Grave Digger & The Box Turtle

I take the same back road to work every morning, to avoid the red lights and traffic. Plus, it's a nice shady path through a little patch of woods, near Guntersville Lake. I always see some sort of critter, and it makes my day. One morning I had stopped for a croissant and had the pleasure of sharing a bit of it with a chipmunk.

On this fine, HOT morning I came upon a box turtle. He was in quite a hurry, crossing the street. I stopped and watched him. I guess I assume it was a him because he was muddy, and obviously only a male turtle would be dirty? I know this is preposterous. I had Crash, a female red eared slider, for years. She was one gross little creature. Anyhow, I stopped and observed his straight path, hoping he reached his destination before anyone else meandered through.

Meanwhile a white FREAKING MONSTER TRUCK pulled up to the 4-way stop ahead.(I hate BIG BUTT vehicles. No, Bubba, you do NOT need a hummer to get to and from Starbucks everyday!) No turn signal. He was coming straight. I thought perhaps Mr. Turtle here might stop traveling so speedily and up his chance of getting squished. A lot of turtles meet their Maker here by the lake. I couldn't have that. He looked like he was making pretty good time, so I didn't get out, but I was prepared to intercede.

I flipped on my emergency flashers, hoping to catch the eye of Grave Digger there. He slowed down as he neared my Jeep, stopped and joined me in watching said reptile make his way safely into the grass. Bubba nodded and grinned as we went our separate ways.

This was the beginning of a lovely day.

Klimt

This is my favorite Klimt painting. I am undone and inspired by it, for all the reasons you will read below(if you have the patience) and because it's about my second love. Music.


Klimt might be my favorite painter. I use the word "might," because I'm not sure if I can have a favorite. Everything he's ever done has something to do with relationships. At least in my mind it does. So, perhaps it's that common ground I've declared that ties me to this warm, ornate, meandering and glorious world that he's created. It reminds me of all the things of which relationships are made, and this inspires me.

His overly erotic self has always managed to simultaneously inspire and inhibit. Every time I look at a painting or drawing created by this man I am completely overtaken and defeated. Overtaken with the need to create something, and defeated before I get started. I feel like I'm aspiring to be something I'm not.

When my happy little self attempts to create a painting with such oddly balanced composition, vibrant/earthy color, and a rich epic storyline, it ends up being way too busy. I can't find my happy medium. I then forfeit. I'm obviously trying too hard, which means it's not honest. It's false because I'm "trying" at all! So, I'm lying now?! Art. Artifice. I just want to paint!!!

Art school really just screwed me up. I'm sure of it. It's all this "education" that keeps me from just painting. Instead I have to drill myself on anything and everything anyone might see in what I'm creating, and become a neurotic mess that can't finish a painting.

I could've happily painted my way through life without knowing the attempts, failures and harsh criticisms of every artist worth mentioning since the dawn of man! Who deemed who worthy of deciding whose "worth mentioning" or not?

Yes, I have a bachelors degree in art and art history and I know a whole lot of crap not a lot of people care to discuss, and I'm bitter.

LAMEnting

Friday has finally arrived and what am I doing? Messing around on Myspace and blogging. Mind you, I'm not doing these things from home. I'm still cooped up at my office!

Why pray tell hasn't a freedom-seeking gal such as myself escaped the workplace yet you ask? Because I'm LAME. I wish it weren't so, but it is. I am currently undergoing some sort of strange coping behavior. Coping with the untimely death of my bunny, that is.

All of a sudden I can't be home without my husband, and since he works later than I do-here I sit. It's ridiculous! We cherish our personal time. It's when we, two completely opposite individuals, get to enjoy doing our own thing. I get to work on my paintings, drawings and such, and he works on his truck or fiddles with the lawn mower.

I hope this avoidance passes soon, and painlessly. I've cried enough.

A Lady and A Scholar

Spastically running errands this morning I ventured to the office of post. I left my JEEP running, grabbed the p.o. box key and bolted for the door. Board meeting days at our humble non-profit are often chaotic, and today was no exception. So, I had to step it up to get back in time to set up the food and all.

Note: Feeding your board members keeps them docile.

Like I was saying, I bolted for the door. Gonna to get in and out in a flash! Nearing the entrance, I see the reflection of an old dude closing in behind me. I hear myself selfishly thinking, "Man! I have no time!" My body and mind grapple.

body: Move it.
mind: Be polite.
body: We like to move it. Move it.
mind: STOP!
body: GO!
mind: Hold the door you wench.

