I'm working 20+ hours a week, still going to school, and spending time with this guy:


I have stories to tell but I also have homework, housework, and dinner to cook so they're going to have to be put on hold a bit longer. It will be worth it, I promise. Especially the one behind the hole in my studio ceiling!

The Robbery

4 - 7 & 7's
1 - margarita
3 - Miller Light
2 - Pabst Blue Ribbon
2 - car bombs

That is the alcohol that I had consumed Thursday night.


Earlier that day:
I found out that I have a bacterial infection that requires medication that I will not be able to drink alcohol on, or even eat anything with vinegar, for quite a bit. Also, I have a "density" in my right breast.
I will also be waiting until next Thursday to find out more specific results from some testing. Wasn't really thrilled about that.

What did I do directly after work?

I had to go to an art walk that one of my pieces was on - which began the plan: happy hour and dinner at my favorite restaurant, hit the art walk, then on to bar hopping. (The need for immediate drinking was called for after my gained knowledge of not being able to drink. What's that saying... "when in doubt - drink in excess"?)
We drank/ate, hit the walk, then went over to a sports bar to meet up with more friends. That bar lasted one margarita however, because it was lame as hell. Todd's girlfriend convinced him to lead all of us to our most hated bar (and her most loved) - another sports bar on the strip. I agreed, stipulating that someone would buy my bottomless. Note: I had left my wallet in locked up in the office so I had no money, no cards, and no ID. Sandra agreed to let me be her bitch for the rest of the night so the strip it was.
At this point Sandra and I went back to my house to grab my digital camera. I was getting fuzzy and figured I might need evidence of my actions later. When we got to the house I ran inside. I noticed everything from the top draw of my desk was underneath it. I figured the cats had been fishing in there and moved along to my other desk. No camera bag in sight. I walked through the kitchen, then the living room and into my bedroom. I noticed my CHI box was on the floor and panic set in. This box was in the top shelves of my bathroom - there was no way the cats had anything to do with it. I searched my purse cubby quickly thinking I may have left my camera there instead. I moved on to the spare bedroom to search - my ceramics cabinet was open and my jewelry making supplies were all over the floor and my large Lomo bag was missing.
I went for the kitchen to grab my knife - gone. I snatched the biggest kitchen knife in the block and hauled ass out. Sandra started asking me where my camera was, then noticed the knife as I was smashing the keys into the ignition. I told her someone had been in the house, she said, "GO THE FUCK BACK THEN!" My reply, "FUCK NO! SOMEONE HAS BEEN IN MY FUCKING HOUSE!!! FUCK THAT!" My thoughts here were based on my first suspicion - that some creepy weirdo was stalking me, had broken in and gone through my personal items, taken them, and could be back at any moment to rape/torture/kill me. (Hey, I watch a lot of twisted movies. I expect the worst at all times.)
We carried on to our bar destination and met up with our friends. I explained the situation in short, but only wanted to drink. Drink A LOT.
The sports bar we hit is actually three bars that are attached to each other with a patio at the end. With our bottomless cups we walked room to room, acknowledging the idiots that are always there, until hitting the moderately empty patio. Heavy drinking ensued.
The details of sports bar 2 are will be left up to your imagination with key words such as: alcohol, dancing, mockery. Note: sometime at sports bar 2 my ex sent me a text saying, "You're pissed at me. Get over it."
Sandra and I stepped over to a neighboring Irish pub. The Pabst Blue Ribbon and car bomb pub. The ex was there and I continued ignoring his presence - while mentally making fun of his general pathetic demeanor. This is where it gets hazy though. I remember PBR and car bombs, but other than that not a whole lot. Oh, I think I may have did the Thriller dance again and it was probably wicked awesome. When I went to the bathroom I received another text from the ex: "Sorry you're mad at me". Buckets of laughter.
I really don't know the series of exact events from here. Sandra came home with me to further investigate my house. She noticed my window was open when she walked through the door. At this site, I became pretty hysterical. I followed her as she searched the house and back when she began breaking my canvases apart and using the boards to nail the window shut. I cried the entire time to the point of hyperventilation. After I regained my breath I drove her home and called my parents on the way back. My mother said she would be over shortly and tried to calm me down. Sandra told me later that she stayed on the phone until my mom arrived - I don't remember any of this. I do recall mom showing up and yelling at me. Something about, "how could you let this happen?!" and maybe "why are you so stupid?!" The only thing I remember from that conversation was getting pissed off and saying something like, "Then get the fuck out of my fucking house then!" She then told me, "You use the "f" word too often. It's so vulgar." This may have been the moment I went to the bathroom for medication, where I found my cabinet had been ransacked. I managed to find a bottle of pills that I believed to be my anti-depressants - they were green, I was drunk. I later realized it was Sonata. Oops.
The policed had been phoned, but (I think) about an hour and a half later I had to crawl into bed for fear of collapse. As soon as I turned the light off, one officer showed up. I don't remember much of this either. I do recall my mother insulting me, and the officer saying someone would be watching my house.
My hose-beast mother left and I began drunkenly hammering nails into both sides of the top of a left over canvas board. Before I fell asleep I texted the ex: "If my house getting robbed tonight has anything to do with you, well... I'm sure you know what to expect." From what I understand there were other me-freaked-out texts and calls. I wish I remembered all that.
I went to sleep with my "beating-board" in one hand and a hammer in the other.

