the strength to stand.

Update

I guess I haven't been posting a whole lot, so here's the run down of Twisted Noggin's life:

The home: I'm still a slob, but I love my little house, and it hasn't caved in on me yet.
The zoo: Harry isn't super well behaved, maybe partly because I don't walk him enough (bad noggin), but he is my little angel and is sweet and cute and lovable and wonderful. Sheba is on my lap right now, being cute and affectionate. All is well with them, I think.
The Job: It's been REALLY busy, but things have been a bit better (except I've been late a few times, and that makes me worry like mad). People seem a bit friendlier, lately. I just hope that lasts.
The art: MAJOR painter's block. Don't know what the deal is, but I'm sure I'll shake it soon.
The Family: Got to talk to my dad today, which was great. I don't get to see him nearly enough. I had Tori over the weekend before last, and hope to have both girls over again soon (maybe this weekend?). I didn't get to go out with my sis last weekend because I was sick, but hopefully will get another chance soon.
$: I'm broke, duh. Whatd'ja expect? But I'll live.
Friends: Well, I tend to get frustrated on this level. There are many people I miss, and that gets to me sometimes. Also, the circles I am exposed to, wherever I go, sometimes aggrivate me with the cliques and all, but that is just life. That's how it goes. Still, I have Brandi, whom is absolutely awesome, and a couple friends I don't see so often. I still get to have a pint with Dave, now and then, and chat with a couple buddies via email.
The Band: Just in case I never told you guys, the band broke up. :(

All in all, things are going pretty well. I got to see a concert Monday night, and it was a blast (although I accidentally got too drunk... that's the bad part of switching from beer to vodka - harder to pace yourself)

Anyway... I hope everyone else is doing well. :) Best wishes to all of ya'll. :P

stream-of-noggin-venting

This isn't a poem or anything yet... it's just a stream that came out, as yet unrefined.

This the mess that my mother once named “Kathleen”
As if words could contain all the hell that is me
-The raging world, churning behind these blue eyes

Yes I bitch and I moan, my heart sputters and groans
I reach out, then I always just run off alone
But I’m through with hating myself just for that

If you touch me, you’ll find that I’m warm and alive
Despite all the cold metal I’ve grown to survive
Like the wolf-man, I’m hardened but never stop bleeding

I’ve no pack of my own, here, to coddle and choke me
But I’ve got two eyes, and I know just what I don’t see
People never act noble for true noble reasons

I love strangers the same as I do my own kin
Because all orphans were somebody’s children
-Don’t have to be my friend for me to be yours

I rage hard and cry harder and sometimes I break
I claw myself to shreds over every mistake
But whatever that’s made me, at least I am human

I looked hard at myself, today, in the car mirror
And found myself closer than I did appear -or
At least, things I valued were not up so far

I’m a lost one, but somehow I never lose track
The world robs, but I’m not afraid to give back
Not afraid to befriend whoever needs mending

I am hardened and crazy and tired and I’m wild
But I’m never afraid to trust like a child
If my soul on a platter is just what you’re needing

I am me – sincere, crazy and never judgmental
And I’ll stay that way; strong and naked and fragile
Because this one self, here, is all that I’ve got

might not seem like much, when you’re counting my allies
I’d rather love everyone than to close ranks and close eyes
So when left all alone, I can trust the company I keep

---

Crack open my head
And you’d hear just a scream
Crack open my chest
Where wild animals breed
And just wonder
At all I contain yet keep on breathing

Crack open my heart
I might bleed blue and black
It’s the years that have tainted me
That can never turn back
And find, there, your mark
-staying human, means taking a beating

This is not the first time the urge has hit, but I don't think I've ever felt it so strongly.

Right now, I just want to set the clippers to 1/2 an inch, and buzz my head to nothing but 1/2 inch fluff and bleach it.

But, my boyfriend would of course HATE it with a passion, and look at me like a giant freak.

I just want to buzz it all off, say "fuck you" to all humanity, and spend all my time painting alone.

I don't play well with others, I guess.

I wish I had a workshop and welding tools. I need badly to make sculpture. Big, rusty, elegant, angry, graceful, jagged, ugly, 7-foot tall sculptures.

Book Signing!

John, a truly terrific guy I know, is having his first book signing at a local book store. That is so exciting! Man, I've dreamed of having a book signing... but ya'll know me... I'l probably never finish any of the crappy novels in my head. Too many other hobbies and too much ADD and all this wanting to paint, sew, etc... etc...

Anyway, you can buy the book here

Or, you can go to Destinations Booksellers at 604 East Spring Street in New Albany on Thursday, September 7, at 7 p.m and buy a copy to have signed.

It's about Indana Governers and was cowritten with some other local writers.
Congrats to John!

He's not only a 100% good guy, through and through, he's also an intelligent and facinating fellow who works very hard (regular job, plus writing articles all the time... busy busy fellow). I met him at the local comic book shop.

Anyway... keep up the good work, John. :) See you at the signing.

Vader sessions

http://youtube.com/watch?v=6A0rwG39Jzk

If the link doesn't work, go to youtube.com and type "Vader Sessions" into the search, there.
If you are a nerd, like me, you'll dig it. Trust me. :P

Dig it, babe. Groovy Force shit, yeeeaaahhh....

Happy Harry :)

When I went to the Newport Aquarium, I got souveniers for Harry and Stephen. A souvenier for a dog is tough. He doesn't care much for most toys. So, I bought a cuddly baby seal (couldn't find anything that rattled or squeaked). That night in the hotel, I slept with the cuddly seal in hopes I'd get some of my scent on it. It worked. He loves it. Aint he cute? :)

There is one poem that I would give the world to see again. It was written for me when I was a wee teen. My dear, beloved friend, Virginia, wrote it for me. She was old enough to be my mother, and loved me like a daughter. She had my picture up on her mirror, where her own kid's pictures weren't hanging, even though she loved her childred to degrees that sometimes hurt her deeply. On her death bed, she requested a drawing I had done for her, but my own mother didn't bother to tell me until it was too late, or I would have re-drawn it from memory for her. Instead, mom gave her a painting she'd done of me, and every time they moved her hospice bed, they moved the painting so she could gaze at it easily. I loved that woman. She was a hurt, fragile, strong, completely giving woman. I sometimes wonder if she saw some of her young self in me, but I'll never know for sure. I know very little of her youth, except that it held some painful memories of the very rural hills of Kentucky.

The poem she wrote for me started with this:
"Bridle thy passions, sweet Kathleen, lest thou sinneth in thy fury"
That's all that I can remember, but I've written about it a thousand times in the years since then. How she saw the fires in me, despite my being so completely shy and silent as a kid, I'll never know. But then, those of us with that sort of thing in our hearts, can sometimes see it in someone's eyes with a glance. Sometimes, at least.

That phrase haunts me in a good way. I have thought of it again and again in many moments throughout the days of the years since then. Cancer stole her from me long, long, ago. But I'll hold onto those words for the rest of my life.

Most people didn't know how much we cared about eachother. After she died, people always came up to me and asked me if my mom was ok, since the two of them were close. They never knew to ask how I felt, and I couldn't have really answered all that well. Her husband knew, though. He gave me a pocket watch she gave to him on their anniversary. He said he knew she'd be overjoyed to know that it brought me happiness. I still have it. I take it out and look at it now and then. I imagined I'd give it to my husband, when I was older. But then, the love of men can be so temperamental and fleeting. The way she loved me can never fade, even this many years after she is gone.

Don't know why I hopped onto that thought... but it seemed worth sharing. If you want something more fun and less serious, try the links in the next post. :)

On thing to take with you, please, though. Love the ones in your life. You never know when you will lose them. Cancer at least gives you time to say things (though I was young and stupid and left some things unsaid that time), but you can lose anyone in a blink. Leave nothing unsaid. Leave nothing unapreciated. If someone truly touches your life, they are worth more than life itself, as cheesy as that may sound.

Darnit... now my mind hits another tangent. When I was in college and we were assigned to do a poster on a topic important to us, to move people (basically, a propaganda poster) my classmates did anti-war, pro-war, pro-life, pro-choice, pro-whatever and con-whatever images... all the "big" political subjects. I did a drawing (dark, in charcoal with bits of chalk) of a woman holding a child. I used a photo of myself with Tori (as a baby) for some reference. There's fabric wrapped around us, but no real clothing. Just two humans clinging to eachother in the darkness, with some hazy light on the horizon, and a siloutte of a tree against that light. (the tree was taken from an old belt-buckle that my tree-climbing father used to have).

Politics matter. All those other things do matter, but what good is obsessing over those things if we lose our humanity? Stay human. Give love to the ones you care for. Hold nothing back from eachother, because when you simmer the whole melting pot of life's garbage down, the people who touch you ARE your life.

Ok... soap box dismounted. :) Carry on.

Odd, but funny...

When Stephen told me, this morning, that I needed to go to http://shaveeverywhere.com/ I was concerned it was a hint. (which fills one with dread, as shaving the kitty is NOT comfortable) But, it turns out that it's made for men, anyway, and is just funny. So, once I was done with my mini-concert (I was busy playing the Star Trek, Star Wars, and the Indiana Jones themes, plus a broadway tune and "Wheat (You're Allergic, You'll Die)" on the kazoo), I hopped over to the office/studio/gym/pub room to check it out.

We both laughed out loud.

As much as I'm not into too much man-trimming (stubbly man chests are rough), I loved the site. So, go to http://shaveeverywhere.com/ and click on every option of the menu. Trust me. It's just an advertisement, but it had me cracking up.

By the way, if you want to see something even more amusing, and you haven't already seen it, there's a link at the right for Grocery Store Wars. I love that one.

A Word to Build a Dream on

Feed me a word
An image,
A dream,
From one mind to another
So my visions are not me alone.

I burn up
Pent up -
I’ve no fuel for this fire
Except my want alone
And so, I am devoured in it.

I ache not for the dreaming
But to be the dream.

Give to me your ifs,
Your imaginings, your fancy,
Hunger for this one who hungers
And no one else.
Aching to quench aching,
Fire to soothe fire.

Give me your dream
Of me,
Myself in name, person, body,
This one fire-imp freezing in utter silence.

Tell me
TELL ME
The how and where and what next.
Give me the words
Just once.

Stream of Conciousness Ramblings

(unforgiveably corny, but I'm only human)

Fear, distance, chill and fire…
They erode at the edges of our little island.
But still, every time I look at you,
I know that all of time’s devices
Have nothing on us.

I tightened my jaw,
To guard my health for you.
I became a night owl,
To bask in the glow of you.

And I will bridle my weak mind,
To keep my soul bright for you.

You weren’t the first person
I ever reached out for.
I’ve made room in my heart
For such mirages…
I must pump more sand than blood,
Because my veins still feel the burn
Of the grinding flow of unanswered hopes.
But you made room for me in the shade of you.
You offer me every drop you have to give.

You chose to see in me what others did not,
(What I still cannot see in myself)
As if this sun-scarred and weary fool
Is an oasis to you.
In your eyes, I am, somehow, something beautiful.
How you see such things in me, I don’t know.
Perhaps you are a bit sand-blind yourself.

We are the blind leading the burned
Out of some forsaken land of fools…
To our own little promised land.

Two more paintings! :)

My fourth and fifth attempts (below).
I think I'm improving!!! :)




That is Portrait of Stephen and Blue Dreaming, both in Oil on Canvas, sized 16x20.

Many many thanks to my special patrons (Josh and his fellow artist, who donated paints and canvases). There's no possession on earth I would rather receive. Thank you!

Hey diddle diddle
when you sleep, do you spittle?
Or do you just toot your own horn?
Well, drooling and tooting
while your brain is rebooting
Is better than dreaming of porn.

VeriSiMELLitude

Perfumes have become increasingly unnatural as the decades have fallen away. The scents and styled have veared so far into the realm of fad and fashion that many fail to elicit that emotional connection in our brains that the commercials suggest. Our olfactory response is, after all, a more primal sense. So, I propose the invention of common sense scents… fragrances that truly bring an image to mind by replicating reality.

For men, I propose these colognes:
Rugged: a blend of gun cleaner and cedarwood, with a hint of car grease.
Dangerous: Wisky and tobacco, laced with that tell-tale scent of women’s perfume.
Sensitive: rose oil, ice cream, and salt-water (tears). –this one is especially successful for the man who wants that special girl to “love him like a brother” and “just be friends”.

For women:
Arist: (pronounced ar-TEEST) Linseed oil and turpentine. (my scent)
Flirt: the scents of melting plastic (from her boyfriends’ over-swiped credit cards) and your best buddy’s cologne.
Librarian: Dusty old books and nympho-phermones.
Lolita: Baby powder and apples.
Hippie: Same as always, Pot, Patchouli and dirty hair.
Yuppie Career Girl: Organic fair-trade coffee beans, toner, and office carpet (especially the expensive type in the boss’ office).

More to come...

My portrait of Stephen is fairly close to done. It's been a very time consuming peice, but I've enjoyed it. I painted the background for "Inside" about a week ago, but still haven't had time to start on the actual image. I worked on "Ravenous" today, but it really isn't turning out very well so far. I've scribbled a rough sketch of what "Kennin" will look like (although I may change the name). I'm also working on ideas for what will come after Kennin. Inside and Ravenous are not exactly happy pretty pictures. Kennin isn't so very dark in nature, but it still not the kind of thing you'd stare at and say "Oh, how pretty". I want to make something warm and inviting that Stephen can stare at and admire, but I have to think of something along those lines that is still "me". Admittedly, a lot of what is inside of me is very primal, dark, and unpleasant. But, I know there must be things in my head that are not ugly, angry, hungry, and dark. I just have to figure out how to convey those better sides of me.

