IPOD
RADIO
I got a shot in the arm today. It was awesome and hurt like a sonofabeech. No, it wasn't an opiate, but it was a super-death-hell-migraine-destroyer. It worked for about 3 hours.
I had an interesting conversation at work today. Apparently, it's incredibly difficult to convince someone why it's unsanitary to return an opened bottle of lubricant.
Another conversation that amused me was the assault on my refusal to wash my car. My two word reply wasn't enough to illustrate my futile attempts to end the cycle: clean. bird shit. dirty. clean. bird shit. dirty.
"So, have you thought about washing your car? That's getting out of control, man."
" ... Power lines."
Mental note: Not everyone has the privilege of covered parking, let alone can park beneath an open space of sky sans the stretch of electricity providing hundreds of birds bathroom stops a year. At this rate, I will likely become an expert in the digestive processes captured in bird crap via size and most importantly color. I assume red is not good -- particularly on my windshield.
Wish me luck on my volleyball tournament. Tonight is the championship game in my co-ed league. I plan on making a few boys cry.
I had an interesting conversation at work today. Apparently, it's incredibly difficult to convince someone why it's unsanitary to return an opened bottle of lubricant.
Another conversation that amused me was the assault on my refusal to wash my car. My two word reply wasn't enough to illustrate my futile attempts to end the cycle: clean. bird shit. dirty. clean. bird shit. dirty.
"So, have you thought about washing your car? That's getting out of control, man."
" ... Power lines."
Mental note: Not everyone has the privilege of covered parking, let alone can park beneath an open space of sky sans the stretch of electricity providing hundreds of birds bathroom stops a year. At this rate, I will likely become an expert in the digestive processes captured in bird crap via size and most importantly color. I assume red is not good -- particularly on my windshield.
Wish me luck on my volleyball tournament. Tonight is the championship game in my co-ed league. I plan on making a few boys cry.
Got my new MAC. I'm at the point now where I have so much crap that I didn't realize I'd ordered doubles until AFTER I got and it compared it to what I already own. (SOB!) I had to send two shadows back for an exchange, then went to the store in Seattle to buy pallets since I didn't have enough space in the ones I already had. I can't imagine what I would do without the pallets. If I had that many lose shadows running in single pots I'd kill myself.
My "weekend" was kind of blur, and not in the "I had such an amazing drunken time" way either. Lots of darkness and sleep because I'm STILL rocking the same headache that started its assault on Monday. I've got a BBQ to go to tonight, and it's my goal to look sexy as hell while grilling meat.
Got to see Transformers again. Megan Fox is totally my girlfriend. I could stare at her stomach for hours. Eventually, I will find a girlfriend that I can daydream about in the same fashion, but for now Megan will do. That and a few of the SG's I've found. Jesus these girls are gorgeous. (sigh)
Work has been alright. Really stressful. The last week was terrible. Sometimes I really hate being management.
I've been researching the site to find groups I might like, to make more friends. Having a shitty connection makes this difficult, so I might eventually break and just get cable. (This is kind of like that bet where I refused to get my license for a really, really, really long time with my HS BFF and ... he is still without the license years later.) I imagine I will break in the same fashion I did then. There are a lot of groups that I'm still pending on approval, but I really hope I can make some more friends and find my niche here. I'm finding it's a lot harder than I anticipated.
I tell myself I'm badass with or without approval. Pfft.
Hope everybody is having a good weekend. ^_^
ps: Has anybody been able to visit their local Kwik-E-Mart? I got to see the one in Seattle last night. They were out of DUFF beer! SOB! I did get a pack of Buzz cola though. I'm gonna go back for some Krusty-O's-- A box for eating and a box for adding to my dork book shelf.
My "weekend" was kind of blur, and not in the "I had such an amazing drunken time" way either. Lots of darkness and sleep because I'm STILL rocking the same headache that started its assault on Monday. I've got a BBQ to go to tonight, and it's my goal to look sexy as hell while grilling meat.
Got to see Transformers again. Megan Fox is totally my girlfriend. I could stare at her stomach for hours. Eventually, I will find a girlfriend that I can daydream about in the same fashion, but for now Megan will do. That and a few of the SG's I've found. Jesus these girls are gorgeous. (sigh)
Work has been alright. Really stressful. The last week was terrible. Sometimes I really hate being management.
I've been researching the site to find groups I might like, to make more friends. Having a shitty connection makes this difficult, so I might eventually break and just get cable. (This is kind of like that bet where I refused to get my license for a really, really, really long time with my HS BFF and ... he is still without the license years later.) I imagine I will break in the same fashion I did then. There are a lot of groups that I'm still pending on approval, but I really hope I can make some more friends and find my niche here. I'm finding it's a lot harder than I anticipated.
