March 2004 Dribblings

Category: dribblings

3.31.04
ah, the last entry for march.

so i had way too much free internet time today. which means i spent some money. not a whole lot of money. but i bought things that i wanted and not things that i needed.

for instance, i need a new pair of headphones for my iPod. the ones that cowboy zydeco told me about. so instead i bought two DVDs.
one i have seen.
one i have not seen. it’s a documentary.

i got them both on half.com for very cheap. it made me so happy. and now i can be like the old people and wait for the mailman to bring me presents.

Dear Hershey®’s,

i see you’ve finally gotten around to ruining your perfect candy, the Hershey’s Kiss. What is the matter with you? The Hershy’s Kiss is like, the most wonderful thing ever (well, next to Peanut M&Ms, anyway), and what do you do? You mess around with nature and this happens. Weren’t you forced to read the Monkey’s Paw in high school like the rest of us?

Remember the ending?!

i just hope that you don’t end up with a Zombie Kiss knocking on your door. But if that did happen, you would so deserve it.

It’s called a Rollo.
Morons.

Your Pal,

Jaimie Pickle

ps: Nobody eats Rollos.

3.30.04
perhaps purchasing the iPod was a mistake.

i’m finding it difficult to wear headphones. not because the ‘phones are uncomfortable or anything. but i’ve realized that i am WAY more paranoid than i thought. ‘cos while i’m blasting my ear drums with sonic candy like Prodigy and Night Ranger*, i am constantly looking over my shoulder to see who is behind me. even though i’m all alone. and i know that i’m all alone. but maybe, just maybe, there’s someone trying to sneak up on me. while i’m wearing headphones.
better check!

so really, it’s no fun to listen to cool music when i can’t take the time to enjoy it. because how am i supposed to be all, “MOTORIN’!!!” when there’s some burglar, complete with one of those hats that snap down in the front, eye mask, black pants with b/w striped shirt and 5 o’clock shadow, sneaking up behind me with a blackjack or brass knuckles or whatever.
better check!

*look, i bought the iPod second hand. so all the Night Ranger and Peter Cetera and Boyz II Menz came with. i would never download that crap. surprisingly, the guy i bought it from is straight.

I LOVE THESE OLD PEOPLE
so anyway i got two hugs today.

the place is called The Holy Comforter House. but i’ve noticed that most of the people just call it the Holy House. which is odd ‘cos it looks nothing like a house and more like a giant rectangle with 400 windows. anyway, i think i’m going to start referring to it as the Holy Moly. it’s just so much fun working there. oh and there’s drama!

apparently one of the oldsters did something to anger one of the other oldsters. dad says that the lady must’ve stolen someone’s boyfriend. ‘cos someone put superglue in some lady’s keyhole. and that little tidbit of info spread across that giant building like wildfire (or as they say in the south, “wile-far”). how funny is that? just like kids. this place is like dorms for old people. and at 2pm they have Tea Time. where they drink tea and eat cake and hatch diabolical plans, like where to hide the nuclear missle silos and how to superglue keyholes.

i love that place.

today’s letter:

Dear Domino’s®,

Your Philly Cheesesteak Pizza is the best thing since the shirt pocket was invented. And dare i say, it tastes even better than a shirt pocket. How did you get the cheese to do that? It is perfect! And the meat was totally not gross! Kudos to you!

i will admit to being concerned about the green peppers (i picked off the onions). i figured that i would be burping them up all night long, but nay! No burping during the night!

However.

i have farted nonstop for two days since eating your pizza.

It was totally worth it.

Love,

Jaimie Pickle

ps: Domino’s® Philly Cheesesteak Pizza, will you marry me? i want to have your tasty, gooey babies.

3.29.04
we painted at the Ol’ Folks Home today. the old people are still just as nice as ever, in fact, when i first walked in i was carrying a ladder and this ol’ biddy walked up and was all, “ohh! what are you painting today?” and i told her we were painting a couple of vacant rooms and she was all, “well, give me a hug.” and she hugged me!

who are you, old lady? i don’t know!
hugs!

and then later that day i was on the elevator and this old man was too and he was so nice and sweet and then when it got to my floor he was all, “i believe this is your floor, little lady.”

aw.

i love painting at that place!

i can’t wait til the old ladies start bringing me pie. ‘cos everyone knows that old ladies love to feed people. food=love and oh how i hope it’s pie.