I also have a painting in mind that is kind-of an homage to the pub I go to. That's super-cheesy, but I owe them something. But, that's many paintings away, and the ideas come easier than free time.

Anyway... bed time for Noggin.

More paintings to come, soon. Novice and imperfect, no doubt, but I'm not too worried about that. If I can paint at all after so long a hiatus, then I know I have tons of talent and skill inside me just waiting to be developed. It will come.

THE JEWELRY REPORT, with Twisted Noggin

This week in The Jewelry Report, we touch upon the fashions of love...

First, there were just wedding rings, which say, “I am committed to you for life”.

Then, came engagement rings, which say, “I intend to commit to you for life, whenever we can save up for and plan a wedding” (of course, if you are particularly religious, it also says “I get to have sex soon!”, or if you are not “We will definitely get married, but there is no rush, because I’m already banging her anyway”)

More recently, the “Promise Ring” was invented, which says “I seriously intend to someday promise to eventually commit myself to you”. – I think that one is a joke.

Now, I propose the “Like it or not Ring”, (a ring the WOMAN can buy) which says “I am committed to you forever, whether you like it or not”.

With the “Like it or not Ring”, you no longer have to wait until the man realizes your worth and buys you a ring. If you are already a hopeless sucker for him anyway, you can feel free to show your devotion by buying yourself this sparkling trinket. Since diamonds are for engagements, and precious stones for promise rings, I recommend semi-precious stones at the most for a “Like it or not Ring”. Other options are plastic pearls, wads of tin, or perhaps a spike you can drive against your forehead when you are frustrated with that man of your dreams not considering you the woman of his dreams.

This bobble promises to be the next big thing among underappreciated significant others, unrequited lovers, and stalkers alike. If you are the sort of woman who would buy a “Like it or not Ring”, you might also be interested in a barbed-wire bracelet or a thorned tiara. There are, after all, many masochistic options for today’s woman. The choices are only as limited as your imagination.

This is Twisted Noggin with the Jewelry Report. Thank you for tuning in.

I was born in July of 1974... too caught up in the slop and chaos, however, to be fully aware.

I was born in July of 1993... but was careless and took a serious spill.

I was born in July of 2006... and I'm hanging on to this one as only someone who has lived and lost can. This July, I painted for the first time since the mid-90's. I painted very little even back then, although I have sketched off and on through the years.

My work (aka play) is all about the paint. I've lost any preoccupation with proving my skill (whatever skill I might or might not have) and I don't care too much about the subject matter. If I want perfect representation, I'll take a photo. I want to let the strokes and colors show, because that's where the energy and art is.

I tend to use the human form a lot, mainly because of the intensity of expression it can convey with the slightest tilt or twist, each millimeter of positioning altering the body language. Then again, perhaps it is because the painting side of me is the human side of me, although, I tend to focus on the lines, shapes, and energy more than the body itself. I guess I can no more explain my joy in painting than a baby can express his/her joy in those first few steps across soft grass, but I hope it somehow shows in what I do.

Tonight, I will paint a bit more. Whether I paint something beautiful or just something novice and askew, I will create something.

I paint, therefore I am. :)

The trip went swimmingly

I took a trip to Newport, KY (right next to Cinci, OH) with my sister and the kids. As you can see, the girls were able to get up close and personal with some sea life. I didn't take very many pictures, but I'll share the few I have. :) (Below, Tori with Mr. Fishy)

We had a great time, but I was too busy having fun to be snapping photos. My favorite part was probably the shark petting. I caught sharks (accidentally) when fishing for Salmon of the coast of Alaska, but never before had I stroked them like puppies. That was a lot of fun. They leave a very slight sticky slime on your hand, but when you pet them they are just the silkiest things ever. One little one even seemed to really go for it, swimming up for attention and soaking up every little carress like a attention-starved kitten.

For pretty much the whole trip, I was basically unable to eat. (eating out is very hard for me, since most restaurants use so much of the things are allergic to) so I was miserably famished all the while (making due, for about 27 hours, on 2 protien shakes and a snack bar), but the trip was nice nonetheless. And, I was hooked on the pod-racing game at Game Works (next door to the aquarium) and, of course, to ski ball. But man... I was SO FREAKIN' HUNGRY!!!!

Cookoo's Nest

I don't know why the Newport Aquarium has a "Parakeet Landing" place, but I certainly enjoyed it. Here is Tori with a bird in hand (or on hand). And after all... a bird in the hand is worth... well, you get the idea. This pic is too dark for you to see the two birds on my sister's wrist, but you can see the one that was obsessed with her pony-tail holder. It struggled to loosen it for a long time. It was quite amusing (to me, at least, perhaps not so much to Rebecca). :)
And I got to hold some too. Well... like I said. I WAS really hungry. Doesn't my mouth look freakishly huge, here? All those years at the Orthadontist's Office, I guess. Stretched out the jaw muscles. :P

Shark Attack

The shark became aggressive, swimming right at me...


Then, I breathed a sigh of releif as he passed to my right....

But, just as I thought I was safe, he took Victoria instead.
Fortunately, the one that got Victoria was stuffed, but we were still glad to have survived the ordeal.

With a renewed zest for life and adrenaline surging through our veins, we moved on to the allegator pit, me on my own two feet, and Victoria on her new cyber-body (she had to be reconstructed from the rib-cage down).

Then, while we were sharing our thoughts of the ordeal together, an alligator took advantage of out inatention and snatched poor Anistasia from our very midst. We will all miss her sorely, but I have this one last photo to remember her by.

Tom Waits plays the Palace Theatre in Louisville, KY

We often imagine the tribal celebrations of various cultures as reaching entrancing summits of rhythm and frenzy and dream-like daze, which modern imitation cannot summon. Those days and those cultures are gone or changed to a point that such immersion in their musical fire cannot be reproduced. However, our modern era has it’s own version of this. It exists, in my opinion, in Tom Waits. His mastery of rhythm is hypnotizing and exhilarating, working every seemingly chaotic and random sound into a perfectly orchestrated structure of sound. His music creates a tribal trance representing the shack-dwelling, blues-howling river rats of times long gone, the box-car riders of the 40’s, the beatniks of the late 50’s, the diner-flies of the 70’s, and the modern mechanical and electric cities.

Add to that the brilliant lyrics, with their elastic interpretations of language and their tangible humanity, the undulating and enthralling melodies, and his laid-back yet animated stage presence (if you can forgive my over-use of adjectives) and you have the magic I experienced last night. I was fortunate enough to partake in a feast for the senses at the Palace theatre, when Waits graced the stage and gave me the best concert of my lifetime. Thank you, Tom, for coming to Louisville. Thank you for creating a profuse collection of genius oeuvres. You’ve made a mark on the history of all things creative, and I can’t possibly explain what a thrill it was to witness it all live.

I’ve dealt with the pain of seeing someone I love reduce himself to a temporary vegetable state on a regular basis. I’ve dealt with the guilty fear of worrying that I am simply an enabler. And I’ve dealt with the insult of playing 2nd fiddle to a few ounces of liquid blonde bombshell, so to speak. But being publicly treated like I’m some evil bitch for daring to ask him to slow down for a little while, when he’s already cross-eyed and incoherent… Well, I guess enough is enough. Enough shame and pain and coldness. Enough waiting for a guy who listens to the song “try a little tenderness” repeatedly to ever get the freakin point of the song. Enough listening to a super-intelligent man buy into his own ridiculous rationalizations.
So, the line is drawn. It had to be.
But what is on the other side?
And, did I draw this line in stone, or is it overcooked angel-hair pasta again?
I followed my heart, and it led me to a dead end on a one-way road.

Slightly better pics, I hope

My first painting since the mid/early 90's

My second, though it is gay

My third, which is a tiny 5" by 8"

ARGH!

I am SO frustrated. I want to post pics of my paintings, but I get too much reflection off the surface of the paint. I tried grabbing a polarized lense from the 35mm and holding it in front of my digital camera, but it won't work. If I couls adjust the shutter speed (or exposure time, whatever), then I'm sure I could get a better pic, but that is apparently not an option on this camera.

Well, if you can tell ANYTHING through the fog of reflected light shining all over this darn thing, here is painting #3. The subject matter is plenty simple, but I was just playing around. This is just on a 5" x 8" canvas board. It's little bitty.

1) My boyfriend and I seem to be getting along much better.

2) I get to go to see Tom Waits after all. An old buddy of mine said his wife wasn’t super-into Ol’ Tom, so she’s willing to sell me her ticket. (Is she awesome or what?)

3) I’m having TONS of fun painting and now…

4) my boyfriend’s father, whom I’ve yet to even meet in person, actually sent me a bunch of paint and some canvases. That’s one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever gotten, that’s for sure.

Things are looking up a little bit for me, just in time to keep me from completely loosing what was left of my sanity (which was very little). I have to admit, I was feeling pushed to my sanity limit for a while there.

:)

I’ll post more pics of paintings soon.

Trying to paint for the first time since the 90's

This first one is a really crappy picture (blurry and light reflection being a problem) but this is just so you can get a general idea of my first painting in forever. It looks much better in real life, of course. Still, there are many things about it that didn't turn out right. But hey, it turned out better than I expected it too, and I learned a lot in the process.

This second painting is frustrating me. It isn't finished, of course, but I'm having a hard time finishing it because I hate it. I'm still working on it, though, and will finish it whether I like the painting or not. There's a light reflection making a big glow around the head, but there's no sense in working for a great photo when the painting isn't even done yet.

I'm not great at keeping the house in shape.
I can't shower you with gifts.
You don't need the expressions that I give freely, the sort of thing I need.

But I can do one thing.

I can fill your life with colorful expressions of who I am.
I can paint for you.
I'm not the most skilled artist,
But I can create images for you that will hopefully make you proud.

Whatever art I've ever done, I've always done for myself.
But, with every stroke I've made,
since I picked painting back up again recently,
I've been thinking about you.
Hoping to create something only I can.
Hoping to give you something only I can.
Hoping to make you smile a little bit.

Because, after all, what more beautiful image can I give the world than that?
Like I said, when I look at you and the art that you are (inside and out)
"my brushes retire, inadequate".
No work of art I ever give to this world, can compare to the beauty you bring to mine.
________________

I hope I didn't make anyone ill with my cheesiness, but what can I do?
I have never been one to shy away from the truth, just because it can be ugly.
Niether will I withhold the truth, just because it sounds sweet enough to kill a diabetic.

I owe huge thanks to several people.

To an old and distant friend, for talking to me when I needed it most.
To another friend, and his wife, for letting me buy her ticket to see Tom Waits (oh, man... what could be more worth seeing?)

But also, to Richos, for the art show that has awakened an intregal part of everything that I am, when they had an art show yesterday (and let me have a few peices up in it).
And to Lisa, who gave me some oil paints in preparations for leaving the country again to do her missionary work.

Today, I bought the few colors missing from the oil paints she gave me. Since Lisa had supplied the majority of them, plus the lindseed oil and turpentine, and the show yesterday reminded me of what I do, it only took a few bucks to do what I have not done since the 90's.

Today, for the first time since the late 90's, I spread sweet oil paint on canvas. I can't possibly express what that sensation is for me, so I wont bother trying.

All I can say is, thank God, and thanks to those of you who played a part.

I don't want to ever stop, but I'm already running out of some colors and need canvases pretty badly. If you know any local artists who no longer paint and have a few neglected canvases laying around, you might send them my way. I've started two paintings just today, and am letting them dry a little before moving on to the next steps. In the meanwhile, I intend to start up a third, if I can find another old canvas around here. The second one I started today was rotting and had holes in it, but I don't care. I just want to paint.

I need to paint. I need to sing. Sometimes, I need to write. Sometimes, I need to eat. Some people may have more talent than I. Most artists spend more time developing their talent. But every real artist knows that life just aint worth much without that lucious sensation of bristles vibrating against the nearly undetectible texture of taught threads, and the paint responding to the threads, the bristles, the movement of the hand... just sweetly, silently, languidly, sensually ... finding it's place, blending with the pigments beneath, and swimming into a new creation.

-Like some sleepy muse creating a fervent fire in your soul while only lazing into casual recline...
Paint can fall into place so carelessly, responding to the brush like a sleeper barely reacting to noise in the night, and yet fall into perfection, without even trying. I love paint. Whether my hand really knows how to move it or not, I love paint.

Why couldn't I have been born one of those cute, dainty, waifish, short and petite women?
Why did I have to be born a hexagonal peg in a game of squares, circles, rectangles, and octogons?

There is no where that I belong.

There is no where on this earth that I am ever good enough.

I try. I swear I try to make myself better, and I love others as they are.

But just once, why can't I be good enough?

There's a limit for anyone.
A limit to the cold before hyopthermia sets in.
Like Nina Simone says, although reworded, 'love her or don't', eh?
Or like the old song, "Try a little tenderness".
Without that, what the hell is there?
Nothing but frostbite.

My mom didn't like cooking the fish dad caught, so she'd leave it in the damp, dark freezer until she could say "Oh, too bad... it's freezerburned" and throw it away.

I feel like I'm just waiting in a tiny dark space until it's time for me to be tossed in the garbage.
I honestly can't handle it anymore.
I'm crumbling inside and can feel the crackle on my skin, but I'm never taken out and thawed for use. I'm just not appealing enough for the hassle. Like dad's bluegill fillets were to mom.

I've hit my limit. I can't handle it another day. I hardly feel human anymore.

What can I say about July? It was the month I was born, the month in which I lost my virginity, the month in which I add a tack to my age each year... but what do I hate about July, at least this July? Well, let's see... I've managed to get myself desperately in the hole financially, I am now in serious fear of my job, since the clique seems to have the power to vote coworkers off the island and they also hate me, no matter how hard I work or how nice I try to be.

in other spectrums... I feel like an untouchable fucking jolly green giant, except for the jolly and green part. I don't know... why even go into it?