I tell myself I'm badass with or without approval. Pfft.
Hope everybody is having a good weekend. ^_^
ps: Has anybody been able to visit their local Kwik-E-Mart? I got to see the one in Seattle last night. They were out of DUFF beer! SOB! I did get a pack of Buzz cola though. I'm gonna go back for some Krusty-O's-- A box for eating and a box for adding to my dork book shelf.
I think Michael Bay should marry me.
Then he could shoot me like a hero, from the feet up. And I'd hire Hans Zimmer to write my life's score. It'd be like Crimson Tide and Transformers bumped monkeys and made me look really really important with great, great marketing.
In other news, my boyfriend about lobbed his finger off at work today. He's been bleeding non-stop since around 1 o'clock. AWESOME! He was a trooper and sat through Transformers anyway. Doc said he'll be fine, but that it'll bleed a lot because of the location --- NO SHIT.
I've had a migraine for about 2 days, man. Down the fucking hatch. Played volleyball with it and my team knocked another team in play-off's on their ass and out of the season anyway. We're first in the league, so we'll be in the winner's bracket waiting for the loser's bracket to play catch up.
My MAC shipment came in. Suh-weet. Now I just need to hit the store to buy some pallets so that I can burn my shit out and drop them in 15's. I fucking love this shit.
Bedtime. I'm going to go try and convince my boyfriend that maxi-pads are useful for more than just twats.
Then he could shoot me like a hero, from the feet up. And I'd hire Hans Zimmer to write my life's score. It'd be like Crimson Tide and Transformers bumped monkeys and made me look really really important with great, great marketing.
In other news, my boyfriend about lobbed his finger off at work today. He's been bleeding non-stop since around 1 o'clock. AWESOME! He was a trooper and sat through Transformers anyway. Doc said he'll be fine, but that it'll bleed a lot because of the location --- NO SHIT.
I've had a migraine for about 2 days, man. Down the fucking hatch. Played volleyball with it and my team knocked another team in play-off's on their ass and out of the season anyway. We're first in the league, so we'll be in the winner's bracket waiting for the loser's bracket to play catch up.
My MAC shipment came in. Suh-weet. Now I just need to hit the store to buy some pallets so that I can burn my shit out and drop them in 15's. I fucking love this shit.
Bedtime. I'm going to go try and convince my boyfriend that maxi-pads are useful for more than just twats.
So, I'm going through old blogs and I realized I mentioned some photography shoots that I had done, and folders that were posted featuring these shoots. For new comers that read the blogs and can't find the photos, they're now down. We've chosen to no longer work together, so the work is not up anymore.
That said, I am on the hunt for a new photographer in Washington. I've made some contacts out of state--out of the country for that matter. (Oy), but at the moment that doesn't help me. LOL If you've stopped by this and decided to check me out for whatever reason, and know a good recommendation or have an idea of where to look to start, let me know. The direction would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I'll continue to pester the poor bastards that I find on the site. Poor, poor, poor bastards.
That said, I am on the hunt for a new photographer in Washington. I've made some contacts out of state--out of the country for that matter. (Oy), but at the moment that doesn't help me. LOL If you've stopped by this and decided to check me out for whatever reason, and know a good recommendation or have an idea of where to look to start, let me know. The direction would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I'll continue to pester the poor bastards that I find on the site. Poor, poor, poor bastards.
First, allow me to apologize for not keeping up with you folks as I intended. The last few months have been really lame, with a few spikes in the awesome scale (though few and far between.) My time is spread way thin, and strangely enough it still feels like I get nothing done. In fact, I can't remember the last time I've seen my .... carpet. My joint is a damned mess. Oy.
Anyway, here is a quick synopsis of the last month or so:
I had to redo the Black Rag photoshoot because the originals weren't taken in a high enough quality to be blown up. So we redid the shoot. Some of the finished product and the proofs are up in the folder labeled "Fourth Photoshoot". LOL I'm so original, man. Check 'em out if you have a second.
Had my identity stolen. Someone fucked with my money. I had to cancel/change/arrange/or I'm still in the process of dealing with my various accounts to make sure this fuckface doesn't get a hold of any more of my god damned money. Ugh.
Two cats at work got fired. Two cats at work just got hired. In between the two events, I had some OT to squander my time with. Yay.
I play for two different volleyball leagues, weight train, and I still run. I'm probably in the best shape of my life, and for some reason, I still look sloppy. LOL It's probably because I have terrible posture. But hey, when you go from 220 lbs at 5'7" to like 148 and a size 8/9, I think it counts as a success story.
