Saturday, December 26, 2009

I Wish To Register A Complaint

Alternate Title: Caveat Fucking Emptor

So. I knit, as most of you know. I figure with the economy being what it is that I would knit my gifts for my parents, & show my love with my hands insteada my wallet.
Well. I went out & bought Cascade 128 Superwash wool yarn (128 yard, decent variety of colors, but I be GADDAM if I will provide a link for you to go purchase any. You're on yer own there. I bought it in (ugh) yellow for my mother & blue for my father, to match a scarf I'd made him last year. My mother's love of yellow, usually with purple is a personality quirk that I put up with her only, due to the facts:
  1. I love my mother above all others & I would kill or be killed for her
  2. Those 2 colors, especially together makes my fashion sense feel dizzy. & I figured superwash wool would be easier for her in that she could just bung both items in the washer instead of having to jack around with regular wool, in which (perform all actions below GENTLY):
  • Put article in a sink with cool water
  • Swish or let soak for 10-15 minutes
  • Squeeze water from article
  • Lay flat to dry

It would basically take longer to cleanse the frickin things than it did to make it. Anyway.

So, like an idiot, I read the ball band & it said the suggest needle size for knitting this craptastic trainwreck of a yarn is #10. I didn't have #10's in circular needles & figured that it was an investment & bought them, then trundled home to make with the knitting.

I made mom's neckwarmer 1st, very generic idea, k2p2, join in the round & zip through the entire ball right quick. It knitted up nice, if a bit loose, but I'm a loose/average knitter & didn't think much of it. The yarn itself, I must admit feels soft & cushy & the yellow wasn't sickly or searing. So I toted into the bathroom to wash/block it (insert ominous music of your choice here)

It hit that water and GREW. I mean like, SRS. It was no longer a neckwarmer, it was a friggin' cummerbund for a HIPPO, no lie. & to make matters worse, the sumbitch had opened up from KNIT to NET. Well, ain't this a raggedy BITCH, thinks I, drying it on my bailing hot radiator & reskeining it.

Now I have a jumble of needles. I pondered, pondered like the very wind, as Xmas was breathing down my neck like a rabid reindeer. I finally chose #7 THREE SIZES SMALLER, as they were the next 16” circulars that I have. Flailing away I tore it off again & it went off without a hitch, even after washing/blocking. There was a smidge left over & I swatched it so I could get my father's hat right the first time. That last sentence is, I believe, filed under the heading: 'Famous Last Words'

There, ya squirrely shit, thinks I. I've got the number & the measure of ya and you WILL do what I tell you, god damn your strands!

Yeahhh, not so much. I'm not so good @ the maths, which I freely admit. As previously mentioned, I need to take off my shoes AND my shirt to count to 22. But if you give me a basic formula like, oh, say swatching/washing/blocking, it's not exactly rocket surgery. & I knitted that bitch tight enough to make my pinkies go numb.

That hat was BIG. I mean like, the aforementioned hippo coulda used it for a hammock. & the gapping in that hat was even bigger than the neckwarmer debacle. Well, WHAT the everloving moaning azure festering hell ass balls is up with THIS? At this point I'm on the verge of taking up smoking again in the form of sticking an entire pack of smokes in my mouth, still wrapped & lighting it on fire.

By now it was 10p Xmas Eve's Eve (12/23) & I was doing the gift swap Xmas Eve with my mom @ Friendlys. No pressure, you understand. After 20 healthy minutes of swearing myself black in the face, I flung the still damp knitted BUCKET onto my radiator & laid down for a power nap. I thank every god I can think of that I have insomnia or I would NEVER get anything done.

So, 2a came around & chased me out of bed to cast on with the mental revisions I'd gnashed myself to sleep with & started thrashing. I got it done & by Athena, done properly, but by the end of this rediculous little exercise, the neckwarmer had been named The Yellow-Bellied Crapsucker & the hat, of course, named the Norwegian Blue (“BEAUTIFUL PLUMAGE!”).

The moral of this story: I don't often bitch about products I don't like. If I don't like something I usually review it in a little snit either mentally or to friends/family, then never touch it again. If anyone else wants the crappy item, then by gods, go grab it with both hands & keep it away from me. People: I didn't even keep the scraps of the yarn left over, I flung them out with malicious aforethought & I have scraps of yarn under 12” in length in my Yarn scrap drawer. I will NEVER touch Cascade 128 Superwash again, not even with a 14” straight needle & I would strongly suggest you don't either.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Working 9 To 5

OR: Everything I Needed To Know I Learned In The Office Part II

(click here for Part I).

I was speaking with someone recently *kofDonnaBarrkof* on my job history. I have spent 20+ years as an office assistant/receptionist/switchboard operator/dispatcher. I am DAMN good at it, though it can bore me to tears. But also, it's a relatively low responsibility job, go in tranfer info or people from one place to another & leave at 5p. It can be hard work, when people are cranky about their policy/account/whatever. It can be a serious bitch when you have a huge copy project for someone, especially when they change their mind repeatedly. Three ring punch, stapled, spiral bound, one sided, double-sided, oy, the decisions! Jobs that have to be done in three days, when they really are a week long project. Basically I shovel the shit that the CE-whatevers can't or won't do.

Donna said it best when she stated the maxim: “Don't fire the secretary.” And people just don't GET IT. They really don't. I was on craigslist & asking about job relocation & a guy said something along the lines of “It's not a job set that anyone would do that for.”
Now you tell me. Do you need ANOTHER six-figure-someone rolling in just long enough to shmooze with the other VIPs & jet off on 'business trips' to rack up unholy bills, fleece the company and/or throw around his/her weigh making enemies or knocking up his 'assistant' if you know what I mean, & I think you do. Or do you need someone who knows how to run the postage machine, tranfer all the calls correctly and make sure the coffee machine always runs? 500 words or less, single spaced answers, plskthxbai.

Some stories from my checkered past: I had one of the aforemented gigantic copy jobs to do, in color. Color copies are a BITCH to do. The paper is slippery AND sticky at the same time & just loves to jam. The toner runs out fast & as it runs out it dicks the color on the actual copies. You have to HOVER is what I'm saying. Now in this company there were two copiers for the entire company, which meant they were continually hopping. I fell up in the copy room to find a guy who I'd sat and listened to his bitching about how hard college was & all the money he owed. The woman with him was some sort of VIP, I don't remember which, but very high up. But both of them were standing by the color copier, him with his graduate hands in his khaki pockets and she with her blazer-clad arms crossed, standing next to the unresponsive copier.

“Ok, what's the situation? How are we doing? Why isn't it running? I got a big job going on here.” I said, all business. They looked at the copier then me and shrugged.

Here I give you one of the copier laws. Unless shit has changed drastically since I was last in an office setting, it is basic in all copiers *jazz hands* alllll over the world:

CHECK THE FUCKING PAPER TRAYS! So I asked if either one had a weird copy size & sure enough, our boy from Whatsamatta U had a 11”x14” job. So I CHECKED THE FUCKING PAPER TRAY.

And bigods, wouldn't you know it? That sumbitch was emptier than a bimbo's brainpan.

“How's that college degree workin' for ya?” I quizzed him as I slapped in the paper, giving it a little flip to get the paper 'aired', a little trick to keep it from jamming. And goddamn if that thing didn't start cranking out the copies. The she-VIP seemed a little touchy, so I kept the ragging to a minimum, but the Eyebrow of DOOM was 'in mad full effect' as the hip kids say. We had a fluffy little bimbo temp in at one time that pulled the same shit on the black & white copier.
“Nothing's coming out!” She whined. Glancing at the screen, I saw the BIG BLINKING RED LIGHT that showed the paper trays were empty. Both of them. That held three reams of paper EACH. She'd run through at least one thousand sheets of paper or up to SIX THOUSAND sheets & couldn't figure out that there is NO PAPER FAIRY. Well, she figured it out when I started flinging paper in, trying not to set it alight from the sparks off my grinding teeth.

