Manifest Green

My Mother Is A Loon: Part Two

Ok, so my mom decided to send me another email, with the same hypothetical about my humane traps, but she expanded on it a wee bit:

From my Mom to Me:

UPDATED

No, they’ll be running around crazylike and banging themselves into the walls until they knock themselves out and lay there on the floor of the trap with bleeding knots on their little skulls . . . and the terror that will course through their little rat veins will create too much stress on their little hearts, and they’ll have a heart attack . . . but not the kind that’ll kill them asap but the kind that will leave them suffering and gasping for breath as they clutch their little fuzzy chests with their gnarly little fingers . . . and all of this in the pitch dark so that they can’t even see their little paws in front of their faces, and they go even crazier from sensory deprivation . . . and then you take the trap outside and let these poor psychologically traumatized and disoriented little creatures go, and they stagger and weave out into the street and get flattened under a car’s tires . . . and all of this in the name of PETA!

Please notice how she corrected "cursed" to "coursed" and then added how the mice won't die from a heart attack at all, but from becoming mouse pancakes. 

Seriously.  This woman gave birth to me.

My Mother Is A Loon

I finally got my PETA Humane "Smart" Mousetrap today to take care of any other little mousie friends that might be lurking (by the way, I saw that the stupid neighbors, that may or may not be moving out, that haven’t been in their apartment for like a week or two, left not only their bedroom windows open, but also the back door….so that may be where the creepy little guy came from).  And I let my mom know.

And I would like to share with you and email exchange between her and I.

From Me to my Mom:

I got my humane mouse traps from PETA today!  That was really quick!  And I think that they work the same way your inhumane mouse traps do, just humanely!  Yay!

From my Mom to Me:

No, they’ll be running around crazy like and banging themselves into the walls until they knock themselves out and lay there on the floor of the trap with bleeding knots on their little skulls . . . and the terror that will curse through their little rat veins will create too much stress on their little hearts, and they’ll have a heart attack . . . but not the kind that’ll kill them asap but the kind that will leave them suffering and gasping for breath as they clutch their little fuzzy chests with their gnarly little fingers . . . and all of this in the pitch dark so that they can’t even see their little paws in front of their faces, and they go even crazier from sensory deprivation . . . and all of this in the name of PETA!

From Me to my Mom:

I am totally posting that on my website....

From my Mom to Me:

Well, I meant “course” through their veins, but I guess CURSE will do!

 

And there you have it.  And I thought I had a wild imagination!

TMI Thursday: Who Wants To Do Lunch?

As the Teacher You Wish Had Made You Stay After Class, Lilu says, 

 ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!***

 

So I have this friend who is one of the greatest story tellers of all time.  To watch him tell a story is a thing of magic.  No freaking joke.  So I had heard this story a year or so ago and I politely requested that he send it to me to post for TMI.  And he did!  OMG, excited so much I nearly pissed myself. 

So, I present you with Mr. Mike Chvasta of the super famous Light Pupil Dilate and the soon to be famous Cowboy Jammies with his true (yet disgusting) tale of.....LUNCH! 

I posted it in Comic Sans to further your enjoyment:

"So my friend’s girlfriend, who’s been w/ the Atlanta Police Dept for years, told me this story. Basically, some folks witnessed this suit with a briefcase going into an abandoned building repeatedly over a course of days or weeks or something. It aroused enough suspicion for the locals to call cops. The cops watched him go in and gave him a few minutes, suspecting the business douche was buying coke, fucking boys like Michael Jackson, listening to alt country, or something ungly like that. They walked in and to the cops surprise, he was sitting with his briefcase open, eating a sandwich. A SHIT SANDWICH. The dude was a coprofiliac getting has daily dose of poo casserole. He was too embarrassed to sit and eat his turds in public. Good fuckin’ times.

She also mentioned this was more common than one would imagine. She said she had busted into many criminals houses that had SHIT ROOMS, where literally, the whole room was full of shit. Like “Here’s my bedroom, with master bath, here’s the guest room, kitchen, and don’t mind the smell at the end of the hallway, that’s just my SHIT ROOM WHERE I MAKE MY FRIENDS SHIT ON THE FLOOR SO I CAN CUM BY SMELLING DOODY”.

