On second thought, just archive me, please.

I'm still alive, and I still do not like that profile picture.

Lookin' for a good, flexible photographer in the San Antonio area, as I'll be moving to Fort Sam shortly. I'm looking to do something toned-down and kinda nerdy/indie, less so high-glam.

I'm trying to up my scene points, you know. Everybody is under the impression that the "scene" is synonymous with hxc and some of the shittier indie rock circles, but this is not, in fact, the case. S&M is just as much "the scene" as hxc, or anything else (see my pointless diatribe on what scene actually means ).

Sarcasm, sarcasm.

Has anybody else got a last.fm account they could pass my way? I'm lonely all alone out there in Big Pretentious Music Points World.

For those of you who were curious, this is SMITH Magazine.

I still exist.

SuicideGirl offers a number of things, but unfortunately, intellectual stimulation or challenge isn't necessarily one of them. I suppose it's all the nature of the beast; no big deal.


I am working on Diary A Week submissions as requested by SMITH Magazine.

I am taking an Arabic language course. My instructor has named me Fanaar.

Sorry! I've been away for a long time, I know. I've been out in the field (medical support for a armored battalion, sleeping through tank fire is WOO), and I really haven't had much to say, besides.

They still haven't changed my profile picture. What do they want from me? ANYTHING would be better than the one I have. Please, guys. :[

I went to a day spa today. I know! I'm not the kind of person you'd think would do that. But oh. I smell so good, tastefully cinnamon-y. I had a sugar-salt body scrub, bikini wax (lolz), manicure and pedicure, and a Deep Pore Facial. Let me tell you what - "Deep Pore Facial" isn't about magical creams that dissolve your blackheads. It's a nice blonde woman with a fucking metal stick with a tiny O-ring on the end of it, gouging it into your face. The nice thing is, some of the nerves in my face seem to be dead from my dark, hideous past as "Kid With Bad Acne", so it wasn't as painful as it could have been. Unfortunately, I do have blackheads in almost every pore in my face (EW EW EW EW FUCK EW), so she admittedly couldn't get to them all. However, I've scheduled an appointment for microdermabrasion (!), where she will also push more of those suckers out of my skin for a reduced price. Anything to lower the ridiculous amount of maintenance required to just keep my skin looking normal, especially not nice.

I need to find some decent photographers in the Columbus/Atlanta area.

I just thought I'd drop some of my uh, more recent (sort of?) pictures here, to ever-so-subtly remind you that I do some stuff other than "have fun getting naked" and "have fun moving large boxes in long sleeves in the 100-degree heat".

GAIA ONLINE commission for Nethilia:


GAIA ONLINE commission for Bondage Zombie:


This one isn't really new (at all), but I like it enough to whore it. This was originally a character design sheet for a comic called Chisuji, which was published by Antarctic Press, and from what I hear, isn't doing spectacularly well. I was originally supposed to be the illustrator, but Antarctic Press decided my work wasn't "anime" enough. :U
I have to link it 'cause it's too big for this journal: Brawyn, I think, was how her name was spelled.

I don't draw as much as I should - it's true that I don't have all that much time, but even when I do have the time, I dedicate it to things like - posting in this blog, or crapping around on GAIA. That said, I do have a 200k GAIA commission coming up from a GD prommie, so if nothing else, at least I'll get some drawing done that way.

PEACE.

So, yesterday was a ball of fucking fun. They used local anesthesia - Lidocaine, to be exact - to remove the bottom two wisdom teeth by kindly ripping them out of my jaw. "A little pressure", my ass. The ability to hear the sound of them cracking as they tear from your jaw helps, too.

Here's my wisdom teeth, which were developing while I was taking Tetracycline (hence the discoloration and yellow line):



EXCITING, YES? I am sharing with you my most intimate body parts. Go figure.

Though the procedure itself was painful, it was fine after the procedure was finished - my entire lower jaw was completely numb, so I was pain-free and conscious at the same time. However, I had noticed some pain while swallowing on the left side of my throat - and this turned into my throat closing up completely - to the point where while I could still breathe, I couldn't eat, drink, or even swallow my own saliva. I ended up going to the ER. While I was waiting the two-and-a-half hours before they saw me, the pain went from "ow, I can't eat or drink or swallow my own saliva" to me rocking back and forth in my seat, sobbing and moaning and spitting up/gagging every time I involuntarily attempted to swallow. All other times, I wiped my saliva on paper towels and shoved them into a cup. It was very embarassing, as this was all happening in front of something like 14 Infantry Basic Training soldiers, who spent the entire time staring at me, probably wondering what the fuck could possibly be wrong with me as to cause this much of a ruckus.

