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So. Alpo just took this massive shit. I really think my nose hairs are curling up in agony.

So I had some stuff to say about my future wedding, the website thereabout, my grievances already in the early planning stages, some stuff about Christmas, the accident I was in (yes I'm okay), possibly work, maybe sex, blah blah appletinis..

But all I can seriously think about is my cat's insane fumes.

I will return. Hopefully before the new year.

Love and face masks,


Some time ago, Charles' handyman father gave us this large flat wooden storage contraption that he had built himself. Exactly the kind of thing I would build myself if I had any idea how to do it. It's on wheels and it fits just under the queen-sized bed in our bedroom. He had suggested that we use it to store extra clothes, shoes, that sort of thing.

For months the wooden contraption has contained piles upon piles of my old writings from childhood to now- notebooks, binders, journals, loose papers of all colors and sizes, manila folders, small boxes, and plastic rubber-banded containers full of thoughts and stories and drawings and letters and ideas and the occasional math equation from an old class. I had tossed, crammed, and shoved all of it onto the wooden contraption and rolled it under the bed, attempting to forget all about it until I had time and energy to do otherwise.

I've thought of it every single night. Because every single night I sleep in that bed, literally sitting on top of the best ideas I've (n)ever had throughout my life.

I rolled the wooden contraption out from under the bed last night- tentatively, and not all the way. The corner I had revealed was daunting all on its own. I didn't really need to see the whole thing.
I had forgotten how much of myself was tucked away like this.
I selected two old drawing pads (the kind with pockets between not-so blank pages, each pocket was stuffed with various bits of paper with scribbles on them), and one thick white binder that apparently had not ever been used to "bind" anything. I held the bundle carefully so nothing would fall on top of the nosey cat's head, using my big toe to roll the wooden contraption back under the bed to avoid stubbing toes later.

I couldn't believe that I had ever been so passionately... creative. Well, I could believe it. I had simply forgotten about it in light of more important things in life.

None of the writing was particularly good, barely publishable if at all. The drawings/paintings made no sense whatsoever, not that I needed them to. They simply were what they were. I could see lines of thought one after the other- I like unlined paper and drawing pads so I can write in whatever form I wish, sometimes upside down or in circles, or occasionally breaking off mid-thought to doodle absently. My imagination dislikes jail bars. Of course, my anal retentive side loves lined paper for some things. Thought organization is vital.
And it was just a very small portion of the stacks of yellowed pages under the bed. Unfinished projects, unsent letters, drawings of my carefree lunatic of a former self.

I've been in that mood lately.
In fact, last Sunday I took Charles on a tour of LSU. I always thought the campus was beautiful- with the gnarled trees and artsy buildings. We retraced the steps I took day after day those years ago, rushing to this class or that class, or traipsing gleefully through the quad after discovering a class had been canceled. THAT was freedom.
I spent an unreasonable amount of time in the library, back then. Sunday I took some crappy pictures and I smelled the familiar smells- ignoring the post-game day scent of stale beer and asshole.

I felt like a ghost. Like I was in some place I shouldn't be anymore.
But I also felt something twitch in my brain, something that knew damn well there was a time in my life where I had been bursting at the seams with creative energy. Some of it was forced, like writing a story for a class and a grade. But a lot of it wasn't. I was in an atmosphere that encouraged you to let loose on every creative whim you had, and so I did. Mostly.

Now, I'm not saying I need college to be creative and write again. I was doing all that before I even hit high school. Which, by the way, I also found things I had written in the third grade, seventh, the summers, high school, and community college.

My entire life is under that bed, whether or not I had intended to actually document and restore it all. I never threw that stuff away. I never once had any inclination to. God knows I've thrown all sorts of other crap away. I've been moving around my entire life, sometimes you just gotta shed a little weight here and there. This stuff has gone from attic to attic, storage box to box.

And there's a reason for it.

a very merry steampunk halloween

Because steampunk stuff is awesome, and because Halloween is awesome, and because I'm having a kickass Halloween at home doing nothing at all productive (which is awesome), I present:


And that is all for the day. May you all have delicious and naughty weekends and may you all send me lots of pictures thereabouts.

baby's got the bends

A slight update. I'll be more eventful in the future, gotta update the photo albums, et cetera.

