Looking Forward to a New Year.

I don’t like considering the middle of winter a good time to celebrate the new year; especially so soon after Christmas. It makes the holidays crammed into a short amount of time, and very stressful to those who struggle with making ends meet. Spring seems more like an accurate time to declare a new year, as the melting snows wash away the grime and problems of the previous year to reveal a fresher outlook and prospects of starting a new life.




A new life, starting anew is a continuous theme in my mind. Where I am quite fond of the dragon, I am constantly drawn towards the idea behind the phoenix, reborn in a burst of flames…forever given the chance to start anew. So it is no surprise that I find some sort of joy in drawing and even painting such a majestic creature.




Now you might wonder why I’m looking forward to the new year, and thinking about the possibilities of a new life. Two of my friends showed up out of the blue…the Nobles. I thought I had lost them, as a few months ago I had tried in vain to get a hold of them. And now, here they were at the shop I work at, healthy and as happy to see me as I was to see them. I worked with the Lady Noble at the last shop I worked at before being hired at the art and train shop.




The thing about the Nobles that makes them different from anyone else I’ve worked with or for was how…open and friendly they were. I went to the gift shop in hopes to find a job after getting laid off from the hotel at the far end of the street. I knew the owner there from when I worked at a candle shop before, and he was always offering me part time work…but being stubborn about wanting weekends off, I always declined. Lady Noble was managing there now, and needed a full timer to help her out while the boss was opening a new shop down in Florida. I don’t know what it was that earned me a place in her good graces, but I was hired, shown the ropes, and somehow we managed to get along swimmingly. Her husband came in on occasion, and admired the work in my sketchbooks…bought two copies of my comic and asked me to design an image for a reward certificate he was giving away in his writers club.

For the first time for as long as I can remember, I actually got along with the authority figurehead of my job. My boyfriend and I went out to dinner with them, and with their family helped man the shop during some holiday where we expected it to be really busy. It was a lot of fun, and I really enjoyed the work because of all the interesting stories and descriptions behind the items we sold. Being able to talk about something makes it easier for me to be comfortable around strangers, and if I do it well enough, it gets that item sold and helps towards my paycheck. Honestly, I’ve missed the good times.

It all ended rather badly; the shop in Florida had failed and with all the break-ins we had experienced in one month, the loss of the money with the few sales we had took its toll. I was understandably laid off before the Lady Noble…either quit or was fired. I witnessed the whole argument between her and our boss, but I can’t remember the specific details. Just a lot of tension, miscommunication, and tempers flying. Our boss offered me my job back, but with the uncertainty of how he was going to pay me and the warnings from the Nobles, I opted to look for work elsewhere. I didn’t want to be in between the conflict I thought would ensue between my manager and my boss later down the road.

The thing about the Nobles that makes me admire and respect them so much is their courage, strength, and chemistry. The Lady raised her first son without his father, found an indescribable love with Lord Noble…followed by a daughter and another son. Indescribable, I must add, in the sense of how they poke and make snide remarks to each other is…at least to me…a cover for the deeper compassion they have for each other. How do you think I came to this conclusion? He staid by her side as she dealt with a rare form of cancer in the eye…and unexpectedly survived. They are truly worthy of their married name, and though I’m sure they’ll pick on me about it later…I am honestly honored to know and to have worked with them.

So it was much to my delight when they came to find me at work and tell me that the Lady Noble will be opening her own shop much like the one we used to work at. When she initially left the original shop, she promised me if she was in the position to again, she would hire me first thing. I declined her offer at the dollar store she used to manage, primarily because it was a 30 minute commute, and I don’t have a car of my own to use as freely. However, she plans on opening this new shop back down on the same street we worked on before…that or start it out at the flee market or the mall.

I’ve agreed to hold off on my plans to move back north once my lease is up to help her out with the shop. I look forward to the change, as familiar as it will be, and am positive that something wonderful will come from this. What it might be, besides the opportunity of working with my favorite manager again, I have no clue. It’s not the change of scenery I’ve been hoping for, but I am already feeling better than I have in a very long time.





Oh…and it would seem that our beloved little kitten believes she’s a shoe-in for the pages of Playboy. ^_^ I know the picture is fuzzy, but my phone was the closest, least distracting thing I had that I wouldn’t have caused her to move before getting the shot. And I also apologize for how large the other pictures above are, as I explained before I don’t have my usual program to crop and size them down. My boyfriend’s niece is checking to see if a friend has a copy of it…but we have yet to hear back about that. My sister is, however, giving me an extra flat screen monitor she has, so I’ll have something lighter. ^_^ Yay!

Oh yeah! Check out my second blog. ^_^
http://throughmonoclecancer.blogspot.com/

Computer is Finally Fixed…kind of!

Ok, so that should explain the reason why I haven’t posted anything as of lately. My computer was down, and then a few weeks later my mom gave me her laptop, but it doesn’t have the programs I usually use to crop my photos with. So, even if I had some art to show, I wouldn’t feel comfortable showing it without cropping off the parts of my wall or couch or whatever that you don’t need to see.

But over Thanks Giving, I was able to get my computer fixed…just without the programs I used to have on it! ~head bows in defeat~ So, I’m using the laptop now, if only to have the wonderful use of the spell check from the word processor program…but I still need to transfer some files over if it’s going to become a permanent fixture. To do that, I need to find my thumb drive which is currently MIA after flying up to NY for my grandmother’s funeral.

OH SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT!

Last month my grandmother turned 95, which we were all happy to hear about until a couple weeks later when her health took a turn for the worst. She lived a good, long life and according to the various people that talked to us about her, she knew how to light up the room and make everyone laugh. I know that I lived with her for a short time while I was finishing up my first degree and getting ready to transfer to another school, but I can honestly say that in that year or so…I didn’t really get to know her. Honestly, I wasn’t home often…in between classes and work that were both a good 30 to 40 minute drive away, and trying to hang out with friends when I had the time, Grandma and I didn’t spend a lot of time together. Really…the only thing I can remember of what little time was spent was in front of the TV on Saturday nights, watching the British comedy on, I think, PBS. Half of the time she’d fall asleep in her chair, or I’d hear the occasional release of gas…but over all, it was a good quiet time together.

And that’s how I want to remember her. I have to literally force myself to think of those times to get the image of her lying in a coffin out of my head. It just looked so creepy to see her there. A couple of my friends came during calling hours, and two of us held each other looking away while the other gave her respects. It just didn’t feel right.

The whole time up in my home town didn’t feel right. My family stayed at a former neighbor’s house, which was good and comfortable, but to me seemed…kind of in an odd time warped. When Dad and I drove through the back roads into town, a wonderful experience to see what it is I’m yearning to return to, we noted all the different changes in the city I grew up in. Tops is gone, Price Chopper is no longer where it used to be, all the bowling alleys have closed down, and the local ice cream shop is under new ownership with a completely different menu. Even the street I grew up in no longer has tall trees shading the lawns. They’ve all been cut down and replaced with saplings. All of those changes and yet our neighbor’s house looks the same.

There’s nothing wrong with it, mind you. Once you’re comfortable with something there’s no point in changing it, so please don’t take offense to the observation. I know once I’m settled down I won’t be changing much of anything myself. I just found it strange, probably in comparison to how often my mom changes everything in her own home. There was always an addition to put on the house I was growing up in, and when my sisters moved out, their bedrooms were renovated. I’m sure if they stayed in town long enough, my room would have met the same fate once I left. A constant change, which one could say is a good thing considering how often the times change our lives on us. The birth of a child, a death of a loved one, the union between two others, or perhaps a separation…but always changing.

