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 ....

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

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.

Sometimes I get drunk.

Insomnia isn't a bitch. It's a steroid-raging, professional weight lifting asshole.

I have way too much in my brain at the moment. The cliché question is: what the fuck is the point? I mean, all lofty existentialism aside, life is only as meaningful as I make it. Right?

I tell people that the purpose of life is to be kind and be happy. I feel as though attributing your existence to anything else is just making wild assumptions based on some bizarre-o world concoction that lives only on the mind of the subject.

Though it would be pretty hysterical if the whole planet was just an exhibit in an interstellar zoo for giant aliens. My reaction to that discovery would probably be something like, "Well, duh. What did you think was going on, exactly? And when do they feed us? The gas in my apartment has been out for a week and I'm starving."

Thanks a lot for the weird, speculative existentialism, Makers Mark. That's so like you; always looking out.

I hope for your sake that I'm already asleep.

Fucking 3am

"Why do you stay up all night and drink whiskey if you have work at 9am and then have class until 10pm?"

"I'm an insomniac. And I forgot to buy ice cream. Shove off."

Note to Future Lindsey:
After class tomorrow, but before passing out with the dogs on the amazing rug in the living room that you nabbed for $40 marked down from $155 because the dumb bastards at Ikea don't know how to use stain remover, stop at the 24 hour Kroger and buy some fucking cookie dough ice cream. And milk.* And maybe some Tylenol PM.

Goodnight to those who sleep. And by "good", I mean "shit" because I'm totally jealous moody due to lack of sleep and ice cream (not in that order).

*Also, get some more Eukanuba for the beasts. And some juice. And cheese (American and parm). And see if you can find someone to take your card and get a can of Bali Shag while you're at work tomorrow. /to-do list

BOWNED. Fuck. I mean owned.

I just went to type a charming, but still somewhat professional email to my boss. And yet, for some reason, my hand-eye-coordination thinks that professionalism is bullshit. It also thinks it isn't getting enough action, because Hand-Eye Coordination is being a HUGE slut today.

For example, instead of typing "I would love to," I wrote, "I would love you." It gets worse.

"I know you're busy as hell," became, "I know you're busty as hell."

"I have that log at my desk [referring to the credit card log I use for collections, etc.]" became, "I have that flog at my desk."

Those are the only examples of the skanky typos (though there were a few normal, G-rated typos, too).

True story. And I am so very glad that I proofread my emails before sending them. At least, usually. God, I grope. HOPE. I mean hope.

And that didn't happen because I'm thinking about such inappropriate things while I ought to be working probably. Get your minds out of the gutter. JEEZ (with an "e"....).

P.S. Just so you know, I'm not currently drunk. Here's a photo for comparison.

Me, being drunk at karaoke.

P.P.S. Do you remember that part in Crocodile Dundee (you have to pronounce it "dun DEE") where that kid pulls out a knife, and Crocodile Dundee says, "That's not a knoife. This is a knoife." And then he pulls a machete out of his boot? I can't get that out of my head, because I keep hearing, "That's not a drunk. This is a drunk." Except that I'm not going to pull a cosmopolitan out of my boot because 1) I'm not wearing boots, I'm wearing really cute sandals that are not conducive to hiding liquor; and 2) I'm at work, and it would be a bit really unprofessional to hide a cosmo in my boot while at work, and probably worse to drink said shoe-cosmo. Hear that, Hand-Eye Coordination? That's called keeping my job.

"Ugh, god. They're so dramatic. They make me want to just... SET MYSELF ON FIRE."

