I might be clever.

Spent a good deal of time on the weekend working my ceiling. I would like to say that the work I am doing is making me happy. I think it used to.

As an artist it has become something that silently bitches it’s state of incompletion and I’ve grown to resent it for that. I know the direction it’s going, but it’s not exactly easy. It is however, calculated, even if it screams that it is not. The hours I spend squinting at my walls like an idiot are countless. I have often given Mr. Morgan grief, after inviting him in to see my next ideas…. and of course he doesn’t see what I fucking see so not his fault but he does his best and says it’s great when I know the man is bullshitting for the sake of not engaging a fight.

I hate being bullshitted - unless you are reeeeeeally good at it, there is nothing worse than a bad liar - yet at the same time…. aren’t artist’s a bit tender and in need a bit of it sometimes? I would like someone to actually look at my work and tell me it sucks. No one ever has. So where is my money then? Does everyone lie? Have I not promoted myself? That one I can answer…. I tried to get a gig at the.....fuck them I WILL drop names… at the Brewery Arts Center in Carson City.

I met with a gentleman and showed him my work, understanding that I would need frames and some fine tuning. His understanding was I was there to speak about my interest in S&M. My what? His presumption was that because I draw women is various nude ways, that I was invited his bald, pudgy, pasty and nasty body into my life. Right…. so when I became offended and very clear of art being my only intention he sent me out and he had the entire museum bounce my work as nothing short of porn. Bold words from a man who wanted to mask up and whip me proper.

I am further not allowed to even show my work in that city. I never tried to put my art out again and it left a taste in my mouth I don’t care to return to. That is the story of my two minute career in art. It’s sort of a bummer because I do know that I have talent, and thoughts, and create some crazy ideas. I’m useful, but that’s the story of my attempt. It did go a bit further from his mouth, but unlike that asshole…. I’ll not punish him, like he did to me, and he should send me a thank you card for my discretion, small towns like that don't care for middle aged perverts who hold a high position in the elite of the artistic community.

-DM

Fore

Anyone tardy, don't miss below.

Mr. Morgan decided he wants to be a golfer. /yeah.

This comes after wanting to be a pro-swimmer, marathon beast and countless other ideas that have pranced into his brain. As a fellow prancer I can with proof say that my ideas come for free.

I met this delicious piece of "doesn't look golferish" man and he in fact had golf clubs. About 3 of them in a bag that moths were flipping coins for. I can't believe he actually left the house with pride of carrying a bag of 3 shitty, aged, and downright embarrassing clubs. They jingled in the bag it was that empty. I waited to see if he would drape toilet paper as the towel and dangle a bottle of windex to wash the balls. He would have better clubs by robbing a mini-put-put.

I gave the overly entertained nod of a wife who is just as "fuck it" as he is. I applauded his level of wanting to play and not being particularly concerned if his sack (no pun) didn't measure up to the other boys.

He came home with a large grin or exhaustion. He was also bleeding all over the place. Kylee greated this with much anticipation. She licked at it for two hours, which I found to be a bit much, but it did clear up what was run off and what was actual wound.

I asked how he has done it and he exclaimed with a golf club.

"You took off the front of your leg off with your own club?"
"Well... Then the golf cart came around and I latched on and was dragged."
"Thought so, for how many holes did they drag you?"

He looked at his wound and guessed 2.

-DM

Everybody wants a Pickle!

Fridays are normally the day myself and a co-worker, (who I've just now re-named and hereby is to be known as GreenPod) reserve to use as our day out to eat things we've thought about all week. Sometimes I falter and I eat out more often, but Fridays are special.

I promised Mr. Morgan food so we hit up a joint not far from my LillyPad called Mr. Pickle. It's your run of the mill sandwhich eatery with half interested employees and food that I don't particularly care for. That means nothing. Most people love things that I do not, so it's not a slight at all.

We arrived and GreenPod pointed out that not only did they sell giant pickles, they also had a mascot. I'm not certain if she heard it happening but there was a five second meltdown pause of rewinding my day in my head, that began with me saying "I don't need my camera today."

When do I EVER not have my camera? When mascots are dancing on the curb it would seem. I began to frown and get really upset in an adult way, that were I 25 years younger would have landed me the ass beating of my life. I was that upset to have left my camera when a happy pickle was dancing on the corner, WITHOUT ME!

GreenPod readilly recognized my angst. I'm not sure if it was the same state of worry Mr. Morgan gets when I start yelling and he says he is scared, but she recommended we get that camera.

By the time we came back, the Pickle was gone so we went inside thinking he might have moved his jig into the eatery. No Pickle. We asked the cashier who -just so happened to be the owner- where the Pickle went and he lost his shit.

Both of us started to defend the Pickle. We didn't know.... was he on an unauthorized break? Seems so. We busted the Pickle and kept saying it really wasn't a big deal, while my wrenched mouth still insisted on my Pickle photo.

The bossman went towards a back room, demanding the Pickle, then said I was thinking about firing him anyway. Oh shit Pickle. Same mouth wrench. In my tiny selfish brain that man was already being fired or about to quit and relinquish the PickleSuit before we ever walked in.