Eh... how do I feel? the hardest question on Spock's test, wasn't it? I don't know. I feel like I desperately wish I was incapable of feeling. But hey... what's new. Happy soon-to-be fucking birthday to me.

Whatever.
Happy July, y'all.

I was wanting to get up and be productive this am, so around 9 I stumbled into the kitchen, had a little caffiene, then went to bed to wait for it to set in, then I was going to get up and walk the dog and start my day. But, I forgot one factor... if I actually fall back to sleep before just before the caffiene kicks in, I have the most awesome dreams. I had some huge epic dream where I was some sort of mystical deer (weird), but I've forgotten most of that one. I had an EXTREMELY awesome dream about my boyfriend, but that isn't g-rated enough for the internet he he he. Then I had an extra freaky one about Stephen, which was also good, and definitely not g-rated. I ended up sleeping till noon, but damn it was a nice sleep. :) Now I'm weak and shaky from having caffiene and no food, and trying to start my day rather late, but hey... it was worth it. ;)

Friday night I went to a party, although I didn't stay long cause I was worn out. My sister was there. We have a crazy love for pun humor in my family, and I laughed a lot. My sister was sitting in an adjustable office chair and it was up at full height. She was talking about something, and joking with some attitude, when the chair snapped, dropped, and went down to the lowest setting, seating her lower than all of us. It stopped her mid-sentence and I said "hah, took you down a notch" and we laughed. Then she said "that made me dizzy", and I said "coming down off your high, eh?" and she laughed again. Then, moving around in the chair, she knocked my ash tray over. I said "Ok, sorry... you didn't have to kick my ash." Then, she got up to find the pool rack, and asked if anyone had seen it, but only I heard her. So, I said "Has anyone seen Rebecca's rack?" and there was a chuckle. Then I said "actually, Rebecca, in that shirt I think we've all seen it" and everyone laughed, including Rebecca (it was a very busty shirt). Then Jeremy said "Speaking of racks, where's Tracy?" and Rebecca said "I don't know why she hasn't shown up. I talked to her on the phone and she said she was coming", then at the same time, Shane and I said "Well, that explains why she didn't show up".

Man, are we a corny bunch. I never get tired of silly pun humor.

There's a lot of ways to make people hate you. Be rude, be egotistical, be whiney, be a two-faced. But, there is no faster way to make everyone hate you than to get sick too often. I should know. That was a major contributing factor to the demise of my marriage. I was sick alot, then the toxic thyroid nodule and the emergency endometriosis surgery, etc... next thing you know, he couldn't stand me.

I've been sick a lot lately. One thing after another, all totally mostly unconnected. The closest person to me has seemed to hate me for some time now. It's been killing me inside, but I can only hope that it will pass. I may not get the commercial position I wanted at work because my health has made me undependable. Now my coworkers are making comments one cubicle over about me missing work. They know I can hear, but they talk about me like I'm not 3 feet away. Everyone in my daily life, except my dog, hates me because I get sick too much.

I eat healthy. I walk 30-50 minutes a day. I take vitamins and avoid prescriptions whenever possible. I wont touch anything with a molocule of anything I'm allergic to in it, even though that means I will probably never eat cake again. I don't bring this on myself. I tough things out. Heck, I drove myself around for three days with internal bleeding and didn't ask anyone to take care of me. I'll go to work and stay there even if I'm throwing up, as long as it isn't too bad to be productive. How is this my fault? How does this make me a bad person?

I'm no angel. I'm not perfect, but this is not a reason to hate me. But then, I hate myself for it, so how can I blame anyone else?

Anyway... best get some work done.

Ok, NOW I'm depressed

Of all the musicians, alive or dead, there is one at the very top of my list of wanting to see live. That would be Tom Waits. If you could resurect Nina Simone or Mozart, those would be fairly close seconds, but none could tie with Waits.

He rarely ever tours, but suddenly, out of the blue, he is touring. And, who'da thunk it, he is actually coming to Louisville. And who's the biggest Tom Waits fan in Louisville? Yours truly, since I first heard his voice back in the 80's.

Tickets went on sale at 10am. I was dialing and redailing on my cell, my work phone, and trying to get tickets online all at the same time. I was not about to miss my chance. I snagged two tickets online, but when I went to pay for them my card didn't go through. It's probably because it is a 5th 3rd card, which in some places only works as a debit card, and at others only works as credit. 5th 3rd sucks. So, I lost my tickets. The show sold out in 15 minutes. The Akron, Ohio, show is also sold out. So is Atlana, Georgia. I'm not sure about Detroit, yet. LiveNation said I'd made too many page requests, so it wouldn't tell me if it's sold out or not. I will drive ANYWHERE in the US to see him. I can't afford to fly anywhere. But it wont matter. I missed my window and will miss the one most important live music opportunity in my lifetime.

I gotta stop talking about it before I start crying in front of everyone.

rambles

I was so sick of being sick, that it was great to feel human again this week.

Sunday I was finaly able to leave the house. (Well, I guess I did leave the house briefly Friday, to bring some teabags to Steve at work, but that didn't much count, and I probably shouldn't have gone out. I probably looked like $#!t and drove like I was totally out of it.) Anyway, Sunday was nice. I didn't feel great, but I wasn't trapped on the bed/couch all day. I went to someone's house, hung out, got to assemble a grill, and was bitten by his pet snake.

Monday I was no longer in terrible pain from the stomach thing, so I:
Walked the dog in the am
Worked 9 hours at the office
Walked the dog again
Watered the flowers
Changed the litterbox
Filled holes in kitchen baseboards
Filed/formed counter corners on kitchen island
Sanded wood edging on island
Sealed grout (2 coats)
Washed dishes
and Cooked dinner

It was nice to have a productive day. I wanted to paint in the kitchen Tuesday, but had band practice. Band practice is always fun, so that was nice.

Then I had a crying fit (won't go into why) which triggered a migraine. I tried to ignore it and go to bed, but never could get to sleep. It just got worse and worse until the pain was unbearable and I had to go to the ER at 6am. I was hoping to get a shot and recoup in time to make it to work, albeit without having slept. But, they mixed phenergan in with the migraine shot, curse them. Admittedly, I was puking my guts up (including in the hospital parking lot, which was embarrassing), but if they had cured the migraine, then the nausea would have gone away. Instead, they gave me phenergan I didn't need and I was completely sedated all freakin day. So, I missed work AGAIN. I got a stern talking to at work today because of having so many absenses.

Anyway... I walked the dog this morning and have worked 10 hours and am about to go home and paint the baseboards. Hopefully this can be another productive day, although all I really want to do is hang out with Brandi and slug the f*#$ out of a heavy bag. Life has been downright shitty lately, on a personal level, except for Harry the Wonderdog. Thank goodness for Harrison T. Harrier, Wonderdog Extraordinaire.

Ghost

Silent,
Slipping inside out, so as not to face me,
You fade and cool
Like steam sapped dry by an icy draft.
Nothing remains of you but ghosts pacing in the distance
Unaware, as if on a different plane.

I find myself murmuring the same cliché’s,
The pep-talks of a clinched-jaw survivor,
While sucking up metal from the cold cell around me,
And wrapping it around my vertebrae.

I stare unblinking until blue resigns itself to grey,
As I endeavor to harden.

How many times must I transition…
Shed metal for flesh to be a woman for a man,
Only to again make of myself a machine
When that man is for himself?

Phase or precipice of decline, who can say?

Only you,
But you are silent.

Flourishing when lit,
But shrinking in dismal disregard,
The lotus blooms just as fervently
As situation allows.

She rises to the respect
Her warden wills to share,
But, kept in shadows of cold disdain,
Will always come up bare.

Well, the doc gave me 4 prescriptions to fix what that first one caused. I stopped the steroids that I was taking for the poison ivy (and by the way, I have a few tiny spots of that coming back, now -wonderful), but it had already started some nasty inflamation in my stomach lining. I never imagined that stomach-lining inflamation could hurt so much. I'm managing not to take the phenergan so far, though. I wont take that unless I just can't keep food down. That's just a nasea medicine, so it isn't needed for healing, and it knocks me out cold. I haven't managed to do anything productive the past couple days, but I don't want to be unconcsious either. The pain medicine (codiene) I'm taking only when I can't stand the pain or want to sleep through it, and am taking it in half-doses, now. Then, he gave me some pill I have to take 4 times a day that coats my insides so they can heal. Of course, I have to take it 2-3 hours after eating and and hour before eating again. Anyone who knows me knows that asking me to go 4 hours without eating is like asking a dog not to sniff anything. And, I'm on some sort of daily pill that keeps stomach acid production down, again so my insides can heal.

Fun fun fun. What a waste of a weekend. Plus I missed two whole days of work. Aint life fun? I'm bored with laying around, but whenever I do much I start feeling worse again. So far today, I've taken the dog for one walk, burned myself in the tanning bed, and cleaned the garbage out of my car. That's not much to accomplish in a whole Saturday.

Anyway... on a happier note. Here's some pics for you. :)

As much as I think that dogs are good for almost all people, most people are certainly not good for dogs. It pisses me off when I take walks with Harry and see all these miserable dogs cooped up and going crazy-agressive because they have nothing to do with their lives besides bark. No one walks them or plays with them. Then, their masters get mad when they don't behave. I really just want to smack those people around. I really do. Either that, or cage those people in one tiny room with absolutely nothing to do all day, leave them there alone 80% of the time, then beat them when they want to so much as speak at the site of another human being. Let them experience that for a bit.

Well, I have got to lay down again because I am worthless today. I managed to take harry for a walk, and that alone spent me. I hate being sick. It's just so boring.

Time to waste another couple hours of my life on a movie I've seen 100 times, then I need to play some sort of smell and find game with Harry. We haven't developed the whole tracking thing with him, yet, and he obviously feels the need to use that skill.

Time to watch some more sci-fi. Don't be surprised if I use words like "frak" and "Gorram" when and if I cuss in the next week or so. :P But, I promise not to go into Richos ordering romulan ale.

I suppose there has always been a couple things to fear in the woods... poisonous snakes, although we don't seem to have a problem with them on our land and I keep away from rotting trees and all that jazz. I fear black widows a bit, but how often do you see those, anyway?

Nah, I love the woods too much to ever think much about things to fear there. Too much to love that balances out the few little dangers. There's far more danger on a city block.

However, I'm getting a bit jumpy about the poison ivy, now. Since my body can't shake it on its own, apparently, I had to take steroids. The bad thing about that is the cure was worse than the illness. I waited too long, after complications arose, to quit the junk. I've been in some of the worst pain of my life. Last night I was up debating whether or not to go to the ER. But, I HATE the ER. I generally have to be pretty convinced that whatever I have will kill or permanently disable me before I'll go to the ER.

I took my morning dose of Dexpak yesterday (although I took it late, because I was already so sick from it). I never took the evening dose. I called the Urgent Care doc to make sure I could discontinue it, since stopping it abruptly is supposed to be bad. I'm finally feeling a little better right now. I got a couple chips and a few cherries down just a few minutes ago. I heaved a lot, but nothing came back up. Don't you love the TMI you get on this blog? Still, it feels like there is an alien lump between my stomach and my heart. It wont budge or shrink or let food past. But hey, I'm not in all the pain I was last night, and that's liberating. That was pain beyond pain. If a broken pinky finger is a 1 or 2, and a burn that leaves a toasted flap of skin hanging off is an 8, then that pain yesterday and last night was a 10.

Anyway... on a happy note... Harry is cute as always. Stephen is sweet and cute, as always. Sheba is elegant yet menapausal, as always. I was fortunate enough to get the last Firefly DVD in the mail last night (from netflix), so I had some decent distraction to watch. I sure wish that show had lasted longer.

I wish I had some new comics to read. I got some Sunday but went through them all too fast. Being sick is SO BORING. I need something good to read or watch. Mostly, I need distraction from my stomach.

Woke up with a nasty battery-acid-like vurp. My stomach is apparently not handling the steroids well (that I’m taking for the massive poison-ivy outbreak). So, I took something for my belly, reset the alarm to go off in another 15 minutes, and went back to bed. Well over an hour later, I woke up to see that my alarm never went off again. So, I had no time to take Harry for a walk and I was sure to be at least a few minutes late for work. I tossed clothes on and didn’t even brush my teeth (gross). Then, there was a wreck on the way to work to hold me up more. So, I was 14 minutes late in getting to my desk. If anyone out there is bored enough to follow my life, they know that I simply can’t afford to be late to work. Ack!

Not a good morning, thus far.

My holiday sucked because the steroids have made me sick. I was excited about working on the house, some, but was too sick to get to do it. Right now, I feel like someone has twisted my intestines tightly around a wrench and keeps shooting them with a spaz-ray. I am nauseous, anxious, occassionally panicky-feeling, dizzy, and tired (apparently, this stuff causes insomnia too). But, enough whining.

At least I have the greatest pooch in the world to go home to. He’s always happy to see me and thinks I’m the greatest thing since fresh chicken and tracking rabbits. He makes a day better, always. :)

Well, Harry has a friend. I took him to the comic shop to play with the owner's dog. They ran and played like mad until they were both worn out, then they wrestled in slow motion. Harry had a great time. I'll have to make it a fairly regular thing.

I am switching him to Nutra, and off the science diet. Since the shelter fed him science diet, I've been mixing the two together for a gradual change. He's a healthy boy, I think, but eats a LOT of grass. Nutra has more fiber, and is all natural. I don't think anyone should be eating tons of preservitives and crap.

Well, that's my boring post for the day. Have a lovely night, folks, and try not to blow any appendages off with your fireworks.