Lucille Bluth, of Arrested Development, ALWAYS has the right thing to say. If you haven't watched Arrested Development, you're missing out. Seriously. It's like snarky, clever Pee-Wee Herman for adults. Although, that probably only makes sense to me, so ignore that unless it makes you want to go out and buy all three seasons. Of Arrested Development. Not Pee-Wee's Playhouse. Even though that wouldn't be a bad addition to your DVD collection, either. ANYWAY, I'm distracting myself from my current ANGER and HATRED, which is why I was talking about snark and insults in the first place. The only person that I feel possesses the ability to top Lucille Bluth (and shut the hell up, I don't know her real name and I am too lazy irritated at the moment to bother looking it up) when it comes to awesome things to say when you're pissed off or irked or disappointed to the point of anger or just generally rubbed the wrong way by someone would be my youngest brother, Bug. Bug (which is what the Step-Monster and Dad called him when he was in the womb, and my sister Mar was only four and trying desperately to understand how they fit an entire person in there) just turned 7 years old this month. He's blonde, and adorable, and a total ham for attention. He must have inherited his love for attention from my darling step-monster, who is an actress (she even has a theatre degree from UCLA, and enjoys bragging about how her major got her out of any math requirements.... Damn brazen hussy. Not that I'm jealous or anything okay, I'm totally jealous).  According to my step-mum, Bug and my sister were bickering at dinner the other night. Now, Mar just turned 11 (holy shit, right? It's insane! She's an entire person! When she was born, I was being a moody teenager but now it's her turn and she has opinions and thoughts and justifications for why her clearly incorrect-due-to-her-age opinions and thoughts are, supposedly, correct! What a strange thing to witness from the opposite side). She's a bit quiet around large groups, and got more of Daddy's "I'm just hanging out, I'm not into the whole 'social' thing. This isn't my forte," while still being the life of any gathering, because that's what genuine people that are just themselves have a tendency to do, while still being slightly uncomfortable (and that much more endearing) about it. With 4 years between them, Mar and Bug are no strangers to arguing with one another. Whether they're discussing the logistics of the latest 893,203-Lego sculpture-mansion-spaceship, or just talking to make noise and finding that arguing opposite points halfheartedly is the easiest way to go about that, they have certainly had more practice bickering with one another than I ever had with any of my siblings. Granted, I'm the eldest, meaning there was no argument (at least, as far as my adolescent brain was concerned), but still. You get what I'm saying. A lot of practice. Tons. EONS of practice. Despite being aware of this, and having lived with the kids for years before being deemed "not a kid" enough to move out, I am still ALWAYS surprised when Bug comes up with some of the shit he comes up with. For example, he once said to me, "Lindsey, Lindsey, guess what I can say?!?!?" I was confused, but decided to humor him because he's such an odd little kid you just never know what you may have missed were you to turn your solemn, adult back on him. Me: Um, okay. What can you say? Bug: ELLLLllllllll!!!!!!! Me: Um, what? "L"? Huh. That's, a letter of the alphabet.... Nice.  Bug: No! Mom said I couldn't say "HELL". But I can say it if I say it like Ron Weasley. (He looks at me for a good four seconds, and then busts out with it yet again.) ELLLLllllll! I think it only took a week or two of Bug going around the house, yelling the guttural, drawn-out, Ron Weasley version of "ELLLlllllll!" for Mom to go ahead and just let him say "hell," while undoubtedly rolling her eyes and half-laughing to herself about her odd children. According to Mum, the other night she, Daddy, Mar and Bug were sitting around the dining room table, having dinner. Mar and Bug were arguing about something, apparently. Finally, it was just too much for the agitated Bug, and he looked at Mar and said, with utmost seriousness and a full-ish mouth, "Mar, I wish this tomato I just ate was you." Apparently both Bug and Mar were scowl-y and angry and irritable, but in the two or three seconds that Bug's statement hung in the air, everything dissipated. And then Mum started laughing, complete with the, "Ppppfffftttt!" at the beginning (and when The Step-Monster thinks something is really, insanely amusing, everyone within 100 feet is made aware of it, because of her laugh... it's like her laugh thinks it's a stage-whisper, but it's already at normal volume, and she clearly has no control over it which is also funny as hell in its own right) and the entire table finally slowed their hysterics to an occasional giggle, and then resumed eating dinner. Not a single person choked to death that night (that's not to say you ought to choke to death right now, in order to give Bug's story merit or anything. Unless you're one of the few that have pissed me the fuck off in the past couple of days. In which case, if you feel so inclined to give a 7-year-old-boy some props, don't let me stop your windpipe.... I'm just saying). *But* my heart choked to death, with mushy, gay, lame as hell pride at my weird brother, and odd sister, and amazingly badass parents that were able to instill such bizarre, occasionally misplaced, but never dull creativity.  ..... And judging by that last sentence, I need to go make another drink, because the one I had was chugged a paragraph ago knocked over by my favorite scapegoat, Lucy's tail. Not to be confused with performance art. Well, unless that was Lucy's intention. Good fucking dog. On that note, good night. Sleep well, unless you're unfortunate enough to be one of Bug's tomatoes.