TMI

Just found out that my brother's circumcised.

While this is essentially good news for him, (i guess,) damn I want to erase that knowledge.
Damn mothers who reminisce.

Update:
My mother also told me that occasionally clinics take 24 hr urine to test for kidney stuff. You have to walk into the clinic with your red jug full of pee.
Weird.

Not Shoplifting by Kathryn D'Elia

He had been there a hundred times before. It was the old beat-up Winn-Dixie down the shady side of Michigan Avenue, the closest full grocery store within biking distance. Allen swung one leg off his bike as he glided toward the bike rack to the left of the main entrance. Several disgruntled employees stood outside smoking and staring into space. He rode about three-fourth of the way down the length of the ramp before coming to a complete stop and dismounting fully. Allen glanced up at the men by the door as he removed his bike lock and chain from his knapsack. Swiftly, he wove the chain through the wheel spokes and through the frame in the way that his father had taught him. “They’ll never get it away from you that way, Son!” He tugged at the lock to ensure its hold and turned to go in. He looked at the floor directly in front of him as he entered, avoiding the two smokers and carefully noting how the ground changed from cement, to rubber matting, to cheap brown tile, to scuffed beige linoleum as he walked.
It was a short list, only a half-dozen items. A small jar of JIF peanut butter, beer (for when Derek would come over,) a box of cereal, goldfish food (for Lillian and Gilbert,) coffee, and a memo pad for future list writing (as lists on the back of receipts and envelopes seem less official). Allen had a general understanding of where all these items would be and slowly made his way through the aisles, scanning his surroundings as he went. In the breakfast aisle there was a pretty girl in a pink sweater analyzing the cereal bars. She stared the boxes on the shelves as if they were going to present her with the meaning of life. As Allen approached to claim his box of Cheerios, she looked up and smiled. He smiled back, and tossed his cereal into his green wire basket in what he hoped was a suave way. He mumbled an “excuse me” as he passed her, but she was already back to searching for answers and didn’t seem to notice.
Gathering the rest of the items presented events of no particular interest. As always, there was a biker in the liquor section, sizing up his options. In one aisle he saw a mother struggling with the unhappy children in her shopping cart trying to quiet them by throwing Zebra Cakes in the cart. The only real challenge was choosing which memo pad suited him. There were a few with kittens on them. One had a rooster at the top, (he guessed for those people with the cutesy country themed kitchens). He considered one with clip art footballs around the border, wondering if would make him seem more manly, but finally chose one that was just pale green and stuck it in his pocket.
With all items checked off (except the last one, it always seemed dumb to check off the last one,) Allen walked to the registers where three bored looking women stood around, yelling to each other from time to time. Sitting his grocery basket on the conveyer belt at #6, he noticed the girl in pink walking to line #4.
“Hey Sugar, Did you find everything all right?” said the cashier, a tall woman with frizzy blond hair, and a rather appallingly thick application of red lipstick.
“..Uh, yeah. I did.”
“I’ll need to see your ID for that beer.” She smiled an over-attentive grin, like she was trying to absorb the attractive young man in front of her.
“Oh, yes. Of course,” he replied, ignoring her interest. He groped around in his back pocket for his wallet, and upon pulling it out, ended up with a pale green notepad in his hand as well.
The Cashier’s eyes zeroed in on Allen’s discovery. Her countenance transformed immediately. The cheesy smile evaporated. She snatched the notepad out of his hand. “What the hell do you think yer doin’? Stealin? I swear none of them nice lookin’ boys are good at all.”
“No, really. I meant to-“ Allen stammered. He tried to interrupt but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Tom! Get over here!”
Allen looked around desperately. The girl at lane 4 had turned around to see what all the excitement was about. One of the bulky smokers from the front entrance bustled over.
“What do ya want, Carolyn?” said the man, who could easily break Allen in half. “He must work with the heavy produce. Watermelons,” Allen thought.
“This boy was shopliftin’!” shrieked the woman.
“No- I didn’t mean-”
Tom crossed his massive arms, his stained uniform pulling tight across his chest. He gave Allen an appraising glance, and seemed to also feel that he could easily cause Allen irrevocable damage.
“Oh he was, was he?!”
Becoming even more intensely nervous under the scrutiny. Allen grabbed at his knapsack and ran for the door, leaving his goldfish food, beer for Derek, Cheerios, even that damned notepad on the counter. This seemed to be the last thing either angry employee expected and they stood there, dumbly watching Allen flee. The girl in pink scowled at him from her place at Lane #4. He could see her through the automatic door. Allen frowned and unlocked his bike with military precision and hopped on it, with chain still in hand. By this time, Tom had wandered out of the door after him. Allen looked over his shoulder to see the large man shaking his head, as he shrunk in the distance. Allen didn’t breath again until he was a considerable distance down Michigan Avenue.

