Long before it begins. Make me thrill as only you know how. Sway me smooth, sway me now.
G'aaaaaaaah! I'm horrified!
When I was a kid, there was this really super nice old couple who lived kitty-corner from my house. Mr. & Mrs. White. Sweetest old couple in the world. Their grandkids became friends with the kids in the neighborhood. We all became friends. I'm still friends with them. All the kids in the neighborhold wanted to help this sweet old couple out with yard work, housework, and shoveling snow, just because they were so nice. No need to pay us. We just wanted to help them. They did of course pay us, because they insisted, but we would have all done it for free. My dad always gifted me with a new watch every Christmas, I don't know why but he just did, and one day the battery died in my watch and Mr. White noticed I wasn't wearing it, and he was like bring it over I'll put a new battery in. They were that kind of nice old people. Never underestimate the power of sincere kindness. I've worked in hospitality a long ridiculous stupid ass time. If you're just nice, patient, communicative, and not a creep, most everyone will bend over backwards to get you whatever you want. But these day...
Forget about it.
Both my grandpas died young. I only ever knew one grandpa in a hospital bed at home, dying, tubes everywhere hooked up to a machine until he died. I think I was maybe seven or eight years old when he died. And my other grandpa lived in Utah and died suddenly when I was like ten or twelve. To this day have no idea what he died of. So the only grandpa figure I ever really knew was Mr White. Sweetest man in the world. 60 or 70 years old then.
Now that I'm almost 51 years old, in eight days, I'm two different people. I'm going through "the change" and more often than not I feel like grandma though I have no children and not a huge fan of other peoples' kids. The other side of me is the girl who just blasted Mr Tinkertrain by Ozzy Osbourne, in my kitchen.
https://youtu.be/fy5L97Obq1k
When it comes to men, I'm looking for a guy my own age, up to 20 years older, as I always have, who might know the lyrics to Mr Tinkertrain, but definitely is not Mr Tinketrain himself. Make sense?
I'm surrounded by 60 to 70 year old men who don't know the lyrics to Mr Tinkertrain, they just are Mr Tinkertrain, and I'm fucking horrified.
You're old! You don't even have your own teeth! What the serious fuck are you doing with cock and pussy shots on your phone! And why the fuck are you showing me?? What the fuck is wrong with you?
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH gross!
Dick pics never turned me on to begin with, and I'm in NO hurry to see your 60 year old haggard wrinkly disgusting dick! Yuck!
It's just...
I'm going to look young forever. Why? I don't know? Its creepy, sad, I must have made a deal with Satan sometime ago. It's not cool. It just isn't! No one wants to be a kid forever! Nonetheless I'm stuck in the body. With this face. Nothing I can do. Withal, I'm still 51 years old. Women mature faster then men. So I'm about 70 years old now in intellectual years. Put your gall-damn haggard old man dick pics away!
Just be a nice sweet old man. Help me Mr. White! Keep the filth in the barber shops or wherever haggard old men talk sex. Blaaaaaaah!
It's so sad hearing a 62 year old man say "pussy". That's not language you use in your out loud voice with women, mister! Not when you're that old.
Its just... sad.
Happy New Year!
Monday, December 30, 2019
Sunday, December 22, 2019
Don't be a dick
Want to know how he does it? Same way I do it. Before the internet, I used models, and I owned a giant stack of anatomy books. He uses paints, neutral colors and primaries, whereas I use B pencils HB - 8B, and just like applying eyeliner and mascara, I practice, practice, practice every day.
Oooooh big reveal.
What a dick.
You have the internet. WE ALL USE REFERENCE SHOTS. All of us. I can keep an image in my head for a very long time, but to say every visual, every detail, comes solely from your head cannot physically be true after the age of 5.
They're just mad when artists like me collage my work. And teach.
Want to know how he got a painting to look like that? Ask Google or YouTube. And then practice. Keep practicing. I practice every day. 40 years later, still practicing.
I don't understand artists who are afraid. What are you afraid of? Someone might be better than you? Newsflash, there's artists better than you. A whole lot of them! New artists coming every day. Thank god.
More artists. Less politicians.
EXAMPLE: Hitler
Imagine if The Academy of Fine Arts, Vienna, had actually accepted his entrance exam rather than failing him.
Whatever your opinion of Tom Cruise, after he told students of The Actors Studio, something along the lines of, "Direct me. Guide me. As an actor I want to share your vision." To me, that's the coolest thing you can say in his position.
Visual artists are ridiculous.
Teach others along the way.
Oooooh big reveal.
What a dick.
You have the internet. WE ALL USE REFERENCE SHOTS. All of us. I can keep an image in my head for a very long time, but to say every visual, every detail, comes solely from your head cannot physically be true after the age of 5.
They're just mad when artists like me collage my work. And teach.
Want to know how he got a painting to look like that? Ask Google or YouTube. And then practice. Keep practicing. I practice every day. 40 years later, still practicing.
I don't understand artists who are afraid. What are you afraid of? Someone might be better than you? Newsflash, there's artists better than you. A whole lot of them! New artists coming every day. Thank god.
More artists. Less politicians.
EXAMPLE: Hitler
Imagine if The Academy of Fine Arts, Vienna, had actually accepted his entrance exam rather than failing him.
Whatever your opinion of Tom Cruise, after he told students of The Actors Studio, something along the lines of, "Direct me. Guide me. As an actor I want to share your vision." To me, that's the coolest thing you can say in his position.
Visual artists are ridiculous.
Teach others along the way.
Slicing my wrists. Here we go.
I hate listening to artists talk. So much bullshit.
"I don't use reference photos. It's all original ideas from my head."
Bullshit. There are no original ideas.
"I don't show my art in the works. It just looks like a collage. It takes away from the magic."
Unless you're pulling a bunny rabbit out of your painting, art isn't magical.
Fuck. So much ego.
You want to be magical? David Copperfield has magic kits for sale at MGM magic shop. Knock yourself out.
No. Really. knock yourself out.
"I don't use reference photos. It's all original ideas from my head."
Bullshit. There are no original ideas.
"I don't show my art in the works. It just looks like a collage. It takes away from the magic."
Unless you're pulling a bunny rabbit out of your painting, art isn't magical.
Fuck. So much ego.
You want to be magical? David Copperfield has magic kits for sale at MGM magic shop. Knock yourself out.
No. Really. knock yourself out.
Saturday, December 21, 2019
This is the way
My candy jam is red licorice. Twizzlers. But if I see them blue gummy sharks, oh yep! My Swedish ex husband turned me on to those. At least he turned me on, to something. Hey-o! (I miss Jay.)
Eriq, I see a pilgrimage to Santa Barbara in the near future. We need some Jay!
I just gave Miso a little bath. Not happy kitty! He's trying to lick the bath off him. Nope! Lick all you want kitty. You're still clean.
So I finally learned who did the paintings in Velvet Buzzsaw. Artist, Saxon Brice. His work is amazing in that movie. His website is not mobile friendly or I'd link it.
I know my Mythosaur skull doesnt look like much right now, it never does in the begining but trust me, it'll get better. It always does. You can see where I'm going though right?
"This is the way."
Baby Yoda!!!!
(Click photo to enlarge)
David Coverdale just taught me via social media that avacado translates to testicle. And guacamole translates to testicle sauce. Man, have I had an embarrassing amount of testicle sauce in my lifetime.😳
Ok. Drawing.
Eriq, I see a pilgrimage to Santa Barbara in the near future. We need some Jay!
I just gave Miso a little bath. Not happy kitty! He's trying to lick the bath off him. Nope! Lick all you want kitty. You're still clean.
So I finally learned who did the paintings in Velvet Buzzsaw. Artist, Saxon Brice. His work is amazing in that movie. His website is not mobile friendly or I'd link it.
I know my Mythosaur skull doesnt look like much right now, it never does in the begining but trust me, it'll get better. It always does. You can see where I'm going though right?
"This is the way."
Baby Yoda!!!!
(Click photo to enlarge)
Just remember, Dolly started like this
But ended up like this.
Ok. Drawing.
"Mew. Zzzzzzzz"
Friday, December 20, 2019
Year of the cock. 1969.
The Mythosaur skull I'm working on has a little H.R. Giger (early years), a little steampunk, a little goth Chinese new year rooster, because that's my Chinese zodiac symbol, year of the rooster. Year of the cock. I know what you're thinking. Ha. No. I'm drawing a rooster. I promise. Not even the younger me would do such a thing.
It is so much easier for men to find women after 50 years of age, then it is for women to find men. I'll be 51 years old in eighteen days and all I can say is, my wants in life have never changed. I just want to make my art, have a few cats, maybe a small dog, a house by some water, and hang out with my friends. But this is never enough for men. It's never enough. Not that I blame them. Men always want what I can't give them.
I'm going to be one of those scrawny super skinny little old ladies. Old people either get super fat or super skinny. I'm going to be super skinny. On the plus side I didn't get my period this month. Hooray. For the past three years I have not gotten my period in the month of December. Only December. Strange. Four more years and I should stop getting my period all together. Hooray! Finally! Of course I'll die the following day.
The 1990 movie, Vincent & Theo, is me and Aramis. Great movie. I love Tim Roth. He needs to be in more movies.
https://youtu.be/6iZx3vuKXnI
Aramis is the only man I talk art with who doesn't bore me or drive me crazy. He's more of a brother to me than my own brothers who I decisively no longer speak to. Not since our dad died.
Even trying to find a NYE date, for the past three months, is useless. I knew it would be. It's really easy for me to get turned off. All he has to do is say something I find annoying and I'm done. Out.
God bless the internet. David Coverdale is my new favorite person to follow on Twitter. He has that English charm. I'm rather certain he's much fun to hang out with. So much fun.
Miso stray cat does not come around that much anymore. He found a new home to Netflix and chill at in an apartment across the street. They're feeding him very well too, something he likes better than my wet/dry cat food because he is now ten pounds fatter pleasantly plump. A whole lotta fluff! But that's good. I don't have to worry about him in the middle of the night when it's below freezing out. I know he's safe.
Anyway.
Back to drawing.
No matter how much I draw my artist friends are kicking my ass. But I can't stop. Won't stop. Challenge accepted!
I should go out this weekend. Be social. But I know I won't. I have drawings to make. Text me. I'm around.
Yay hockey season! I'm back in. L.A. Kings! It's funny to me how much these Las Vegas shitkicker locals, you know who I'm talking about, they hate Californians, but love the Vegas Golden Knights, with such loyalty, buuuuut none of their hockey players are from Las Vegas, many of them aren't even American. D'oh!
Know why?
KNOW WHY?
Because Vegas is in the fucking desert.
I love educating Vegas locals on the history of Vegas. You know, not many people were actually born and raised here.
Know why?
KNOW WHY?
Because it's the fucking desert!
Until casinos came very, very few people even lived out here. Never mind born and raised. Mostly fugitives wanted for murder, or so I'm guessing!
So much internet drama with hockey and TROS 😂 My Star Wars shirt is vintage. I've had it for a while now. At this point my tee shirt is worth more money than my art. True story, Aramis. Or should I say Theo.
It is so much easier for men to find women after 50 years of age, then it is for women to find men. I'll be 51 years old in eighteen days and all I can say is, my wants in life have never changed. I just want to make my art, have a few cats, maybe a small dog, a house by some water, and hang out with my friends. But this is never enough for men. It's never enough. Not that I blame them. Men always want what I can't give them.
I'm going to be one of those scrawny super skinny little old ladies. Old people either get super fat or super skinny. I'm going to be super skinny. On the plus side I didn't get my period this month. Hooray. For the past three years I have not gotten my period in the month of December. Only December. Strange. Four more years and I should stop getting my period all together. Hooray! Finally! Of course I'll die the following day.
The 1990 movie, Vincent & Theo, is me and Aramis. Great movie. I love Tim Roth. He needs to be in more movies.
https://youtu.be/6iZx3vuKXnI
Aramis is the only man I talk art with who doesn't bore me or drive me crazy. He's more of a brother to me than my own brothers who I decisively no longer speak to. Not since our dad died.
