Drunk Lindsey. Ready..... GO.

Here's a video of me talking about why Halloween is the ultimate supreme holiday. I also talk a bit of trash about the other holidays, but, you know, until they try being as badass as Halloween they'll get no drunken compliments from me.
Enjoy.
-L

Why isn't it called a platinum lining?

Insomnia can be a huge pain in the ass. Whether it's brought about because of overwhelming worries, or because of nightmares, or because of your obnoxious dogs barking at invisible, late-night pedestrian trolls, insomnia is widely viewed as an all-around bitch.

It's a funny thing, though. As irksome, as frustrating, and as terribly dull as late nights spent by your lonesome can be, I do (every so often) find my evenings spent awake to be somewhat refreshing. Clearly I don't mean refreshing in the "well-rested" sense, but more so in the "I've spent this forced consciousness being at least a little bit productive, which has to be far more productive than laying in bed drooling on myself and having occasional, nonsensical mumble-conversations with my own subconscious brain" refreshing. Which is pleasant, I suppose.

Now, don't be fooled. There are times in which you'd love nothing more than to use your insomnia to be the teensiest bit productive, but you're not quite able. For example, I have this insatiable desire to start working on a concept I recently came up with. I want to sketch with graphite and felt tips and charcoal and colors, and maybe even paint. I want to put these ideas onto paper. And, in a strange but positive turn of events, I'm here, awake and in my house, with not a shred of an obligation on my schedule.

And then... oh, how the gods must laugh maniacally... and then my fucking wrist decides to act like a douche. I occasionally have joint troubles, by the way. But the most ridiculous time for me to have issues with my right wrist is, of course, the exact time I have sudden inspiration to try my hand (har, har) at sketching again, and fleshing out a new concept, and creating motivated ART.

So I'm sitting here, staring at my miscellaneous art supplies as they taunt me, wearing a wrist brace that makes me feel retarded, and slowly tapping each key on my macbook, one at a time, using only my left index finger.

Insomnia fucking blows.

At least SOMEONE in this house is getting some sleep.

Few things are worse than a gummy eraser covered in hair

Actually, that's not true. A gummy eraser that's covered in hair and also has rogue bits of tobacco in it would be much worse. Is much worse. Believe me. I know.


- - - - - - - - - 


I've been thinking a lot about life, lately. Not really in the existential, "why do we exist in the universe" way, though. I never really had the time for all of that lofty nonsense. Nor the energy, or even the patience for it, honestly.

No, I've been thinking about life in terms of what it means to have it, what people choose to do with theirs, if anyone under the age of 50 is actually aware that it has an expiration date, and why I feel as though mine is pulling that bullshit where it seems to go so much faster, the less there is, like sand in a (... shit. What the fuck are those called? Sand clocks? Curvy desert watches? The things that tell you when everyone has to stop in Scattergories?).... I'm sure it'll come to me eventually....

But yes. Those are my current dilemmas surrounding the vague as hell concept of "life" (also, I can't possibly express how nice it is to type the word "hell" and not have to delete and then retype it at least three times before I'm able to keep it from becoming "he'll,").

You know, I spend so much time worrying about grades, or money, or the fact that I've been procrastinating on getting my car's alignment taken care of, that I-

HOURGLASS. It's hourglass. That's the word. That's what I was trying to come up with. Haha, fucking "sand clock".

.... As I was saying, I spend so much time stressed to the nines about pointless(ish) bullshit that I end up taking far too many things for granted. But my awareness of that doesn't change the fact that every time I get into my car, I pause to consider if I'm able to take her to the shop that day, decide that I'm far too busy and will do it tomorrow, and then have a brief but well-deserved guilt party because of it. Yes, I know that I have somewhere to live, am getting a college education, have amazing friends and family and a reliable car and a gas stove so I can make s'mores from my kitchen. My life is somewhat stellar, usually. So why is it that I can be both grateful and super stoked about all of those wonderful things, but still have mild moments of panic and frustration because an extra (and quite unexpected) bill or two showed up at my door and my bank account was quite precariously balanced already?

I mean, shit, there are so many people (it's tragic, there are so many people that I know personally) that are in crisis mode, or at least have their foot in the door of a meltdown. I feel for all of them, and am glad to help or offer support in any way that I'm able. Unfortunately, my unconditional offer of support for the people that are important to me won't keep me from worrying about Honda pulling a little to the left, or from feeling like a total dick immediately after my guilt party.
Love, love, love.
-L

"...board certified physician, addiction medicine specialist."

Side note (can you have a side note before actually saying anything?): I've been listening to a lot of old Loveline lately. It's so wonderfully nostalgic and entertaining.

Anyway...

