Exams, Explanations and Excuses

You know how life tends to happen all at once? This week is that.

I started out last week as my normal sort of miserable but functioning self, and then I started to relax a bit because I started getting to know someone cool (a friend started calling him my Knight in Pinstripes), Xena, FATE and I were looking for a place to live, school was going well enough and I even had some commissions to do.

We found a place and the move in date is RIGHT NOW. I'll do a post all about our cute Russian landlord and the area itself... For now, I have no time.

I'm not even sure if I'm breathing.

Moving in is not the problem. We have the place, so I'm putting off packing and doing anything concerning that for at least a week.

No no. The problem is the everything else on top of the moving.

These are mostly good things. 

Like, I now have a bazillion commissions to do.  ...And requests.  This is awesome except that time is a thing.  Time is a thing that I don't have. 

Also, Genericon is this weekend. The fact that I'm entirely unprepared is my own fault.

I have a table in Artist's Alley.

...

I HAVE TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT NOW

and that is not something I can put off.

Genericon and talking to men actually sport the same problem for me these days.

I want physical contact, 

but I instantly talk myself out of it.

...And then I get upset with myself because just shutting off and changing my mind is a difficult thing to do.  

Sometimes, I force myself to accept things, and I'm really happy for a moment.

Like, super happy.

And then the allergy weirdness and paranoia sinks in.

And I over think and can't seem to shut it off.

I wind up feeling like I'm being hugged by cashews.

So, given all that, my interactions at this three day convention might be... interesting.

Still, I expect to have a small army of companions who already consistently put up with my shit by my side.

How does someone so reclusive, twitchy, and anti-social have so many friends? Whatever. I'm not gonna knock it.

Oh, and I have a midterm today.

...and one on Thursday.

Genericon is Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

...Wednesday is game. Game is fine. Game is good. ...I may bring things to sew at game.

...

*flails*

EDIT:  Genericon went really well, despite my poor assistant having a fever.  (Z, I love you)  
I have almost a desk in the apartment and we ...think?  ...my other shit will fit?  The problem is not the bedroom.  The problem is getting it through this tiny, curved hallway that leads into the room.  We'll see.
I have date today.  ...Tonight.  woo

Meat Sauce

So, my mother is like an escaped Disney Princess.  She really is.  Everything she says and does and how she looks and sounds... Yep.

...And then I see this:

This looks like something you'd find in a serial killer's fridge.

"Lazagha"  I think that's supposed to be lasagna. 


I should film a horror movie and just call it "Lazagha" and not say why.


...



This is what gave birth to me.  


...


and I just-

 

Yet Another Post About Poop

My cat. OH MY GOD.
She just got in the arching "Imma shit now" position, I yelled at her, MOVED HER WITH MY FOOT

and she shat anyway.

 "You see me trollin'…"


This cat gives NO SHITS except for the literal kind.

*Poop*


Okay, her's is really not that... Like that, but this is more graphically interesting to draw.



I wish I had the balls this freaking cat does. My god.
Next time I get rejected by a man who has been flirting for months, that's it. I'm just gonna shit right there.

 "Yeah... You were like, third and a half choice."

Drop trow and just shit right in front of him, possibly on his feet.

Get a crap grade in a class? 

CRAP IN YOUR CLASS.

Oh, drama happening with friends or family?

Disarm the situation by shitting right there on the rug!  Or even on the furniture! 

…


Fuck you, cat.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Lately…
Maybe not just lately.
Maybe it has been forever.



I've been feeling like The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Only, mine is not the story of Jekyll finding freedom in Hyde
so much as Hyde desperately putting on Jekyll's old suit
and finding that it no longer fits.
My Hyde wanders around uncomfortably in Jekyll's clothes,
trying to save face to save himself.

Jekyll is often nowhere to be found, but none of his companions notice.
They all believe Hyde.
When Jekyll finally does take his own skin again, he is tired.
Briefly excited, he finds excuses to keep going.

Jekyll can make a living, and it is an honorable one.
He knows deep down that he is helping others
and that his own desires and needs must never come first.
His happiness has meant so little for so long that he is afraid to find any for himself,
lest it be a distraction
or just something good to lose.
Falling from grace would be quite the distraction.