Even trying to find a NYE date, for the past three months, is useless. I knew it would be. It's really easy for me to get turned off. All he has to do is say something I find annoying and I'm done. Out.
God bless the internet. David Coverdale is my new favorite person to follow on Twitter. He has that English charm. I'm rather certain he's much fun to hang out with. So much fun.
Miso stray cat does not come around that much anymore. He found a new home to Netflix and chill at in an apartment across the street. They're feeding him very well too, something he likes better than my wet/dry cat food because he is now ten pounds fatter pleasantly plump. A whole lotta fluff! But that's good. I don't have to worry about him in the middle of the night when it's below freezing out. I know he's safe.
Anyway.
Back to drawing.
No matter how much I draw my artist friends are kicking my ass. But I can't stop. Won't stop. Challenge accepted!
I should go out this weekend. Be social. But I know I won't. I have drawings to make. Text me. I'm around.
Yay hockey season! I'm back in. L.A. Kings! It's funny to me how much these Las Vegas shitkicker locals, you know who I'm talking about, they hate Californians, but love the Vegas Golden Knights, with such loyalty, buuuuut none of their hockey players are from Las Vegas, many of them aren't even American. D'oh!
Know why?
KNOW WHY?
Because Vegas is in the fucking desert.
I love educating Vegas locals on the history of Vegas. You know, not many people were actually born and raised here.
Know why?
KNOW WHY?
Because it's the fucking desert!
Until casinos came very, very few people even lived out here. Never mind born and raised. Mostly fugitives wanted for murder, or so I'm guessing!
So much internet drama with hockey and TROS 😂 My Star Wars shirt is vintage. I've had it for a while now. At this point my tee shirt is worth more money than my art. True story, Aramis. Or should I say Theo.
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Just me, the cat, Dolly, and madness
Sacrifice.
That's what it takes.
Sacrifice. Your soul. And your sanity.
How is it whenever artist friends post pictures of their work areas you can clearly tell an artist lives there. Me on the other hand, after a week of drawing nonstop my apartment just looks like raccoons live here.
I finished Dolly last night around midnight. Miso kitty spent the night out of the rain and kept me company. After texting Aramis a photo of my finished Dolly, both Miso and I fell asleep around 12:30am. Neither one of us woke up again until 6:30 this morning. It's not easy being an artist cat.
Ladies and gentlemen
Dolly Parton
(Click photo to enlarge)
Legend. Queen of country. Her start in the music industry is fascinating. Like Johnny Cash. Jerry Lee Lewis. Two of them came from dirt poor families and look what they made of themselves. Respect.
A few things...
I changed Dolly's bustier from the reference photo to something more modern. I spent at least 5 agonizing hours drawing her breasts. Sizing them. Shaping them. Shading them. Resizing them. Reshaping them. Re-shading them. 5 hours. Now finished I'm showing them off!
Regarding Dolly's hair, I am a huge fan, as in I absolutely love renaissance sculptures. Particularly Bernini.
Here's a Bernini website you can muse over
Bernini sexuality in marble
Additionally, I love medieval to renaissance stained glass. You will always see illuminations of both arts in all my drawings. When drawing Dolly, I saw her as a marble sculpture and came stained glass.
Also, I did not draw nipples or areola in this drawing. If you see either its because that's what your mind sees.
Furthermore, there are subtleties in my Dolly drawing that bear specifics of my personality. I think its sexy when thin, C cup (plus) busty women wear bustiers. I think its sexy when there's a little boob jiggle over the sides of the bustier or what's the point? I draw these subtleties not to offend anyone, but as the old saying goes - No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself.
Nothing compares to seeing art in person. There is not a lense on earth that can replace or capture the wonders caught by the human eye except those rare transcendent storytellers.
I was going to draw Farrah, but I think I'm going to back burner her for now. I have other ideas.
Dolly took 12 days and over 50 hours to make.
Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
I hope you like my drawing.
On to the next.
That's what it takes.
Sacrifice. Your soul. And your sanity.
How is it whenever artist friends post pictures of their work areas you can clearly tell an artist lives there. Me on the other hand, after a week of drawing nonstop my apartment just looks like raccoons live here.
I finished Dolly last night around midnight. Miso kitty spent the night out of the rain and kept me company. After texting Aramis a photo of my finished Dolly, both Miso and I fell asleep around 12:30am. Neither one of us woke up again until 6:30 this morning. It's not easy being an artist cat.
Miso handles all the packaging.
Ladies and gentlemen
Dolly Parton
(Click photo to enlarge)
Legend. Queen of country. Her start in the music industry is fascinating. Like Johnny Cash. Jerry Lee Lewis. Two of them came from dirt poor families and look what they made of themselves. Respect.
A few things...
I changed Dolly's bustier from the reference photo to something more modern. I spent at least 5 agonizing hours drawing her breasts. Sizing them. Shaping them. Shading them. Resizing them. Reshaping them. Re-shading them. 5 hours. Now finished I'm showing them off!
Regarding Dolly's hair, I am a huge fan, as in I absolutely love renaissance sculptures. Particularly Bernini.
Here's a Bernini website you can muse over
Bernini sexuality in marble
Additionally, I love medieval to renaissance stained glass. You will always see illuminations of both arts in all my drawings. When drawing Dolly, I saw her as a marble sculpture and came stained glass.
Also, I did not draw nipples or areola in this drawing. If you see either its because that's what your mind sees.
Furthermore, there are subtleties in my Dolly drawing that bear specifics of my personality. I think its sexy when thin, C cup (plus) busty women wear bustiers. I think its sexy when there's a little boob jiggle over the sides of the bustier or what's the point? I draw these subtleties not to offend anyone, but as the old saying goes - No matter who he paints, the painter always paints himself.
Nothing compares to seeing art in person. There is not a lense on earth that can replace or capture the wonders caught by the human eye except those rare transcendent storytellers.
I was going to draw Farrah, but I think I'm going to back burner her for now. I have other ideas.
Dolly took 12 days and over 50 hours to make.
Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
I hope you like my drawing.
On to the next.
Saturday, December 14, 2019
Friday, December 13, 2019
Miso. Dolly. Anton LaVey. Chucky
Why are polar bear babies so small? Giant ass bear. Tiny little toe nubs for babies. Like baby pandas. Wee little toe nubs! Big ass Panda bear.
Miso's not a wee little toe nub are you, Miso?
Miso loves to sit on my drawing paper. You could put 100 cushy things in front of him, and he'll still sit on my drawing paper. Last night, early this morning, when I heard Miso crying in pain, I ran outside and brought him up into my apartment where I could tend to his foot. And like always, he immediately sat on some drawing paper while I got together a clothespan of soap and water.
Do I read from Anton LaVey, while drawing in Miso's blood? Isn't that kind of how Chucky came to life in 1988?
I better chose what I draw carefully, eh?
Happy Friday the 13th!
Miso's not a wee little toe nub are you, Miso?
"I is an opossum."
Dolly Parton. Wip, day 11.
(Click picture to enlarge)
Aramis, God bless him, talks me down from the ledge every other day, to every day since I started this drawing. In 11 days I've gotten drunk more times than I've eaten and showered combined from the stress of this drawing. I've gone a little mad. Madder.
I don't like drawing boobs. Nope. No sir. Don't like it. First of all I'm straight. So right there I'm not into it. Second, I'm hyper picky what I think is sexy on a woman. Hyper picky. I love big hair. Lots of hair. I love big lips. I love high cheek bones. And I love bustiers with big boobs. I think its sexy when a little boob jiggles over the sides of the bustier. Isn't that the point? And I love these things about women because I love drawing them. Well, sans boobs. I draw men for their bodies, women for their face. But it's my love for Dolly that I'm making this two foot drawing of her... and then I'll have Aramis commit me. Just admit me to a loony bin that accepts cats.
And speaking of cats...
A little backstory
I live in Las Vegas, where men whip street donuts at high speed in their SUV's from midnight to 2:00am because that's what reasonable men do apparently.
Just like some asshole broke an empty Hennessy bottle on the sidewalk at 3:30am, because that's how reasonable people dispose of empty glass containers for the neighborhood cat to cut his feet on.
Myself and another neighbor have been tending to Miso's furry little toe since it happened. It looks much, much better today.
Miso loves to sit on my drawing paper. You could put 100 cushy things in front of him, and he'll still sit on my drawing paper. Last night, early this morning, when I heard Miso crying in pain, I ran outside and brought him up into my apartment where I could tend to his foot. And like always, he immediately sat on some drawing paper while I got together a clothespan of soap and water.
I was going to throw the paper out, but no. I'm going to draw on it. I don't know what yet. But it's going to be with Miso's blood. Velvet Buzzsaw!
Do I read from Anton LaVey, while drawing in Miso's blood? Isn't that kind of how Chucky came to life in 1988?
That's two sheets of paper with Miso's blood on it.
I better chose what I draw carefully, eh?
Happy Friday the 13th!
"I is on the mend."
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
Drawing boobs is hard!
Seriously. What the F!
(Click photo to enlarge)
I don't normally draw boobs so of course I had to pick a woman with the motherload bra size. I tried drawing Dolly's breasts to hang naturally but I'm not even sure if they're natural in this reference photo I'm using? Dolly's much younger here. Plus she's wearing a bustier. Why is Dolly wearing a bustier? Just how boob greedy are you men?! Rhetorical question. Artistically speaking, in this reference photo I'm using, one of Dolly's breasts is the circumference of her face. One. Do we know what's going on with Dolly's magnificent breasts? They were rather ginormous once upon a time.
Dolly, behind me, is two feet tall. A foot and half wide. I've put in roughly 40 hours of draw-time. Parts and labor. Let's say $950 out the door. Unless you're outside the US in which case you're paying $950 plus postage. Otherwise $950 out the door.
You can reach me on Instagram. Click the link below.
INSTAGRAM @ 2_STRAY_CATS
Or Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
Doll-eeeee!!
I considered Ebay'ing Dolly to her fans but then I saw paintings on Ebay of grass, just stems of grass, as in lawn, for $8,500. I'm sorry but if you're paying $8,500 for an 8x12 watercolor of someone's lawn, I can't let you have Dolly. No.
Velvet Buzzsaw!
https://youtu.be/XdAR-lK43YU
(Click photo to enlarge)
I don't normally draw boobs so of course I had to pick a woman with the motherload bra size. I tried drawing Dolly's breasts to hang naturally but I'm not even sure if they're natural in this reference photo I'm using? Dolly's much younger here. Plus she's wearing a bustier. Why is Dolly wearing a bustier? Just how boob greedy are you men?! Rhetorical question. Artistically speaking, in this reference photo I'm using, one of Dolly's breasts is the circumference of her face. One. Do we know what's going on with Dolly's magnificent breasts? They were rather ginormous once upon a time.
Dolly, behind me, is two feet tall. A foot and half wide. I've put in roughly 40 hours of draw-time. Parts and labor. Let's say $950 out the door. Unless you're outside the US in which case you're paying $950 plus postage. Otherwise $950 out the door.
You can reach me on Instagram. Click the link below.
INSTAGRAM @ 2_STRAY_CATS
Or Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
Doll-eeeee!!
I considered Ebay'ing Dolly to her fans but then I saw paintings on Ebay of grass, just stems of grass, as in lawn, for $8,500. I'm sorry but if you're paying $8,500 for an 8x12 watercolor of someone's lawn, I can't let you have Dolly. No.
Velvet Buzzsaw!
https://youtu.be/XdAR-lK43YU
Monday, December 9, 2019
Who's drawing boobs tonight?
This girl!