Anyways, I’d like to thank you again, Mr. and Mrs. B, for letting us gather in your home while we dealt with the passing of our grandmother. (And a special thanks to you, Mrs. B, for letting me know what you thought about my writing.) It’s always good to know there are still people around that care and will help during the sad moments of our lives; as I learned when I got to see three of my good girl friends from high school as we got together for dinner. We played catch up, ate good food, and talked. Talked!

You learn to value a good conversation when you feel like you haven’t had one in a long time. Yes, I have my coworkers and my boyfriend, but when that’s the only life you have and the only people you interact with on a regular basis…there tends not to be much to talk about anymore. I’m sure it’s more of a comfort issue with me more than anything else, but there’s just some things I’d rather tell my best friend than my boss. Which is why I’ll be glad to be moving back in the direction of my home town within the next few months. I want to be closer to my friends, because honestly…I’m having a hard time getting up the nerve to make new ones.

David Sedaris best explains it in his book “When You are Engulfed in Flames”, a book my sister is letting me borrow…”Perhaps I’ve grown less likeable over the years, or maybe I’ve just forgotten how to meet people.”

My cousin’s husband came to sit with me, alone in the corner of the room while everyone was chatting it up at my grandmother’s wake. I know I was a bit standoffish, I will admit to that…but…him being nice to me kind of made him seem creepy to me. I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding on my end, but for some reason, I’ve never been used to random strangers being nice to me. And to me, he was a stranger, though I’m sure there was a chance we’ve met before. When and where completely alludes me, because if it didn’t make that great of an impression on me, then I will apparently forget all about it. How sad is that? So now I have to apologize, practically to everyone of how rude I tend to be…just because slowly but surely people are unintentionally creeping me out on a regular basis.

And yet I feel more comfortable writing it all out for other people to read. I still enjoy role playing on the chat forums, and prefer to talk to people online instead of over the phone. Maybe I just don’t like the sound of my own voice, or more like the awkwardness I feel whenever I have a hard time saying what I want. Somehow, typing it all out just makes it…better. Then again, it could be the lack of interruptions I get on the computer instead of over the phone or in person. I never seem to be able to finish my thought while others ramble on and on. ~shrugs~ Who knows.

Anyways…I went to visit my friends for Thanks Giving, mostly to get my computer fixed, but also to get out of town for a short time and enjoy some friendly company…more so from their five cats than of them, strangely enough. It was a lot of driving on my part, separated by a day or so of being smothered by one cat’s need for affection and trying to figure out what was wrong with my computer. Emalia and I got to talking about some projects I was working on, and just before we left for their friend’s house for dinner, she handed me a sketch book and pen.

I had explained that I felt lacking in my observational drawing skills, and with a book my friend Kyla had given me, I was going to draw scenery and random portraits of people and put them in a separate blog here to give an idea of what I was doing and to see if I’m improving at all. Not only would it be observational in the drawing sense, but in writing as well…as I would be taking down notes to remind me of what was going on during the drawings. I also told Emalia, as I told Kyla this the last time we talked, that when I filled up the books, I would be sending them back to the people who gave them to me; as a thank you for getting me the materials kind of deal. Hence why Emalia gave me the book to begin with. Who doesn’t like free art, after all? And a whole sketch book, no less…which according to some, sometimes ends up being worth more than some single pieces. ^_~

Now I just need Photoshop again, so I can scan and crop my pictures the way I’m used to. ( Hint: Xmas is coming up! ) That…and a new monitor that’s way lighter than one I have now. I like the size of the screen ( THANK YOU, DAD! ) but it’s just so heavy. ( Here’s some more hinting. ) I struggled getting it to and from the car. Leif told me there were some flat screens for…well…closer to my price range, so we’ll see how things go after the holidays. ^_^

So…yeah. There’s my incomplete thoughts, ramblings, and hints for this time around. Hope I’ve caught you all up now. If not, that’s ok; it just means I’ll have something else to talk about later down the road!

Oh yeah! Check out my friend’s blog! He promoted me, so now I shall return the favor!
http://poorlyscrawledparchment.blogspot.com/

VENTING.

There’s a lot to be said about creating something from your emotions. I’m not one for obscure surrealism and abstract art, but when I’m really frustrated about something and too upset to make functioning words or complete sentences…it helps to be able to vent out on a piece of paper or canvas when you’ve got no secluded place to scream bloody murder without attracting any unwanted attention. Yes. For me, screaming and crying it all out for an extended period of time usually helps calm me down, but considering I live in an apartment complex with thin walls, in the middle of a city with no vehicle of my own to go and find a secluded area to get myself lost in…screaming the way I’d like to is simply not an option. It’s a driving force behind wanting to move. I just want to find a place where I can scream in peace.




Which would lead you to wonder what it is that I’m trying to scream about? I don’t want to go into the specific details, as it’s simply an accumulation of months worth of money related stress amongst a small group of people that are trying to see through hard times…yet again. It’s why I hate money. Quite literally. I know I wouldn’t be able to survive well if we were back in a system that didn’t require currency, as I’ve learned from my own experiences that my art isn’t worth much to anyone outside of family and friends, but at least I believe that I would have picked up a different set of skills to better suit my needs. I have a feeling that as much as I love my art, that I’m glad I spent the time to learn and better my work, a part of me wishes that I had pursued something a bit more practical to pay the bills.

Ah well, here’s hoping that what mistakes I learned in this life will help me do better in the next. And I’m sure several people will tell me I can make the changes needed to find a better job, as I’ve seen not only my older sister but one of my best friends do it…I, myself, simply don’t have the motivation…aspiration…the gun-ho to go after the better life. I’m simply tired…lazy…and enjoy some of my own bad habits a bit more than anything else. I’m not living a financially good life, but I’m getting by, and am ok with it.

And no, I’m not asking for donations or hand outs. I get enough help as it were…you know who you are, and I will never be able to thank you enough. I’m just simply venting to help calm me down.


And for those who were wondering what happened to the kitten from my birthday? I’ve named her Kao K’o Kung…Koko for short; after the male Siamese cat from Lilian Jackson Braun’s ‘The Cat Who…’ murder mystery books. The character himself was named after a 13th century Chinese artist…and as my boss had already started calling her Koko when she found her, and I like reading the series as well, I figured…why not?




However, we’re always joking how we should have named her something else. My boss says Angel, because she believes it was divine providence that she saw her through her kitchen window at all. The ledge Koko was on was taller than my boss, as is the window, and she normally doesn’t look out of it. But in all honesty, she’s really a hell raiser. My boyfriend says Mazda, because she’s a little ‘Zoom Zoom’ kitty…running around the apartment at top speeds and always underfoot when you least expect it. My mother says Kismet, primarily in a non-religious sense of divine providence. But she’s annoyed now with the fact that I’ve three cats whose names start with the K sound…but aren’t all spelled with a K. It confuses her when she’s trying to sign birthday cards for them. “Is it Big C or Big K…wait…so it’s two K’s now? Or two C’s?” Eventually I’ll have them send her a card so she has a reference to check from.




Either way, we’re keeping her, because all in all…she’s just irresistible. My vet joked that our neighbors were going to start whispering about us…since she’s officially our fourth cat now. Then I told him about my brother-in-law that just got his third and fourth kittens recently, only to say that he’s got two more kittens on reserve from another co-worker’s cat that’s pregnant. I think my sister is intervening on this one, though. That, and I’ve got a couple of friends’ who recently bought a house, let a friend of theirs move in with her two or three cats. My friends already have four. Yeah…I hear they’re having a fun time with that.




All and all…I’m feeling better now. Thank you. Venting is such a wonderful thing.

