I wasn't spawned from a computer, just raised by one.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


New tradition, sort of like my 10 things, only not at all. I'm going to post 5 open letters at a time, sometimes there might be a theme, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say not often.

Here goes:

This weeks theme is FACE.

Well, then I guess it’s not a very good drinking game. Which would mean, when Barney and I played it last night, I didn’t get super-wasted and throw up all over myself! OH, WAIT. I did both of those things! Sooooooooooo… FACE.

Dear Bryn-Alan Hoebagel,

Thank you for telling me that if I wanted my school photo to be pretty I shouldn't smile so wide because it makes my nose look fatter. Not fat, but fatter. As if there's a certain level of nose fat that I have no control over and will have to forever contend with. Albeit true, it wasn't something that needed to be said to a 9 year old girl. Feel content in the knowledge that a decade later I still sometimes find myself staring at my nose at 3 am, checking it's width in proportion to how fully I'm smiling.

Dear Demented Old Man,

Thank you for being the first person to ask me if "I stood too close behind a cow".

for those of you not bespeckled, and unaware of this "classic" gem, it goes a lil' somethin' like this:

Me: No, Sir.

DOM: No?!

Me: shakes head

DOM: Well then, how DID you get that shit all over your face?

I locked myself in the industrial freezer, as was my custom in times of childhood angst, and cried for two hours straight. I hope my Dad broke your hip when he tossed you out.

Dear Perpetual Fox Racing T'shirt,

Thank you for calling me Yarmulke-girl in high school. Three things:

1) I'm not Jewish.

2) Only men wear yarmulkes. (Well, mostly.)

3) WTF were you getting at anyway?

I feel you were trying to be insulting, but somewhere between point A & B something went terribly, horrifically wrong. I wish no ill toward you, I feel it's already come in the form of basic cognition. Mazel Tov.

Dear Boy Who Tried to Rub My Giant Face Freckle Off,

It's not dirt, but thanks for the concern anyway. Never has something been so sweet and embarrassing at the same time.

Dear Elderly Tollbooth Operator,

Thank you for asking me where I got such a pretty smile. No. Seriously, you made my day.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

You May Call Me HOUSE! (aka. How Eli Roth Saved My B.F.F.'s Foot)

Everyone who has ever had a roommate please raise your hand? Got that, we good? Okay. Keep'em nice and high, where I can see'em. Now, everyone keep your hand up if you have had a roommate who you correctly diagnosed with a flesh eating bacteria? Take a moment. Is it just me now, am I the only one? Frick yeah!

So my roommate has been having some extremely off the wall medical issues lately. Over the last few months she has bounced from one ridiculously unlikely issue to another. At one point her nose kinda sorta exploded a little bit, but as I'm sure all would agree even the slightest nose explosion is not to be taken lightly. This largely was assumed to be the result of either a spider bite, a bad reaction to my dog pulling her nose ring out, and then finally attributed to staff. She's also been bouncing from kidney infection to possible kidney stones. She also has a still seeming unrelated bad back. All very weird for a 19 year old girl. This is the point in the story where I start to gleefully refer to her as grandma in passing conversation.

Grandma, or as all the cool kids are sayin' G'ma, soon developed a new symptom: weird ass looking toes. Now G'ma's toes have alway been a bit funky (being webbed and all - I'm not joking, that's not funny, stop laughing) but they began to turn red, and then kinda brownish and then it would go away for a while, and then boom, it'd be back.

I told her, on more than one occasion, that she should get that checked. I also told her, on more than one occasion, that I was pretty sure that she had Cabin Fever* and that her feet bes' be backin' the hella up off my shiz.** She ignored me on both counts.

But guess what? Seems someone (Grandma) has cellulitis. In truth, all these weird little infections are probably related to that initial one, that never got treated correctly and has now gone into her bloodstream and is manifesting in strange and disgusting ways - like flesh eating bacteria.

Okay. So cellulitis is not technically a flesh eating bacteria, but it in fact can become one if not treated, and it is contagious through direct contact. So there. Close enough. If she had just listened to me and tried to shave her foot she would have known this forever ago.

And Mom said horror movies were useless. Pshh.

Diagnosis: Mom's are NOT always right, my opinions just may save your life, and finally, I'm awesome.


*as in the movie, not how I felt after I beat all my video games over summer vacation every year.