So. Another time at the same place we had a 6 figure fella prodding away at the black & white copier, Rolex & gold ID bracelet twinkling in the flourescent lights. He was basically underfoot, MY foot to be exact, & I had what's know as 'shit to do'. So, tactfully I asked what the hell the problem was and he told me that he had a page in to be copied & blanks were coming out. Well. Another little copier law:

MAKE SURE THE FRIGGIN' PAPER IS FACEDOWN ON THE GLASS. The glass is a great big camera lens that takes the picture to print on the paper. Big juju. And when you put the paper face UP on the camera lens it only take a picture of the blank back. So again, tactfully, forehead vein THROBBING with indignation at the injustice in pay rates versus competency, I explained this & got him straightened out. Now I can kinda understand that top loading copiers can be misleading in that you put originals in face up, they feed through and then pop out again, face DOWN. It TWIRLS around, MAGICALLY, to go facedown over the lens to take the picture & comes out facedown so your originals are in correct order. Again, powerful juju.

Copiers are wild & magnificent creatures. And you betcher ASS they can smell fear. These creatures, when gentled to the hand can be very useful and make you the most powerful person in the office. When you figure them out, you are L33T in a way that is useful, insteada being a h4x0r that gets off on fucking up websites out of sexual frustration *eyeroll*. Which is why I'm NOT telling anyone about the biggest secret of all concerning them, tralala & teehee.

I know how to use pretty much all office equipment, folders, collators, postage machines, copiers, multiline phone systems, laminators, spiral binding machines. Any of them I don't know due to different makes, models, whatever, give me an ½ hour to tinker & they'll roll over & show their belly, never you worry. Now, I work 3rd shift weekends, which means that I have to make decisions that can be very important. And yet I make crap pay, as do so many others in the field that I am skilled in. Some people do make very good pay for very hard work, but they have to pony up for union dues *kofextortionkof*. How much longer is the world going to ignore the fact that the power pyramid is upside down?

Any road, they'd better hurry up & smell the coffee. The toner needs changing.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Ima take pics of a bunch of crocheted items that I did for a Christmas Fair last year that didn't sell but 1 item *shifty eyes* I'm quite sure it was due to the economy, because my friend who asked me to contribute said nothing much was selling. So stay tuned as I'm posting the items in 3 different places including here, my deviantart page: & also over @ myspace:

Not only do I crochet, but I knit as well & I am available for commissions.Stay tuned!

Listening to Fastball, The Way

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

That Girl Ain't Right

So. Just a few little vignettes from my childhood to show I ain't forgot about you kids:

I was a very paranoid, very weird child. I thought that there were spies from Sears in JC Penny & McDonalds spies in Burger King & vice versa. There probably really were, but I thought that these spies were watching so that if you were caught in the competitor's store, you wouldn't be allowed in theirs. SO.

We were at JC Penny's, also known in the house as Jock Pennay (Pronounce in ler cornay Fronsh oxsent, lol). I caught a fellow's eye, whereupon he turned back to inspecting the latest clothes from Polly & Esther, the Synthetic Twins' 70's couture line.

I didn't want to get banned from Sears, as I loved the multilevel store, so I hid. Not only from the possible spy, but from my mother as well. Whereupon she promptly went beserk, running around the store. Well. This was going to blow my cover so when she came storming past the display I'd made my covert out of, I grabbed her pantleg. I got hauled out and questioned in a manner that would have made the Spanish Inquisition reach for their weapons-grade rosaries. The whole spy theory came out & my mother's discombobulation was so complete I didn't even get a beating, so that worked out pretty sweet.


I had a sixth birthday, like you do. And we went for a ride from pokey little Canterbury into the big city of Concord, NH. This was back when you let your kids ride in the uncovered back of a pickup truck at 55 mph or more on the highway while they smoked a stogie and swilled bathtub gin. Freer times and all, ya know. Anyway, we rolled up to the bike store & clueless little me, ON MY BIRTHDAY, wondered what we were doing there.

We were there to pick me up a deeply righteous, royal blue metal-flake girl's bike. With serious ape-hanger handlebars. And a white banana seat with enough glitter in the plastic to make any drag queen gnash her lipstick-stained teeth in a froth of envy. It was, yea verily, a sweet ride.
We got it home and my father & maternal grandfather took a few minutes to put on the training wheels while I DANCED in a frenzy of anticipation. That paean display of anticipation apparently took all my balancing skills for that 24 hr period, because I then proceeded to take about a dozen serious nosers off that bike onto our dirt driveway, where I aimed for only the pointiest of rocks to lacerate my delicate skin with *eyeroll*

“Gil?” My grandfather mused out loud. “D'ya think maybe we could try this without the training wheels?”

“Couldn't hurt.” my father shrugged. Not much more than it already DOES, I added mentally. So ten minutes later they passed my rig back to me and, of course:

VROOM. Lance Armstrong is a stunned 3 year old on a Big Wheel with a missing pedal compared to me after that. I bailed (Mainer for “went really fast”) up & down our driveway, catching air from bumps & doing bootlegger's turns on that bike like I'd been born to it. I loved that bike & I'da taken it to bed at night if I thought I coulda got away with it.

Last, but oh, not least:

My immediate family consists of myself, my brother Greg (he's 1.5 yr older than me to the exact day, keep this in mind), Mom & Dad. We used to raise our own beef & pork as well as having a honking huge, way big, yo-mama enormous garden that mom would can veggies & make pickles that people still rave over & enough potatoes to keep 4 hearty eaters through a NH winter. It was BIG, savvy? But as for the meat end of things I don't mean we had vast thundering herds of cattle or anything like that. Just a little ramshackle demi-shack that we kept a pig or a beef cow until they were prime for waxed paper & a rest in the freezer til we were hungry.

We got a bull once. His name was Billy, natch, & he was a big cream-colored fellow. Well, he and my brother Greg bonded, great minds and all that. Greg would tickle his poll & billy would bump the wall in front of him. Never hard, never maliciously, just BUMP. Billy was also quite good at escaping. Not to run free in the wilds of Canterbury, frankly he just seemed bored. He'd frolic & gambol about like a ¾ ton puppy, dodging my parents' efforts. He'd stop & give them that sideways look that dogs will give you when they're playing, like: “Ooo! Come on, you almost had me that time! You're getting so nearrrr...PYSCH!” & then romp off in another direction. He made it 2.5 miles downhill to the Canterbury Center once, & I'm sure my parents were THRILLED when the big box truck came to take Billy for a ride *ahem*.

“Where's Billy going?” Greg wailed as his friend was led into the truck.

My parents thought, & thought like the very wind.

“Camp!” They told him, and Greg, again, not the brightest candle on the abra, accepted this, as we'd gone to camp the previous year & it seemed feasible, and a thoughtfully non-speciesist sort of gesture on my parents' part.

Late fall that year we were eating dinner when Greg said wistfully: “I wonder when Billy's coming back from camp.”

I, at approximately 8 or 9 years old gave Greg what possibly was my first look of disbelieving scathe.

“Greg.” I intoned blankly. “It's October, and we're eating HAMBURGERS.”

“Isn't hamburger chopped ham?” he asked, eyes darting to his half finished burger.

(Insert Matrix-like slow motion shot of my mother turning from washing dishes in the sink in a vain attempt to shut my piehole in time to avoid the inevitable HERE.)