Bike Fenders

Ok, so any shop that specializes in something as specific as train hobby supplies is going to have a steady flow of regulars, either from the city itself or from the neighboring counties…especially since train hobby shops are becoming harder to come by. Well, with painting my boss’ apron, I’ve had favorable reviews of my work from some of these guys and gals and managed to land myself a commission for a couple of bike fenders. Yes…bike fenders. Two of our customers occasionally come in on their motorcycles, one of which let me ride with him once…though he admitted that he was just trying to get a cute girl on the back of his bike. ~snickers~




I’ve created designs before, mostly for tattoos more than anything else, so making up a design for a bike fender wasn’t all that hard. Getting it on the bike fender…is another story. Thankfully, my boyfriend is similar to a handy man, and helped prepare the fender for me to paint on…and then finished it when I was done. This is a good thing for a girl that doesn’t have any shop skills. ^_^ The experience only made us realize that we need a bigger living space…or a garage to work on such projects in. This design belongs to ‘Grandpa’, as he likes the skulls and crossbones from the skullcap he wears whenever he’s out riding. He’d like me to paint it again on his helmet, while the other guy wants an eagle design from his skullcap on his fender.

My Last Year in My 20’s.

That’s right, it’s my birthday today, and next year I’ll be going into my third decade. I usually don’t pay much attention to the days of my birth; I’ve got some memories of a few, but not that many. My sweet sixteen was spent at the local pizza parlor playing video games with a bunch of friends, only one of whom I still actually talk to at least once a year.

But today seemed like such a hoot for me. It started out with a dream I had of a friend of mine from online. She actually made the trip down here last month to visit me, which only puts her high up on my respected friends list because of that reason alone. I promised I’d visit her next year, and am debating making it a birthday trip or a Halloween trip. I think I have to see first how my mom is planning the women’s get together first.

Anyways, so I dreamt that my friend was staying at a house that I used to babysit at, but from a time before the kitchen was redesigned. I kept on pulling fried chicken out of the freezer, to which it became the topic of discussion while I ate it. Sadly, the dream didn’t last long, as I was hungry and had to pee before the alarm clock went off…making me up earlier than usual.

The morning proceeded with some sleeping purrs from my little dumpling, to which later when she was up and about, she decided that she didn’t want to have anything to do with me, but instead attack her younger sister. And I say my cat is a mama’s girl…just not on my birthday.

I then got a call from my oldest sister and joked about whether or not my middle sister will remember to call me or blog about me today. I still love you even if you forget, Kermit! My oldest sister was surprised that I was up and about already, hoping to have woken my up. She then asked if Mom got to me already, but she didn’t. My bladder did.

Then when my boyfriend came down all dressed, sitting next to me while his daddy’s girl played his shadow, she immediately jumped on his lap. She loves his jeans and can’t get enough of his lap. The calico then proceeded to perk her rear up in my direction while he rubbed her back, and then released a rather stinky odor in my face. It’s her way of saying ‘Happy Birthday, Mommy!’ I’m sure.

But the fun doesn’t stop there! At work, and yes…I worked on my birthday…we get this phone call from some lady from one of our neighboring counties. I couldn’t tell where she got our number from, but she proceeded to give me her name, address, and told me how her landlord told her that she had an infestation of marijuana cockroaches in her apartment, and that she doesn’t smoke anything like that. I had to stop her right there and explain that she has the wrong number, since we are only a hobby and art supply store…and thus couldn’t help her. My boyfriend and I thus proceeded to look up to see exactly what a marijuana cockroach looks like to find that there was no such thing. This makes me think that maybe the landlord is doing the smoking…

After a call from my mom and changing out the display windows and putting up some sales signs for the shop, my boss drove me home. While I was pulling things out of the mail box, I found one card…from my favorite reference librarian! YAY! Probably the only card I’ll receive on the day of my birth, but I know I’ve got more coming, including a gift from my online friend mentioned above at a later date.

Ooo! And then I had a message from my dad from earlier this morning about my present. He had to call me back though, since he was on a conference call when I rang in. Whoops!

So, in keeping with the theme of fried chicken, my boyfriend went out and got us some KFC for dinner. While we were eating, our boss calls claiming she has a birthday present for me…and it’s one that my boyfriend isn’t going to like, and I’m doubtful that he’ll let me keep it.





Anyways, my boss happened to find a blue eyes, 7 (ish) week old Siamese kitten outside of her house when she got home from work! We want to think she’s a pure bread, which makes us wonder if she either snuck out and away from her owner or was abandoned. We’re not entirely sure, so we’re going to be contacting one of our local radio stations that announces missing and found pets, incase her owner is looking for her. And if not…?




We can’t really afford nor have enough room for a fourth cat, but deep down inside, I’m hoping we can either find her a good home, or my boyfriend will let us keep her. She’s just too precious to send to a shelter. Tomorrow I will be trying to get her to the vet for a check up and shots. Needless to say, our three girls…aren’t happy.

A Window into the Soul.

I like to draw eyes, especially when I’m bored and simply doodling. The shapes and lines in the eye fascinate me to no end. If you look back at my self portrait, I am admittedly drawn towards to the eyes and simply can’t stop looking at them. And so, in my creative slump…though I have a couple of projects I really want to work on but am not as ambitious to start as of yet…I decided to play with the chalk and oil pastel materials I have to draw a few eyes.



They’re primarily to play with the colors of the materials that I’m growing less fond of. Some time back, I went and bought some sets we had left over after ordering too much for teachers’ kits. Small sets ranging from 12-24 colors, and in playing with these sets, as well as the freebies I had gotten recently, I found that as much as I like having limitations…I don’t like having those limitations in colors. All the small colored pencil, chalks, and pastel sets that I have don’t satisfy me in range of colors. Yes, I know how to use two dark colors to make a darker tone of color, but sometimes there isn’t a second darker color to use…and thus I end up making the darker color lighter than I want. It’s rather frustrating.



I’ve already sent my niece some of the extra supplies that I’m not too fond of, but I believe it’s enough to satisfy her curiosity for the time being. I would love to send her more, but I want to know just how driven she is with the art bug before I throw more things her way to explore with. She is, after all, only 6 years old. It even takes me a while to get the most out of my supplies before I’m introduced to something new and want to explore it.



I am also finding, and this might be because of my training in the comic books art, that I actually like to heavily outline my subject matter. I’m filled with this need to make more outlines instead of putting in the effort to blend in the shades and highlights that would equally make the colored pieces pop out just as well. But I hesitate to use the color black, being drilled from my illustration classes that black is a major ‘no-no’ when it comes to color pieces. Even looking at past projects, I can see and understand why. It just looks horrible!

So…if these pieces were windows into my soul, I’d say they’d show the frustration I’m having with my materials. I don’t know if this means I need to find better quality materials, as we have a set of expensive chalk pastels left over from another kit, but I’m hesitant in buying them not for their price, but for the possibility that I won’t be too fond of the color selection they give me. The colors that are printed on the side aren’t much to go by, as a printed version of a color and how it actually turns out are two different things. That, and I have this nice…I think…100 piece set that I bought last year. I just haven’t wanted to unpack it from where I’m storing it yet. Not until I use up the stuff I’m not happy with first.

To My Lady in Red…

I dedicate and give this piece to you, the one of a few who I still hold dear in my heart from a life long past.



No friend can compare to this beautiful woman who opened up my spirit to a world filled with strong feminine heroines and dynamic duos. She was my opposite in personality and life style, but the one who encouraged me to explore my imagination and bring out the heroic character in me.