I didn't sleep well and I woke feeling like I was losing my mind. This may be attributed to still being drunk and having taken the wrong medication.
The ex had texted me saying, "Why would I want to steal your garbage pail kids cards." I laughed - I own ZOMBIE trading cards dummy. This exchange wrote him off my list of "I hate you enough to rob you" persons though. My parents came in and began looking for ways to secure my house. Dad took the boards off the window and replaced them with rebar from my shed. I went with him to look at guns, but decided against one as I hate them. We then went to my doctor's office to replace some missing meds. Wal-Mart was the next stop for a safe, a baseball bat, my anti-bacterial meds, and yogurt. That night everyone came over to watch (rented) movies and make food for me. I called an ex to stay the night - no way was I staying alone.

The next day I was stirred by my dad hammering away at the back of my house. Not a great way to wake someone up that's ultra paranoid. He began installing security devices and I began wallowing in my own misery. I soon decided misery needed company so I set out to find a big scary dog.
At the Humane Society I walked around a bit outside trying to spot something tough. When I stopped in front of one cage, it hit me that I was buying a dog to protect me and began tearing up. I hate crying, so I asked someone to bring out this mystery breed mammoth of a dog to keep me occupied. I played with him for a bit and realized he was a pussy. I moved on to the second scariest dog: the husky. They brought her out and I immediately noticed she moved like a wolf. She went over to the cats, but didn't do anything. (Mammoth dog had barked at them.) She nudged on me, let me pet her, and continued moving like a wild beast. I was sold. We left the H.S. and went to pick out spoiled dog things. She freaked everyone out everywhere we went and I was very pleased.
I brought her home, brushed her out, and gave her a bath. I opened her paperwork and discovered she's a pure breed Siberian named Kishki. (So much for Atilla the Dog.)
At 2pm Todd got off work and came over. We went for pizza and rented more movies for the night. Danna came over in the evening to bring me Starbucks and I somehow mustered the energy to make dinner. Todd stayed the night to help keep guard and again, though I didn't sleep very much anyhow.

Today, I went to the store to buy the dog a bed (so she could drool on something other than my satin pillows) and a few necessities. I then managed to lock Todd's keys in his car. Sandra came to get me, but my frozen foods are questionable after being out in the heat for ten minutes. They both made fun of me and I felt like an idiot, as well as a mess.


I haven't been alone very much in the past few days. When I am, I feel completely post-traumatic. The only way I can compare someone being in your house twice, then robbing you of your belongings, is rape. Every time I open a clothes drawer to put laundry away and see that my things have been shuffled around my emotions are drained. Any happiness that anyone has brought me slips away, and I'm back to Thursday nights pit in my stomach.
There isn't a moment I feel safe. When in my house I worry that someone will come in again and I'll be forced to defend myself as well as my things. Not here, I'm convinced I'm being hit again. The biggest problem is that I, as well as everyone else, is convinced it was someone that knows me. They knew how to get in, they knew I wouldn't be there either night, and they knew where the things were that they wanted - things that are the most important items I own. They didn't leave a big mess. They didn't break anything, even the ceramics that are everywhere. If it wasn't anyone I know, then it's someone that's been watching me.
I can no longer walk from the bathroom to my bedroom to get clothes in the morning with the shade slightly up where the cats look out. I can no longer sit on my sofa without wondering if someone is looking in. I haven't even showered in three days because I'm afraid someone will see any part of me through my tiled windows - I don't know that this is even possible, but I can't deal with the thought.
Tomorrow at school I will be forced to drop my night course and attempt to figure out a way to work at home more. It would seem I've been forced into hermitting a few months early this year. However, I will no longer be happy about being home.