Hyde just runs rampant, chaotic but happy.
Hyde does not care for the needs of those around him.
They are little more than stepping stones.
But Hyde is new.
Hyde is young and reckless.
He has all the passion in the world,
but lacks the drive to succeed at anything meaningful.

Jekyll is just the opposite. 

Hyde needs Jekyll in order to remain so content and free and blameless.
Jekyll needs Hyde in order to release his demons
and prevent them from choking him in his sleep.
Jekyll gives Hyde some sense of structure and purpose…




But Hyde has dreams of his own.

Dreams that may conflict with Jekyll's entire way of life. 


So...





Who do I root for now?

Stripper Elves Have Holiday Spirit, Right?

Alright, it's Christmas time.

Xmas.

...Consumerism mass.

Ass.

My friend was bored to tears at work and asked me to tell her a story.

Here is what she looks like holding a thick chocolate shake that is too large for her:

In any case, anyone who knows me understands that if I'm asked a question or a reasonable task, I will comply.

This often involves nudging me and reminding me though, as my memory is both jack and shit.

SO

I wrote a thing.

Oddly enough, I wrote a Christmas thing.

There are four key characters in this and you will see them as they are introduced. I'm leaving the illustrations black and white for now so that anyone can print them out or take them to color in. If you do a fun job of coloring them, send them my way at deddrie@gmail.com so I can see your interpretation!

*ahem*

Once upon a time, there was an elf named Squibble. 

Squibble had worked for Santa for many years. The hours were long and grueling. Only the three richest kids even got their handiwork these days. The rest was all being outsourced to China and India and that was not what Squibble signed up for!

So he went on strike. Unfortunately, he was the only one to go on strike, as no other elves had any issues with how things were done.

An elf from public relations ran a memo down to Squibble announcing his “forced retirement”...

This was odd, as Squibble was a young elf.

As he cleaned out his tiny elf desk and found his thimble mug and teeny tiny stapler, a girl elf, his replacement, stepped up.

Her name was Bumple, but everyone called her “Glitter” since her stripper days.

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes as he walked away. She sat down at her new desk.

Glitter noticed something shiny. It was a pencil sharpener, and a rather nice one. It had his name engraved on the side.

 

“Oh noes!” cried Glitter, “I must return this to Squibble!”

Well, by then Squibble had already hopped on the polar train to go back to his shitty elf apartment.

Glitter didn't know where Squibble lived.

She asked around.

No records were kept of ex Santa elves.

Hell, he'd be lucky to get a reference, and it wouldn't even be from Ol' Nick himself.

She decided to look for clues.

His trashcan contained a tea bag, three tissues and a used condom.

Jiggles thought Glitter was strange for going through the garbage, but she explained that the used condom was from her romp with Squibble in the back office.

Jiggles couldn't say where Squibble lived exactly, but she had heard him mention Downtown.

...Also, she was about the only one in the factory to give Squibble a “good review”...

So on Glitter went, sharpener and tea bag in hand. Downtown was filled with icky penguins. They wore rubber suits and asked her to go “diving” and to “get some fish” with them.

Before long, Glitter happened upon a specialty tea shop. “Tea Baggins” was owned by a chubby hobbit, Bob. The signs in the window showed bags like the one Glitter held.

Bob told her that only two elves ever bother to shop there. One sounded like Squibble and had left a matchbox from Honkers bar and strip joint.

Glitter snatched the matches and marched off to Honkers. The ladies there were rude and hated Glitter for her success as a stripper in the good part of town.

After much harassment, finally a college student gnome who was stripping just to pay her way through gnome-med school said, “I remember someone like who you describe. He asked for a lap dance and then started crying about his mother. He even brought me to meet her. Super awkward.”

The gnome remembered the address of the mother, drew it out on a napkin and handed it to Glitter.

“It's a big old house just that way. I think it's haunted!” She pointed and Glitter shot out the door.

“HOPE YOU AREN'T ALLERGIC TO CATS” the gnome yelled after her.

The house was huge and dusty as Glitter gingerly stepped inside. “Hello?” Glitter called out meekly to no answer.

“He-hello? ACK!” A thing that may have at one point been a cat ran through her legs.

Glitter passed the kitchen, noting how few knives were in the rack.

She passed a bedroom that looked disheveled and stained...

Then, the only room left...

The basement.

“Shit” said Glitter.

As she reached for the door, clutching the sharpener as though it may save her life...

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Glitter screamed!

