Who knows.

You're so mechanical;
I'm the smoke curling in your hair,
withering and disappearing when all I want to do is stay.

What I wouldn't give to be the spiderwebs on your skin;
you'll never know,
I swallow the words before I say them,
taking them like pills,
they sit in my chest threatening to break my ribs.

You're all black.
You're all white.
You're the extremes and I'm the haze clinging to the edges.
I move like the surf, advancing and retreating,
you'll never know,
I long to live in the tidepools.

I'm your cigarette's ash,
darting with a blow.
I hold onto your shirt, your shoes;
I grow, and grow,
the black spots on your lungs that you haven't seen.
This is the only way I can be you.

So you breathe me in without knowing.
The salt you taste is the sweat of my skin.

Raptor Boots.

They make round-house kicking even more dangerous.

The concept is simple. You have a boot with supports. Then you attach a sharp metal raptor shaped claw to it. Following that, you go kick ass or hold your friends hostage for boxed wine. Or money, depending on what floats your boat.

The release is slightly above the big toe. You gotta stretch to get it. It'll take practice. Fortunately for me, I have very flexible toes. The rest of you poor saps will have to learn.

Someday I'll really make them. I'm not sure how I'm going to make the claw release. Probably some sort of mini-hydraulic system of sorts since I lost my ability of telekinesis years ago. It'll be trial and error. Maybe I'll someday patent them. Sell them to the military...make millions...Oh wait. That only works if your Tony Stark.

Adam thinks they are a terrible idea. I think I'm a fucking genius.

ETA:
Click to make bigger. Why the wavery lines? I can't draw with my finger pad thing. I also don't bring my tablet everywhere with me, unlike Lyndale Ave. people.

How many scarves could one Minneapolis-ian wear?

Let's start off with some basic facts about myself:

1.) I am no fashionista. I rock my dad's old Navy coats, glasses decked out in fake gems, and like to pair way too big jeans with expensive jewelry.
2.) I drink enough Red Jak within a month that I could probably keep the whole company afloat if it ever threatened to go under.
3.) I spend way too much time on DeviantArt
4.) I'm ghetto poor.
5.) I lack any understanding of hip language. On the plus side, I'm not afraid to whip out a verbal LULZ.
6.) I listen to Avenged Sevenfold's Beast and the Harlot way too much. I play it on Guitar Hero II too much to be healthy.
7.) I smoke way more than I should.
8.) I spend my time reading LICD and trying to perfect my future Raptor Boots.
9) I'm a terrible writer. But I'm like the little engine that could. I JUST KEEP GOING.
10.) Also, I abuse the caps lock button.
11.) I'm too mean to die. Its a fact.
12.) I enjoy NCIS.
13.) I have a secret love for boxed wine.
15.) This is also a fact: If I could, I would spend $1200 on a pair of Louboutin boots.

To sum it up, I am the last person who should judge anyone.

Yet I have to ask: How many scarves does one person find necessary?

Its a phenomenon of sorts. Hit Lyndale Ave. and you hit the "artsy" part of the grand old state Minnesota. And by artsy, I mean everyone lives in charming duplexes. Everyone also carries a sketchbook or tablet with them, wears black framed glasses, berets that even Jamie Hyneman wouldn't touch, full length black peacoats, and the best...

At least three scarves. Most also walk into the street with a vacant/pensive expression on their faces. It must be some sort of requirement to live in a place such as that.

Now honestly. When you leave your house, wouldn't you think, "My goodness, its about fifty degrees out. The snow is melting and the birds are singing. Perhaps four different colored brand-new-but-attempting-to-be-vintage scarves would be a bit redundant"? I would. In fact, I don't even wear one scarve unless I feel that it could be the day a vampire jumps me or I'm worried that not protecting my something-or-another artery (look, people anatomy escapes me...I won't apologize for it) will result in my blood turning to sludge. Why on earth would you need three, four, or dare I say, FIVE scarves? Eventually you stop looking bohemie. Eventually you just start looking like the poor kid from A Christmas Story. Also, when everyone on the block dresses exactly the same everyone looks the same. And pensive expressions don't work. It more closely resembles constipation rather than "I'm a potentially tortured artist, but you don't know so you'd better ask what I'm working so furiously on via my fashionably beaten up artbook".

There. I said it. A person CAN wear too many scarves. I will never live along Lyndale Avenue. I am not ready to give up my mostly buttonless coat, my banged up ghetto cruiser of a Toyota, and I certainly will not stop dancing as I drive to the tune of the Foo Fighter's cover of "Darling Nikki". All those things do not seem to mesh with the expected citizens of Lyndale Ave.

November.

I found out that someone I loved not so long ago committed suicide.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Blue Maui will always remind me of the taste of your lips,
of the days we took long draws of Jack together,
when the thunder came and you covered my face
your kisses raining
one drop at a time.

You played guitar for me.
Slouched on the edge of the bed, you hit the strings,
and apologized for the rough tunes.
I sat in silence;
I never told it you it was beautiful.

I never told you enough.
You asked, and you asked, despite the seasons' change,
and I held my tongue, clinging to what I had found.
You wanted another chance;
I kept my heart in a steel trap.

One day, you said, our daughters would play in the sand.
I could see little toes hiding in the water,
mingling tones of blond and auburn.
Like everything else you said,
I never had the spine to tell you it was nothing more than a dream.

(He asks me if I'm okay.
I ask you how I could tell him
that one time we were everything.)

There were too many chances lost.
I meander now like Alice in a maze,
trying to find one clear vision to cleave to.
But they're muddled,
your hollow cigarettes,
I broke through your door,
wrapping your hair around my finger,
you said again and again,
could we have it back?

One morning we laid face to face.
You traced my hips with your fingers,
stained from nicotine,
and you told me you could feel my bones.

This time around you gave the answer to me
and it echoes with an empty 'no'.
I think of all the times I could have said,
everything you wanted to hear,
and everything I tried to bury;
the taste is bitter,
blue Maui on your lips.

Zombies.

I've come to terms with the fact that I have an unhealthy fear of zombies. The other day Kim and John were considering a house that was on a hilltop, overlooking a cemetery. I immediately saw several of its merits. It's on an incline. Everyone knows that in the case of potential zombie infection, you want to have the high ground. Secondly, hello, its next to a cemetery. Right off the bat I thought, hey, you'll never have to worry about any loud parties. Then a little bell dinged in my mind and I realized it had far more worth than that...should the dead rise to feast upon our unsuspecting brains, we would be the first to see and report the issue.

And that's when I realized how sad I actually was. Worse, it doesn't stop there. I find myself meandering in Wal-Mart trying to figure out whether or not it would be a good base in case zombies came out. There's all the supplies, yeah, but it'd be a bitch to zombie-proof.

Then there was the time in Plaza where Adam and I got in a loud, obnoxious argument over zombie invasion. His plan is to get into Wal-Mart and put a cart in front of the automatic opening doors. His rationale was that the cart in front of the doors is the universal sign of the doors being out of order and that this fact is so deeply ingrained in our minds that even undeath couldn't diminish the knowledge. I proceeded to get angry at him for not taking the issue seriously. Then we discussed stacking carts in front of the doors as a barrier. Basically the conversation ended on the note that if we were dealing with your run of the mill zombies, it would be a good tactic, but if we were dealing with 28 Weeks Later type zombies we'd be royally fucked.

Following that was my nightmare about the KOA being overran by zombies. After that, my dream about Steve the Emo Zombie, a fantastic character that showed up in my dreams for a while trying to earn my affections. It never went any where. I can't bring myself to trust an undead man with a hungering for human flesh. Pretty sure my dream zombie just wanted me for my brains.

Thus, I have realized I have a very unhealthy paranoia. Pile that on top of my complicated plans for escaping alien invasion and avoiding raptors should the events of Jurassic Park occur widespread within the U.S., and you have what you might consider a prime slice of white girl. Sometimes I'm surprised by the fact I can function decently as a human being.

So Broccoli. We meet again.

Same argument, different day.

I'm not quite sure what it is about fanatics. Not just religious fanatics, but fanatics about everything. I used to be a frothing, foaming at the mouth fanatic about different things. But I've mellowed with age. Now I've joined the millions of people who want to weep and tear their hair out when fanatics get started.

Vegetarians. Vegans. I GET IT.

