Gobble.

Flap a wing, Turkey day! Flap two if you feel so inclined. We had a super easy day with minimal travel to a loose environment, nothing formal and just all of Mr. Morgan's family, and there are plenty of them! All were in great spirits, food was good, even if I spent more time yapping than eating.

For fun, Prada and I decided to have a Pie Off. I'd never made a pie and I'm pretty sure she hadn't either. The opportunity for it to go completely wrong was not only palpable but probable. Our initial rules were that it was 100% homemade, then time and ya know.... reality..... decided it was reasonable to get pre-made dough. We don't need no stinkin' yeast! That's what the round "hee-hee" guy is there for.

I don't really eat pie, and didn't get a recipe. I flopped shit into a pan that I knew wouldn't make people sick, and if I were a pie fan, I would eat. Then I made it all pretty wondering how Prada was doing with her contest submission. Crushed some graham cracker crumbs on top with sprinkled sugar and basted a bit of butter to make it shiny. DM's love everything shiny.

The entries:

Mine....... I made lattice work of it and pinched the entire outer ring (all by self!) much to the chagrin of my hands, but honestly, they bitch whether I'm using them or not so it doesn't really matter. Now, in looking at this stunning work of pie perfection, you might say "and you've never made a pie?" No. But I did have one of those shitty pot holder looms as a kid which it's products were forced onto every unsuspecting family member in sight who had to lie and tell you it was JUST what they needed. That was my inspiration and training.

Prada's entry: Store bought crust, fair, within the rules ... but mine started as dough!

This entry was disqualified: Bought!


I believe I won the Pie Off, but Prada did give it a good run. Time for Shitty Santa.... muahaa!

Hope you all had a good holiday. We're nuts around here packing for our move (less than a month!) and me getting used to being employed again, no afternoon nappies. All is well, just busy!

- DM

Not Ready.

Can't make me. We are packing, willingly, but it's been a crazy painful mind-bending sort of retardation that I can easily make sense of. if you think how I do about walking away from stuff. My stuff is my history, and why I need to keep it around for a rehash, I don't know, I just know it's mine and I've toted it for long enough that it will offend us both to part ways. It's like telling the stuff that it's going to be good enough for a new home. Do I personify items? Every damn day.

We haven't purchased the new home yet, but we meet with the real estate agent tomorrow. I like her, even if she is rocking a crazy porn star name. Shit maybe I shouldn't say even, it might have been the subliminal woot of why I liked her to begin with. I thought she was clever enough to hopefully handle our money but we are just in the courting phase of house ass sniffing. As first time home buyers we need to remember that WE hold the cards and not be overzealous, another very hard task for both of us. We like shit said and done within in the time it takes to watch a Lord of the Rings flick.

So in this we've dumped the stuffs. I seriously moved 10 full size black garbage bags out of my studio alone. Watch for me on the A&E channel under Hoarders. I am so fucking ashamed yet circling the bags wondering in I need something back, so it really should go sooner than later. That mentioned, here is where I am. Painting over my shit. To my step mother in law, calling my work "doodles" forever not cool and I stand by that. Artists get nutty and have even cut off their ears (one of them at least), really want to bullshit about something being a "doodle" ?? Insulting on a level where you want to pat that persons' head for having absolutely no artistic intelligence. You don't have to love something to realize that it's .... awesome for the sake of just being something you'd never seen.

I am impossible about painting over my shit. I've packed the paper works. There are a lot of hand gestures and pacing going on when most would say to just suck it and paint up. I can think of only one person who would know exactly why this is upsetting - other than I did it once and it sucked then. Art is such a crazy time piece, captured. Poetic to be erased.... but it's a story I tell in every stroke of my brush, pen or word. I can look at my walls and recall the inspiration and the emotion that formed it. Listen below: then a treat. Little nugget I never forgot, go Toad.






Here's what I'm wiping over. Yes, I'm caught singing to Hook... it's a fav and I can do it if I don't get winded from excitement.





Great. So did you all know I once painted? I did, might again eventually depending on my hands. I took a few shitty tries photographing a large piece, but yes I paint and that is acrylic, not oil. It sets in about five minutes so it isn't a "sit and contemplate" medium." Just something I found while moving shit out today.