I have a huge mind dump to take- but. BUT. Instead of that, I will say this:

Like about how much I love my friends (you guys and my local homies), my family... my new bad-ass computer. Yeah, that's right.
His name is Mr. Universe.
Before seeing mom off at the airport, we had Christmas at my apartment. Obviously she won't be here. That was two weeks ago... and you still can't see my living room floor because it's full of boxes and stuff. And I'm lazy as all fucking hell. Also, our apartment is too small to put anything ANYWHERE, therefore large piles of things that need to be tucked away tend to stay there for a while until I can find the balls to re-organize our entire living space to accommodate them.

When you live in a glorified storage unit and never receive guests, there's no point in putting forth such effort. Besides, it keeps the cats occupied.

I digress.

Mom is awesome and outdid herself. New gas grill, new gear, new laptop.
Stuff is just stuff. But nice stuff is nice. Mom was super happy to give us awesome things, so I am happy too.

Dropping her off at the airport at 3am to catch her flight to Jordan, not so much fun.

However... the Baton Rouge airport is so tiny it feels it must justify itself by being unique. And thus, we discovered the Mustache Machine - next to the candy machines (and also right next to a rosary dispenser, and a dispenser of tiny keychain guns (?????) and accessories).

You'd have done it.Collapse )

Bring on the beer and tuna.

Alpo looking thoughtful after a long, hard day at the office.


'le chat est sur la chaise'


Well, after Alpo of course.


Thanks to Amber for the link!


Owls, ice cream, and...

Psst! Scroll down to the bottom! Let there be exclamation points!


Just got back from breakfast and running errands with the boy. I am filled with tiny potatoes, coffee, and the joyous lingering scent of Michaels in the Fall.
I will probably just set up a tent in Hobby Lobby/Michaels/Craft Stores Here and There until the end of the year. All the Fall stuff, and Fall-colored stuff, is out on display.
I pretty much shit my pants every time I walk in. I look like this.

I don't know what it is. I am a creative/crafty person, always have been inclined to create (no matter how much it sucks), but half the shit I see in there I'd have no idea what to do with it. I just want it because it's pretty and swirly and it makes my orange/red/cream/brown/leafy-loving heart go pitter patter. Who doesn't want to purchase that pitter patter? Luckily I am blessed with the self-control not to buy giant swirly leafy objects that belong in the mansion-sized garden I do not possess. The front of our apartment has a patch of grass with a dead tree on it. I don't think that qualifies as a yard, let alone a background worthy of Tim Burtonesque decor. Well.... maybe the dead tree. If Tim doesn't mind his artwork smelling like neighborhood cat piss.
I digress.

This is how I know that my wedding can be nothing but a Fall wedding. It's bad enough I had never in my life entertained the idea of marrying another human being until I began dating Chuck. Marry a large gnarly tree? Yes. Marry a tetchy tortoiseshell cat? Totally, if society would accept us. But another human? Surely you jest.
The joke is clearly on me. I'm okay with it.
So the only idea I DO have, is that weddingish things should be in tune with my leaf-shaped heart and nothing else will do.

Assuming, that is, we don't get blown off the face of the earth by a hurricane. Bad Fall season. Bad.
Hurricanes: Louisiana's own personal big-ass leaf blower.

The more I start thinking about our wedding next year, the people, the places, the cost, the strain... the more I just want to elope. Chuck is okay with eloping. I am okay with it. We can use the money our folks will give us to TRAVEL. But we can picture the disappointment in the eyes of our family members and comrades who truly do want to share in the festivities... and it makes us rethink the whole thing.
So we start trying to compromise. Well, if we do a super small festivity, then THIS person or THIS person will not be invited and they will hate us forever. If we invite THIS person, THIS person will HAVE to come. A few minutes later, we're back in the largish costly semi-formal Square One.

I just don't know.


You know, sometimes I wish I was a little more mysterious than I am.



HEY GUYS. Post a picture of something in the comments. Okay, wait. I got it. Pretend that I was temporarily blind. I have JUST regained my sight. What is the first thing you would want me to see?

'War on string may be unwinnable.'

I’m confused about the real order of things and I shouldn’t be.
My mother--bless her cotton socks--never lied to me about how much being a grown up was going to suck. And that I achieved grown-up status at a pretty early age out of necessity has indeed prepared me for the difficulty of achieving success as I define it now. And I have thus nurtured through experience a general lack of optimism in mankind.
That’s not entirely true. I used to be really excited about people and experiences—in an optimistic, progressive way. I suppose my last few jobs have dampened the positive excitement of New People and turned it around into a cumbersome sense of acceptance: "Okay. This is what I get paid to do: meet new people, deal with their problems, take their shit, take my pay check and spend it all on the pseudo-necessitous things in life."
This is all my fault.
The fact that I am sometimes incapable of enjoying all that I have to its fullest extent because I am constantly nagged by the idea of All That I Am NOT Doing, is… My Fault.
Naturally it would be foolish to blame this attitude on things like society, my upbringing, circumstance, culture, gravity, and physics. Really only leaves one left... me.
After all, if America is the one surefire place for a man to Become Anything He Wants, it is definitely the man’s own fault if he Be Nothing At All. After all, he had all the resources available to him.
Right? Right.