You don't eat meat. You think its cruel and unnecessary. You think every animal being used as a potential food source is dying in agony, YES. Point has been made. Thank you. Screaming at me about animal cruelty is not the way to get me to view your choice sympathetically. I'm familiar with animal cruelty. I've seen it. I cry when I watch Animal Cops and Adam has to restrain me before I can get my hands on my pitchfork and torch. I hear about it every day being as I'm a vet. tech. student and work at a pet store.

The problem is that we are in two different mindsets. Its not you, its me. I'm a horrible person. Nothing you can do will convince me that a cow is worth just as much as my cats. I don't eat my cats. I eat cows. I also eat lamb and veal with a smile on my face. I believe that animals can be eaten in a conscientious fashion. I think supporting local farmers over large meat packing plants is great. When you buy from local farmers and butchers, you can be better assured of the quality of the animal's life prior to slaughter as well as treatment during the process.

To me, there are various levels of animal cruelty. I prefer my meat home grown. I buy from places like Hy-Vee that support local producers of delicious items such as t-bone steaks. I've seen local farms. In all honesty, the cows and other animals on the farms around Storm Lake are living a much better life than a good 75% of the human population. Cows are taken to slaughter, killed quickly, and go on to feed numerous people/animals. When your average person dies its generally long, drawn out, painful, undignified death that has no purpose. I'm losing my point so back onto it.

Not long ago someone on a forum posted a story. In the town close to her's, a woman's Maine Coon cat was severely beaten to the point of its teeth being cracked in. Not only that, the boy who did it dumped gasoline over the cat and attempted to light it on fire. She found her cat bloody and broken in the morning and sadly for the cat, still alive and very much in pain. Now, to me this was curious. The people who responded to the story were a lot of animal lovers, most of us being of the omnivoreous sort. A lot of people wanted links to pages where you could donate to the cat's care or get an address to send letters of support and kindness. I didn't so much spy any of the local vegans or vegetarians on there. Yet as soon as a topic pops up about vegetarian/vegan lifestyles, the so professed animal cruelty haters race on over to shove their opinions down everyone's throat and use the opportunity to beat the self esteem of your normal hamburger loving person into the ground.

I don't get it. I'll be frank, this causes within me a vast, undeniable confusion. The slaughtering of a cow is more important than the fact some kid decided to light a loved family pet on fire? On the scale of horrendousness, I would rate lighting a cat on fire off the charts. Killing a cow quickly for the purpose of feeding hungry peeps? Not even really on there.

Don't get me wrong. I believe that animals destined for slaughter need to be treated humanly (meat tastes bad otherwise...) but typing at me in all capital letters and telling me how I am party to mass murder every time I pick up a package of turkey bacon is more likely to, in their speech, send me into a massive case of LOLing all over the place. I haven't seen any convincing arguments as to why I should cut meat out of my diet. It is good for my body, my brain, and it be a tasty thing. I have yet to suffer any diseases that meat apparently carries (score one for the omnivores; tainted spinach/jalepenos/tomatos anyone?) and I help support local business. It can be argued that there is no point in eating meat with all the vitamins and what not. Fine. What it boils down to is personal choice. I chose to eat meat in what I consider a safe, humane fashion. I'm cool with that. I have my own beliefs as to what I would eat and what I would not eat. I would not eat a whale (look into culture and cetaceans...fascinating stuff). I would not eat a dog, and I would not eat a cat. I would not eat a snake, however I enjoy alligator.

I would, in fact, eat green eggs and ham.

Much like abortion, in my mind it boils down to the fact it is my body and therefore my choice. I choose to eat meat. Vegetarians/vegans choose not to. I don't condemn non-meat lovers in any way, so why do I get a finger pointed at me? Respect goes a long way in getting your views listened to and potentially considered. I respect a person's decision not to eat meat or animal by-products. Unless of course those people are the sorts who believe putting cats on a vegetarian diet is alrighty. Then I might get a little rabid.

I don't go stalking down people in forums who don't believe dinosaurs existed, you know the sort who say that dinosaurs were created by scientists in order to attempt to disprove the existence of God, in order to bitch slap them via my almighty keyboard. So I ask the same. Don't stalk down the poor omnivores in order to yell at them over the Internet for what is a personal choice. Believe me, if I can let the dinosaur issue go, as much as it pains me, veggies can let omnivores live in peace.

Change is in the air.

This is my first year that I've had to face the face the fact that the chances of me being able to go home for the holidays are slim to none. I've been very spoiled with my work schedules over the years. Every year I've been able to come home for Christmas and Thanksgiving to be with family. But this year is different. I looked at my work schedule this week and came to the realization that my plans to go to Kansas with Adam had to be canceled. Its a lonely, sad kind of feeling. On one hand, I'll be making money, which is great. On the other hand, I'll be missing the chance to see and check up on the people I love.

I guess I don't know how to feel about it. The realistic side of me tells me I can't expect much more. In the world of adultness, not everyone is blessed to be able to see family on holidays. There are millions of people that have to work through every holiday or birthday that means something to them. I'm not special but half of me wants to throw a tantrum. I want to see my family, I want to gorge myself on turkey and good alcohol, and I want to feel a part of things. I want to be the one there watching my little brothers and sisters open presents. I want to be selfish and tell my managers that I don't care if their son is celebrating his second Christmas; my Christmas and my Thanksgiving is what matters.

Sometimes I feel like I'm drifting too far from my family. More and more often I feel like the outsider looking in. Its nothing that can be blamed on my family; something has just changed in me. I wonder if everyone goes through this in their life. Maybe its the indecision that I'm facing. I don't know where exactly my life is leading me. All I know is that I love my classes and I love staying hours after classes chain smoking and talking politics and periods with people that I honestly don't know much about. But when I sit down with family to talk about my goals and what I hope to do with my life, I feel really set apart, that somehow things just aren't adding up. I think its me. I don't know if its me. Its a conundrum to say the least. There are times where I don't really care what's going on...where I'll go days without talking to a family member and I'm not bothered. Other times I feel so desperately lonely that I face turning back to teenage angst, screaming "Why don't you love me?". I need to find a happy balance, which is turning out much harder than I could have thought it would be. But I suppose that's what life is, trying to find balance.

Life in general is alright for me. I'm sure everyone reaches a stage in their life when they feel completely neutral. I'm not exactly thrilled, but I'm not standing on a roof either. I love school and for the first time who knows when, I'm a consistent A/B student. If I were back in high school I think I would be running around shouting to the rooftops how well I'm doing. But for some reason its just not as exciting for me. I think part of it is due to the fact that my successes are usually countered by others telling me where my life is lacking. I got an A on a test, good stuff, but I left dirty dishes in the sink. I was complimented by my manager, great, but I'm not making good money. The more I think on it, the more I realize I'm simply rolling with the punches and perhaps that's what life is about. Taking everything in stride. That seems somehow distressing and empty to me. I've been spoiled; I've always had someone there telling me what a great job I've done. Which brings me to the question, what's the point of success if no one cares? That's something I suppose I'll have to figure out on my own. I need to stop being so reliant on others to gauge my success for me. I need to be happy with what I've done for the simple fact that I'm the one who did it, and that's reason alone to be proud. Until then I guess I'm going to keep floating through life, not quite independent but not quite dependent either.

Back to Christmas, though, I'm pretty excited about this year whether or not I'm there. Adam and I are doing the horribly cheesy couple thing and putting both our names on all the gifts. I'm pretty proud. This year the gifts have been thoughtful; we've put a lot of thinking into what we want to get people and why. It might be another part of growing up, but every year my Christmas list seems to grow shorter. This year I'd like a dog, a digital camera, and maybe a gift card to Barnes and Noble or the like. Or a complete tune-up on the Echo. I need my oil changed like there's no tomorrow. Chances are though, I'll be getting another art set. There's just some things about Christmas that never change.

Lots of rambling. Sometimes a good rambling is all one needs.

Are you there God? Megan here. Long time no talk, homeslice.

Time for a serious discussion.

Please, God, for the sake of my sanity and my grades, give me a longer right ring finger. The cigarette hold is apparently a big no-no when it comes syringe handling. While its clear to my instructor that I have indeed been practicing my ring finger still isn't long enough. Short of undergoing a stretching out type surgery there is not much I can do.