“NO! It's chopped BILLY!” I yelled in glee as my brother dissolved into a neon chartreuse grand mal hissy fit.

I don't even REMEMBER that ass beating.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Vamping it up & Putting On The Dog

2 new drawings, a vampire & a werewolf because I'm so cutting edge & whatnot, lol... Another quote from Pete: "I don't drink...whiners." Done in a more old-school manga style
This werewolf's name is Burnfur. When it's a color piece, obvy, he'd be a gingery-red, lanky green eyed shy fellow who runs a second-hand store/antiques/pawn shop. Who's gonna steal from a werewolf, right?

Listening to Alice in Chains, Grind & amusingly enough caffinated to the gills *toothgnash*

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The Goose/Gander Syndrome

First off, fellow Deviants: I get it. I know that most of you are there, posting your artwork for critiques/approval/sale/whatever. Some of you are posting stuff to share a common interest with others. Some of you are posting your personal porn, at its intrinistic value. I totally get it. We all have our tastes. Not all of us agree on them. I am completely against several sexual things & have a hatred in my heart for them, the most obvious being pedophilia. The others are, honestly, merely degrees of taste. I don't like it, I don't pursue looking for it. But on Deviantart, sometimes, it's hard not to get hit in the head with a lolita mpreg amputee furry anime boi.

And the boobs. Oh, my dainty baby Jesus in a magenta lace pushup wonderbra with matching tap pants: Ta-tas, gazongas, knockers, hooters, jugs, melons, chesticles, garbonzas, &c, ad nauseum. Again: I get it. The female figure is beautful & your picture is YOUR interpretation thereof. But after a while it's just another pair of nipples in an aureolic avalanche. There are pictures that are incredible, flawless: glossy hair, striking makeup, flattering outfit...aaaand top open and/or off, if not just naked. The objectifiation of women is already rampant throughout the internet. I already feel like a transportation unit for my tits on their daily tour about town, my bra upgraded to seatbelt status. And yes, I do wear a lot of cleavage-revealing clothing; I have huge dragon tattoos running over my shoulders and, yes, huge chest that I'm proud to have. And before my soapbox gets too high for me to climb off of; I am TOTALLY guilty of using my cleavage for discounts, a helping hand and extra fries. I own up to that; Me, a cup DD; me, a maxima cup DD, LOL.

And men are well represented in the objectifation game, don't get me wrong, I just drew this (CAUTION, NSFW or if you're an insecure male, lol) pic as a sarky visual shorthand of this blog, lol. And the GLBT artists on DA and elsewhere do their best to make their models look utterly delicious. And believe me I COMPLETELY appreciate that, particularly Bears being the hot hairy beasts that they are, WOOF! *a-hem* But the heterosexual artists, male and female don't really seem to see how prevalent the stereotype of the current sociatal approved female naked shape is, when it's not draped in clothes that place the artwork on the border of ersatz kiddie porn.

And it just reaches a state of saturation; a point of desensitization. Which makes a lot of people *koffmenkoff* see and present females as a prop, a thing for their use, not another human being with hopes and aspirations and desires. I am strongly against this, but how can anyone really sit down and say 'this picture is “good” & this picture is “bad”!'. You can't. It's artwork & as the old saw goes; beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But when beauty becomes so ubiquitous, so disposable, it inures people to beauty itself?

And yet actually getting to KNOW someone has become even less of a priority than ever. We as a society are shallow, self centered children and we all get angry when mother's breast is refused us. Please people. I'm not asking anyone to go around censoring anyone else of legal age and consent to stop doing what they enjoy. But look around & see what this numbing down has done to us across the board. Meh, another hot chick/dude, they're a dime a dozen now that you can have a new chassis dropped in, and with payment plans, yet. Lying & general assholery, because, hey, the pretty celebrities get out of stuff because they're hot, so *I* can because *I'm hot*. The models in every walk of life that have to put up with utter shit from men AND women, because they posed nude so they must be 'easy'. People who have sex rammed down their throat every day & yet can't tell their partners what they enjoy with other consenting adults because they've been told by the mainstream that it's 'sick' or 'dirty'.

See the people around you. Each of them & yourself are individual, unique. Watch how they carry themselves, how they are so *real* when they laugh or cry. Listen to their voice when they tell you that they love you. You are the most beautiful person in the world to them.

Thursday, October 15, 2009


E! So happy with this pic! Available for sale!

Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory

YOU UTTER, UTTER SELF-SERVING BASTARDS. You make all the money. You have all of the comfortable clothes & you can be fat & people just call you 'teddy bear' & giggle. You can leave the house looking like you've been chased over the back porch with a broom, need a bra so bad Pammie Anderson is jealous, have butt-cleavage you could lose a badger in & no one calls you the hog-slob that you are.

But men of the world, I have found out your greatest evil, & I will NOT be SILENCED.

I had to use the facilities & went into the Ladies' room. Another woman was in the stall, apparently reading War & Peace in the original Russian. Now as I'm one of those people who waits until the last minute, i.e. my back teeth were floating, I HAD TO GO. Cometh the hour, cometh the piddle, as 'twere.

Well, fuck this, I'll just go use the Men's room, thinks I, & toddles into the (HAH) Gents'. And in there, no word of a lie:

FOUR Urinals
TWO toilets

Let's review. Women's bathroom: One toilet. Men's pissoir: FOUR urinals & TWO toilets. I don't think I need to add anything to that. Except: You dog-eating, puke-swilling, snot-sucking whoreson bastard prick motherfuckers. NO WONDER there's ALWAYS a line into the head. NO WONDER women have had to learn to 'hold it' to the point of injuring themselves. Fucksake, are women STILL such second class citizens even in this supposed society of (HAH) equality that we aren't even allowed to have enough TOILETS?

Fish have no word for 'water' as it is all around them & it is all they know. They don't understand the pollution, they only die from it, with no way to get away from it because they don't know any better. Ladies: See the little things. Notice that MEN expect you to get out of their way, take less food, space & money but put up with way more SHIT than they do. Notice & stand up for yourself.

Because if you don't stand up for yourself, you'll lay down for anyone.

So, women: If you're ever out & about & there's a line for the bathroom, just use the Men's. They can spare the room.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Pretty Prickleburr

New art!
The unofficial prologue of The Nonesuch Papers is here:
I am scared, excited & proud in equal & giddy amounts. It's so much fun, but I want this to do well. Making a living off of this may or may not happen, but the 1st compliment I get on the story is just going to prostrate me in ecstacy.
Please regard me kindly.

Friday, October 9, 2009

I Don't See Your Name On It

This is a cautionary tale. Do not cross me, for I will find out what annoys the everliving PISS out of you and do it naked at the top of my lungs on Main Street at high noon.

Yesterday I was at the Concord Co-Op eating my lunch. This older guy walks up to me, calm as a summer's morning. He's in good shape for being aged, lean, maybe late fifties. Retired woodsman-looking guy with denim, flannel & boots. Not bed-worthy but tolerable enough to look at.

“I usually sit there.” he says to me with a depreciating chuckle, like he's doing the store a favor to even deign to come in.

Now, I'm not feeling good as it is. I'm feeling like I'm clinging to my own forehead, trying to steer this giant body when I'm about four inches high and clinging onto my own bangs to stay upright. So I give him The Eyebrow of DOOM, over my glasses' rim for maximum effect and narrow my eyes. The cup of coffee he's holding has no lid and with a hard enough slap, it'll go right in his face. This is really the way I think, folks. EVERYTHING is a weapon.