Go Atlanta. "

Yes.

Go Atlanta.

Happy TMI!

 

Yup….mmhmmm…

It’s been a day.  And from what I can gather, not a very good day for some people.  I still wish that I could just take everyone’s troubles and make it all better for them. 

And saying that reminds me of something I meant to do like a month ago.  I need a reminder.  I am horrible at remembering stuff.  Seriously.  Someone can ask me to do something, but I am such a procrastinator (most of the time) that I write it down, telling myself to do it by whenever, and then lose the note and forget all together. 

Example:  I pay my electric bill on time two times a year.  The first time is right before Summer when I know the air conditioner will be used so I pay up two months to bring it all up to date.  Then I slip back to skipping a month and pay a month late all Summer.  Then when Fall hits and my electric bills go back down to the double digits I will pay two double digit payments together and then slide back a month and pay a month late every month until right before Summer. 

It’s a system I have had that has worked for me, but now I am sliding into something more sinister.  Now I wait until the electric company sends me a reminder card.  I KNOW!  And if that isn’t bad enough, I will call the number on the reminder card the day the card says I have to pay and defer payment for another 3 days.  And the automated system says I have to pay by whatever date no later than the close of business.  You think that happens?  Ha!  You think wrong. 

Example:  reminder card arrives.  It tells me I owe $200 total.  A minimum of $100 must be paid no later than the close of business (5PM) on June 10th (remember, this is an example, not complete accuracy).  I call at 6PM on June 10th and make a promise to pay by the close of business on June 13th.  I then remember at around 7PM on June 13th, hurriedly call and make payment and then call back to speak with a Customer Service Representative to give them my Confirmation Code that I did actually pay and beg them not to turn my power off.

Why do I do this?  I don’t have the foggiest.  It isn’t like I don’t have the funds to pay for the stupid bill.  In the back of my mind I feel that they are royally screwing me, therefore I am going to screw them as long as I can.  Ok, maybe not.  I just don’t know why I do it, but it’s worked for me for this long.  Knock on wood.  (See, Brett isn’t like that.  He pays bills when he gets them.  What a brown noser.)

So back to what I was talking about.  I wish to the Heavens that I could take everyone’s problems and fix them.  But I am like a little kid who just found her mom’s favorite Hummel or something and all she can find is scotch tape to try to repair it.  I can’t even find the horrible (yet tasty) school paste (you know what I’m talking about…the paste that came in the big buckets and your teacher would smear some on a piece of construction paper for you to use after cutting out a piece of paper that you colored on and, once put together, resembled a really crappy paper basket that only your stupid plastic Easter egg would fit into and you were expected to give it to your mom, but while you  were pasting it you got some on your fingers and you didn’t want to be called the paste eater so you only tasted the paste, unlike Eric With The Yellow Teeth that sat next to you that would pick up pea sized globs of it and make smacking noises while licking it off his fingers and then have to ask the teacher for more and she would refuse because she knew he was eating more than what he needed to paste his stupid basket together?  Yeah, that paste).  So I am stuck feeling helpless of what to do for them.  So I will talk to them, and bake for them, and help them with little projects they need help with and do anything I can in my realm of existence to help.

Deep breath.

On a lighter note, I was able to speak with my wonderful, beautiful nieces the other night.  I have never met them, yet I love them dearly. 

AND I am going to make another card for my nephew, who is at basic training (I mentioned before).  I am so excited to go see him graduate next month!  And I know my mom is, too.  We haven’t seen him since he was 2 or 3 years old, so I can’t wait to see how that chubby little boy with the shock of crimson curls looks now (in person)!

Anyhoo, for what it’s worth, I love you guys!

Totally creeped out…

Yesterday something happened that caused me to get no sleep whatsoever.  And the alarm just made it worse.