I can't pull back a 3cc plunger all the way because my finger won't reach. At this rate, I'll be doomed if I ever have to handle something larger.

I need long pianist fingers. Not stubby sausages.

Much 'preciated.

P.S. Can you make my Facebook stalker leave me alone? He creeps me out.

Gorgeous

Oh little queen,
someone's pampered darling.
You've fallen so low now
in your dingy metal cavern,
the plebes crying around you.
Kneading with your empty paws,
killing with glances of lazuli eyes.

Bud

Your tiny nails like black crescents,
laid so perfectly in my palm.
I held them there to feel the press
of dagger points against my flesh.
A skinny wastrel,
I played across your sides
with my cold metal drum.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.

Skin covered your ribs.
Your hips are stilts
that hold your frame together
with depraved tendons that shake.

Keep breathing.
I can hear the rhythm of the lake.
Flushed birds that try to hide from your eyes;
you did a job, you were a tool
to the one who left you alone with cornhusk shells.

Your veins are good.
I can find your pulse.
25.7 kilos is not enough, you move with the wind.
You eat my words and they're all I give.
I'm not the one to take you home tonight,
to provide you with a place to rest.

Revenge tactics

almost four years and i still watch the corners.
for headlight teeth creeping in my skull
your project, your damaged goods

after I left i lit up. just for you.
I dance with my charcoal lungs,
I'm reborn, flicking away the ashes,
rinsing myself of your crack scarred cheeks.

you said sun damage, I said I'm not naive.

I was alive and burning
the grass tickled my feet
sweat prickled my shoulders,
high strung.

you were on your knees and shaking
you begged, you hollered
still I said no, strutting in front of you
breasts high, hips back
I mocked you with the body
the one you said you owned

its his now, I told you
you imprinted on fresh cut thighs
and it was for the time in the rain
when you pulled over,
letting the thunder take me

they called me a bitch,
it was the best day of my life

Officer Andy.

I got kissed by a police dog today.

My favorite dog went back to the shelter he came from today. I wish I had enough guts to find out where he is so I could go visit. I'm afraid though that if I don't let go now, I'll become too attached. Then I'll cry everyday thinking about the fact I couldn't give him a home. I love what I'm doing, I love every minute I'm in that building, but its full of heartache.

Having a sixty pound GSD officer sit on me and act like a noodle made me feel better though.

I wish I could say Betty suffices as a pet. In all reality, she doesn't. She's nothing like my cats, who are a thousand times more intelligent and a thousand times less annoying. And she's not mine. She's just there, always chewing on my freaking hands, and jumping on me.

Now I feel whiny. I hate living without my pets. I need to win Publisher's Clearing House. Then I would be set.

And I'm off. Otherwise pretty soon I'll start intentionally smearing my mascara, get my eyebrow pierced, and start wearing shirts plastered with saying that attempt to be enigmatic.

On the side of the road.

Perfect days can be ruined so easily. Today was one of those. Everything was going wonderfully. I dropped by the SCNAVTA meeting and had a blast chatting with our president Tracy. I signed off on savings bonds so I don't have to worry anymore about my tires giving out and not having my books. I put a job at Walgreen's as a pharmacy tech. on the backburner because it would interfere with my schooling but then today got a call from Petland. I have an interview for becoming a part time kennel assistant. Its not as glamorous and probably not as high paying but it falls in line with my schooling much better and the atmosphere seems much more enjoyable. I filled up the Echo for only $19.15 and it was flashing on empty. I start more intensive VT stuff next week, learning how to restrain dogs and such. I also get to go see an officer and his K9 partner demonstrate for the school.

Everything is looking up. I leave Argosy feeling good.

Almost to the 41 turn off for Chaska laid a grey and white cat that had been hit by a car. It ruined everything. I always get a little sad when I see dead animals by the side of the road. I ery much support building 'natural' bridges over roads to allow native wildlife to cross over more safely. It wouldn't solve the whole issue but it would give traveling/migrating animals an option. But this is so much worse.

When you take in an animal it is under your care. Animals aren't like humans. They don't change from cute babies to functional adults that can take care of themselves. Animals are like owning a two year old. There may be greater levels of awareness as the pet ages but a pet is a pet. They are dependent on us for food, shelter, and affection. If you're not going to take care of animal don't get one. Plain and simple. If you don't have the time and dedication for an animal settle for looking. If its not the right time in your life, settle your cute and fuzzy fix by volunteering at a shelter, work at a pet supply store, or assist at a clinic. Its been said time and time again by people far better than I: Animals are not toys; they require care. They require your time and patience.

Focusing on the cat issue let this be known; the happiness of one's cat does not depend upon it being able to run freely. Cats are domesticated, though on a different level than dogs. A cat can better care for itself if outdoors than a dog can but that does not mean nothing will happen to them. Outside life is just as dangerous for cats. Cats are highly territorial (as anyone who has introduced a cat to an already cat occupied home knows) and fights between strays/ferals can be vicious with injuries being fatal if not attended to. They may be feisty but they are not at the top of the food chain. Dogs, foxes, coyotes, large hawks, alligators, raccoons, and cougars are all threats to cats that wander freely. As proven today by the sad body by the side of the road, humans are even more dangerous. Cars kill more animals than anything else. Cats may be clever but that doesn't mean they are masters at avoiding vehicles traveling at speeds over 65 m.p.h. Worse, there are plenty of people out there who have no trouble dealing with a stray cat by simply shooting, poisoning, or trapping it. There are people who don't have any moral compunctions about abusing a stray cat.

If you have no problem letting your pets wander when you know you live right next to a very dangerous highway, don't own a pet. Don't purchase a dog if you are going to let it roam about the countryside. Don't allow your farm cats to reproduce one after another simply because the kittens replace the older "mousers" that over the years have fallen prey to winter, predators, cars, and humans. Don't own a large snake if you're going to keep it in inadequate conditions simply for bragging rights. I'm not an animal rights person; in fact, they stand for just about everything I don't agree with. Animal rights activists will tell you that its perfectly alright to allow your pet outdoors to wander. Hardcore ones will tell you that this is preferable and to keep an animal inside is only torture. Any animal welfare supporter will tell you that this is not true. Outdoors is a great place for animals as long as certain conditions are met. Animals should be properly IDed through tags and microchipping, supervised, up to date on their vaccinations, and not only supervised but under some sort of restraint be it a leash or a secure outdoor pen.

I remember the first V.P. debate. Palin made a comment about Americans taking responsibility for the country and their lives. Its a fine sentiment but look at the nation we live in. We make advances every day and yet the average American is unable to properly take care of a 10 pound animal such as a cat. In a nation where people find it easier to deal with their pets being ran over than deal with the care taking of that pet, responsibility for one's self seems like a long shot. The "its only a dog/cat/ferret/snake/sugar glider/etc." argument gets old. Its nothing but an excuse used by people in order to make whatever has happened easy for them to move on from. Its easier to get over your cat being ran over or killed by a stray dog when you objectify it.

I wish it was different. I wish I knew who owned the cat so I could go punch them. More than anything, I wish I would have stopped and moved the body away from the road. It sounds creepy and I'm sure people would be freaked out but if the owners of that cat had simply taken care of he/she like they should have, it wouldn't have happened. That cat deserved a hell of a lot more than to just lay shattered by the side of the road.

Shoes that I need.

I've discovered shoes hardcore. These have become a need. I don't know what my shoe thing is lately. I can only hope it runs its course before I lose all my money. Which is so far not much since I'm spoiled but that won't be forever. Eventually people will tell me to buy my own damned shoes. They'll refuse to be enablers and pretty soon I'll be living behind a Payless, licking the windows and hoping someone tosses out a pair of Crocs (its funny because they're hideous). So yeah. There goes the neighborhood.

Ed Hardy by Christian Audigier Snowblazers. Probably completely typical when it comes to fashion but I want a pair. I don't have the money to get my sleeve started on so I might as well deck my calves out in tattoo based boots. On some other blog they were calling these shoes horrible and made ridiculous references to Brett Michaels. There is nothing Brett Michaels about these shoes. Obviously the author of the Blog-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named doesn't know enough awesome old men or walked into enough tattoo parlors to see these designs being used. Yes, yes, they're overused tattoo designs. They're the sort you see on young guys and think "dumbass" but see on seventy year old bikers and think "kickass". Perhaps that's why these shoes seem to inspire feeling of love or hate.