When I first heard of the Lady in Red, it was through a classmate I had known since Junior High. We were friends in a sense that I felt bad that everyone else made fun of her, and I wanted to be the good and compassionate person that could see past the imperfections and find the wonderful person within them. But even I get annoyed with people. So by the time High School came around, I was tolerating the classmate’s presence more than enjoying it. When she told me of how the Lady’s stepmother was co-workers with her own mother, that we would all surely be best friends, I put it in my mind that I needed to avoid the girl as much as humanly possible; put up my walls and not let her in. I won’t deny it; I am a horrible person.

We had home room together, and I too was the one that was made fun of because I didn’t fit myself into the time’s style/personality mold. I drew on my jeans, took all sorts of photos that I would look through by myself…and none of my friends were in the same homeroom as me. When the Lady in Red was seated next to me, saw how I never stood up for myself, but instead kept quiet despite everyone’s criticism and withdrew deeper into my shell…she reached out to touch me. She wanted to see the photos, see what I was drawing, pick my brain of the ideas I had. She wanted to get to know me…she wanted to stand up for me and tell the jerks off for making fun of me.

I can’t say we had a whole lot in common first, and I’m not entirely sure how it was we clicked so well. She was in love with driving, and raced microds. I hate driving. We both watched Xena: Warrior Princess, X-Files…and explored the growing anime interest by watching Sailor Moon, Devil Hunter Yohko, and Dirty Pair; all of which had strong, female heroines. We went to the Renaissance Fair the first summer we hung out and got matching black and red princess hats. The first time I spent the night at her house, I ended up staying for three days in a row! Her stepmother taught us a little bit of self-defense, training herself to teach a class. The Lady in Red was amazing, and inspired me to create the comic behind the images in the painting above.

But, we didn’t…and probably still don’t keep in touch all that well once we graduated from High School. When I moved in with my grandmother and the Lady was in town for the summer, she couldn’t believe how much I had changed. I had hair down past my hips when I graduated, and so when she saw me chasing her car down the street when she past the house for the third time, she thought I was a 12 year old boy. That’s how short I had chopped my hair off to. And then we both moved to separate states; she to the west coast, and I to the south. She was pursuing her career in communications while I was furthering my education in comic books. We talked less and less, but occasionally managed to call each other out of the blue to play catch up. We still do at least once a year.

She’s back in our home town now, and went to our 10 year reunion. Apparently most of the people we once knew managed to get out of town and didn’t come back to relive the memories. I don’t blame them, I didn’t either. The fact of the matter is that those memories are just that…memories; a part of my life that is over with. And most of those people I once knew I really have no desire reconnecting with. There are a few, very few that I still feel so fondly about, such as my Lady in Red, the Earth Warrior, my Twins, and Fabio…but I can honestly say that I’ve moved on from that life. I’m no longer the same person I once was, maybe an evolution of that person, but definitely not the same.

And so I painted this piece for my Lady in Red, in memory of the times we once shared. I’m sure time will reconnect us again on a more regular basis, as I am a firm believer that we were meant to be friends through the thick and thin. So I patiently wait for that time, and pray that the bonds of our friendship will forever remain as strong as they once were.

I try too hard to work on crap.

Yeah, even I don’t know what I’m doing or talking about at times, but I know I try too hard on an idea only to end up ruining it. A sales representative came by the shop a week or so ago to get my boss to buy their product. Nothing new, she’s got some sales reps she likes (especially those who are awesome enough to buy everyone at the shop lunch when he’s lunching with a teacher down the street), but like all sales reps, this guy was giving us free samples to try out. So naturally, I got to play with some products that I had never used before. The main thing he was trying to sell were water soluble stuff, like watercolor pencils. Things you can draw with and then add water to make it look like a painting of sorts. I don’t know, I’ve tried the watercolor pencils and aren’t all that thrilled with them…or the water soluble pastels he was pushing. They’re ok, but I couldn’t really get a feel for them. Below is a mixture of the water soluble pastels, plus some oil pastels by the same company. I’m not too thrilled about it, but I guess it’s the purist in me. If I want to draw, I’ll using drawing supplies. If I want to paint, I’ll use painting supplies. I guess I don’t like combining the two into one product.



It just feels so forced in my hands. So I decided to play with some regular chalk pastels again. However…I have a problem. I stick my face too close to the picture, and see everything that’s wrong with it instead of stepping back to see that it has some good qualities. So in a sense, I’ll never really like my own work, because I try too hard to fix the problems that make it look…ok? Does that make sense?

The perfect example can be seen in a painting I did for my dad. Unfortunately, I don’t have a photograph of it to show, but that really wouldn’t help. You simply have to see it in person. I found a picture of the Seawolf submarine my dad was involved in making earlier in his career, and thus I painted it using gouache…an opaque watercolor over a black board. I worked on it for two weeks, keeping up close to it while I tried to get the colors right. I was so sick of it by the time of the first critique, that when our teacher gave us an extra week to fix any problems, I simply left it behind. When we returned for our final critique, he explained how I was the only one who didn’t take my piece and how it sat in his office. He also said that it didn’t need any fixing up, that as loose and incomplete it looked up close didn’t matter when you stepped back; when you step back, it tightens up and makes the picture. To top it off, when I showed it to my dad from across the room, he thought it was a photograph I had cut out of a magazine. I got hounded by a couple of my other teachers for not producing the same quality work after the fact.

So for those who are wondering what to get me as a gift…a really nice gouache set. Not acryla gouache, as I really can’t stand that stuff…as I mentioned before in my post with the train.

That, or firearms replicas. A friend of mine has a project for me, and looking for pictures with the right angle of a gun is really hard to find. And since I don’t really want a gun in my house until I’m in my 50’s and can start on my dream of being ‘that crazy cat lady who smokes a pipe and sits on her porch holding her shotgun to keep the hoodlums off of her lawn’…not to mention the fact that I don’t own a gun license, I figure collecting replicas would be the next best solution to my reference needs.

Oh! But I got off track again! Right, because I was really talking about these drawings below! You know, the ones with the pastel chalk! So…where did these come from…? The cemetery. I live down the street and around a couple corners from one of the most beautiful cemeteries in the country. So when I had a couple of friends come down to visit me, I had to take them there to enjoy Nature’s Cathedral…and naturally take some pictures! Duh! If I have pictures that I take myself, then I can draw it up and sell it myself! Weeeeee!




The café that we normally order breakfast from during the week actually offered to let me put my work up on display…and maybe to sell. They’ve got someone else’s work up at the moment, but she seems to have left town without taking it with her. Either way, it’s a good way to get some exposure. So, I’m working on some pieces to actually hang up. Just need to figure out a way of hanging them without framing them. Framing…get’s really expensive after a while, and since it’s summer I don’t have the extra cash flow to pay for something like that. Plus, I’ll be putting one up in the window at the shop, as I used products that we sell at the shop, and my main goal is to help my boss sell the supplies. I figure if I can help her make some money first, then I’ll have a better chance to make money for myself later down the road.

It’s a karma thing.

The Little Pixie in All of Us.

I know I know, I said I don’t like doing self portraits of myself, but I have good reason for this one. Last year, Kermit posted a picture from when I was younger that caught my eye, and inspired me to complete this piece.



You would never find me wearing anything like that when I was younger, and the closest you can get me to wear something similar is as long as I’m wearing a pair of jeans underneath. However, for as long as I can remember, I always wanted to be a pixie of sorts. And after reading so many books and stories, legends and myths, and various accounts, whether true or fictional about the fae, I am a firm believer that any creature from the old world, be it elves, dwarves, dragons, faeries, unicorns, including the deities of the world’s ancient cultures have existed before and still exist to this day. We simply need to put faith in them, just as we put faith in ourselves, our families, and our friends around us.