It was a definite struggle to shift back into a lower gear and actually wait a second and a half for the guy to make it through the door. His eyes sparkled as he walked in.

"You're a lady and a scholar," he said with a smile. I was rendered powerless. Offering sort of a half giggle I returned the smile, stumbled away from the door and to my little metal box destination.

Why doesn't anyone talk like that anymore? Obviously this guy does, but I'm sure he's a dying breed. Suddenly, I yearned for patent leather shoes, Donna Reed hair and a beau.

*sigh*

Enjoy The Small Things

This morning I rolled into work a bit early, for a change. My husband had to take his truck for some brake work. So, we car pooled to my office. He left me stranded as he headed on to the arsenal, and here I am.

I really want to be creative and write something earth shattering for my two loyal subjects. I know they have something better to do, but they read my babbling instead. Thanks Ari and Matt. ^__^

Alas, I am all too tired to come up with anything grand. I'm not too tired to be entertained by the mundane, though.

I signed into my blogger thingy and noticed that the little tab at the top of the screen read, "seussy break-wind..."Perhaps I'm just sleepy, but I almost died laughing.

Thought I'd share. xoxo

Pacha

I know no other way to say this, than just saying it. Pacha(my dear sweet bunny) died. I'm to where I can talk about it, but I'm still a mess. I guess something was wrong with his heart. Bunny experts say that when an otherwise healthy young rabbit dies, the way Pacha did, it's due to heart attack, and there's nothing you can do for a weak bunny heart.

He had been less active than usual, since we'd returned from Florida. Although, he was pretty much back to his sweet little fluffy self. We were giving him lots of attention, and watching for any health issues. He just seemed to hop around less and kind of cuddle up and stay put more. Normal bunny activities. Just slightly out of character for Pacha.

He was eating, drinking, and going potty as usual. His ears looked nice and clean. His teeth were fine. We couldn't decide whether to take him to the vet or not. There were no physical signs of anything wrong.

I wish I had now. I should've taken him for blood work or something. I just didn't know. I also wish we hadn't gone to Florida for a week. I feel like it's my fault. Although, I know we spoiled him rotten and he was very happy.

He was hopping around and loving on me Wednesday. Thursday I was gone all day for work, and doing stuff for Jodi's wedding. Todd was home with him, though. Friday morning he just up and died.

Todd was in the kitchen when it happened. I was in the bedroom. I'm sorry he saw it, but I'm glad it wasn't me. There was nothing anyone could do. Todd held him, and that gives me some comfort.

We buried him before Todd left for work. I ran some errands to try to forget about it, but basically just cried all day. I still burst into tears randomly. Especially around the house.

Our whole lives were built around a bunny. All the electrical cords and plants are up off the ground. The back bedrooms are always kept shut. Todd opened my studio door last night and I screamed at him and started bawling.

I miss my little fuzzy friend.

If you have a bunny, and he/she starts acting the slightest bit out of character, take them to the vet. Even if they can't do anything, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you did what you could.

White Girl Rhythm?

Well, the wedding is officially over. All in all, it was a hit.

The flower girl dumped her little basket of flowers in the isle and went on about her business. The bible boy managed to fulfill his duties, stopping now and again for a stray petal, without throwing the bible in the floor. The handsome British groom's adorable British cousin sang a lovely little ditty, and I didn't bust it in those (bride chosen) 6 inch heels.

In the past, I've prided myself for managing to have a little white-girl rhythm. However, when partnered with a lovely British/Barbadian dude with rhythm to spare, I look like a sad little white girl, desperately trying to regain control of her hips(in those heels, I was). Thankfully, he had pity on me, and (unlike at the rehearsal)moderated his pep-stepping upon our exit. We were glorious. I just wish I had him to hang onto upon entrance. The bride seemed to think that the maid of honor should be distinctive.

Oh, and here's the painting I FINALLY finished the morning of the wedding.

It's a little dark, but you get the picture.

The bride and groom were beautiful. They both said, "I do" and we were on our way. It was altogether a lovely event.

Hello nice people who care to read my rantings. I am a self-proclaimed procrastinator monster and I need help!