Office Report

There was one girl at work who seemed to just despise me. Even recently it seemed like the more I tried to be polite, the more offense she took. I couldn't really figure out what I had ever done to her, although I did once go on about an awful, dreadful, evil manager we once had right in front of her, not even thinking about the fact that she might take offense because she had been friends with that past manager. That wasn't considerate of me at all, but it didn't even occur to me at the time that it was so rude. When I hear her make cracks, within earshot of me, about a friend of mine who no longer works there, I have to remember that I did the same thing to her. That friend of mine treated some people there in a way I can't quite approve of, too. So, I guess we are even on that score.

Something has changed drasticly, though. She has been very nice to me lately. I realize that women in general often befriend as just part of a strategy, and this girl is one sharp cookie who could probably be one hell of a chess player. But, I refuse to second-guess her motivations. She has made a real effort to be nice, and I am very grateful for that. It makes the work place SO much better. She deserves some team-player points, for certain.

A long time ago, I felt like I had one enemy on the escrow side of our company. Oooo I would get SO mad at her, but I was afraid to tell her off, lest she use my rudeness against me. One day, I finally told her how I felt. Turns out, she is an awesome person who had no idea she was making my life difficult. She's great to work with, now, and I've had the honor of getting to know her a little better recently. She's a total riot, funny and full of personality, and has a heart of gold. She loves dogs, loaned me a crate for Harry, and I get the impression that she is top-notch at her job. Funny how things work out, eh? She's now one of my favorite people there.

My fellow late-workers (Jill, who will spare every minute she can, Billy, who must work 100 hours a week and recently came in on his vacation to help us out, and Brandi, who would work herself to death and just hate herself for dying if any files were left undone) are real motivators. They have a team spirit that just gives you a second wind and then a third, when you thought you were completely out of juice.

So, for the most part, things are great at the Office. You already know my boss is terrific. There is still at least one person that seems to hate a couple of us, but maybe that will change with time. I even tried to make another effort, recently. I get so much energy out of the little rallying emails between me and my team-mates (joking about being swamped, about Jill working with a broken butt, sort of, and formulating game-plans about when we can work, etc... etc...). It makes you feel like you are really part of a team and we all just do what we can, knowing that the rest of the team appreciates it and is there, right along side you. So, I tried including a couple other girls in the emails and she apparently took huge offense. It didn't occur to me that inclusion is only an insult, when you think you are better than those who have the nerve to try and include you. What's odd is, she took it out on someone else instead of me, and I'm the one who started the email. Anyone can misinterpret even the kindest of gestures. It happens. Communication is always subject to some interpretation, although I found her interpretation wildly creative, to say the least. So, although her reaction to it was terribly negative, I thought no less of her for that. I do, however, think less of her for taking it out on whomever she pleased, instead of having the character to say something to me. But, I'm sure she isn't a bad person. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Or maybe she felt bad because she couldn't work the extra hours some of us were, but no one would ever judge her for that. I know nothing about what most of them do after they punch out, and it's none of my business. When Jill has to leave for her responsibilities, we are all just grateful for the effort she put in up to that point, and the girl who took such offense really cranks out orders and has a kid to get home to, so I can't imagine why she should feel threatened by others putting in a few more hours. I admit, I sometimes get angry at myself for not being able to live up to Brandi's workoholic hours, but I'm sure she knows we all do what we can, so I can't imagine being angry at her for it. That's just plain silly.

I'm sure whatever personality clashes are going on are cureable with time. We have an amazing team that I'm proud to be a part of. Every single employee in that plant impresses me on a regular basis. It's energizing to be a part of it, sometimes.

Harry Report

Mr. Harrison T. Harrier is doing far better than anticipated, or even hoped for. He's super-freindly to every dog he meets. He's still gentle and loving and loves to take naps with me, but he is getting really energetic and playful too. We are working, just a little bit, on his tracking skills. I'm teaching him to "smell" (to check out a scent) and "find". He's gotten so much better with his house training, that we were able to let him sleep on the bed with us last night, rather than having to lock him up. I'm glad of that. He doesn't know "sit" yet, but I haven't had a lot of time for training sessions. The smell and find comes easy with him because he is a tracker by nature.

I'm beginning to wonder why on earth anyone would go through life without a dog. It's no surprise that dog owners live longer. Not only is it an emotional panacea, but he's a great excersize plan. I now walk 30-40 minutes every day, and that is on the increase. I try to go a little further each time.

There's certainly a lot of responsibility, since I have to be home with him enough that he is never lonely, walk him enough that he never gets frustrated and destructive (plus to keep him healthy) and give him outlets for his instincts (like tracking), but I firmly beleive that such responsibilities are crucial to the human psyche. Living for one's self creates voids in one's motivation, self-discipline, and can make someone so egocentric that they are never happy. (anyone who lives for their own happiness will always find it harder and harder to possess it, I've noticed).

Personally, I probably have an even stronger need to have someone to take care of than most people. My self-esteem demands that I be of some use to someone, and to be protector and caretaker are instensely fueled by my hormonal make-up. Also, I find that having just one person who has faith in me to do right by him, no matter what, gives me the confidence and strength to be whatever it takes to earn every drop of that faith. That strength and confidence builds up momentum and seeps into all parts of life. I would probably be a better house-keeper, now, too, if it weren't for all the excessive hours I've had to work this week.

His vet visit went well. Apparently, he is supposed to be super-skinny like he is. He's just a very lean breed of dog that is supposed to have that big bowed-out chest and very little fat. The vet said he is actually at his optimum weight. She also said he is probably between two and three years old. I was guessing much younger.

Status Report

My poison ivy kept getting worse instead of better, despite antihistamines and pouring alcohol over it constantly, and then started to spread all over. For the last couple days I was also weak and tired and sickly feeling, so I listened to some good advice and went to the doc. He said it was the worst case he'd seen all year. He said that creams and shots wouldn't cut it for me. He put me on 13 days worth of steroids and antihistamines. In only one day (6 steroid pills and a antihistamin), it is already TONS better. I just took these grody pics. It actually looks worlds better, now. My hand was covered in big translucent oozing blisters, but they have all shrunken down and it hurts far less. Pretty, eh?

Harry is doing well, but during the few hours a day that he is locked up in the bathroon, he tries really hard to open the door by mouthing the doornob. It is now a chewed up mess. Other than that, he has been excellent.

Now, it is after 2am and I've GOT to fall asleep. I worked till midnight again so I haven't been able to wind down. I still didn't get enough done. I went home at 7 and walked/ran/excersized/fed/played with the dog. Had to. Then went back to work, but didn't get there till 9:30pm.

Now I've GOT to fall asleep!!! Wish me luck.

Harry was extremely skinny when we took him home. His skin kinda sinks in between every bone. We thought maybe he hadn't been eating well at the shelter because he'd been depressed or something. But, he bonded with me VERY quickly, and he seems quite happy in his new home. Still, he barely eats anything at all, except when it comes to grass. He eats a lot of grass. I've been doing a lot of reading, and it seems these are common signs of IBS in dogs, which is a fairly common problem with dogs, now, because of the processed corn nuggets we feed them (whether it be Science Diet or generic kibble).
It's far too soon to jump to conclusions, but it would be rather suiting for a girl with all my health issues and food allerigies to have a dog with special nutrition needs. I'm really hoping that Harry is healthy, and just needs time to adjust, but if he does have diet problems, then I am certain we picked the right dog. Just because I'm the sort of person who will research and work to help him, where most people might not.

I'll put a little extra nutrition in his food (enzymes and barley grass juice powder) and give him lots of love and excersize. If that doesn't cut it, then we will do whatever needs to be done.

A LOT of articles and studies insist that dogs need raw foods in order to be really healthy, but I'm a little hesitant to jump on that bandwagon until I know more, even though it does sound quite logical.

As for the Sheba/Harry story... she doesn't puff up so much when he is around now. In fact, last night she layed down on my lap while Harry was sleeping with his head on my leg. I was amazed she got so close so fast. But, Harry saw her and perked up and backed away, because he is still scared of her, and she freaked at the sudden movement and hissed and ran away. But still, the reduction in comfort-distance between them has progressed far more quickly than I would have dreamed. I dare say they might actually be friends some day.

When there was a large guest cat in our house, he lived on one dining room chair and she let him go no further, ever. Every trip for food or to the litter box was a huge ordeal. It's funny how she is more tolerant of a freindly dog than of a cat. Her own kitten, whom she once cuddled and petted (yes, litterly stroked with her paws) was never tolerable to her once grown. (he died many years ago). Stephen said that it's just like women... competitive with their own kind. Perhaps that's it. What they say about men being like dogs and women like cats is SO very true, most of the time. (although Steve said you'd expect it to be the other way around... because dogs are "bitches" and cats are "pussys" who put up with the "bitches". Pardon the language, but in terms of canine and feline, I gues the terms are acceptable. :)

Now it's time to leave poor little Harry and go back to work. We are swamped an many people were sick today, so it must be done.

Anyway... tune in next time for more on the riveting (only to me) saga of Sheba Samantha R. and Harrison T. Harrier, Esq.

Mr. Harrison T. Harrier, Esq.

The lighting made the pic all yellow, but this is your first pic of Mr. Harrison T. Harrier, Esq., at home. His friends just call him Harry. Sheba calls him "Mrrrrrowwrrr HISSSSSS!!!"

If you wondered about the Esq in his name, no... he has not attended law school. I think he possesses a real aptitude for ambulance chasing, though. :P

Happy Harry

Harry is now a member of our little family. Right now, I'm too tired and sweaty to take pictures of him, but soon enough I will. Once I've rested and eaten and showered and feel human again.

He REALLY surprised me. He isn't half as spaztic and hyper as I espected and he made absolutely no attempt to chase my cat. In fact, I think she hurt Harry's feelings. She tried to attack him twice, and Harry is now afraid of her. My cat is extremely small, most people think she is a kitten, and she has no front claws and very few remaining teeth. Yeah... real prize fighter. lol But, Harry is a gentle sort. He also loves to run and play, much like any dog.

He is supposedly already house trained, but he already disproved that. It was right after Sheba ambushed him and chased him off. I led him right into it, accidentally, so perhaps he was just upset. He loves the pen that we picked up from Dad's today. It's huge. I think it's about 8 foot by 10 foot. He especially loves smelling EVERYTHING by the side of the road on our walks, though (as one would espect from a Harrier). He wont be in the pen often, though. Only as much as he wants to be, probably. He does well indoors, even locked up in the bathroom (we tested that earlier today for about 8 minutes and he was very good). He's in there again, now, and I will probably leave him in there for 15 minutes this time. I just want him to learn that lock-up and relax time is ok, that he can count on me to come back to him.

His temperment is surprisingly great, although he isn't much into toys. He has no real training, though. And since we are starting with a dog who has probably had a youth devoid of intelligent interaction/training time, it may be a real challenge to train him. We experimented a little today, mostly to see how quick he'd pick up on things, and it looks like it will at least start out quite slow. But, once he gets the idea of training time in general, and that I am wanting him to think, it may get easier from there.

How do these posts always end up so long?

Short version: I got my dog. :) He seems to like Stephen and I and his new home. I still think it would have been MUCH easier to get a puppy and start him off right from the beginning, but that's ok. Stephen doesn't really like puppies, and I know they can be a huge hassle.

Sword for hire

I'm selling my Scottish Claymore. I need money, but don't seem to have much use for a sword in my daily life. You can't really see the gorgeous etching on the blade in these picks, but really is a sword worth seeing. You can buy it on Ebay.

Note: My "buy it now" price is less than HALF the going price to buy this exact same sword new, and the starting bid is even less than that.

Click here to check out the auction

Harry the Harrier

Everyone, this is Harry. When I called the shelter Thursday he was still there. Keep your fingers crossed for me, because if someone else has claimed him between then and when I go to pick him up Saturday, I will be crushed. I've got my heart set on this particular pooch and I've yet to even meet him. Silly, eh? I will also be picking up a big pen from Dad that day. I don't get his training crate until Monday. I picked up some doggie necessities this evening and I hope to have finished reading "The only dog training manual you will ever need" this weekend. I'm so excited!!! Isn't he precious?

Maybe it's the hormones from being in my thirties, but I am WAY too emotional anymore. First example, you have my whining posts during PMS days, but then there's tonight...

I was pulling back in my driveway (going to get Stephen beer as a reward for letting me use him as a camera model), but I wasn't in the Alley yet. Then my neighbor across the alley was trying to pull into her garage. I pulled up in my driveway so she could use the back end of it to more easily pull into her garage. She (the homeowner) was the passenger in the car I saw that she was talking at me, so I rolled down my window to hear her and said "I'm sorry?" because I hadn't heard what she said. She proceeded to start yelling at me "Can't you just wait a goddamn minute for us to park?". I was in shock. I was waiting. I even gave her room in my driveway to maneuver. I wasn't in the alley at any point and I never acted impatient in any way. She kept yelling at me, saying we always run over her flowers and don't look when we pull out. She has no flowers out back, so I found this crazy, but I politely waited for them to pull in and then I left. I was barely down the alley at all when I wondered why I was being so freakin passive. So, I turned around, went back down the alley and got out.
I said "So, if you are so worried about someone using your few feet of concrete, here, why did you start yelling at me for where I was in my own driveway when I pulled up to let you use more of it?"
There was a heated arguement after that, although it took me a while to get as heated as she was, as it is not my nature to cuss out my neighbors. For one thing, I was in too much shock at her rudeness to even feel anger at first. She kept calling me trash and cutting on my "trash" house and my "trash" bush at the end of the drive that isn't trimmed enough for her liking. When she started in on my yard, I asked her "How many hours a week do you work?"
she said "that's none of your business", obviously showing she doesn't work outside the home and has plenty of time to piddle in the yard. I said "is my bush your business?"