For me, its obviously love. These shoes remind me of the cool old guys I've met throughout my life. They remind me of parlors, where I feel comfortable at. And they're awesome. I'm not sure about the weather resistance of these boots but I'd be more than willing to try them out. After all they're flat soled and furry on the inside. However, it could be misleading. No promises in how they may hold up to Minnesotan winters.

Steve Madden shoes are some of my favorites ever. And now they come in bright, screaming yellow suede. I'm not sure if it could be more self-explanatory than that. Bright. Yellow. I've always wanted a pair of bright yellow shoes. I'm not sure what sparked this urge. I think it may have started with my rainboot obsession. You see bright yellow far more commonly in rainboots than you do in pumps. They're not rubbery in any way, another bonus. They're the perfect pair of shoes to make a certain outfit pop. I would totally be "that" girl and walk into a meeting of sorts in some blah black suit with freaking yellow shoes. In fact, I need to find something official to go to so that I can do it. Its something I must do. And if I can't do it, I'm going to do my damned best to find someone else to coerce into it. I love these shoes. I've never really owned anything that I considered a statement piece. Its pretty much the same old, same old. But I would consider these pretty close to being a statement piece.

Need. Not want...need those shoes.

My hero.

I saw him at the Mall of America. For real, no joke, he was there on stage doing something but he was so close I could feel the metrosexualism rolling over the crowd in waves. His mere presence made me want to shop for more than just my classic mixture of sweatshirts and somewhat stylish shoes.

Someday, I swear, Stacy and him will invite me out to New York for a 5k shopping spree. It will happen, just you wait.

Speaking of the MOA, I was there with my aunt, grandma, and Johnna. I wish I had a camera because the shoes my grandmother bought me (because I'm horribly spoiled) kick major ass. They may not be Louboutin but I'm perfectly happy with blue/black Chinese Laundry 4 inchers and black wedge and suede knee high boots.

Then there's the pair of Madden Girl heels I got myself today in taupe. I may not have much of a wardrobe because I much prefer shoes and jewelry, but I can only hope that in some small way Clinton would at least like my shoes. I'm a whore for his approval.

Louboutin's sideways tango.

I'm not necessarily a fan of "The Starter Wife", the main character did make a good point. Avoiding Christian Louboutin shoes is like performing an act of tantric sex. Damn near impossible. I love Christian Louboutin shoes, I'll admit it. I love the red soles because oddly enough, my favorite color combination happens to be black and red. Louboutin combines those colors wonderfully and the idea of a red sole makes me happy. Its a profound relief to find black and red boots that don't give you the appearance of having stepped foot into the soul sucking, tween idolized Hot Topic. I'll admit once that would have appealed to me (every kid goes through their stages; in my day it was goth, nowadays its emo) but now I prefer a look that doesn't scream vampire.

Yet with my financial status and planned future with a focus on rescue, Louboutin has become easy to avoid. With the lowest price tag for a simple pair of pumps being around $565 Louboutin shoes are one of those things in my life that I'll have to simply wave good bye and hope that someday that myself or my better half will be able to afford at least a piece of these. Classy.

It makes me wonder if taking out a loan for a pair of shoes would be at all selfish.

Do you know the muffin man?

I have to say, I found the most irresistibly cute jewelry ever. I've been a fan for 'food charms' for a few years now, starting when a gal I know online linked me to some of her awesome sushi charm bracelets. Now they're all the craze and there are some really impressive artists out there. Yet its definitely Jeanine of Tiny Cravings that takes the cake. Or should I say cupcake.

...Sorry. Three years with the man I've been with and you'd start to find stupid puns just as irresistible as Jeanine's cupcake charm. So what's so great about them? The artistry is the main thing. If you go search in DeviantArt, you'll find a lot of cupcake queen wannabes yet the quality isn't matched by half. This girl knows her cupcakes. If you look at the pictures she has of customers wearing their charms, you can see these things are just little; they're tiny. To put that much detail into something so small is impressive to say the least. A lot of the imitators out there tend to make cupcakes that end up looking like small, magical shrooms.

What's more is that she scents her cupcakes. They just don't look like cupcakes but smell like them too. Buttercreme, lemon, lime, etc. When you buy one of these you aren't just getting a tastefully done cupcake charm but one that will convince people you're actually wearing a little bit of cupcake goodness.

Not only does she sell pre-fabricated cupcakes, but you have the option of ordering custom designs. Whether it be the simple "pick your icing, pick your sprinkles" order or a more complex item that you deal with her personally about, there's a wide variety of options open. Her new designs are always fun and definitely deserve a second glance.

Jeanine's inventiveness makes her products one of a kind. I have yet to purchase a cupcake charm from her but I'm keeping a close eye on her Etsy for when she posts her goods left over from the Halloween booth she will be setting up. Right now she's out of stock for cupcake items until that is over but anyone interested in owning a cute charm should definitely check her out. Her items are great and I think they're adorable. Once she's back into the swing of things, I plan on ordering a few of them for friends. If cupcakes aren't your thing, take a look at her Lolita based charms and her other sweets charms. She does an amazing variety of things from lollipops to fudge cake.

To check out her site, hit this link.

Sweetheart, bitterheart, now I can't tell you apart.

Some Feist lyrics for you, oh yeah.

There's days where I just can't describe how I feel. So here's a little soundtrack of emotions. Yes, its pretty much all piano compositions. I happen to favor the piano...a lot. And indeed, there is a lot of Chopin. I can't help that his music is the most beautiful/tragic that I've ever listened to.

Romeo and Juliet (Piano arrangement): The Montegues and Capulets - Sergei Prokofiev
Nocturne in E Flat Major - Chopin
Piano Sonata No.23, F Minor, Allegro "Appassionata" - Beethoven
Succession of Witches (Piano version) - Nobuo Uematsu
Prelude No.15, D Flat, "Raindrops" - Chopin
Melodie, Op. 4, No. 2 - Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel
Waltz, Op. 36, No. 4 - Amy Marcy Beach
Nocturne No. 20, C-Sharp Minor - Chopin
Zehn Kleine Klavierstucke, Op. 12, No. 7 Prelude - Sergei Prokofiev
Minuet in G Major - J.S. Bach
Melodie from "Orfeo ed Euridice" - Sergei Rachmaninoff
No. 4, "The Night's Music", Lento - Bela Bartok (this one is really unsettling...I have really mixed emotions about it)
Arc-En-Ciel - Gyorgy Ligeti
Nocturne in G Minor - Chopin

And there you have it.

Vaginas with attitude.

So I hang around DeviantArt. I have a couple of favorite artists on there as well as a commission coming to me. One of my favorite guys on there is the user IMustBeDead because both his photography and photo manipulations are interesting and very well staged. Scrolling through his gallery, I was confronted by a very blatant vagina. In the comments section, he noted being inspired by the photographer Pelicanh. Curiosity got the better of me and I clicked.

Vaginas galore. This one happens to be my favorite.


No Glove - No Love by `Pelicanh on deviantART

Obviously by vaginas, I don't mean porn shots. I mean vaginas in their natural glory, be they pierced, shaved, or otherwise. I'm really very impressed. Its not every day that you come across a guy who can photograph a vagina for its aesthetic beauty and not just because they want to become well known as a jack off portion on DeviantArt. This is the only man I know that takes a picture of a vagina and then exclaims in its caption "Its so cute, I couldn't help it!". I would say that yes, some of his photographs push the envelope as to what's porn and what's not. However, I wouldn't hold that against him. In a world where feminists are defined as women who want special rights rather than equal rights, its hard for a man who likes vaginas to get by. I can only imagine the hate mail he gets.

Chauvinist. Pervert. Pig. Objectifier (yes, I did make this word up) of women. I'm sure a thousand numerous other insults have been thrown at him. In fact, because I'm an idiot, I just noticed that he published a journal along those lines. The only difference is that it seems to be underaged members of DA who have the most issues with him. Hm.My only issue? While I find his photography beautiful, I don't find vaginas particularly attractive. I just don't. And its not just female genitalia that I find not so amazing, its male as well. I think our reproductive organs are ugly. It just goes to show that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. After some research, churning through thousands of "OMGWTF" pictures, I found that there are women on DA that do the same thing with penises...they find them visually pleasing beyond the sense of 'oh my God, porn!'. While I greatly appreciate that there photographers out there that can look at our bodies as more than just sexual objects, I can't bring myself to look at a vagina and say "Wow, that is stunning".