So he keeps staring. My already low bullshit tolerance level hit its nadir about 3 minutes after I woke up. This whoreson prick motherfucker actually expects I'm going to pack up my lunch and get up & move. Now, the Concord Co-Cop has OSSIM pork dishes there. And those of you who know me know how I worship the swineflesh. When I found out the entire world of Jewish & Muslim people don't touch it, I wept, for there was even MORE FOR ME. When I see on twitter that the co-op is having pork of any stripe you betcha bum I shimmy on over there tout de suite. This man has just walked into my personal temple and tells me he wantsta get crumbs on my altar? BLASPHEMER, THY NAME IS 'MUD'!

So. I show Captain Monomania how possible my moving for his tired ass without the immediate application of hundred dollar bills dipped in powdered chocolate will actually happen by upgrading from Eyebrow of DOOM to GLARE OF DOOM. He is now finally hip to the boiling rage he's lit the fire under & sees that I'm not going to giggle submissively and scamper out of his lordly way, deferring to his OBVIOUS superiority what with him being OLD and having a PENIS and all.

“Well, I guess I'm not sitting there today!” he huffs, planking down at the table next to me. He proceeds to tsk, hem, haw, fidget & sip LOUDLY at his coffee.

OH. HELL. NAW. You...are trying to annoy...ME? ME, who am the High Priestess of Snide, Madame Vitriol, She Who Will FUCK YOU UP? Are you really trying to intimidate me, herd me out of the store all because I'M SITTING IN “YOUR” SEAT?! And, my right hand to the theological divinity of your choice: Every time I move in my chair he twitches, wily as any jungle predator waiting for his chance to SPRING into action and reclaim his rightful throne when I *do*move.

So I did what needed to be done.

I pulled out my laptop, fired it up and started writing this down, tee-hee.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Dissociative Discourse

Artwork because I can't look at you. I know you love me and I just can't look because I love you too but your eyes hurt me. I'm sorry.
The last part is a line from Ragdoll Physics by Diablo Swing Orchestra

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Insomniac's Lullaby

Text overlaying the drawing

It unnerves me to blink and to look directly at you is to acknowledge that this continual grinding annoyance is actually happening and if i could just put my chin far enough over my left shoulder i could escape and your words hit my ears like a iron hammer it makes the oil that flows continally over my eyes waver which makes me fall forward always forward towards a future i've never been ready for but never had any choice but to accept because i was raised that you do the tasks put before you and you do them well the first time or you are stupid but i know that i'm actually quite intelligent however a near absent lack of ambition and an utter fear of success as well as failure leaves me stranded on this tiny slippery little rock in the middle of a cold fast river that's too deep for me to swim.

However it is the task before me.

Sink or swim.

Either way two hours of sleep in the last thirty six really aren't quite enough, even for me.

Please excuse my behavior, i'm not really sure what's going to happen next, not even within my own head.

Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Oh my head...

Deviantart is going to kill me, no lie. It WILL NOT post literature without a jpeg for a preview which is the goddamndest bit of bullshittery I've come across having to deal with the interwebs. So there's a short story below this post, to go with this pic:

I'm just posting all my literature here on blogger until I get the Nonesuch site set up. Which may also put me on the edge of a stroke, jesus batfaced christ. I shouldn't have to spend two fucking hours posting two pix & one short story. Also, enjoy this pic:

I am tremendously happy with it, though it needs a bit more polishing. Trying to strengthen my color-work. Not going to move away from lineart, but trying to broaden my horizons.

The Wolf That Cried Boy

This is a short story of a character that will show up in The Nonesuch Papers, a webnovel I'm polishing up to post online. I'm posting it here because deviantart is a complete effing annoyance for posting literature. I tried to include translations in the story for most of the German, but here's the English of the Dire Wolves war chant excerpt:

We go forth singing our determination.
Fear us greatly for we are terror.
But pity us even more for we are the last.
Will you love us if we give you the hearts of your enemies?

Dire Wolves are a bit more direct than their little cousins. A skull for a drinking cup is traditionally considered a lovely courting gift, especially when the male carves the female's name above the brow....

Rolf woke to the smell of his mother's honey cakes, hot and rich. Snuggling down in his thick down comforter, the young wolf nosed his pillow sleepily, thinking of the day ahead of him. A good breakfast of eidechsespeck and honigkuchen, the lizard-bacon from the family's own beasts, the honey from their own hives. This made Rolf feel proud, though nervous about the future. He enjoyed herding die Eidamen, the 'Egg Ladies' as the food-lizards were called in this valley. He had lots of time to think or to sing and the 'damen would feed and chirp and spar throughout the day, their clonking bells echoing over the foothills. They were trained from their hatching to wear the collars and harness that held the egg-creels, and were noisily proud whenever they'd laid a clutch. Rolf only then had to amble over to the squawking hen, congratulate her on her latest triumph and pack the eggs for bringing home.

But if he had to do it for the rest of his life, he might very well go mad. It wasn't that he didn't love his family, but Arilda was older than he and was as much the hearth maiden as her name implied. She and Hieronymus were to be handfasted come Midsummer and they could take over the family farm. And he could go into the wide world and sing. Sing for everyone and anyone instead of just the herd and the town fairs.

Casting off his worry with his blankets he leaped out of bed and grabbed yesterday's trousers. Hopping around, he snagged his shirt and rammed his off leg into the britches, barely saving his nose from a painful bump against the wall. Shrugging into his shirt he began spinning in place trying to get the second arm in.

“Rolf! Up with you, bursch!” His mother's high voice carried up the stairs as he tied his boots.
Kommen!” he called back, taking a minute to splash his face and finger comb his shock of hair. His pelt, pale grey from his mother's northern clan shaded to a charcoal black at the ends and he was inordinately proud of his thick ruff of hair and side-chops. Looking in the mirror to straighten the part, he had a moment's regret for last week's drunken haircut as it was shorter in the back and the long bit left in front kept flopping over his blue-white eyes. Mama had offered to try and fix it, but he'd just left it alone and it was starting to grow on him.

He thundered down the stairs, ducking the lintel at the bottom. His growth spurt over the winter had made him tower over even his father, who grumbled at his racket over his coffee. Sweeping his mother into a hug that turned into a waltz, Rolf twirled her over to the table and snatched two kuchen off her platter before she could get it on the pale sand-scoured pine.

Komm, son.” Herbst Winteraugen had a humor that rarely woke before noon. He rapped the table with his knife and pointed his giggling son to his seat as he crammed one of the sticky buns in his wide jaws. “Today's not the day for your fooling.”
“Oh, let the cub play.” his mother sniffed as she poured Herbst another cup of coffee. He northern accent always strengthened with her temper. “Wouldst have him sober as thee before he's had a chance zu sein endstück jagen?”

“Norna, he can chase his tail all he likes after he's done his chores.” Herbst shivered as his tail fluffed. “Today's a weird day and I want him paying attention. The old charcoal burner still hasn't turned up.”

Norna tweaked the end of both her son and husband's tails and ruffled their heads before turning back to the stove. “Du hast recht, liebste,” she said absently, looking out the window as she began scrubbing the dough from her largest mixing bowl. “The wind's been biting 'round corners, but it doesn't smell of storm. And old Lazlo probably fell from a cliff, everyone who knew him knew he lived drunk more than sober, poor old fool hare that he was. Is.” she said firmly and scrubbed harder at a clot of dough. “He's probably just off wandering, with spring in his nose.”

“All right, folks, Ich bin fur die hügel.” Rolf bolted the last of his breakfast and made for the door, looking to avoid the folks getting worked up and him winding up on the wrong side of extra chores. Norna handed him his backpack and claimed a kiss.

“Howl, an thou needst anything. Wilt be up at noon with thy lunch.” she watched her enormous son trot across the front yard to the stables, tail wagging as he began to dance and sing.