Productivity in Writing Class.

I Drew A Saggy Old Man!

Surprisingly, Old man penis is no more icky than any other variety of penis. At least this guy was normal. i haven't inspected an entire sampling.
Anyway, he was twitchy and blinky and had skinny little old man legs.

At the end of the session, after getting back in his light green polo and khakis, the squinty little man gestured towards my drawing that I had pinned up to the wall,
"Whose is this?"
"Mine." *raises hand*
"If we can't make an artist out of you, we should just give up."

I decided then that I love him.

The big guy can't always have the answers.

Yesterday, February 22, 2010.

Enough things are whizzing through my mind, and enough things took place, that I feel that yesterday deserves a second blog update.
First of all, I did end up at Barnes and Noble. The "Twinkle Sews" book does have some really great patterns in it. The images of the completed pieces are really beautiful. The downside of it, (and there's been a zillion customer reviews about it) is the way she chose to add the patterns to the book. The book includes a cd with all the patterns on it, and in order to get your paper pattern pieces, you have to print it out on 8 1/2" by 11" sheets and tape them all together, before cutting out your size. This seems like a major headache, though the patterns look like they could be worth the struggle. I know at BurdaStyle.com they talk about having your digital patterns printed at Kinko's. If the cd in Twinkle Sews is compatible for that format, I'd fork up the cash it get it printed. The other downside to the book is that it's a real fashion-forward book and therefore, it involves bubble dresses, baby dolls, and tunic tops that are voluminous. Translation: that won't be flattering on everyone. I figure any of them could be modified though, or belted. Everything is better when belted. I didn't buy the book, yet. In store it was $24, and I distinctly remembered seeing in online for $17. I added it to my wishlist on Amazon.In addition to that, I added this. I have a zillion patterns. Rarely do I make the same pattern more than once or twice, therefore I have 20+. Some of those haven't been used yet. Anyway, I think it's kind of lame that I don't know how to make my own patterns. It really zaps the cool factor when someone finds out that you make clothes...but "oh...you used a pattern." In addition to that, searching around for a pattern that matches what I've envisioned making, takes way too long and usually involves compromises. It be nice if I could just do it.

On a separate note, The men in my life. Now, I agree with what my dad once told me, that it's surprising that men can function at all with all they have to deal with. Emotional repression, greater responsibility, and then all the obsession with any and all things sex, the poor kids never have a chance.
Nonetheless, Gentleman #1: Our facebook messages back and fourth are dying slowly. There's little more to talk about, so now it's time for you to ask for my number. Slightly overdue, really. Work on it.

Gentleman #2: I don't really understand our friendship, but I will not have you pencil me in after your weekly enchantment with Lost. Also, I have no interest in half of the movies you ask me to watch with you. You are tactless. May God have mercy on your soul.

Sometimes I wonder what things are coincidence and which are planned, or better yet, slip ups. I got "You're a Giver," today, in a conversation that didn't necessarily call for it. I took the four letter personality test a few days ago. I'm an ENFJ. I posted a link on my profile that interpreted my results. The title of the linked page is "Enfj, The Giver." I'm wondering if this is an odd coincidence, or if people I wouldn't expect on my Facebook have found themselves there.

Last thing, this may be a gross thought, but, men get to mix semen with their paint and make it raw, sexual, and weird. (like this guy: http://onmytruth.wordpress.com/2007/07/20/on-art-modeling-and-painting-with-my-penis/I wonder if there are female artists that paint with menstruation blood or vaginal mucus? Yup...lil bit of gross right at the end there. Sorry.