This is why I love Charles, and the cats. Not to say that my fiancé has the same level of sensibilities as the cats—I really don’t see any of the furry ones whipping my ass at Scrabble.
It’s only that he is perfectly happy with a glass of decent beer, a friendly ear, and me on his arm. Truly content. He does not spend his weekend prematurely remorseful that on Monday a job he disdains of awaits. He does not always spend his hours thinking of things he should be doing besides what he is Ya rlyactually doing, feeling guilty and unsuccessful even when he is productive—he enjoys the moment and weighs success by the immediate benefits thereof. And I am spending time writing and thinking these ridiculous things, feeling lucky to have a much saner better half willing to put up with me.
Take the youngest cat in our household. Lucy. Lucy’s main concern in life is exactly what she is doing at the time she is doing it, whether that be cleaning her dingleberry-laden ass with her tongue, stalking an invisible antelope, or wrestling with a black piece of string.
If constantly trying to lick your own ass and playing with string all day wouldn’t be the sort of thing that got you locked up, I would trade everything in RIGHT NOW and do that instead.

The point is… I’m grateful for what I have. Sometimes I feel unsuccessful for no reason whatsoever. Not a big deal. Shrug it off.
Just enjoy what you have and stop thinking like an asshole, because life is surprisingly short when you don’t look at the numbers.

If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.
- Toni Morrison.

When someone asks you, 'A penny for your thoughts,' and you put your two cents in, what happens to the other penny?
- George Carlin.

You should have to pass an IQ test before you breed. You have to take a driving test to operate vehicles and an SAT test to get into college. So why dont you have to take some sort of test before you give birth to children? When I am President, that's the first rule I will institute.
- Marilyn Manson.


This is this and that is that.


I own the best shirt ever.

I do.

I would also like to point out an old entry of mine, which is just a poll I created back when I had a paid account.

One of the questions is "Pretend I'm getting married. (And don't die of shock.) What is your special wedding gift to me?" which I find incredibly amusing.

Because I am getting married, as you know, next October.

Let's see what you all said, shall we?

camisado -- An engraved hip flask.
araeariel -- anything you want, baby. rowr.
clarinelf -- Um...A naked male celebrity? :)
indiefairy -- A spacious warehouse conversion, for you to open as a gallery to display all your photographs
impossibility -- Edible tea-flavoured underwear.
puffkrispy -- Pretty (and sometimes kinky) lingerie
tilly_stratford -- A tortoise with a blue ribbon
mewlips -- i am not gifted with imagination :(
scarletcurls -- a loincloth for your groom on your honeymoon
bettybites -- Sex toys.
sextrum -- a trip to germany
eisyel -- Waffles, you can't go wrong with waffles.
mob_psychology -- Lube and owl-themed bathroom accessories.
angel_of_olore -- A blender. Everyone needs a nice, shiny, essentially useless appliance.
avichan -- Cow plushies of love! Everyone should have at least one cow plushie. ^^
v_squee -- A TREE! magically inserted into your backyard. fully grown. that's right.
untldeathtakeme -- Gerard Butler in the cape. (hope your hubbys into kink...)
excepttheweasel -- a gilded leaf. (i don't know, it was the first thing that sprang to mind.)
vendalah -- things brought back from tunisia (i have time, right?)
magenta_moon -- the Khama Sutra, a fucked up mix, a case of Dr. Pepper, and a cyanide pill in case hubby is shit
doubtful_salmon -- A stupid magical object, like a magical desk lamp.
le_film -- some ratties
homechicken -- Various mixes, some tea, a blanket (because blankets are good) a bottle of rum, and a whip.

I will give you my mailing address upon request.

random spamdom- at long last!

It's been forever since I did this and I've got a few quirky/useless images lying around my world.
Thus I present,


Well, I hope that hath cheered up your Monday night some. I am feeling the stubborn jerky yawns of sleep. This is the last day of my small vacation. I will return to the job I hate tomorrow, sit at my perpetually dusty desk, and think all day of how I'm not writing anymore as I quietly try not to kill myself.

Or some such.
I miss everyone. Say hi!