Seine Stimme bilden den Sonnetanz mit dem Mond.” she murmured as Herbst came to hug her from behind. Leaning down to gently worry her ear with his teeth, he sighed instead and watched as Rolf disappeared into the barn, bellowing a greeting to the herd.

“Hm. The sun will dance with the moon before he settles down to running this farm, worse luck.” He sighed again and Norna flicked her ear against his huffing.

“What 'luck'? You know Arilda is as of the earth as Rolf is flighty. She's nearly as big as thee, and has Hieronymus in the palm of her hand. Rolf is too big for this quiet little valley and you know it. Both in size and in heart.”

Ein Blitz trifft mehr Bäume als Grashalme. I love our boy, I just don't want to see him struck down by the lightning, the bad in this world. He's huge, in his heart and his frame, but so trusting and there's many people as would use him.”

“Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, nor dost thou.” she gave her mate's hand a pat. “His voice is a gift. Sword and armor in one, if he learns to use it.” Herbst growled and let her go, stalking back into the kitchen. “Why art so crossgrained today?” she followed him in, shaking her head.

Rolf, unaware of the hackles raised in the house was checking over the herd. Lifting feet, looking for molted feathers, running his hands over limbs for warmth or signs of pain. Humming two notes over and over calmed the lizards and was one of the vocal cue for them to gather. Finished, Rolf pushed away the lizard with a laugh as she was trying to groom his hair, pulling the strands through her beak-muzzle.

“Enough, Hilma. All right, ladies, form up!” Rolf grabbed his staff from beside the barn door and flung the doors wide. The lizards pranced out, squeaking and bobbing, pecking at the ground and snapping in the air at any bug that caught their wide eyes. Rolf barked and chivvied, prodded and pleaded until the group were on the road to the high fields and he was finally singing the battle march of the Warg Troops of the war against the Ice Wanderers. A group of mercenaries, the last of the Dire Wolves, they were legend in Garmania. Giants of the wolf line, they were horrible to face in battle.

Wir gehen, unsere Ermittlung weiter zu singen.
Fürchten Sie sich, dass wir groß für uns Terror sind.
aber bedauern Sie uns sogar für uns sind dauern.
Lieben Sie uns, wenn wir Ihnen die Herzen Ihrer Feinde geben
?” Rolf sang loudly, letting the determination and the loneliness of the words ring out. Seeing a cart coming over the rise he broke off to call 'gee' to his herd. Daintily they obeyed as Albrecht Tischler pulled up on his Hammerkopf lizard's head and tipped back his broad rimmed hat. The cat was a fine woodworker, though he was known to be dryly sarcastic. At times people didn't realize he was twitting them and had bent an old carpenter's saying just for him: Listen twice, Laugh once. Albrecht didn't look to be laughing, though, wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve.

Verdammt, cub! You're making an old tom weep over something older than my grandpa's granny!” Albrecht resettled his hat, smoothing its long green feather. “Neat how you get them to stand in ranks like that! How come your sire won't let you work the field competitions at the fairs, I wonder?”

“He says I can either sing or herd, but not both. Mama and Arilda can't handle the family booth by themselves all day while Papa is lizard dealing, so I always choose singing.” Rolf shrugged and looked down to kick a boot against his staff. “Wish I could do both though, I do like putting the girls through their paces.”

“Hm. Well, learn how to argue like you sing junges, and he'll come around!” Albrecht slapped the reins against his lizard's broad back and squalled in the unnerving way of all felines. “Verdammt, you rock-headed thing! Get yer head outta that ditch and lets be along! Farmer Grauf will be chewing his fence posts down wondering where we are, the old goat. 'Tag, Rolf!”

Rolf waved and led his charges to the High Fields gate, shooing them through. The lizards stepped along readily, smelling the fresh grass. When the last tail wagged through the gate, he secured it and hiked up behind them, humming the rest of the march.
The rest of the morning came on hot for spring, and soon Rolf was perched on a boulder in the shade, shirt tucked into the back of his britches, threaded through the suspender strap. He chewed absently at a blade of grass and wonder idly what Mama would bring for lunch. He'd smelled the peaches covered in a bowl on the counter, and licked his chops in the hopes of cobbler, still hot from the oven. Agitated squawks brought him back to earth in surprise.

Hilma was shoving again! She was the queen of her clutch and never let any of the others forget it, the bossy thing. It seemed that she was trying to keep the others from going higher in the field near the forest's edge. Nudging and flaring her ear flaps, the young queen reared up and keened.

“Hilma, what is your grex? Everyone is so-” a shriek made Rolf spin to peer into the dark edge of the forest. “No.” he whimpered, tail drooping, ear back. “NO!”

Two huge lizards, mottled dark green on top, cream colored with rusty brown blotches below. Half again the size of the Egg Ladies, they burst from the cover of the trees and rushed the herd. Shrieks from both of them displayed the jagged fangs of their namesake: Blitzreißzähne, the Lightning Fangs. Enormous sickle claws on their hind feet chopped swathes of grass from their murdering path, and the Egg Ladies milled in terror.

Blitzreißzähne! RUN!” Rolf bellowed, snatching up his staff. Baying the call that meant “Stables, danger” to the lizards, the young wolf ran for all he was worth between the predators and his herd. “NO!” he roared, raising his staff, tail bent in aggression, arms wide. Inhaling deep as the larger Blitzreißzähne closed on him, Rolf howled the call 'To Arms', letting it pour from the very roots of his heart. He'd been at this clutch's hatching and he'd not lose them!

With no further time to think, Rolf dodged the living razored hell of the beast's jaws. Hot rot-stinking breath spattered him with sticky drool as he tripped and rolled, catching a glimpse of Hilma guarding the retreat of her sisters. She reared up and spun suddenly, bringing her tail around in a sharp crack against the larger Blitzreißzähne's snout. The end of her tail must have caught its eye, for it screamed and staggered. The smaller one menacing him turned, distracted and Rolf kicked out, hard. His boot swung up into the broad keel of the monster's chest, with the strength of his whole body behind it. Lurching, the beast coughed in rage as Rolf scrambled away and spun to drive his staff into the snout. The oaken stick skidded up the pebbled skin and bounced away from the eyesocket, springing from his numbed hands to pinwheel into the long grass.

The beast wailed in impatient hunger and reared back to gut him with its horrible back claws. Rolf stepped back and yelled his terror and anger at this hopeless moment, knowing he would die alone in agony.


And the Blitzreißzähne paused in its killing kick and toppled over, unbalanced. He turned to spare a glance to Hilma and the fallen lizard's flailing tail tip caught him across the nose, sending him reeling. Both Hilma and the other killer had frozen, heads turned to look at him. As he landed hard, wind beaten from him, he could hear his father's belling cry and the shouts of others.

“I'm sorry, Papa.” he murmured thickly into the grass, tasting blood as he blacked out. “I tried.”

“It's all right, child.” his father said softly, hand steadily stroking his shaggy forelock from his face. “You did a grand thing.”

“WHAT?” His bedroom ceiling spun overhead. Rolf sat up and regretted it instantly. His face hurt with a hot, bone-deep ache that wrapped his whole head in pulsing nausea. “Oh, no.” Herbst held up a bowl and turned his face.

After Rolf finished dry heaving he thought he would faint from the pain, but hung on. His father eased him back onto the mass of pillows and carefully let Rolf sip from a steaming cup of hot plum mead. Rolf could taste the bitterness of willow bark underneath the sticky sweetness and sighed as he lay back and looked at Herbst.

“Hilma?” he asked, reaching up to test the bandage across his nose. Herbst let out a crack of laughter before shaking his head and finishing up the doctored mead himself. Flapping his tongue comically at the willow bark, he snorted and slapped his son on the arm.