My rendition of Dolly Parton is way the F more challenging than I originally thought it would be. I got the first quarter section of Dolly's hair knocked out in a few hours. Therefor it was reasonable to guesstimate, knowing how I work, that I could get Dolly finished within 30 hours. But no. I got stuck a few times. Severely stuck another few more times. Almost quit. Then did quit. Wept. Got drunk. Wept again. Came back the next day. Barrelled through. And here we are 7 days after I first started.
Dolly is not my best work but she's the most loved. She's a hard earned C. Plus. C+. I'll draw another Dolly for sure.
Do you have Instagram? If you want to see what she looks like now I just post an update on my IG Story and Highlight. Click the link below.
INSTAGRAM STORY AND HIGHLIGHT
Or go to Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
Dolly, wip 12.8
I'll shoot a better photo of Dolly when she's done, but as always nothing compares to seeing artwork in person.
I'm conflicted as to what I should do with her. I can sell this drawing easily to a Dolly Parton fan. Someone who will love her as much as I do. Or I could exhibit Dolly somewhere but in truth the only way I would want to exhibit Dolly is if I did it Banksy style as a clever three hour pop-up display complete with Dolly drag queens. But let's be honest, I'm nowhere near as clever as Banksy.
Tonight I draw Dolly's fabulous bust. We'll see if boobs are as fun to draw as my fellow male artists say they are.
Ok. Back to work.
Mom wonders why I don't drive back in that big fine car I own
The truth is I don't have a car and I'm ashamed to go back home
A pair of false eye lashes and a tube of cheap lipstick
A pair of worn out high heel shoes and a dress doesn't fit
These are all my possessions all I have to my name
And a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
https://youtu.be/t4l9rX9cDls
-- False Eyelashes, Dolly Parton
My rendition of Dolly Parton is way the F more challenging than I originally thought it would be. I got the first quarter section of Dolly's hair knocked out in a few hours. Therefor it was reasonable to guesstimate, knowing how I work, that I could get Dolly finished within 30 hours. But no. I got stuck a few times. Severely stuck another few more times. Almost quit. Then did quit. Wept. Got drunk. Wept again. Came back the next day. Barrelled through. And here we are 7 days after I first started.
Dolly is not my best work but she's the most loved. She's a hard earned C. Plus. C+. I'll draw another Dolly for sure.
Do you have Instagram? If you want to see what she looks like now I just post an update on my IG Story and Highlight. Click the link below.
INSTAGRAM STORY AND HIGHLIGHT
Or go to Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
Dolly, wip 12.8
I'll shoot a better photo of Dolly when she's done, but as always nothing compares to seeing artwork in person.
I'm conflicted as to what I should do with her. I can sell this drawing easily to a Dolly Parton fan. Someone who will love her as much as I do. Or I could exhibit Dolly somewhere but in truth the only way I would want to exhibit Dolly is if I did it Banksy style as a clever three hour pop-up display complete with Dolly drag queens. But let's be honest, I'm nowhere near as clever as Banksy.
Tonight I draw Dolly's fabulous bust. We'll see if boobs are as fun to draw as my fellow male artists say they are.
Ok. Back to work.
Mom wonders why I don't drive back in that big fine car I own
The truth is I don't have a car and I'm ashamed to go back home
A pair of false eye lashes and a tube of cheap lipstick
A pair of worn out high heel shoes and a dress doesn't fit
These are all my possessions all I have to my name
And a record played in my home town is my only claim to fame
https://youtu.be/t4l9rX9cDls
-- False Eyelashes, Dolly Parton
Sunday, December 8, 2019
I will always love you
Are you on Instagram? Yes? My Dolly Parton drawing is about 70% finished. I'll be working all through the night.
You can see Dolly Parton updates on my IG STORY/HIGHLIGHT. Click the link.
INSTAGRAM HIGHLIGHT AND STORY
Or
Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
Here's Dolly singing her song I Will Always Love You. Whitney Houston covered it in 1992 for (movie) The Bodyguard with Kevin Costner.
https://youtu.be/jr8tffNHJno
Elvis wanted to cover this song but Dolly said no.
When I'm finished with Dolly, I'll start right away on my next drawing. Farrah.
Before Charlie's Angels
Before the red bathing suit
Before the iconic feathered hair
That's the Farrah I'm drawing.
You can see Dolly Parton updates on my IG STORY/HIGHLIGHT. Click the link.
INSTAGRAM HIGHLIGHT AND STORY
Or
Instagram @ 2_stray_cats
Here's Dolly singing her song I Will Always Love You. Whitney Houston covered it in 1992 for (movie) The Bodyguard with Kevin Costner.
https://youtu.be/jr8tffNHJno
Elvis wanted to cover this song but Dolly said no.
When I'm finished with Dolly, I'll start right away on my next drawing. Farrah.
Before Charlie's Angels
Before the red bathing suit
Before the iconic feathered hair
That's the Farrah I'm drawing.
Saturday, December 7, 2019
She's a beauty
Dolly drawing update on Instagram just now.
@2_stray_cats INSTAGRAMB5yRUlQAIAi
Blog: DOLLY
I should be done with Dolly by tomorrow night. It's supposed to rain tomorrow too. I'm really going to hate parting with this drawing. Maybe I'll auction it off on Ebay for Dolly Parton fans?
Miso's excited.
"snozzzz... mewmewmewmewmewmewmew
snozzz... mewmewmewmewmewmewmew"
@2_stray_cats INSTAGRAMB5yRUlQAIAi
Blog: DOLLY
I should be done with Dolly by tomorrow night. It's supposed to rain tomorrow too. I'm really going to hate parting with this drawing. Maybe I'll auction it off on Ebay for Dolly Parton fans?
Miso's excited.
"snozzzz... mewmewmewmewmewmewmew
snozzz... mewmewmewmewmewmewmew"
Friday, December 6, 2019
Dolly
"Hair on the buttocks and you, I do not like." -- Bevalaqua, (film) Illuminata
Around the time Hollywood #metoo stir was brewing, groups of feminists started attacking artists who made adult/erotic art. Those artists being primarily made up of heterosexual men. And when posed with the question, "Why do you paint women with exposed big breasts?" The popular reply, "because they're fun to paint" obviously did not go over well.
I really don't like talking to people about art anymore. Especially with other artists. Long dull technical art speak. Whenever I'm at an opening or part of an opening, I'm in and out as fast possible. Most artists are such boring egotistical human beings at art openings, I just want to kill myself.
Example: "You should come by some time and watch me paint."
Yeah. No. That's almost as bad as, "Want to go for a ride in my Porshe?" Actually it's more like, "Want to go for a ride in my Por..." Aaand just like that I've slit my wrists.
I have artist friends. Several. We hardly ever talk art. Maybe swap wips. That's it. If we talk art it's about other artists we like. Not ourselves. We talk about movies, music, and comics more than anything.
But when feminist groups started hassling artists for painting women with big exposed breasts, suddenly calling it porn, perverse, misogyny, to further their #metoo agenda, it reminded me of a conversation I had, repeatedly, with a guy, a musician, someone I had a brief fling with circa 2001-2002. At the time I was drawing nude men. Very hot in shape muscular nude men. Nudity and art have gone hand in hand since Christ. No kidding. Pencil artists tend to prefer nude men for their muscle structure. There's more to draw.
Even though it was a brief fling I had a lot of respect for this guy up until then and so when he criticized my art subjects by saying, "Why dont you ever draw ugly people? Fat out of shape ugly people." My only thought to that was, who wants to draw fat ugly people?
"Your models dont have to be perfect." He would say. And it really bothered me when he said it. Here was a guy, a famous musician, toured the world, well read, sophisticated, groupies galore, and he didn't understand beautiful art? At first I thought he was jealous of the male models. But again, here was a guy, a famous musician, toured the world...
He reminded me of those irritating feminists. Which is ironic because he's a Republican with a deep dislike for feminists.
Men like him are annoying.
If educated, well read, well traveled, artists of other genres even, don't understand beautiful art, how can we expect judgemental feminists or anyone else to understand it?
What happened? Michelangelo can sculpt David, intact, and yet somehow that's different from what we're doing? Settle down. No one's comparing themselves to Michelangelo. He's a master. You know what I'm saying. I don't want to draw people I don't find interesting. Who's going to hang a large drawing in their livingroom of someone the artist didn't find interesting?
I can only say it this way...
It's art if he sees it with his eyes or with his mind and then renders it entirely with his bare hands and a chisel, brush, or pencil. That's a skill. That's art. Fine art. I may not like or respect your art if it reeks of intended prejudice or cruelty towards other living things, and I may not like your genre of art, but its still art. Furthermore, if you're an adult who doesn't know the difference between art and pornography, you're viewing at least one of them entirely wrong.
I chose to draw Dolly Parton in her formative years because I think she's smoking hot in this one picture I saw of her. It's that simple. I love her big hair, big lips, big boobs, dark eye makeup, she's just hot, then and now.
Dolly Parton said in this interview clip how she got her iconic look. When done right, like how Dolly does it, I couldn't agree more.
https://youtu.be/D12lpJlFj9g
https://youtu.be/0OYdRmzAmQk
Before Metallica there was
https://youtu.be/UbxUSsFXYo4
https://youtu.be/L0eeSoU35wM
The criticism from that musician guy and what he said about how I never draw ugly people...
His wife is absolutely gorgeous by the way.
Why didn't he marry someone he thinks is fat and ugly? That way he could look at fat and ugly for the rest of his life instead of criticizing others for what they find beautiful.
Even my cell phone's a critic. Look how it organized my photos. It picked its own gallery cover photos. I didn't do that. My cell phone did. Rude!
Year's not over yet, cell phone!
I'm not in the habit of drawing famous people but as I get older, 51 years old in twenty plus days (what the fuu ?) ... obscure images, to vintage, retro, anything that reminds me of simple days gone by turn me on. It reminds me of home. It's my way of going back I suppose. Going home again before I die. To the only home I know.
I'm told they don't teach cursive handwriting in school anymore.
(Sigh)
Cursive handwriting is an art. An introduction to calligraphy. Simone made beautiful calligraphy art. Everything she wrote was in calligraphy. Remember? Now aggro social media soapboxing is their art.
(deep sigh)
My dear Betty White, how far we've come. How far we have yet to go. Every new generation of women lays down more arduous tracks without end to travel.
Art takes practice, patience, devotion, desire, sacrifice, oh the sacrifice, willingness, all skills that make life beautiful and worth living. It takes real courage to get from there to here.
This country needs more courage.
One day Miso stray cat, you, me, and the Mediterranean.
One day.
"Mew. Treats."
It seems nothing is going on tonight so I'll be home drawing Dolly. Text me if ya'll get bored.
When you have things to do and he's all...
Wednesday, December 4, 2019
We were all once Pussycats
Greetings from the barren wasteland.
Life inmate 80942. From BLOG: I'm alive?
This is my rendition of a legend in her formative years. Her country songs didn't resonate with me until after I was 40 and had grown up a little.
It's a large scale graphite drawing 18x24. I wish Instagram would allow sizing. This is just the top half of her. A drawing wip update of my country singer, diva, legend.
INSTAGRAMB5pz0wOgzEb
And can I just say to all those people who criticized the Pussycat Dolls for their choice of wardrobe when performing the announcement of their reunion tour, calling the costumes misogynistic and S&M gear, first if all you don't know what S&M is do you? Secondly, that pretty much sums up my entire wardrobe from 1989-2003. Misogyny be damned. I looked hot. So do they. Jealous?
Deep sigh...
It's not that I don't believe Virginia Roberts, it's that she came forward, as so many of them curiously do, years later, more than fifteen years later and starts throwing around accusations. How about some evidence? Proof? And again, why are the parents, or whoever was responsible, never actually responsible whenever a minor is reportedly involved in a sex crime like trafficking? My parents were neglectful selfish awful parents too at times but I was never trafficked out for sex. Little Asian girl. Hairless body. Obvious choice. I mean, c'mon. If I could avoid the Epsteins of the world so could Roberts with even bare minimum parenting. Even if she was a runaway, even if she was a drug addict, even if she was deemed unruly, parents still need to be held equally responsible. Just my opinion. Whatever. Now let's have some proof.
