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Is it Summer yet?

I stood in the shower this morning daydreaming about going on a picnic and began counting in my head how long I’d have to wait until I could do that again. Then I stepped out into a 20 degree F day.

Awful. My therapist told me I seemed in a really good mood today, though, and I suppose I was/am. Things have been going swimmingly with Tim. And even the fact it’s holiday time doesn’t bother me. I hate the holiday’s so much and if you love them then I hate you, too. Even being broke as shit hasn’t bothered me lately. And you know, just because I hate the holidays doesn’t mean I won’t get my family any gifts.

I painted a picture for my mother. Am going to surprise my dad (step-dad) with an adult adoption of me…so I guess I’m his gift. :/ And I bought my little brother a sketch book and drawing supplies. I still might buy Tim a bad-ass tool-box for his printing supplies. And I’ll throw in a blow-job and let him put it in my butt or something – his penis, not the blow-job; I don’t know how the latter would work.

After therapy I walked around Macy’s aimlessly and got a really great deal on gloves and two shirts for myself. *wink wink* Then I went to Tim’s office and treated him to Chipotle. We took our food back to his work because Chipotle is way too crowded and because they speed you through the line like cattle I hurriedly ordered a veggie burrito bowl which to them is just black beans with rice and cheese and lettuce. I could make that shit at home for less than 1dollar per serving. If I had had a second more to think I would have remembered their veggie bowls are disgusting and it’s worth the extra 50 cents to get meat.

Goddamnit, I’m so frugal. But not when it comes to alcohol and cat food.

On December 20th Tim and I leave to Texas until the 27th. We’re driving there and have made the decision to bring Leon and Elsa along. There is no way we can leave them alone at home or with strangers for a week. I’m anxious as to how they’ll react but overall I’m excited about the whole thing. I sure am glad I don’t have a license!

I also sold a couple paintings each to three coffee shops in my neighborhood. New glasses here I come! (If you click on that link – I also have some bad-ass shoes and a cape for sale. Not a Batman cape, but a woman cape)


Art is hard

Drawing is something I’ve always liked to do but of which have never had the pleasure of being very good. Occasionally I’ve gotten lucky and had something turn out nice – or at least interesting.

Now with all the free-time I’ve had lately I’ve taken to pursuing it more seriously for personal satisfaction. I’ve painted around 7 or 8 pictures in the last couple months. But I’m stuck and not getting any better.

I looked into drawing classes here in Chicago but unfortunately they’re up North in the rich and stuffy part of town – which besides being full of insufferable people is also too much of a commute. Despite all that, though, Vitrivian Fine Art Studio looked pretty good. But not at ~300 smackers for a 6-week class. The Art Institute was 560.

WTF. Why would something as civilized as drawing which should be enjoyed and learned by everyone be so fucking hoity-toity and exclusionary?!

So instead I got a book. Actually, we got it several months ago at Open Books and I forgot all about it until last night when I lamented how horrible I am at something I like so much. Tim said his father used it in the 70s (not this particular copy) and became exponentially better at drawing.

I’ve only read through the lengthy introduction so far.


As a starting point reference, I drew and painted a self-portrait, which is pretty fucking awful; I am horrible at drawing people and their noses and eyes and everything else. I guess that’s the point of learning, eh. I’ll try out another one once I feel I’ve made any progress.

that doesn't even look like me!

that doesn’t even look like me!

It’s raining, man.

Today feels like it’s Friday, which is strange because it’s Wednesday and I’m not even employed. Everyday is like Sunday. But today? It feels like it’s Friday.

I sure wish I could get out and take some photos but it’s raining cats and dogs. Actually, it’s just raining dirty water. Can you imagine if it really were raining cats and dogs? That would be scary and kind of sad. There are enough homeless animals as is.

Or raining men? That’s just disgusting.

Unless Eddie Vedder dropped into my apartment.

Not right now, though. I look like shit.

Actually, I had sex with a guy 10 years my senior who looked like Eddie Vedder and it wasn’t that great. His hair was to die for, though. And that body was thick!

But listen, I don’t have anything against the rain. I love it. And sometimes when I get caught in it without an umbrella I don’t even mind while everyone else around me runs for cover. I’m just not as big a fan when it’s 40 F outside. But as Axl poignantly crooned, “Nothing lasts forever even cold November rain.”

Did I mention how much I love Eddie’s hair?