I met a girl! She's hot. There's this other chick I sort of have my eye on, but uhm, I don't know if she'll dig me. (sigh). Anyway, if you want to catch up, you can find me on eunumpiuribus@aol.com. I hate stopping by the SG forum with my craptastic connection because it always crashes, takes ten years to load, or by the time the shit comes up I have already lost my patience.
Guess it's time to crawl out of my dino-tech age and get something OTHER than a 56k. (Hell no, we won't go!)
-A
Anyway, here is a quick synopsis of the last month or so:
I had to redo the Black Rag photoshoot because the originals weren't taken in a high enough quality to be blown up. So we redid the shoot. Some of the finished product and the proofs are up in the folder labeled "Fourth Photoshoot". LOL I'm so original, man. Check 'em out if you have a second.
Had my identity stolen. Someone fucked with my money. I had to cancel/change/arrange/or I'm still in the process of dealing with my various accounts to make sure this fuckface doesn't get a hold of any more of my god damned money. Ugh.
Two cats at work got fired. Two cats at work just got hired. In between the two events, I had some OT to squander my time with. Yay.
I play for two different volleyball leagues, weight train, and I still run. I'm probably in the best shape of my life, and for some reason, I still look sloppy. LOL It's probably because I have terrible posture. But hey, when you go from 220 lbs at 5'7" to like 148 and a size 8/9, I think it counts as a success story.
I met a girl! She's hot. There's this other chick I sort of have my eye on, but uhm, I don't know if she'll dig me. (sigh). Anyway, if you want to catch up, you can find me on eunumpiuribus@aol.com. I hate stopping by the SG forum with my craptastic connection because it always crashes, takes ten years to load, or by the time the shit comes up I have already lost my patience.
Guess it's time to crawl out of my dino-tech age and get something OTHER than a 56k. (Hell no, we won't go!)
-A
This has been my life: work, boyfriend, friends, work, photos, makeup, laundry.
LOL I posted a new folder of photos from a photoshoot that I will have more of soon. I don't do any of the editing because I am a photoshop retard and my photographer does all of the light adjusting/framing. So I wait for her to release more work before I have more to show for my efforts. It's good stuff though.
I'm finding that modeling isn't exactly my gig, but that makeup is. I like doing the makeup for it. I like modeling too, but it's not something that I will be able to do for much longer. But hey, who knows. I do know that I've been type-casted as the badass (likely because of the hair and tattoos. Der.) and that will limit my projects to certain styles. Fair enough.
Anyway, the folder is for a local clothing line called "Black Rag". Let me know what you think.
-A
LOL I posted a new folder of photos from a photoshoot that I will have more of soon. I don't do any of the editing because I am a photoshop retard and my photographer does all of the light adjusting/framing. So I wait for her to release more work before I have more to show for my efforts. It's good stuff though.
I'm finding that modeling isn't exactly my gig, but that makeup is. I like doing the makeup for it. I like modeling too, but it's not something that I will be able to do for much longer. But hey, who knows. I do know that I've been type-casted as the badass (likely because of the hair and tattoos. Der.) and that will limit my projects to certain styles. Fair enough.
Anyway, the folder is for a local clothing line called "Black Rag". Let me know what you think.
-A
[ an old porn rant posted for your viewing pleasure. enjoy!]
I need a game plan. I'm fast approaching my mid-twenties and I have no idea what I want from life. I wish there was something in life that I loved enough to devote myself to fully. I'm so fickle. I can't commit. The only thing I can commit to is making other people happy, or doing things for the sake of diplomacy. I suck it up. Swallow it hard. I can't make the decisions for myself if I fear that they are life changing because I'm too scared to fail. Ironically, with this fear of failure perpetually taunting me, I know that it's the very thing that's going to send me over that cliff. The one thing I can't seem to get over, is exactly what's going to drive me to that fear. My fear of it is what's going to make me endure it.
I hate that we define ourselves by how much money we make. I hate that we define ourselves by the things we've accomplished. I run into old 'friends', people I've worked with, sang with, spoke with, shared a meal with and they always want to know how I'm doing. I know it's not because they give a shit. I know it's because they want to be polite, share a smile. Very rarely do I run into somebody that genuinely wants to share a conversation beyond how fantastic they are doing, and how much money they are making, doing the thing that they absolutely love because it's been their calling since they fell out of their mother's black hole of a womb. And because I have virtually no social life, they always run into me exploring their perversions (or coyly pretending to laugh at them. Har-Har.) at my job.