My dear Betty White, how far we've come. How far we have yet to go. Every new generation of women lays down more arduous tracks without end to travel.
Take me JG!
I'm ready
Atlantis
Let's go
Life inmate 80942. From BLOG: I'm alive?
This is my rendition of a legend in her formative years. Her country songs didn't resonate with me until after I was 40 and had grown up a little.
It's a large scale graphite drawing 18x24. I wish Instagram would allow sizing. This is just the top half of her. A drawing wip update of my country singer, diva, legend.
INSTAGRAMB5pz0wOgzEb
And can I just say to all those people who criticized the Pussycat Dolls for their choice of wardrobe when performing the announcement of their reunion tour, calling the costumes misogynistic and S&M gear, first if all you don't know what S&M is do you? Secondly, that pretty much sums up my entire wardrobe from 1989-2003. Misogyny be damned. I looked hot. So do they. Jealous?
Deep sigh...
It's not that I don't believe Virginia Roberts, it's that she came forward, as so many of them curiously do, years later, more than fifteen years later and starts throwing around accusations. How about some evidence? Proof? And again, why are the parents, or whoever was responsible, never actually responsible whenever a minor is reportedly involved in a sex crime like trafficking? My parents were neglectful selfish awful parents too at times but I was never trafficked out for sex. Little Asian girl. Hairless body. Obvious choice. I mean, c'mon. If I could avoid the Epsteins of the world so could Roberts with even bare minimum parenting. Even if she was a runaway, even if she was a drug addict, even if she was deemed unruly, parents still need to be held equally responsible. Just my opinion. Whatever. Now let's have some proof.
My dear Betty White, how far we've come. How far we have yet to go. Every new generation of women lays down more arduous tracks without end to travel.
Take me JG!
I'm ready
Atlantis
Let's go
Monday, December 2, 2019
WIP
In the art world (possibly elsewhere) wip means work in progress.
I started drawing a self portrait but as per usual I wasn't digging it. So I started drawing her instead.
Any guesses?
INSTAGRAMB5lUH7KAYl0
18x24 graphite
Remember kids, Christmas and Valentines Day are coming. I'm accepting commissions but bear in mind my drawing style. If you like the way another artist draws please commission them. I draw like me. Awesome. Thanks. DM me on Instagram.
I started drawing a self portrait but as per usual I wasn't digging it. So I started drawing her instead.
Any guesses?
INSTAGRAMB5lUH7KAYl0
18x24 graphite
Remember kids, Christmas and Valentines Day are coming. I'm accepting commissions but bear in mind my drawing style. If you like the way another artist draws please commission them. I draw like me. Awesome. Thanks. DM me on Instagram.
Sunday, December 1, 2019
Pay her!
HR Giger, may he rest in peace, wrote in one of his art books that beautiful women should get paid for being beautiful, paid to have sex, otherwise she's just cheating herself. Agreed.
I've yet to meet a man in the past seven (plus) years who didn't feel owed a blowjob upon meeting him.
Men feel entitled to do as they please regardless how wrong it is. They feel entitled to send unwanted dick pics, unwanted attention, and my all time favorite, "my dick is hard" rando text message at 3am.
That's the tradeoff. I'll tolerate you being a moron but first you have to compensate me. Since the dawn of time that's the tradeoff between men and women. But today there's so much entitlement there's no room for kindness or sincerity between the sexes. Therefor make them pay. This for that. It's fair.
My mind is blown every time a man texts or emails 100 messages asking if I'm into him. Ego and stupidity. Thats like when someone calls you just to yell at you for not calling them. Crazy. 100 times. If you have to ask her more than once if she's into you, she's not. At all. Stop. Just stop. Walk away.
This for that
Simple
Fair
But no
Instead
Entitlement
If men behave like they're entitled, make them pay. Make them pay anyway. Fuck it. Men today are lazy. They make zero effort. Zero. None. Nada. They expect. They assume. They act like pigs. I blame women who allowed them to get away with being slobs. If I had a dime for every married guy trying to cheat on his wife with me, I could afford to take Miso stray cat and I to a gorgeous remote island out in the middle of the Mediterranean. We'd spend the rest of our days in peace and quiet.
Men never say things like, "You're beautiful" or "I was just thinking about you" or even cook dinner. Thoughtless brutes. So yeah, pay me if you want my attention. I'm not the one pursuing you.
You know that scene in A Bronx Tale, where Calogero waits to see if Jane will unlock his car door for him, I have my own Jane-test. If I've been chatting with a guy for a day or two before meeting him, I'll text him something like, "I was just thinking about you" and if his reply is something selfish, something self gratifying, or if he ignores the comment all together, then he failed the Jane-test and our association from that day on has changed in my mind.
Aramis is the only man I get along with. He understands the importance of traditional gender roles. He gives his long time live in girlfriend $3,000 a month allowance and she doesn't ask him for anything more. She doesn't bitch, nag, or complain. He pays for her car, clothes, their mortgage, European vacations, bills, cruises, everything. He just wants to come home to peace, quiet, and a pretty girl. That's all he asks for. Peace, quiet, and a pretty girl. They've been together since 2011. Then again, Aramis and I are from the midwest. Time moves much slower there. Tradition remains. Even among gay couples, men are men, women are women. Each knows their acknowledged gender role in the relationship. No conflict. No drama. Peace and quiet. Tradition.
One day I'm just going to publish my emails. It's amazing how no one today knows how to begin corresponding with one another. What happened to propriety? Civility? Common sense? Decency?
"I'm gonna be in town (five months from now) let's hook up."
What? Seriously? Thats how you greet and introduce yourself to a woman? Why would she want to hook up with you? Because you're so awesome? Piss off.
Entitlement is so off the charts there's no room for sincerity or consideration between the sexes. If you want to send me rando text messages at 3am just to tell me your dick is hard, put some cash in my bank account first.
I recently watched (movie) Side Effects. Great. Loved it. Rooney Mara, is fast becoming my favorite actress.
Reminder watch: He Won't Get Far On Foot.
Sunday funday? I'd like to but no. I'm going to finish my drawing instead. Some photos I shot didn't turn out the way I wanted but I like them for drawings.
InstagramB5WffM8Am9L
Some married guy on IG asked how my drawing was coming along. I replied, "I got the outline done. Just working on detailing interior pieces" to which he replied, "Sounds like oral sex."
Yikes
Delete and block.
He's married?
Who the hell is she?
I've yet to meet a man in the past seven (plus) years who didn't feel owed a blowjob upon meeting him.
Men feel entitled to do as they please regardless how wrong it is. They feel entitled to send unwanted dick pics, unwanted attention, and my all time favorite, "my dick is hard" rando text message at 3am.
That's the tradeoff. I'll tolerate you being a moron but first you have to compensate me. Since the dawn of time that's the tradeoff between men and women. But today there's so much entitlement there's no room for kindness or sincerity between the sexes. Therefor make them pay. This for that. It's fair.
My mind is blown every time a man texts or emails 100 messages asking if I'm into him. Ego and stupidity. Thats like when someone calls you just to yell at you for not calling them. Crazy. 100 times. If you have to ask her more than once if she's into you, she's not. At all. Stop. Just stop. Walk away.
This for that
Simple
Fair
But no
Instead
Entitlement
If men behave like they're entitled, make them pay. Make them pay anyway. Fuck it. Men today are lazy. They make zero effort. Zero. None. Nada. They expect. They assume. They act like pigs. I blame women who allowed them to get away with being slobs. If I had a dime for every married guy trying to cheat on his wife with me, I could afford to take Miso stray cat and I to a gorgeous remote island out in the middle of the Mediterranean. We'd spend the rest of our days in peace and quiet.
Men never say things like, "You're beautiful" or "I was just thinking about you" or even cook dinner. Thoughtless brutes. So yeah, pay me if you want my attention. I'm not the one pursuing you.
You know that scene in A Bronx Tale, where Calogero waits to see if Jane will unlock his car door for him, I have my own Jane-test. If I've been chatting with a guy for a day or two before meeting him, I'll text him something like, "I was just thinking about you" and if his reply is something selfish, something self gratifying, or if he ignores the comment all together, then he failed the Jane-test and our association from that day on has changed in my mind.
Aramis is the only man I get along with. He understands the importance of traditional gender roles. He gives his long time live in girlfriend $3,000 a month allowance and she doesn't ask him for anything more. She doesn't bitch, nag, or complain. He pays for her car, clothes, their mortgage, European vacations, bills, cruises, everything. He just wants to come home to peace, quiet, and a pretty girl. That's all he asks for. Peace, quiet, and a pretty girl. They've been together since 2011. Then again, Aramis and I are from the midwest. Time moves much slower there. Tradition remains. Even among gay couples, men are men, women are women. Each knows their acknowledged gender role in the relationship. No conflict. No drama. Peace and quiet. Tradition.
One day I'm just going to publish my emails. It's amazing how no one today knows how to begin corresponding with one another. What happened to propriety? Civility? Common sense? Decency?
"I'm gonna be in town (five months from now) let's hook up."
What? Seriously? Thats how you greet and introduce yourself to a woman? Why would she want to hook up with you? Because you're so awesome? Piss off.
Entitlement is so off the charts there's no room for sincerity or consideration between the sexes. If you want to send me rando text messages at 3am just to tell me your dick is hard, put some cash in my bank account first.
I recently watched (movie) Side Effects. Great. Loved it. Rooney Mara, is fast becoming my favorite actress.
Reminder watch: He Won't Get Far On Foot.
Sunday funday? I'd like to but no. I'm going to finish my drawing instead. Some photos I shot didn't turn out the way I wanted but I like them for drawings.
InstagramB5WffM8Am9L
Some married guy on IG asked how my drawing was coming along. I replied, "I got the outline done. Just working on detailing interior pieces" to which he replied, "Sounds like oral sex."
Yikes
Delete and block.
He's married?
Who the hell is she?
Saturday, November 30, 2019
I'm alive?
Hooray I've been verified. Someone last October looked me up. But why does it say, "No current address"
I live in Vegas. Two years. Filled out employment tax info and filed taxes with my current address. I've gotten mail here. I've lived in the same apartment for the past 15 months. On the plus side I'm reportedly alive (albeit barely). It's a slow painful excruciating death. So there's that. Furthermore, who are all these people I'm supposedly related to? Have worked with? Are friends with? I don't know any of these people. Ha. Interesting.
And why is my last phone number on file from before I was married? Before 2002? At least they got my ex-husband's name correct. Apparently he now lives in Kansas or Kentucky. Might have been Arkansas. I wasn't really paying attention to that part.
Oh wait. No. There is a current address on file. It's from 2007 when my ex and I separated for a short time. Crackerjack verify!
P.S. I never lived in San Diego. Might want to delete that from your verify records also. Oye. Then again, if it's on the internet it must be true.
Return of the tramp stamp.
Tramp stamp, next generation.
My tramp stamp is my AARP number. Adding to that my senior home address I'll soon be living in. Under that address it's going to read, "check pulse before returning" and under that it's going to read, "do not resuscitate". It will be my best tattoo ever. Glorious.
Dear Santa, OMG cat claw socks
https://youtu.be/AbkVI_69P_g
So I guess blackface is the only news story worth reporting these days eh? Belgium? Really CNN? I totally forgot that was a country... somewhere. Waffles. That's all I got.
How about reporting racism in our country. I resigned from a job I liked in part because racism was permitted there. A guy I worked with, white, Vegas, bought a bunch of Confederate flag bandanas and passed them around to fellow Hispanic and black coworkers. Complaints were filed. Nothing. He wasn't reprimanded. Still has a job. Like nothing happened. But no. You're right. Let's talk about Belgium.
And people wonder why I stay home on the weekends? Fuck dating in Vegas. I have to go all the way to Summerlin just for books with actual words in them.
Ok. Back to drawing.