Pickle didn't move fast enough so a second yell went down. The Pickle emerged. Can click to enlarge. The limp arm says it all. "I hate being the Pickle."


Little bit more passionate, because I LOVE Pickle.

I half want to think what happened next was because the boss wanted Pickle out of his sight.

He ordered Pickle outside to take another photo, although we were satisfied, and the entire trio of us walked out with our heads hanging, each for a different reason. Here I am dancing with Pickle, although it looks like I am grabbing for Pickle's pickle.


We left happy, only later did Bosslady's Daughter mention a tip and my level of guilt rose 15 levels. The only thing that made me feel better was GreenPod saying "Well..... where do you think he could have put it?"

-DM

Le Arteest.

I've been busy with thinky shit this week. After yes, five days of vacation first. I really had to look at junk for five days before things came to me and now my brain is flushed with ideas.

What have I done in five days? Well. I loaded three full bags of clothing to go to good will.... clawing at the drapes unsure if I could part with them. The process of bag loading was if I hadn't worn in 3 years... it goes. There was a constant reminder of naked people elsewhere in my mind so I let shit go. But my fingers did grapple and make clenching movements to see the bags be taken.

As Bosslady's Daughter would agree on, it is actually liberating to part with so much SHIT! I seem to love to roll in it, and I need to downsize drastically. I own things I can't even readilly identify. It's my nature however to never refuse a "something". Working on that.

What else have I done? Napped. Ate. Bitched.

I'm still working on my walls/ceiling. It's pretty much the ceiling lately, and that is terrible on the neck. I don't suppose I plan to stop until it's a Walk In Doodle, Wrapped Around Drawings.

I have nothing more for now, except fucking ROCK on Cali for the gay marriage overule. I do however not expect it to stick. I don't guess I will ever wrap my head around why anyone cares.
I won't even start on the wrongness I read in the news, (i.e. dude locked his daughter up and impregnated her 6 times?) but lets protest peaceful people. Beyond my grasp.

Kylee this morning did something that I still am laughing HARD about. I will blog that tomorrow. It's not to be missed. Google Kylees Playground if you don't have it bookmarked. I am so fucking proud of her. (small hint - toy, toilet, Mr. midstream).

More soon.

- DM

Tributes

So it’s time for my vacation! These always give me pause to consider where if I have grown since my last. I certainly never want to be one who doesn’t learn everyday or somehow grow on a level that I value. I’m a goof yes, but when I’m in my studio writing these things (when not prancing to music) I am a rather serious person and I think about shit that I guess… I probably shouldn’t.

For instance, I walked into Bosslady’s office today and she was playing one of the single most perfect songs in the world. I paused. I sat. I leaned back and forth much like Stevie Wonder to the goodness of it. I wanted it louder! For a moment I really smiled at her for playing it, with a nod of “who knew you liked this.” How she didn’t stand on a chair and belt it out I’ll never know because I really wanted to.

Things like that, I think about come end of day. Why didn’t she chair hop? I’d have watched the door!

I come home and think about other crap, after I pick up puppy CRAP and threaten her with a gun I don’t own. More often than not I think about you all, and my family, extended and not extended.

If that sounds weird, let me explain. Until I had 6. Yes fucking SIX car accidents in a tiny car, I never had anxiety. Don’t presume all six of those were in the same car. I’m that way, I go out and get another tiny car because I like them and I drive just fine. I don’t want a (making odd hand movements with a frown) I don’t want anything that isn’t little, leave it at that. My anxiety leads me to worry about people who don’t need to be worried about. That said, I think about you guys. And you too B.

For this vacation….. here are my tributes…. I love you bitches with all my heart. I listened through the songs and picked what … well picked what I did. It’ll make sense to those who they are dedicated to.

For Bossladies Daughter…. I honestly … it , was just right. Please know that my silence does mean a lack of care. It’s simply respect of your privacy.




Moon, you know I’m down for you. This is one of my favorites. You and Mr. Moon have a full live ahead of you. I will miss you deeply. Deeply.




For Foxyleg, I want to come with as long as a casino and AM PM is close by…. Lol… this is you. Thank you for all you’ve done to help me these last years. I judged you incorrectly, and I admit it. You are a good bean.




MissNev… you are tricky find! I took a hunch, let me kno if I was wrong.




Prada, I know you are well married with a child but the attitude of this rocks all of who you are. Tell me I’m wrong. We are too alike in this way. Crazy bitches who act on the sly like they aren't .... heh... watch out, we really are capable of losing our shit, no matter how little I am love, I carry mace.... dare a fucker to mess about! Plus I'm slappy and have a big mouth.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=_T8o_iTeDUs

Won't me embed this one.... I'm so sorry.



Saffy



You get this my darling because I KNOW you can play it. To those who don’t know, Saffy handles a piano better than a diabetic at Krispy Crème. She is beyond awesome. This is what I’m going to do my solo ballet performance to.