So there I was, sitting on the couch, watching TV, minding my own business when I saw something out of the corner of my eye by the front door.  I look up and there was nothing there.  Just the usual: heavy cast iron frog door stop, some shoes, an entry way throw rug and a stack of towels that I keep meaning to donate to PAWS Atlanta, but never get around to it.  Anyhoo, I go back to watching TV.  And then I saw the movement again.  And I looked up.  Again.  And I didn’t see anyth….wait…what is that?  What the fuc…..oh no.  It’s a mouse!  A freaking mouse was in my apartment.  So I started hyperventilating.  And I jumped on the couch.  I looked over and see Scampi laying on the other couch.  She was looking at me through blurry eyes, unable to figure out why the crazy woman was standing on the couch clutching the remote control and her cell phone to her heart.  I look to the right of Scampi, and there is Scallop (the cat, mind you) snoring away without a care in the world.  I look around wildly.  Where is Sadie?  Where the hell is Sadie?  She is upstairs, probably sound asleep.  So what do I do?

I call Brett.

And through hyperventilating and near tears I tell him what is going on.  And I am freaking the fuck out.

Little bit about me:  I am not afraid of mice.  Rat, yes.  Mice, no.  I hate roaches.  I’m not a huge spider fan, but I can deal with them as long as they leave me alone.  when I lived in the middle of nowhere little field mice used to find their way into the house when it was rainy and cold, but they only wanted to be warm and dry, not eat all of the food and all (by the way, as I type this the movie “Mouse Hunt” is on Cartoon Network).  It’s like I can deal with country mice, but not urban, city mice.  The urban mice go and get tattoos of dead humans and join gangs.  They walk around with brass knuckles and chains and tie up cats just to torture them.  Plus, in my opinion, they carry more disease and germs than country mice.  It makes sense to me.

Anyhoo, where was I?  Oh yeah, I called Brett and told him about it.  I don’t know what I though he was going to do about it from work, but I figured he could send metal mouse catchers or something and take care of it.  But he didn’t, or couldn’t, and I hung up on him frustrated and upset.  So then, I get this magnificent idea!  I reach over and snatched up Scallop (the cat), then place one foot on the coffee table and fling her across the living room at the front door towards the mouse in hopes she would see it, smell it, get a bit hungry or playful and catch it.  She is now know as Scallop (the useless cat).  She landed not a foot away from the mouse, turned around and glared at me and wandered off into the dining room. 

So I start hyperventilating again.

Then the mouse runs past the door and disappeared behind the towels.  I’m still standing on the couch.  No way in hell am I gonna put my feet down and let that gang banging citified mouse break my toes with it’s tiny little mouse baseball bat.  Then I realized it was under the couch.  Not the couch I was standing on, but the couch that Scampi was laying on.  And I had a sudden fear it would tie up Scampi.  When it peeked out from under the couch I screamed.  And it’s head disappeared.    Then it peeked out again.  And I screamed.  And it disappeared again.  That happened like four more times.  Then it ran back over by the door.  That was my chance!  I lured Scampi to the couch I was standing on.  It took her about 6 years to get up, get off the couch, stretch, and get onto the couch I was on.  Then the mouse kinda froze by the door.  So I took that opportunity to step off the couch and tiptoe into the dining room  and retrieve Scallop (the useless cat).  I then tiptoes toward the front door and…well, I didn’t see the mouse.  Where did it go!?!?!?!?!?  Oh, it’s right there, behind the stack of towels, sitting on the window sill of the window that is floor to ceiling by the door.  It looked as though he were taking a bit of a snooze.  So I flung that (useless) cat at him again and bound in two steps back up onto the couch. 

The cat walked away again.

So I gingerly stepped of the couch and peeked at the window sill.  The mouse was still there.  And here came Sadie bounding down the stairs to see what the commotion was.

Then I devised a plan.

I got the dogs and the (useless) cat into the dining room and blocked it off.  Then I got the step stool and opened somewhat near where the mouse was.  Then I went upstairs and got a piece of chip board from the art room and a yard stick.  THEN I tiptoes down the stairs and very carefully, very quietly opened the front door.  I proceeded to climb up on the step stool and, using the yard stick, started moving the towels one by one to make a kind of fort around the open front door between the mouse and the rest of the house.  When I was confident enough that it was high enough to deter the mouse, I took the yard stick and poked him on the side.  And out the door he ran!