Dear Old Ladies,

Pie.

Love,

Jaimie Pickle

the next portion of today’s entry is rated ‘R’ because i use swear words.

so mr. fleegan and i are driving back from the shoe store and he’s complaining about something, and i don’t really have my Listening Ears on because i’m thinking about how i’ve got to finish a hallway at the Ol’ Folks Home tomorrow. so mr. fleegan says something that really catches my attention and i say, “what…are you talking about?”
“huh?”
“what did you just say?”
“i said i have to wake up at fucking five o’clock in the morning.”
“oh. yeah. that makes sense.”
“what? wait. what did you think i said?”
“that you wake up with a fucking fire cock every morning.”
“oh. gosh.”
“yeah.”
“i wish i had said that.”

so of course everything was a fire cock last night. the rain was a fire cock. the whorecat was a fire cock. the pollen, which has given us all headaches and sore throats, was a fire cock.

this website?
fire cock.

3.28.04
i played on the worship team at church today. i haven’t played bass in well over a year so it was pretty tough. i forget just how far apart the frets are.
for me, i guess, it’s harder for me to worship while i’m playing. it’s probably like that for most people. or not. i don’t know.

but it was cool to get to see and play with jimmy h.
i haven’t seen him in almost two years.
he is always smiling.

we played five songs and it was good to hear liz sing again. but after four measley songs my back was killing me and my legs were like, “jaimie c’mon, let’s sit down. i’ll tell the back to stop hurting if you’ll just sit down. please?”

i mean lookit. i used to be in a band. we would play over 20 songs a night. and sure by the end of the second set you could totally feel the burn in the fingers and in the lower back. but c’mon. tonite it was only 5 songs. you’re not that old, jaimie!

and speaking of liz and band memories and blah blah blah i remember that i owe her an essay on why i (cos apprently i’m the only one) don’t like U2. hm. i’m sensing a Weekly here. could have potential.

the potential for more hate mail.

Y U HAT3 U2 , BITHC!!1!
U R SO ST00P1D!
BONO RULZ 43V3R!

3.25.04
i got to work outside today, and it was a gorgeous day.

however, about 900 bumble bees dive-bombed my head all day long. and my right arm is sunburned, with a definite line. it goes from white to coca-cola logo red in an instant. luckily my shirt sleeve covers the stupid line, but it’s like, my left arm is normal and my right arm is red. so. i look pretty idiotic.
status quo, yo.

tomorrow there will be sunscreen.

in other gnus:

i finished my self-portrait. yay!
and guess what? it looks like me. bonus!

also, i bought an iPod.

and, as with EVERYTHING i buy that is computer related…i have to buy more stuff for it so that it will work on my computer. and it’s not that my ‘puter is that old. it’s just, i dunno. i’m blaming the whole mac/pc thing on this one.

but anyway, i’m pretty excited about it. it’s really a neat machine. it’s itty bitty and i’m not sure how something that small hold 10,000 songs on it. gosh, it’s small! and it’s not even the really small kind. just the regular small kind. so cool.

and i’m certain that once i get all my songs on it that i’ll never part from it and eventually the doctors will be removing an iPod-shaped tumor from my hip. because something that small and cool probably runs on cancer juice.

updates on my iPod Adventures soon to follow.

3.24.04
today was my first day at my New Job. (meet the New Job. same as the Old Job.) it’s a part-time number i like to call Jaimie’s Tax Shelter. basically i paint apartments.
but wait.
there’s more.

it’s this kind of assisted living type place. only there’s not so much assistance, just old people living there. so really, when a room is “vacated” it means the old people died. kinda weird, but hey, at least it’s legal. it’s not like i’m selling crank to kids.
anymore.

i thought that working there would be sad and depressing, but i was way wrong. the old people there are cool! they aren’t bitter or mean or anything. they are SUPER NICE and also they say the CUTEST THINGS.

