Kai Ken, Kith and Kin.

(This is a Kai Ken, or 'tiger dog'....The next inevitable step towards utter asian-breed obsession. I've considered getting a 2nd dog, and this would be it. Cormac and Rosetti would be ever so happy together.)

Reader-san, I am a negligent jerk, and I'm so sorry if you've been frustrated in stalking me due to my inability to blog. That's right, Stalker. I know who you are and I refuse to cater to your needs and thank you for those nice translucent curtains, they really brighten up the living room.

It took me nigh 11 months, but I got into a masters program for illustration, so i am officially an art student. I'll be attending the Academy of the Arts in San Francisco in spring 2010. I leave Chicago in January.

These last few weeks of 2009, I'm packing, working two freelance projects (not to mention editing my mom's papers), setting up my financing for grad school, and hanging out with Pad before I move. It's a hectic time.

Now, for the record, Pad has never read this blog. It was his call and I appreciate the sentiment, although i'd be just as happy wwith him reading the blog. It's not a secret life, not too racy....my parents are computer literate, let's leave it there. He has, however, encouraged me to write lately. Write and draw and publish however I can. That, reader-san, is awesome. Pad, who will not read this, you are fucking fantastic to cheer me on the way you do.



It also turns out I'll be attending art school with Chris and Phil, and living in the same city as Elaine, Jenn, and Nathalie (soon?), all former WHS AP/IB classmates. I cannot describe how overwhelmed and grateful I am to have reconnected with my high school friends. Because, um, I spent a few years very deliberately trying to erase any memories of living in Utah. Casualties of this idiotic idea were thankfully few.

To explain, my sister died. I didn't blame Utah, but I did hate it, anything that reminded me of it, and to a certain extent anyone I knew when she was sick. I made an active effort to be open about the problem (eating disorders, like all nightmares, are much less scary when spoken aloud), and having sweet, loving friends, I was screwed.

They cared way to much to ignore my grief, and I wanted to burn it out and scatter the ashes. No processing, no making it feel better. At the time, apathy was damn appealing, and it's hard to go numb surrounded by people who love you. Kendra was the exception, everyone else I avoided or talked to only online.

Years later, my friends haven't said a damn word about it, bless their hearts. They responded to every clumsy email I managed to send out, they sought me out, they still loved me. I am crazy fucking lucky.

Now I get to live in a city with half a dozen best friends. YAY!

Friendly Fiends

Went out to Cali this week, to interview for a new job and get my portfolio photographed by a great photographer (totally spoiled my usual habit of scanning pictures for the rest of my life, Dammit) It was beautiful, 70 degrees the entire time, and only a little bit foggy when the sun set over the ocean...which was worthwhile since, ahem, i was watching the sun set over the fucking ocean.

The final two steps of my application are submitting the fee (which is kinda freakin high if you ask me) and writing my statement of intent That, my friends, will be an exercise in control.

Artists' statements are inherently pretentious. I hate them, never read 'em in galleries, and kinda want to punch artists who insist on including a paragraph with every pretty thang they draw. It's the same reason I never listen to my improvisor friends' podcasts. Yes, the show was fun. NO, decribing why you made the show fun in the way you made it fun is NOT interesting; it's annoying and about as useful as being your own copy-editor. Fuckin cannibals.

Riding two planes in 48 hours gave me quite a cold. I can't focus. *sigh*

After Today

My job has been an ongoing issue for me...i spend 8 hours miserable, 5 days a week, which translated into 120% bitchiness for Pad, bless his tolerant heart, and a heart cobwebbed with doubt. I was entirely unsure there was a reason to keep on trying when the end result was this. This job. This brainless job, utterly without benefit, except the teeny paycheck.

For the record, the paycheck WAS my goal. I needed to stay in Chicago, and that paycheck helped, and I don't regret it for a sec.

BUT see how happy my puppy is, right there on the beach? I am that happy to never have to spend a day there again.

Crystal Mountain

My cousin DJ has been dating his girlfriend (now wife) for years, and finally made it official this summer. The wedding was at Crystal Mountain, a stunningly beautiful ski resort and hotel. We had to take two horrible ski lifts (so much creepier without snow beneath) to the summit for pictures. I wasn't in the wedding party, mind you, but the view was worth it.

Most of the weekend I hung out with my cousins, something I haven't done in at least 4 years. In fact, I haven't seen much of the family since Ashley died. It was long overdue.

I tried to take a picture of the northern lights while my cousin Joel pointed out constellations at 2 am, after a few of us stayed late at the reception and closed the place.

After the wedding, I decided to reconnect with high school friends, who I'd also been fairly successfully avoiding for 4 years....

TO BE CONTINUED OOOOHHHH HOW EXCITING HUH????

Crybaby

When I don't take my meds, I cry.

Like sobbing for hours, end-of-the-world, unstoppable downpour, are you even serious sort of crying.

Now, faithful readers will recall that I sometimes avoid my meds, take them sporadically, or stop altogether. I do this because I get frustrated taking pills that make me so tired so often, that killed my sex drive for a long while *, and make me feel invalid-ated. (get it, like an invalid? but also not-validated? It's funny on a lot of levels, reader-san.)

BUT this is not my fault. I went to my drugstore last weekend, asked for refills, got one and not the other. Now my anti-anxiety meds, which were prescribed specifically because I was still suicidal and wqeeping coinstantly on heavy doses of anti-depressants, are not in stock.