Not to be all Jerry Seinfeld-esque or anything, but what's the deal with girls in their early 20s? I may only be 24 years old (Christ, 25 in January...), but I know how to be polite in social situations. Even if I'm forced to interact with someone that I have an immediate distaste for, I can smile, and converse, and exist without coming off like Ms. Trunchbull giving a toast at a wedding. 

My manners, while not horrible, are far from impeccable, too. That's why I just end up staring, mouth half-open, when I find myself privy to people behaving like the middle school morons that teased me once upon a time about wearing glasses, or having an odd sense of humor, or having love affairs with puppets as a child. 

I'll never understand why 75% of the females I meet that are in my age group try to treat me like shit. At least I can usually find some guys to stand around with during these quasi-forced situations. They make me so much more comfortable by just drinking heavily and occasionally mumbling in my general direction.

Bitches be trippin'.

Drunken Poetry (It's the best type of poetry)

I was going though the notes I keep on my iPhone the other day, and I discovered that I managed to get really drunk the other night and type out a few lines of strangely-inspired poetry. It's been so long since I've felt inspired to write anything, drunk or otherwise, that I figured I would share.

"It's 8am and now I must
set down this whiskey-laden cup.
The sun's soft, and unlike this glass.
Instead of falling, it comes up.

And now my cliche-riddled head
can bend to rest upon my bed
despite the light and fights of mind.
Had I gone at 4, instead of whined
about my life and things to do
I might be sleeping, now, like you."

-Surprising drunken poetry

<3

How'd they do that? With MOVIE MAGIC!

What are the major things involved in any one person's life? Finances? Relationships (whether platonic or romantic)? Your car? Your house/apartment/cardboard box? Your job? Your family or furbabies? 

Well, it seems as though most of those things in my life are crashing and burning. My family is doing well, as are Lucy and Rabs, so no worries there. My car and house are tied in with wonky finances, so I'm guessing that's all just one issue. Regardless, I'm finding myself increasingly frustrated with... well... myself... as well as almost everything around me. 

So what the hell do you do when life goes from being a positive influence (like a friend that helps you study for a big exam; or brings you soup when you're sick; or shares their whiskey with you because it's better than the cheap shit you brought to the party you're both attending) and starts acting like a total dick (like someone that sits in front of you at the theatre and plays Angry Birds with the brightness on their iPhone at 100%; or that asks you what you think about something, only to correct your opinions with their different, but "more right" opinions; or tells you they don't care where you two go eat and then shoots down every single suggestion you offer)? 

And don't try to talk to me about life giving you lemons, blah blah blah. I've played Portal 2, and lemons will never be the same. However, I highly doubt that combustible lemons will solve my current problems. 

When I'm at my lowest, stuck with lemons with nothing to do with them, I find very few things that help me get through all the bullshit. Painting is a good distraction from negativity, and reminds me that I'm not a total failure at everything (because while my art is not incredible, it's above average, and that's reassuring). Lucy is a fucking trip, and the attention and positive interaction I get from strangers while with her at the dog park (not to mention the snuggles and hysterics she provides) always manages to lighten my mood.  Making lists with at least three points is also good for making shitty situations/circumstances/checking account balances feel less shitty.

But, you know, it's rare and amazing when another person (whether one you know well, or not so well) steps in and manages to accidentally, drastically alter your mood for the better. And you can never tell that person how horrifically hopeless you were feeling, or to what extent they managed to pull you out of that emotional Bog of Eternal Stench. 

So thank you. If you've ever said anything, knowing that it would make someone feel good (especially unsolicited), thank you. If you've gone out of your way to be a thoughtful bastard to a person you hardly know, thank you. And if you've ever shared your top shelf whiskey with an almost complete stranger because she can only afford Jim Beam, thank you. 

Everyone needs that sometimes. And it's incredible how often some random act or random words of kindness will be all that even the most dejected person needs in order to take those first steps, and climb out of the hole they've been wallowing in. 

I'd share my Balvenie 191 with you guys anytime. 

<3

Thank god I haven't been murdered by a stalker in an orange Pontiac Vibe.

Yeah, yeah, it's been forever since I've written anything, god how could I be so negligent, I feel so guilt-ridden, blah blah blah....


Moving on.


I have an interesting, disconcerting, weird story to share. A few nights ago, I loaded my art crap and my 120 lbs dog into my car and proceeded to drive 30+ miles in order to visit with some friends of mine. About 2 miles from my house, I came to a red light. In front of me was, you guessed it, a cat-shit orange Pontiac Vibe. When the light turned green, the guy in the car just kept fucking with his GPS phone dick whatever, so I flashed my brights at him, as if to say, "Hey, distracted guy, I sometimes get distracted too, which is why I'm not honking my horn. But, you know, the light is green now and I'd like to spend as little time as possible with my Great Dane in the back seat, panting on my right ear, if you don't mind." 