i was painting a hallway and they were SO EXCITED about it. they loved it! i was picasso to those kids. and they were all, “isn’t he doing a nice job?”
grr.
i can’t fault them really, i mean on one hand, they’re blind, and on the crusty, infected other hand, i’m dressed in a jumpsuit and baseball cap. so this lady comes up to me and tells me how great the hall looks but that the paint fumes are bothering her eyes. then she says, “of course, i can’t see out of my right eye. i’ve had three surgeries on both of my eyes.”
so see, she doesn’t know if my paint job looks good or not. she doesn’t even know what color shirt she’s wearing, but still, she came by to tell me that i was doing a good job and i love her for it.
bless heart.

i think there’s about 200 people living there. and do you know what they all have in common?
what could POSSIBLY be the most IMPORTANT part of their day?

mail.

and the mailman was late today.

and i guess he was late yesterday too. because if i heard it once i heard it 200 times,
1: what? the mail isn’t here yet?

2: nope. he’s late. and he was late yesterday too! in fact, he didn’t get here til after dark!

1: i know, it was after dark when he got here yesterday!

3: are you talking about the mail? it didn’t get here til after dark yesterday.

and so on.

if the mailman only knew what god-like power he has over these people. he’s like their daily saviour from monotony.

2: well, all i got yesterday was an offer for car insurance! i haven’t driven in 20 years!

old people, i love you and your cuteness. but ladies, if i’ve told you once i told you 200 times:
estèe lauder, bad.

3.23.04
AGAIN WITH THE FLOPPY?!

mr. fleegan either calls me Floppy, Flopchetta, Flopzekiel, or Flopzikiah. and he has been known to call me a Floptriliquist. yes, floppy has gone too far. and here’s an example of just that:

mr. fleegan called me yesterday morning while on his way to the jail. he works on their computer/network junk. he’s not like, a prisoner or a guard or anything like that. ANYWAY he’s had the pollen/sinus head for two days so i asked him how he was feeling.
him: oh fine. my ears are stopped up. but my bugle isn’t floppy anymore!

me: …

him: hello?

me: what…did you just say?

him: huh?

me: your…bugle?

him: yeah! it’s not floppy like it was yesterday.

me: what the hell?! why are you…wait. bugle?

him: my nose. what did you think- jaimie!

me: i didn’t know! you’ve never called your nose a bugle before!

him: well i’ve never called that a bugle before either!

me: i know but-

him: you pervert.

me: shut up!

him: i can’t believe you.

me: from now on we never say bugle and floppy in the same sentence ever again.

him: i’m not sure that the words are the problem here.

me: shut up!

3.22.04
so here it is by request, mom’s reaction to seeing the kitchen:


wha’ happened?

in other random:

mr. fleegan and i use the word floppy a lot. and oddly (or not) it’s never in context of computer disks.

por exemplo:
*ring*
me: hello? who is this calling me please?*

fleegan: hi floppy.

me: hi floppy!

fleegan: how was floppy’s day today?

and so on. it sounds impossibly sweet in a really annoying way doesn’t it? i’m sure it is. but worry not for me! for there are times when “floppy” is used to denote assmittenry. such as:

me: i don’t wanna see a zombie movie at midnight! i don’t care how cool it’s gonna be!

fleegan: are you being floppy?

me: shut up!

fleegan: uh huh, very floppy.

i’m not sure how floppy has worked it’s way into our everyday vernacular. but it has. it’s very floppy. everything is floppy. good or bad. how floppy is that?

*the whole “hello? who is this calling please?” is this HORRIBLE habit that my father and i have for answering the telephone. we say it in our muppety, WE LIKE THA MOON voice. it has become SO OLD that i can’t believe that our friends have not started hanging up on us when we do it. obviously they are better people than we are.

part II

dear assjack guy driving the red whatsit with the thumpy bass behind me at the intersection yesterday,

i hate you for two reasons:

1. apparently you feel the need to blast me with the same amount of bass that i would expect to be blasted with at a rock concert of choice, that is, if i were sitting on the actual stack of speakers that the bass was being blasted out of. i could feel it rattling my ribs.
i was in my car. that, kind sir, is ridiculous.

did it ever occur to you that the world
a. does not revolve around you and
b. contains more people in it then say, just you? hmm? did it?

the thing is, i wanted to listen to the song that was playing on my car stereo, but i couldn’t because your thumpy bass bullshit was SO FLOPPINGLY LOUD it rendered my speakers NULL. i swear, the frequency at which your bass was “thumping” was at such a rate that all other sound was cancelled out. it was so low and loud that i could see the sine wave as it gobbled up all the other waves.