One favor I will ask of you - LOCK YOUR DAMN DOORS AND WINDOWS. Oh, and buy some weapons. Maybe a big scary dog too.
Like this:

(That's not mine but it a lot like her - fierce as fuck.)

New hair:


New sofa:

Ben Franklin is pretty stoked about it, despite the can of Lysol I used after bringing it home from the Salvation Army.

Nermal being ridiculous:



Oh, and I never posted a pic of the bike did I? It's pretty bitchin':



Hope you're having a good weekend!

This is the most disturbing and tragic thing I have read in so long that it caused me to tear up a little.




There's this guy that sits on his porch every day - I see him on my drive to and from the University. On my way to work in the morning, he always waves to me. However, on the way home when I wave to him again, he acts as if he doesn't even notice. Often times, he'll be there listening to his walkman with his cd's out like he sometimes does, with his fingers clutching the bridge of his nose. The way I know I do when I'm tired - tired of everything.
I've always been one to attempt to get into the psyche of man. I'm very compassionate - which also tends to make me very spiteful at the end of the day.
I like to try and imagine where this man came from. Has he always lived here? What did he do? Does he have a family? Did he have a wife? And the question that came to me last week - why doesn't he ever get out of his chair and go on a walk? Why doesn't he get out there and try something new? What is with all this repetition? I mean, it's comforting to me to know he's always there; and on the days he's not, I really do worry that something has happened to him. In a way, from a distance, I love the old man that waves to me every morning. After all, he's about the only person that really gives me faith in humanity anymore.
When I was trying to sleep one night several things occurred to me - for starters, our neighborhood is not exactly safe. If he were to venture out on a daily basis there is a good change, at some point, he would encounter trouble. To this my first thought of course was, yes - in living life there is always an element of risk. But to find the truly beautiful experiences you have to actually get your ass out there and experience them. Then I thought back to my grandfather, when I was taking care of him when he was sick; the things he would say to me around that time. I would encourage him to get out of bed and do things, to pick himself up and push on - and he repeatedly told me, "I've lived a full life. I've done more than I could have asked to do. I don't need to do anymore. It's my time to rest now - and nature's time to take its course." It seemed like the most foolish thing in the world to a fifteen year old, but now I only wish I could live long enough, to live hard enough, to ask for rest.

When I see the old man in his chair, with his fingers loosely placed along his nose, I'd like to imagine that he's waiting for his time to rest. And in the mean time, trying to bring a bit of joy to a too often dismal world.
I know he brings joy to mine, my friends that also know him as "the wave guy", and I hope - a few kind strangers that recognize his small act of kindness.

Sunday-River-Fun-Day - not so fun after all.

I didn't want to go out yesterday because I haven't slept properly in weeks, I'm stressed out with finals, and it would just be time wasted getting drunk (again). Last week I bailed out for the same reasons and my friends were being not so civil about the matter so I decided to put on my happy face - which is the one caused by at least eight tall boys - and load up the Volkswagen for the river.
On the way there we smoked and I was feeling a bit better about being forced into the situation. Though, as soon as we got down into the festivities (ridiculous mess) I then had to attempt to park my beast of a wagon on a beach made of rocks amongst a crowd of drunks, children, and SUVs. To shorten the story up - it took ten minutes, we got yelled at once by the owner of the place, and there were a lot of stares. By that point I was pissed all over again.
We got out of the car and proceeded to haul all of our things out and set up camp: chairs in the water, beers in the koozies, and asses in the chairs. It was about 100 degrees out so it didn't take me more than a 16 ounce High Life to begin to get a bit tipsy. As I started on my second beer, a woman comes running up the beach screaming, "There's a woman down there! She cut her main artery! You're never going to reach her like that!!!" I watched her gaze and saw that she was shouting to a man and woman floating on rafts in the creek. They both began to paddle on their rafts frantically, but the woman still yelled, "You're never going to get there like that!!!" Which, I assumed, they wouldn't. At this point, we're all freaking out. Both of my friends are I begin to wonder if we're strong enough swimmers to make it down, but we don't know how far the woman is, what supplies we would need - or basically if we would be any better than anyone else that was there in aiding in the situation. I've been known to be able to deal with some pretty fucked up things (broken bones, lost fingers, drug overdoses) but I've never been high/drunk and had to attempt to actually keep someone from bleeding to death.
We kept an eye on the floaters and watched as they stopped right around the bend. We could hear sirens in the distance, but we also knew there was no way anyone could get to her from where we were at. A few moments later (which seemed like hours) we saw someone pull a body from the water and drag it across the beach into the woods.
No one said anything. Not one of us could look at the other.
After five minutes or so, with the sirens continuing but growing more distant with time, Todd noticed two of our friends coming from the other side of the river. He asked if they had been down there, they had, and it had been anything but good. The woman had sliced her foot open on a beer bottle in the water and the blood was so thick it covered her, leaving a pool in the water and a trail along the beach. Shawn had first tried to tie her off with his shorts, until a man came over with a towel, and they were then able to rush her back to the camp we were at to be taken to a hospital.