**I have extremely sensitive skin, if I think you're bringing flesh eating bacteria around my biz, things are gonna get realz fast.

Saturday, January 16, 2010


I finished writing my New Year's Resolutions today. I know. Most people have already broken all theirs and I'm just getting around to mine. I never make resolutions. I did last year, but I think that was the new blogger in me, wanting an excuse to show off my Google image search skillage.

Truthfully, I've never seen the point. I'm skeptical that a specific date can pull a stand in for a life changing epiphany and cause you to change all the stuff about your life that makes you cringe. I mean, c'mon! But as George S. Patton is accused of saying:

"Watch what people are cynical about, and one can often discover what they lack."

Well ya got me, General.

Thursday night I couldn't be home. I got in my car and drove, I'm still not sure where I actually ended up. A 24 Hour Walgreens parking lot is all I know for certain. Then I just sat there, for hours, hurt and pissed off and wanting to hear anything but what was in my head. I woke up the next day around 4, with what I can only assume was a "life hangover".

I promptly laid in bed all day and watched reruns of Dead Like Me on Hulu. My body let me know it rejected my decision making by spitting out my left contact lens.

Perhaps the reason I reject the idea of yearly resolutions is that I have no resolution. I am neither firm nor determined. In fact, thinking about being either is liable to induce panic. Much in the same way as watching an oodle of Hulu only to realize that you ARE George*,

*For those who've never watched Dead Like Me, George (or Georgia) is the main character, a smart, yet apathetic teenage girl who doesn't realize that she never let herself experience life until after she's dead.

I guess what I'm getting at is life is way too short and I've wasted quite enough of mine anxiously worrying about failing at things I've never taken the chance to try, thank you.

So this year my biggest resolution... is to get some.*


*Hel-lo. My New Year's Resolution is to *get some* resolve. Thanks Wendiwinn, I didn't mean for my last line to be open to so much interpretation. Or did I?**

**No. No, I did not.


Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Pumpkin Goop and Other Such Related Events

The cold wind blows across the tops of the ever more soup-esque, dead pumpkins as a tumbleweed ambles by... AND SCENE!

I know what you're thinking and yes, they are still there. Even now. Like you've never wanted to see how long it would take for your holiday decorations to just do away with themselves on their own.

It's been a crazy couple months. Let's see...

  • I went to see Say Anything in St. Pete in mid-November. Where I took these crazy-awesome photos:

  • My brother and sister and their respective families came down and spent Thanksgiving at my parent's new place. We then returned the favor by going to them for Christmas.

too many nephews... too many nephews.
I spent most of Christmas shooting these little things in the chest with my Nerf rifle, but they just kept coming back!

  • Around the 5th of December I found this little guy on the side of the expressway. He now belongs to my roommate.

I named him Bug.

Let me see, hmm... there was something else... oh yeah...

  • I dropped out of school. That's right.

While I should be preparing for a new semester I instead come to you from my rolly chair, clad in my "I'm pretty fly" PJ's while periodically munching on cold, cajun rice.

I'm not saying that I won't go back, I am saying that I will not be going back to the same school. I'm going to take a couple semesters off, make some cash, do something independently and see where I land.

My current thinking may have me moving out of state to try and go to what I hope will be a better learning environment. Somewhere where I don't feel like I'm just doing the same things I did when I was a Digital Design T.A. back in high school, ya know? Kinda sorta wanted to learn things, anyway, lesson learned and I must say I feel better than I have in months, like I actually enjoy stuff or something. Weird.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. If you've read this update, thank you kindly. I didn't have internet for most of those two months, but that's fixed now so things should be returning to normal.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Halloween Photoblog

My Watermelon (hehe) and then Nikki's two pumpkins.

Megan's two pumpkins and then my little pumpkin

Close up of my pumpkin — made sans stencil... *cough* Megan and Nikki *cough*

The back of Nikki's little pumpkin. Its sort of cuter than the front.

A Sample of Our Fabulous Movie Doings — And My Favorite PJs —

Watched from Our Super Duper Living Room Mega-Bed While We Waited For Trick and Treaters

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Okay, Now You've Done It!

I finished my project for digital layout. All I have to do now is print and assemble it for next week.

I did all my errands.

I put gas in my car before it hit E.

I talked to my mother on the phone today.

I made a freakin' "To-Do List". And then I used it.