Anyway, it was all stupid... but, by the time I got to the liqour store to get Stephen's beer, I was completely balling. I work hard. I'm sick a lot. I have no money for landscaping. But I am not trash. I'm not the one going totally Jerry Springer on my neighbors for no reason. I may not have a lot of money, but a person could live in a trailer and have plenty more class than that lady. I work hard for my home. I have worked hard for everything I have and have lost two landscaped yards in divorces.

I think what really made me cry so much was the frustration. I was in the right, she was being a complete bitch, but there was nothing I could do about it. There's nothing illegal about being a bitch, so what can I do? Nothing. I just hope they move away or something. There's no excuse for acting like that. It's completely uncivilized.

But, I rarely ever see the bitch. I don't have to deal with her. I will just forget she exists and forget about it. She will likely get her comeupance, in one way or another. Some day, someone she bitched out will be in charge of approving her loan or something like that. Having an ugly personality has its own built-in penalties, so I need not worry about it. If she doesn't get what she deserves on earth, then hopefully God will at least see that I was a good neighbor, and He will weigh that in on his judgement of me. Maybe my amount of "love thy neighbor" will help to weigh against my failure to comply on the "sex before marraige" rules. I know it doesn't exactly work that way, but I have to be me. I will try to be a good person and not worry about bad people getting away with being total bitches. I said my peice to her. If she is too screwed up to listen, then that is her black mark to carry.

Whine whine whine... ok. Enough of that. Time to let it go. Bye now.

It was not long ago that I quit regular beer and started drinking only gluten free beer because of my Celiac disease. So, when I was out of beer on a Sunday, I figured it wouldn't be a big deal to have a couple regular beers. (FYI: Alcohol sales are illegal on Sunday in Indiana, which is absolutely retarded... not only is it a clear violation of separation of church and state, but the Sabath is actually Saturday, not Sunday)
I used to drink regular beer regularly. Sure, I quit for a reason, I felt it was dragging my health down just a little bit more, and I want to be healthy. But, I guess I forgot the whole allergy-rule that if you go without something you can't tolerate for a while, your body will react even more violently to exposure to it. (Celiac disease isn't technically an allergy, but very similar). Plus, I've noticed lately that every time I expose myself to something I'm not supposed to have, the reactions get just a little worse each time.

So, I had a couple normal beers yesterday, because I'm an idiot. The migraine started at midnight. My throat didn't feel like I had swallowed dynamite until this morning. My belly wasn't fully swollen up like I was 6-months pregnant until around 7ish today. Every bone in my body still hurts like hell, but the nasea is subsiding, I think. I feel absolutely horrid. I'm half tempted to take a sleeping pill so I can doze through it (I tried napping, but I hurt too much all over to sleep), but I figure my body doesn't need more crap in its system while it is already trying to clean out one bad reaction.

I'm starving, now, but there's no way in hell I'd feel like going to the store or cooking. Just focusing on the TV or reading a book hurts. So does this stupid computer screen, but I'm about done with it.

And to top it all off, I had a horrible night. I started out having fun. Although I was the only sober one in our trio. We danced, laughed, sang... all that jazz. Then, I left them in Louisville (they weren't ready to go home, so they decided to take a cab home later). And when I got home there was no place near my home to park. I tried to squeeze in beside my boyfriend's truck, and put a huge scratch down the length of my car. That was stupid. With the side mirrors folded in, there was only a few inches of clearance between his truck and the neighbor's car, but I tried it anyway. I was too tired to park on another street and hike back to my own friggin house, but if I had thought of the option, I would have taken it. I just didn't even think of that. I was tired and nearly blinded with that stupid migraine, so I wasn't thinking well.

Then, my boyfriend eventually came home much later and was still peppy, yammering, and awake, and kept me awake for quite a while, despite me begging for sleep. I'm a bit pissed about that. Hope he doesn't mind me saying so up here. If he does, I'll take it down.

Anyway... I'm in serious pain from head to toe and decided to whine online. You lucky, lucky readers. But hey, I didn't make you read it.

There are knots of pain radiating from a few spots around my neck. My head is just a giant sack of toxic agony. I wish it would stop hurting already. I'm sorry. I will never drink regular beer again, just PLEASE stop hurting!!!

My kimono

You may recognize the obi, since I let Tori wear it with her kimono. I haven't gotten her an obi yet. But, here is my vintage traditional kimono. The print is quite pretty up close. It has hints of plum, purple, and mauve in it. (Thus the plum Jyuban and stuff with it). In the last pic, you can also see my favorite haori. Very fine dye work on it. You should see it up close. I am going to get a furisode kimono soon. Those are the fancy ones with the extra long sleeve-things and those are more ornate.
Since I haven't had much time (or haven't utilized it well enough) this is what my sewing manequin is normally used for... just displaying my kimono. I've been getting the sewing itch, though. I have some really nice fabrics and need to start seeing what I can design with them. :)

Finaly, I got it to post :)

This goes with this post. I couldn't get it to go up at the time, though.

Me & my Honey :)

ADDiction

It has been noted, by many A.D.D. experts, that those with ADD have a predisposition towards addiction. In my own reasoning, I suppose this is the Dopamine-rush & receptor-block crash type of addiction more than the direct chemical variety. In the past two weeks, I have read about 6 books. The last was The Cry of the Halidon. I much enjoyed it.

But, as I've beaten the strongest of my destructive addictions (my love of tasty foods that poison me), I suppose I have the final say in what substances I am enslaved to. My recent candy-fiction (aka, escapist genre writing) binge need come to an end. I may allow myself to indulge on future PMS waves, but I can't read so much all the time. I tend let it comsume me too much.

Next, I need to kick the caffiene habit... again. I also need to cut back, at least, on smoking. I will mark a decline in beer consumption down on my list for a later date, mainly because I think the carbonation plays nasty games with my inards, which are much unacostomed to it, since I drink no sodas.

But, some addictions help curb my cravings for others. I will likely continue to smoke, at least to some small degree, because it helps me quell the cravings for deadlier vices (like bread, wich is much more dangerous for me).

As for beer, since I don't wander around drunk, I don't think it poses much of a threat. I can't reward a hard work day with cheesecake or dinner out or pasta, so I take what I can get. If that is an evening beer or two (gluten-free beer, and with a very low alcohol content), I will accept it as the lessor of evils, for now.

All things in moderation, neh?

As for my strongest addiction, that for Stephen, I hope it never need be "remedied". It is the healthiest addiction I have ever fallen prey to. It is much akin to being addicted to broccoli and vitamins, if ever something so healthy could taste so rich and sweet. Forgive me for sharing with you the cheesy truth. He has given me more than I ever could have understood before now. Thank God for the sweetness of oranges, and the pleasure in things that can give us nothing but health and vitality. I have been with him, now, for over a year and no other man can hold a candle to him. If he can somehow manage not to tire of me, he will always be, for me, the very difinition of every rush and high, as well as every gentle contentment.

Birdlings

Any of you whom are massochistic enough to be regular readers of my ramblings may recall Cosa, the bald hatchling I tried (and failed) to save by nursing it with a syringe and warmer, etc...

Since then, I also found a bird (feathered) in my yard which a cat had batted around but not injured. I put it up in a tree and waited for it to calm out of it's shock and answer its family's calls. That took many hours. They really freeze up when in shock, and I'm sure that this blond giant handling it didn't help the shock in any immediate sense. It was flight ready (although likely not experienced) and I hope that, with the chance to recoup from cat-fear (and human-terror), it made a new, more successful, attempt at flight.

Since then, I have found dead hatchlings on my doorstep. This is odd, as that is out of the way of any trees and my cat is strictly indoors. Since I think it far beyond the intelligence of birds to be depositing dead/sick youths there for help, it must be the gifts of a cat.

I commented last night to Lisa about the tiny, bald, lifeless bodies of hatchlings on my doorstep. She said she thought my cat had an outdoor admirer.

Whatever the reason, I find it quite odd, since I have neither fed nor befreinded any outdoor feline (other than the one that died long ago). Then, this morning, there were two more dead hatchlings on my doorstep.

I've decided that, from now on, when my cat mews excitedly at the door at mad, frenzied chattering of upset birds, that I should go outside and try to frighten off whatever cat might be terrorizing our bird friends. It seems to be too great a number to write off to the cycle of nature.

Anyway... I thought it a bit out of the norm and decided to share it with you. Poor little hatchlings... If anyone has ever held a wild fluttering bird in their hands, they know the feeling of wanting to assist that which is terrified of you. I wish I could help the, no doubt, bereft mother of that nest. She will soon forget, no doubt, but even birds know protection of their own. She must have been quite a-flutter.

Anyway... that is my report for today.

Saturday Afternoon

Rough draft of a new song, which I just now wrote (sorry I don't know how to record and post the melody)

I’m feelin good from being so bad
Slept till noon
Now I’m drinking beer at 3pm
Smoking cigarettes
And wasting time
Something about being lazy
That makes you feel so fine

Saturday afternoon
Making lots of plans on cleanin
Just not anytime soon
Sweet Saturday afternoon
Gonna make this time all mine
And hum a lazy tune

Doo doo doo dooooo Doot doo doo doo doo
Doot doo doo dooooo Dootn doot doo dooooo

I plan my chores, Got to do my part
When the beer buzz wakes me up,
Likely after dark
Till then, I’m lounging…writing songs
Every now and then it’s right
To do everything wrong

Like Saturday afternoon
Making lots of plans on doing
Whatever need be done
Sweet Saturday afternoon
Letting time trickle past reckless
Humming nonsense at the sun

Doo doo doo dooooo Doot doo doo doo doo
Doot doo doo dooooo Dootn doot doo dooooo


Watchin tv, reading books, in crumpled pajamas
Later I’ll find some motivation
But not until I wanna
I earned this time in 50 hours for the man
so I aint gonna lift
a single working hand

Saturday afternoon
I map out all the efforts
It just aint time to start
Not this Saturday afternoon
Singing bout the sweet reward
To a week a’playin my part.

Doo doo doo dooooo Doot doo doo doo doo
Doot doo doo dooooo Dootn doot doo dooooo


Needs a lot of work, and is pretty simple, but I most songs I attempt to write are just meant to be simple and enjoyable. Plus, of course, song writing is a very new thing to me.
Hopefully I will refine it and record it. I'll probably start a new blog for songs. I've written a few lately. (I think you all will like Dick & Jane especially)

The PMS is passing and I return to my more balanced self. Band practice has continued to be a real highlight in my life, though I grow impatient for something to show for our time (not even necesarily a set list with promise of gigs, but perhaps a decent recording or two). But, it is always such fun. It's hard to gear myself towards the style they want (less blues, less attitude, more "white", so to speak" of vocals), but I'm inspired to play along. The guys are very talented, and it can be a real rush to be a part of their creative process, although it would be far easier, I think, to come up with lyrics if I had recordings to work with.

Work is ok. I've been concentrating well, still. I get so much done, but I would enjoy it far more if it was appreciated. I work hard, I don't dally or play, and my time sheets are impecibly honest (except for the fact that I've only turned in a couple hours of overtime for the whole year, although I often work late). I'm sure my boss appreciates my industriousness and devotion, but I still don't understand the attitude of my coworkers. I have no problem with them being a tight group. I respect that and, although I try to be friendly, would never think to intrude upon their friendships. But, I don't understand why I seem to be looked on disaprovingly. Whatever... I'll continue to work for the team and let my works speak for me. That is all I know to do.

Life at home is superb, as always, but my desire to have a puppy has increased. I prefer to raise a dog from puppyhood, to insure its training as well as to enjoy its adolescense, but I would be content with a dog. (Stephen prefers dogs to puppies, intensly so).

Anyway... life is good. I took an herbal relaxer about an hour ago in hopes of reaching sleep at a decent hour. Now I'm also drinking beer. I think one point of critisizm from my workmates has been my tendency towards tardiness (although it doesn't effect what I do, and my timesheets reflect when I arrive accurately, I can understand their disaproval of that, despite the fact that it is none of their business). I've GOT to get to sleep sooner. I struggle at that. If I could just friggin sleep better, it would be far easier to get up in the morning. I should have excersized when I got home. That might have helped. But, I worked until 9 and just wanted to relax. Anywhoooo....

That's my status, in a pecan-husk. All well, I hope? Hope you are all happy and healthy.
May the force be with you, and all that stuff.
:)

I've been in a reading frenzy lately, the excapist kind. I have lots of books I haven't read yet, but only a few of the escapist variety (aka, genre fiction... spy, action, supsense, sci fi). I love borwsing my bookshelves. The unread books are like promising little worlds waiting for me. I also love to glance over the spines of those I've read, remembering my joy in each as I see them there, collected in mass. Bookshelves bring me pleasure.
Anyway... in the past week and a half I read Suspect, Good News-Bad News, and Treason. Today I started readon a sci-fi book my sister loaned me. I don't recal the name and am in too much of a hurry to go to the other room and check. I love books.
Anyway... here is a picture of Tori with her friend Cassi. Then there is one of Stazi (she smiles so huge for pictures) :)

When the kids are here, sometimes I just want to slip off for a moment, have a cigarette and a beer, and read a book. I'm not use to the constant energy and "why this, kiki?", "Why that, Kiki?", "I'm allergic to healthy, Kiki... broccoli makes my leg hurt", etc...

But, the moment they are in their Daddy's car, I don't want to let them drive away. I should have taken them to the park this morning instead of us vegging out in front of a movie. I should have found some way to sneak more veggies into Stazi. I had a feeling the whole time that Tori needed to talk, but we never got a chance to talk privately. Never enough time. I want them to stay. They are always hungry and always making messes and always underfoot, but they belong there.