2. you jerk hole. not only did you have me thinking about stoopid physics and the stoopid equations that go with it, you also made me miss the best part of a smokey robinson song. AND since your bass was so earthshaking i couldn’t remember exactly what one was solving for when one was working out an equation of a sine wave. THEN the frustration of the not-remembering REALLY got to me and i hated you more and more. because the thing is, I SAID, THE THING IS, I WAS GETTING THE FORMULA FOR THE SINE WAVE CONFUSED WITH THE FORMULA FOR FREQUENCY, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW THAT AT THE TIME. IT WASN’T UNTIL MUCH LATER THAT I FIGURED OUT WHERE PI WENT IN THE EQUATION. BUT SEE, PI ISN’T IN THE SINE WAVE EQUATION! SILLY ME! IT’S IN THE FORMULA FOR FREQUENCY! REMEMBER?! HA! HA! AND THE THING IS I REALLY HATE YOU BECAUSE NOT ONLY DID YOU FILL MY HEAD WITH PARTIAL THOUGHTS OF BASIC PHYSICS THAT I HAVE LONG FORGOTTEN, BUT YOU MADE ME FEEL REALLY, REALLY, OLD. bastard.

i hope your ears are bleeding.

love,

jaimie pickle

hey guys? what is the formula for frequency? 2 pi times something? and why isn’t there a pi symbol on my character map? what is up with that? i mean come on! it’s such a common symbol! laura and i talk about pi AT LEAST twice a day. where’s the pi love all up in this piece?

3.21.04
o, fleegan.com!
i have missed you.

i’ve spent the last couple of days in Kitchen Hell redoing mom’s kitchen while dad got her out of town for a few days. it is to be a surprise. i only left the kitchen long enough to take potty breaks and eat dinners that friends were so kind to bring to me (all i had was oatmeal and granola bars). the kitchen now looks awesome. no more cows!

dear mom’s friends,

hi. listen. if you ever gave my mom a stupid piece of kitsch with a cow on it, well, it’s gone. not gone like i put it away, but gone as in i took it all to the church’s yardsale on saturday and IT ALL SOLD. i know, i know. those were gifts. they were special. yes, i know. i gave her some of that crap too. but see, that was so 1988. the country blue and cows had to go. i’m sure you understand, and if you don’t, you really need to ask yourself how this is going to affect your 5 Year Plan.
see?
not that big a thing.

you girls are the best,

love,
jamoo

and now for the pictures.


where’s the beef? bye-bye cows.


this is above the stove. also, no cows.


don’t you love the knobs and pulls? me too.
no cows.

thanks be to kris, laura, shelley, and jimmy for helping me do this crazy thing in such an impossible timeframe. if not for peeps like you, i would be ripping my hair out and chalupa would have dissolved my stomach by now.

Operation: Pickle Kitchen Do-over or as the cool kids call it: Double-Time Air Hump, is complete. i now have the urge to buy some sweet, smarshmallow peeps™ and put them in the microwave. i’ll post pictures of that later.

3.17.04
in honor of st. patrick’s day i’ve written a Weekly…having nothing to do with st. patrick’s day, ireland, or beer.

3.16.04


sorry for not updating. i’ve had a stomach problem/virus/whatever. horrible stomach pains and explosive diarrhea. so yesterday i didn’t even turn on the computer. i just vegged in a reclining position. or i was sitting on the throne wondering what i ate that was punishing me so. today my stomach just hurts. no poopage. and aren’t you glad you’re reading this?

anyway, i think the virus or whatever has upset the Jaimie-Chalupa Equilibrium we had going. and he-she is now throwing back the rum drinks. and it’s not even noon yet.

i’m about halfway (maybe a little more than half) through with my self-portrait. so i thought i’d post a pic of that for all of you to see.


um, it’s supposed to look like that. really.

let the critiques begin!