I felt very smart then.

I went onto PETA’s website and ordered the humane mouse trap.  Just in case.

But you know what?  All freaking night, every single little noise I heard, every time there was a jingle from the the (useless) cat’s collar bell, I was convinced the mouse and/or his friends were back and out to get me. 

And on top of that some asshole’s car alarm went off at 4 in the morning.  It was the horn one, that goes off for 30 seconds, then again every five minutes.  So not only am I hearing phantom mice, but I am listening to this stupid alarm.

And that’s my story.

TMI Thursday: Green Eggs and Ham? I don't think so!

Once again, as "Rocket Scientist By Day, Dirty Libriarian By Night", Lilu says

 ***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!***

Does anyone else remember those little juice containers that were shaped like barrels and had a round piece of foil over the top that you had to peel back?  And the flavors were red, orange and purple (‘cause they tasted like the colors, not any flavor, yo)?  And they couldn’t have possibly been good for kids, but they were cheap so parents bought them anyway?  Well, this story isn’t about that, but it plays a roll in it.

I can remember clearly what I had for lunch that day.  In case you didn’t know, I have a super awesome memory.  Ask Cat.  Seriously, I remember more about my childhood than other people remember.  Anyhoo, what I had for lunch that day was a bologna and American cheese sandwich on wheat bread (my mom never bought white bread), a granola bar, an apple, a hard boiled egg and one of those barrel drinks, red flavored.

My best friend (in elementary school, at least), Robin, and I were sitting on the benches right outside the cafeteria away from everyone else because we were cool like that (actually, we weren’t cool at all, seeing as I had on my sweater with and elephant head whose trunk ran down and arm and Robin was wearing a dress her mom made for her that was brown and green and reminiscent of Heidi).  Anyhoo, we ate our lunch and then went to play on the playground.  And all was well. 

Let me set this up for you now, now that you know a slight back story.

The year was 1984.  Winter of 1984 (well, kinda…Long Beach, California doesn’t exactly have a winter, but it was the time of year and I was wearing that stupid sweater so it might have dipped into the lower 70’s that day).  The place was the last row to the right, third desk back in Mrs. van der Moore’s third grade classroom.  In front of me was Eddie.  In back of me was Veronica (who I hated because she got to be one of the Cinderella’s in our Girl Scout troop's  play…but she was ugly and a bitch and I had to be Gus, the fat mouse and I hated that she got…wait, sorry…I got off track here).  It was nearing the end of the day, like maybe 15-20 minutes left of class. 

And I suddenly was not feeling well at all.  At all, at all.  And I raided my hand to let Mrs. Bitch van der Moore know I wasn’t feeling well.  She ignored me.  So I started shaking my hand around in the air.  You know what I’m talking about.  Flinging the old hand all over the place.  She still ignored.  I kept my hand up there.  I did the arm hold move where you place your opposite elbow on the desk and use that hand to prop your tired arm in the air.  She still ignored me.

So I talked out of turn.  I said, “Mrs. van der Moore, I don’t feel well!”.  And she turned around and glared at me.  GLARED at me. 

“Can I please go to the bathroom?  I don’t feel well.”

“No.”

So there I was.  I wasn’t feeling well.  And I knew something was going to happen.  Something bad.  So I raised my hand again.

And as I opened my mouth to tell her again that I didn’t feel well, it happened.  I threw up all over the fucking floor.  And it splattered.  Red.  Bright, fake red juice with chunks of bologna and American cheese.  Chunks of apple.  And dyed-red chunks of HARD BOILED EGG. 

And that bitch of a teacher just stood there for a moment, speechless.  Eddie, my savior, ran out of the room and down the hall to get my mom, who walked up to the school everyday to walk home with me.  Robin jumped up and came to semi-comfort me.  And that stupid teacher just started fuming.  Fuming!

When my mom came running into the room and saw me sitting there, in my stupid elephant sweater, sobbing and thoroughly embarrassed, the bitch teacher came running up and pretended to be worried.

“Stephanie, oh Stephanie, what happened, sugar (my mom was born and raised in  Tennessee…sugar is everyone’s name)?”, my mommy asked.