The old elf looked at Glitter, then put on her comically large glasses to look harder.

“I don't want any Elfscout Cookies! They give me the runs! Go way!” said the old elf.

“No, no.” Glitter clutched her left breast as she tried to catch her breath.

“I'm looking for your son, Squibble.”

The old elf laughed and said, “Oh thank the lord! He found one that isn't a skank! Come on to the dining room Dear. We'll have some tea.”

Glitter was tired and questioned if she should get involved with this guy Squibble in any way.

Still, the tea was hot and the cats were well enough behaved.

Just as Glitter had begun to ignore the eighth embarrassing tale of Squibble's youth in favor of watching a cat lick its own anus for half an hour, there was a knock at the door.

“Hey Mom, listen. I know I just said I'd never move back here, but I just got fired today and-”

Squibble looked up to see Glitter clutching a tea cup, his sharpener on the table, a book of embarrassing photos out, one of the cats was in his mother's hair and another was obviously thinking about shitting on Glitter's feet.

“The fuck is happening?” asked Squibble.

“Oh Dear! This is Glitter from your office! You should marry her.” The old elf beamed.

Squibble said, “Mom, we don't even know each-”

“SHUT UP AND GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN BEFORE I'M DEAD YOU LITTLE SHIT” said the old elf.

Glitter handed him the sharpener. They smiled. The three of them smoked a bowl and Glitter got Jiggles to come over and help them clean.

The old woman never got her grandchildren, but she was so senile that she didn't really know the difference anyway.

Eventually she passed away and Glitter, Jiggles and Squibble lived happily ever after in sin.

Also, Squibble wrote a book about aging cats and wound up with way too much money.

He thought about donating it, but too many years working for the man left him just wanting boats, bling, and elf pussy.

The end. 

The Things In The Basement

My mother and I have been meaning to tackle the basement for some time now.

...Like...

Years.

It's been years and we haven't wanted to actually do this.  Mold and gross and spiders and cat shit and horrible.   That's the basement. 

I'm going to add to this post after a shower and probably sleep...

I can't even really breathe right.  It's just dust and chaos in my lungs.

For now, I leave you with this:

A three feet tall Mickey Mouse.   He is one of two.  I don't mean that my mom has a Mickey and a Minnie.  No.  No no.  I mean she has two Mickey Mice from like a bazillion years apart.  They are both symbols of my father's love.

At this point, I don't know which is the stronger symbol.

The fact that he got her not one, but TWO of these,
or the fact that he allows them to still hang around the house...
...
Including this one who looks WAY too happy living in the basement.

Later, maybe tomorrow... I'll draw things and explain this guy:

But not tonight. 

EDIT:  Okay, "tomorrow" became like half a year later but shut up. 

First of all, I was getting a lot of joy from getting rid of some of my sister's old PETA propaganda stuff.  I'm all for protecting against animal testing and of course any killing of animals should be humane, but let's face it, those people are mostly crazy.  
The PETA people are the people who DESPERATELY want everyone to be vegan, regardless of the health requirements others may have.  I, for example, would be living off of supplements and thus would probably be even more underweight and feeling like garbage than I already am.  Being allergic to nuts and chickpeas and being intolerant to soy means I need to not be vegan in order to live a resonably comfortable life.   I view these folks much the same way I view members of extremist sects of religions.

*Ahem* 

So, the basement.  

 At one point, Mom started playing with a Polly Pocket and ranting to herself about how toys should be wooden and not plastic. 

 I found my PEZ collection.  ...All of them.  Oh my fuck.  I'll need to post photos to show you all.  

EDIT: LOOKIT: 

I used to have even more.  This is what is left. 

EDIT to the EDIT: OH SHIT I FOUND ANOTHER ONE

EDIT TO THAT OTHER EDIT: HOLY BAJEEZUS THIS ONE WASN'T EVEN OPENED: 

 It's like a year later and I'm still finding these??? 


Lezee... What else? 

OH!  The music box! 

The creepy baby carriage music box! 

It just wouldn't stop.  Creepy AND never stopping.  Like some horrible, haunting background music in a horror movie where a child has just asked you to play but they've been dead for eight years.

Then my sister came down (Nevermind that she refuses to go into the basement due to spiders in order to do her own laundry, but she'll come down when we are trying to clean out the place...) and she immediately turned the damn thing back on when it had finally shut off.  

