as far as i can remember, last week was one giant blur of drug-induced hazes. an endless cycle of food, sleep, pills, sweating, and bad television. my heartfelt thanks go out to all of the people who make wonderful cartoons possible (and the sydication that makes them available any time at all), as they helped me through this traumatic time of need.
now that life is virtually back to normal, life seems almost drab. energy levels are still stabilizing so i'm not making any grandiose plans for our evenings just yet. my artistic spark is at a slow burn. the house is a mess, and i don't mean the garden variety haven't finished unpacking kinda mess. doing the dishes was as much cleaning as i could muster last week, and derek was so good at taking care of me that he let most everything else go by the wayside. no biggie. turns out we're not complete slobs after all.
in an effort to get me jumpstarted, derek bought me a whole bundle of new sharpies. TWENTY FOUR COLORS OF SHARPIES with the ultra fine tip! my marker box overfloweth with happiness. as is my usual custom with new supplies, i opened them the second we got home and then did not use them at all.
this is something i used to do with scripts, in a different way. as soon as i picked it up from the theatre, i would tote the new script around everywhere. restaurants, grocery stores, driving around town. sometimes i even stuffed my new book into my purse and brought it into the bathroom with me. i would flip through the pages incessantly. i would place the script on the table next to my dinner plate. i would let the cats sniff the edges until they approved. however, i would never actually do any work with it for the first few days. inspiration came by osmosis as i eventually began to highlight my lines and begin to make notes.
even as a director i could never force myself to work on a script right away. my palms would slide back and forth across the pages as i hummed a little tune. a smile would creep across my lips as my fingertips would scoot and drag it closer to me by an inch or so at a time. in the end, i would finally realize it was mine and end up hugging it to my chest and giggling.
much the same thing is going on with my new sharpies. i ripped open the backing, ran my fingers across the backs of each marker, and gave a tiny squeak of joy. after rearranging each one to look as if the package had never been touched, i propped them up (in the plastic) against my marker case. they stood there for a few hours until i dumped them out across the floor and arranged them all by colors. just for good measure, i splayed them around like pick-up sticks before tucking them into the marker box next to my other assorted, fatter sharpies. i closed the case. i heard a very satisfying click. i knew they were really mine. yay.
it's been two days so far. i'm definitely getting inspired to make some new art; maybe even just to write a multicolored note one of you. i feel the same smile and giggle as i lift the box up and give it a hug. derek laughs because he has seen this sort of habit go on before and thinks it cute. he thinks every doodle i produce is a work of aaahhhhhhhhhrt worthy of an advanced calculus problem. i just like all the pretty colors and the clankety noise they make while rattling around in the box.
my favorite color:
all shades of grey/silver
27 February 2007
23 February 2007
random side notes - chapter ten
wowee, look at this - blogging and the streetlights aren't even on yet. it's not the wee hours, and i'm not way high on orange and green gel pills. there is even a twitch of sun in these here partly cloudy skies. as i come out of my drug-filled haze, though still snotty in literal and figurative ways, i can finally sit upright and stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. funny how feeling less sick is sort of like feeling really damn great. but i'm still on the new sofa anyway, hogging it for as long as derek will let me.
so, over the last couple weeks my cable modem has been angry. who made it angry? it's hard to say, but we can safely point fingers away from this house. between the shoddy equipment up here, the lackadaisical people derek gets on the phone when he calls to bitch, and the clouds floating around in swarms, its anyone's guess. oh please oh please, my beloved modem, please accept my cyber-love and get back to normal.
because i have to read up on my peeps! due to some glitch in my modem, i thought liz had stopped posting for about a week or so. considering her diligence over the past several months, i was aghast (not at the la quinta, surely!) to see her lack of reminiscing and quipology. just for safe measure i had to check up on zhen and bonnie and everyone else to comfirm that, yes, my connection has PMS. and you thought this city was alive with wiredness. bwah, i say.
but this segues - get it, liz? - to my next point. ya know, for a random chapter, this certainly is working out to have a serendipitous rhythm. this tech-ridden city makes me think of someone i ran into who works for microsoft. rather, as i was doing a search at work someone said to me, "is your name george? really? we did some plays together back in tulsa." i looked up and saw... leigh ann! remember our little truck stop/blue jay from "vital signs" back at heller? she and her boyfriend moved out here about a year ago, and she recognized me. wow! i've been spotted by people from tulsa in both los crapeles and seattle within a year. it's spooky and gratifying and hilarious. i suppose this makes me a memorable sort. or, as jenny has put it so lovingly in the past, "oh you would KNOW if you had met HER."
she's right. you would know. i might possibly bite you just to make sure you didn't forget. it's part of my charm. uttering words like vagina or kerplunkety or motherfucker also tend to grab the ear and make an impression. the spontaneous monkey noises and eee squeals will remind you of me, too. so i don't mean to be a weirdo or anything. i just have impulse control issues. they make me... do stuff.