3.14.04
i saw the passion of the christ this weekend.
was it good? no, i’d say it was well done as far as cinematic blah blah goes.
did i enjoy watching it? no. it was not an enjoyable experience and i’d equate it with watching a train wreck. a slo-mo train wreck.

in other news:
today the new pastor was installed at church. “install”. like he’s an appliance or a lightbulb or a CD-ROM drive.
“how did the install go?”
“pretty good, but we didn’t have the right driver.”
“oh no!”
“yeah, so he skips every third word. i guess we can find the driver online and download it.”

it went very well, even though the EP was there and did his best to ruin it. that’s okay, ‘cos he totally made an ass of himself right in front of the district president.

3.11.04
i miss my leetle brahther. i miss him all the time. i know he’s not so far away and that if i really, really, really wanted to see him i could jump in my car (well, actually not my car, the jeep would never make it up monteagle) but i could borrow mom’s car, and drive up and see him. unfortunately it’s not practical. as soon as i would get there i would have to turn around and leave because we both have work and he’s got school and band stuff. so i don’t get to see him as often as i like.

which is just a shame ‘cos he’s the funniest guy i know. and when we’re together we just laugh and laugh. and since we have the same sense of humor and were raised together we don’t even have to use actual words when we talk. we talk in phrases and sentence. fragments. as well as song lyrics and quotes from the big lebowski. and we have the best time.

i was going somewhere with this, but i forgot where.

justin, i miss you! and i promise that next time you’re in town for more than 3 hours i’ll cut your hair.

3.10.04
my dad and i have been working at a very old house. it’s a cool house. it’s the only house i’ve ever been in that if it were ever for sale (which it never will be. this i know) i’d work three jobs just to buy it. i’ve been to that house many times over the years and everytime i’m there i love it more and more.

still, it’s an old house. and old houses have many problems. one of which being there’s only one electrical outlet per 1000 sqft. and then there’s the ancient plumbing with the rusted through steel pipes to fret about. but this is the coolest house ever. ever.

anyway an old dude lives in that house. and we’re doing some painting for him. and to shorten this story a bit i’m just gonna cut to the chase here. he has an 8-track player in his room. and also in his living room. and in the other living room. many 8-track players. the best part is THEY ALL WORK. and he has 100s of 8-tracks. and i noticed he had cool ones like linda ronstat and smokey and the american grafitti soundtrack and cool oldies and stuff. and i was in awe.

so the old guy at first apologizes for playing his oldies ‘cos he thinks we must think he’s a fuddyduddy but we’re like, “no man, oldies are cool. we listen to them all the time on the radio. it’s our favorite thing to listen to.” and he’s all, “really? you want me to play some more songs?” and we’re all, “sure! that’d be great!”
and to our chagrin…

he played the eagles.

shit.

so dad and i are forced to listen to the eagles greastest hits live. it’s like our own personal hell ‘cos we’re painting a bathroom and having to listen to seven bridges road. and then finally, there can’t possibly be another eagles song for the tape to play… it stops.
“oh thank god that’s over. i don’t think i could keep my sanity much longer.” i say.
“well, if i remember correctly, 8-tracks start over.”
“no. they don’t. that technology wasn’t available back then. was it?”
*click click*
“yeah. it was.”
“damn.”

so there we were all drivin’ down the road tryin’ to loosen our load again.

3.09.04
i had to read the lord of the flies in seventh grade. then the teacher put us into groups of 6 or 7 and made us write a play about people being stranded on an island. we sat there like idiots for a few minutes. and then i said, “guys, what if we’re escaped mental patients?” the play basically wrote itself from there.

we used to torture this girl named angie in that same reading class. i’m not sure why. oh wait, because we were stupid 7th graders, that’s why. you know what sucked about 7 grade? besides it being 7th grade? all my friends were in band and i wasn’t. i was stuck in that reading class while my buds were learning to read music. and that’s why, to this day, laura knows stuff about music, and i know stuff about greek mythology. so if there were teams on jeopardy we’d totally rake in the dough.

also, in that reading class? i had to memorize if by rudyard kipling. and that is why i sometimes have the complete last stanza repeating in my head over and over and over for hours at a time. until finally i have to say it out loud. in rap. it’s all like,

yo yo yo if you can fill the unforgiving minute uh!
with 60 seconds worth of dizistance run, uh! uh!
then yo’s iz tha wer-ald and everthang that’s in it uh huh! shout it!
what’s more you’ll be a may-an! my son.

check yo hos lata,
p.jaimie signin’ off, yo. peace.