- DM

The Subtle, if you pay attention

As I've been going through junk to toss and not haul into a nice (CLEAN!) house, I've found some crazy curious items that I've twirled in my fingers with the oooooo of seeing a fake Santa and wondering if it's worth my time to take that photo. Of course it is, fake Santa knows I know, just like the found items suspect I know as well. Not a single one has had an attitude about being forgotten, but I've heard a couple of cries from those who didn't make the cut. It hurt. I collect shit like a fiend for a reason, I feel I'm being an asshole to just disregard a tenant and bounce them to the curb for no good reason. I've been bounced, it's a deflating why me moment.

My most recent find was a home burned CD called Crowded Emptiness, one of the most excellent titles Mr. Morgan has penned because it contradicts itself to a point of glee my head just dances to. What is remarkable about this CD is the progression of obvious inebriation.

It begins with jammable songs, little bit of Pepper, some Sublime, then drifts to Ben Harper and it takes an abrupt sharp turn. Someone clearly began to get high. The songs wrap into joyous "fuck the man, let's burn one!" and transgress straight into Hendrix and Joplin in a nosedive, leading to Van Morrison and before you know it, the world is an angry, depressing sweat sock from the grunty muscle guy at the gym whose over chiseled yuck are a reflection of his brain and certification that the only thing left to do on earth is to sit and think about cereal.

I laughed and gave a hearty nod to this compilation - wasn't my work - and followed the inner thinkings as a treasured timeline with the most respected entertainment. Mr. Morgan wouldn't even understand it, I saw it as though it was written on the wall. Here's a fun video of how the come down had always been for me. I don't partake, and when I did... I may well have seen shit like a rabbit chasing a carrot and frankly no one wants that sort of high bitch at the party. Buzzkill Jane becomes an instant moniker. Point being this CD is priceless is how happy it starts and ends in somber ice cream seeking.
Ever been really high but aware enough that someone else has their sight on that very ice cream your soul was camping on? Ya.




- DM

Go go gadget legs

Know how you can tell a true pal? They give you gifts and manage not to tell you about it beforehand. The stuff just shows up. Saffy gifted me. Here is my open letter and update for you all to Saffy:

-----

You fucking crotch! On so many levels of being the most delightful of all fucking crotches, this ... you are. (also a GREAT indication of a true-blue friend because when else is it ever ok to greet a person or start a sentence like that? I doubt she thought a single thing of it, and maybe even got happy that her package had arrived).

I've not opened it.

I got yelled at for it. Mr. Morgan signed and flew into the houes screeching that I was warned to "stop the god damned spending!" Lol, because the box said Mary Kay and there is no difference to him from that to my Avon gig.

So it was trouble but short lived and he felt stupid. I cannot believe you spent that much on postage. We both stared at Mary's box in awe. So that's why it's not open. I'm waiting one minute for every soul sucking dollar they raped you for.

Secondly I GOT A JOB! A real one! A decent paying one working in the most lovely Victorian house in the old district of town. My god this house is ...... lol I'll have to write it out much more in detail for you and perhaps snap a few photos. It's amazing, vintage and even has a wooden spiral staircase for me to fall down from, which we know I will.

It's the holistic medicine practice, very small, very cozy and hippy-like. They do acupuncture and herbal remedies, treatment things that really is pretty fucking cool. One of the doctors herself interviewed me and I knew she liked me without know quite "why", not an uncommon thing when it comes to me I guess. But alas, the hippy folk are indeed kindreds and have welcomed me into their fold like the lost little lamb I was. DM love..... finally! She said they thought I was funny (another ABOUT TIME, I really am ya know... funny if you unclench for a second) and that they felt I would be a perfect addition to the staff. /melts, melts...... how long I've waited for someone to say something, ANYTHING nice about me.

No benefits persay, as in no normal ones. All the free yoga, acupunture and herbs I want. At first I thought what a cheapy, but that's not it at all. She truly believes in alternative healing and if she contributed to western medicine by paying me for those doctors, it would upset everything she is about. Not what my cripple hands need, but .... I applaud standing by your convictions and not being sorry for it.