“I didn’t feel well and then I threw up!” I sobbed.

“Well, next time you need to let your teacher know so that you can go to the restroom, ok?” my mother said gently whilst hugging me.

“I did, mommy, and she said no and I tried to tell her over and over again but she didn’t call on me!” I sob.

My mom looks up at Mrs. van der Moore.

“She didn’t let me know at all”, the cunt says.

“Yah huh…she did raiser her and hand ask and she said no”, pipes in Eddie.

“Yeah, we heard her”, says Robin.

To which my mother gives Mrs. van der Moore a hard look.

Guess which teacher was in the principal’s office the next day for a principal/teacher/parent conference?

I thought today was my off day

You know, this morning started out pretty good.  Well, sorta.  I actually woke up really early, like at about 3 in the morning or so and could not go back to sleep.  So I turned on the tv, started to doze off and then reawakened with a start because everyone who was sleeping (Brett, dogs) started a snoring symphony.  And I was the only audience member.  Grumble.

So I decided that when Brett got up I would get up and run to Michaels and all and be back home by 10 a.m. so I could eat some food and take a quality nap.

Well, for some reason nothing ever goes as planned when I actually plan stuff. 

While I was at Whole Foods I get a call from and employee asking a question that I thought she already knew.  Then I got a call from a manager at another store asking me a question I couldn’t answer for him because it’s my day off.  I am not at work with access to what I needed to answer this question.  Then I get a call from another employee asking a question that perhaps the first employee should have answered for him, but fuck it, it’s Stephanie’s day off so lets just ruin it for her a little more.

And you’d think that would be all, but oh no!  It gets better!

I finally got home, after 10, more like 11 (because remember, I had to stand around in the grocery fielding stupid work phone calls and I cannot talk on the phone and pay attention to items that I might want to buy at the same time).  And I made some vegan chili and ate it.  Made a veggie plate for myself as an after lunch snack and ate it.  Practiced embossing cards with the embossing tools I got today.  And at about 12:45 took some Benadryl to clear me up and help with the napping issue.

And my phone rang. 

And it was another employee.

Her car broke down and she couldn’t find anyone to work for her.

Do you think I got dressed and went into work for her? 

Hell. No.

I pulled on some jeans and drove to get her, forcing her to leave her car behind for the tow truck to find and drove her ass to work, dropping her off without a, “have a wonderful day!” and hightailed it outta there. 

So then I bought a peach milkshake from Chic-fil-a, along with some waffle fries (that were very, very crispy and not good in general) because I thought I deserved it. 

So then I was all snotty again (milk causes mucus, which is why I don’t drink it) and took some Theraflu and tried to doze again.  I kinda was able to, but not very well.  And then Brett came home.

The End.

Kidding, not the end.  Though it may have been a really shitty day off, I want to share with you some stuff I got today at Whole Foods!

Ready?  Ok!

This is some of my favorite incense!  It smells divine and it burns for something like 2-2 1/2 hours.  One stick is enough to make the upstairs and downstairs smell like an adobe house in New Mexico.  Make me wanna bake some bread over fire.

This is something I saw while perusing the Rice Dream aisle.  It tastes kind like…well, sorbet.  I can’t really explain the taste.  It is very good, though.  I am, in fact, going to have some with kiwi slices in a bit.

 

And finally, some kind of body mist that supposed helps make you money if you believe hard enough.  I’m gonna try it out and see if I can hurriedly make back all the dough I spent today on embossing tools and crap like this at Whole Foods.

So there you have my day. 

The End.  (fo’ realz this time!)

Yeeeeeepy! For me…

I got my name changed today!  I finally went to the Social Security office and changed my name.  And it wasn’t as bad as I had thought it would be.  I imagined having to park in some ungodly part of downtown and trudge 10 blocks to a dirty little building with leper homeless guys and gals hanging around outside asking for money or offering a sip of their St. Ides for a nickel or something.  But it totally wasn’t like that! 