Hard as I tried, I cannot use the slippers and go on Pointe. I was bleeding. Bone Toe didn’t understand, but I have a routine worked up. I guess old ass cheerleaders can only raise up so far.

If I forgot anyone… not on purpose. Truly, the comments and things mean a lot, please don’t stop even if busy, just drop a YA. Lol I’ll take anything. Will post over the vaca. Just not sure when.

Thank you friends for all the support this year, it's the vaca post so I have to honor you guys. Sorry GrandMaster that I could not find any happy JP music.

-DM

Well who doesn't love Nevada?

I'm on vacation next week so the punishment emails have begun. I'm getting everything done, it's just easier and more efficient when not stopped or bitched at. It's only Tuesday and my level of Fuck It has hit the penthouse level. This does not mean that I am not stressed out. I stare at something to file, or work on .... and I know good and well "fuck it" but it's stuff that has to be done. So fuck it, I'll just do it? Tricky thing, my mother taught me well that even when it's penthouse level, you still do what gets you paid. And you do it right.

I received an odd slice of mail today and I circled it with a squint for about a half hour, convinced that someone thought I was a decent lab rat for their anthrax. Then I recognized my own damn handwriting on the envelope. Well shit, I wouldn't send myself poison, so I opened it.

I'd forgotten that a few months ago in our local newspaper a 4th grade class of kids from one of the states beggining with an "I" was asking for people to send them things from their state for a geography project. Some help I am when I don't even know where they are. Illinois.

So I rounded up about five postcards, Nevada isn't shy to promote itself, not a hard shopping trip and wrote facts and statistics on the backs of each about our state. No bitches, I said nothing of casinos, whores or all night liquor getting. I do have manners when applied.

I opened the letter and there was a photo of two little girls holding my post cards. Beaming! I began to beam too. One might say I wiggled in my chair and smiled to myself for doing a good thing.

I edited their darling faces because they aren't my kids, and no one needs to be looking at random little kids, this world is too ill to handle it. Sad. Suffice...... they are angelic!



Above is their hand written note. It reads:

Dear Ms. (DM)

Thank you very much for the postcards and info. Your mountains are very interesting. We didn't know that Nevada was the 7th largest state. We knew you had a casino.

(DM paused to crack the fuck up. I already like these kids!)

Your population is awsome! Thank you again!

Love,

(Them)

p.s. Your weather isn't quiet (it's only 4th grade.... I forgave it, hell I'm worse) like ours, you have a slightly warmer climate.

More loves and signatures.

--

See I'm not so bad. Being rewarded for good deeds never fails to give me a lift when it seems like this world is shit, I felt the work yuck falling off of me as if I was in a shower. I chase optimism with a net everyday.

-DM

What's New in the Zoo

I have felt better. My vagine is busted and when I annouced this Mr. Morgan asked who broke it.

I simply sobbed and said "God did."

It's interesting how the female demands of maintaining ourselves are not of concern until the male thinks he might have to work one out on his own. He blinked at me as if to say "No vagine? Ever, or just today? Is there a schedule?"

I went and got one of those Vagisil home kits that tell you what you have. Some yeast, no yeast, bacterial, chicken flu, malaria.... all that shit. I passed with flying colors. No pun intended.

I checked out of the store with an arm full of crotch items and a TV dinner. Because I'm so classy.

---

In other news the lovely Nevada wind made one side of our fence laugh. We've fixed and hammered all we could for years. Ok I did mostly.... Mr. Morgan never owned a hammer nor a nail before meeting me. He is of the mindset that people are "there" for that. I busted out my little red tool box that I was given as a gift from my ex-husband because I was always stealing his shit. This does not remotely mean I am qualified to use a single thing in that box, but it has my name on it.

That said, the wind gave that 12 foot section of fence a final gasp and I came home looking for dogs. No dogs.

I found them next door in the neighbors yard dancing the salsa and saying "HI MOM, come look, we got an expansion!"

Hand flapped to my face as I waved them back over and dialed my landlord. Later for that.

--

Was a good gamble night. I wore my hatchet gear, and was tapped on the shouler by a lady at least... 40..... who could only see the backside of my shirt "RINGMASTER" and Juggalette knew it immediately. Said "I love your ICP shirt." This girl beamed her fucking mind out and began to make the juggalo signs that look like gang symbols and what not. Kindred is is a kindred. I have mentioned in the past how tight the clown posse is, even strangers, especially strangers!, and it gave me a grin that refuses to leave me tonight. Juggalos!!!!!!!!!!

Fall out boy did a remake of Beat It. See below. I know Mike is a nasty sick fucker.... but I grew up on him and I love the tunes friends. I can't find it in me to shun the music because of the man. Enjoy.



For the road rage angry.... which I've recently gotton to the point of. All who know me, know I'm not aggressive, had it with people. So in respect to the posse since I'm all happy about it tonight, another, enjoy the lyrics, even the end.... fuckers judging our lives..... It's too damn true. Down with the Clown babies! Noisy, but they know.




-DM