“Do you know, other than a neat gash on her shoulder that silly brave bitch is just fine?!” Herbst shook his head. “The rest of those dumb Ladies came flapping and screaming into the yard just as we heard you over the bend. The whole dozen of them are fine and eating their fool heads off in the stable.”

“I see we'll be feeding thee yet, too.” Norna swept into his bedroom with a bowl of soup that smelled heavenly. She handed Herbst the bowl and hugged Rolf hard.

“Mama, ow!” Rolf protested. She eased him back onto the pillows and shook her fists at him, her long white mane wild and hackled over her shoulders.

“Don't 'Mama' me!” she raged. “Next time thoust'd see a Blitzreißzähne, thou RUN!” she burst into sobs as Herbst stood and gathered her to him.

Kush, liebste,” Herbste soothed. “the boy was so brave today.” Rolf claimed the bowl of soup and sighed happily as hunger overtook the nausea. Roof-lizard broth with peppered bread in it was his favorite comfort food. He spooned and watched warily as Herbst hustled his mother out of the room.

“Go tell everyone we've still got a son, though he'll be ugly for a while.” Herbst turned to his only boy, broad feet poking from under the covers. “And we need to talk, lad.”

“I promise I'll just run next time! It's just, they're my herd, I mean-” he stopped at his father's raised hand.

“I'm not mad at you son, never that. I couldn't be prouder if you'd killed both of those vicious things. Me and the neighbor males did for them, believe me. But I'm scared.”
“Do you think they were part of a bigger pack-”

“NO!” Herbst barked, and Rolf's ears laid back in confused hurt. Herbst patted the air in conciliation. “Just hear me. You called. And we came. All of us that could hear you came, and armed. And when you yelled 'stop' we all did. Stopped dead in the road, a few even fell over.” Herbst sighed and rubbed his work-leathered hands together.

“You have the Voice, son. The Dire Wolves run in our ancestors' tracks” Rolf licked the spoon thoughtfully. Herbst cocked his head as he watched tears start soaking the bandages. “Son?”

“So people only like my singing because of this magic voice? I don't want that! I want people to like my singing because it's from me, that it's from my heart and my enjoyment! I don't want people scared of me!” Rolf whispered brokenly, before covering his face.

“Son, son! They do like you.” Herbst gently shook him by the shoulder to make him look up. “No one in this village knows about this.” here he looked grim. “Though some suspect, damn that two-tongued Tischler for telling everyone that would hold still about you and the Ladies this morning! See if I buy so much as kindling from him ever again.” he sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest. “But there's nothing for it. People talk and some would rather hate and fear than understand and accept. You have a great gift and it needs training. Keeping you here, that gift would wither at the least. If you resented us for keeping you on the farm, who knows?” Herbst was crying now.

“I would never-” gasped Rolf, dizzy from emotion. Norna bustled into the room with another cup of mead and snarled in frustration as she slapped the brew onto the nightstand, soaking the doily.

“Men! Worse than jilted girls for crying, the lot of you!” she plumped down on the edge of the bed and clapped her hands. “Enough! We will figure this out.” she pointed at her shocked husband.

“You, go and check on the ladies. You,” she aimed her sharp little claw at her son. “You need rest. And I,” she stood and used her apron to pick up the doily and hand Rolf the remains of the heated wine. “Will get on the aether glass and make some discreet calls back home. And start crocheting another doily.”

She paused to kiss Herbst on the cheek and winked at her stunned son as she flounced out of the room once again.

“Didst know, some of those Dire Wolves stayed in the North after the Ice War? The females of my clan do so love a male with a sweet Voice.”

Friday, October 2, 2009

When Over 300 lb You Reach, Look As Good You Will Not!

HEYWHOANOW! Hee. I can TOO draw, see! Apparently my art-fail today doesn't count for 2/3 nekkid self portraits. This one just fell outta my hand after I stopped trying so hard. As the little green guy said: Do or do not. There is no try.

I'm Scrappy!

I has a headache, & have amounted to 2 things today, jack & diddly. Well 3 things. Scrap art above. Men are being their usual skwrly selves at me on top of annoying people in mad full effect invading Concord. Leafpeepers, for those not from New England are people from 'away' that walk into oncoming traffic with carefree abandon, randomly slam on their brakes & have the amusing idea that I don't speak French OR German. And, obvy, come to look at pretty DEAD LEAVES. Which are DEAD & do NOTHING. If they, like, exploded off the trees in sparkling displays of dispersed seeds or short bursts of flames, I would see the point. But they're dead leaves. That just sit there. Unless they *GASP* fall off the trees. *eyeroll*
I'm sorry I've not been more productive today *hangs head because a) it weighs 600# from PAIN & b) slacker shame.
Ugh. Better stuff coming, sweartagods. Just not today....

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Watch me pull a blog outta my hat!

Above is Maeve Aithne Chalcedony Nonesuch. This is just a rough sketch, I shall fiddle with it as I go & post updates. This is my first time posting a pic to blogger, please bear with me. I might be starting up a sketch blog here if it's easier than the hands-and knees trip over the mountains that deviantart inflicts on people to post art, oy. Such the tuchis-pain.
She's Cornelius Nonesuch's mom, & she's seen here in her Hornet flying togs. The smaller flying vehicles in this storyline are ornithopters: Once she was married to Ajax Nonesuch her life got a lot more exciting. Her parents prized her like treasure and guarded her like griffins (More about griffins, anon, and ye may lay to that. Och!). Unicorns are rare & females are VERY rare, so they are cherished & her parents went kinda overboard. She was watched & cosseted & hovered over constantly. Which has made her just bursting to try new things & she took to flying like a child of the bird-clans. She uses those goggles as well for the fact that she can't see aether (mana, magic, juju *giggle*). Usually the beings of magic (dragons, griffins, unicorns, et al) can at least see it like heat haze off a road but she was born aether-blind. Which doesn't stop her from being an excellent healer & magical botanist. She is calmer than when she was younger, as losing Ajax was a great blow. Sparks of her former vitality are often evident. She doesn't suffer fools gladly, twits both of her sons mercilessly & is, if not fearless, very good @ calculated risks. She'd be a hella chess player if they had it in their world.
My landlady's husband passed away last night. He had Altzheimers, & in the end was just...somewhere else. When he was cognizant he was a darling sweet man, funny, helpful and skilled with his hands. I miss both him & his wife tremendously, she died recently as well. They were like grandparents to me after 12 years of living across the driveway from them. I'm very low today & work is gonna be a Mongolian Clusterfuck today, so I need to pull it together.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Ape Art!

Hee. Just a sketchy character study of Delmon D'Argent, the Financier from The Nonesuch Papers. Trying to nail his personality, & I sorta got it.

I've got 2 other pix in the wings. Another of Coco Gateau that is going to be an OSSIM print for sale & one of Rolf Winteraugen, the wolf opera singer. I'm pulling together a short story on him & how his nose got broke shortly after the time of the pic. & boy howdy pulling is the right word, it's like making the earth go faster by grabbing a low hanging tree branch & running, oy...
Listening to Beat Circus, The Ghost of Emma Jean

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Tea, hot. Sarcasm, hotter

Here's my most recent piece of artwork which is of course available to put on a mug:
I'm very happy with this piece, though I do need to work on backgrounds. I'm making myself be more detailed for the illios for the webnovel, & it's great fun. Just gotta remember not to make it too crowded.
The comment is a tight little description of the scene that I will prolly use in the webnovel. The steam over the tea cup is EPIC W1N, very happy with it.
My shoulders/back hurt abominably & I have obligation knitting to do as well as my own winter accessories upon which to bust a move, yo yo yo & all that crap, lol. Taking pix of my boring-ass neighborhood for a lad with potential in Atlanta GA, stay tooned...