I knew about where the place was, and since I don’t usually take the freeway I was more than a little nervous about trying to find the place.  But I drove down Peachtree until I came to whatever that other street was.  And I turned.  And I saw a parking lot, but I wasn’t sure if I could park there so I kept going.  And I turned again, this time on West Peachtree.  And I went on up, saw the MARTA station (which on the map I looked at was in a totally different place) and then turned again, going down another side street to Peachtree again.  And I started over.  I decided to park in the parking lot that I wasn’t sure if I could (which I could) for $7, not bad for being right across from the building I had to go to.  No the $5 I hoped for, but seeing as it was only 2 bucks more, hey!  Whatevs.  And bonus:  no homeless people around to annoy me!  And there were cops outside of the building (which could sometimes be a bad thing, considering it is a federal building).  I signed in and was told to go to the 28th floor.  Gulp.  I am deathly afraid of elevators.  Deathly.  I guess my face said that because the woman informed me that I would be fine, there would be other people on there with me (hopefully not ten 500 lbs people, you know what I mean?).  And guess what?  She was wrong.  I was on the elevator by myself.  For 28 floors.  I was hanging onto the rails for dear life, you know, because those are totally gonna save me when the elevator goes plummeting to my guaranteed death.  But alas, it didn’t and I was ok, if a bit shaky when I got off the stupid thing. 

I went in, got my little application, pulled a number and sat in a room with a bunch of other bored, tired looking people.  Thankfully I didn’t get stuck to the talky woman who kept trying to start up conversations with everyone.  She must be lonely.  But I don’t care about what her daughter is in school studying.  And I might have told her.  Anyhoo, after about 15 minutes I got called back and was outta there 5 minutes later.  Sweet!  Except for the elevator ride.  Down 28 floors.  This time with a fairly portly woman and a federal agent, and I didn’t want to seem crazy to I just closed my eyes and held my breath on the way down.  I’m sure everyone else in the universe does that too, right?

So now I have legally changed my name (thankfully!) and I can go on Thursday to change my license.  I don’t have to do anything with my car tag yet.  That’s next month.

Another little ditty I’d like to tell is about this horrible, horrible wine I bought yesterday.  And I need to start out with a slight disclaimer:  I am not an alcohol hater.  I believe Jesus turned water into wine because wine makes like far more interesting that water does.  I mean, think about it…what if instead of water being tossed around during hurricanes it was wine?  Or Jim Beam?  Or Vodka?  OR BEER?  A PBR hurricane.  Hell.  Yeah.  So anyhoo, I love alcohol.  I do not discriminate (except for tequila-except in a margarita or at least mixed with something-and Wild Turkey, but I already explained that).  So for me to think a wine is horrible means it must be HORRIBLE.  This stuff is called Rex-Goliath Free Range Giant 47 Pound Rooster Pinot Noir.  And I am having a terrible time choking it down.  What makes it worse is I stupidly bought 2 bottles of the stuff.  I tried to drink some last night, but only choked down 2 glasses.  Then today I figured that maybe I just wasn’t in the mood to drink wine yesterday and that I would drink it all today.  Nope.  After half a glass I sent a message to Brett to please, please bring home some PBR!  So yeah.  I am trying to get the rest of this bottle choked down.  It’s almost a full glass left. 

If you were bad wine and I was drinking you at my art table, I would hafta put you in a festive Christmas glass, even though it doesn’t make you taste better!

If you look closely to the right of the snowman wine glass and just north of the cobalt ashtray you can see the bottle that this gross stuff came in.  DO NOT BUY IT.

So yeah.  That was my day.  Oh, I also told off one of my employees.  but it’s because I love her.  I yelled at her out of love. 

It’s me again!

I totally forgot to go to Michael’s today to get some stuff I needed to work on some more arts ‘n’ crafts.  So I am sitting here, enjoying the internets that I have not been on in a few days.

Sorry about that.

I was wholly inspired the past few weeks to be creative.  And then, ptthhhht!  Nothing.  And then today I was so wrapped up in what to get for dinner that I forgot to….well, I already explained that.

So for now I am going to leave you with a wonderful music video that Tim posted on Facebook the other day and I just got around to actually watching it.  I LITERALLY snotted myself while watching this…had I been drinking something at the time it would have been a spittake…no freaking joke.