Looking at Pelicanh's art made me realize one thing; I'm probably better off keeping my mouth shut if I encounter a group of feminists. I don't find the female body to be a wonderland. I don't find vaginas the epitome of Nature's artwork and I won't apologize for it. I don't find anything particularly beautiful about them whether it be physically or metaphorically. I find vaginas to be a bit horrifying. They don't look like flowers, they look like shriveled leather purses. Our 'cycles' aren't something to be celebrated...I find having a period to be devastatingly disgusting. I do wish that I could skip this whole thing and head right into menopause. Vaginas didn't create the world, vaginas don't make women superior, and I think the feminist tendency to worship them is quite disturbing. Talk about genital fixation.

I'm not sure where this whole vagina thing came about. Men who worship vaginas are likely to be considered sexist pigs (a term that never seems to grow old), but you can't say boo to a woman who does. If you do, you'll get accused of suspecting her to be a lesbian. Worse, you'll get an earful about how all the world's problems can be solved through simple appreciation of what a vagina can do and its historical/cultural impacts. "Ask not what you can do for your vagina, but what your vagina can do for you." This would be how I look at it. Vaginas are great in certain aspects. Who am I kidding? Vaginas can be really great. They can do amazing things besides bleed and pop out little humans despite some groups' attempts to focus on those two issues. I'm beginning to fear that in the wave of neo-feminism, women are forgetting that their woman parts are more than just objects to be put on a pedestal. Respect your vagina, but don't let it sit around collecting dust.

I suppose all those things combine into one big thing. This is why I respect and like Pelicanh's art. For one, he's a man. In the world today men who photograph naked women are usually considered nothing but pornographers and certainly not artists. Two, he's a man whose successfully doing what feminists have failed to do for years...he's showing a woman's vagina without making it a sex object and while not making it seem like some unachievable ideal. Three? I can't say anything else other than while our definitions of beauty greatly differ, Pelicanh is a man with balls.

This. Is. MINNESOOOOOOTTTAAAAA.

Minnesota is the capital of dangerous drives.

PS. Little '300' reference for those who haven't seen it.

Driving through Minnesota is like running the not-so-metaphorical gauntlet. Its a good ol' smackdown with Darwin, mud and Jell-O included. Minnesotans have perfected the art of trial by car. Sometimes you make it, sometimes you don't. Only the strong and gutsy survive. When in doubt, cover your eyes and dive right into traffic. Its what all the cool kids are doing.

My driving abilities are what makes me feel like an outsider. I rarely go more than 15 MPH over. 10 MPH is my usual cut off point when I'm not on my friend 169. However, that's not enough to make it on these roads. I've got soccer moms (the sort that do wear lipstick, not those roguish pitbull types) and old ladies shaking their fists at me. I've always believed that just because you can go right on red that doesn't mean you should...here, turning right on red seems to give everyone a free pass to bolt into traffic, wishing luck to any unfortunates in their way.

I've never seen anything so brutal since my near death at the hand of Belgium bicyclists.

Of course it doesn't help that any road within 30 miles of Minneapolis was designed by a kid with a box of crayons.

Cooky accents aside, I have a newfound respect for Minnesotans. The fact that any of reach ages past that of 16, when they acquire their license, and reproduce a master work in and of itself.

Rain.

*Johnna playing in the rain.
*Image originally stolen from Nicole.

Flying motorhomes.

Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb. Other days you're afraid that you'll step outside to find several motorhomes floating about in the air. Today was one of those flying motorhomes days.

The weather likes to sneak up one. Once I'm feeling that we're safely far enough into fall to avoid dramatic weather occurrences, a thunderstorm sneaks up out of no where. Damnation. The only good thing is that the apartment is Betty free and so I can sleep up here without sharing a bed with that cursed dog, Kim, and Johnna (who is a massive bed hog).

So now that I'm past the delightful vision of motorhomes gracefully prancing around the camp, onto the big thing:

Why is it that people who like to give ultimatums freak out when they receive one? Is it a control issue? That's the only thing I can come up with. Its must be easier for these to say "Do this or such and such will happen" than to have someone demand the same thing of them. It also makes me curious about commitment issues. Do people who like to give but not receive that those dreaded demands have some inability to follow through with their actions? I think that may be the deep seeded issue. Its safe to give someone a choice and a time line, but when the tables are turned, it terrifies them to suddenly be devoid of choices and no specific time in which to do them. I would love to ask Adam about this since he's a prime example. Somehow, though, I feel I've pushed enough of his buttons for the night. Go figure.

Its exasperating being in a relationship. Sometimes I wonder why people even go through it. It must have been nice back in the day when we were all naked heathens sexing it up at random. Then the concept of ownership and the emotion of jealousy came into play and its all gone drastically downhill from there. Perhaps at first it was a good thing. One constant source of affection (or abuse, depending on which category your personality falls into), sex, and anything else needed from the opposite (or same) sex; one convenient package for all your needs. I've done the slut and serial monogamist scenes. As much as I like my little hunk of Japan, sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't have been better off as a prostitute. Prostitutes don't worry about the future of their relationships, they get paid for what most couples give up for free...questionable legality, abuse on the streets, and STDs aside, its a wonder more men and women don't do it.

Moving onto my next tidbit of woe, Kim gave me some pictures of my birth dad. Did you know that in 1986, a year before I was born, he was the National Water Jumping Champion? That's frightening. Suddenly he seems far more human to me.

My favorite picture is one where he's holding me and he looks like a mix between a more masculine me and Dr. Wilson from House. Its charming.

Now I hasten away to bed. I'm afraid my Blogger will vomit from the bitter taste I've left in its mouth. And yes, I can be bitter. I'm 21 with no real college degree, job, a relationship that's more stress than love, stretchmarks, and questionable parentage. I like to think I'm entitled.

Little catastrophes.

The other woman cried
despite the ants crawling behind her eyes.
She coughed up the memories like sand
She wanted to forget the time you held her,
covering her ears while the storms blew by.

She scrubbed herself,
up and down,
up and down,
until she thought she couldn't smell your sweat.
You came back like the unwanted cat,
even as she held you under.
Water leaked from your Cheshire grin
saying "Hey babe, the other woman never wins."

Natsilane thoughts.

I know you've always envied me
the way you shove your successes at me,
hoping to choke me,
but I've given life to the clay.

Now they come for you,
the blackfish,
the blackfish to catch you
in their teeth like pegs.

They'll feast on your conceptualized life,
believe me its nothing personal.
You don't know the blackfish though,
darling,
they're out for blood.

Oyster's Lament

You came with your diving knives
to pry her from my flesh.
It seems so long ago
that I took in his grains of sand,
transforming them into something recognizable,
heartbreaking and obstinate.

So you have a pearl
with champagne flesh,
of atomic beaches,
and red suns.

Where women part their sleek black hair,
and entertain Western men like school girls.

You wrapped her in
trappings of gold filigree
and ignored the husk she left,
rent and opened, a pathway
of tunneled scars and bitter tastes.

No one was ready for her,
her amber gaze,
no, you weren't quite ready.
She broke your herring bone ribs.

She might be draped around your neck
and you might be able to capture from her
the sound of the ocean rushing in.
But you can see a bit of oyster in her,
hiding behind histories of radiation.
Just a little clover, caught in her teeth.

A general update of life.

1.) I've returned home briefly before I leave again for Minnesota and school/work. I'm sad to report that Helga (who I'm shocked that I haven't written about) has disappeared. Helga was, and hopefully still is, a borderline obese brown spider that was living next to our door. I was tempted to squash her at first because of my dislike for her entire kind but we came to develop a truce. I would not squish her if she stayed out of the apartment and off of my car and in turn, she would not spread horrible stories about my secret like of My Chemical Romance's song 'Helena'. It was a good friendship, built on the firm foundations of knowing mutually embarrassing facts about one another (she was off her diet again, hording little fruit flies in her web). I'm sad to see her gone.