How does my sister do it? It must be so hard for her. Plus, I imagine that some people look at her as irresponsible for leaving the kids with their Dad. I was so proud of her for that decision. The foolish perceptions of people must make it even harder. Instead of toting them around apartments and leaving them alone while she works and all that confusion, she let them stay in the same familiar house with the same friends and yard and all that. It had to have been so hard for her. My poor sister. I went through this, the divorce, the year of no escape from "crazy town", etc... etc... but I didn't deal with the children issue. That must be so hard. I shouldn't talk about this. She HATES to be discussed in any way shape or form. But, I feel for her. I love my sister. I love those babies like my own. Life is easier without children attached to your hip, but the vacancy of a home without them, once you get that attachment, is like a hollow howl in the back of your mind all the time. You can tune it out, sometimes, like white noise, but it is always there. And I'm not the one who carried them, nursed them, etc.. etc... although I often wish I was. It must be so hard for her.

Maybe that's how I avoid thinking of my own selfish need to keep them... it's always far easy to sympathize than to think of my own need.

I actually spanked Stazi today. I'm not much of a spanker. I'm the reasoning kind of gaurdian/parent/aunt. But, I felt like it would be selfish of me not to. I don't want her to go home with the memory of mean old kiki spanking her to make her eat being the last thing she remembers. But she needs to learn a little bit of "have to". She is so used to getting whatever she wants, apparently. And, after a few bites of food she had originally refused to eat (despite the fact that I know she likes beans and rice), we cuddled and I got her a chocolate milk. A little sugar wont kill a kid. I worry more about not enough nutrition and about the poisons in pre-prepared foods. I worry more about her facing disapointment, when she gets older, if she never learns about having to do things she doesn't want to. That's the main reason that I made her eat some beans and rice. (that and the fact that at least there is a little nutrition in it, more so than macaroni and cheese).

Anyway... over all the weekend was great. I think we all had fun, although Tori needs some alone-time with me, I think. I just don't want Stazi to feel left out while she is going through the parental-divorce thing. I need to see about getting some time off while Stazi is at Daycare and Tori is free.

I bought them some kimonos a while back. We finally had a chance for them to dress up in them. I think they got a kick out of it. Stazi wanted to sleep in hers.
Here's some pics. :)

And then one of the "spider ice cream". (a swirly ice cream that just happened to look rather spidery on top)

Ok... so photoblogger isn't working right now. Well... I'll insert them later, I guess. For now, just trust me. They look adorable in their kimono and obi and all that. :)

I’ve told at least 4 people, so far, that I would be at Richo’s tonight. It’s Davefest and I can’t go tomorrow night. I should go. I will go. But, a large part of me just wants to put on a kimono, curl up with a good book, and drink myself to sleep.
I wish I could leave work early today. Some time to eat something healthy and read and relax would be nice. I REALLY need to get out of here.

Kimono Sanctuary

If I weren't makeup-less, I would take a picture. I've never taken a picture of myself in full kimono.

This is sort of a continuation on my previous post (which was written at work and emailed home, although I never write blog junk at work anymore). I arrived home only to be alone again, basically, for reasons I wont get into. No fault of anyone, really, just very bad timing. I don't expect the world or anyone in it to arrange their time to suit mine, so that's no biggie.

But, when I am in a bad mood, I find wearing Japanese-looking things very soothing. Why is that? Does it instill in me a sense of "wa"? Perhaps that's it, at least to an extent. It reminds me to ask for less and enjoy the minimal things. Also, it is a matter of doing/being what I want (by wearing what I want) despite the world around me... a world that makes little sense and is mostly cold, vain, and empty.

I was just going to slip into a silky kimono and read, but I ended up putting on the jyuban, kimono, tying the extremely complicated nagoya obi, and completing it with the obijime. I skipped the tabi and geta, as my feet like to be free, bare, and natural. This is how I embrace being alone and how I can come to love it.

When God (or nature, if you refuse to think of God) made tiny little worms that spin tiny little threads that, when painstakenly woven together, can make a natural human-size cocoon of smoother-than-baby-skin wrappings... that was one amazing gift. To put real care into the craft of silk is to appreciate that gift, thread by tiny thread, process by tedious process. When I wear a very old vintage kimono, made the old fashioned way with hard-working and patient hands, I am wrapped in the calm of humans loving a gift of nature. That is a mentality that makes sense to me and soothes me. All paths, all crafts and works, lead to enlightenment according to the old Japanese way, so long as you take extreme care in every step and treat your work, your art, as if it is far greater than you are. In this way, a samauri would respect his caligraphy as much as his swordsmanship... in this way, a poet, seamstress, and a trusted consultant of the rulers of the "island of the gods", are all on equal ground. In this way, we are all nothing, and yet all hands that shape something divine.

Although I am no disciple of the religions of the east, I think God could want little more than to see us all embrace the beauty of our existances, and the humble way of putting our works before ourselves, in this manner.

There are 5 layers of silk around me, now, not counting the obi, obijime, and whatever you call the other belts. Layers of time have spun the work of tiny creatures of nature in to a swaths of earthy womb for me to rest in, and I am grateful for that.

If I ever get married again, IF, then I would like to wear a kimono. After all, I would only want to be with a man who understood my excentricities, and would not question my love of such things. He would not think "shouldn't her dress be white and poofy?", or "what is that blonde white chick think she's doing in a freakin kimono?". He would only think "Doesn't my little Morkiko look beautiful in all that Japanese silk?". I would also only get married in the woods, where I belong and where I feel whole. Heck, I might even walk down the "isle" (or path) barefoot. Why the heck not? This is my life and I am me, myself, the wild-flower-eating, kimono-wearing, spanish-song-singing, italian-cooking, german-beer-loving, book-gluttoning, typeaholic, tree-hugging creature that I am.

Anyway... so here I sit in a kimono, drinking a beer and rambling on my blog. I think I'll go read a book in bed until I fall asleep. Good night folks.

Bad Day - Send me home

Couldn’t sleep much of last night, especially the hours between 5 and 8. Got up late, tired, lonely (Stephen had been out), and depressed. So, then I got to work 8 minutes late, with the weight over my head of knowing that the clique has been watching my time, hungry for fuel with which to burn me. Always fun to work with a “team” that has no appreciation for what you do. Now, I’m trying to work… getting crappy files that take forever and feeling like I’m under the relentless surveillance of people who only wish me ill. Then I get this killer file that has taken me, quite literally, half of my freakin day. I should have gotten 4 or 5 files done in the time I have messed with this crazy file, but it had mis-indexed deeds, conflicting legal descriptions, incomplete and confusing tax info, 15 judgments against the borrower, and one hell of a strange divorce case that even the judge said presented “novel questions of law”, etc… (and all 3 of his wives would agree, I think). I’m depressed, feel rather alone, and just want to go home. I just want so very badly to go home.
I’ve never been anything but nice to these people, I work hard, and take on the crappiest work. I don’t play online and chat via IM all day like many of them do, but somehow I pulled the wrong straw and lucked into the part of dinner on this cannibalist-fest. Then, when I get hit with files like these, I know that no matter how hard I work today, it will look like I didn’t do enough files. SEND ME HOME!!!

Later:
I was hoping to actually ask to go home early, but it’s 4:30 now, there are still 7 files left to do today, and all the examiners have gone home except for me and two other people.
I am trying my best just to keep from crying, but I tear up every time my coworkers laugh at secret jokes and make sneers and complaints about the smell of my lunch (fish). I want so badly to go home. I hate this place so much, and it obviously hates me even more. I’m not normally a tearful pansy about this sort of thing… must be PMS. The hormones turn my adamantium backbone to cellulite.

Victoria

I am very bad about arranging time with my niece. Sometimes I wait too long to spend time with her, but mainly I wait until the last minute to make plans, never know exactly what we will do together, and am sloppy about informing everyone that is involved.

Much of this, predictably, is because I am a last-minute person who slacks at making plans.

Much of it, perhaps even most of it, is because it feels wrong. Making arrangements for sitters at the right time would feel more natural. Shaping my entire life around the inevitability of her being here, dependant upon me as her mother, feels like the only natural life for my baby and me. Arranging time to see her… alien. She should simple be here, night and day. There should never need be any thought given to visiting her, only to the occasional inconvenience of sending her away to a sitter or relative or friend. This relationship has been twisted, inverted, turned inside out by the cruel gap between the reality of her physical parentage, and my love for my daughter.

Sometimes this life feels wrong, making arrangements to fit her into my life, when at heart, she is the center and purpose of my life.

From before she was born, to the time I asked my sister if I could adopt her, to these days now, when she has a tiny room (usually empty) in my humble home, I find myself swallowing the selfish need to have my girl with me because I know that it is better for her to be with her parent.

Her crib was a few steps from my bed, her baths happened a few inches from it, her food hand ground by my overly-long pale fingers, her face and fingers washed ritually by my spirit and heart and every other cheesy expression… I have moved on in my life, but my heart is still there, hanging over her empty crib, where I cried every night after she was whisked away from it… That was the place where I was forced to accept that she was not mine.
I am a realist. I accept the ugliest of the facts of life before they even dare approach me. I have widened my stance and prepared for every worst truth before it had the time to smack at me, but this one most obvious truth I refused to see. I didn’t carry her, give birth to her, or name her… yet I have never once really accepted that she is not mine, and I never will be able to.

Jobs schmobs

When I go to work, I go there to work. That's it. I like to witness the ways of people and I do observe them. I also try to be friendly and, if ever someone seems to feel left out, I try to make a special effort to reach out to them. A job becomes more than a job, though, when there is a real team spirit in the air. Sounds cheesy, but it does make a difference.

For months I hoped that spirit would evolve. It did among a scattered few of us who work late and stay till the job is done. A totally positive spirit - never judging those who go home early (hey, they get in earlier than I do and may work faster for all I know). But, as for the majority... it is all sideways glances and blind biases.

I don't share gossip or badmouth or backstab to get in good with people. I try to earn my part by working hard for the team. But, that isn't worth much to most people. When keyboards chatter in secret IM's, when coworkers glare or roll eyes in my periphial view, I ignore it. When someone seems down or overworked, I try to help.

But... these methods of mine don't fly in the social puppy-meat banquet for canines that is normal social interaction. Common goals and common interests don't unite normal people. They bond best in having someone to gang up on. When one person is ousted, they move their attention to someone else... whichever straggler is enough out of the clique to be fair pickings and not fall under the protection of the pack.

Sad, sad truths...

So... I go about my days. I am friendly and resist frustration and judgment. But, I miss the days when I worked with a team, united by our loyalty to the common goal, our dedication and exhuastion, and our pride in what we accomplished on a daily basis.

But, all I can really do now is trudge on and hope that when this wave passes (and I have been in this company long enough to witness so many waves) that the next one will be a positive one. I also have to hope that my boss is aware that I, of course, am going to do less files in a day than the ones who get the cake files. I think he knows. After all... he gave me the challenging work for a reason. I dig in, learn, and do it.

It's a shame that the atmosphere at work is the way it is. Individually, I find all the people there pleasant and interesting in their own ways. I don't know why they feel the need to form alliances against others. Maybe they have been steeped in too much "vote someone off the island" TV.

*sigh*

Work sucks. jobs suck. But, at least I have a good job, with good insurance, and pitiful but consistant pay. The competitive dribblings of the canibalistic socialites will just have to run off my back for now. This wave will pass. In the mean time, I will do my best to earn my place the honorable way. Any who don't appreciate that can kiss my can.

No Need to Fret

This is just me playing Stephen's fretless jazz bass at a recent band practice. Much fun was had by all, especially me, and no animals were harmed in the process. :)

A Model Youth

These are a few snapshots I took to send in in hopes of Tori getting to be on a cover of a local author's book. I love the first one - innocent and mischeivious at the same time, neh? For the others I was trying for a more in-character look, though I know very little about the character. Wish her luck. :)

starts well = ends well

I can't say that the day began perfectly. I woke up late (not surprising, since I ate restaurant food yesterday and got to sleep a bit late). But, I was very productive today at work. I followed up on every one of my backplants, some several times (if you aren't in the company, then let's just say I followed up on a whole huge slew of file problems and kept on them like mad). I felt good about this, and got home in a working groove. So, I sorted through 4 1/2 baskets worth of clean laundry and got it all sorted into drawers (a miracle for me) when I got home. Productive at work, productive at home. I love the feeling of accomplishment that follows a productive day.
-interjection... you'd likely be amazed how hard it is to type on a normal keyboard after a being accustomed to an ergonomic keyboard at work. Half of my keystrokes must be the backspace key.
anyway... a good day. Now, I get to reward myself. I've been drinking beer while cleaning. Now, I'm posting because I am in the computer room - the only room in the house where smoking is allowed - while having my reward cigarette with some reward beer. Next, I'll curl up on the couch with my amazing and wonderful boyfriend for some TV, grilled hot wings, and the rest of this beer. A++ day. :)
My thanks go out to Richo's, for letting Stephen come home, and to Brandi, for getting us caught up enough at work that I could spend the day catching up on Backplants. That girl, no matter what stresses she meets in life, works like a dog. What a gal, what a worker, what a friend... you have no freakin idea. I wish I could reward her somehow.
Wow. It is really hard to type on a normal keyboard when used to the ergonomic kind. That "half backspacing" thing is not even an hyperbole(sp?).
whew. so... that's enough posting tonight. Too much work on this keyboard.

Anyway... do you have your Davefest shirt yet? check in on my buddy Dave, on barenada.com, and get your shirt. All the coolest of the antisocial cool are doing it. :P I know I'll be buying mine.

Best of my affections to my loyal readers, and especially to Stephen (he's always first, whether he reads or not), and Dave, Rahx, and daddy-Josh. :) Love and hugs, fellas.

