Laundry Day.

I'm Not Loving It.

A few days ago, I got really REALLY pissed at Time Warner (because they are a rude, blood sucking, monopoly with stupid employees with bad attitudes), and canceled our service.

Direct TV is awesome.

We are still waiting on our new Verizon powered internet.

I tried to hook up my computer to a human-size hamster wheel, a phone jack, and a candle, but it didn't make internet. So I wait.

I am at a McDonald's right now for McWiFi. I have witnessed 3 fights involving the same drunk homeless man, the cops coming, an employee who shit in the bathroom for 42 minutes while the security man beat on the door (he thought he died) and a long line of angry customer formed, a gang of teenagers knock things over, and lots of questionable characters eating the Fish Filet special. I think they are only playing Taylor Swift and John Mayer songs.

This is what it must have been like in the old days!

Sequin Face is a Drag!

Things I love include make-up and sequins.

Oh, for fuck's sake! I DO NOT, apparently, love them at the same time. This weirds me out. It makes my eyes twitch, my skin tickle, and my teeth close really tight together... but I can't stop looking at it! And think about how long it took. And think about popping each one of those little sparkley fuckers off. Oh man, it makes me shiver. ICK!

But, also, it's kinda amazing and beautiful and fantastic.

Doe. A deer. Here come the tears!

I found this art piece and the story that goes with it. I find it heartbreaking and peaceful. It makes me tear up, but I can't stop looking at their sweet little bodies all cuddled in together. And then I think about how there are a lot of Bambie commercials on right now, because of the blu-ray release. And I always start to cry during the Bambi commercials. Then I think of the shelter animal commercials, and how they send me into a code red mental breakdown. So then I cry more over these darling does. I hope that I am forever snuggled into someone I love. That leads me straight to Rabbit Hole, the movie about losing a child, that only upset me when the dog was involved. Then I feel bad for holding emotions for animals over humans, diagnose myself sociopath, and continue to sniffle for these twin creatures. So, anyway. Yeah. How do you react to this much cute sweetness and harsh reality of mortality? I struggle.

The Twin Fawns, by Peregrine Honig

I came upon Twin Fawns in the display case of a mom and pop toy and science store in Kansas City, Missouri. It took me two years to win the trust of the shop owner and save the money to buy them. A taxidermist spotted a dead deer by the side of the road. He stopped to properly dispose of the body and realized she was pregnant. He opened her and found near full-term twin fawns, he removed and preserved them.

Deer rarely have twins and the taxidermist retained the uterine gesture of their bodies. I built them a vitrine with a light blue base. Their prematurity exaggerates the delicacy of an incredibly sweet thing. The points of their hooves, the length of their lashes, the spots of their hides, nose to small nose in an un-cartoonish realism… Viewers’ eyes trick them into believing the fawns are breathing. The tragedy of beauty is its transience.

The twins live forever in their own demise. They are sleeping beauties. They have been muses since I first saw them.

We dress death in lilies and bronze the names of our dead sons on walls. We erect altars of toys and hold candlelight vigils to express hope. My twin fawns sleep endlessly on their baby blue block in my studio. The twins never opened their eyes yet their wondrous fatality evokes an acceptable alternative to death.

PREACH.

I'm in on of those slumps where I can't catch a break. Murphy's Law to the MAX! So much so that I have been avoiding crossing the road and using sharp objects, as I am certain they will lead to an unpleasant, embarrassing, painful end. Something so absurd and unheard of, that it will be on the news. I fucking hate the news. Universe, I'm saying it out loud: you, me, and everyone we know needs to take mutha fuckin CHILL PILL!

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

He said, "I think we should see other people."

I said, "Are you positive? Cause I am!"

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

His dream. Her nightmare.

Happy MLK Day!

Tickle My Digits.

I got a new phone.

From Santa.

A smart phone.

It confuses me a great deal.

Is there an app for that?

It's So Hard...

When you're rich and famous you are the dominant force in a relationship, even if you try hard not to be. I've talked of sacrificing everything for Fleetwood Mac, but I realize now that it is simply the only thing I've ever wanted to do.

-Stevie Nicks

Sing it, Siren Sister! Being an artist person is hard. It's what I eat, sleep, breathe, preach, and love the most. Sometimes it makes everything else confusing and hard and complicated. I just want to do what I love always! You know?

Lily White Gangsta

Now, the terribly terrible part of the weekend. Saturday night, after all day Quidditching, Sweetheart and I went to the Bronx for his Mami's birthday. We headed home late, taking a cab from the Bronx to 125th on the east side. There, we can catch the M60 bus right over the Triborough Bridge (literally, one stop) and be home. If the cab crosses the bridge, they charge you the toll there and back, and more just to be dicks, making your cab ride jump from $20 something to $40-$50 something. So, the bus is the best option. We are poor.

We were at the bus stop around 2 or 3 in the morning. Sure, it's late. And sure, it's Spanish Harlem... but it's not bad. And the stop is in front of a super well lit 24 hour grocery. And lots of traffic and people. And we have done it many times.

We were in the middle of the block. To our right was an empty corner. To the left was a busy intersection where all the cabs were turning.

Since it was late, the bus wasn't running as frequently. This was terrible. We were exhausted and cold. Then lots of sirens started happening. Police cars were rushing around, but we couldn't see where. I started to feel funny, but just chalked it up to exhaustion.

Then people started gathering at the empty end of the block. I assumed it was an evacuation from a fire. You know, sirens and a sudden mob of people. I almost walked down there to see if it was a fire. I figured it would make me feel better if I confirmed the sirens purpose.

Next, some teenage girls across the street were acting weird. These teen boys right across from us (who I had given the judgemental stink eye because I assumed they were hoodlums) were telling them to 'go' and 'get out of here' and the girls were resisting and rushing to go at the same time. Weird.