2.) Twiggy is staying in our apartment for the time being, put up in our spare bedroom. She is flourishing and well, and may have a new home once her kittens are born, weaned, and homed themselves. It'll involve a little finagling with pet transport organization but overall its a good sign. She is absolutely adorable and fit despite her elbow, which is beyond repair:
There she is with her baby bump. Someday we'll wake up to kittens. Its like the old Miracle of Life video except a thousand times more cute. I'll take newborn kittens over the glorified wrinkly parasites that are newborn humans. Damn them and their creepy newborn-ness. Perhaps I'm biased but the only cute newborn I've ever seen was Johnna.

3.) Johnna, by the way, has a broken arm. No worries, its not serious, and the soft cast she's in how now become a combination snot rag due to the cold she has passed on to me and weapon. Honestly, there can be no better weapon for a two year old. She can innocently clonk me in the face and being the tender hearted creature I am, I instantly forgive her after a squeaky "Sorry Dig!". If I were a real human, I'd whip her into shape. Alas, deep down I'm a soft female.

4.) Benadryl is the new wonder drug. You can have your Mary Jane and crack. Keep your Percocet and Vicadin (codeine is another story all together). Give me some benadryl and after half an hour I'll be in heaven. An hour later I'll be in a mini-coma. Its better than the time I tried to put myself to sleep during a storm by mixing Equate PM and over the counter sleeping aides. Something about those little hot pink pills just does the trick. What could be better than thirty minutes of tongue-tingling sensation, vapid thoughts, and the distinct impression of having one too many Lemondrop martinis followed by twelve solid, uninterrupted hours of sleep? Nothing. So don't even try a comparison. Once you go pink, you'll never go back.
...Okay so its not as snappy as 'once you go black, you never go back' but toss me a bone. That saying never worked for me. I went black (or at least mulatto) and ended up of the Asian Persuasion.

5.) Not this past weekend, but the one before I got trainwreck drunk after meeting a six pack of Miller Chill and a bottle of Merlot, whose name I can't remember, in a dark alley. In my defense, I'm pretty sure Bryan was trainwreck drunk as well. Most of the night remains a mystery to me. Bryan tells me that I became enraged while eating a mini-pot pie and finding the amount of chicken to be lacking. It turned into a symphony of me shrieking "Less pot, more chicken!" while stabbing the pie viciously. My desire for chicken unslaked, I proceeded to drag him into a midnight round of patrolling the campground on the little Gator that has a broken parking brake. Rain and swerving aside, I'm pretty sure I did a good job of driving it. I'm generally an excellent drunk driver. The night ended up with me passing out on the kitchen floor, or so Bryan claims. I woke up in the motorhome. He didn't take me there, handyman Chuck didn't take me there (though in the morning he expressed worry over whether or not the Gator was somewhere in a ditch), so the issue remains unresolved. The only explanation is that I, in my awesomeness, managed to navigate my way not only down the apartment stairs, but through the store, out over the gravel, up the motorhome stairs, out of my clothes, and into bed.

And should anyone converse with Bryan do NOT let him guide you into thinking that I tumbled through two doors under my own intoxicated power. I don't remember much of that night but I do remember those two incidents. The first was that he opened the backdoor, which I happened to be leaning on while smoking. The second was when we went out onto the apartment porch to have a smoke and he 'forgot' to close the door all the way behind him and I leaned on that one as well only to fall through. Take that Bryan and your tricky door shenanigans!

6.) So this last weekend was our big Renaissance excursion. On all fronts it was a success. Adam and I stayed in our large seven person tent, snubbing our noses at Alex and Cory who slept in a mere three person tent. Meanwhile they carried themselves with an undue sense of pride over the fact they had an air mattress. Tent rivalry aside, it was a blast. Adam chopped wood with his hatchet, about killed me with an errant flying log, and he and Cory touched wieners over the fire. Okay, so two guys roasting hot dogs and making inappropriate comments is not probably hilarious to the general population and definitely not to Alex, but because my mind never moved past the sensibilities and humor of a 13-year-old I found it to be quite funny. It was drizzling rain the entire time, we had a hell of a fire, and beer. The Renaissance was muddy, rainy, full of freaks, and in general quite delightful. Cory found a drinking horn, Adam got another cup to add to our collection, Alex replaced her blownglass necklace, and despite my horrendous cough (which I'm not quite completely convinced isn't due to early onset emphysema) I managed to drink my fill in mead, hookah it up, and buy a gorgeous glass one-hit. I will probably never, to my disappointment, use it for delightfully illegal activities but simply owning it brings me much joy.

We got lost on our way to the Eden Prairie Mall until Alex and I convinced Adam and Cory that there is nothing jackass-ish about asking for directions. Of course I was the natural choice as the direction seeker and my suspicion that I tend to be the one voted into unpleasant tasks was confirmed. We did find our way, though I'm sure that Cory tried to willfully mislead us, and I finally finished my quest for a decent haircut. Now that I've gone into a dramatically layered bob, I find that I want it shorter. Shorter, shorter! I love getting my haircut and at this rate, I'll have not a hair to be seen. Alex drug Adam and Cory from shop to shop to watch her pick out clothes and we ended the day soaking wet, crowding around a roaring blaze that more than once threatened to get out of control. Later, Johnna played in our tent, had a wonderful birthday party, and good times were had by all.

7.) Ah yes, I started school again. Back into the role of student. Onward with my quest to become a certified veterinarian technician! Now only to find a roommate to stay with or to find the cheapest studio I can. Nothing much more to say about that. School is school, same day different shirt, so on and so forth.

8.) Benadryl...to quote my sister, 'that reminds me of a story'. Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I decided the absolute best course of action regarding my tattoos would be to cancel my funds for my left sleeve and work on what will be a true piece of art. A raptor claw on my left lower back, red dotted line with the words 'slice here', and then a red X on my right lower back. Should raptors attack, you will all be wishing you had left them painless instructions.

9.) Adam just gave me my anniversary present early. I wasn't sure...I figured it was a toss up between the opal/pink sapphire/diamond in white gold ring or the tourmaline with the white and yellow gold band. Its the opal, a ring I've been coveting since I first saw it ages ago. What can I say. Adam is now officially free of all rage/annoyance directed at him for at least the next six months.

Twiggy update.

I want to post a sincere thank you to everyone who has supported Twiggy's recovery and need to find a home. From New York to California, I've had kind people online who have donated their love, prayers, and even money. Every day there are cases of animal cruelty, many of which are seen on T.V. If you watch enough episodes, it becomes hard to imagine there's anyone left who really cares about the welfare of animals.

The world is a big, scary place. I belong to an online community that has more than once been accused of being harsh and flat out bitchy. There are no punches pulled when it comes to discussions. Everyone says how it is, whether or not it wants to be heard. Other communities have labeled the members as selfish, immature, cruel, etc. This is simply not true. No where else have I seen people who only know each other by expressed opinions and screen names rally together in order to help someone they do not know, and a cat that very well could not exist. It would have been easy for them to think that I were a scammer, pass off Twiggy's story as made up, and go about with their lives. Instead, they've reached out to help me find resources, given me excellent advice, and because of the quick thinking and actions of the members, a disaster was prevented.

Yesterday Barbara and I gave Twiggy a small portion of Children's Tylenol. It was suggested by a lady who was a veterinarian technician. She said that the Tylenol would reduce the swelling of Twiggy's damaged leg (which she believes that was indeed kicked or stomped) and help manage her pain. I reported this to the community who has been helping me with the situation. Immediately one of the users pulled up recent research that showed Children's Tylenol, despite being prescribed frequently to both cats and dogs with pain, is in fact very deadly to cats. This was a couple of hours after having given it to her. In a panic, I called the first reasonably close emergency vet I could find to be told that I had to bring her in immediately or she would die. I broke down while on the boards, meanwhile calling Adam and almost dreading checking on Twiggy for fear she would be dead. The users talked me down while I sought a second opinion. The next vet I called reassured me, telling me that if Twiggy was not symptomatic after so long then chances are that it had already been absorbed and passing through her body.

I was up all night monitoring her, waking up every 45 minutes. She was perfectly fine through the whole night and still shows no sign of having any ill effects. Yet it could have ended very badly for her if the users hadn't done some research for me and found the studies that show Children's Tylenol is toxic to cats.