When they finally saw me, it had gotten to the point where my jaw would not stop trembling. They decided I was having an allergic reaction to the Percocet I had been given to take for pain, though I suspect it may have been the Lidocaine. Whatever it was, as soon as the intravenous Benadryl hit me, I started to cough like nobody's business, and my throat felt like it was burning and freezing at once - but a few moments later, I found that I could swallow. The effectiveness of an anti-histamine tells me it was very likely an allergic reaction to something, whether it was Percocet or the Lidocaine. Believe it or not, the most scary part of the whole ordeal was being doped up on so many intravenous meds at once - about three minutes afterwards, I could feel my heart - which I've never been able to do before - and it was beating very, very hard. My heart and the surrounding area felt like it was freezing cold, and the entire thing was very uncomfortable. It just felt wrong. Has this happened to anyone before? Is it normal? Please share your experience with anything similar, if this has happened to you before.

Anyway, I'm planning on trying to make a video for you guys. Let's hope. It won't start until all this freaky swelling goes away, though. :]

So, it's Sunday night. Tomorrow is the beginning of another fine, fine week of living: The Army Way.

The Zoloft is helping me not feel horribly depressed all the time, but it isn't helping my anxiety. I think it's making my anxiety worse. I always want to be alone, and large groups of people and loud noise bother me much more than they did before. What're you gonna do, I guess. Can't have your cake and eat it, too.

This weekend, we visited the Coca-Cola Columbus Space Science Museum. It was pretty dismal - all the mockups were very cheap-looking - the Space Shuttle instruments were stickers, and the space suit was missing most of its dials - even the ones that were clearly shown in the accompanying drawing. The planetarium 3D show was pretty likeable, though. I enjoyed it.

I got a haircut and bought some clothes. Here.

I saw World Trade Center today.

It really wasn't that great. Granted, there were some moments that got to you - it's odd how just knowing it really happened makes it worse -, but if you're looking to make yourself feel sad for your countrymen, I suggest United 93 instead - that movie was utterly terrifying. The sheer amount of "terrifying" to be found in that movie is the only reason, I assume, so few people went to see it. It should have been popular, god dammit.

In other news, I should be getting a Modest Mouse shirt in the mail, as well as a Neutral Milk Hotel shirt. When I do, I'll gladly post the pictures, which both you and I will pretend are interesting and in some degree of demand, for my sake.

I don't like Franz Ferdinand. He reminds me of a very conceited lounge singer.

Hey again. Don't ask why I keep updating - I guess I'm hoping that I'll find a group or something here that fascinates me, aside from you nice people.

(Shameful Secret: I am listening to Reba McEntire's Fancy on repeat. I love this song.)

Today, I worked in the clinic, which was much better than moving boxes outside in the heat. Conveniently, I was sent to work in the TMC on the very day that I was supposed to go to the Education Center - by which I mean, the only day working in the clinic would be inconvenient. Thanks, Army! I love you, too.

Tomorrow, I have an eight-mile road march - of course, those are fun. I also need to put all my pins back on my class As, but frankly, I don't feel like it right now. I plan on getting a lesbianfantastic haircut this weekend, as if my hair isn't short enough. I'm lazy, and buns look like piles of dog shit on the back of people's heads. Shut up. >:[

Here. I got my ARBEIT MACHT FREI sweater in today from Neighborhoodies . I'm not sure when I decided this, but for a few years now, ARBEIT MACHT FREI (or ARBEIT MACHT PIEFACE) has been a meaningful (though possibly pretentious and morally questionable) phrase for me. Translated from German, it means "work means freedom", a shortened version of the phrase "Work will set you free", a sort of play on "Truth will set you free". ARBEIT MACHT FREI is known for being the words built into the wrought-iron gates of Auschwitz. I say! What a sad, painful irony for the people in these camps - you know, they come in, see this, and they're like "Oh, you know, if I work hard enough, maybe I'll get out of here, that'd be nice." Well - they weren't wrong, exactly - after all, dead is not exactly here, which is why I'm sure the Nazis thought it was hilarious. For me, it isn't just a nod to a rather tragic and sad note of our history, but also a melodramatic reference to the relationship I've had so far with employment, and alternately, freedom. I briefly considered making [ ARBEIT MACHT FREI ] a permanent addition by getting it tattooed across my back, but my Goat would likely kill me.