For a week, they've been not in stock--at least, I assume they have, because walgreens hasn't called like they said they would.

SO....

either my meds are there and they're too fucking stupid to call someone on the HIGHEST FUCKING DOSE ALLOWED who asked for a refill a WEEK ago,

or they're NOT restocked, meaning it takes over a week to get medications in, IF they ordered them, IF they're not retarded, which is a big fucking lot of IFs when my life is at stake.

I'm not near danger, reader-san. But I have been. and I could be. And my eyes are swollen and sore from crying, and the only thing keeping me happy with the day is assuming Karma, or Fate, or Someone will ream the fucking asshole, shortsighted, thoughtless pharmacist who dropped the ball.

No, really, they deserve to die.













*different story, different day.

So

It's been a crazy workday and I meant to write a blog, but I won't be doing so until after I work out, go home, and devour my puppy.

I am hungry for cute.

It's about that time...

This is Kai. Kai is comprised of marshmallows, so it's utterly acceptable (if not necess) for me to gobble him up.

I just want to point out that I want about ten thousand babies right now. But really just a few, one at a time, and they will be (judging by my family's babies so far) very chubby, beautiful, and have me wrapped. WRAPPED like a christmas present.

See Kai up there in the santaman outfit? I almost slipped him into my purse and took him home with me. Damn you, dilligent Parent parents.

Tummy Tamer

My tummy's been giving me noise for the last few...er...months.

Now I've always had a weak stomach, not for blood or violence ( cutters don't happen to be a PARTICULARLY squeamish lot, if you can believe it) but for stress and food. Stress makes me tense and unable to breathe, and eating when I'm stressed makes me sick.

Still, loyal followers, y'all who know my history know I have to eat. I can't skip eating for a few days just because everything in my system hurts. I can't even stop eating because I'm pissed that I have to eat crappy food to digest my meds, and meds because I'm depressed, and so forth.

To be clear, I love good food.

I also dislike bad food on a deeply personal level.

Somehow I don't think I've lost any weight, but I haven't gone on a scale for the last 6 months, at least. Somehow, having no disposable income, no time to shop and no energy to go out at night, the exact number of pounds ceases to matter.


And still I feel very diminished. Maybe it's because my body won't freaking relax.

Family

I went to Crystal Mountain Resort this past weekend for a family wedding. The last wedding I got to attend was Joel and Leah's wedding.

Now, they've got Odin (he's the rediculously cute one on the right) and a baby girl on the way (she's in that tummy). Joel and Leah are a couple that make relationships seem effortless. Just find your perfect mate, and everything else is easy, right? Just be an amazing person and marry an amazing person. Ta-da.

This was my first chance to meet Odin, Eleanor, Katrina, Matthew, Dustin, Jack, and Millie. Millie's the youngest, 5 months, an absolute peach. She slept more soundly in our room than I did. Katrina? My goodness.


She has ringlets, pulls funny faces and she loves attention, so naturally we bonded quick. I've already promised to take her to Vegas when she's 21. She's already promised to look into solutions to my short-finger problem. It's a deal, girl.

Stressed

I work from 9am-5pm, unline most people I know in the City....most have a part-job, or temp, or have been laid off. Some make a living through theater, the majority through admin work or food service. I work in a health care company, and it's certainly not my calling.

I am very, very cushioned from the current economy, and I'm lucky to be so.

I am very stressed, and have been thinking mean, awful thoughts.

Times like this you've got to admire Cormac for being such a good puppy and loving me anyway.

Warren

(Poached totes illegaly from WPJ's facebook page. Just look at that adorable face, ladies.)

I know I'm going to have a decent evening if Warren's at the same locale.


I've also been a dick and not gone to see any of his shows in far too long.


That all changes this thursday, reader-san. If you're going to Blackout, comedysportz, 10pm, I'll see you there.

Heated

Since we're moving into a condo with central air and beautiful amenities, this week is all about avoiding a sweat-related breakup, punching the cat and dog for emitting heat in the apartment, and most of all, wearing little to no clothing while packing.

God damn, our new neighbors will love us.

The Reluctant Artistan

I avoided creative writing, philosophy, and otherwise angst-ridden classes as much as possible in college. I was already sobbing in the halls at least once a day, didn't seem to be much point in seeking out extra reasons to cry and hate myself.
I slipped up and took a screenwriting class, something for credits' sake. It was senior year, and I'd already gotten enough credits to a)take whatever classes I wanted, b)pare down my usual 20-minute-essay time to 5 or 6 minutes a pop and c) tell the teacher to more or less go fly a kite.

My screenwriting teacher was nutzo. He would play episodes of Beauty and the Geek to show us examples of raw dialogue and emotion. He loved every film treatment that involved rape, murder or dire consequences. He also said this stupid bullshit statement about 3 times a class:

"The day you declare yourself an artist is the day you become one."


Yeah, you're right, sir. Fuck dedication.

The New Place

Pad and I are moving to 4408 N. Damen on July 1st, or as soon as we put up the security deposit (1st month's rent is paid, however. They're the same amount, to be clear.) We signed the lease for 2 years.

That means we're getting rid of the COUCH and CHAIRS that haunt my waking life.

Also, Pad got some incredible news, but won't let me tell anyone yet.

I didn't want to mention this until all was said and done, because my luck is a cynical bitch with a horrible sense of humor, but I'm pretty pumped. 2 years!