Because of these caring people, we now have $250 towards Twiggy's medical care. The vet I called this morning (same gal, incidentally), said that it would be enough to cover her basics: check up, deworming, vaccinations (limited because of Twiggy's pregnancy), and ear mites. However, in order to do a payment plan for x-rays, leg cast/splint, and ultrasound, I have to have at least half up front. It seems like a long way to go, but yesterday there was nothing except the $5 in my billfold and Bob and Barbara's kindness taking care of Twiggy. Today there is $250, which is a world of difference in her physical care.

As long as there are people willing to lend aid to a small cat in need through a person they don't know, the world might not be completely doomed.

Help save Twiggy.

I don't know who actually might stumble on this but its worth a try. If you are located in the MN/IA region please greatly consider homing a sweet, young dilute calico cat. She's a special case as she is only seven/eight months old and pregnant, and has an injury to her right front leg that causes her to limp.

Twiggy is currently underweight though she is loyally being fed by the work campers Bob and Barb, as well as Heather, the young woman whose campsite Twiggy has deemed home. She is sweet and beautiful, being mostly tabby-striped blue and white with a couple of cute spots of faded orange on her belly. Her eyes are striking gold and are clear of any trouble. Her ears are dirty but unlike most animals out her, she seems to have no problem with fleas. Twiggy is too sweet to simply call animal control on.

The past couple of days she has happily endured children pulling on her, carrying her, and examining her. She has not bitten or scratched even when her bad leg is roughly handled. She loves to talk and is better trained than a dog; last night she walked with me right at my heel, stopping only to visit a couple of passing teens. Twiggy would wander a bit but if called, she would snap right back at attention and return to walking near my feet. She loves having beneath her chin scratched and is very playful. If someone is willing too look past what she needs financially, they will find a cat that with some TLC will be ready for a new home.

Please email insaneanime@hotmail.com if interested in placing her and her kittens. I will be willing to meet anyone traveling halfway and though I don't have much cash, I will donate what I can to her care. Twiggy is loving and with a good bath (she tends to roll around in the dirt when begging for attention) she'll fit into any home. She's already proven she is exceedingly tolerant of children and has not expressed any undue fear or aggression towards the dogs that she has passed while making her rounds on the campsite.

Addict.

My brain is liquified;

I like the taste of Riesling in the afternoon
take that as you will
I'm a lush waiting to happen.
Let it breathe for a night
so its taste is sour on my tongue,
the fumes ready to burn;

then I'm ready to tell you
you're the best I've ever had
because my mind works in cliches
too paranoid to deviate from the standard format.

when the bottle is half gone
I'll tell you you're all I need.

I say the sweet words in a little girl's voice;
fuzzy lips wish you would just fuck me.
I never stopped being a slut, just changed the song's tune
to monogamy and ivory.

if I told you, you'd ask who'd want me.
I'd say no one, sweetheart, just you.
I'm selling the wares but no one's buying the goods.

then we're all drunk up and dry;
I could tell you that I fantasize
about when sex never meant love
before you became the only thing that I had;
that I twist at night, slick with the thought of getting stoned
but I'm a good girl now; only you could buy that.

Killa from Wisilla.

I'm going to scare you. Ready? Okay!








.....Keep going.









Just a little more...

HOLY FREAKING BOO!

To quote an AP article:

"She has defended Alaska's right to shoot down wolves from the air to boost caribou and moose herds for hunters, and — contrary to a view held by McCain — is not convinced that global warming is the result of human activity."

"She also opposed a ballot initiative barring the shooting of wolves and bears from aircraft except in biological emergencies. It was also defeated.

Under Palin, the state Board of Game authorized for the first time in 20 years the shooting of wolves by state wildlife officials from helicopters. The order resulted in the controversial shooting this summer of 14 one-month-old wolf pups taken from dens on a remote peninsula 800 miles southwest of Anchorage — an act that environmentalists claim was illegal."

Think about it, Americans. Should McCain be elected, and should something happen to him, your President will be someone who finds it morally a-okay to shoot puppies. Personally I find the thought that our potential VP doesn't find anything wrong with shooting pups a tad bit scary. Good thing she's Pro-Life otherwise I'd start worrying about the children.

She's insane. There's no way around it. Please, for the love of all things cute and furry, do not vote for this ticket. I'm dead serious.

Bud Lime got the best of my brains. Have some lyrics.

The Pocket Knife.

(Curtesy of PJ Harvey. Who I would marry in California.)

Please don't make my wedding dress
I'm too young to marry yet
Can you see my pocket knife?
You can't make me be a wife
How the world just turns & turns
How does anybody learn?

Mummy, put your needle down
How did you feel when you were young?
Cos I feel like I've just been born
Even though I'm getting on
How the world slips by so fast

How does anybody last?
As the world keeps coming
And the bees keep humming
And I'll keep running

Flowers I can do without
I don't wanna be tied down
White material will stain
My pocket knife's gotta shiny blade
I'm not trying to cause a fuss
I just wanna make my own fuck-ups
I'm not trying to break your heart
I'm just trying not to fall apart

(PS I don't know why its in bold.)

Cranky bat is cranky.

God I wish I had a good camera.

We had a bat in the apartment, more specifically, the bathroom. He managed to crawl through the walls and get into the bathroom through a small hole left from some plumbing repairs. I was convinced the chittering I was hearing was due to a cicada or cricket. However, Adam returned home to save the day by discovering that a little brown bat had gotten stuck in a box in our bathroom closet and was frantically trying to figure out why there seemed to be so many corners around him.

After a couple of failed attempts at grabbing him with kitchen tongs and lots of help from growling/yowling/also chittering cats, we finally got him into a carrier. Frankly, I can understand his distress. If I were a small mouse sized creature I would be cranky too after spending a few hours in a box with large house cats circling me like vultures, making it vocally known that should I show my face I would be a quick snack. Anyway so we took irate little bat outside and let him down on the ground.

Bless his soul, the little thing had the nerve to look up at us and let out a stream of what could only be an abusive string of bat curses. It would have been much more impressive if he hadn't been smaller than my hand with a cutely crinkled face. If there wasn't the chance of me getting rabies, I would have held him. There's something about pug-nosed mice with wings that just bring out the "OMG CUTE" reaction in me.

Nature. It is magical. Nothing better than discovering nature in your bathroom.

By the by.

I'll share with you, generously mind you, my thunderstorm playlist. 6:32 AM.

Fiona Apple - Sally's Song
PJ Harvey - Grow, Grow, Grow
Morcheeba - Talib Kweli
Lyle Lovett - Nobody Knows Me
Radiohead - All I Need
Bill Withers - Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone
Cowboy Junkies - Misguided Angel
Bright Eyes - Its Cool, We Can Still Be Friends.
Jefferson Airplane - White Rabbit
Bjork - Its Oh So Quiet
Iron and Wine - Love and Some Verses
Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Mr. Pinstripe Suit
Feist - So Sorry
Yael Naim - Too Long
Placebo with David Bowie - Without You I'm Nothing
The Postal Service - This Place is a Prison
Rachel Yamagata - Paper Doll
Rufus Wainwright - Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk

Parenting...LOLWUT?

Sometimes I'm all in support of complete free choice. Other times I think that maybe we'd all be better off with chips in our brains and a government dictated routine. Not that it would personally be my first choice of lifestyles but I'm convinced that some people absolutely should not attempt to function without major guidance and direction. I'm all about people having kids. Go for it. Make like bunnies and punch them out. There's just a couple of things that bother me. People who have children in order to float off the welfare system (I've heard of more than one girl playing the system right and living that way) and people who find that they can't handle one child but continue to pop out several more.

...After watching Nanny 911 all day today I've decided its the last option that bothers me the most for different reasons.

I was just appalled. Here were people who generally were very well off, had the means for one of the parents to stay home, could make life for their children very enjoyable and fulfilling, and yet these people where utterly failing at it. There were whiny mothers who victimized themselves and considered their children one step from villians. Fathers who considered themselves the Kings of the Castles and made messes expecting mother/wifey to deal with it all. Grandparents who over indulged. Every parenting "no-no" was pretty much covered in every single episode. And I'm not talking each episode covering one particular parenting mistake; one episode usually ran the whole gamut of them.