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Alius Dies Alius Pupa, Deus Volent

Here's two art prints for the sellings! like 'em? Buy em! I also have my spiffy little donate button over there to the right. I am taking artwork commisions. 1/2 up front, I do a b/w sketch w/a watermark & send it to you for approval, you ok it & I do the color & send w/watermark. You ok it, send the other 1/2 of the commission & I send the artwork. Prices available on request, character designs, band logos, bring it ON, lol.
And yes I was horrendously cranky when I wrote the last blog. Cope.
I'm listening to Corvus Corax, Scotus & I wanna go conquer something. I also hacked off most of my hair this morning & it felt WONDERFUL. Like a smack on the ass from Jesus...

Friday, September 18, 2009


Why must the entire world in contact with me work on my fucking nerve at every turn? Why whenever I try & either get ahead or do something personally fulfilling or just FUCKING BE HAPPY? Why must you fuck with me universe? WHY? I just want to get ahead. I just want to find someone that has a fucking heart, brain AND A SPINE. BUT NO.
I have a Cú Chulainn migraine, I am so angry. I can't see out of my left eye.
I want nothing more than to see someone I loathe & rip bloody chunks out of them with my bare hands & furious teeth until the cops taser me into a twitching heap.
FUCK IT. I am a (relatively) skilled artist and a good person.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Art & Litrachyur Doncha Know

Very short prose:
I had a big long run on sentence I was gonna post as a blog. Upon reading it I realized it was a low blood sugar rant about being bored off my face @ Logan Airport & bummed about coming back to NH & my ex & whatnot. Feh, I say. FEH.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Again with the arts! click here or the title of this blog for a delicious pic of which I'm quite proud. I hafta go home tomorrow & I don't WANNA! Gods. Ima prolly miss the last bus to Concord & hafta spend another night in Logan Airport like I did coming back from Vancouver the last time. Oh Life, vale of narrow-minded Luddite traditionalist clusterfuckery that you are, please sucker punch me in the kidneys & steal my candy again, would you, plskthx?
Is it obvious that I have NO desire to go back to NH?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

1st Wacom Tablet Piece

OMG! Made my first drawing on my brand new wacom tablet! Lookit! Click the title to see it, whee!

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Brief Bloggy Bits

I'm sorry I haven't been chatty lately. I have been rockin' the OT & had yesterday off for the 1st time in 2-3 wk. It's all a blur, really, a horrible, ugly blur. But I have started thinking about fall & what to knit to keep me toasty. I'm thinking leaning more towards the steampunk in my style, so neutrals/browns/cream.
I have a delicious idea for armwarmers that I would love to wear right now, except that it's not been below 85 in the past 2 gaddam weeks *faints from heat prostration & frustration*. I have some leftover yarn (by 'some' I mean 'a metric-ass ton of') in a soft bunny rabbit tan & some cream left over that I shall prolly cart along on the plane to KS to make the arm warmers with, pictures will ensue . Also contemplating new gaiters/legwarmers in the steampunk colorway.
DANCING with impatience to get the book on designing lace from the library that I asked for via interlibrary loan. I love the Concord Public Library, But I gotta say, their arts/crafts & scifi/fantasy is not really great. I wish people would actually think for themselves & buy what looks interesting not what famous people *kofoprahkof* tells them to read.
Gotta tweak the 1st installment of The Nonesuch Papers & get the drawings done, have them currently stored in my bwains & only changing one, because the angle wil be better & I won't have to crosshatch as many fuckin' stones on a fountain in one scene. Not that I don't enjoy it tremendously, actually. How do you spell OCD? LOL. But my wrist has been a twitching burning mess lately so I started wearing a wristwarmer again. Also having idea for illustration of The Child King by Abney Park. I shall throw that down this weekend....

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Yippie Kai Yay, Puddy Tat!

Hey kids. Still doing that overtime thang (& scheduled on a day when I bloody well asked for it off. Scowling Sandy is scowling!), so this will prolly be spotty, but I felt like chatting. I shouldn't complain about the overtime, because mama needs a new laptop bag, a graphics tablet & well, CASH, lol. Ooh, speakina fundage I got my tix for KS, W00T! Very happy I got that out of the way, it was getting pricier by the day, hoboy....
I have a lot of different ideas all the time, which is like herding cats. It makes me talk to myself, stop & stare into space & do the *fingersnap/scrabble* for drawing pad/notepad in public ALL the time. Sometimes it gets a bit difficult because I want to do *everything* @ once. The fact that this planet @ this place & time doesn't have affordable/available resources for me to get a 2nd pair of arms grafted on is a daily annoyance I assure you. And the fact that the capitol of NH rolls up its streets @ 7pm & doesn't get cracking until @ least 10am.
Anyway. I have a lot I want to do, art-wise. However, I also have a PhD on getting in my own way. I am a HUGE internet junkie & often say that I would happily have a cranial jack so that I can be online continually. However the intarwebz is a huge time suck, so I have to make a concious decision to shut down pages like where I could stay until my eyeballs dry out. There's also a dating site I'm on, though gods know why, I've never found anyone that I had more than 1/2 a doz. emails with, even when they professed crushes & flung endearments @ me like scented lace hankies *epic eyeroll* men are another aggrivation, especially when they are so goddam yummy @ the same time *swoons from concomitance of male sexiness/obnoxiousness*.
So I need to make a schedule for myself, which is already wonky because I work 3rd shift weekends & one midweek 2nd shift (boo-hiss, 2nd shift is t3h f41l). But if I don't make myself a schedule & a project list & stick to it, things just won't get done, full stop.
On that note, I gotta go. I have to sketch story ideas & firm up charaters for The Nonesuch Papers, my anthro arcanepunk idea, a ripping serial of Cornelius Nonesuch, an unicorn thrown into a world of international adventure & intrigue, more info forthcoming!
Alternate Title: Get Along, Little Kittehz!

Monday, August 10, 2009

Potlach blog

A little of this & a little of that...
I have several ideas in my fervid little brain for steampunk knitting designs, & it's killing me that I don't have graph paper when I thought I did. After opening my 'treasure chest' @ the foot of my bed I have found, however that I have enough sketch pads to last me about 10 minutes after the heat death of the universe o.O,...HOMG, also I found the aces prologue to the start of a story I thought I'd lost, gonna transcribe that tonight. Anyway, I'm tinkering with a fingerless glove idea 1st & we shall see how that works, because Gods know I already don't have enough pairs of THOSE. But they'd be hella sweet to sell, the steampunk ladies will dig 'em.
I am trying to reserve my flight for visiting my friends in KS @ the end of this month. I need a vacation so bad but Travelocity is telling me it's one price w/taxes then 'prices have changed' & it's nearly double? WTF, like I'm an idiot or something. You're reading the blog of a foul-mouthed dissociative paranoiac. I know everyone's out to get me, you prolly just didn't get the memo yet.
However I will deal w/money things tomorrow as I don't feel that I'm competent to deal with it @ this time. I've got to pay SOMEthing either way & one day won't make enough of a difference for me to honestly care.
Oh, and note to the squiggy guys @ the library: I know when wearing cleavage tops that I invite your blatant gawking, I do. But when you deliberately change seats so you can have a better view, it's a little tacky...ok, a LOT tacky.
Ok, off to bed b4 work & fretting what I should do about the boring rich guy. I honestly think he's a sweetheart, but I've eaten toast more exciting.