Can't find a Vedder man

Can’t find a Vedder man

Fried things and me.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Texas until next Wednesday. I missed the State Fair by less than a week, dangit. I wanted to eat fried Oreos – among other fried things- and see what’s become of Big Tex. First the man behind the voice died and then he went up in flames. I sure hope it wasn’t done on purpose so that the community would feel loss instead of anger at there being a new Big Tex.

Texas Toast

Texas Toast

There’s always next year. At least I will get to eat at Norma’s. I just hope the gentrification of young hipsters hasn’t completely rendered where I grew up unrecognizable and a totally annoying place to live let alone visit.

Oh, and my Etsy art and photography shop is coming along about as well as to be expected: Arts . Farts . Crafts

Early evening yesterday I went to Parson’s Chicken and Fish and finally ordered something besides beer. I had the hush puppies, and boy, were those dogs delicious. The bartender was even super nice and started working with me on my crossword puzzle of sorts.

not [i]my[/] puppies, but identical

Not my puppies, but identical

When we reached a dead-end he said he’d buy me a shot if I figured any more out; I got it in less than a minute. I think I’ll go there more often. And it doesn’t hurt that it is right up the road. See ya soon, Parson’s.

Racism by any other name would smell as sour…

So today I purchased the Chicago Tribune and read this sugar-coated little gem on the front page:

“Jobless rates average 6 percent in the prosperous parts of Chicago, yet reach 35 percent in desolate neighborhood. This global city of world-class companies and business schools hasn’t learned how to revive areas where industrial sites once employed by the thousands.”

In other words, poor minorities don’t get jobs while rich white people do. It sure doesn’t help that Rahm Emanuel (who I wish someone would assassinate) closed 50 CPS schools which are underfunded and neglected in the first place and comprised of:

African-American: 41.6%

Latino: 44.1%

White: 8.8%

Asian/Pacific Islander: 3.4%

Native American: 0.4%

I hate this city so much. I also used to intern in the Austin neighborhood at a youth center and I can guaran-fucking-tee there is no street-cleaning scheduled. Meanwhile affluent areas are clean as a whistle. And no, rich people do not litter any less.


I hate Sunday, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. But I’m going to try.






(not ‘Sunday’, but the sentiment remains)


Holes Everywhere

I went to bed last night feeling excited for today, but now I can’t remember what I wanted to do and even if I did I wouldn’t feel up for doing it.

I s’pose I should make some coffee even though I’m home alone and don’t ever feel like making coffee unless it’s for someone else, too. I’d probably die of dehydration and  starve to death if i didn’t know anyone (yes, “i”). although, coffee itself dehydrates you if i’m not mistaken – that’s been known to happen on occasion.

today i want to paint a picture of swans and cats and one of richard ramirez to make-up for a photo manipulation i made 12 years ago of him at disneyland.

saturday i went to home depot and bought joint compound and stinking wall patches to finally fix the hole in the bedroom from my head. i saw another much smaller hole tim insisted was from my head, but i really don’t know how that got there. now they’re both filled, but now i have to re-paint the whole wall, but if i repaint one wall i’ll want to paint all of them. if i paint all the walls, i’ll want to rearrange furniture. and then if i do that, i’ll make want tons of others changes as i am wont to do. all that work will make me hungry…

if you give a girl a spackle knife…

One of my plans was going to the Benjamin Moore store. Or maybe Sherwinn Williams since i found a 25% off paint purchase in yesterday’s paper. Oh yeah. Now i remember all the other junk i gotta do. And some things i actually want, too! Bye, no one.


Picture me rollin’ with Eddie’s hair

It’s 5 in the morning and I am awake. But I did sleep from 7p.m until around midnight so I don’t feel very tired. I could sleep- sure- but I want to have some coffee and take pictures with the sunrise.

Lately the camera has gotten more use and I’ve subsequently opened an Etsy (I’m a little late on this train, I think) shop to start selling a few prints to make some side skrilla while I get better at photography. Eventually I want to pay for snooty classes where I can learn new photography and manipulation techniques.

I have some photos I took years ago I gotta find, too. So far all I have up at my “Etsy store” are some paintings only a mother could love and a few things. Oy vey.

There is an elevated train track near my apartment that isn’t in use. From certain points and parks in the neighborhood, one can climb onto it and walk from one neighborhood to the next along the tracks. It’s pretty cool save for the broken beer bottles and strewn cans. I guess it’s not so bad.