In the process of posting this blog I saw my George Uhl blog had been read many times in the last 12 hours. Wait, there's two blogs about George Uhl? I must investigate. Shamefully, I had to look up who that was. Oh how times they are a'changing.
Plaidskirttorpedoes. 7 years. Good lord. One might think I was serving a life prison sentence, losing my mind. Close.
Hey Smithsonian website, please be more mobile friendly. Awesome. Thanks in advance.
Yours sincerely,
Inmate #80942
I live in Vegas. Two years. Filled out employment tax info and filed taxes with my current address. I've gotten mail here. I've lived in the same apartment for the past 15 months. On the plus side I'm reportedly alive (albeit barely). It's a slow painful excruciating death. So there's that. Furthermore, who are all these people I'm supposedly related to? Have worked with? Are friends with? I don't know any of these people. Ha. Interesting.
And why is my last phone number on file from before I was married? Before 2002? At least they got my ex-husband's name correct. Apparently he now lives in Kansas or Kentucky. Might have been Arkansas. I wasn't really paying attention to that part.
Oh wait. No. There is a current address on file. It's from 2007 when my ex and I separated for a short time. Crackerjack verify!
P.S. I never lived in San Diego. Might want to delete that from your verify records also. Oye. Then again, if it's on the internet it must be true.
Return of the tramp stamp.
Tramp stamp, next generation.
My tramp stamp is my AARP number. Adding to that my senior home address I'll soon be living in. Under that address it's going to read, "check pulse before returning" and under that it's going to read, "do not resuscitate". It will be my best tattoo ever. Glorious.
Dear Santa, OMG cat claw socks
https://youtu.be/AbkVI_69P_g
So I guess blackface is the only news story worth reporting these days eh? Belgium? Really CNN? I totally forgot that was a country... somewhere. Waffles. That's all I got.
How about reporting racism in our country. I resigned from a job I liked in part because racism was permitted there. A guy I worked with, white, Vegas, bought a bunch of Confederate flag bandanas and passed them around to fellow Hispanic and black coworkers. Complaints were filed. Nothing. He wasn't reprimanded. Still has a job. Like nothing happened. But no. You're right. Let's talk about Belgium.
And people wonder why I stay home on the weekends? Fuck dating in Vegas. I have to go all the way to Summerlin just for books with actual words in them.
Ok. Back to drawing.
In the process of posting this blog I saw my George Uhl blog had been read many times in the last 12 hours. Wait, there's two blogs about George Uhl? I must investigate. Shamefully, I had to look up who that was. Oh how times they are a'changing.
Plaidskirttorpedoes. 7 years. Good lord. One might think I was serving a life prison sentence, losing my mind. Close.
Hey Smithsonian website, please be more mobile friendly. Awesome. Thanks in advance.
Yours sincerely,
Inmate #80942
Thursday, November 28, 2019
A little old fashion missionary
Yay more gunfire in front of my building!
It wouldn't be Thanksgiving in Vegas, or a Thursday, without a little homicide. Know what I'm saying?
Black Friday, tomorrow. White Friday, if you're a confused Ontario Canadian having a discount gun sale like Perkins Guns and Ammo. In lieu of a black sale, the store is having a white sale, because that sounds less racist, day after Thanksgiving (that your country has no reason to celebrate) blaming the color name change on Canada's Prime Minister's black face photo. Wut?
Canadian version of woke?
Dear Lance Perkins, I grew up with Perkins in Minnesota, only our Perkins sell steak and eggs, not semi autos and hollow-points. I'm going to have to ask you to change your store's name, or at least the spelling. Principle. While only a snowy boarder divides us, there's farmer Joe hick hillbilly cow tipper, and then there's you. Minnesotans may not be able to pronounce words like "suppose" or "house" correctly but on occasion when someone gets woke we still call it Black Friday. And do you know why? Because we don't give a purple cotton asshat a'boot your Prime Minister.
Perkins, where you can get breakfast all day, and fresh bottomless pots of coffee. The way God intended.
Who the heck is Jamie? And why does he have so many Christmas specials?
Where is this sex line everyone seems to have? Has anyone seen my line? And why would you allow non smokers, bi girls, and guys with nine inch dicks to the front of the line? How rude.
Perineum sunning. Oh no. No no no. I'm just going to leave that right here. In the same place as gluten allergies, and burying a potato in the backyard at midnight on the first full moon. I think that was a medieval cure for warts. If it was that easy Idaho would never run out of business. Stockpiles to Los Angeles, daily. I had a wart burned off my left knee once. No idea how it got there. Well no, I have some idea. That was eons ago. Back when I understood sex. When porn didn't require an urban dictionary.
I'm working on some new drawings. I posed for them. Accidentally. The photos I shot didn't come out right but I love the heavy shadow which is great for drawing.
And so, winter is closely upon us which means I'm preparing for my usual hibernation.
I dedicate the blog to Aramis's dearly departed grandma, and mint moose tracks. If you've ever had the company of either you're a better person for it.
Godspeed, all of us.
It wouldn't be Thanksgiving in Vegas, or a Thursday, without a little homicide. Know what I'm saying?
Black Friday, tomorrow. White Friday, if you're a confused Ontario Canadian having a discount gun sale like Perkins Guns and Ammo. In lieu of a black sale, the store is having a white sale, because that sounds less racist, day after Thanksgiving (that your country has no reason to celebrate) blaming the color name change on Canada's Prime Minister's black face photo. Wut?
Canadian version of woke?
Dear Lance Perkins, I grew up with Perkins in Minnesota, only our Perkins sell steak and eggs, not semi autos and hollow-points. I'm going to have to ask you to change your store's name, or at least the spelling. Principle. While only a snowy boarder divides us, there's farmer Joe hick hillbilly cow tipper, and then there's you. Minnesotans may not be able to pronounce words like "suppose" or "house" correctly but on occasion when someone gets woke we still call it Black Friday. And do you know why? Because we don't give a purple cotton asshat a'boot your Prime Minister.
Perkins, where you can get breakfast all day, and fresh bottomless pots of coffee. The way God intended.
Who the heck is Jamie? And why does he have so many Christmas specials?
Where is this sex line everyone seems to have? Has anyone seen my line? And why would you allow non smokers, bi girls, and guys with nine inch dicks to the front of the line? How rude.
Perineum sunning. Oh no. No no no. I'm just going to leave that right here. In the same place as gluten allergies, and burying a potato in the backyard at midnight on the first full moon. I think that was a medieval cure for warts. If it was that easy Idaho would never run out of business. Stockpiles to Los Angeles, daily. I had a wart burned off my left knee once. No idea how it got there. Well no, I have some idea. That was eons ago. Back when I understood sex. When porn didn't require an urban dictionary.
I'm working on some new drawings. I posed for them. Accidentally. The photos I shot didn't come out right but I love the heavy shadow which is great for drawing.
And so, winter is closely upon us which means I'm preparing for my usual hibernation.
I dedicate the blog to Aramis's dearly departed grandma, and mint moose tracks. If you've ever had the company of either you're a better person for it.
Godspeed, all of us.
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Merely this and nothing more
You can't stop Donny Osmond!
Rebel!
https://youtu.be/-FQ-KoUz64Y
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
I need the peacock. I'm in a mood.
My groceries arent being delivered now until tonight, which is fine I guess but is the total $54 or $125? Can't you guys ballpark it? It's not that serious, Aramis, I know. Aramis gets his groceries delivered all the time even though he passes a half dozen grocery stores to and from work five days a week. Still, it just bothers me how details don't seem to matter anymore. "We don't need your address. We'll just throw your stuff in the street within a mile and let you salvage."
Aaaand now the PayPal app isn't working.
Motherfu#%&!
And it's always when I'm in the middle of something important I have to pee, twice, followed by my stomach growling. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being interrupted by hunger, and having to pee. I'm busy damnit. I'll eat, and pee, when I have time. What happened to the meal pill, Willy Wonka?
To me, eating is like drinking sake. I like doing it socially. As a necessity, eating is just irritating AF. I cook all day and won't eat anything until I get home and then it's usually a handful of chips and my drink. The drink being more important.
And why
When I have the heat on does my ceiling fan start spinning? Not that it should matter but it does. It's annoying because it doesn't spin when I have the air conditioner on. Damn it, science!
Ever Google map directions around the Bay area? I googled driving directions around the east bay, and after my third time mapping directions, maps went completely blank. Nothing but a white screen and the words, "What part of public transit are you not understanding?" written in bold mocking text.
Getting to Berkeley from Fremont, takes 20 minutes longer by car than public transit. That's the world we live in.
So last night there were two rounds of gunfire exchanged in front of my building. That was neat.
Aramis and I have been on art/photo frenzies these past four weeks. Its interesting to me how photographers want their prints to be considered fine art in the galleries and museums, but the moment there's a photo submission bulletin for cash and prizes, they exclude everyone but photographers. Oh wait. No. I'm sorry. They exclude everyone but "lens-based artists".
You mean photographers, right? Photographers? People who take pictures with a camera? Yeah. Photographers.
(Lens-based artists)
If I shoot photos of my drawings and make prints, is that not lens-based art? 🤨
The bulliten is for a display at the King Edward Canada Line Station in Vancouver. I entered a photo shot by Aramis. Good luck my brother from another mother!
Anyway
Groceries
The store I ordered groceries from had to substitute the cheese from my list. They were out of this particular brand of brie I wanted. The cheese they gave me instead is $5 more. No problem. I understand. But just out of curiosity, and I'm not complaining, I'm just curious, since the store was out of the brand of brie I wanted, why didn't they just give me a different brand of brie rather than the same brand but a different cheese? It was the brie I wanted not the brand. Again, just curious. I'm sure I'll like their goat cheese just as much even though I don't like feta or blue cheese. Oye.
ALSO
Isn't the point of giving you my phone number, printed right there on the invoice, is so's you can call me if something comes up, say like, oh I dunno, not having this particular type of cheese I paid for? And yet no phone call. Huh. Interesting. BUT I'm going to keep an open mind even though I dont like feta or blue cheese, whatsoever.
"Would you like some crumbled penicillin with your meat charcuterie?"
No thanks. I'm allergic. Had you said crumbled tetracycline, then maybe?
You see kids, blue cheese has in it the same mold used to make penicillin. That blue gunk. All cheese has mold but blue cheese is so mold its blue. Anyway kids, point being, it's not always about the brand. There's a difference between brie and goat cheese. And if you can't taste the difference between brie and goat cheese, well, allow me to clarify. Brie, is soft French cheese from all that is holy. Goat cheese tastes exactly how it sounds. But I'm going to keep an open mind! (inhale and exhale!)
At 6:19pm the delivery app said my delivery has arrived. No sign of a driver.
At 6:25pm I called customer support and they said the driver is still enroute but will be there at 6:30pm.
At 6:30pm the app said delivery time: undefined.
(Inhale and exhale!)
6:35pm my order has arrived. And let me just say, the driver who delivered my order was the best thing about my whole ordering groceries online experience with this company. Tip the driver! However, your shopping team needs a little guidance. Your tracking app needs a new computer tech team. And if you can see my phone number on your caller ID, customer support, than why do I need to repeat my phone number to you? Do you think I stole someone's phone to make a grocery order? Even if I had stolen someone's cell phone do you think I wouldn't know where to find the phone number? How exactly does repeating my phone number to you identify me as the shopper? Maaybeeee an invoice number perhaps?
(Inhale and exhale!)
Ravens were squaking outside my apartment window. Lots of them it seemed. And they were unusually loud. I looked out my apartment window and saw that Miso, the neighborhood cat, had trapped a rather large raven by its wing on the sidewalk, under his paw. The raven was almost as big as Miso. The trapped raven desperately flapped it's one free wing, crying for help. Miso would let the raven go, but before the raven could get away, Miso smashed the raven back down onto the sidewalk with his paw. Playing with his food. All this happened so quickly I couldn't run downstairs fast enough. By the time I got outside Miso and the badly injured raven were a half block away. The raven was no longer able to fly. Its injured wing, completely limp, merely dragged on the ground behind it. All the raven could do now was run and hobble down the street, Miso playfully stalking behind it. Four other ravens tried swooping in on Miso, but before the ravens could attack, the injured raven ran under a large parked furniture dumpster. Foolish. Miso followed. Both disappeared under the dumpster. A short time later only Miso returned, his tummy accurately rounder.