Before I continue, I will openly admit that I am bitter because I realize I am a complete loser at twenty-three. I am a porn clerk. Hear me roar. (mewl.)
Moving on.
Case in point: I walk in the door, halfway through the shift. I left my cellphone at the house. My car is shitty (adding to my loser image. I drive a Kia. 'nuff said.) so leaving the house without it is a death wish wrapped with a pretty Christmas bow. I'm asking for trouble when I do things like that. Anyway, I come back, with the cellphone, and low and behold I make eye contact with her.
This is not the kind of eye contact that cues the crescendo of classical strings, and prompts us to jump fields through leaps and bounds. I'm accutely aware of the cat claws scratching at the chalkboard. I know her face. By god, I KNOW her face, and I'm pretty sure I know her name. But for the sake of being an asshole, I do my best to feign that I don't. Truth be told, I've known this girl since we were kids.
"ALEX (insert terrible German last name here)! OH.MY.GOD."
I'm like a deer caught in the headlights, with the MAC truck barreling in at eighty-miles an hour with no where to run, as by the time I see the truck, it's long passed me. I'm roadkill.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
I want to crawl under a rock. This girl is very pretty. The kind of cute pretty that makes other girls want to stop eating, and take loans just to pay for teeth whitening. I'm almost relunctant to tell her that I work here, but it's pretty obvious. Hard to miss the REALLY LARGE LOGO SCRAWLED ACROSS THE BACK OF THE SHIRT. Long story short, we chit chat. It's semi-pleasant (as I think she's a complete moron. Amazing how complete morons have these wonderful success stories.) She does hair. I sell porn. But she does hair in Seattle. Oh man. Not only am I put at odds by sheer occupation, but the location of the occupation is enough to send me reeling. SEATTLE.
For those of us who are unfamiliar with Washington. Tacoma (WootWoot!) is like Seattle's little thug brother. We're a little rougher around the edges. We don't always wear pants that fit, but at least we comb and wash our hair. (Yes, this is for you hipsters who think that plastering your hair to one side of your face looks attractive.) Tacoma is in the shadow of the bustling city. Admittedly, I betray my hometown for the club scene, but ... for us natives, it's understandable. Nevertheless, Seattle picks their teeth with toothpicks. We flat use the leftover bone.
"I do hair in Seattle."
"... That's nice." (I wish I had this kind of competitive fierce loyalty when I was in high school. I probably would have been a great cheerleader. <cough>
"You look really different."
"Really?"
"You look a lot prettier."
I want to attribute this conversation to the possibility that there is a social barrier constructed by her military Korean-American upbringing. Culturally, there is a reason why she drops the tiny barbs. She doesn't get that by saying "You look pretti-ER" really means: "You were once ugly." I don't remember her being particularly smart. (Note that I am not associating her lack of intelligence to the fact that she was raised Korean-American, but rather stating the fact that she is naturally vacant and just so happens to -be- Korean-American.) Maybe nothing's changed and she phrases her compliments in a fashion that showcases that theory.
Or maybe she knows exactly what she's saying, and her smile just isn't enough to hide how smug she is about it.
Or, maybe I will default to my original theory: I'm a loser. (Hahahahaha.)
The Saga Continues: .....
I need a game plan. I'm fast approaching my mid-twenties and I have no idea what I want from life. I wish there was something in life that I loved enough to devote myself to fully. I'm so fickle. I can't commit. The only thing I can commit to is making other people happy, or doing things for the sake of diplomacy. I suck it up. Swallow it hard. I can't make the decisions for myself if I fear that they are life changing because I'm too scared to fail. Ironically, with this fear of failure perpetually taunting me, I know that it's the very thing that's going to send me over that cliff. The one thing I can't seem to get over, is exactly what's going to drive me to that fear. My fear of it is what's going to make me endure it.
I hate that we define ourselves by how much money we make. I hate that we define ourselves by the things we've accomplished. I run into old 'friends', people I've worked with, sang with, spoke with, shared a meal with and they always want to know how I'm doing. I know it's not because they give a shit. I know it's because they want to be polite, share a smile. Very rarely do I run into somebody that genuinely wants to share a conversation beyond how fantastic they are doing, and how much money they are making, doing the thing that they absolutely love because it's been their calling since they fell out of their mother's black hole of a womb. And because I have virtually no social life, they always run into me exploring their perversions (or coyly pretending to laugh at them. Har-Har.) at my job.
Before I continue, I will openly admit that I am bitter because I realize I am a complete loser at twenty-three. I am a porn clerk. Hear me roar. (mewl.)
Moving on.