And it is in my friends and family that I believe I’ve seen the most of the mystical creatures. I know a family known for producing twins whose men are born with the slightest of points to their ears. Over time their ears become rounded, but upon looking at the natural beauty of their daughters only proves to me that fae or elf blood runs through their veins. And it was through the daughters of this family that my eyes were open to the beliefs that were deep seeded within my heart, and that perhaps some mystical blood flows through my own family’s veins. My family is rich in Irish and German descent, my father being the grandson of the German man who worked his way into America. My oldest sister is wrapping herself up in our Irish heritage with her curly red locks and learning the art of Irish toe dancing. I still need to save up a bit of money so I can fly up to see one of her recitals.

My middle’s sister’s voice is far more entrancing than any other voice I’ve heard, which makes me wonder if some form of siren was mixed in through the generations; which might also explain my father’s knack of sensing large bodies of water. He gets so confused whenever he comes down to visit me, since there’s a river north of the city, as well as the coast to the east; but since the river is closer, he subconsciously thinks it is east instead of north. I shouldn’t forget what my middle sister won’t let up on me about. She claims that I’m hiding the whereabouts of the fountain of youth from her, but it’s all around her. I can’t think of anyone in my family that looks their age. A part of me blames it on the media, since TV and movies rarely get actors and actresses who are teenagers to actually play teenage roles, but instead get 20+ year olds to play teenage parts…so it’s only natural for some people to get confused as to what someone is suppose to look at a specific age. But I also think that we’ve been blessed to with a youthful bloodline that helps us age more gracefully than others.

We shouldn’t forget the major diversity in the human race. Science has it’s reasoning as to why one person’s skin is darker than another, but there are some things that science has yet to explain, or at least sound all that plausible or less confusing to me; too many long and technical terms. To me, science takes away the magic behind the myths and legends and the mystery in life. It’s so clean and straight forward, no room for the imagination to run away with itself and to cause the need to seek out a different truth…to find the adventure through the unknown. There is no unknown anymore, except in space which requires a bit of science to explore for the moment. It’s probably the hopeless romantic in me, and as much as I adore using the computer to escape from the world I currently live in, a part of me would rather explore a dense uncharted forest in hopes to find a creature of legend.

From what I’ve read in a book my parents bought me during their last visit, Iceland still holds onto their old world beliefs despite being converted to Christianity, all while thriving in modern conveniences. I would love to visit Iceland someday, if not actually live there just to immerse myself in the folklore of days gone by.

Yes…with my inability to wear metal, else I break out in a rash, my petite and youthful stature, as well as my crazy scary temper only affirms myself in believing that there’s more to the world than the human race and what science has to offer. Whether or not anyone else wants to believe it is not up to me to decide. Everyone is entitled to believe what they wish, and I’m not one to stop them from doing so. I only ask that they try not to convince me that I am wrong in where I put my faith, as I will never do so to them. The fact that anyone has faith in anything is a miracle in itself, to which I think is a wonderful thing no matter what they put their faith in. I just wish people would give me that respect…as it’s something that’s very hard to find where I am living now.

Black and White, and a Little bit of Grey.

I have a degree in Sequential Art, but my first one was in Illustration. I was thrilled to be able to write up a general storyline and draw it out. Came out with two issues of a comic before the college I transferred to took up my time. That comic was completely in black and white, as it was cheaper to print it out that way. In one of my classes, though, we got to dabble with pre-printed tones, patterns, and dots. I fell in love with them, but unfortunately, couldn’t afford to get the sheets, or even find the kind of printer transfers to be able to make using them cheaper. Below is the two pages I used the transfer sheets on.





And then last year, my boss bought the left over transfer sheets display, as well as other tools that are used by Japanese comic artists from one of the paint companies we supply at the shop, during an art show the college here sponcers. The packaging was naturally all in Japanese, but came with an English order catalog, to which I perused to see what they had. Ooooh the patterns and designs and dots and everything to make a black and white comic pop out even more! However, I didn’t buy any of the sheets. I think thus far, the only thing that’s sold out of the hole display were the inking pen nibs and inks. Why the sequential department doesn’t take an interest in our shop? It could be because we don’t supply the Col-Erase brand pencils they use, or the blue line paper that are said to be what the professionals use. I learned from my degree that what you use to draw, ink, and color with doesn’t really matter as long as you make good quality work; though I learned the computer coloring is better only because it’s preset for printers. Coloring outside of the computer is bound to lose its original luster and colors because scanners don’t convert the colors to printers very well.

Anyways, buying the sheets from the display would have cost me more money in comparison to buying a CD of prints and patterns. Yes, I found three different pattern CD’s in the catalog to order. So, while ordering another batch of paint for the spring quarter, I put in an order for those three CD’s. Saved me a lot of money, and now I get to play with over four hundred different patterns with my drawings! Each came with a little booklet that gave you a preview of each design and pattern, and a registration card to fill out that gives you full legal rights to using the patterns. I have yet to fill out these cards I have, as it was completely in Japanese…

…I’ll email them about it later. Anyways! Here are a couple of drawings I did while playing with my new toy, as well as the logo up at the top. Enjoy!

Two Very Special Birthday Boys!

Today, though there isn’t any art this time around…and I apologize for missing this last couple of Sundays, as I didn’t have anything I thought worth while to show at the time…today is an extra special day! For it was the day that my boyfriend was born in the year 1972, and my nephew was born in the year 2000! HAPPY BIRTHDAY GUYS!

So, despite having to work all day, as my boyfriend is scheduled to do so, we’ll be going out for sushi come dinner time; my treat to him as it’s something we both enjoy immensely, and can never get enough of due to the lack of funds. I can’t really remember the first birthday present I ever got him, but I do remember our first Christmas together. He’s the first boyfriend I ever brought home for the holidays, and perhaps the only one that I was overly excited to introduce to my parents. I can’t say all of my past boyfriends were bad boys, but out of all of them this one is by far the sweetest and more family sociable.

He loves kids, and when my sister brought her three kids to our parents’ house for Christmas, I knew just who to sick the older two on. While he and my niece and nephew played at one end of the house, Kermit and I were hanging out at the other end. She was startled at how quiet it was, to which I put my arm around her shoulder and wished her a Merry Christmas. “Do I get to take him home with me?” She asked, to which I told her no, because I needed him down here with me.

That Christmas, my dad took him out to gift shop for me. Admittedly, there was little my boyfriend knew for sure what I wanted, and simply got me a couple of books wrapped with an envelope stating that he owed me one LARPing event.

What is LARPing? Live Action Role Playing. Yes, I used to run around in costume and beat people up with foam weapons. But finances got tight, and I’ve had to stop playing. My boyfriend knows how much I love to play make-believe, come up with storylines and pretend to be someone I’m not. So, he made up the IOU so that someday I can play again. I’ve been saving it for an event a couple of friends want to take me to up in the state north of us.

I racked my brain for nearly a month trying to figure out what to get my boyfriend for Christmas, and his best friend who knew him longer than I kept asking me for advice as well. I think I finally got through to him to just simply give the man gift cards, since there isn’t a whole lot of inexpensive things my boyfriend wants. However, I had the luck of figuring out what to get him after “I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” came onto the radio that year. Since my boyfriend started obsessing over it, as we had never heard it before then, I went out and ordered him a CD with the song on it, as well as an illustrated book that had the lyrics, and topped it all off with a stuffed hippo I saw down the street from where I worked at the time. He plays the CD every Christmas at work now, and the hippo is on a gargoyle post/shelf thing that I have on the corner step of the stairs. A part of me wishes I could get Abby’s farting hippo from NCIS, as I think he would love that for the fact that it’s a prop that coincides with our favorite character in the show.