You remember that video I did on the water?

Oh, yeah! That one!
That's the SAME CREEK!!!

Now thanks to some bastard that couldn't pick up after him/herself a woman could be dead.
And I say "could be" because the news here isn't reporting on it which pisses me off even more. If we don't talk about this sort of thing, how will people learn to A.) stop being idiots and clean up, and B.) wear shoes!
The second being really important to me because I had the same thing happen to me three weeks ago. I still have a wound healing on my foot.
How did this happen? Why was I stupid enough not to wear proper shoes? Well, I'll tell you a secret - I'M NOT FROM THIS GOD AWFUL STATE AND IN MY NORTHERN HOMELAND LITTERING IS ACTUALLY PUNISHED. OUR BEACHES ARE CLEAN. WE WALK BAREFOOT AROUND OUR OH-SO-GREAT LAKES AND SMILE GLEEFULLY. (...except maybe around Detroit. But I don't think anyone gets in that lake anyhow - or goes to Detroit for that matter - so pardon my exceptions.)


I swear to hypothetical-christ if I see anyone litter at anytime, ever, I will hurt you. Is that crystal? If you even think about it, think of the possibility of me being right behind you - with a shovel at the back of your skull.

Make that into an add Greenpeace.

The digital age is really doing something interesting to the way we define friendship.

Each time I log onto Facebook or Myspace and see a "friend request" I no longer get a feeling of joy - the emotion I once had with the thought that good friends I had lost touch with had once again found me. This has been caused by the ratio of pseudo-friends that keep "adding" me on these networks. I'm not sure what the exact percentage is, but I do know that among the couple hundred people I "know" on these sites I actually talk to a handful. Many, since "adding", have never even written me a word. So what is the point exactly?
Even more amusing, these faux-friends often expect some degree of bullshit when words are actually exchanged. Or at least this is highly comical to me considering anyone who has ever known me is privy to the fact that I'm blunt to the point of sometimes being named a bitch. I'm just not sorry that if you ask me what that last letter you wrote to me in high school said and I mention a line that reads, "I'll be having wet dreams about you tonight" - you get offended. You asked, you said it; it's funny, get over it. And if you were that upset over your own insecurities - delete me.

That's the great thing about all this isn't it? Not only can we keep tabs on "real life" friends, but now with our wonderful electronic boxes and inter-suck we can reach out to potential douches all over the place and then drop them like a stack of flap jacks whenever we so choose.

Don't get me wrong, I love my electro-box - but I honestly wonder how its fucking up the way we relate to each other.

A simple example, my best friend Todd - a grown ass man - texts like a teenager. It drives me absolutely insane. It's bad enough that he's known to make up words from time to time (like "scintillitize" - a version of scintillate... sort of) but when you ask me, "What r u doin' tn?" I want to strangle a mother fucker. And my reasons are justified in the fact that every time my nephew writes me a message on Myspace (yes, there's no escape) he writes like he's typing a text message - absolutely mind blowing. Well, to anyone that reads/writes at a level above primary school.

And now thanks to iPhones and all of that, it's all internet all the time!

I don't know what's going on overseas, but from what I can see here in the States I predict in ten years a good amount of our populus will not know how to function individually - or interpersonally. That is, without any electronic devices.

As for me, once I get this whole "big girl career" thing taken care of, I will be plugging my Garfield phone back in with an answering machine and calling it good. No Myspace, No Facebook - just an e-mail and the cat phone.