The guy blinked his hazard lights at me, waved nicely (a.k.a. waved instead of shooting the bird) and moved on toward the interstate onramp. 


It took about four miles of highway for me to notice that this same guy had managed to get directly behind me in his gross, orange hatchback. I noticed because he flashed his lights at me. Again. I thought to myself, "Self, this is a bit odd. But, you know, he could have accidentally hit the brights. I've done that before," and went on listening to Dave Ramsey tell me how to fix my finances on the shitty talk radio station we have here in Atlanta (I love Dave Ramsey [despite his religious nonsense] and Clark Howard, but the other programs this station airs just make me feel argumentative and ornery). 


A few more miles pass, and then I hear a horn on my immediate right. I look over, and it's the same motherfucker, with an ear-to-ear grin, waving at me enthusiastically. I give him my best "I don't really give a shit about whatever it is that you're doing, and thought you should know that you look like a jackass" face, and continue driving. 


He then pulls behind me, flashes his lights, and then turns on his right turn signal (while still flashing the lights) without changing lanes. I keep driving. My thought process was something like, "I have another 20ish miles to go, as well as a 120 lbs Great Dane leaning her giant, toothy face out of the back passenger window. There's no way anyone would go that far out of their way just to harass someone, ESPECIALLY someone who has their giant dog with them."


Boy, was I wrong. 


The light flashing continues. The Pontiac Dipshit keeps pacing me on one side or another, and waving his hand like an over-enthusiastic kid waving at Mickey Mouse, before falling back behind me. I try speeding up, and then cutting cars off in order to get him off my tail, but he almost runs two cars off the road in order to maintain his position. 


I became increasingly aware of this maniac's presence, and of my inability to shake him. I mean, Christ, I'm not a fucking stunt driver. I maintain two to three car lengths between me and the random bastards in front of me. I never go over 80 mph, because that's when the You're Extra-Speeding fines and whatnot kick in here in Georgia. I check my blind spot twice before changing lanes. 


My safe driving skills are going berserk, but I am determined to get this bastard to back the fuck off. 


I finally make it to my exit (after changing highways, varying my speed between 45 mph and 79 mph, and attempting to get off at the wrong exit before swerving back onto the interstate). The son of a bitch pulls up next to me at the offramp red-light, and rolls down his window. My windows are already down, because otherwise the entire car ends up reeking of dog breath because Lucy is accompanying me. 


"You drive pretty fast," he says with an odd, maniacal grin. 


"I do. Because I'm not interested. Back the fuck off," I respond (probably not the most clever retort, had he been armed or something, but I was livid that someone had made me feel so helpless and I figured that were he going to shoot at me, he would've done it already), before rolling up all the windows on the passenger side of the car (much to Lucy's dismay).


I turn onto the main street, and the dickwad follows like a lost, mentally handicapped Rottweiler. I then take a somewhat unnecessary turn, and he follows again, flashing his lights and trying to signal me to pull over. I make another turn, onto the street that will lead me to the neighborhood. When he follows that turn, I start freaking out.


I call the friends I was going to meet. No response. I know for a fact that there are 2-5 people there, 2 being the worst case scenario. I have to decide what the fuck I am going to do about this potentially homicidal, maybe-rapist lunatic.


I make up my mind to do one of two things. I decide to try to lose him in the somewhat confusing neighborhood. If that doesn't happen, I'll bypass the house and use my handy-dandy iPhone to find the closest police station. 


I take a left into the neighborhood and immediately floor it. It was fairly late at night, and I'm familiar with the area, but there are a lot of twists and turns and blind curves. I try not to go above 50 mph, and I make my turns and end up at the house I was headed to. I turn out my lights, roll up the windows, and wait. I force myself to count to five, and then grab my shit, open my door and the back driver's side door (because Lucy still doesn't have thumbs), and yell at Lucy to get inside. She runs up to the front door of the house with me, and we burst through it, me slamming it behind us. I quickly inform everyone of what happened, and tell them that I'm worried that the psychotic son of a bitch may be roaming the neighborhood, looking for my car. They grab a sledgehammer and a baseball bat (which are conveniently stashed by the front door, along with a crowbar and a 9-iron), and stand with me on the front porch for a few minutes, waiting and listening for the sound of a poorly-constructed Chevy engine carrying a discontinued Pontiac chassis. 


Eventually it was decided that everything was okay, and we all went back inside. I would be lying if I told you that every engine I heard for the next few hours didn't have me staring out of the front window, holding my breath (when you're worried and paranoid, all engines sound alike). 