I was a little shocked seeing Miso go after this raven since I had just fed him a big bowl of food less than an hour prior.
For the past three days the weather in Vegas has been rainy and gloomy as it prepares the city for winter. Miso, it seems, has grown and changed under these dark clouds quite a bit from the shy nervous kitten he once was a mere year ago.
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!"
Poe's revenge. Ravens beware. Nevermore.
Two stray cats
Rebel!
https://youtu.be/-FQ-KoUz64Y
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
I need the peacock. I'm in a mood.
My groceries arent being delivered now until tonight, which is fine I guess but is the total $54 or $125? Can't you guys ballpark it? It's not that serious, Aramis, I know. Aramis gets his groceries delivered all the time even though he passes a half dozen grocery stores to and from work five days a week. Still, it just bothers me how details don't seem to matter anymore. "We don't need your address. We'll just throw your stuff in the street within a mile and let you salvage."
Aaaand now the PayPal app isn't working.
Motherfu#%&!
And it's always when I'm in the middle of something important I have to pee, twice, followed by my stomach growling. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being interrupted by hunger, and having to pee. I'm busy damnit. I'll eat, and pee, when I have time. What happened to the meal pill, Willy Wonka?
To me, eating is like drinking sake. I like doing it socially. As a necessity, eating is just irritating AF. I cook all day and won't eat anything until I get home and then it's usually a handful of chips and my drink. The drink being more important.
And why
When I have the heat on does my ceiling fan start spinning? Not that it should matter but it does. It's annoying because it doesn't spin when I have the air conditioner on. Damn it, science!
Ever Google map directions around the Bay area? I googled driving directions around the east bay, and after my third time mapping directions, maps went completely blank. Nothing but a white screen and the words, "What part of public transit are you not understanding?" written in bold mocking text.
Getting to Berkeley from Fremont, takes 20 minutes longer by car than public transit. That's the world we live in.
So last night there were two rounds of gunfire exchanged in front of my building. That was neat.
Aramis and I have been on art/photo frenzies these past four weeks. Its interesting to me how photographers want their prints to be considered fine art in the galleries and museums, but the moment there's a photo submission bulletin for cash and prizes, they exclude everyone but photographers. Oh wait. No. I'm sorry. They exclude everyone but "lens-based artists".
You mean photographers, right? Photographers? People who take pictures with a camera? Yeah. Photographers.
(Lens-based artists)
If I shoot photos of my drawings and make prints, is that not lens-based art? 🤨
The bulliten is for a display at the King Edward Canada Line Station in Vancouver. I entered a photo shot by Aramis. Good luck my brother from another mother!
Anyway
Groceries
The store I ordered groceries from had to substitute the cheese from my list. They were out of this particular brand of brie I wanted. The cheese they gave me instead is $5 more. No problem. I understand. But just out of curiosity, and I'm not complaining, I'm just curious, since the store was out of the brand of brie I wanted, why didn't they just give me a different brand of brie rather than the same brand but a different cheese? It was the brie I wanted not the brand. Again, just curious. I'm sure I'll like their goat cheese just as much even though I don't like feta or blue cheese. Oye.
ALSO
Isn't the point of giving you my phone number, printed right there on the invoice, is so's you can call me if something comes up, say like, oh I dunno, not having this particular type of cheese I paid for? And yet no phone call. Huh. Interesting. BUT I'm going to keep an open mind even though I dont like feta or blue cheese, whatsoever.
"Would you like some crumbled penicillin with your meat charcuterie?"
No thanks. I'm allergic. Had you said crumbled tetracycline, then maybe?
You see kids, blue cheese has in it the same mold used to make penicillin. That blue gunk. All cheese has mold but blue cheese is so mold its blue. Anyway kids, point being, it's not always about the brand. There's a difference between brie and goat cheese. And if you can't taste the difference between brie and goat cheese, well, allow me to clarify. Brie, is soft French cheese from all that is holy. Goat cheese tastes exactly how it sounds. But I'm going to keep an open mind! (inhale and exhale!)
At 6:19pm the delivery app said my delivery has arrived. No sign of a driver.
At 6:25pm I called customer support and they said the driver is still enroute but will be there at 6:30pm.
At 6:30pm the app said delivery time: undefined.
(Inhale and exhale!)
6:35pm my order has arrived. And let me just say, the driver who delivered my order was the best thing about my whole ordering groceries online experience with this company. Tip the driver! However, your shopping team needs a little guidance. Your tracking app needs a new computer tech team. And if you can see my phone number on your caller ID, customer support, than why do I need to repeat my phone number to you? Do you think I stole someone's phone to make a grocery order? Even if I had stolen someone's cell phone do you think I wouldn't know where to find the phone number? How exactly does repeating my phone number to you identify me as the shopper? Maaybeeee an invoice number perhaps?
(Inhale and exhale!)
Ravens were squaking outside my apartment window. Lots of them it seemed. And they were unusually loud. I looked out my apartment window and saw that Miso, the neighborhood cat, had trapped a rather large raven by its wing on the sidewalk, under his paw. The raven was almost as big as Miso. The trapped raven desperately flapped it's one free wing, crying for help. Miso would let the raven go, but before the raven could get away, Miso smashed the raven back down onto the sidewalk with his paw. Playing with his food. All this happened so quickly I couldn't run downstairs fast enough. By the time I got outside Miso and the badly injured raven were a half block away. The raven was no longer able to fly. Its injured wing, completely limp, merely dragged on the ground behind it. All the raven could do now was run and hobble down the street, Miso playfully stalking behind it. Four other ravens tried swooping in on Miso, but before the ravens could attack, the injured raven ran under a large parked furniture dumpster. Foolish. Miso followed. Both disappeared under the dumpster. A short time later only Miso returned, his tummy accurately rounder.
I was a little shocked seeing Miso go after this raven since I had just fed him a big bowl of food less than an hour prior.
For the past three days the weather in Vegas has been rainy and gloomy as it prepares the city for winter. Miso, it seems, has grown and changed under these dark clouds quite a bit from the shy nervous kitten he once was a mere year ago.
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!"
Poe's revenge. Ravens beware. Nevermore.
Two stray cats
Thursday, November 14, 2019
He puts the cock in peacock
Not watching network TV for the last two years I apparently missed Donny Osmond taking over the world, again. First, Dancing With The Stars, ten years ago, and once again on Masked Singer, as the peacock. What a great performer. He lost to T Pain? What? Rigged!
Check out Osmond's performances. I can't stop watching this clip.
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
Sorry but... T Pain, Donny Osmond... we all know who left a pint of blood on stage with every performance. Rigged!
My dad, who was raised Mormon, out in Utah, later converted to Catholicism, once gave me Donny and Marie dolls when I was like nine or ten years old. I'm not sure how you play with Donny and Marie dolls? I didnt, but I do remember watching their variety show back when my parents made us kids watch TV with them on the 50 inch floor Panasonic for "family night". Sorry dad. Mormons, we ain't. How pissed off would my brothers and I been had we become Mormons, only for dad to years later convert to Catholicism.
The guy's a performer though, Donny Osmond. He really gives. Old school. Pioneer spirit. I've reached that age, that stage in life, where I really appreciate and admire hard working people. Everyonewants expects something for nothing, but that guy works. Pints of blood.
Respect.
Check out Osmond's performances. I can't stop watching this clip.
https://youtu.be/dA0UcyUgltc
Sorry but... T Pain, Donny Osmond... we all know who left a pint of blood on stage with every performance. Rigged!
My dad, who was raised Mormon, out in Utah, later converted to Catholicism, once gave me Donny and Marie dolls when I was like nine or ten years old. I'm not sure how you play with Donny and Marie dolls? I didnt, but I do remember watching their variety show back when my parents made us kids watch TV with them on the 50 inch floor Panasonic for "family night". Sorry dad. Mormons, we ain't. How pissed off would my brothers and I been had we become Mormons, only for dad to years later convert to Catholicism.
The guy's a performer though, Donny Osmond. He really gives. Old school. Pioneer spirit. I've reached that age, that stage in life, where I really appreciate and admire hard working people. Everyone
Respect.
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Poor little white girl
Dear Anthony Hopkins, I want to pose for one of your paintings. "Paint me like one of your French girls." Anthony Hopkins is without question my favorite person to follow on Twitter/IG.
I don't know what to draw. It's been a struggle for like two weeks. I started drawing a veiled bride but lost interest.
Woke up this morning to a drunk guy standing in the empty lot across the street from my apartment building, just hollering about everything at the top of his lungs. He started around 4:45am until about 6:30am. I don't know where he found the energy. When I'm drunk I can do exactly one thing, pass out. Which is why I drink at home, alone.
I'm excited. I found a place that makes fish tacos. It's on their menu. It might be seasonal depending on their food cost and their autumn menu, but fingers are crossed. Real fish tacos are not an easy find in Vegas. It's the desert. Obviously its frozen fish but if the kitchen manager knows what he's doing, the fish will have been frozen only like 4 or 5 days. In full high volume restaurant kitchens, delivery comes twice a week. Sometimes more. I'm excited! I've been craving real fish tacos for about three months. Sure I could make them myself at home but I need to get out more. I do way too many things myself. Way. Too. Many. Things. Myself.
So this place I'm trying for fish tacos is called True Food Kitchen, in Summerlin, of course. Apparently I have to go all the way to Summerlin or Henderson for food. The menu doesn't say what kind of fish it is. My guess is cod or tilapia. And they have Thai coconut seabass *squeel* with bok choy and quinoa rice. *double squeel*
I don't think you understand
If you go a mile in any direction from where I live, it's AYCE buffets, fast food, AMPM, amazing beef tacos sans fish tacos, and chain stores like IHOP. Nothing against the mighty house of pancakes, but it's a chop and drop joint. You know what I'm saying. I miss food.
"What's in a caesar salad?"
Romain lettuce, parmesan cheese, and croutons. Caesar dressing.
"Can I substitute the cheese for..."
No! Because then it's not a caesar salad! Get the fuck out of my restaurant!
Omg Hollywood studios, will you please, please pay me to insult stupid restaurant customers. It'll be the best reality TV show ever. And the millions of industry workers around the globe will absolitely love you for it. Fuck Mr Scream-o. How about show for REAL industry workers?
Here's my thing regarding cooking shows that focus on batshit crazy chefs screaming at their employees, the only person in my thirty plus years working in restaurants that I've ever yelled at, I mean (this close) to getting into a knife fight with, was a chef. A female chef, white, who thought her supremacy went above employment hierarchy. She was wrong. And I made sure she knew it.
Here's the thing I don't understand about white supremacists, why don't they just do everything themselves, among themselves. Why mingle among the rest of us in the real world? Oh that's right because they can't. Heil Hitler. "But housekeeping needs to clean my room right now. Now! No, no, Mexicans are fine for that. Clean my room!"
Um. No. Clean your own room, bitch.
Not long ago I was a dining room manager for a high end residency. I inherited the job. I was the assistant dining room manager. Then one day my boss stopped coming to work. Dunno, he just stopped showing up. I inherited his job, his title, his staff who I had gotten to know well, and his pay. Normally corporate would fly someone in and interview me, but since I had the full support of the powers that be in the residency, and since I was already doing the job, corporate just gave it to me without the formalities. And all was well. Peaceful. Running smoothly.
Until
Jacqueline.
Chef
White
Female
Munstruating 24/7, 365. Batshit crazy.
Jackie. Not her name of course.