Yesterday our usual get-on spot was blocked by signage with stupid sayings like ‘no trespassing’ and ‘do not enter’. I went over it and ducked onto the tracks only to see construction men to my left and my right. Feeling silly, I dropped to my stomach and took photos of them before leaving.

I ended up walking to Humboldt Park with an adult juice-box in hand and taking pictures of flowers and plants and squirrels and shit.

There are two more finished rolls of film ahead in the queue so I may not see the fruits of my labor for a hot minute.

And another thing.

Why do I feel as though Eddie Vedder has never been justly recognized or revered for being as hot as he was, is, and will continue to be? (George Looney and Barf Pitt are over-rated blowhards.) Good grief, he is gorgeous. I can only imagine burrowing that neck like a little rat and caressing my face throughout his lush mane.

He’s always been easy on the eyes, but now it’s just impressive and makes me feel funny in my bathing suit area. I recently sat through the ‘Hunger Strike’ video from Temple of the Dog a whole bunch of times just to see him; I especially am keen on the way he moves his mouth in it. Can’t take this…

See for yourself:

“La Chevelure”

Long let me inhale, the odour of your hair, into it plunge the whole of my face, like a thirsty man into the waters of a spring and wave it in my fingers like a scented handkerchief, to shake memories into the air.

If you could know all that I see! All that I hear in your hair! My soul floats upon perfumes as the souls of other men upon music.

Your hair contains an entire dream, full of sails and masts; it contains vast seas whose soft monsoons bear me to delightful climates where space is deeper and bluer, where the atmosphere is perfumed with fruit, with foliage and with human skin.

In the ocean of your hair I am shown brief visions of a port resounding with melancholy songs, of vigorous men of all nations and ships of all shapes outlining their fine and complicated architectures against an immense sky where eternal heat languidly quivers…

In the glowing fire grate of your hair I inhale the odor of opium mingled with sugar; in the night of your hair I see the infinity of tropical azure resplendent; on the downed banks of your hair I inebriate myself with the mingled odors of tar, of musk and of coconut oil.

Long let me bite your heavy, black tresses. When I gnaw your elastic and rebellious hair it seems to me that I am eating memories.

My Life Was Changed

It’s no secret I love comedy, but I hate 99% of humanity. I found my spirit animal in Bill Hicks the other day, though, and was thoroughly devastated when I learned he had been dead for years.

My father used to be a fan of his, but I never gave a shit because parents only like uncool stuff, right? My father introduced me to  a lot of things people suck their own dick about liking these days (like) such as: Monty Python,  Moody Blues, berets (‘cept he wore them w/ doc martens and camouflage pants), being an activist, and too many music artists to name. Most likely I’d hate my father just as much as I hate anyone these days. Seriously, though, active activists are great but what difference is really being made by sitting down and signing online petitions? 

Anyway, super sad Bill Hicks turned out dead. He and Tupac…why? Bill didn’t even die of a gunshot or an overdose, just cancer, which makes it even worse. Why can’t Madonna or one of the perverted CEO’S of Disney get cancer? I’m looking at you, Robert “Bob” Iger!

I talked to an old friend today and he mentioned a new show on Disney; I don’t know why – he’s 34. So I googled this show and of course the babes are hot and the boys are blonde with stupid surfer hair and mall clothes. The bigheads at Disney seem to only cast little girls they want to fuck (and think other perverts will, too) and little boys they think those same girls want to fuck. 


Something that bothers me…

Growing up I watched a lot of Cold Case Files, American Justice, Rescue 911, The Outer Limits, Unsolved Mysteries, and a little America’s Most Wanted for glitz.

They don’t make shows like that anymore. But I watch a butt-load of I Survived, Live to Tell, 48 Hours, The First 48, and I’m currently watching this last season of Dexter. I only ever saw season 1, so it took me a few episodes and questions to catch up. Anyway, what can I say that hasn’t already been said about it.

But no, no, no. That’s not what is bothering me. What bothers me is how often I’ve heard on mainstream television when talking about a murderer who happens to be white – “now this shocked everyone because he really didn’t look like a killer!” Bullshit. What are the prerequisites for looking like a killer?

And since a majority of these shows are dedicated to “majorities” (who are, ironically and technically minorities by now), there must come a point when one can say of an attractive white woman who slaughters her children or rich man who rapes a woman and think, “Oh, we should have seen that coming.”