Never in my adult life have I felt so threatened. I have no idea if this person intended to hurt me because I flashed my lights at him at the red light, or if he was just looking for an excuse to murder/rape/stab someone, or if he was just interested in getting my number and completely socially inept, or what. One thing that I do know, however, is that I will never again leave my house without my asp.


Let that be a warning to you, loves. People that willingly buy orange Pontiac hatchbacks are morons, and ought to be avoided (unless you have one, and love it, in which case DON'T EVER FOLLOW ME FOR 30+ MILES LATE AT NIGHT AGAIN, OR I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU). 


<3

We're painting the roses red, we're painting the roses red!

You know that part in the beginning of Alice in Wonderland (the real one, from 1951) when Alice falls down the rabbit hole, and she finds herself bored because her skirt puffs out and allows her to lazily float to the ground? Well, I've been feeling like Alice lately, but more like a pants-wearing Alice. Everything is rushing around me, and I find myself regretting my metaphorical attire more and more each day.

It probably doesn't help that I'm currently making a giant Alice in Wonderland homage for a friend of mine. I've been nose-deep in the images from the Disney film. It's nostalgic, though. And I've forgotten how much I freaking LOVE some of the creatures from the movie. My all time favorite, though, has to be the broom-faced dog. What a brilliant concept. Was the dog all Disney, or was he in Through the Looking Glass, too?

Aside from the Alice piece, I have more art to work on that usual. Actually, that's not true. Classes have been out for a week or so, so the time I would usually spend on projects for my drawing class, I now spend on other miscellaneous work. **Shameless plug: That being said, I'm always looking for new art to make, and have incredibly reasonable pricing for commissioned pieces. If you're interested, drop me an email and we'll figure out how to go things.**

I managed to finish up my finals unscathed, and now I'm keeping busy with my silly, creative nonsense and with some serious job hunting. I'm not wildly fond of job hunting (I know, I know, everyone usually LOVES job hunting... hahaha), but it has to happen. School resumes in August, and my social life, hopefully, will resume once I find some steady income. I have a few bartending interviews lined up, so things are moving in a positive direction, I suppose (a negative direction being something like being charged with a felony, or losing an important limb, or finding out your face is going to melt off over the course of the next 30 days).

I'm going to post some art in the next week or so. It isn't only because of my shameless plug (though, well, that is partially why), but because I'm also an horrendous show-off. Because I'm terribly talented. And modest, too, probably not.

Love to all most ....

Que Sera, Sera, Whatever will be, will be The future's not ours, to see Que Sera, Sera What will be, will be

Question: what makes everything "worth it"?

Yeah, yeah, the best answer would be "contrast". Without bad times, you can't recognize the good. But Christ, the bad times totally blow. So how do you place value on the good times?

Is it simply a matter of comparison? 
Is it based upon how close you can get to long-term goals?
Is it whether or not you can pay your rent? 

What really matters to people, as a whole? How do they find a way to look at the shit they're wading through and say to themselves, "Self, this is all going to be okay. Because, clearly, you're succeeding with [insert measure of success/achievement/value here],"?

It's all so beyond me. 

Though, they do say that your worst critic is yourself. Honestly, these days, that isn't much consolation. 

Xoxo.

Man-whore. Desperate man-whore.

You know, all personal, incessant chatter aside, I've realized something as of late. 

James Bond was a slut. 

Yes, everyone has some awareness that this is true. Though, as sad as it is to admit, I've only ever seen two James Bond films (don't judge me).

The two films I've seen are Dr. No and the newer Casino Royale. I refuse to watch any Pierce Brosnan Bond flick because I think it would be like watching Hugh Grant trying to be a badass. 

I started watching Live and Let Die, and was quite surprised at Bond. Yes, Sean Connery gave this guy the go-ahead for the project... but to swap out all the cards in some chicks tarot deck for the "lovers" card just to get laid? Can you imagine how many decks of tarot cards that poor bastard had to buy to pull that off? 

Maybe it's the fact that I'm a female, and have never felt the need to resort to those tactics, but seriously? He couldn't have just pulled the, "I'm a secret agent," charm? Or brought enough alcohol via room service to make himself seem extra-attractive to the pent-up, tarot-reading medium? Are you feeling a bit desperate, Bond? 

Maybe (obviously) I need to watch more Bond. But I feel like there's no way Connery would ever have to, or even consider it an option to try so hard to get a little Bond girl action. 

At least this Bond has one thing going for him. He drinks whiskey. 

I probably didn't die.

While I've managed to live through school, piling bills, and my horrendous illness, I still feel like a zombie (which, duh, I'm not because I totally didn't die, and therefore didn't re-animate into a zombie version of me.... Though "Slagathor" would be a pretty badass zombie name).