3.08.04
i got a haircut today.
but jaimie, didn’t you just get a haircut, like, two weeks ago?
ye-es.
what’s your problem?

shut up! i can get a haircut anytime i want okay? i work hard for the sweet money and if i can’t seem to style my hair when it gets longer than an inch and the back looks all stupid and the sides poof out then by god i can go get my hair cut and feel good about myself.
quit judging me, you stoopid judge holes!

the lady who cut my hair was new. and she cut my hair very well.
“so how you want it cut?”
“okay, buzz it with a four on the back and sides, and then blend in the rest so there’s no weight-line.” (i’ve learned to be very specific. otherwise they ‘shroom my hair)
“you sure you want it that short?”
“yes. annie lennox. go.”

a few minutes later:
“wow, you’re actually cutting it short. most people freak out when i ask them to cut it this short.”
“oh this is nothing. my mom gets it cut short like this too. and my husband likes for his scalp to show all over.”
“oh. okay.”

but then. then she does what all stylists feel the need to do. style.
no.
don’t.
stop.
the humanity.

some stylists are smart and they wet the hair before they gel it. i love you, wet hair geler stylists.

she was a wet hair geler. but then she did something that noone has ever done before. she sprayed my hair and slapped some gel in and flipped the mirror:
“do you wear it like this?”
“wh- oh. are you. um. like this?”
“yeah, so you usually wear it like this?”
“heh. like a vampire? no. not usually.” it’s crazy. i mean, yes i have a KILLER widow’s peak that eddie munster would be proud of, but usually, i tend to NOT SLICK MY HAIR BACK LIKE I’M SOME GREASER PUNK FROM SOME STUPID LATE ’50s B-MOVIE, LADY. HELLO? IS THIS THING ON? DID I COME IN WEARING MY HAIR EVEN REMOTELY LIKE THIS? I JUST…IS THIS WHAT YOU THINK OF ME? OLD SCHOOL VAMP HAIR? THIS ISN’T FUNNY. IT’S WEIRDING ME OUT. WHAT, AM I JUST GETTING OUT OF THE POOL HERE? DID I JUST DO LAPS AT THE Y? QUICK! DO SOMETHING BEFORE THIS GEL SETS!

“oh. well how do you wear it? straight up? like this?” and she combs me out some retarded spikes.
“uh, well…” i can’t escape. i’m still wearing the cape. and also, the chair is three feet from the floor. damn my midget legs! “uh. actually i wear it kind like, well um.”
i can’t do anything because i’m in the cape. my arms are useless. the realization that my arms are useless becomes even more apparent when she tries to hand me a comb.
a comb? what’s to comb? i have no hair. or arms!

so i resort to my age-old philosophy of “just go with it”.
“um, you know, this is fine.”
“are you sure?”
“yeah, it’s…great. really!” not really.

i love getting my hair cut.

3.07.04
okay you guys. listen. i have an awesome, margarita and beer induced idea here. and it’s gonna make us all a lot of money. that’s right, us. all of us. we share at fleegan.com. you and me and this other guy over there. we’re gonna be rich. because we. are gonna invent. a new, awesome product.

ok not so much invent as improve upon.

all we need is a soap manufacturer, a graphic artist (in the bag, yo.) and Jet Li’s signature.

because WE are gonna MAKE a dishwashing degergent with the DIRT, SCUM, AND GREASE FIGHTING POWER OF JET LI!
I KNOW!!!

okay first, Laura. i’m gonna need a kickass cool label okay? thanks babe.

and i know there’s a Soap Guy out there. listen up Soap Guy, i need a million bottles of dish soap. now pay attention Soap Guy, the soap needs to be red. blood red. got it?

okay, now cookie and ms. sparks? i need you two to run to hollywoodland and get Mr. Li’s autograph on the contract that i have .pdf-ed to your inboxes. great.

i’m gonna sit here at home and wait for the piles of money.

