"This looks cool...does anyone want to go with me?" Asks a young woman looking at a flyer just handed to her as she wandered the streets of NYC the weekend before Christmas.
"I think you have to be 21 to go." Responds her companion.
"Then why did she hand this to me?!" The young woman asks incredulously.
"She hands one to everyone, honey." Her companion gently explains to her.
I didn't hear the rest. I was too busy laughing. I'm easily amused.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Home
For the first thirteen years of my life I lived in the same house. My mother kept it and all of it's headaches after she and my father divorced. I loved every square inch of that house. When I was thirteen my step-father's last surviving parent died, leaving her house unoccupied, so my mother and her husband saw fit to move into the newly uninhabited abode.
That house was where I lived until I was 19 and left the nest. It never felt like home to me. I remember coming to that realization when I was about 16 years of age. From the time we moved in until the time I moved out, I felt like I was living in someone else's home. Of course, it didn't help that we acquired all of his parent's furniture, antiques, drapes, and dishes, as we couldn't afford to replace everything and his parent's belongings were nicer than anything we owned prior. So, I guess, in essence, we were living in someone else's home; filled with their decorations, their tastes, and their memories. It was a house filled with ghosts. It still is, but that's another post all together.
Tonight, as I was baking Christmas cookies while 2x4 and the kids were reading books in the next room, I shut off the hall light and suddenly found myself overflowing with a sense of being home. It's not a house, it's not as big as we'd like it to be, and I can't afford to decorate the way I would like; but it's our home, and I can't think of anything more comfortable or appealing than that simple feeling.
That house was where I lived until I was 19 and left the nest. It never felt like home to me. I remember coming to that realization when I was about 16 years of age. From the time we moved in until the time I moved out, I felt like I was living in someone else's home. Of course, it didn't help that we acquired all of his parent's furniture, antiques, drapes, and dishes, as we couldn't afford to replace everything and his parent's belongings were nicer than anything we owned prior. So, I guess, in essence, we were living in someone else's home; filled with their decorations, their tastes, and their memories. It was a house filled with ghosts. It still is, but that's another post all together.
Tonight, as I was baking Christmas cookies while 2x4 and the kids were reading books in the next room, I shut off the hall light and suddenly found myself overflowing with a sense of being home. It's not a house, it's not as big as we'd like it to be, and I can't afford to decorate the way I would like; but it's our home, and I can't think of anything more comfortable or appealing than that simple feeling.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Christmas Confusion
Sometimes I'm a little slow, mentally I mean. Here's an example:
When I was somewhat younger than I am now, I sat down and really thought about the Christmas song wherein mommy is caught smooching Santa Claus. I was really upset by the whole thing. I couldn't believe that someone would go and write a song about mommy cheating on daddy with old St. Nick. It was so wrong! I felt so bad for daddy, the poor unsuspecting soul!
It wasn't until about the age of 14 (approximately 8 years after discovering the truth about the jolly old elf) that I got it.
Der.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Tis the Season for Giving
Check out this guy's photography. His name is Gilad Benari, he lives in Israel, and his work is just plain incredible. I've been admiring his stuff on the DeviantArt website for a while now, and since he's selling his work I figured I'd use my blogging powers of good to spread the word.
I know nothing about him that isn't on the Deviant site. I sent him and email today just to compliment him...I think he deserves the kudos.
I know nothing about him that isn't on the Deviant site. I sent him and email today just to compliment him...I think he deserves the kudos.
Monday, December 11, 2006
These are the Screwed Up Days of Our Lives.
My coworkers periodically find occasion to hang out together. Some individuals give open invitations to the entire staff to come and hang out at their home and some simply go to the bars to party together. Either way, they all have a single goal and that is to get as inebriated as possible.
I do neither of those things for two reasons.
One: I don't really like my coworkers.
Two: Drinking to oblivion got old when I was like, 21 and 3 days old.
As of this evening I can add a third reason to the list.
Three: The cook, his son, and a third man will beat some unsuspecting soul to a bloody pulp.
Our cook is an interesting man. He has a bit of a temper but I've yet to meet a cook without that quality...you try working in a room that feels like Hades and be chipper all the time-it's a tough proposition.