Who hired this nutjob?! She yelled and criticized (good lord) everything. "Fucking salt! Who puts fucking salt on salads?!" Um. Lots of people. Why do you care? She had a temper that made the soup nazi (from Seinfeld) look like a soft fuzzy kitten.
I inherited my serving staff. My wonderdul hard working serving staff, mostly Hispanic, making minimum wage, not allowed to accept tips from residents, and mostly part-time, no benefits. Meanwhile Jackie, this nutjob was making close to $70,000 a year salary to scream at people.
One day, Jackie screamed one too many times at the serving staff, over prunes, of all things, and I had had enough.
"Re-train your God damn staff!" She screamed at me. "I don't have time to smash prunes for these old fuckers whenever those Mexicans can't do their jobs and put it on the ticket!"
That was it.
I went behind the chef line with my entire management status and screemed back, "We have jobs because of those old fuckers, so if they want smashed prunes I better see your fat ass with two spoons smashing them!"
In response she screamed back at me, who knows what, and I made one threat before leaving the kitchen. I told her if she got in my face again, see what happens. And sure enough the same night she got back in my face, once more unnecessarily and foolishly. Later that night I wrote corporate a nice letter reminding them our kitchen staff only exists because the residents want us there. They all have kitchens in their units. They don't need us. They want us. If the servers ask the chefs for something without a ticket it's because the resident wants it. Give it to them. Then I proceeded to document Jackie's disruptive behavioral problems, etc., resulting some weeks later with Jackie being transferred to a smaller facility with a $25,000 pay cut. I'm certain she still fantasizes cutting my throat. Fuck her.
Point being, I will never accept a chef yelling at his crew, racially derogatory or otherwise. Never. Its called diplomacy. Not because it's the law in most states, because it's the right thing to do.
Do the right thing. Remember that?
If your high five figure salary chef gig doesn't include you pouring au jus into a gravy boat when asked for it, go open your own restaurant. Oh that's right. You can't. Because industry workers are usually multi cultural. Can't have them Mexicans in your kitchen, eh?
There's a giant Confederate flag hanging in a country bar in Chatsworth, CA. It's there. If you don't like it, don't go there. My problem is when you bring your supremacy, white or otherwise, or when you bring your bitch ass drama to me in the work place, or my home. Don't bring your stupidity to me. I get enough of stupid just coming home from the grocery store.
I worked my ass off in a restuarant, four years, six to seven days a week, and I didn't miss a single day. Not one. I was never late. I always gave 100% usually more. I always worked over time when needed. And I had a second job with the same company catering when I wasn't working the restaurant. Some people understand the meaning of hard work. What I won't coddle to, what I refuse to submit to, are snotty entitled white bitches who can't handle their jobs. If two jobs is too much, quit one. It's just that easy. Common sense. But don't stay at both jobs and expect people to pick up your shifts, or work around your schedule depending on your energy level simply because you think being white makes you superior and everyone should just do your job for you. Fuck that. Fuck you. All that tells me is, you're either incredibly lazy or too stupid to know your limits. Be a big girl. Pull up your big girl panties and be an adult. I'm over snotty white bitches. Yeah, I'd divorce you too, bitch.
https://youtu.be/pt8VYOfr8To
Seriously networks, consider my television idea.
I don't know what to draw. It's been a struggle for like two weeks. I started drawing a veiled bride but lost interest.
Woke up this morning to a drunk guy standing in the empty lot across the street from my apartment building, just hollering about everything at the top of his lungs. He started around 4:45am until about 6:30am. I don't know where he found the energy. When I'm drunk I can do exactly one thing, pass out. Which is why I drink at home, alone.
I'm excited. I found a place that makes fish tacos. It's on their menu. It might be seasonal depending on their food cost and their autumn menu, but fingers are crossed. Real fish tacos are not an easy find in Vegas. It's the desert. Obviously its frozen fish but if the kitchen manager knows what he's doing, the fish will have been frozen only like 4 or 5 days. In full high volume restaurant kitchens, delivery comes twice a week. Sometimes more. I'm excited! I've been craving real fish tacos for about three months. Sure I could make them myself at home but I need to get out more. I do way too many things myself. Way. Too. Many. Things. Myself.
So this place I'm trying for fish tacos is called True Food Kitchen, in Summerlin, of course. Apparently I have to go all the way to Summerlin or Henderson for food. The menu doesn't say what kind of fish it is. My guess is cod or tilapia. And they have Thai coconut seabass *squeel* with bok choy and quinoa rice. *double squeel*
I don't think you understand
If you go a mile in any direction from where I live, it's AYCE buffets, fast food, AMPM, amazing beef tacos sans fish tacos, and chain stores like IHOP. Nothing against the mighty house of pancakes, but it's a chop and drop joint. You know what I'm saying. I miss food.
"What's in a caesar salad?"
Romain lettuce, parmesan cheese, and croutons. Caesar dressing.
"Can I substitute the cheese for..."
No! Because then it's not a caesar salad! Get the fuck out of my restaurant!
Omg Hollywood studios, will you please, please pay me to insult stupid restaurant customers. It'll be the best reality TV show ever. And the millions of industry workers around the globe will absolitely love you for it. Fuck Mr Scream-o. How about show for REAL industry workers?
Here's my thing regarding cooking shows that focus on batshit crazy chefs screaming at their employees, the only person in my thirty plus years working in restaurants that I've ever yelled at, I mean (this close) to getting into a knife fight with, was a chef. A female chef, white, who thought her supremacy went above employment hierarchy. She was wrong. And I made sure she knew it.
Here's the thing I don't understand about white supremacists, why don't they just do everything themselves, among themselves. Why mingle among the rest of us in the real world? Oh that's right because they can't. Heil Hitler. "But housekeeping needs to clean my room right now. Now! No, no, Mexicans are fine for that. Clean my room!"
Um. No. Clean your own room, bitch.
Not long ago I was a dining room manager for a high end residency. I inherited the job. I was the assistant dining room manager. Then one day my boss stopped coming to work. Dunno, he just stopped showing up. I inherited his job, his title, his staff who I had gotten to know well, and his pay. Normally corporate would fly someone in and interview me, but since I had the full support of the powers that be in the residency, and since I was already doing the job, corporate just gave it to me without the formalities. And all was well. Peaceful. Running smoothly.
Until
Jacqueline.
Chef
White
Female
Munstruating 24/7, 365. Batshit crazy.
Jackie. Not her name of course.
Who hired this nutjob?! She yelled and criticized (good lord) everything. "Fucking salt! Who puts fucking salt on salads?!" Um. Lots of people. Why do you care? She had a temper that made the soup nazi (from Seinfeld) look like a soft fuzzy kitten.
I inherited my serving staff. My wonderdul hard working serving staff, mostly Hispanic, making minimum wage, not allowed to accept tips from residents, and mostly part-time, no benefits. Meanwhile Jackie, this nutjob was making close to $70,000 a year salary to scream at people.
One day, Jackie screamed one too many times at the serving staff, over prunes, of all things, and I had had enough.
"Re-train your God damn staff!" She screamed at me. "I don't have time to smash prunes for these old fuckers whenever those Mexicans can't do their jobs and put it on the ticket!"
That was it.
I went behind the chef line with my entire management status and screemed back, "We have jobs because of those old fuckers, so if they want smashed prunes I better see your fat ass with two spoons smashing them!"
In response she screamed back at me, who knows what, and I made one threat before leaving the kitchen. I told her if she got in my face again, see what happens. And sure enough the same night she got back in my face, once more unnecessarily and foolishly. Later that night I wrote corporate a nice letter reminding them our kitchen staff only exists because the residents want us there. They all have kitchens in their units. They don't need us. They want us. If the servers ask the chefs for something without a ticket it's because the resident wants it. Give it to them. Then I proceeded to document Jackie's disruptive behavioral problems, etc., resulting some weeks later with Jackie being transferred to a smaller facility with a $25,000 pay cut. I'm certain she still fantasizes cutting my throat. Fuck her.
Point being, I will never accept a chef yelling at his crew, racially derogatory or otherwise. Never. Its called diplomacy. Not because it's the law in most states, because it's the right thing to do.
Do the right thing. Remember that?
If your high five figure salary chef gig doesn't include you pouring au jus into a gravy boat when asked for it, go open your own restaurant. Oh that's right. You can't. Because industry workers are usually multi cultural. Can't have them Mexicans in your kitchen, eh?
There's a giant Confederate flag hanging in a country bar in Chatsworth, CA. It's there. If you don't like it, don't go there. My problem is when you bring your supremacy, white or otherwise, or when you bring your bitch ass drama to me in the work place, or my home. Don't bring your stupidity to me. I get enough of stupid just coming home from the grocery store.
I worked my ass off in a restuarant, four years, six to seven days a week, and I didn't miss a single day. Not one. I was never late. I always gave 100% usually more. I always worked over time when needed. And I had a second job with the same company catering when I wasn't working the restaurant. Some people understand the meaning of hard work. What I won't coddle to, what I refuse to submit to, are snotty entitled white bitches who can't handle their jobs. If two jobs is too much, quit one. It's just that easy. Common sense. But don't stay at both jobs and expect people to pick up your shifts, or work around your schedule depending on your energy level simply because you think being white makes you superior and everyone should just do your job for you. Fuck that. Fuck you. All that tells me is, you're either incredibly lazy or too stupid to know your limits. Be a big girl. Pull up your big girl panties and be an adult. I'm over snotty white bitches. Yeah, I'd divorce you too, bitch.
https://youtu.be/pt8VYOfr8To
Seriously networks, consider my television idea.
Monday, November 4, 2019
Mmm food porn
Greetings from the barren wasteland.
I started watching Whalburgers, five years later. Johnny-come-eventually. I was against watching this show, as I am against watching all reality TV food industry shows for two reasons. One, because generally speaking I can't stomach listening to rich and famous people telling me how to eat. I'll get to the second reason in a few minutes.
Back in the day kids, there was a TV show called Northern Exposure. It was brilliant. Everyone can identify with at least one person on that show and I identified with the doomsday philosophical caveman character, Adam. This guy knows food, philosophy, art, history, you name it. If it involves the history, pessimism, psychology, and optimism of man, Adam's your guy. He's a chef by trade who looks like a hobo and lives in a hut. Have you seen my apartment? I live downtown. Enough said. If Las Vegas had raccoons a family of them would be living here with me.
Back to Whalburgers
In the first episode I watched, Whalberg and friends were discussing Mark Whalberg's long time limited diet to sub sandwiches and pizza. It wasn't until Mark traveled overseas for work that he finally liberated his palete. I totally get that. I'm from small town Minnesota. We ate meat, burgers, corn on the cob, pizza, bratwurst and hoagies (hoagies not subs!) regularly. I didn't eat Asian food until I moved to San Francisco when I was 20 years old, and I'm Asian. Not a lot of Asian restaurants among the Germans I grew up with.
I've been in the food and drink industry for the whole of my adult life. From sidewalk cafes to the most outwardly outrageously bougie establishments where you audition for your job, not apply.
As a kid in Minnesota, every family had meat lockers. We followed the advise of our neighborly squirrels and stored up for the winter. It was a matter of survival in the -40 degree weather, not gourmet cooking. Nothing we ate from November - May tasted like anything other than the dead animal you were cooking. And potatoes. Don't forget potatoes. There was no base or stock. No fresh vegetables or herbs. Dad would bbq all year around but still, dead animal and potato. That's it. I started smoking when I was twelve years old. I started smoking a half pack a day out in the open when I was 16 years old. Times were different then. Kids could do that kind of thing without judgement or concern. I cared more about my brand of cigarettes than I did food.
It wasn't until I was 20 years old living in San Francisco, my first home away from home, I discovered the wondrous flavors of fish. Up until that point it was just fish we caught and cooked, not masala, not sushimi, not provencal, not bouillabaisse, just... fish.