(DO NOT WATCH THIS VIDEO AT WORK IF YOU HAVE SPEAKERS THAT ALLOW EVERYONE ELSE AROUND YOU TO HEAR WHAT YOU ARE DOING ONLINE….IN OTHERWORDS, NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!!!!)

Be back soon!

Yeah, Yeah…I Know

I didn’t participate in TMI Thursday yesterday.  I just wasn’t feeling it this week.  Plus I have been preoccupied with (sadly) hateful feeling towards work and creativity and what-have-you. 

So I have today and tomorrow off of work (yay!) and I plan on relaxing, yet do some serious thinking and possible work…on some painting ideas. 

Yeah.

I’m not quite awake yet. 

a little something

I made a card to send to my nephew at basic training.  I hope he likes it!

A Sorta Workday

Well, we had our first meeting in over a month today.  And Brenda was burned like crazy from her trip to Florida.  Like, really, really burned.  Her face was all swollen and peely and stuff.  Kinda feel bad for her.  I don’t think we would have had the meeting except that she insisted on it.  And it was a pretty good meeting, too.  I got to see exactly what has been going on numbers-wise.  I’m glad to see we aren’t at the bottom of the heap, yet we could definitely do better than we are.  It’s just giving everyone a little push.  I was also able to let her know that I was planning on taking Labor Day weekend off.  Hopefully I will be able to.

After the meeting I ran by Michael’s, ‘cause that’s exactly what I should be doing, huh?  I bought a beader.  Miranda has inspired me to try something that takes patience.  So I am going to start with making beads, and then painting them.  And I bought a beader to help make them.  I also bought a bead baking rack to bake them without one side getting smooshed flat.  I guess I will start playing with it in a few.

Right now I am going to make a new bunny painting for my friend Nicole.  I keep meaning to send the bunny rinchie to her that I made, but I am going to make another one especially for her on a card.  It’s gonna be cute!  I hope.

So yeah, that’s about it.  I almost went off on here the other day about some stuff (mainly the stupidity of people here in Atlanta), but I had decided not to.  I am trying my best to not get worked up so much over things that I cannot control.  In fact, when I spoke with Miranda the other day I told her that I admired how she always appeared calm no matter what and I wish I could be like that.  So I am trying.

Okey dokey!

TMI Thursday: Gobble, Gobble, Gob...OH GROSS!

The Divine Lilu says, "

***Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!***

Ok, once again this isn’t about me.  And it’s about puke.  Great, huh?

I have a friend named…uh…let’s call her Cara.  I have known Cara for years.  Literally.  And she is married to her high school sweetheart (who wasn’t in high school when she was, which is why this story happened in the first place).

Ready to begin?  Ok!

So, Cara was to spend the night at my house.  For reference I was, I think 16.  She was 17.  Or was I 15 and she was 16?  No, I think it was the former.  Anyhoo.  She had gone to work in her snazzy uniform and her now husband (probably in his snazzy uniform…the one back then, not the one now) had driven her over after work.  And on the way had picked up some “adult beverages” on the way.  Which Cara hid in her ginormous, ever present backpack. 

Fast forward through dinner and all that jazz.  You know, fast forward to the ‘rents going to sleep.

So yeah, there we were, two girls alone upstairs, with booze.

So we drank.  We started on the bottle of vodka.  And that bottle went pretty quick.  When I think about it, our metabolisms musta bee powerful to get through that whole bottle and still be “sober” enough for what happened next.

Ok, so you know the bottle of vodka was one of the beverages that was bought for us.  What was the other?  Wild Turkey.

Which to this day I find disgusting and I wanna puke just thinking about it.  Thanks, Cara.

So, anyhoo…

Cara was all, “I dunno if we should mix the vodka and the Wild Turkey” and I’m all, “It’s ok!  See I ill drink some first!” and I did.

Well, I pretended to.

See, I didn’t want anymore alcohol (because the vodka hadn’t settled yet) but I had to be the brave one so I could get her to drink too (because who likes to be the only drunk?)! 