This is what I want:

Or at least what I think I want. I'll have to look through it on my next Barnes and Noble trip before deciding.

Consideration:

I feel like I should read Fountainhead again, yes

Words of Wisdom from Major Manufacturers

I opened my leftover fortune cookie from my Valentine's Day Chinese feast for one. Typo? I'm thinking that should be "..to improve your finances.." Wonder if that means it won't quite come true?
We're going to ignore the fact that I ripped the edge of that... I think that's where I need to be right now.

The Oyster Chronicles, Part Two: The Reality

So firstly, let me make it clear that "The Plan" didn't work out. I didn't check the restaurant hours for Saltwater Cowboys, so my dad and I drove around for about an hour before finding a non-seedy bar location in which to obtain oysters. After walking into a grill and wing place to check their menu, we awkwardly darted back out the door to the waitress's distain. Luckily, in the same shopping center was "The Seafood Kitchen." Originally we feared it might be a strictly fried seafood place..but upon inquiry, they indeed offered Oysters in a variety of forms. They had somewhat badly done fish taxidermy, or fish replicas on the walls. There was a Sheepshead mounted in the wall behind my dad. The place was very cute though, with warm orangey wood on all the booths and tables. The red-headed waitress, probably in her mid-40's, was very pleasant in a weather-worn way. It was probably about one in the afternoon, so plenty of natural light was coming in from the window behind me.
After ordering, (my dad of course had to inform the waitress that "his daughter wanted to try raw oysters." The waitress tried to hide her amused expression.) I noticed that there were ten ceiling fans above me, two rows of five in the proper living-room variety. (You can just see the top of the waitress's head there)
And Ta-da! Fifteen minutes later, half a dozen Oysters laid out on a plate. I gotta say, They are not visually appealing. The white interior of the shell is helpful, but when you get around to poking at the oyster flesh, it's watery, mushy, and fishy smelling. It became obvious why people religiously add condiments to their portions. That big one was super scary.
Anyway, I was directed to make sure the oyster was detached from the shell. I think at the point i threw in the word "abductor muscle" to prove that I had done my research. I squeezed some lemon juice on my first one and ate it out of the shell, putting everything I know about their gills, their colorless blood,and their tiny three valved hearts out of my mind. Oysters taste the way swamps smell... Like that day last week when it had first rained and the air was fresh with ripe bacteria. I know this is sounding pretty nasty, but in truth I didn't mind them.
Dad ended up taking one out of the bunch. He prefers them on crackers with hot sauce.
He has an adorable food face. I ate my second one this way, and was told to try horseradish on my next one. After tasting that one, I had to place where I'd had that flavor before, and asked if it was in cocktail sauce. it is.
This is my food face. That's a mouthful of oyster right there. I found eating them on crackers was more pleasurable in that they absorbed some of the slimey-ness. When eaten this way, the Oysters just had a fishy aftertaste, not quite the fishing trips in marshes of my childhood.
All gone. There's some good light in that photo, i thought. Shells are good at being luminous. I turned the shells over at the one point. Occasionally you'll find rather pretty oyster shells with the layers of gray, but these were unusually shaped some were in the green family in color.
In addition to my raw oyster experience, i wanted to see oysters in another way. I blindly ordered "Oyster Stew." When it arrived, it just looked like warm buttery-milk, which is pretty much what it was. There were a few steamed oysters in the bottom. Steamed, they taste a bit more like clams, similar muscle texture. My dad said Oyster Stew was typically made with more a cream base...but mine was pretty much made with milk. It was alright. The fish sandwich the popped up afterwards was to die for. If you end up down by the beach (a bit past the oasis, i think) head over to the Seafood Kitchen, they have really good prices. It's a bit too bad that none of my roommates like seafood, I'd be down there a lot more often. Once we were back on the road, i conned my dad into taking me to get my hair cut. We went over to Haircuttery on 312. We waited for a while and watched a few indecisive pre-teens and a woman who knew more about how her husband's hair should be cut than he did. My name was eventually called by a rather harassed-looking woman in red. She seemed more excited when I showed her the picture of what i wanted. The shampoo smelt like lemon (or maybe orange) Pledge. I didn't talk to her too much. Unless a stranger starts asking me questions, I'm unlikely to blab to them profusely. I also didn't really want to distract her. She (I learned her name was Jill) became very devoted to rendering that picture on my head. She cut my hair and even used these weird texture scissors that had gaps that cut out large chunks for layering, and then as she was blowdrying it, she decided that she hadn't cut it short enough and continued to re-cut everything an extra inch more. That may have been the best Twenty bucks I've ever spent on a haircut. She did a very nice job. Her daughter is due to deliver her second baby any day now. Jill's going to go in the delivery room with her.