My current situation isn't a pretty one. I have approximately no time to complete afore mentioned painting and/or guest book. I don't want to sacrifice quality time with Jodi to do things I should've had finished by now. Too, I don't want to sacrifice the quality of the artwork.

I foresee being awake for the next two days straight, but I will TRIUMPH.

Yell at me. Support me. Feel my pain.

Time. Oh dear.

My best friend is getting married this Sunday. I would call her "soul mate" if she and I hadn't received so many awkward stares when using this terminology. Mind you, we're both completely heterosexual/non homophobic gals. We love our significant others. I my husband, and she her fiance. She and I are just soul mates. Plain and simple. God lead our two completely opposite lives together. We were predestined to meet and help one another become the people we are today. *dismount soap box*

Ahem. My soul mate is getting married this Sunday. Needless to say, there is much to be done. As the artist friend I have been given the fun tasks like making a personalized cake topper and guest book. Only two things, right? Yeah, right. Two things that take an ample amount of time to complete for a non-procrastinator. Who do you think we're dealing with here? I'm an artist!

I've got the cake topper finished, and it turned out pretty well.


The guest book won't take long. I just have to sit down and do it. Some nice textured water color paper, fabric and rubber cement and we're good.

Now, their wedding present is another story. Their gift will be a rather large painting. I have the semi-ginormous canvas. I have paint and all the necessary supplies. I've even got the whole conceptual/sketched part pretty much done. Now comes the fun part. Finishing said painting in less than 48 hours. I'm very excited about the whole thing, but afraid I won't get it done. In theory, it should be awesome. Wish me luck.

I'll post pics of it all when I finish. Note the positive thinking. ^__^

Sleep Deprived Ranting

It's currently 7:35AM. I am tried, cranky, sore and itchy. Tired and cranky for obvious reasons, sore because I have a degenerative issue with the vertebra between my shoulder blades(T5-T8), and itchy because I have eczema that acts up when I'm stressed, and haven't had enough sleep. It's an incredibly vicious cycle. The back pain causes the stress and sleep deprivation, thus causing MORE itching. Plus I'm still a little peely from all the sun I subjected my shoulders to in Florida. Ugh.

Geesh. It all sounds a little worse when you lay it out like that. I'm not ALL THAT miserable, but it is unpleasant.

My back isn't always this bad. It's degenerative disc disease, and I inherited it from my father. Thanks Dad! Sometimes the most degenerated disc pops out under the pressure of the ones around it, which in turn pinches a nerve, causing pain and a numbing of the skin. It's weird and usually gets better after a couple of days of babying it. No heavy lifting, shoveling or mopping.

The itching is actually something I'm used to. It only does it when I'm stressed, and I don't get that way much. At least not since I graduated college. Now, if I have to do some sort of public speaking, sing at church, or play cards it's another story. My friends crack up when we play Dutch Blitz or Spades. What you can see of my neck and chest get all stripey and red. Everyone can tell when I have a bad hand. I hate losing, and the prospects of it make me nervous(cause I'm a dork!).

I also hate being without my Jeep. I took her Wednesday (a very fine day) to have her driver's side door maintenanced, and I still don't have her back yet. Apparently, my model 4X4 has issues with door hinges. I have a sneaking suspicion that the previous owner was a large one. I am by no means skinny, but I am not heavy enough to break a door off a vehicle! Besides, I don't have to lean on my door to get in my Jeep. It's not jacked up that high.

So, no Jeep. I did get to ride to work with my husband, which is nice. However, it's also part of the reason I'm ridiculously sleepy. He works about an hour away from my place of employment. Yeah, and I'll be here about an hour late too.

Thus, I am a sleepy not-in-the-least-bit-nice girl without a vehicle this morning. I know I'm still blessed with many glorious things, but I don't want to think about them right now. I'm "wollering" in my misfortune. How are you? ^__^

Done. Finished.

Well, love. Vacation is now officially over. Done. Finished. My heart aches because of it. Never before have I wished to stay at a beach riddled with tourists, all running around like palmetto bugs on a cool, shady sidewalk. A semi-private beach is somehow less commercial. It was packed, but completely beautiful.


The whole week rocked. I snorkeled for the first time, meeting a plethora of hermit crabs, that inhabited humble little homes, stolen from their previous tenants. My sister and I were not big fans of walking in that shag carpet, otherwise known as kelp, but it was worth it.