Meanwhile, despite my illness, the world kept spinning. That means life kept on keeping on, shit kept happening (regardless of my absence), and I woke up one day to find that friends/situations/life had subtly changed. How the hell does one deal with that? Why does MY world not stop and start at my feebly-yelled command?

Ugh. Bullshit.

Anyway, that's what's up. It's currently all about playing catch-up (not to be confused with the punchline of Uma Thurman's joke in Pulp Fiction).

I wish I had more to say, but cahtching up in life means that I've yet to experience all the fun/irksome things I usually bitch chat about here on the ol' blog. So take out your suck it and you suck it.

xoxo

I know how the aliens in War of the Worlds felt

I have spent the past week more sick than I've been in a while. As a kid, my dad would hear me whine about how I HAD to miss school because I felt like shit, and then he would tell me that I could absolutely stay home... if I was missing a limb or had a fever. Well, I never lost a limb, and I almost NEVER had a fever. I can't remember the last time I had an actual fever (aside from my hospital trips due to infected kidneys). However, my entire spring break was spent with a fever of around 102. Bullshit.

I still have all kinds of muck trying to suffocate me by taking up residence in my lungs, but I'm determined to kick its ass the way deathbed cries of, "Hoax!" kicked the ass of the Loch Ness Monster (that poor, prehistoric bastard).

You know what sucks the absolute most about being sick? The awareness that anyone you actually infect is then your responsibility (once you're better and they're sick... like that ancient Chinese code where you have to care for someone once you save their life... right? That does exist, yes?). Because you know that they will always make their illness seem worse than yours (despite the fact that it's the same fucking illness). And you know it'll ALWAYS last longer than your illness (even though you have an immune disorder, and had the same illness they do... because, you know, they probably didn't catch an entirely different disease than the one you had, um, from you).

I guess that I tend to lose that nurturing instinct for a good two to three weeks after getting over being sick.

Okay, I'm going to go rest. You should go rest, too. But, you know, not too much. Because if you're feeling under the weather, fuck you. Suck it up. Quit your bitching.

All this aggression is making my lungs hurt. Mega owies.

xoxo

Elfor, the LandStander (He STANDS. On LAND.)

Does anyone else love and miss Home Movies? I would be more upset about the lack of new episodes, but for the fact that I find Metalocalypse to be far more awesome, and Brendon can only do so many things at once. It's like if my giant dog had to quit loafing around my house, drooling, leaning on everyone, and barking at invisible pedestrians in order to go be a bad-ass, metal, Great Dane rockstar while also creating a hysterical cartoon about even more hardcore, rocker Danes that live satirical, extravagant lives.

Or, you know, something like that.

Other than watching Home Movie reruns and pondering Lucy's rocker Halloween costume (you have to plan that shit early when it comes to dressing up dogs... they just don't get the whole concept behind "Halloween costumes", I guess), I've been buried in school work. I love my classes this semester, but there's just SO MUCH INFORMATION. I feel like you would feel if handed a giant, old-school Webster's dictionary and told that you were going to have a test on A-J in two weeks. As much as you may love vocabulary, there's NO WAY to learn ALL OF THOSE WORDS in two weeks (especially while trying to learn about the same amount of crap in two other classes, and creating hours worth of art for the third).

So yes. That's what's up.

Also, my dreams have been so horribly off the wall, lately, and I have no idea why. I'm equating it to stress. I tend to have pretty awful dreams, anyway, so it isn't so outlandish to think that my mind has grown tired of the boring, normal bad dreams and is looking to replace them with something more creative (damn me and my creative brains).

My last horrific dream was of a POW in a desert, who was having his face melted off. I'm not talking cheesy, Poltergeist-esque face melting, either (because that shit was great... especially when I was FAR too young to see something like that, and my dad explained to me how they did the special effects using sculpy and a plastic skull with quarter-machine eyeballs we had laying around the house). It was intense, and FAR more realistic (at least, as far as I can tell, having never actually seen a face being melted off of a skull).

I wonder what kind of bizarre secrets the human subconscious holds. I like to think that the moronic, hopeless people I encounter on an almost daily basis have every potential to be functioning members of society, if only they could learn to tap into their subconscious as much as the creative, intelligent, informed, open people I try to associate with.

Thoughts? Perspective? What kinds of dreams do you have on a regular basis? What do you attribute them to?

Love to all. I'm going to go study for a quiz tomorrow, try to write some music, and continue my oddly-timed pondering of the human psyche.

Death by sleeping poorly

I'm slowly but surely dying (more so than normal, I mean).

My neck and right shoulder are KILLING ME. Why, you ask? Well, I tend to hunch over my work, or my studies, or the canvas I'm working on. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I carry a backpack and a portfolio around on my shoulder. I don't have an in-between in my Honda Fit to rest my arms on. I sleep on my side, in the fetal position.