Most Americans eat food because they're hungry. They want fast and easy. Hence the fast food epidemic. But Americans are evolving into foodies. Foodies. It's like they have to apologize for having a sophisticated palete. Fuck that. Welcome to your taste buds.
Foodies eat food because they love the way it tastes. They love how it makes them feel while they're eating it. It's the whole experience. The smell. The texture. The visual. I don't care for chocolate pudding but whip it into a fine mousse and I'll never forget your name. I love whipped foamy milk but can't stand hot milk, like lattes. Its just unnatural. Even cows are like, "What the fuck are you doing to my milk?!" I became a foodie at 20 years of age.
And the thing is, once you've had amazing, your expectations cannot be lowered. You will always go back to what was good, memorable.
The second reason I was against watching Whalburgers, as I am against watching all food industry shows, is because in the real world we're boring AF to watch. There is nothing glamorous about our jobs. Nothing. If how they portray the industry, is how they think the food and drink industry actually is, these reality TV shows, Hollywood movies, even these famous celebrity chefs like Gordon Ramsay, are all living in the world of whackadoo.
I've worked in Hollywood, CA. I've auditioned for jobs. Some I got. Some I didn't. But once you step into the alley or cook line, there's your hard truth reality. It's boring AF to watch. Not this high intensity drama from enigmatic mysterious characters you see in movies and on TV. No, we're boring AF to watch. It's our jobs. It's our careers. Fun doing. Boring to watch. Like golf.
"What's in croque monsieur?"
It's a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
"What do you mean by ham and cheese?"
It's a grilled cheese sandwich with a thick slice of ham added to it.
"What do you mean by added to it?"
(And the real answer is)
Are you fucking stupid?
Now that's an industry TV show I would watch!
Food in Las Vegas is often times recycled. The garlic mashed potatoes you're paying a premium for in a bougie casino eatery, is the same garlic mashed potatoes they're serving in the cafe and buffet. Don't get me wrong there's a few buffets in Vegas absolutely worth the money, but food is definitely NOT why you come to Vegas.
I miss food. I miss culture. I miss walking five blocks down any beach or city street in Los Angeles, and being able to get food from 10 different countries.
I'm not a bougie person. Maybe a little bougie. I've just had amazing food and drink. And just like sex, once you've had amazing there's nothing else like it. I couldn't care less if you mix my Liptin tea with English breakfast and Earl Grey. It's fucking tea. Does it have caffeine? Good. Throw it in. That said however, I do know what a good vodka martini consists of and it's not Smirno...
I still love comfort food when I'm in the mood for it. Macaroni and (three layer) cheese... Aaaaand bacon and toasted bread crumb topping or what's the point?!
You know
Or what's the point?
I started watching Whalburgers, five years later. Johnny-come-eventually. I was against watching this show, as I am against watching all reality TV food industry shows for two reasons. One, because generally speaking I can't stomach listening to rich and famous people telling me how to eat. I'll get to the second reason in a few minutes.
Back in the day kids, there was a TV show called Northern Exposure. It was brilliant. Everyone can identify with at least one person on that show and I identified with the doomsday philosophical caveman character, Adam. This guy knows food, philosophy, art, history, you name it. If it involves the history, pessimism, psychology, and optimism of man, Adam's your guy. He's a chef by trade who looks like a hobo and lives in a hut. Have you seen my apartment? I live downtown. Enough said. If Las Vegas had raccoons a family of them would be living here with me.
Back to Whalburgers
In the first episode I watched, Whalberg and friends were discussing Mark Whalberg's long time limited diet to sub sandwiches and pizza. It wasn't until Mark traveled overseas for work that he finally liberated his palete. I totally get that. I'm from small town Minnesota. We ate meat, burgers, corn on the cob, pizza, bratwurst and hoagies (hoagies not subs!) regularly. I didn't eat Asian food until I moved to San Francisco when I was 20 years old, and I'm Asian. Not a lot of Asian restaurants among the Germans I grew up with.
I've been in the food and drink industry for the whole of my adult life. From sidewalk cafes to the most outwardly outrageously bougie establishments where you audition for your job, not apply.
As a kid in Minnesota, every family had meat lockers. We followed the advise of our neighborly squirrels and stored up for the winter. It was a matter of survival in the -40 degree weather, not gourmet cooking. Nothing we ate from November - May tasted like anything other than the dead animal you were cooking. And potatoes. Don't forget potatoes. There was no base or stock. No fresh vegetables or herbs. Dad would bbq all year around but still, dead animal and potato. That's it. I started smoking when I was twelve years old. I started smoking a half pack a day out in the open when I was 16 years old. Times were different then. Kids could do that kind of thing without judgement or concern. I cared more about my brand of cigarettes than I did food.
It wasn't until I was 20 years old living in San Francisco, my first home away from home, I discovered the wondrous flavors of fish. Up until that point it was just fish we caught and cooked, not masala, not sushimi, not provencal, not bouillabaisse, just... fish.
Most Americans eat food because they're hungry. They want fast and easy. Hence the fast food epidemic. But Americans are evolving into foodies. Foodies. It's like they have to apologize for having a sophisticated palete. Fuck that. Welcome to your taste buds.
Foodies eat food because they love the way it tastes. They love how it makes them feel while they're eating it. It's the whole experience. The smell. The texture. The visual. I don't care for chocolate pudding but whip it into a fine mousse and I'll never forget your name. I love whipped foamy milk but can't stand hot milk, like lattes. Its just unnatural. Even cows are like, "What the fuck are you doing to my milk?!" I became a foodie at 20 years of age.
And the thing is, once you've had amazing, your expectations cannot be lowered. You will always go back to what was good, memorable.
The second reason I was against watching Whalburgers, as I am against watching all food industry shows, is because in the real world we're boring AF to watch. There is nothing glamorous about our jobs. Nothing. If how they portray the industry, is how they think the food and drink industry actually is, these reality TV shows, Hollywood movies, even these famous celebrity chefs like Gordon Ramsay, are all living in the world of whackadoo.
I've worked in Hollywood, CA. I've auditioned for jobs. Some I got. Some I didn't. But once you step into the alley or cook line, there's your hard truth reality. It's boring AF to watch. Not this high intensity drama from enigmatic mysterious characters you see in movies and on TV. No, we're boring AF to watch. It's our jobs. It's our careers. Fun doing. Boring to watch. Like golf.
"What's in croque monsieur?"
It's a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
"What do you mean by ham and cheese?"
It's a grilled cheese sandwich with a thick slice of ham added to it.
"What do you mean by added to it?"
(And the real answer is)
Are you fucking stupid?
Now that's an industry TV show I would watch!
Food in Las Vegas is often times recycled. The garlic mashed potatoes you're paying a premium for in a bougie casino eatery, is the same garlic mashed potatoes they're serving in the cafe and buffet. Don't get me wrong there's a few buffets in Vegas absolutely worth the money, but food is definitely NOT why you come to Vegas.
I miss food. I miss culture. I miss walking five blocks down any beach or city street in Los Angeles, and being able to get food from 10 different countries.
I'm not a bougie person. Maybe a little bougie. I've just had amazing food and drink. And just like sex, once you've had amazing there's nothing else like it. I couldn't care less if you mix my Liptin tea with English breakfast and Earl Grey. It's fucking tea. Does it have caffeine? Good. Throw it in. That said however, I do know what a good vodka martini consists of and it's not Smirno...
I still love comfort food when I'm in the mood for it. Macaroni and (three layer) cheese... Aaaaand bacon and toasted bread crumb topping or what's the point?!
You know
Or what's the point?
Friday, November 1, 2019
Eat my Apple!
If it's 43 degrees out but "feels like 34" than why is it not reportedly 34 degrees out? Yeah I know. I ask stupid questions.
It's on like Donkey Kong!
Aramis and I, and our epic battle of Apple phones vs non Apple, has reached the point of no return and, we entered a photo contest.
My photo of Miso kitty, the beloved neighborhood cat, loved by all but the mentally deranged, shot on an Iphone.
And Aramis's family doggy, shot on a Fuji X-t2. (A different black and white photo of this pup.)
Battle on!
Both Aramis and I come from the land of ice and snow - the midwest.
Viking vs Cheesehead. He's the Cheesehead.
This is not a cat vs dog fight. I like dogs. He likes cats. This is an Apple vs. Non Apple fight.
Um
I also have an Android but Sshhh
It's on like Donkey Kong!
Aramis and I, and our epic battle of Apple phones vs non Apple, has reached the point of no return and, we entered a photo contest.
My photo of Miso kitty, the beloved neighborhood cat, loved by all but the mentally deranged, shot on an Iphone.
And Aramis's family doggy, shot on a Fuji X-t2. (A different black and white photo of this pup.)
Battle on!
Both Aramis and I come from the land of ice and snow - the midwest.
Viking vs Cheesehead. He's the Cheesehead.
This is not a cat vs dog fight. I like dogs. He likes cats. This is an Apple vs. Non Apple fight.
Um
I also have an Android but Sshhh
Monday, October 28, 2019
My kind of Cash
“Where did the money come from?” I asked an upper management friend from my last job.
“Don’t worry about it.” She replied. “Just roll with it.”
Shortly before 3am there was a loud popping noise. It could have been gunfire. I hear gunfire in this neighborhood every couple of months. It only got my attention this time because it was so close. Side of my building, close. Seconds later, all the power in my building went out. I went outside and met up with my downstairs neighbor. ‘Did you call the manager?” He asked. Yeah no. And besides, I think Nevada Power, is the more reasonable phone call to make at 3am. Which someone apparently did. From 3am to 6am utility trucks came and went to fix the outage. Who knows what happened?
6am, after the utility trucks left, power restored, I finally fell back to sleep, woke up around 8am, and panicked because I missed Miso’s morning feeding. Poor kitty. I searched for my little stray cat but could not find him anywhere. I’m sure the utility trucks scared him off. I felt like shit all day. Lack of sleep and no kitty. I looked for Miso when I got off work. No luck. I looked a few times. Nothing. It’s 2:42am right now and I just looked again. No kitty. 5:14am still no kitty.
Ignorance is bliss. It truly is. For the past 13 months, up until a few weeks ago, I was totally ignorant of the bullshit going on in my building. Well, not totally ignorant. Every time something seemed “off” inside my apartment I just let it go. Alas there’s only so many times you can let shit go. And all this animosity, all this passive aggressive animosity regarding the strange goings on inside my apartment when I’m gone, is all because I feed a hungry neighborhood cat?
I couldn’t care less if you don’t like me. I don’t like most people. I get it. But I tolerate a lot. I tolerate people talking loud on their cell phones in close quarters. I tolerate people putting their feet up on furniture in restaurants like the world is their living room. I tolerate people who ride their motorcycles at 2am only in residential areas rather than the open road like it was designed for. Tolerance is the only way to survive one ridiculous day into the next. “Just roll with it.” But some people would rather fuck you, trespass against you, for no reason other than because they feel entitled to. And that’s where my tolerance ends.
Dear kids, you’ll get the gist...
“I let a friend stay with me. She needed a room to rent. And while we were roommates she stole my identity. She stole my social security card, my identity, and started a new life as me. I hate this town. It’s so fucked up.” she complained. And that’s the only conversation I’ve ever had with this nutjob who lurks my building, furthermore she did most of the talking. I guess her life motto is, “Fuck over forward.”
So again, I have to ask, all this passive aggressive destructive animosity towards me because I feed a neighborhood cat? You poked a hole in his ear. You actually stalked this particular cat for no other reason than to hurt him. And you think it’s the town that’s fucked up?
At last Miso stopped by to eat. He was a very hungry boy. Poor thing.
We talk about mental illness all the time. We talk about what an epidemic it’s become, like the homeless. We theorize how it got this way.
But
Wouldn’t it be nice if just one political party actually cared enough about it too? I mean like all year around, not just during election time.
Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand
Workin' in the dark against your fellow man
But as sure as God made black and white
What's down in the dark will be brought to the light
You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
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