they give me inspiration as well. in the spirit of random, rhiannon and i had a massive trading of the crappe. we were on the phone with each other while going through our treasured piles of so-called junk when she noted that she was out of staples. buying a whole box of staples is impractical for normal people. you can take a lifetime going through just one row, so i dug out some extra staples to send her in the mail - and thus the trading of the crappe began. she made off with a handy screwdriver the size of a pen, i have sequins and pipe cleaners galore. i swear, next time i need some artistic inspiration, i'll go through my junk drawers and call all my friends to see who might need chococat thumbtacks.
ahhh, so now it's time for more sofa hogging and (finally, after drinking tea most of this week) a nice warm pot of coffee. get outta my way, kitties.
someone i don't know if i love or hate:
sarah silverman - funny or boring?
so, over the last couple weeks my cable modem has been angry. who made it angry? it's hard to say, but we can safely point fingers away from this house. between the shoddy equipment up here, the lackadaisical people derek gets on the phone when he calls to bitch, and the clouds floating around in swarms, its anyone's guess. oh please oh please, my beloved modem, please accept my cyber-love and get back to normal.
because i have to read up on my peeps! due to some glitch in my modem, i thought liz had stopped posting for about a week or so. considering her diligence over the past several months, i was aghast (not at the la quinta, surely!) to see her lack of reminiscing and quipology. just for safe measure i had to check up on zhen and bonnie and everyone else to comfirm that, yes, my connection has PMS. and you thought this city was alive with wiredness. bwah, i say.
but this segues - get it, liz? - to my next point. ya know, for a random chapter, this certainly is working out to have a serendipitous rhythm. this tech-ridden city makes me think of someone i ran into who works for microsoft. rather, as i was doing a search at work someone said to me, "is your name george? really? we did some plays together back in tulsa." i looked up and saw... leigh ann! remember our little truck stop/blue jay from "vital signs" back at heller? she and her boyfriend moved out here about a year ago, and she recognized me. wow! i've been spotted by people from tulsa in both los crapeles and seattle within a year. it's spooky and gratifying and hilarious. i suppose this makes me a memorable sort. or, as jenny has put it so lovingly in the past, "oh you would KNOW if you had met HER."
she's right. you would know. i might possibly bite you just to make sure you didn't forget. it's part of my charm. uttering words like vagina or kerplunkety or motherfucker also tend to grab the ear and make an impression. the spontaneous monkey noises and eee squeals will remind you of me, too. so i don't mean to be a weirdo or anything. i just have impulse control issues. they make me... do stuff.
they give me inspiration as well. in the spirit of random, rhiannon and i had a massive trading of the crappe. we were on the phone with each other while going through our treasured piles of so-called junk when she noted that she was out of staples. buying a whole box of staples is impractical for normal people. you can take a lifetime going through just one row, so i dug out some extra staples to send her in the mail - and thus the trading of the crappe began. she made off with a handy screwdriver the size of a pen, i have sequins and pipe cleaners galore. i swear, next time i need some artistic inspiration, i'll go through my junk drawers and call all my friends to see who might need chococat thumbtacks.
ahhh, so now it's time for more sofa hogging and (finally, after drinking tea most of this week) a nice warm pot of coffee. get outta my way, kitties.
someone i don't know if i love or hate:
sarah silverman - funny or boring?
22 February 2007
does this count as drunken posting?
oh yeah, just remembered something. i was supposed to be doing chapter ten of the random for you. well you know what? i'm high as a fucking kite on little gel pills right now. whoop a dee dooooooo, as they say in the wedding singer. is the drunken dialing next for me? it would be an option, if the phone weren't alllll the way across the room from me. it's hard enough to get the motivation to get up and go pee, as opposed to just wetting my pants and cleaning the carpet later on. hey, it was good enough to wet the bed until i hit junior high, so why not?
i mean.. uhhhh.... never mind. i never said that. you never heard that. i never wet the bed. allegedly. tracy did it. it was all her fault. she was the one who invited me to spend the night and put the fear of pee in me, only to tell me the next day that she sometimes wet the bed. so maybe i did blame it on her, but maybe - just maybe - she's the one who did it anyway. bet she did. sure. yeah. big ups to me for being a tweenager who could control my bladder for a whole eight hours.
achoo! sniffle. grrrrrrr... loogies.
and just so you know something else, i expected ralph nader to be nicer. not that he was mean, but a little short with some of the employees when he came by unannounced and all puffed up la dee dah like he was he-man last week. i much prefer the kind of person that calls ahead and makes all goofy like with the peasants. dance, monkey, dance! give us a good freaking show! bring out the dancing poodles!
but i digress.