That's my update and just to make a perfect day better..... the box. It's sitting there. Blinking. In neon.

I have many more things to share, but one epic at a time. For now let's do a butt wiggle dance about my getting not only a job, but one I wanted. Irony is, I had two calls for interviews by the time I came home. God thinks he's funny, and maybe to some extent he is.

Love you and thank you for mystery box.

- DM

So I waited that time period, as promised because I'm a faithful friend back at her, and it was Gary in the box! Gary has been talked about for many months, maybe encroaching on a year of the Garyish tease. He..... does stuff.



Gary is an extremely talented raffe. I think she got him cheap off the black market animal circuit, a rescue raffe! I don't normally look like the above photo, actually quite the opposite and somewhat squinty or pissy looking but throw a present at me at it's fucking Christmas for a two year old eyes lighting up sort of beam.



Awesome and great song timing, today was a long overdue and much needed day of delight.

-DM

Twitted

Darline Detwitted is now following me on Twitter. I didn't know I was a tweet, or signed up to do so, but watch me closely Darline, I'm sure you exist just as much as the "supervisors" at the unemployment office, who is now encroaching on one full month of not paying me a dime. . What are they supervising? Their lunch?

So I have spent the last 3.5 weeks of my life like this:

It's my ghetto answer to the Bluetooth or whatever that alien gadget is that everyone walks around wearing because they are terribly important and can't be bothered to hold a phone. Calling unemployment for any reason, even if asking their address will take longer than walking to the IRS in person just to wait in line. I was seriously 95th caller in line this morning. Apparently I'm not the only fucked person, however the human condition requires that I feel I am definitely way up on the priority pole. Rock paper scissors me on how fucked you are by these people and I bet I win. I've heard everything from "complicated" to "messy" to interesting" about my case and all eventually boil down to the same word, FUCKED!

We literally bought another phone to have on the charger for when the original beeps it's battery death warning, or in phone terms "dude, give up." Either way, it's innovation at it's finest and frees my hands to do whatever it is that I do.

Lighter news and shitty camera, I finished the second in my heroine pieces, I really hate that paper. And I hate my camera for taking such shotty photos of a really nice, yet busy, work. It's far more detailed than below shows. Shit paper. It's paper that doesn't even allow you to crop a margin or otherwise erase anything without showing telltale snitches that you made a mistake or wanted something a bit different. To my credit, which as defeated as I feel lately , I don't make mistakes often so it's not a problem, but knowing it might be is irritating. Ah, artists......the arrogance, the narcissism. Really though, I have shit all mapped out before I do anything so, it's probably the only lie I haven't told this week. I think I have proclaimed to have starving children about 3 times in efforts to get my benefits.

Ethan Frome:

This is Ethan Frome. Anyone read it? It's not a long story, and it should have been somewhere in your syllabus or summer reading list. I'll tell you, then you can click to enlarge. Ethan Frome is a quiet sort of man, doesn't particularly like his wife and takes in a housemaid for help when the wife falls ill. Ethan and the maid fall in love that can't be, so take off one morning on a sled determined for one last ride - heading for a tree and give a fuck all to life. They do hit the tree yet end up quite alive, the wife still ailing, and the lovers mangled with severe handicaps forever. All in the same house. That's some nasty wicked fate.

I summed it up, and poorly. It's a beautiful story, very mental. Recommended reading. So in my piece we have the slope they flew down, the tree they hit, the bloody aftermath and the sadness that it all encases. I don't like to explain what my work means... but sometimes I guess you have to or it's just a weird doodle.

- DM

ps - As I've noted before, there is no such thing as a photo of me without a rafe hanging around.I counted amongst the clutter and think I caught a herd of five in the phone photo. And yes that is my I AM OK affirmation post it note hanging to the right off my monitor. I need it to stop myself from gathering and gutting kittens. Find your inner chi..... /waves a finger.

Halloween!

I like him, maybe because I free-lame-style frequently. With the blinds open.