Our cook's son was recently released from prison. He's 22 and was involved in several incidents which cumulatively lead to him spending a year in prison. The cook's 19 year old daughter recently had a baby and is supported by her dad as she hasn't worked since well before the baby was born, and of course the baby's father isn't involved. The three of them have a friend who washed dishes in the restaurant for a while and gave me the creeps from day one. You know how some people are just bad news? They ooze it? Well, this guy fit the bill.
Last night one of the waitresses extended an open invitation to the entire staff to join her and her boyfriend in their home for a holiday party.
I'm not sure of the specific events leading up to the horrific bloody scene that became their living room, as all of this is via other people (I, of course, was not there, for reasons one and two)...but the long and short of it is the host wanted The Cook and his entourage (son and creepy guy) to leave. The three of them decided instead to beat him almost to death. He is hospitalized with a busted nose, he has a huge gash on his neck and he has several broken ribs. Oh, and they trashed his house; broke windows and destroyed the interior.
The Cook's son and creepy guy are both on probation, so chances are they're both going to be locked up again (his son called the waitress today begging her not to press charges). The waitress and her beau are of course pressing charges, so chances are that The Cook will also spend some time behind bars.
What do you think the odds are that The Cook's grandson will be an upstanding and contributing member of society one day?
I do neither of those things for two reasons.
One: I don't really like my coworkers.
Two: Drinking to oblivion got old when I was like, 21 and 3 days old.
As of this evening I can add a third reason to the list.
Three: The cook, his son, and a third man will beat some unsuspecting soul to a bloody pulp.
Our cook is an interesting man. He has a bit of a temper but I've yet to meet a cook without that quality...you try working in a room that feels like Hades and be chipper all the time-it's a tough proposition.
Our cook's son was recently released from prison. He's 22 and was involved in several incidents which cumulatively lead to him spending a year in prison. The cook's 19 year old daughter recently had a baby and is supported by her dad as she hasn't worked since well before the baby was born, and of course the baby's father isn't involved. The three of them have a friend who washed dishes in the restaurant for a while and gave me the creeps from day one. You know how some people are just bad news? They ooze it? Well, this guy fit the bill.
Last night one of the waitresses extended an open invitation to the entire staff to join her and her boyfriend in their home for a holiday party.
I'm not sure of the specific events leading up to the horrific bloody scene that became their living room, as all of this is via other people (I, of course, was not there, for reasons one and two)...but the long and short of it is the host wanted The Cook and his entourage (son and creepy guy) to leave. The three of them decided instead to beat him almost to death. He is hospitalized with a busted nose, he has a huge gash on his neck and he has several broken ribs. Oh, and they trashed his house; broke windows and destroyed the interior.
The Cook's son and creepy guy are both on probation, so chances are they're both going to be locked up again (his son called the waitress today begging her not to press charges). The waitress and her beau are of course pressing charges, so chances are that The Cook will also spend some time behind bars.
What do you think the odds are that The Cook's grandson will be an upstanding and contributing member of society one day?
Sunday, December 10, 2006
As promised.
Here it is. After much anticipation (I'm sure) I give you my senior art project...You've read my artist statement (hopefully)...so you understand that each piece of artwork represents a role that I currently play.
This one is Sister. Done with graphite pencil and tissue paper collage.
This one is Friend. Watercolor.
This one is Woman...you can't see them in the picture but she is balancing a variety of adjectives such as nurturing and fierce, aloof and available, etc. It's a combination of charcoal and chalk pastel.
Der...Waitress. Acrylic paint. Does she look miserable? 'Cause that's what I was going for. And she looks nothing like me so that my role as waitress will not live on in infamy.
This one is Environmentalist. Incase you can't tell what the hell it is...it's a landscape scene created entirely out of found objects like used Hershey Kiss wrappers (damn those were good cookies!) and oregano, and grass clippings and pine needles and crumpled autumn leaves...
There are more, but I'm either uncomfortable showing them (because they're not all that good) or because I'm too lazy to upload any pictures, either way, I figure this should be enough, right?
This one is Sister. Done with graphite pencil and tissue paper collage.
This one is Friend. Watercolor.
This one is Woman...you can't see them in the picture but she is balancing a variety of adjectives such as nurturing and fierce, aloof and available, etc. It's a combination of charcoal and chalk pastel.