But I didn’t really drink it.  Instead I plugged my tongue over the opening and turned the bottle up and pretended to drink, exclaiming, “SEE!  It’s okay!” and handing the bottle to the  wary Cara.

She took it, looked at me with a look that said “I do not believe you, but I will trust you” (she totally shouldn’t have trusted me, huh?) and turn the bottle up. 

Cara had barely gotten any of the Wild Turkey in her mouth before she started throwing up.  All over my room.  All over her snazzy uniform (why the hell didn’t she change out of it?  I dunno…), all over the carpet leading into the bathroom, all over the bathroom and, finally, into the toilet.

Laughing the whole way.

I laughed, too.

When I am old with the “old timer’s”, this is probably gonna be the story I tell the nurses over and over.

The end.

Gah…congestion…art…and stuff…

The congestion hasn’t let up.  I feel snotty.  It’s gross.  Oh well.

Because today was my day off, and because I tried to stay in bed all day and it didn’t work out for me (restlessness, laundry, etc), I did some clay work.

 

Some little faces that I made.  Creepy, huh?  I’m gonna sand them down and paint them. 

 

Some runes.  I plan on painting these, too. 

I actually had another idea that I am trying to work out the details of before I start.  So maybe that will be up soon!

Ok, back to my silent suffering.

P.S.  Kitty feet bouquet (with a side of face, claws and tail):

Is it the weekend yet?

Not for me.  Today was Saturday for everyone else in the world (well, those with a 9-5, Monday-Friday job), but not for me.  Today was my….Thursday, perhaps?  I don’t know.   I think I have Monday off, but I can’t remember. 

It has not been fun the past coupla days.  I have had the worst sinus problem.  Well, not the worst, because there was not infection.  But I have felt pretty crappy.  Today, however, I actually feel ok. 

Let’s hope the nonstop rain doesn’t start back up.  Even though it will.

So today I got my Sierra Club membership card!  Brett said I am now a card carrying hippy, to which I replied, “yup!”  Now I just have to find the time and energy to help out.  I think most of the events are on weekends (except for the monthly meetings) and I work weekends.  But I am sure I can find a way to help, regardless.

I worked on another painting the other night, to see what all I could do.  I tried to do Brett’s picture, but I couldn’t get the beard to show up.  So I picked another bearded friend, Tim, and tried it out with his picture:

Which to me makes it look like he has a mullet, but it’s all good.

I haven’t really felt like doing a whole lotta art work lately, and that makes me sad because of all of the money I spent (and Brett spent) to buy the stuff that I needed (wanted) to work on some more.  I am hoping that this week will inspire me to do more.  I just need to go and do it, I think.  But sometimes the couch looks so nice.

I know, I know.  Go practice your drawing.  I will!  Just not right now.  If I have Monday off then I will do it then.  And if not drawing then I will do something creative.  Promise.  Cross my heart and needle in the eye and all that jazz.

Oh!  And today I met a dog named Izzy!  She is so cute!

She looks like a much smaller (like 100 pounds smaller) version of my beloved Scampi:

Those are the closest two pictures I could find.  Otherwise you will just hafta believe me on this.  She was very friendly, very sweet and had claws that could rip the skin open with one tiny little swipe.  She was also very skittish.  She is a rescue so they aren’t really sure what had happened to her in the past.  Poor little girl.  I am so very glad that she has nice loving home.

Oh, to have a puppy again.  I love my furbabies, but I always wish I could have a million more.

Anyhoo, this coming week, in addition to working some more on art, I will be trying to find a way to keep my garbage and recycling separate AND keep these damn fruit flies out of my home.  Because I am sick and tired of them flying around, banging into my face, eating out of the litter box, then trying to land on food or in drink.  And why in the hell are they in the upstairs bathroom now?  I had to deal with ants at the beginning of the summer and now this.  Of course, I remember having to deal with the fruit flies this time of year last year and the year before.  So maybe there is nothing I can do about it.  Brett stuck up some of those ugly swirly doodads in the dining room by the back door and by the cat’s food (since they have a taste for Friskie’s Ocean Whitefish, also).  But it’s almost like those silly things are smart enough to stay away from them. 

Anyone have any ideas?