My sister has named my nephew Scooter on her blog, so I will be calling him that here as well. I got to meet him when he was four months old, when my sister brought him to CAMP so our dad’s friends could meet him. I remember when we went to the airport to pick them up, and Kermit handed him over to me to hold for a moment, it was the most awkward moment. When it comes to babies, I can’t hold them for anything; I sign of my lack in motherly instinct. But I managed long enough for them to take a picture of us, and my sister soon took him out of my arms.

There is a picture of have of him and my other sister lying on the couch. It’s a profile of her, with him lying atop of her chest as he faces the camera. The lighting is soft and warm, but it’s still a rather dark photo. Truly beautiful in showing a maternal glow within my oldest sister. They’ve tried to replicate the photo with the children that followed, but they don’t compare to the original.

Scooter is smart, vibrant, energetic, and quick to learn. His first love was trains, soon followed by tornadoes and later by the Titanic. His brain soaks in information he reads, hears, and watches like a sponge, and he’ll pour it all back out to anyone who will simply listen. My dad bought him his first train set, which we’re in the process of getting fixed up after his younger brother got a hold of it. I even remember talking to Scooter on the phone one time, telling him about the shop my boyfriend and I work at, and how it was filled with model trains and had a layout and all sorts of things I know he’d enjoy. “Mommy! Mommy! Aunt Cere says there’s a store that’s full of trains! We have to go so we can go see the train store!” I forgot to mention about all the layouts the train club has up at the train museum…but I don’t see them visiting me anytime soon.

Here’s hoping your Birthdays are special and filled with all the joys of spending time with your friends and family.

Self Portrait

The assignment was to draw a self portrait using conte crayons and a mid tone paper. Black and white without any blending. I practiced just with a pencil and sketch paper to see if I could get the dimensions right, considering how much of a perfectionist I can be when it comes to drawing in a semi-realistic form. But I didn’t like the way I looked. I blamed it on my hair, and thus paid $50 at some place I had never been to that gave me a really fun hair style. Some years after it grew out, I went back to it because my friends at the time insisted that it screamed me. It screams me only if I’ve got the money to upkeep it, which I don’t.



This self portrait is from the Winter Quarter of 2002, for my Drawing 2 class. Honestly, I hate drawing myself. No wait, I don’t mind drawing myself in a not so realistic form, as I did it for three years in a short lived web comic, but I don’t like looking at myself for an extended period of time in front of the mirror while I attempt to replicate the image before me. Hence why I ended up getting the hair cut. I couldn’t get the longer hair style to look right in my drawings. That, and the southern heat and humidity was driving me insane. With as thick as my hair is, and how unused to the southern weather as I was, I desperately needed a change to help me feel a bit cooler.

This self portrait makes me laugh though. There’re a lot of good memories connected to it. It’s the class where I met this one guy who out of the blue came to over to me and declared that he wanted to be my friend. He was a film major, and used me in a lot of his projects in one of his first film classes. First one dealing with telling a story using photographs, one of which I have, while another was a music video, which I luckily have a copy of. Looking from the video from when I was 21 to now shows me how much my face has thinned out. And I still am told that I’m too young to know where there’s a good liquor shop around town.

My friend was hilarious as he complained about how he didn’t see the need to learn how to draw the human figure. Basically, he didn’t want to take a figure drawing class because it meant having to draw over weight men and women. Not that all of the models were over weight, but the idea of looking at the naked figure of someone that was completely disgusted him. I want to think he got over this particular fear once he finally took the class, but our friendship dwindled once I moved out of the dorms. My fondest memory of him, though, are the times he and I spent with another friend playing Frisbee in their dorm building court yard.

But he wasn’t the only one involved in the memories that this portrait reminds me of. My teacher that assigned this piece required us to have it 80% of it to be done by the next class. It was an over the weekend project, and knowing how much I disliked drawing myself in the mirror I immediately set to work; just to get it done and over with. By the time we had our first critique, I had more than the 80% that was required, and only needed to make a few adjustments with the background before the next class. My teacher was impressed, and kept pointing out all the different things he was trying to drill into our heads. What they were, I can’t remember specifically; but what sticks out the most when I think of him was his love of lines and scribbles. His theory on drawing and art was anti-rendering. No blending, nothing overly realistic. You made a mistake, then it’s what made the piece better. Never erase the mistake, or else you’ll never remember where you made it to begin with. Compared to the teacher I mentioned in my first post that told me I needed to clean up my work, this drawing teacher was my hero. Despite the times where I want things to look beautiful and perfectly clean and well rendered, this teacher showed me that being sketchy and messy was just as beautiful and worth while.

I cannot thank him enough for that.

After the assignments had been handed in and graded, mine was returned to me with a note of apology. And as soon as he was done passing back everyone else’s projects, he returned to my desk to apologize in person. It wasn’t for the grade, as I received an A+, but it was for the fact that my portrait was on the bottom of the pile. So by the time he got to mine, the wall he had to display our works was already filled. He felt that it did my piece a grave injustice not to be displayed. Honestly, I wasn’t too concerned about it, and consistently told him that it was ok. A roommate of mine some quarters later was pretty sure she saw an enlarged version of my self portrait hanging up in that class’s building. I’m guessing he found a way to make it up to me.

Painting Aprons

My boss decided to have us wear aprons at work, to help distinguish us from the students to those who were new to the shop. And trust me, we got all sorts of new people seeing as we’re a tourist town as well as a college town. When she told us we could decorate our aprons, I had started painting a phoenix on mine to use up some paint I didn’t like, while my boss doodled on hers. After a while, she got sick of her doodles and contemplated using a different apron. I offered to paint a locomotive on her apron to cover up the doodles, but instead she had me paint on a whole new apron. As seen below!

Now, these images were taken before I washed the apron. This is as clean and crisp anyone’s ever going to see them ever again. Like I said, I’m not a big fan of the paint I used, for more than one reason. But considering how well it did after I washed my apron, I thought it would hold up just as well with my boss’. I was wrong. However, I think it still looks nice with the faded style to it. ~shrugs~

I started with the locomotive above first. I worked from a photograph that was on the cover of a Southern Railway book. ( MBI Railroad Colory History's Southern Railways by Tom Murray. ) Because I was using someone else’s photograph, I am unable to charge my boss for the project, as that would be copy write infringement. Not that I would want to, I’m glad to make her happy with little things like this. ^_^ She was, however, really nice to let me use the paints from our stock free of charge.

The Southern Railway is my boss’ favorite line. And she insisted on having the logo above specifically with the bar beneath it. The Southern Crescent logo seen below is her favorite passenger line. Originally, it was requested to paint the logo below on the locomotive; however she changed her mind and decided to put it on the side pockets instead.

Below is the logo for the shop I work at. 20 years ago, it first opened as a hobby train supply store. But as time went by and the ownership changed, it soon evolved into a duo train supply store as well as an art supply store. With the growth of SCAD ( Savannah College of Art and Design, which I am an alumni of. ) my boss saw the benefit to catering to the increase of students in town as well as to the train buffs. Nicely enough, the architect students find uses for the train scenery that we keep in stock, such as the trees and gravel, and as of a year or two ago we started making supply kits for first year students’ fundamental classes. We’re the only art store in town that gives the students a discount, and we’ve gotten many thanks for our efforts and courtesy.

Though it is mentioned above in the title of this journal, no prints will be made of this particular piece, as I’d rather not be sued for copy write infringement. Comments are always welcome.

The Day after April's Fool.

Today is my sister’s birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG SISTER!