My opinion is this after watching that show: If your child delights in physically abusing you/spouse/sibling/pet, communicates mainly through enraged bellows, and uses the terms "stupid bitch" or "fucking loser" as terms of endearment...well...you're doing something wrong.

According to today's standards, you can't tell your child "no" (for fear it can scar their tender mental state) and God forbid, give them a smack on the bottom. You could get reported for abuse. However, it is completely and utterly socially acceptable to let your child run loose choking puppies and beating up their siblings. As is clear, I find this mentality more than a little disturbing and shocking. I suppose I'm old and bitter. I remember once upon a time where it was alright to raise children understanding that there were consequences for their actions. If they threw a fit in the store then they wouldn't get that new coloring book they wanted. If they hit a parent they would be put on time out and expected to stay there. Nowadays everyone is so nervous about potentially damaging the child psyche that parents won't say 'boo' in fear that their precious darlings may have their feelings hurt.

When people talk about the "Next Generation" (stop laughing, you Trekkies!), I honestly get frightened. In 20 years our upcoming leaders, college graduates, business owners, etc. will be apart of this new "Me" generation, children who could get away with anything growing up to be adults who consider themselves golden and expect the world to give them everything they ask for with no work put towards it. When I think about children, I think the children I see wandering the streets today are one of the major factors in my hesitance to have kids someday. I'm not worried about being a parent; I know I can handle children and I'll have Adam's support (his soul is mine, yes, I've got it on paper) and the support of my loved ones. But I can't shelter my kids forever. Eventually they'll grow, go to school, and learn nasty habits from their peers. I don't want to home school them because I've never met a home schooled child that was particularly happy or socially well adjusted. I'm sorry for the over generalization as I know there are many successful home schoolers out there but my opinion is based off personal experience. That said, I also don't buy the "if you teach your children right, they will have your moral code and ethics" belief.

I greatly differ from my parents though not dramatically so. Adam from his, my friends from theirs...Perhaps we're just a particularly different group of people but I have meet few peers that are carbon copies of what their parents expected them to be. To believe that a child will be an exact representative of you is an insane, and in my opinion, ignorant point of view. If you want your child to turn out that way then please don't be a parent. My aunt and I discussed this and she put it very wisely: If you expect your child to become nothing more than a shadow of what you are, then don't be a parent; if you're not willing to realize and respect the fact your child has the right to grow into their own person then don't be a parent; if you believe there is a chance that you will not care for your child when you realize that they're not the same as you, don't bring a child into this world.

I look forward to the day I have children that I will raise (which may be a while...turns out my uterus and unborn children are a hot commodity) and seeing what sort of people they turn out to be. I just worry that in an age where drug use, pregnancy, and generally other negative incidences have become common, if not expected, how my kids will ever make it. No amount of parental coaching can prepare a kid for when these things happen. I don't want my children around the brats of the sort featured on Nanny 911 who have no respect for other people or creatures of the world. When I think about it, its terrifying that those sorts of children are going to be the peer group out of which my children will have to pick friends from. I do feel sorry for the kids who are raised with no sense of order, authority, or comfort but I wouldn't take a chance on pitying them if it could affect my own kid's life negatively.

So to all the parents that won't say 'no'...just please...do something other than be a parent. If you can't teach your child respect for themselves and others because you worry about your own precious feelings being hurt when they're sixteen and "HATE YOU" because you won't buy them a fancy cellphone of their own, then just don't have kids. Tie the tubes, snip the cords, something. The last thing the world needs are more greedy adolescents; I'm not kidding people. Look at your average 7-14 years old kid. Would you like them to be President one day?

Anywho, its now officially 5:16 AM. If this looks like nothing but rambling later on tomorrow I'll chalk it up to be being up early because weather has struck yet again and I'm curled up on the bathroom floor with Placebo buzzing through my noise reduction headphones, which I'll have you know, are delightfully ghetto in their size and form. I haven't peeped out the window but the weather website says there's only green over Storm Lake which should mean only rain...but I don't completely trust it. The weather has been known to foil www.weather.com before. If its right then I believe I'm off to maybe have a smoke and eat some mashed potatoes.

You've been awesome.

The KOA experience in crappy art.

Because I don't have any pictures. You would have had to work at the KOA to truly understand and appreciate these spectacular masterpieces.

Should you stay at the KOA you will find that we are fancy people. High tea at 2:oo PM complete with strudels and shenanigans.
I did. However, I figured out if I hit the keyboard enough, eventually someone will think I'm about to do something amazing and look past the look of utter awe and confusion on my face.
Without Kelly there would be many poopy motorhomes cruising around. Also, Nicole and I love to talk about jewelry. We rawk.

Tombone wanted me to go skinny dipping with him. His wife Karen helped me configure Tom and I's game plan. He's going to follow me home to Iowa on the Gator, give the Gator (with the new AND old wheels) to Adam in trade for me, live with me in Storm Lake (OH BABY), whilst Adam returns to the KOA to live amongst the free range homes and Renaissance workers.
When you ask Johnna what her Daddy does, she'll yell at you "DADDY FLY A PLANE!". She gets really mad at me when I ask her over and over again just for the sake of hearing her scream "DADDY FLY A PLANE".
Being the only two smoking workers at the time (usually we have Adam too but he was doing real work), we catch a lot of flak. A lot.
Don't get in the way of serious beaders. Just don't. I blame Karen for this newest and expensive hobby. Need to bead.
Barb says Bob can smell ice cream miles away. I can believe it. He's also handy with a moped, bugle, and his awesome Uncle Sam hat.
Kathy doesn't tell New Ron (AKA Neuron since he was a rocket scientist) about her ice cream stores for a reason. Ice cream is a big thing at the KOA.
We all love my uncle John dearly. Sometimes, though, conversations with him can get a bit out of control.
I'll leave you with this. Sometimes, after happy hour and a few red cups at the KOA, you will find that the trees get a bit unruly. Sometimes you just have to kick a tree's ass to put it in its place. Just sayin'.

Silver and...cats.

Alright. Exciting stuff. Ready? Here we go!

First, I've gotten a job offer. Not just any job offer but a dream job offer. I've been offered a job with the jewelry store in town, Paxton's. I was in there and Adam and I were talking to Kim, one of the sellers, about how we're going to stay around for a few more years if he gets this job. She said if that happens, I should apply when they have a spot open. I said that would be great and then she went ahead and moved it forward to give me an application. While I was there the manager from one of their branches in Spencer was there as well and was chatting with me. I'm feeling really good about this. Who wouldn't love a job where one of the first questions they ask you is "Do you mind travel?" because we all have the opportunity to travel across the country a couple of times a year to conventions and big time sales.

You may be wondering why I'm spamming this post with kitten pictures. Here it is, the second awesome/weird thing that has happened to me:

I'm officially a stray cat magnet. We manage to find homes for two cats, Steve and Dominique, and another one comes along. She doesn't have a name yet but she was found while a few friends and I were out drinking. I couldn't leave her so I brought her home. Thank God Adam loves cats otherwise I would for sure be in deep shit. She doesn't have a name yet though some of my friends have been rooting for Pixie since she's so tiny and delicate. I wanted something like Circe because her eye markings seem witchy to me...but that plan is full of failure. She's too little to carry such a big name.

The funny thing? I asked the powers that be to send me a sign. But it couldn't be just any sign so I asked them to send me a cat. The next day a black cat was sitting on our porch. We had never seen her before and never saw her again after that. I thought it was too much of coincidence so I challenged the peeps up in the air and said, "Bring me another one". Couple of days later there was an orange tom sitting right next to Adam's car at work. Never saw him before, never saw him again. So (and I don't tell Adam this part because he'd probably shake his fist at me for taunting fate) while out and about with friends last night, having a few drinks, hitting the latest bar in town, partying it up with a hot tub, I was dared to ask for a cat again.

And that's how little bratling came to be. Go me. Tempted the fates just one time too many. Now we have a new, yet nameless, friend. She's really charming though. She came with the typical stray kitten deals. Gunky ears, sticky-outy ribs, and fleas. Fleas have been murderized through baths, she's working on the ribs by being a complete pig with her soft food and KMR (her teeth are too little to handle kitty food), and gunky ears have been mostly cleaned but will most likely need mite medication. That's it folks. My life's just another step towards maintaining my reputation as a crazy cat lady. At least I have a social life. That's probably the one thing saving me.