We(my husband: Todd, my sister: Jenni, her boyfriend: Rob, and myself) visited the perfect little community of Seaside. You know. That place from The Truman Show. It was an obsessive compulsive's dream! That beach was also quite beautiful. We know, because we were SUCH tourists!


We took to the deep sea in a sail boat/pirate ship with Captain Rex, where we saw a family of bottle-nosed dolphins. One group traveled closely alongside our boat, putting on a show. There was even a baby that proudly rolled and flipped, showing off his pink underside. Unfortunately our camera had been placed below deck for the rougher portion of the excursion, which included the dolphin sightings. :(


My sand piper husband got bumped up to a bobbing ocean dweller! He actually waded into the water and stayed there! We watched for jelly fish and sported our dorky goggles to watch the little fishes that swam all about the kelp. He also became the beloved subject of most of my photos, much to his chagrin.


On the evening of the 4Th, we stretched out on Mirimar's cool, sandy beach, under the stars, watching drunken amateurs shoot off Chinese pyrotechnics. All of this under close observance of local law enforcement. It was truly a sight to behold. A little nerve racking, but overall a thorough celebration of our independence.

Coming home was bittersweet. Work is mostly bitter, but I plan to adjust. I will make it through the week, here at my office, solely due to a lovely coworker. While I was frolicking on the beach, she was doing ungratifying portions of my job, and making a to do list for me. This might not sound great to you, but I could just kiss her!

Have I mentioned how I ADORE lists? They make my heart go pitter pat. Seriously. Lists are the thread that keep my pretty little head sewed on tightly.

Jelly Fish!!!

So, I know I'm supposed to be neurotically frightened of these little boogers, but find them extremely interesting. While I want to keep my distance, I have this insatiable urge to get closer and examine them. This proves rather difficult when you're both bobbing about in the gulf.

Anyhow, we saw two of them. One was on the small side, just a tad pink, and didn't have very long tentacle/dangly thingies. The second one was about twice the size of the first, very clear, full of neat little parts, and had long stripy tentacles.

After the second spotting we vacated the area. Plus, I was getting a little too tan.

OH! Besides jelly fish, I am oh so excited about salt water taffy. Way too sugary and I shouldn't eat it anymore, but I had forgotten how much I love it.

WHO ASKED YOU?!

Read THIS, please.

OK. So, when I read this article I laughed. This man is apparently an expert on all the "low life" folks out there, and their various "primal" forms of self expression. Of course, that's assuming he even thinks we're capable of self expression, since we obviously lack the potential for having an i.q. above 60. I guess you should read his words of wisdom before I verbally bash him into oblivion.

"No one can deny that the heaviest concentrations of tattoos occur in the lowest segments of society -- prostitutes, pimps, pugs, prison inmates, Ku Klux Klansmen and the members of street and motorcycle gangs."

"Aware of how some of these devoted self-mutilators are going to react, I am compelled to emphasize that I do not favor any restrictions on personal behavior. If an idiot wants to get a tattoo, he or she should be free to do so. I just think responsible news media organizations should not glamorize them. What's next? Glamorizing child molesters or kluxers?"

Mad as heck yet?! First of all, no one asked him, or maybe they did, but I sure as heffalumps didn't! Second of all, is it just me, or does his argument seem to scream, "I'm a prejudiced moron!?" Doesn't sound like those of us with tattoos are considered equal in his warped mind. While he allows us "tattooed folk" our self expression, he lumps us into a category not much higher than child molesters/ku klux klan members.

My opinion of these two groups is in no means a high one. I sure as heck wouldn't want to rub elbows with any of them, but they're still people, and MR. HOLIER THAN THOU is not the judge! Besides, there are plenty of individuals with tattoos that don't fit into any of his little categories.

In case you haven't already deduced, while I am not a prostitute, Ku Klux Klan, or gang member, I have a tattoo. It's a small, colorful snail, on my right ankle. I drew it, and decided I needed it permanently scribed onto my person, when I was about seventeen. I consider myself to be a mildly intelligent twenty-six year old. I actually graduated high school with a 3.7 grade point average, attained my bachelor's degree in art/art history, hold a full-time job serving youth and families, and attend church!

I have decided that I don't like marking my skin permanently. I still like my tattoo, but I believe that God made me just perfect, and any additions are unnecessary. MR. BLOWHARD thinks a little too highly of his own opinions, if you ask me.