Friday, August 7, 2009

I don't drink...whiners

First of all, if I could take a moment to extend a hearty "fuck off & DIE in bloody frothing convulsions" to the l33t haxors who took it upon themselves to dick with twitter, facebook & today, yahoo. I hope that they are caught & their punishment is as follows: Strap these shit-gobbling whoresons down to a chair & take all of their 'action figures' (cause they get all spitty when you call 'em DOLLS) & all of their computer equipment & destroy it ALL. Open the original packages, thereby ruining the value of all their toys & change all of their WOW characters to either old men, skinny elves or flat-chested women. THEN send them, broken & weeping to jail. It'd be like throwing hamstrung lambs into a pirana tank *sigh* so beautiful....

*ahem* Now on to something completely different: Vampires. What's the big deal? I know people have been puzzling this one out because they're so flipping popular right now. Guys could care less whether a female is a vampire as long as she's got the squishy bits & big tits. To misquote Willie Nelson badly: Men will fall for any trap baited with pussy & that's not gonna change any time soon. So there's boys outta the way, let's get to the female point of view, at least as I see it.

Pro #1: Eternal youth & attractiveness.
Women have always been aware of aging. Granted most of us have a moment & think: "WTF, where did the last 10 years go?!" But women have that underlying worry as to the first wrinkle, grey hair, nagging ache. Whether the current world wants to admit it or not, women are only useful/attractive until they've broken past bearing age. Granted that's further along than it usta be, but there's a reason that plastic surgery & the diet & exercise economy are booming like gangbusters. Vampires do not have this problem as long as they're cautious & don't piss anyone off. Younger girls like the pretty boys because of the androgyny of the clean lines of their bodies/faces. Body hair is so YUCKY & men can be so very hairy *dazed look as I fantasize for a moment about this guy: * What? Huh? *ahem* Sorry. These pretty people are frozen @ the moment they were vamped, turned, taken, whatever the 'in' terminology is. The teenage girl sees older women, & half the time it's not even on a concious knowledge, but they know the underlying worry is there, especially in this day & age. Time marches on & it doesn't give a shit about who it steps on. Name me 3 women who would turn down eternal youth & the looks they had when they were young & I will show you 3 of the biggest liars you've EVER met.
Con #1: Watching your loved ones age & die. Becoming a dartboard for every wanna be Van Helsing who can't mind their own freakin' business. Watching everyone but other vamps age & die. Once your 'eternal beloved' vamps you (that is if he doesn't keep you as his um, blood pudding) he goes from beloved to competition for meals.

Pro #2 Cleanliness:
Lets face it. People between the ages of puberty & dead as a boot can STINK. And some men seem to go out of their way to accrete a stank the likes of which would make a zombie toss its kidneys, or whomsoever's kidneys they've nommed recently, lol. And for women, the monthlies can produce its own range of scents & messes that can make a girl not even want to leave the house. BTW, ladies: do yourself a favor & go buy one of these: you will thank me. The act of consuming food products leaves our mouths stanky, no matter the cleaning choices. The act of discarding waste, both sweating &, well you know...? Bleh. And we as a society in America have made food such a necessary evil that we've made our kith & kin afraid of it, i.e. anorexia & bulemia. We've tweaked & modified our foodstuffs & made it even worse for the human body than it was in the first place, especially meat. The ultimate diet plan: To merely drink your meals? A mere cut or bite, delicately done, and one is fed for a night. No plates to clear, no nasty veins, gristle or thready strands of meat to pick from your jaws. And if you have your own Haustierblutbeutel, you can monitor its feeding habits. Kinda like free range meat, only w/a nookie option *shifty eyes*.
Con #2: Getting a sense of smell so sensitive that garlic is repulsive, which means vamping it up in Italy is right out. Being driven away from prey because their perfume is so powerful it gags other *humans* out let alone you.

Pro #3 Sensuality & talent:
Here I come to a delicate matter, that most fragile of materials: men's egos. I will indulge myself in TMI when I tell you my first lover was SO bad, that I as a virgin knew he was a lousy lay. I have rarely been impressed since. Most of my lovers have given a nice but VERY basic performance. Some have been quite fun. Two were the kind of lover that makes the *neighbors* light a ciggie afterwards. Others got two trips around the mattress & were frankly blown off with extreme prejudice. What? I have a right to be picky, just like someone going out to eat: If the meal sucks, try the place one more time, if it still sucks, go somewhere else *shrug*. Anyway. Imagine a lover that focuses utterly & entirely on you. Your every breath & physical cue observed with the intensity of a predator & the skill of a virtuoso. They will never tell your secret fantasies: "Hi, I'm a vampire & my girlfriend likes blah blah blah!" " that first part past me again?" lol. And every sick little idea that's marched through your head waving a flag? They've done it, probably daily back in the 1800's, when society was REALLY repressed.
Con #3: All humans are boring lays to a vamp that's been cracking hips for @ least 100 years. Realizing that you really ARE literally just a warm body.

So that's my take on the vampire paradigm. Anyone got any different opinions? Discuss. Please note that a mention of the Twilight series, if not well put will be deleted with extreme prejudice. The other two titles I considered for this post: What's bleeding? Gilbert's nape and Bloody Mary? Neat!

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Put One Foot In Front of The Other

I cannot grasp the concept of people in my face lately. Guys who want me & this one is especially amusing, as you'd think i'd be a virgin insteada the tart I really am. I HATE being touched, brrr! People @ work calling in to get me to relay messages to others, usually idiotic questions from parents of a sick kid. *shrug* Ain't a human being born yet that comes with a reliable instruction manual & ALL parents are amateurs, no matter how many kids they've pupped. Every one of us is an individual, despite the best work from Madison Ave. We will, all of us, do as we see fit, within shouting distance of local/current laws.

Anyway, I am of the firm opinion that we need a Global Silence Day, seriously. Which is another oddity, because I'm trying to make my artwork & writing make a living for me. Ergo I should be shouting from the rooftops: "Look @ MEEE!" when I would much prefer to perform my sales like a spy-drop from a WWII era flick.

Either way, I have a LOT of work to do & NONE of it is going to be easy. I could sit @ a desk & answer phones 38 hr a week for crap pay @ this job til I grew roots. OR I can do something that I want & enjoy doing for 60+ hrs a week. On the possibility that people will like & enjoy my work. I am a grown up & should be able to wipe my own ass, & any mistakes made are my responsibility. I will be working with a myriad of people to get this idea off the ground, & most of these people who have NO reason to hold my hand or cut me any sort of a break. A friend of mine keeps telling me to stop putting 'negative energy' into things & he has a point. But he's also one of those people that will fall into a lake & come up with pockets full of fish.

This venture is a desire to be my own boss & doing what I want to do. It's also because I am super wicked mega ultra sick of my current job. I'm not stupid enough to just quit, but I'm not scared anymore. I'm @ the place I should have been @ 20 years ago. Ready to go out & make something that I can say: "This is mine. This represents me & my headspace @ this time. And for a relatively small fee, a copy of it can be yours for your viewing pleasure!" *ahem*

The change to living on my artwork isn't going to happen overnight. It might not work @ all whatsoever, but I think it will. I tell a good story, I've been drawing for 30 years of my life, I will appeal to someone. My cheery friend tells me to be more positive & yet he was the 1st one in line to tell me this idea is gonna be a metric-ass ton of work, which I already knew.

BTW: Ballpoint Joint? It's because I usually do my sketches in ballpoint. They're cheap & easy to find & I like the clayey, almost sticky texture the good ones have. And I made it mature content because I swear, but I assure you it will be creative.

This is my 1st signal flare, so to speak. I am here. There will be damp fuses, there will be burnouts & hangfires. But I will never lose th spark that makes me NEED to use my hands & my head to make things. & I will keep trying.