Team Manticore attended the Central PA Comic Con two weeks ago, and then we went to another convention this past weekend.
The first went really well. We made connections, sold some stuff...
The second one was just a series of mini-terrors wrapped in terrible luck.
There was blood.
Confused cat.
So, let me start by going back to that first con.
Like I said, we were pretty successful, and we even sold the last of the Shuffle comics!
This was super exciting to me, because I had the chance to sign some stuff and feel like... I drew that thing that I drew.
There were a lot of awesome costumes, and it was great to see such diversity.
Also, like eighty Black Widows.
That is NOT a complaint.
I made some cats while we were sitting there, because they were selling faster than I thought they would.
...Some came out a little wrong.
So, now we know what it looks like when a large head is put on a small body...
Like a UFO cat.
Oops.
In any case, people were pretty happy about the up-cycled comics and "dead records", because we're making things that are otherwise going to be thrown out into something new.
Here's another shot of the tiny kitties:
We also sold a surprising number of teeth, and got some neat suggestions for Walking Dead inspired jewelry.
Good times. Good times.
The head-crab, sadly, did not find a new home that day.
Go home, Head-Crab. You're drunk.
The second con...
You know what?
Here:
Before even setting foot instead the building, I set knee inside of asphalt.
See, it was the second day of Spring, so I slipped on some ice, because New York.
It hurt like a bitch, but once I could stand at all, I realized that nothing was broken.
That was enough for me.
And honestly, I was more concerned about my hand than anything else.
So, I'm limping along...
Kinda walking bow-legged...
And I feel this cold trickling down my leg.
I figure, "It can't be blood. That would be warm."
The other problem was that I was wearing these pants:
(Post fall, hence the hole and caked-on dirt)
So I couldn't actually tell the real blood from the fake blood, because why would there be real blood when all I did was fall down wHAT??? SHUT UP I'M FINE.
At this point, I became a giant baby.
Rob ran around for first-aid stuff...
Thankfully, a week later, THIS works just fine:
I was FAR more concerned with cleaning off the extra blood, than actually tending to the wound itself.
It was pretty bad. Approximately this:
A week later, it looks more like this:
The fact is that while kids will skin their knees, that's really just a scrape.
I actually, literally, SKINNED my fucking knee. SKINNED IT.
TOOK THE SKIN OFF OF A CHUNK OF MYSELF LIKE MY KNEE WAS SOMETHING OUT OF HELLRAISER.
...and it hurt.
...and Rob got really frustrated by the fact that I was semi-in shock and just would not stop talking about my knee.
Putting up with each other is half of love.
Going to work, I refused to bring my cane.
I have one.
My father gave it to me.
It has served me well.
I don't know why I decided that I didn't need it... Cause... I did.
So, fine.
We didn't really sell anything, due to the timing of the con.
We got REALLY bored.
I made a bunny out of stuffing.
Dusty the dust bunny.
Here is Rob's creation photobombing.
Dusty's butt.
We are classy folks.
OH!
I got to have another injury before we left!
Yaaaaaaaay...
See, the needle broke.
BROKE in half.
Yep.
Fine.
The end.
I currently have a band-aid on each thumb as I type this blog entry.
I consider myself a careful person, really... and I wouldn't call myself clumsy per se...
But I'll let you kids decide for yourselves.
I started young with the accidentally-hurting-myself-in-stupid-ass-ways thing.
My mother still feels guilty about an incident where I fell out of the shopping cart.
Dude.
Those things are, like, designed to avoid this.
I still don't understand how I managed such a feat without breaking my legs in order to get out...
But I clearly remember the milk isle zooming in toward my face:
Obviously, I survived. I probably lost a tooth though.
I can say that, because I was generally losing teeth during these incidents.
Considering all the oral surgery I wound up having as an adult later, it was probably for the best that I just get the baby teeth out of the way fast anyway.
I was walking along with a straw in a drink and a loose tooth to play with (do you see where this is going?) and not ONLY did I stick my loose tooth INTO the straw for fun, but then I tripped.
This resulted in RIPPING THE TOOTH OUT OF MY FACE while also smashing the rest of me to the ground.
Very efficient, really.
Doorknobs often had a similar effect. See, I was "doorknob height" and wasn't always aware of my surroundings.
I blame inner ear issues.
Either way,
Lost at least one that way.
By now, you've heard tales of how often I cut my hands open while carving pumpkins, or stabbing myself in the thumbs while sewing (often straight through the nail)...
But one time, I actually learned a lesson during a sewing mishap.
You know what? I'm not gonna illustrate this one because it still ickles me.
I tend to stick sewing needles pretty much wherever I can, with the (often very, very wrong) assumption that it will assist in my not losing them.
So, I'm sitting on my parent's couch, sewing stuff.
Probably making one of these:
So cute.
Such pain.
And I put the needle in the couch next to me, just slightly, thinking I'll be able to pull it out by the thread later.
Then I couldn't find it.
...
Yep.
Cue a few days later where I'm on the same couch, trying to get something that has fallen behind said couch, getting up to sit on my knees... on the couch.
Right.
Our needle friend is promptly found.
It goes up into my thigh.
Let me clarify...
It's not like, poking from the side into my thigh. It's going from the top of my knee UP into my thigh-meats, along the thigh itself.
Oh my fuck.
There are no words to describe the combined horror, shame, pain, disgust and so on that I experienced in this moment.
*ahem*
Moving on.
Did I mention I've managed to STAB myself?
Some were small, like the x-acto knife at art school.
We were snowed in, so there was a moment of, "Whelp, glad I didn't cut off my thumb. Wouldn't have been able to get to a hospital in time to save it. Whoops."
Instead, I merely jammed it into the tip of my thumb.
There's a vein at the base of my palm that had flipped out during this process.
This happened a decade ago and it still puffs up if I'm stressed.
...
Probably a terrible sign.
Still, not as bad as the time I stabbed myself in the shoulder while working retail.
See, I was diligently cutting apart and collapsing boxes for storing them in the back.
"The back" was basically a hallway with shelves of walls filled with random crap to sell.
Knowing we were the only two in the store, and knowing I had gone back there, I guess my work-buddy forgot.
She didn't see me sitting in this hallway cutting boxes with the box cutter.
She walked into me, kicking the box away.
This was fine except:
I remember thinking, "Oh, that didn't happen. I'm just holding the box cutter slightly PAST my shoulder. Here, I'll pull it awa- ... Oh crud."
My coworker wanted to rush me to a hospital, but, being me...
Nope.
I just wanted to keep on workin'.
I still have a scar from it, but obviously I was fine.
Well, obviously I'm fine NOW in any case.
...
Shh.
Once again, an awesome pumpkin (or two) has been carved with the help of my friends.
This one was my Knight's:
Aren't they cute??
And, once again, I cut my hands up pretty badly for the sake of this pumpkin art.
I have no regrets.