All of these things are working together to kill me, I'm sure.

So between that and the THREE exams I have this week, I've been short of time/energy/patience to post as of late. Forgive me, find me amusing, and smile. Or, you know, get the fuck over it (because at least your neck/shoulder/back isn't trying to KILL YOU).

xoxo, etc.,

Me. 

The Wii fit is a judgmental bastard.

People are so weird. I know this, because I often feel even more strange than the people I interact with. 

What are some of the bizarre things you think that you choose not to say aloud? You can comment anonymously if you feel awkward about it. Or shy. Or are planning to take over the world and would rather not be found out by the government (because those fuckers totally monitor this blog, due to it's insane abundance of pertinent information). 

There's a fun new post coming soon (that's called a teaser). Until then, I'm going to wait for comments and post the most awesome one. Bring it, bitches. Xoxo

Take out your suck it and you SUCK IT! (Suck it!) SUCK IT! (Suck it!)

Do you ever have one of those exhausting days where you feel like everyone is conspiring against you, and that people secretly feel generally annoyed whenever you walk into a room, and no matter what you do in or with your life you'll be wrong? And then, if you even CONSIDER talking to anyone about these odd, unfounded thoughts they choose the moment you approach them to talk about this whiny friend of theirs, or how needy this or that person is, or how busy/irritated/exhausted beyond the point of caring about anything they are? So then you just isolate yourself, feeling bad for doing so but knowing that being around people would make you feel even more upset, despite there being no reason at all for thinking/feeling the way you do?

Well, I never have days like that. And if I did, today most CERTAINLY wouldn't be one of them. And if it were, I would NEVER passive-aggressively moan and groan about it on my blog.***

Anytime I find myself feeling upset about nothing in particular (and, often, when I actually have a reason for being upset) I end up feeling guilty about it. Not the, "I just stabbed and buried a man that I thought was trying to kill me, and then found out he was just coming to give me a hug and tell me I'm awesome" kind of guilty. Just the, "I have a place to live, food, friends and dogs that love me, a cat that has yet to murder me in my sleep, a nice car, and am able to continue going to college full-time, so what the fuck is my problem" kind of guilty.

I suppose I ought to paint a lot and drink a little (wait, reverse that) and try to get out of my head (without the use of hallucinogens, of course).


I've decided to post a list of things that make me feel better when I'm being ridiculous like this. Maybe, hopefully, I can help pull someone else out of a similar, pointless funk.

-I love Bjork. She's hysterical, and an incredible musician. One thing that I love slightly more than Bjork is when people do impressions of Bjork. The best I've seen so far is right here.

-One of my FAVORITE comedians is a man named Dylan Moran. He has some awesome stand up that you can find around the internet, but his best work (in my opinion) is a series he wrote and starred in. It's called Black Books, and it's absolutely hysterical. The first episode isn't the best ever, but every episode has something to offer.

-Web comics make me happy, too. I have two that are my absolute, without a doubt favorites. There's Rock, Paper, Cynic, which is always one panel with brilliant text.  The other is Darwin Carmichael is Going to Hell. It's more story-oriented, so it's best to start at the beginning of that one. But it's awesome. My favorite is Skittles, the manticore.

Okay, that's enough for now. I'm going to listen to some Dylan Moran stand-up and find my art stuff. Though finding the sites for all of my favorite things (in order to link them) has made me feel much better already.

I promise, my next post will be FAR more entertaining than the past two. Happy Wednesday!

***These three statements are entirely untrue. 

Undead P.S.

While I'm here (here being "online, playing with the blog", not "on the planet" or "still alive" or anything like that) I ought to go ahead and post the zombie painting I did of my dad (if you're confused, I'm talking about THIS).

It turned out fairly badass. I dangled my actual, from-my-mouth-to-your-art adult tooth from some black yarn that I painted red, and then pulled the yarn through the canvas and tied a knot in the back.

So here it is, with my dad, in all its glory.

 

Okay, now I seriously have to go get ready for my evening of debauchery. 

If we all could just admit that we are racist a little bit, even though we all know that it's wrong, maybe it would help us get along.

I went to the birthday party of a friend Wednesday night, and found myself involved in a discussion about racism. Apparently, the guy I was talking to takes things WAY too seriously. It didn't help that he was a complete and total hipster. He even had the Captain Hook mustache, and the cheap, tacky, fur-lined earmuff cap. Poor sad, cookie-cutter hipster kid.


This whole conversation started with a rather hysterical (and quite racist) joke that I found far more amusing than he considered to be in good taste. As we sat down outside and the conversation inevitably turned toward the awful, serious racism that can be found in the world, all I could think was that it was a shame that I couldn't just break into the song from Avenue Q, and follow him around for the remainder of the evening, yelling singing it at him.