Oh, and PS... because family "rocks", to Daddy, his girlfriend Mary Jo, and my awesome nieces (with whome I had the most amazing and grueling hike yesterday). And also to my sister, because I love her, she also rocks, she is the mother of "my children", and because she is simply a wonderful person that I would love, family or not.

Now listening to: Solomon Burke (look him up, folks)
Shout out to: all the folks above, and all other family (especially my wonderful Aunt Connie), the southend guys, the Empire guys (and gals), and my fellow title-slaves at Firstam. :)

When I see a stranger in pain, it pains me that my words or hugs or gestures would only be intrusion, no comfort. But when you hear of news that must strike someone to the center of them, and that person is loved by someone you love... what is there to do or say?

A good friend of the man I love is going through something horrible, perhaps a tragic cliff at the end of the most painful and exhausting journey, but I am powerless to help her. For a moment, holding him while he felt the pain of it, I felt only guilt... there I was... clinging to the man I love, who loves me beautifully, while a good person is experiencing something so terrible. Why should I have such happiness while a good person suffers? I know she is a good person. I can see it in his eyes.

I came to the answer that we should be grateful for our blessings while we have them, for we all could lose what we have at any time. A trite and cliched truth.

I pray she reads my site, although she has no reason to. Though it may be of no comfort to you, this stranger loves you. I love you because I know pain, though I have never known anything like what you have been going through. I care because I know you must be a beautiful person who deserves better. I cry and pray for you because love and empathy make one feel what someone they love feels. When he cries for you, paining at your pain, I feel it too. If there is ever anything either of us can do, you know the number. Your calls are more than welcome in my home. If it would help to talk to me, I'll be there. If you need me to leave while you talk to him, I'll drive to Marengo and back. Whatever you need, please know that you are not alone.

Just thinking and rambling

I was thinking about my niece, how unstable life must seem to her. And I was thinking about my poem, about life being a shifting mess and being my own security, my own Tara and about wanting to be a Tara to others. I try to be that for her. But my years are numbered. The number may be 80, it may be 32.

As unsteady as things must seem to her right now, she basically has 3 parents that will always love her. That got me thinking about her home. A home that will be there all her life, no matter where she lives. Dad has land that he has already put partly in my sisters name and mine. Some day it will be in hers and her sisters names. I never thought about that till just now, that someday they will share that land like my sister and I will. I hope they respect each other’s wishes and respect that land as much as we do.

I guess it’s lucky that I probably wont have kids. Sharing that land between two could already be complicated enough. But, I was glad to know that she will have her own little Tara, even after we are all dead and gone. My love for her will always be there, because there is no place more me than that land, despite the fact that I rarely make time to go there. Both of her great-grandmother’s ashes are a part of the trees there now, reborn from human to nature… feeding the trees that grow there. Her grandmother (my mother) is a part of the dogwoods and sassafras alike. When I die, I will be food for this warm earth myself. Our remnants of our lives, once we have spent the bulk of them on living, will be passed on to the very land that grows and produces for us now.

I need to teach her about land and caring for it, and what it means and about never carving it up to sell to developers and the like. But then, she is made of us, and she sprouts up among a forest of people, this family, who respect the land. She is also a bright young thing who never wastes a bit of light that shines on her. She will no doubt learn the lessons we have to teach on that subject simply by growing among us.

I still worry about what her attitude on love will be, since the examples she has seen have been unsteady and full of pain. But the love she has gotten from us is unwavering. Hopefully that will give her the strength to live her life, and not hide from love. Hopefully she will also have better experiences that ours.

Then, somewhere past hope is faith… I am not a person full of faith in people, even those I love. But I have faith that Stephen, whom has been slow to enter her life, will be even slower to leave it. His appearance in her forest has been like a slow growing tree. The trees that grow the slowest are generally the strongest. When he loves me, he gives me strength. That love is an example. Even if for no other reason that the fact that the strength he gives me is visible.

I thank God that she has me, her parents, and that land. Her life may seem utter chaos to her right now, but no matter how fierce a storm her tiny branches weather right now, the soil at her feet will nurture her. We give all we have at her roots, despite tumultuous skies. She will grow strong, I believe.
She will be an amazing person. I know that because she already is.

Does it make me a sick individual? In some ways, I really LIKE working two jobs. Sure, I’m worn out, I hate that I have no time for anything or anyone, and I’m not making much money as a waitress. But, I get a rush of confidence and pride knowing I’m doing it, and I’m doing it pretty well. I am not a sickly wimp. Ha ha! Take that, world! I am still She-ra!

I think the boost of confidence has helped my performance at my first job. I’ve been working like a dog and not getting distracted at all. Plus, I’ve been getting commercial files more, which makes the job enjoyable. I love commercial real estate because it’s just something different, and a bit more complicated. Makes me feel special and challenged, as cheesy as those things may be.

The Effexor I’m taking now is also helping. I don’t know if it’s enough, but it is helping. It causes some drowsiness, but I’m hoping that side effect will wear off as my system adjusts to it. One down side of the Effexor, though… I think it has decreased my alcohol tolerance. I got totally hammered Saturday night off of 4 very weak beers (bottles, not even pints). I was a bit embarrassed a) that I got drunk and b) that I was such a lightweight. Oopsie! Well, I didn’t know that my tolerance had changed. Guess I will have to be more careful in the future.

This post is dedicated to Dave, whom has loyally been checking my site regularly, despite my failure to post. Thanks Dave. J If you all get bored and are disappointed that I don’t post regularly, check out his site at barenada.com. You might even read about me there, on rare occasion. I am doo-rag girl. J

Well, I need to get out of here so I can see my honey. I don’t get to see him enough these days.
Live long and prosper,
England prevails,
Mutant power,
And all that jazz,
Noggin

Eat a Sunny Day

Sunflower seeds are one of the best food sources of Phenylaline, a precursor of Dopamine. Dopamine is the neurotransmitter at the root of ADD, addictive tendancies, and is one of the neurotransmitters affecting depression.

I'll have to go buy myself a bunch of sunflower seeds today. Of course, maintaining a stable level of dopamine is key, so does that mean I have to eat a set amount of seeds every so often all day every day, or will my body store up phenylaline until it needs to turn it into Tyrosine and Dopamine?

Dunno. But I'm gonna start eating lots of Sunflower seeds.

Sunflower Seeds... they may not really keep vampires away, but they could protect us theta-wave surfers from drowning in our own noggins.

I really hate admitting that I would need medicine to help me, but all shame and pride aside, I’m an honest sort… so let’s be honest.
I am not perfect. Big F-ing surprise.

Now, I am not one who takes the idea of medicine lightly.
I refused to take regular allergy medication, despite my doctor’s insistence, and learned to reduce allergens in my environment and diet instead.
Instead of the daily migraine pills my doctor suggested, I learned to avoid migraine triggers, plus I take a tiny bit of butterbur extract just during one week per month.
I no longer use Advair. By making some tough dietary changes, I eliminated the need for it.
The modern way would have had me taking pills for IBS, but instead I found my food allergies and cut them out of my diet.
I could have listened to the “expert” and become dependant on Thyroid medication FOR LIFE, but I found another doc who tried a different surgery and so I take absolutely nothing for my now-healthy thyroid.
I get some very sever pain from my endometriosis sometimes, but I ignore it. I take no pain pills, hormone pills, or any of the other things doctors would suggest. I usually wont even take advil for it (scoffs… as if advil could touch that kind of pain anyway).

Generally, I believe you are as strong as you chose to be. I am not a sickly person, and because I found the roots of most of my problems and have gone all dietary-nazi on myself, I have taken control of them. I consider medication to be a last resort. I also consider it an evil to be carefully weighed against the evil of any health problem, because sometimes the health problem is the lesser of evils.

However, after fighting and kicking and being the stubborn cast-iron-skulled gal that I often am, I accepted what I learned through years of experience; that all my will-power games, self-analysis, and determination can never really compensate for my chemical imbalance. I have to take something or my life suffers, my job suffers, and anyone willing to get close to me suffers. My ADD & Depression are just too paralyzing to be fighting all the time without any help.
While we are on the topic of ADD. Why do almost all the articles act as if ADD and ADHD are the same thing and require the same treatment, etc.. etc… ? They are quite similar, but create different problems. I’ve been researching, trying to see what medications might help that paralyzing ADD feeling, but all I find are mentions of how certain medications are great at treating the hyperactivity, nervousness, etc… etc… THAT AINT MY PROBLEM. What kind of idiot can’t tell the difference between damn-near catatonia and freakin hyperactivity? Idiots, I tell you… IDIOTS!
If you don’t know anything about ADD vs ADHD, there’s a short bit about it here:
http://add.about.com/cs/addthebasics/a/add.htm

Anyway… I need to narrow things down a bit, and fast. My Doc appointment is Tuesday, though I wish it were sooner. I waited too long. My old medicine stopped working months ago, and didn’t seem to be working very well months before that. Now, I am worried about my job, tired of being a burden/trial to the man I love, and I’m really sick of fighting with all my might just to argue myself into work each morning, only to get nothing done when my brain slips gears and disconnects from reality for what adds up to hours every day.

Deciding to take antidepressants was a very big deal to me. My pride and stubborn nature did not agree with the concept. But, I did it. I accepted it. Now that the one stopped working and I have to chose another one, I find myself facing the decision again. I know I already made this decision. I know my problem is chemical and not psychological. I know that it is not a problem I can overcome without help. But still, I feel like I have to swallow my pride and make the decision again and it’s like I’m starting over.

But, I can’t do this to myself and the people who rely on me. I can’t fuck up my life out of pride, just because I hate the thought of needing a pill. I despise any form of weakness in myself, and that seems like a big one. But, I have to do what has to be done. Time to grow up and take my medicine.

Now… which one, dammit?

THE coolest freakin motorcycle I have EVER seen.

Batman would drool if he saw this machine. All things mechanical and all things art must have made some mad, passionate, white-hot lovin to birth this beautiful, sleek, and sexy creation.
I'm in love.
Of course, it would cost more than my car. :(
But imagine what I'd save on gas!
Alright... so I wouldn't even know how to drive it. But I'd learn, I tell ya. Oh hell yeah I'd learn. :)

Damn. I can't stop looking at it.

NEW YAMAHAS UNVEILED: Yamaha is showcasing a number of 2006 models at its motorsports business meeting in Las Vegas. Most significant among these are the all-new Roadliner cruisers and Stratoliner touring cruisers. All include a mix of art deco/industrial/streamliner design from 1930s America, Yamaha spokesmen say, plus some highly modern touches to go with very up-to-date engineering. Available in October, the Roadliners come in three versions, starting in the mid-$13,000 range. Out in December, and starting at just over $15,000, the three Stratoliners are the touring models that will come with saddlebags and quick-detach passenger backrests and windshields. All-new 113 cubic-inch (1,854cc), air-cooled, pushrod V-Twins power these models. They feature four-valve, twin-spark-plug heads and electronic fuel-injection. Frames are lightweight aluminum, as are the swingarms, crafted with the same type of controlled-fill die-casting technique first seen on sporting Yamaha street bikes. For more details, visit Yamaha’s web site at http://www.yamaha-motor.com/ and click on the section for Star Motorcycles.

bumper stuck

People are so stuck on bumper stickers, lately.
And all these ribbons... I want to start selling car-ribbons that support C.A.B.S. (citizens against bumber stickers).

Admittedly, I wouldn't mind having the one, though, that says "preserve nature... pickle a squirrell". That I rather like. I do have a Medeski Martin & Wood sticker on my car, now, but that's enough. One is my limit.

A friend of mine asked me about a bumper sticker he saw, today. It said “If it’s NOT A BABY, you’re NOT pregnant!”, and he didn’t get what it meant. I explained that it was a pro-life sticker, and what pro-choice dictum it was attempting to rebut, but I still found the sticker quite idiotic.

Now, If I was going to put a pro-life sticker on my car, it would just say:

If you can kill someone for being in your belly,
Then can I shoot you for riding my ass?

It's simple, it's to the point, and it reminds you to stop reading my bumper before I slam on my breaks and make your insurance buy me a new car.

SOMETHING LIKE WELLBUTRIN?

IMPORTANT (to me at least)

HAVE YOU EVER TAKEN WELLBUTRIN?
DID IT WORK WELL FOR YOU?
IF SO, WHAT ELSE HAS?

Wellbutrin worked really well for me, better than other stuff I’d taken in the past, and yet worked in a way that lifted some of the haze/craziness without making me feel drugged up or weird. I’ve grown immune to it, though. I’m trying to just go without antidepressants for now, but I know that if I give in and determine it is time to go back on them, then I wont have time to research options then. I have to decide now what I will take if I go back on meds.
I’ve read some things about Effexor and I might put it on my “in case of emergency, break pride and get this RX” list. But, it can have some funky side effects.

Depending on what chemical imbalance you have, different meds will work differently on you. If you respond pretty well to Wellbutrin, have depression, ADD, and some anxiety but more problems with being unmotivated to just barely the sane side of catatonic than you do with anxiety, then you’re probably in my boat. If so, what works for you?

Of course, no one reads my site anymore, so I’m probably embarrassing myself for nothing, but you never know… it’s worth a try.