Case in point: I walk in the door, halfway through the shift. I left my cellphone at the house. My car is shitty (adding to my loser image. I drive a Kia. 'nuff said.) so leaving the house without it is a death wish wrapped with a pretty Christmas bow. I'm asking for trouble when I do things like that. Anyway, I come back, with the cellphone, and low and behold I make eye contact with her.
This is not the kind of eye contact that cues the crescendo of classical strings, and prompts us to jump fields through leaps and bounds. I'm accutely aware of the cat claws scratching at the chalkboard. I know her face. By god, I KNOW her face, and I'm pretty sure I know her name. But for the sake of being an asshole, I do my best to feign that I don't. Truth be told, I've known this girl since we were kids.
"ALEX (insert terrible German last name here)! OH.MY.GOD."
I'm like a deer caught in the headlights, with the MAC truck barreling in at eighty-miles an hour with no where to run, as by the time I see the truck, it's long passed me. I'm roadkill.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
I want to crawl under a rock. This girl is very pretty. The kind of cute pretty that makes other girls want to stop eating, and take loans just to pay for teeth whitening. I'm almost relunctant to tell her that I work here, but it's pretty obvious. Hard to miss the REALLY LARGE LOGO SCRAWLED ACROSS THE BACK OF THE SHIRT. Long story short, we chit chat. It's semi-pleasant (as I think she's a complete moron. Amazing how complete morons have these wonderful success stories.) She does hair. I sell porn. But she does hair in Seattle. Oh man. Not only am I put at odds by sheer occupation, but the location of the occupation is enough to send me reeling. SEATTLE.
For those of us who are unfamiliar with Washington. Tacoma (WootWoot!) is like Seattle's little thug brother. We're a little rougher around the edges. We don't always wear pants that fit, but at least we comb and wash our hair. (Yes, this is for you hipsters who think that plastering your hair to one side of your face looks attractive.) Tacoma is in the shadow of the bustling city. Admittedly, I betray my hometown for the club scene, but ... for us natives, it's understandable. Nevertheless, Seattle picks their teeth with toothpicks. We flat use the leftover bone.
"I do hair in Seattle."
"... That's nice." (I wish I had this kind of competitive fierce loyalty when I was in high school. I probably would have been a great cheerleader. <cough>
"You look really different."
"Really?"
"You look a lot prettier."
I want to attribute this conversation to the possibility that there is a social barrier constructed by her military Korean-American upbringing. Culturally, there is a reason why she drops the tiny barbs. She doesn't get that by saying "You look pretti-ER" really means: "You were once ugly." I don't remember her being particularly smart. (Note that I am not associating her lack of intelligence to the fact that she was raised Korean-American, but rather stating the fact that she is naturally vacant and just so happens to -be- Korean-American.) Maybe nothing's changed and she phrases her compliments in a fashion that showcases that theory.
Or maybe she knows exactly what she's saying, and her smile just isn't enough to hide how smug she is about it.
Or, maybe I will default to my original theory: I'm a loser. (Hahahahaha.)
The Saga Continues: .....
This is the 'piece' that I wrote for the application. Meh, I dig it. LOL
-----------------------------------
It is with a weighted struggle that I have come to terms with the attributes that make me undoubtedly me. They are nuances and physical building blocks, pieces that are both subtle and dramatic, yet separate myself from the idealistic cookie cutter --- The modern pinup. While these ideals are perpetually evolving and shaping, constantly pushing the desires of those who reach for them, there is no hiding that I am not among the throng.
I am not rail thin.
I am not the bearer of a million dollar smile.
I am not the creamy white canvas of flawless skin.
It is a dichotomy, both hindering and empowering, where my voice grows shrill and bright. For years the sound ricocheted off of deaf ears, slowly churning, and building momentum until it exploded into the project that is me, today: A siren in the torrent of social acceptance, and smothered by the world's preference for a kind of beauty.
Until you hear just how loud I can scream.
-----------------------------------
It is with a weighted struggle that I have come to terms with the attributes that make me undoubtedly me. They are nuances and physical building blocks, pieces that are both subtle and dramatic, yet separate myself from the idealistic cookie cutter --- The modern pinup. While these ideals are perpetually evolving and shaping, constantly pushing the desires of those who reach for them, there is no hiding that I am not among the throng.
I am not rail thin.
I am not the bearer of a million dollar smile.
I am not the creamy white canvas of flawless skin.
It is a dichotomy, both hindering and empowering, where my voice grows shrill and bright. For years the sound ricocheted off of deaf ears, slowly churning, and building momentum until it exploded into the project that is me, today: A siren in the torrent of social acceptance, and smothered by the world's preference for a kind of beauty.
Until you hear just how loud I can scream.
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