All I wanted was to sit back in my computer chair, siphon through Megavideo links until I found something entertaining to watch, and eat some Edy's Slow Churned Rich and Creamy French Silk Ice Cream.

But no. I opened it to find this!:

That whiteness isn't vanilla swirl, peeps. It's the bottom of the tub.

Who does that, by the way? There's two spoonfuls in there. At least if you had emptied it and put it in the trash I wouldn't of had that moment of discovery: snuggled up in my rolly chair, feet up, ready for sci fi adventures. Spoon at the ready.

I'll get you for this, Megan. Some things are sacred. You DO NOT come between me and chocolatey, slow churned goodness. Not now. Not ever.

I asked you. I asked you. Do you want me to pick you up anything from the store while I'm gone? You said no.

There will be retribution... Mark my words, I'll find other uses for that spoon:

... ... ...

That is all.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

What is Art, to Me?

(Short Essay for Post Modernism and Contemporary Art class)

Dictionary.com defines art as “the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.” But what is an aesthetic principle? Who decides what criteria forms the terms of being above “ordinary significance”, or feels qualified to judge work significantly based on the expression of the artist or artists in question? On the first night of class, the statement was made about “bad art” being something that we are willing to reject, but I have never felt particularly comfortable rejecting another’s efforts. There are things that I like, and there are things that I do not like, but I do not believe that makes the latter “bad art”. I think “good art” is art that has served its purpose, whatever that purpose is, if done justice, quality remains opinion and strictly relative. For example, to me, the definition of making good art and viewing good art are two very different creatures.

To create is to release. It can be both recreational and therapeutic. Why are pastimes like painting and poetry becoming such common tools for therapists and psychologists trying to reach their most troubled patients? To make art can be relieving, even euphoric, to be able to cleanse yourself of whatever emotion, good or bad, that you have had screaming inside of yourself. It can offer a form of closure and no one is qualified to judge that. Which is why I try not to, a piece of art is always hard for me to separate from its creator. However abstract, it is a piece of them. To reject it is to reject a part of another human being, and should not be taken lightly. Any art that meets the needs of its artist is good art in that respect. Everything comes from some place, and having never been to that place, I try not to judge it as good or bad, but rather, as appealing to me or not.

To see good art, or as I have tried to define, art that is appealing to me on a personal level, is to view something that stirs my emotions. Whether that means it has made me sad, happy, or even angry, it has forced me to take the moment to appreciate or at least acknowledge the feelings I experience and the meanings behind them. I believe art can be a very personal thing and is best experienced when viewed as so. I believe in Ms. [my Art History teacher]'s assessment, original or no, that if you feel drawn to a work and you don’t know why, it is because you either don’t know enough about the piece or you don’t know enough about yourself.

When I was eight years old, I had one of those old Jumpstart computer-learning games. I spent hours on it and always on the same level, never moving forward. It was not that I could not go forward; I just did not want to. The game level was home to a fictional museum that you had to explore looking for the painting that corresponded with the question given for the round. Instead of looking for it, I just looked at the artwork. The most famous works scattered in museums and galleries around the world, in one place. I have always loved the French Impressionists, particularly Claude Monet. I used to joke that it was because his world looked just like mine, sans glasses or contacts. Still, I kept returning to A Bar at the Folies- Bergere by Edouard Manet. I would study it repeatedly, looking deep into those girl’s eyes, like points in space, black holes, taking in all that was in their path, returning almost nothing. It was not until hearing a lecture on one interpretation of the painting that it hit me why I felt such a connection to it.

I was such a lonely kid. I spent much of my time alone, or in my mother’s hospital room. I never felt any real connection to the other kids my age, and they sensed that, too, and as some kids do, fed on it as a weakness. All those years, meeting those same large, sad eyes again and again, surrounded by all those other people, had I sensed myself in her? The slight burning in the back of my throat the last time I saw her says yes.

I think we find our own meaning, through words and pictures. Those meanings change, altering with our moods and perceptions as we garner more experience or fracture our images of the world, gaining room for more openness or sometimes less. Sometimes art allows us a meaning that is wholly are own, completely separate from that of its designer. In the same way that we give the opportunity for someone else to see something in our efforts that we did not or could not see ourselves. That does not make either opinion any more or less important, just different. Art is like that: never better or worse based on our views of it, just different. That is what makes it art, at least, to me.
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