Until then I'm going to harass everyone until their eyes bleed and cries of mercy echo from the hillsides.

A funny thing happened the other night. A group of friends and I went to our favorite bar to celebrate... well, just being able to go out and have fun really. As soon as we get there I see the bastard at the bar. I couldn't deal, so I went and found a table and sat down. Only Todd and I were there at that point so he was set with the task of getting beer. After about ten minutes he came back empty handed and said, "She won't serve me." I knew this was because it was busy as hell and the bartendress tends to wait on women but there was no way I was going to go up there and look the asshole in the eye. Thankfully, Sandra showed up soon after and she and Todd went back up for another attempt. A few minutes later they returned with a six pack of High Life and I was overjoyed. Within an hour, we were given a couple of buckets of ice, another six pack, more friends started showing up, and we were having a stellar time. Even better douchebag left.
However, about an hour later, the idiot came back. By this point the bar was clearing out, and we were all pretty hammered. I didn't care that he was there, it was just the fact that I knew this was his night to go to the bar next door - there was not reason for him to be at this particular establishment.
One of the other bartenders that I'm friendly with came over with a round of shots for us and I took one despite my general lack of tolerance for hard liquor. Of course, it was not long after that dancing ensued. The later the hour became the more people trickled out the door. By the end of the night when they were being shewed out - polesmoker, the girl (which I'm sure he took home) and the guy at his table were the very last to leave. A couple from my crew and I were permitted to stay and drink because that's how I fucking roll. We drank, we danced, we sang and were merry. It was a damn good night.

It makes me giggle on the inside to think that I would be so sad over such a small person.



It's amazing how sometimes we can reverse situations on ourselves to the point that we lose selfconfidence. I find a lot of times in interpersonal relations when someone begins acting shitty toward me, I begin thinking I'm at fault. It must be something I did, something I said; when in fact its generally just that the person really is a piece of shit.

Reminds me of a coach I had in grade school. Whenever we lost a game I'd get pissed off beyond all belief and she'd always come over, grab my shoulder and say, "Don't be so hard on yourself, __insert last name__. It's just a game." Preparatory words for life possibly? I believe so.

A couple of months back I "graduated" from therapy. My doctor sent me "out into the big scary world to live life" and I'm doing it. Strangely, in certain situations I still hear her voice and it makes me laugh. When I start to get down on myself about something stupid I here one of her last phrases to me, "And remember, you're smart, you're funny, and by golly - you're a good person!" She couldn't even say it without cracking up, and I couldn't get out of the door with a straight face.

There are a lot of women in my life that I think of when I need to be strong. From Frida Khalo to my overly butch soccer coach, I have quite a diverse arena to draw from.
So as much as I love the idea of complete solitude sometimes, I know that the only way to find my little knowledge nuggets is to get out there and fight the good fight. It comes with a lot of shit on the lawn of course, but damn it I am a good person. And maybe along the way someone will obtain a few pearls of wisdom from me - or as I referred to them the other night - "brain sperms". Either way, I'm thankful for the people that I've chosen to surround myself with - and the ones that have been kind enough to stick to me, despite my recent piss parade.


I do too.

But first...

I'm gonna club you like a kangaroo.
(Ahhahha. Ahahahahah.)


I love you guys.

I haven't been sleeping a lot lately. There are events that have induced this fact, but at the least it has given me time to reflect.

Recently, I was seeing someone. For a period I thought I was happy, that things were falling into place. A couple of weeks went by and I began to see myself becoming something that I wasn't, a person unfamiliar, an image in the mirror with vacant eyes and a forced smile.
I lost thoughts. I lost words. I lost the ability to reason of my own volition. Briefly, I lost myself.

For quite awhile I've been treading hard along a path with no boundaries, no structure at all. I've done so knowingly, waiting for a time when a clearing would come and things would right themselves as they always seem to at different points along the way.

Last night as I lay staring out the window of my room at the buzzing street light in front of my home it became clear that things weren't just going to "right themselves" this time. All of the causes of my woes could be fixed with effort. Not immediately, not easily, but with changes and effort there is a possibility one day I may find myself at greater ease again.

And then it occurred to me, things for me have never magically become better. I've never believed in luck because life has always bent me over and fucked me as hard as it could find a way to penetrate. That has made me strong - it's given me the ability to get up on mornings like this one and decide to do something amazing with my life instead of moping around and waiting for something to come about.



I'll be hermitting if you need me.