Now, I understand that racism still exists in this far from perfect world. I understand that people have to deal with all kinds of judgments and assumptions that are imposed upon them by others. I understand that that isn't exactly considered fun, or right, or good. I mean, shit. I'm a white girl that grew up in Atlanta. Just like everyone on the planet, I know what it feels like to be ostracized.


(I think Jane Elliot showed the effects of racism best. She's amazing. Watch this if you haven't seen it. Hell, watch it if you have.)

Haha, the dude in the foreground even has the same curly mustache!

Thing is, I also know that things are only worth the value you assign to them. It's like art. Or politics. (Upon comparing racism to art or politics, the kid that was arguing with me went off. "WHAT?! You think that racism, art, and politics are all the same thing?! What's WRONG with you?!" Dude, the only thing wrong with me is that I lack the freeze ray from Despicable Me, because that's CLEARLY the only way I will get you to LISTEN.) If people feel a piece of art is worth $X, they'll spend $X on it. If not, the piece becomes worth whatever the next person that comes along is willing to pay for it. In politics, a politician is only worth the people standing behind him/her. Without the people that support you as a political figure, you're not going to be elected.


That being said, I feel like racism is something that ought to be seen as so ridiculous and archaic that all you can do is write it off or laugh about it. It shouldn't be treated with solemnity, or slight, inward gasps, or eyes darting back and forth, or whispers. That gives racism power. It allows the serious, offensive racists to feel they have sway, and are correct in their judgments. That's bullshit. Instead, people ought to stop taking shit so seriously. Life isn't about covering our ears and wearing blinders when things make us uncomfortable. It's about fleshing it out and learning WHY they make us uncomfortable, and then dealing with them. So either meet racism with a laugh and not a second thought, or (if it's serious/violent/out of hand) meet it with a firm "No, this isn't how the world works anymore," and change that situation.


I tried explaining this, but I think my logic made the hipster-brains in Captain Tightpants Jr.'s head melt a little. He started spouting off random words that had nothing to do with what I was talking about. Maybe he was hoping to confuse me long enough to change the subject. The last intelligible word that he used incorrectly was "existentialist", as in: he was an existentialist and therefore felt as though racism was to be treated as something that either doesn't exist or is far too horrific to joke about. Unfortunately, choosing to argue where lines ought to be drawn, with a perfect stranger, no less, is not existential in the least.

ex·is·ten·tial·ism [eg-zi-sten-shuh-liz-uhm]
–noun; a philosophical attitude associated esp. with Heidegger, Jaspers, Marcel, and Sartre, and opposed to rationalism and empiricism, that stresses the individual's unique position as a self-determining agent responsible for the authenticity of his or her choices.


So, you see, his disagreeable and judgmental words (and general attitude) go entirely against his so-called "existential way of life". If you believe that everyone, as unique creatures, has the right to think whatever they want, how can you possibly argue something that's so ridiculous to such an extent?


Fucking doucher (I'm so eloquent when people piss me off).

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

So, anyway, apologies for the lack of humor in this post. I just hate it when people perpetuate and give strength to anything negative, and then argue about how their doing that is supposed to help the situation. Why can't we just accept that everyone is a person, and that that's all that matters? Why does everything always have to be SO FUCKING difficult??? Ugh.

Well, tomorrow is my birthday. Tonight I'm being kidnapped by my darling TeriWife and SnarkMinion and taken to The Clermont in honor of said birthday. I'm hoping the rest of the weekend is just as full of crass, dirty, drunken shenanigans (at least until dinner with my parents and grandparents on Sunday).

Love to all. Best wishes and all that. And remember, Depeche Mode said it best. xoxo

Snow Day; it's more than just a shitty movie from the mid-90s.

Late Sunday night, as I was up working on art and getting my shit together for the start of classes at GSU, I had an amazing view of the gathering snow from my front window. I smiled, because my furnace was fixed, I had food in the fridge, and my dogs were safe at home. "What could go wrong?" I thought to myself.

Monday morning, the snow was about 6.5" deep. It was the most snow I had seen in Atlanta since 1993. The sun came out, melting the top of the snow so it refroze into ice. Then I let the dogs out. Because Lucy is so giant and built like a deer, the scene in the back yard went almost exactly like THIS. It was one of the most hysterical moments of her life. She loved it, though.

Then I went out to check on the car. Because I live on a hill, there was no way in hell I was going to attempt to move my car. It would have been like trying to climb up a slide wearing only socks (and don't deny it, you know you've tried that at least once in your life). So I made some food, and settled in for the day.