this is all meant to say that you should never pop the green death flavored pill and get back on the computer. it's not like anyone is making you spout off in the wee hours of... oh wait. it's only 11 fucking o'clock. it's not even late. i'm just being a big jackoff for no reason, eh? it's mary's fault. shes scared me with all that la quinta trauma this weekend, and i haven't had coffee in three days. or maybe i didn't have coffee becaus i was sick and switched over to hot tea to save my voice, but that didn't work anyway, so even though i did finally have some coffee today i'm still on some kind of detox tremor freakout. is this the part where i blame it all on mary? sheesh, i really am lost here.
in any case (and furthermore), derek bought me a new jar of peanut butter. he bought me jif because the store didn't even have any peter pan on the shelves after the big PB scandal. jif is okay, but it's not what i like. don't think i'm losing my shit or anything here, even though i might be just a bit foggy, but i like peanut butter to taste more like peanut butter than like peanuts. you're following me here, i can see. it's not that i don't like peanuts, but i like peanut butter more. and if i'm going to eat nuts, my favorites would be cashews or macadamias. but just keep them out of my ice cream. ice cream doesn't need big honking chunks. it needs vanilla and cream. and fuck those damn pecans that people wanna put in every damn thing they can hold still and bake. you try being a little kid who gets forced to collect pecans from the mud while a big ford truck rams into a tree to shake all the nuts down to the ground right behind you righ before it runs over them to grind them further into the mud while you're trying to fill up that stupid paper sack so you can go home and have to make chocolate chip cookies with pecans when you don't even like chocolate in the first place. then we'll see how much you like fucking pecans.
but before i get to riled up, perhaps we should just call it a night. i have to go chew on some more vitamin c and blow my nose again. drip drip drip. wow, it's time to wander off to bed before i fall over again. my foot already went to sleep, so i guess i should follow suit, if i can stagger to the bed before the pins and needles set in and i start screaming and flailing like veronica when she gets all whooped up in a tizzy. you know i love you, vee, but your flailing is legendary... and i mean that in the most complimentary way.
fucking pecans.
what you simply MUST google today:
how to prank a telemarketer
i mean.. uhhhh.... never mind. i never said that. you never heard that. i never wet the bed. allegedly. tracy did it. it was all her fault. she was the one who invited me to spend the night and put the fear of pee in me, only to tell me the next day that she sometimes wet the bed. so maybe i did blame it on her, but maybe - just maybe - she's the one who did it anyway. bet she did. sure. yeah. big ups to me for being a tweenager who could control my bladder for a whole eight hours.
achoo! sniffle. grrrrrrr... loogies.
and just so you know something else, i expected ralph nader to be nicer. not that he was mean, but a little short with some of the employees when he came by unannounced and all puffed up la dee dah like he was he-man last week. i much prefer the kind of person that calls ahead and makes all goofy like with the peasants. dance, monkey, dance! give us a good freaking show! bring out the dancing poodles!
but i digress.
this is all meant to say that you should never pop the green death flavored pill and get back on the computer. it's not like anyone is making you spout off in the wee hours of... oh wait. it's only 11 fucking o'clock. it's not even late. i'm just being a big jackoff for no reason, eh? it's mary's fault. shes scared me with all that la quinta trauma this weekend, and i haven't had coffee in three days. or maybe i didn't have coffee becaus i was sick and switched over to hot tea to save my voice, but that didn't work anyway, so even though i did finally have some coffee today i'm still on some kind of detox tremor freakout. is this the part where i blame it all on mary? sheesh, i really am lost here.
in any case (and furthermore), derek bought me a new jar of peanut butter. he bought me jif because the store didn't even have any peter pan on the shelves after the big PB scandal. jif is okay, but it's not what i like. don't think i'm losing my shit or anything here, even though i might be just a bit foggy, but i like peanut butter to taste more like peanut butter than like peanuts. you're following me here, i can see. it's not that i don't like peanuts, but i like peanut butter more. and if i'm going to eat nuts, my favorites would be cashews or macadamias. but just keep them out of my ice cream. ice cream doesn't need big honking chunks. it needs vanilla and cream. and fuck those damn pecans that people wanna put in every damn thing they can hold still and bake. you try being a little kid who gets forced to collect pecans from the mud while a big ford truck rams into a tree to shake all the nuts down to the ground right behind you righ before it runs over them to grind them further into the mud while you're trying to fill up that stupid paper sack so you can go home and have to make chocolate chip cookies with pecans when you don't even like chocolate in the first place. then we'll see how much you like fucking pecans.
but before i get to riled up, perhaps we should just call it a night. i have to go chew on some more vitamin c and blow my nose again. drip drip drip. wow, it's time to wander off to bed before i fall over again. my foot already went to sleep, so i guess i should follow suit, if i can stagger to the bed before the pins and needles set in and i start screaming and flailing like veronica when she gets all whooped up in a tizzy. you know i love you, vee, but your flailing is legendary... and i mean that in the most complimentary way.
fucking pecans.
what you simply MUST google today:
how to prank a telemarketer
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