We decided we couldn't wait any longer and we should just walk up to the busy intersection to get a cab. Just as we started walking, pops started happening. I thought it was a car backfiring, but it kept happening. 'Oh, this is what gunshots sound like!' I suppose I had only ever heard them from afar during hunting season in North Carolina. It sounds different. Once this clicked in my head, I made the fight or flight decision to run behind the grocery store. A large scary man stopped me an said, 'They are shooting over here. Get in my van.'

The kids across the street (that's right, the hoodlums) were shooting into the crowd of people down the block. The crowd I almost walked into. Right by where we were standing 10 seconds before.

Suddenly my brain had a chance to rationalize the situation. I looked up and saw people running into the traffic of the busy intersection. I froze when I realized my options were to Frogger through traffic, run towards the gunshots, or get into a large scary strangers rape murder van. I stood there and turned in circles for at least forever (probably a few seconds). Finally, Sweetheart pulled me to the van and told me to get in.

Sweetheart later told me he had recognized the man. He always parks there to give people a ride home once they have their groceries. I did not know this. Stranger danger.

I told the man to take us home. I didn't care the cost. We crossed the bridge and got out right off the exit. As I still wasn't sure if he was going to kill us or not, as soon as I got one foot on the ground I had a full out panic attack.

Sweetheart, from the Bronx, tried to tell me it wasn't a big deal and we were safe and he wouldn't let anything happen to me. I gently wailed that I was not ok with that happening, I do not want it to be normal to me, and I will need grabbed and thrown to safety should it ever happen again.

I still feel very weird about the whole ordeal. I mean, really? A gun fight? Fuck NO!

We are safe. We will not be going to that bus stop for a little while. Because it's terrifying.

And my street cred has shot (errr... uhm. yeah.) though the roof. Gangsta, and whatnot.

I Thought Love Don't Cost a Thing!

Stop wasting my time
You know what I want
You know what I need
Or maybe you don't

Do I have to come right flat out and tell you everything?
Gimme some money

Brain, Brain, Go Away! Little Erin wants to Play!

My head is all a mess.

I can't seem to shake this gloomy, blue, sad, stay-in-bed-and-stop-participating-in-society feeling.

What to do?! Well, blog about it, for one! Who knows, maybe it leads to an answer. I'm willing to take the risk.

I try working out, talking it out, stuffing it, starving it, forgetting it, writing about it, rising above it, sinking below it, drugging it, sleeping it off... everything. I even resorted to seeking advise from my 10 year old friend. Surprisingly, more compassionate and valid than most adults, she still couldn't hit the nail on the head.

Although I am prone to, let's say, strong changes in emotion that affect everyone around me, I can usually shake the negative ones in a few days and hold on to the positive ones for months. As I am obnoxiously aware of myself and the people around me, I am pretty good about pinpointing the problem, using my words to process the feelings, and pushing through to the other side. I have a grasp on the epic disappointment that was the catalyst for the whole shitstorm, the ever present and never present straw that broke this camels back, but can't make my sparkle come back.

Equally frustrating, I am the mothertherapist in my circle of friendfamily. I am never the one you call to grab a drink, giggle over boys, and compare glitter. (Nonetheless, I am quite sure my regaled tales and glitter collection are above par.) I am the one you call when you are going to jump off the bridge. Or when you need someone with you at the cat hospital at 3am. Or when you are too sad and confused. Or when something bad happens. Or when revenge must be had. I need that friend for me now. Hell, I would settle for the grab-a-drink friend. Just someone who is sincere and tries to straighten things out in my brainhole. And who can talk and make sense and see things I can't. I don't know how to convey this or find this, but I need it.

A list of immediate thoughts to help my sanity-

My life would be easier with the following changes:
I am paying for my lifestyle in art alone.
The gym is more fun with easier results.
Food isn't yummy and expensive.
I make more money. Like enough to pay rent, for starters.
I don't have a job that comes home with me every day.
The cat litter doesn't smell so fucking bad ALL the time.
The cats don't tread said litter into my room ALL the time.
Friends are more.
Family is closer.
Relationships are always sparkly.
Babies are easy to have and be responsible for.
Karma comes around.
People aren't so selfish.
I learn to sleep.
I go on a secret dinosaur ride that I never share with anyone.

See, that helped a little. My friend Kirky helps put things into perspective. Not really making me feel any better or resolving anything, just reminding me that everything contains humor and we are going to be alright. We are smart people with strong support systems. And if there were anything else in the whole universe that made us even almost as happy as being an artist person, we are smart enough to have been doing that already. But there isn't. Thusly, we suffer with cause and ambition.

If I could just part the clouds and get back on track...

Are you my hero?

Dumbo Dumbo Dino

Cephalopods are my favorite sea creature. Not counting mermaids. Duh.

They can fly, squirt ink, and change colors, even though they are colorblind. Like, water balloons with brains. They like having others of their kind around, but will hang out with fish if they are lonely. I think that's nice.

The Dumbo Octopus is my favorite cephalopod. I would very much like a Dumbo Octopus.

As I do not have a 22965 ft. deep aquarium ocean simulator to call my own, yet, I will settle for Dumbo the Elephant for now. NO sad Dumbo's mom song though! Unless I'm properly sedated.


Speaking of my favorite things and sad animal mom cinema, this movie (I can't even type the name), is all about my favorite things: dinosaurs, adventure, finding your magical place, dinosaurs... But I can't watch it because it induces an actual panic attack.

When is the last time you sat at your computer and wept to google images for 17 minutes? Never. Huh. Me? Oh, 30 seconds ago. Holy tranquilizer, Littlefoot!