Tuesday, classes were canceled. My car was still surrounded by ice. It looked as though no one on my street had even tried to leave their place. People getting cabin fever all around Atlanta started attempting to venture out. A lot of them failed, and ended up abandoning their cars on the interstate. I managed to get out of the house and down the street without busting my ass, and went for a long walk to cool my claustrophobic nerves.

By Wednesday, the whopping 10 snow plows we have here had cleared a lot of main roads and interstates. Unfortunately, neighborhoods and maybe 40% of surface streets were still really dangerous. In an effort to keep me from going completely mad, a friend of mine braved the ice and drove the 30 minutes to my house. He had to park a few streets down, but I didn't care. I grabbed the dogs, a backpack of clothes, my art supplies, and high-tailed it out of there.

The roads are now less insane, but people here in Atlanta seem to want to continue driving like they're half-drunk, half-retarded, and entirely lacking an awareness of common rules of the road. Morons.

So now, until next time, I'm going to go paint some more, maybe eat something, and take solace in the patches of grass that I can FINALLY see outside.

Oh, and for all of you bitching about the snow, realize it only sucks because it kills our roads. Were we prepared, the snow would have been AWESOME. Plus, Lucy's ice-capades more than made up for the inability to use my car. Crazy giant dog.

Better 10 days late than never, that's what I always say.

Hi! It's a new fucking year! How exciting! In honor of the new year, I have made a few resolutions.

Why did it take the calendar year changing for me to try to better myself?  I don't know. I blame peer pressure. And, for the record, I also blame a lack of peer pressure to better myself the other 364 days of the year.  Damn, my friends need to quit slacking. Either that, or they just think I'm already perfect and awesome.

Okay, yeah, they probably need to step up their game.

So, about those resolutions. My life has been tumultuous at best lately. Though, one good thing about that is that I get to over-use the word "tumultuous". It's one of my favorite words. I think it's because the word itself reminds me of Templeton (the rat from Charlotte's Web, for those of you not up to date on your animated, supporting movie personalities from 1973). He had the best song ever. 

I rarely make New Years' resolutions. I always felt as though people only made New Years' resolutions because they were expected to change faults they could no longer deny. And most people just hope their friends and family will forget about New Years' promises (which hold less meaning than normal promises) by the time the resolution is given up on. By April Fools' Day people are right back to the way they were December 31st. Well, not exactly the way they were. They almost always have some strange, lingering  pretentiousness because at least they tried to do some soul-searching/ fix a personal flaw/ change a bad habit. Screw the outcome, right? A for effort and all of that.

This year, however, I have decided to jump on the Holier Than Thou Bandwagon and make a few promises I more than likely won't keep (though I will scoff and look down my nose at others because of the superiority gained by my frail attempt at bettering myself).

And so, without further sarcasm or general passive-aggressive bullshit (haha, see what I did, there?), my New Years' Resolutions:

1. I will not allow anything to keep me from the grades I want this semester.
2. I will make the time to write in this blog. That time will be enough to allow me to post weekly, at least. I'm making this resolution because this is something I enjoy, but that I let myself neglect in order to do less fun, but slightly more responsible things. I think I can make time for both.
3. I will keep and maintain a budget (by "maintain", I mean "actually, seriously, FOR REALSIES maintain". I totally suck at handling money. I want to change that).
4. I will be a good dog-mommy. That means walking at LEAST twice a week, regardless of weather, and also at LEAST one trip to the Piedmont dogpark per week. I mean, shit. It's like 5 minutes away.
5. I will make up my mind. On everything that I can. One of my biggest fears is being trapped in monotony. That fear causes me to avoid making decisions and commitments, and decisions and commitments can be amazing, wonderful, fun things. I'm going to start small, like by deciding whether I want to paint a wall in my bedroom or re-paint the bathroom (I hate painting walls when I'm not doing murals. Did someone say boring? Oh, yeah. It was my sense of creativity), or by choosing to wear the first outfit I put on, instead of pending 15 minutes putting on and taking off clothes before leaving the house in what was my first choice. Or by going an entire 30-minute drive without hitting the next button on my iPhone (I put the damn songs on the phone. Why do I love them when selecting them, and HATE them when in the car?).
6. I will get up (ON TIME) and walk to the train once a week, instead of driving my car to class, however begrudgingly. I mean, shit, it's the same cost to park at school as it is to take the train. Greedy, sMarta bastards.

Has anyone else made any resolutions this year? You know, if you think about it, it's your last year to make a resolution and keep it according to hysterics and Nostradamus.

I have so many other stories and things to share that I've written about in my notebook but not had the time or energy to write about here. For now, I'm going to go find my paints, snuggle with my dogs, and nurse my whiskey. Love to all. You're perfect with and without your resolutions. And happy day.