Her blog name is Kermit, as you might have seen her comment on my first post here. She is the middle of three sisters, being four years younger than one, and six years older than the other, being me.

Ever since Kermit started her blog, she’s been wonderful enough to write up beautiful posts about her sisters on their birthdays. So I decided to give it a try, just to show how much I love my middle sister. Sadly, there won’t be any art in this post, as I hadn’t prepared anything and I realized that any of the sketch books I used that had any art pertaining to my sister are currently in storage. That’s a place I don’t plan on returning to until I’m ready to add more boxes to it, or am ready to weed more crap out of it.

ANYWAYS! Let’s try to keep on track today!

For as long as I could remember during my early youth, Kermit was always there for me. She would play doll house and Ewoks with me, along with some random video games we had for the Commodore 64. She taught me how to make my bed, wash my laundry, brush my teeth, wash my hair, vacuum, dust…a lot. Kermit was more like a mother to me at random points of my life. When Dad was away for work during the week days, I went to my sister for help with my homework. She encouraged my drawings, much like she’s doing now with her own daughter.

And Kermit wasn’t that bad at drawing herself. I’d scan it if I had it here now, but since I don’t, then I won’t; but she drew in one of my first sketch books a picture of a little blonde girl in a blue dress, along with a little story of a brown haired girl in a green dress who went off to find her father. At least, I think that’s how it went. Without it in front me, I’m afraid I can’t remember too well. I just know that I would try so hard to mimic her pictures, because I wanted so much to be like her. I wanted to draw like her, sing like her, enjoy the same music as her, as well as hang out with her friends with her, just like she used to play with mine with me. Though I don’t share her love of jazz music, she is the one that got me interested in Simon & Garfunkel, and I give her credit for the eclectic collection of music I enjoy today.

Kermit was the only reason I tolerated going to church for as long as I did. She has a beautiful voice and I miss being able to listen to it every week. When I later explained this to her husband, he thanked me for sharing her voice with him, and letting him steal her away. I’m still trying to get Kermit to send me a copy of her singing one of the Christmas Songs from Midnight Mass, just so I can listen to her voice again.

It was funny at times, as this little old lady came up to me one day to tell me how much she loved Kermit’s singing. When my sister came out after service, the lady went up and told her everything she had told me, and commented on how I always waited patiently for Kermit to come out afterwards. Thus, she proceeded to ask, “Is she your daughter?” “Well sure! I had her when I was six years old!” My sister responded with a good humored grin. She and the lady had a good laugh before we finally went home.

When she started going to college, she always planned to have me come visit at random points; whenever I had a week vacation and she was still in classes, she’d have me come visit her and hang out with her friends. I adored it, and with her being so close to NYC, Kermit, our other sister, and Dad took me to see some Broadway shows as well.

Things got confusing after she graduated, and I can’t say I know all of the complete details; only because I tend to be in my own little world and am usually the last to know anything that goes on in the family. Together, we are quite dysfunctional. However, I did know that Kermit was getting married, and despite the tension brought on about her choice in faith, churches, ceremonies, and so on; Dad promised to put me on a plane to Utah so I could be there for the wedding as soon as we found out when it was. That didn’t happen.

And nothing was really explained to me until I wrote Kermit a letter about some books of hers I had. I mentioned briefly about my reaction to the wedding notice we received in the mail, and that no matter what everyone else thought or said, I was really happy for her. I mean, seriously. I know that we disagree on several things, but the fact that she found a faith as well as someone in that faith that makes her happy? How could I not be happy for her? She’s my sister! She deserves to be happy in any way she deems suitable for herself, just like everyone else!

The letter she wrote me in response, to this day still makes me cry. The genuine love in her words, the insistent apologies for forgetting how old I really was, and the asking for forgiveness; she already knew she didn’t need to ask. I was overjoyed to learn just how much my sister loved me, how she saw me, and to let her know that I loved her as well.


These memories are what I hold dearest to my heart whenever I think of my middle sister. I hope her family realizes just how wonderful a person she is, and that they never take her for granted. She is a wonderful mother, and an equally as wonderful sister. I should know; I consider her as both. I hope that even if she doesn’t get the gifts on her wish list, that her birthday is still filled with love and joy.

Hate

I started this piece either back in 2005 or 2006, which ever was the last year I lived with a set of roommates. I completed it in 2007, getting the only good reaction from it through my dad. He shuddered. “Oo! Violent.” Dad’s always been good at saying things I like to hear and tend to make me feel better.

What went behind this piece? Hate. Pure and simple. And I’d like to think I’ve finally rationalize what’s behind that hate. People. But not just any people. There is specifically two types of people I would rather not associate myself with ever again, though I know that it would be impossible to do so: Those with incredibly high charisma, and those with documented mental disabilities. Please, before you start calling me prejudiced and bigoted and such, though I won’t deny it, let me explain.

I lived and worked with two different people with high charisma. They’re very outgoing, people want to be around them, and they never get in trouble for anything. My roommate and I had done so many similar things; it was the reason why we got along for as long as we did. However, when it came to good or bad, doing the right or wrong, whenever we both did something wrong on different occasions, such as cuss in front of our parents, or hand in something late, she would be praised while I would be punished. Same scenarios, different outcomes. Why? Because I don’t have the charisma to come up with a witty comeback. I simply don’t have it in me. I rejoiced when I found out she was fired from her job once. Rejoiced, despite it being such a crappy reason to be fired. It made me feel good that someone hadn’t fallen for this girl’s act. Karma kicked my ass about it later. ^_^

My co-worker was worse. You much understand, my manager at that time in my life was a very religious man. So much that he owns and ministers to his own church. His second in command at the hotel we worked at lived on church property. My co-worker, who nobody really could stand working with because he was lazy, didn’t answer the radio, the list goes on. This guy kicked a hole into the wall of the main entrance and took hotel property without asking or notifying anyone about it! What kind of property, you might ask? Try a carpet cleaner from house keeping. Yeah, like they aren’t going to miss that! But my co-worker, he could smooth talk his way out of anything. And let’s not forget that he’s practicing to become a preacher, so naturally my manager is going to take him under his wing despite the trouble he causes.

So when they’re about to go through and lay some people off, who gets booted? Me. Why? It gets a bit sketchy there. The day my manager fired me, he told me that it was because I wasn’t “Aggressive enough towards greeting the guests.” When I go to apply for Unemployment, the reason he gives them is because of something that happened two or three months before I got booted. Excuse me? But why did you wait so long to boot me? Oh, maybe because a week before you canned me I openly stated that I was sick of being preached to about how unhappy my spirit is for not worshipping everyone else’s god? No, we’ll ignore the fact that my manager canned another guy who he argued with through stating text of the bible itself. Yes, both grown men would argue with each other by spitting out random biblical text. IN THE WORK PLACE! Isn’t there some sort of law against this kind of crap!?

Happily, my co-worker got booted by another manager, when our holier than though manager wasn’t around to save him. My co-worker was caught in his uniform shorts, swimming around with someone’s kid in the indoor pool, by another manager. I think it was later found out that he’s on a known pedophile list. And I’m the one that got fired first for not being “Aggressive Enough.” HA!