Stephen, Stephen, and more Stephen :)

To watchers, to his friends, we probably seem quite different.
But when we sit silently on the front porch, watching the traffic,
Nothing need be said. It simply feels so natural, as if we came from some common background that no one else understands.
He remarks on the crazy things that people do, and how they make no sense.
I find it remarkable to hear someone view things the same way I do, and equally unlike the way everyone else views things.
I speak, and he understands. He speaks, and he makes sense.
These very simple things, these things I’ve never had before, are miraculous to me.
And yet, they fade into the background of what he gives me.
The joy of cooking together, the license to paint while he writes music, without him expecting me to follow his every step like some men do…
Our differences balance so well, our sameness smooth and serene.
We’ve both traveled such awkward, tortuous paths through life… our histories are not the same, and yet they seem to feel like common ground.
The passion, the jokes, the comfort, the music – all the things we share.
He’s my family, my future, my muse and my music.
He is better than fearless. He’s brave. He can walk right up to this 5’ 11” mass of tangled thoughts and violent emotions, hold my clinched fists, kiss my lazer eyes, and turn me into a puddle of girlie kitten-ness.
He’s better than perfect. He’s human, and aware of his humanity, and thus full of compassion and devoid of judgment.
I look up to him, and know I am safe, protected, and understood. I see him look at me, and know he sees me fairly, knowing I am not helpless. I watch him sleep, and know I would do anything to protect him.
He even gives me what I need most of all, honesty. When most men in this world seem like ball-less stammering double-talkers, full of sweet-talk and/or cold distance, he anti’s up the truth with me, good, bad, or in between.
I trust him implicitly, love him without boundary, respect him immensely, and lust after him like a spell-bound nymph.
I am the luckiest woman in the world. :)

My weekend completely sucked. My chest and neck muscles all hurt from the non-stop puking that lasted for hours and hours and hours Friday night/Saturday morning. I didn’t get to go hiking Saturday. I basically missed band practice Friday. I had to call in to Job2 Saturday because I was still so sick. If I could have gotten that Phenergan down sooner on Friday, it might not have been so bad. But every time I took it, it came right back up. I had to work Sunday to make up for Saturday. My sock had a hole in it so it rubbed a blister into my heel and my foot was bleeding into my boot while I waited tables. Even after work, I didn’t really get to have any fun time with Stephen, since he was feeling ill Sunday.
And now here I am… at work… Monday. It’s Monday again and I never really had a weekend. I just want to hike now and then, or spend some time with my boyfriend while he’s not too out of it to spend time with me, and/or maybe get some stuff done on the house, etc…
Honestly, I don’t mind working 2 jobs. I just want something to look forward to now and then. The band thing is a great thing to look forward to, but we never know when practice is going to happen, so I can’t look forward to it or count on it. Friday, band practice didn’t start until late and I had to be at job2 the next morning, so I couldn’t have stayed more than an hour or so even if I hadn’t gotten sick.

Guess I’d better work hard today and keep busy. My antidepressants stopped working some time ago, so I can’t afford to let myself think about how I feel right now. If I accomplish a lot at work, at least I can feel proud of what I’ve done. If I keep busy, I won’t have time to think about how depressed I am right now.

On to the files!

A cheesy song I just wrote, though it has no melody.

It's all your fault.
can't you see
That I can never sing about you and me?
'Cause failure, heartbreak, and woe are all I know how to write,
So, how do I sing about being done right?

And now the girls will all be sick to death from spite and jealousy,
The men crying that you made ‘em look so bad.
I guess the only wrong you’ve ever done is doing so right by me
-loving me so well it sometimes drives me mad.

I'm lost for words.
There’s just no hope.
I’d sound like some naïve, rambling, lovesick dope.
A love like this is great for living, but is no good for a song.
You love me so well, that you may've done me wrong.

The girls out there now curse my name for having found you first.
The men are grumbling cusswords to their long neck beers.
You’re every blessing that I ever needed, but sometimes that’s a curse
-What good’s a song that no one wants to hear?

It's all your fault.
can't you see
That I can never sing about you and me?
'Cause failure, heartbreak, and woe are all I know how to write
So, how do I sing about being done right?


Sounds like a country song, doesn't it? Weird, considering I never really listen to county.

Channeling the past

The first song I learned with the band was “Don’t think twice” by Susan Tedeschi. I sang that constantly during 2004. I used to feel that song SO much that it was hard to sing it without crying. To sing it with the band now, though, I actually have to try to put myself back in time, so I can remember how I felt back then and channel that into the song.

When one of the guys brought a new tune to practice Sunday, it really struck me the moment I heard it. It was a sweet, melancholy, beautiful tune. All I had for it, at first, was ooooooo’s, but I really liked singing to it. It needed something soft, but a little mournful, so I threw in some very generic “hearbreak” themed lyrics. Trying to add to that, I of course pulled from the last romantic-type heartbreak in my past. Again… channeling the past to sing now.

The weird thing is, that if it were not so distant in the past, I don’t think I could use it for singing. If I was still emotional about it, I’d care too much about saying it all, saying it clearly, etc… etc… and not be able to just stand back, grab a couple vague thoughts from my ancient-history grab bag, and toss them in so casually.

Maybe it’s true… maybe it can come in handy to have some bad days in your past (so long as they are far enough in the past).

There are things far closer to my heart that actually still hurt me, (friends I miss, my own failings and weaknesses, aggravation over screwed-up social norms, etc…) but this was distant enough that I can simplify it into lyrics, now. If you feel too intensely about something, it is nearly impossible to put it into words, especially words simple enough to lend themselves to use as lyrics. (especially when you are not used to ever writing lyrics)

Plus, the things that do nag at my brain these days are less common topics (like I said, friends I miss, etc… etc…) and romantic heartbreak is a more accessible theme for listeners. Some times it’s nice to use a general theme that people can relate to. I usually prefer to do things a little differently, but there is something to be said for embracing a little common ground with people, I guess.

___
On a different note, thank goodness I'm with a man, now, that inspires me only in happy melodies. I'm such a lucky woman. :D
I guess I'm actually fortunate that my ex treated me the way he did, in a round-about way. If he hadn't turned so completely cold towards me then, I would have never known what it is like to be as happy as I am now. It is amazing to be with someone honorable and loving and understanding who appreciates you... -I'd better shut up before I start gushing about how awesome my man is again. He hates that. (but it's true!)

:)

What is in a name?

Well, for starters there should be a lot more in it than two N’s and an A.

I’ve always hated my middle name, if you can even call it a name. Ann is nothing more than filler for when you’re too worn out from childbirth to bother giving your child a real middle name. If my parents had a reason behind the name, I might not mind it quite as much (ie, if they’d had a favorite aunt named Ann or something), but no… it was just filler.

So, in my book, I have no middle name. If it was just weird or dorky or impossible to pronounce, I wouldn’t even think of changing it, because it’d be my name, good or bad. But, since I basically have no middle name, I would like to give myself one.

You see, when I was married I kept my maiden name as my middle name, and then took on my husband’s name as my last name. So, I got quite used to having a middle name. It looked good on the business cards, filled out the center space, and was a name that was both personal to me and served as a tie to my family. Now, since I’m divorced, I’m suddenly deprived of a middle name again.

About a year ago, I started thinking of having my middle name legally changed to a real name. Thinking of a name isn’t that hard. After all, it’s just a name. It doesn’t need to (nor could it possibly) define me as a person. It just needs to be a name. The hard part is this… how do you give yourself a name without it being totally cheesy? I mean, come on… it’s like the kid in Jr high who wanted a nick name so he just decides one day “From now on, I’m no longer Douglas… I’m The Dougger” or “Flash”, or “Slick”… you get the idea. It’s just lame.

But I’m not really changing my name. I’ll still be Kat. All I want to do is give myself a middle name because I don’t really have one. Is that so bad? Ok… well, what if that name is a Japanese name? I’m not Japanese. I don’t speak Japanese. I’ve never been to Japan, but it doesn’t seem that weird to me. After all, ALL of our names originated somewhere, and very few of them started in America (unless your name is Shushani tutanka obwachi or something). Kathleen is originally Greek, I think, and I’m not the slightest bit Greek. I’ve set foot in 5 countries in my life, and none of them are where my last name came from, either. So, who says I can’t pick a name from any country?

Anyway, so I’ve been thinking about making my middle name Moriko. No, I won’t expect to have my business cards say “Kat 森子 (last name)”. No fancy Kanji. Just Moriko. Or maybe just M. Kat M. (last name). I don’t need to show off my middle name. I’d just like to have one. Is that so very strange? I don’t think so, but then I analyze based on reasons, not common practice. I dunno. After a year of thinking I probably wouldn’t, I’m starting to think I will. Surely it can’t cost all that much, to have a name legally changed.

*sigh* it would be much simpler had I just been born with a decent middle name. My sister got a middle name. My mother was not a boring nor stupid person. Surely she was capable of coming up with two whole names for me. You'd think she might have even come up with something relatively interesting. Heck, naming me after her favorite pop song would have been better than nothing. But hey... everyone is different. Maybe two names sounded like too much to her. Maybe she was taking a minimalist approach. Whatever the reasons, I want a real name. It is, after all, my name anyway. I should have some say.

Silly conversation of the day

He said: Smart-Ass!

I said: Me, a smart ass?? Well, my ass is getting bigger, these days… I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s grown enough to attain sentience.

He said: And now, gather ‘round, for another exciting episode of:
Tales of…The Sentient Ass! Ass! Ass! Ass! Ass! Ass! Ass! Ass!

By day- mild mannered, unassuming nature's human couch cushion works hard to provide comfort and forward thrust to it’s master while suffering the indignations of random construction workers!

By night- a raging, phat weapon of justice doling out flatulent retribution on the chauvinistic, pig-heads who’ve objectified it, taken it for granted and secretly lusted after it while taunting it with stupid metaphors!

Workin hard for the $

By the way, I am now working two jobs, so you may not hear from me a whole lot.
I work full-time in my fancy office (soon to be a cubicle because the whole office is changing locations to a cheaper site) doing title insurance (real estate paralegal work, basically).

And now, in the evenings, I will be slaving away waiting on tables. I'm not looking forward to it, but hopefully I'll make some money to help dig myself out of debt, at least to a more managable level. If I can pay off a couple credit cards (maybe even my car too?) then what I make at my first job might be enough to get me by.

Here's hoping they don't try to overschedule me and all that (crosses fingers).

A noteworthy compliment

Last night, a musician from out of town visited and jammed with the band. He’s an old friend and former band-mate of a couple of the guys in the band. He not only liked my singing, he asked if I was really white. He said that if he had heard me with his eyes closed, he’d never have guessed I was white.
Now, I’m not someone who buys into racial stereotypes, but being a person somewhat steeped in Jazz & blues, I know what my favorite singers happen to look like, and they weren’t pasty-skinned blondes. So, I can’t help but take that as a massive compliment. I was beaming with joy. I don’t know that I agree with him, since every time I hear a recording of myself I am severely disappointed. But, we can hope that he’s right and I’m wrong. :)
I hope everyone sticks with this. I hope we can find a drummer who actually shows up, which seems to be our biggest problem. If we do, then it shouldn’t be that long before we have enough songs written/learned to start playing out. I will be SO frickin excited when that happens… IF that happens.
Fingers crossed, please, everyone. This is a major lifelong dream of Noggin’s. Let’s hope it pans out.

Oh…. note to self: update links (dave, Nta, daed, etc…)

Sense is anything but common

People are so funny… this girl I work with is grossed out by the fact that I walk around the office barefoot, sometimes. She insists that I will get a fungus on my feet. She said no one vacuums in here. I pointed out that our office is vacuumed every night and the kitchen is mopped every night. I know because I’m here when he does it. Didn't matter to her, still grossed out.

So.. the floors here are cleaner than your average home carpet, and yet it is gross to her that I am barefoot on it.

And then, I bet money she’d go barefoot at a public pool or gym shower, which is the #1 place to pick up athlete’s foot and plantar warts.

Hmm… gross to let relatively clean floors touch one’s bare feet…
But ok to walk barefoot on a wet disease-fest...
spacespace*sigh* I guess we have yet another example of the fact that people are heavily influenced by what is common practice, but rarely ever apply common sense.

No offense to her. I like her just fine, and we all have our little things that bug us, but still… it is funny. :)


PS: today is painfully boring. I have not had ONE file. Some have come in, but somehow they are snatched up before I even see them, and I keep checking and checking. It's really frustrating. My production report will be terrible!
Guess I'll just keep busy with scanning plats in and hope to catch a file soon.

Reflections

Sunlight blissfully curls about your countenance.
The cat stretches out over her favorite forbidden sleep-haven in my clean laundry basket.
The sunlight beams, the cat purrs… the house resonates with a tranquil luminosity.

You have a glow of purity about you… the sort of true light that radiates from deep within; the kind that cannot be stifled by any darkness of days, layers of history, or shades of regret.

I do my best to envelope your precious sleeping frame, holding on tight enough to keep an impression of your warmth in my mind all day.

In this moment, you are much like a perfect child.
And yet, you are the man I admire above all men.

You are self-aware, selfless, loving…
You’re code is your own. You’d let no one write or erase it for you.
Humble, unassuming…
You’ve never really studied the things of God or really sought "spirituality", and yet you embody more of such things than many who study it.

Satan and the Nice Guy

So many stories to every face,
Hard enough to keep them straight.
But, with two tales of marriage and divorce,
People get confused, of course.

So I forgo the names, to keep things clear
And tell tales of heartbreak from tales of fear.
For them to protect, and myself indemnify,
I call them Satan and the Nice Guy.

Satan hails from Hell City itself;
Feeds on others and pure vitriol expels,
Gives kittens concussions and, one can’t deny,
Makes those in his lair wish only to die.

The other, to insure stories aren’t confused,
I call Nice Guy -with him I was not abused.
With him I was politely disliked and ignored,
My love cordially judged, heart quietly gored.

Without names, no more pain can they give;
Reduced to shadows of past deaths I lived.
For how clumsily I flailed, in love’s death throws,
Let my name be The Fool, but that part you know.

By titles, they’re safe from my embittered heart,
And you, saved the trouble of telling them apart.
And now you’ve a poem, in case you wondered why
I call them Satan and the Nice Guy.