And after my haircut, they had a jar of lollipops at the register, just like at Great Clips. When I was a kid, I use to sit in one of the empty chairs, twirling around while my dad had some lady clip his hair down short. After attempting patience during the process, i was always offered a dum dum from the lady before we left. I snuck this one before leaving.

The Oyster Chronicles, Part One: The Plan

This is the intended route to bring my father from Jacksonville, to me, and then on the the location where we will eat oysters.

And this is our intended destination. My dad had be google the menu so that we could ensure that Oysters were indeed on the menu, raw as well as the fancy ones. He says old people don't eat oysters because they're high in cholesterol, and therefore I'm forcing him into dangerous waters...

Conclusion:

With all the talk of "Power" and how women want the "Alpha Male" and really want to be dominated...Vandy presents himself much more boldly than he actually is.

Small pale hands. Lefty.

Moleskin Two-Dayer

The Oyster Chronicles, Introduction

I called my dad and told him, that if he was able to, I would like him to come down to St. Augustine and feed me oysters. I've never had them before. He got a belly laugh out of that one, but seemed like he would consider it.


gross, aren't they? Slimy? Delicious, maybe?
Such potential for repetition in form.

backwards writer wisdom.

It seems i'm on a shark kick this week...

Belinda Eaton

PLANESPLANESPLANES.

Chik-Fil-A induced absurdity.

This is a particularly horrible doodle, in which I very crudely drew a pair of conjoined twins being sawed apart by a two-man cross cut saw. I considered drawing two lumberjacks on either end but haven't yet gotten around to it. Emma and I decided that this is our "one way" to hell. We're RSVPing and booking our seats.

have a nice day. :)

?

...I want a tutu...(one infinatley longer and fluffier than these).

and a blazer. Is this horribly 80's of me?

New idea?

Umbrella and figures and arm around and very subtle architecture behind them and then a blast, a blast aimed directly above them, the umbrella. Honey. Sticky sticky slippery blast of honey, drip drip spokes puddle. walking.

don't know what I'm saying, again.


my scanner made this blk and wht.

The past three hours of my life.

Crits are such Crap(here).

Religions Discussion 1

I drew him way too large.. he's a slight man. Oh wells.

So, Why the Hell Did I Paint That?

Janette's ex "boyfriend" confessed that he is afraid of other people's saliva.

snowballing/ aspect of sexuality-bc im sexually repressed as of now

toying with trust

Glowy arms because I love glowy arms...

drips... butterscotch poem? (not inspired, parallel)

White on White on White, in shadow.

yellow and purple- complimentary

spitting, over production of saliva from smoking

spitting like Party Monster

like the twins ashley did for her color copy

love the warm brick color of a nose w/ broken capillaries beneath the skin.

I did it for the "Uggh" from Paul, and the tears from Tara.

Eyes open to see it all- willingly

The disgust (that word "Disgusted")

Just because

For the reaction

Initial idea:
Lies cover up-->sharing
The doodle was innocent

Things that keep popping up in interpretation:
Staged
Community Theater- performance


Conversations reflect my decision to keep it all at arm's length. I know the likelihood of me falling in, bad stats.

venty bitchy uncalled -for relief post

I'll be honest, girly, I read your blog just so I can laugh at the superficial things that clog up your cranium.

sorry.

Painting =Done.