3.04.04
it wasn’t because i had an hour to kill on the internet (i’m supposed to be working on my paintings, dammit) that i took the match.com’s matching test thingie. it wasn’t because i like clicking on many pictures of guy’s heads that i took the test thingie. it was all because laura asked me to. and seeing as how i’d help laura bury a body (dead or alive) i figure taking a stupid internet quiz thing isn’t that big of a deal. by the way, the test takes 900 hours to take.

my favorite part was where they asked me which headshot i could tolerate more “this one” or “this one” and it’s the exact same picture of the exact same guy but they’ve photoshopped a pair of eyeglasses on one of the pictures. so it’s like, am i really supposed to be that picky? also, the guy could’ve been a hottie in glasses but we’ll never know ‘cos whoever did the photoshop totally put some fagged out glasses on that one guy.

also laura, did the creepy bald guy* keep popping up on your quiz?
also, the part about “which guy would ask you out?” was weird ‘cos they said, “base this answer on the types of guys who have asked you out before.” and i’m thinking, huh, i think more women have asked me out than men have. i hate you, test.

here’s some “facts” from my test:

1. Many of the features you found attractive are common among men described as “Mediterranean Hotties.”

2. There’s something about “Outdoorsmen” that also appeals to you. These guys have a tanned, weathered look, along with ruggedly handsome features.

3. only 17% of women my age like the same type of guy i do. holy shit. now i feel like a freak.

4. basically i like very attractive men, be they asian, black, white, hispanic, breathing, whatever.

5. i like noses and dark hair. longish hair. they kept talking about how i must like to “run my fingers through his hair”. i find that odd as i very rarely run my fingers through jimmy’s hair.

6. i only seem interested in dating men who are at least 30. huh.

so anyway, out of all the fellas in the test this one is my new boyfriend:


he looks like a James doesn’t he?

my new black boyfriend. our children will be gorgeous:

i pretend his name is Montavius


by the way, i was totally in love with this guy (with beard, you fools) and the test totally told me that i did not find the guy with the beard attractive. so that tells you how “accurate” the whole thing was. a-holes. pay attention test! send the beard hotties my way!


thanks for playing along dad. sorry. you were not my type.


*creepy bald guy

since laura took the chick test i did too. apparently i’m attracted to “very beautiful women” with long, curly, straight, black hair. stupid test. and also they must be asian or hispanic or black:

my new girlfriend.


i wanted ths one.


this one was not my type.

3.03.04
i’ve bought paints. new paints. oil paints.

admittedly i suck at oils. i’m an acrylics gal.

perhaps i don’t suck exactly, it’s just that i’m not nearly as good at them as most people. they are so hard and complicated and technical and beautiful and smelly in a great way. i so want to be able to paint with oils. that’s why i forced myself to buy oil paints. and since i bought them i will HAVE to use them because jaimie will not tolerate frivilous buys. all purchases must make sense therefore i must figure out how to use oil paints in such a way that does not make me a total hack.

thing is, i bought them days ago. and i have yet to crack them open. i tell myself it’s because i haven’t finished the self-portrait i’ve been working on and that i must finish that first. i’m trying to be structured here because if i don’t lay down any rules i’ll never finish a painting. i get sidetracked so easily. i have four paintings going on right now (all acrylics) and i keep telling myself i must finish two for the art show coming up, and one of them MUST BE the self-portrait.

why do artists paint self-portraits?
vanity?
cheap model?
vanity?

eh. i dunno. i think i’m more comfortable with painting myself than someone else. that way there’s only my expectations and no, “that looks nothing like me, you hack!” to deal with.

3.02.04
sorry for lack of updates. but i do have a new weekly. i’ll send it out tonight. first i have to send it to laura so she can make a graphique for it.

also, it’s mom and dad’s anniversary. 30 years, kids.

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