There was also a Whatever Happened To Baby Jane moment of her arguing with my mother about whether it was mine or hers to begin with.  According to Mom, creepy-never-stopping-baby-carriage-from-Hell was mine.  You know what?  My sister can have it.

...Then my sister dug through the garbage for a coloring book, farted loudly, and then went back upstairs.  

Of course, that coloring book kept her entertained for days, so who am I to judge. 

To state again here...  She basically came down just to fart at us and leave.

Finally, I found my old space heater.  It has since been cleaned by Rob and is being used in the apartment on its fan mode, as it is now Summer.  

This thing is just a little box but I love it.  For months between this original post and the edit, I had used this in a desperate attempt to keep my at the time very lonely and not-retaining-heat self warm. 

It's waaaaay too hot right in front of it, but freezing to either side in the dead of Winter until the air circulates.  As a result, I wound up curling up like a cat and happily burning myself.         

There was also a moment of Mom picking up a book and saying, "Oh!  Legacy of Love!  ... Oh.  Not what I thought."        

EDIT: OH BAJEEZUS WE FOUND ANOTHER ONE

Thankful for Alcoves

The temple I grew up with is very different now, 

yet eerie and comforting in how little it has changed.  
Entire wings have been added, but some areas remain the same.  

Since I grew up there, even though I had hardly ever attended services, 

I still get a bit defensive when people who have been hired since my leaving 

make jokes about me invading “their temple”...  

It's my temple.  After all, I know all the best hiding spots.  

I even found a new one.  It's an alcove. 

I thought it had an IOU plaque which basically stated that it will be... 

something, but apparently it's just a giant hole for the plaque itself.

It states the new name of the Hebrew school. 

People had spent a lot of money to have random things named after their family 

(and to help the temple)...
I thought it would be a display case, maybe?  Nope.

Well, it displayed a rare, rowdy Rowyn.

I even ignored my own thoughts!

I adjusted early on when someone passed me. 

He was questioning why I was hiding, 

but I assume my “possibly about to take a dump” pose didn't help. 

Thankfully, I've learned that smiling pleasantly tends to make people just smile back

and go away. 

Even as a kid, I was generally avoiding services to go make out with girls in the classrooms,

but I would sometimes sit just outside of the sanctuary, 

or on the stage in the room just across from it all, 

in order to listen to my father sing. 

The room itself, 

the expectations I felt, 

and the “community” environment that I never felt fully a part of 

kept me from wanting to participate. 

I thought “cult” whenever the congregation said things together, 

and I thought “fake” when a person I didn't know would hug me because of who I was. 

I had a lot of trust issues even then, 

and I knew that I was supposed to keep anything I was going through or living with a secret. 

These people weren't going to be my friends, 

even if some may have genuinely cared about me if I had given them half a chance. 

I didn't want a Bat Mitzvah. 

It didn't feel right to have one. 

Going up in front of everyone was horrifying to begin with, 

but add the idea of them all listening to me speak and chant 

when I couldn't even stand to hear myself, KNOWING how strange I sounded... 

How mumbled, quiet and awkward... 

And on top of all this, 

morally, I could not bring myself to lead a service for believers 

when I didn't really have faith myself. 

This is not to say that I didn't believe in things. 

I did. 

I had a lot of beliefs. 

They were just really negative 

and involved the idea of believing in the Devil more than a caring God, 

which is ssoooooo not a Jew thing. 

To this day, whenever I write a story about the Devil, 

he is mostly a victim of circumstance. 

Cocky, but was once a loved angel. 

The fact that I interpreted this character in such a way may say something. 

One day, if I remember, I may write a whole entry for this. 

In any case, “faith” implies something more positive and hopeful. 

It's that feeling of “I KNOW this going to be okay” and I didn't have that. 

I knew that I prayed and I followed the rules and did everything I was supposed to,

but nothing got better. 

In my little child brain, there was no future, 

and so if nothing got better RIGHT NOW, it was never going to. 

(The allergy incident in Israel probably didn't help, 

though the fact that I survived it should mean something.)

My love for temple then meandered to only a love for the camaraderie of my friends

and one for the building itself and all its hiding places. 

Somewhere in there, I did grow a kind of faith. 

It's small and strangely shaped, 

but it has helped me when I needed assistance, 

which means it has done the job just fine.