Happy Halloween. With a period, not an exclamation point because I'd sworn it off for this year until the beggars began to arrive promptly to demand loot. It was twice in one week I insisted I was right about a date and Mr. Morgan "crunched the numbers" long enough to make me insane and no longer give a flying cuntsack enough to argue. I have only lived in this town since I was nine, I had a good idea that kids would be coming, as opposed to a neighboring town, who does trick or treat on the day after. No, I had to look the asshole and start dragging out the dregs of props our quasi puppy had not eaten and throw myself into a costume from years before as I couldn't afford that expense this year. It was meager, not even photo worthy but came together in about 7 minutes.

No theme, just pretty much myself, Edmond and a lamp (yes BLD those are rocking ass lanterns, impressed and looked great perched next to the talking/moving robot of an Edmond).

That said.

I had a good amount of crying children, and actually one, two three, different occasions of scared toddlers making a straight beeline INTO my house to flee from Edmond. Oh little crickets, wrong way my precious soldiers. It was hilarious.

Now let's move to why Halloween is now becoming the most sucketh soul stealing ungrateful cauldron of steaming semen froth.

The majority of children at my door were the most shit assed, rude, acting like their parents weren't in distance of me throwing a well aimed rock for raising such brats. Ill-behaved ingrates. The first few batch of them came in packs, looked at my bowl givings and told me what they wanted. I'm sorry, say? Did you seriously just pout and say "Another bag of skittles!"

My house is not a fucking restaurant you spoiled twit, take what I give you or get nothing. I give good candies, and it doesn't come free. And they didn't just have the balls to complain, it was the whole set - balls, dick and hairy arrogance to talk shit within my ear shot. Angry and let down about free candy.

I offended one kid, but I'm not sure he knew he should have been offended and whether that should disturb me is up for debate. I asked his costume - full afro and everything else was plain hodgepodge, which is fine, lie to me, make something up. Don't go begging without a plan. He said he was dressed as Able. I told him that was a really bad idea and would lead to no good, on instinct speaking as I am prone to. Turns out his name is Abel (like ah-bell), but I'd craftishly confused him in a riddle. What are they teaching our kids? I had him pegged for the fucked brother of the pair, who knew.

Got my yearly Juggalo. No photo... he was shifty. I waved him in from a pack of about ten, my candy, my rules, he was pleased and we exchanged a knowing nod, no secret handshake, a nod will do.

Then came more and more jerkfucked little children with the occasional gem in the middle, even the little ones who didn't know trick or treat in English but tried and looked darling. Formative years, lectures on learning English later, not tonight.

I pulled it in a little early when a child approached and began to accept candy, then withdrew. Ok next.

"Are those your REAL legs?" she asked.
/tilt of head. "No I borrowed them." without a beat, because it was a really weird thing to have asked of me and I'm swift like that.
"They are really skinny."

My candy bowl became something that was sinking into the black hole of "you are so out of line." What a cuntish inappropriate line to say to a stranger. I said about as much minus the expletive, and her brother began to immediately realize there was no candy on the plate from casa de Morgan courtesy of his sister's big fucking rude mouth. I wanted to snatch her sack of goods and twirl it over my head for extra leverage before whapping her on her bottom into the street.

I'm aware. I'm white. I'm thin, don't be so god damned honest. Learn to lie like the rest of us. Especially when asking for a freebie. Talk shit later to your friends. At the end of post I've included a former photoof legs..... which YES are stringy without a doubt, but freakishly scary? Wow. I wonder if I can get out of bed in the morning or should I crawl.

Mr' Morgan's fare of Hallow was this:


Which he baked once I went to bed bitching about leg girl and who should beat the words out of her.

Sometime between this and the former photo, he broke my camera. Could it be he was shit faced? Naw, doesn't look it.......

Hope all had a festive holiday. I've sworn off children for a good while now. The sense of entitlement is on my last nerve. Gimme a cell phone, an Ipod, a PS3, Xbox. Kids need to earn things not run about like the world is an oyster. Come to my house and I'll give you either a hug or a kick in the ass.... your mood will make the choice.

Chicken 'de Freaky:

They are everything but voluptuous, but they get me around. Put 20 pounds on those to my upper torso, how would I look then? Ya.

-DM