Now, for the mentally disabilities. I’m not saying I hate all people with them. I live with one of them, and love him with all of my heart. But it’s the people that blame all of their problems and misfortunes on their disabilities, despite the fact that they knew that what they were doing was completely wrong. At my current job, I worked with a girl who has ADD, OCD, and every other mental disorder or disability she can think of, and she usually forgets to include CLD: Compulsive Lying Disorder. Granted, I doubt that there’s a drug to calm the effects of CLD yet, which is probably why they don’t have it on record as an actual disorder, but trust me it is. About a year or so ago, we found out that she was embezzling money from the store’s credit account onto her card. Then, we find out she’s done it again through the local college’s credit account. Naturally, she attempts to commit suicide, blames it all on her mental disorders, and our boss, being the wonderful and forgiving woman that she is, lets her off the hook agian. Ok, well, the girl’s parents had to pay for what we could figure out she stole, but there’s really no way to tell exactly how much the store has lost through this girl’s transactions. Once my boyfriend started working Sundays, and did some cleaning around his work space, we found that this girl was skipping out on working Sundays, but still clocked in and out to get paid for them, and that she probably took all the cash sales from them as well.

But, surely if she had been taken to court, she wouldn’t have gone to jail as she deserves. No, she’s got those mental disabilities and all those medications that mess with her head. Most likely, she’d be sent to an institute and have to get psychiatric help and such; which she needs, but doesn’t get. No, instead my boss let her off the hook, her parents won’t take full responsibility in seeing that the girl gets treatment she needs, and now she’s blaming my boss for not being able to go to her favorite shops around our neighborhood. Like it wasn’t this girl’s fault she went and stole a crap ton of money! Ugh. From what I’ve heard recently, she’s working as a babysitter and trying to support her lazy ass girlfriend, instead of pursuing a job for what she was able to get her degree in. And yes! She has a degree! Got it just after trying to commit suicide!

So, can you see why I’m bitter about these kinds of people? They can get away with anything they want, either through sweet talking their way out of it, or blaming it on a mental disability. What chance does an honest hard working person have against these people? None. I know that if I do something, be it on accident or with good intensions, I will be punished for it. I have before, and I know it will happen again.

Explanations

Naturally, you’re wondering about what I mean in the titles above. Let’s start with “The Memories of the Failed Storyteller”.

I love storytelling. But I love drawing more. You would think that drawing and writing comics would come naturally, right? My first college degree was in Illustration, the closest thing I could get to comic books at the community college I went to. With positive feedback from one of my favorite teachers, I transferred to a college that had a major in Sequential Art. It’s not animation, but there is a required class for storyboarding. No, the major dealt mostly with comic books.

My best classes were in conceptual design and in script writing, but I admittedly struggled in everything else. I was able to prove myself on two occasions to two of my toughest teachers. One was in the character design and storyboarding glass. I had gotten a B on some character designs I did for the western zodiac. I had this teacher before for an introductory class, and he was known to be hard on anyone mimicking the Japanese Manga drawing style. He has nothing against the style, but sees a lot of people lacking the training simply butchering it. Because of how close my style is to the manga art, as well as how messy my work can be, it was hard to get a good grade out of him. But I pulled through. During my character design and storyboarding class, I went to him for help, picking his brain and getting his opinion through out the process of my projects.

After pairing me with one of my classmates to rework his storyboards while he reworked mine, the teacher marveled at how well we had helped each others’ stories flow better visually. We were also assigned to work on sketch books, primarily doing quick figuring drawings to add to our reference collection. But he never collected them, deciding he didn’t have time to look through everyone’s sketch books. If we wanted to, we could come in during office hours so he could give them a quick glance. I did just that.

I was using the back of the sketch book for my personal use, and after looking through the reference sketches, he found my other drawings. One small piece he found was of a witch character design that I had planned on blowing up, inking, and coloring later down the road. The proportions were better than anything he had seen before, a vast improvement on my work since I first had him as a teacher. He boosted that B grade I mentioned above to an A, which boosted my over all grade for the class. I later found out from my conceptual design teacher that my sketchy, free hand, never cleaned up style of drawing is far more captivating than any of my works that are cleaned up. Something changes between the sketches to the finished product that simply makes it less. Reminds me of a drawing teacher I had, who didn’t like rendering things to perfection, but instead simply sketching and making the messy lines bring out the image.

The second teacher I proved myself to, though in a very small and insignificant way was my inking teacher. I took him because the last inking teacher I had didn’t make me feel like I learned anything. The class was too easy, I guess. Anyways, this one guy, known for his prowess with ink and pen, was tough. I felt like I wasn’t doing anything right, though I enjoyed disturbing him with one project he made us do. If I can find a cheap place to get it scanned at, I’ll post it sometime.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good at getting side tracked. Anyways, there was a fund raiser that he was helping out with, he had us spend some class time working on insect designs. Something monstrous looking, but designed from insects. I don’t remember what I did, and I’m not sure if I even have it still, but he liked my design so much, that he wanted me to paint it on a board to be auctioned off for the fund raiser. Apparently, the fact that he liked it took him by surprise. It sure took me by surprise. I know, not a really good and inspiring story as the one before this, but it still made me feel good about myself in some small way.

How does this correlate to being a failed storyteller? It was during those three years I spent getting my degree, and during the time of a short lived web comic that I worked on with a roommate, that I found that as much as I love to tell stories, and as much as I love to draw, I don’t have the ambition or energy to do both a the same time. I was completely drained, and literally didn’t draw or even doodle anything for a very long time. You should hear the pride in my dad’s voice whenever he talks about me, telling them how there’s never a day where he hadn’t seen me drawing. If I had been living with him still during that dry period, he wouldn’t be able to say that anymore.

But I’m getting better, and ideas are coming back into my mind again. Role playing helps me deal with my yearnings to come up with story ideas, and actually collaborate with other people to making up a fun plot and resolve that are character driven. And occasionally, I’ll be inspired to draw up someone’s character to help make me feel that I’ve accomplished something artistically.


But now, I’m sure you’re wondering even more about “You will Never Remember what I will Never Forget”.

I don’t know if it’s because of the way my brain works, that I find some things more important than others, or it’s some hopeless curse that strives to torture me through out the rest of my life; but I’ve learned that even though I can’t remember stupid quotes from some funny movie, I can remember random conversations from so long ago, and replay them over and over in my head until I get completely frustrated with myself when I can’t stop thinking about it. However, I get more frustrated with anyone else that I had said conversation with, because they don’t remember a single word of it.

It’s ten times worse now, because I’m dating a guy who can’t remember anything I told him seemingly five minutes after the fact. I can repeat to him, over and over again at random points in the day, week, month, or year about something, either a soap I like, or about an appointment, anything and he’ll react like he’s just learning about it. Same goes with commercials, he’ll see something, repeat the same thing he said last time he saw it, and act like it’s all new to him. He’ll be half way through watching an episode of his favorite TV show before he realizes he’s already seen it. I love him, but I’m wondering if he’s coming down with some early stage of Alzheimer or something. I know I’m not perfect when it comes to remembering things, but you’d think that an appointment was important enough to even try to remember.

It’s not just him, though. I’ve had roommates who wouldn’t remember in depth conversations with about something that important enough to effect our way of living, socializing, what have you, but don’t remember ever discussing said problem. And so when it gets brought up again in a later conversation, they deny the whole thing from every happening, or blame it on some short term memory loss when it could have been a year ago when the conversation originally occurred.

What my favorite thing was when I recommended doing something at one point and then someone else comes up with the idea some months later, no one remembers the fact that I had mentioned it before. Of course they wouldn’t, because I’m the one that originally mentioned it.


I am a firm believer that I am not one who is meant to be remembered. It’s why I’ve failed as a storyteller, and why no one will remember anything I will never forget. As much as statistics like to say we all work the same, we really don’t. What treatment might work for one person doesn’t necessarily work the for the next, and there are simply not enough people interested in taking special care of someone who reacts so differently from what works for everyone else.

I thank you for your time in reading this, and I hope you enjoy reading what has yet to come.