Der...Waitress. Acrylic paint. Does she look miserable? 'Cause that's what I was going for. And she looks nothing like me so that my role as waitress will not live on in infamy.
This one is Environmentalist. Incase you can't tell what the hell it is...it's a landscape scene created entirely out of found objects like used Hershey Kiss wrappers (damn those were good cookies!) and oregano, and grass clippings and pine needles and crumpled autumn leaves...
There are more, but I'm either uncomfortable showing them (because they're not all that good) or because I'm too lazy to upload any pictures, either way, I figure this should be enough, right?
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Merry F^#*ing Christmas
The other day I took 2x4's daughter (henceforth to be known as Judy) to the mall to run a variety of errands. Whilst in the parking lot, at a four way intersection, I was about to take my rightful turn when a guy hugged the bumper ahead of him and doubled up as they both slipped through. I hit the brakes in order to keep from hitting the Jack-Ass (and of course couldn't say or do anything that I normally would because there was a 9 year old girl in the back seat). THEN the guy flips ME off as he barrels through! Gawd was I pissed!
Last night 2x4 and I ventured to the mall so that I could purchase an outfit for his company Christmas party. 2x4 is like my fashion consultant. He puts things together that I would never even give a second glance, but then fall in love with. He was blessed with the fashion sense that evaded me. So, I was in a tiny two stall dressing room, and he would periodically show up with a shirt or jacket for me to try on. At one point a woman came in and used the other stall. It wasn't until later that I realized her intermittent mumbling was anger towards me. I just thought she was a little weird. Then as she left, she snidely asked me "Does your husband always dress you?"
I was in the stall with my shirt off and the door closed, so it took a minute for me to detect the hostility. I simply responded, "No, he doesn't ever dress me, but I value his opinion" (you miserable self-righteous bitch). Then a minute or two passed and I asked, "Do you always ask inappropriate questions of strangers?" The much more pleasant woman who was now occupying the stall said, "She's gone." I replied, "I know, that's why I said that" She laughed and we agreed that the woman was miserable but that it takes all types.
Then the miserable bitch went and complained so a sales person who then came to tell him to take 2 steps back so that he was technically outside of the bath tub sized dressing room because store policy says that men cannot be in the dressing room.
It's the most wonderful time of the year...but I guess jerks are jerks all the time. I shouldn't expect a reprieve just because mistletoe is in season. Humbug.
I still love the season...I think the random hostility is bothering me more than usual because I'm feeling festive and I want it to be contagious.
Last night 2x4 and I ventured to the mall so that I could purchase an outfit for his company Christmas party. 2x4 is like my fashion consultant. He puts things together that I would never even give a second glance, but then fall in love with. He was blessed with the fashion sense that evaded me. So, I was in a tiny two stall dressing room, and he would periodically show up with a shirt or jacket for me to try on. At one point a woman came in and used the other stall. It wasn't until later that I realized her intermittent mumbling was anger towards me. I just thought she was a little weird. Then as she left, she snidely asked me "Does your husband always dress you?"
I was in the stall with my shirt off and the door closed, so it took a minute for me to detect the hostility. I simply responded, "No, he doesn't ever dress me, but I value his opinion" (you miserable self-righteous bitch). Then a minute or two passed and I asked, "Do you always ask inappropriate questions of strangers?" The much more pleasant woman who was now occupying the stall said, "She's gone." I replied, "I know, that's why I said that" She laughed and we agreed that the woman was miserable but that it takes all types.
Then the miserable bitch went and complained so a sales person who then came to tell him to take 2 steps back so that he was technically outside of the bath tub sized dressing room because store policy says that men cannot be in the dressing room.
It's the most wonderful time of the year...but I guess jerks are jerks all the time. I shouldn't expect a reprieve just because mistletoe is in season. Humbug.
I still love the season...I think the random hostility is bothering me more than usual because I'm feeling festive and I want it to be contagious.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Artist Statement
This is my statement, as it appears next to my work. 2x4 said it was too wordy, what does he know? The reception went well although I got bloated on cheese and crackers, and my feet hurt from walking around town in my high heels all afternoon. My camera battery died, so I don't have pictures of my work. Consider this a teaser, I'll post the art work later. (BTW, that's a watercolor I did in the background)
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