April 2004 Dribblings

Category: dribblings

4.29.04
dad and i have been painting at this house FOREVER. we’re painting the whole thing you know? like siding and trim and the new deck and the three porches and the garage doors and the door doors and the railings and oh yeah, the 2 mile fence. and everything has to have AT LEAST two coats and in some cases i have painted 4 coats (damn you, doors!). but the people are very nice and so we don’t mind working for them at all because they’re just Good People.

anyway they have a daughter in highschool.

so she gets home from school today and i’m up on a ladder on the side of the house. so i climb down and walk over to her as she’s getting out of the car because i have to tell her that “hey. i painted the porch a few hours ago. so it might be a little wet. so, you know, use the garage door to get in the house.”

so anyway i walk up and say, “hey.” and she turns around and says, “i hate boys. do you know what he said to me? he said, “i’m not picking up my tux ‘cos i have better things to spend my money on.” and prom is tomorrow! AND THEN i make an appointment for the tanning bed? and the only one i could get was 4:30 and i have to work from 3:30 – 5! so now i gotta call work and tell them that i’m gonna be late. THEN i got a phone call earlier saying that i have to drive to birmingham TONIGHT to get the tickets for the *insert random charity event here* ‘cos i have to work the event on SATURDAY!”

wow.

i can so like, totally not relate.

at first i thought, “wow. dude must be some kind of jerk.” but then when she got to the part about calling in late for work cos she’s got to go to the tanning bed? wha?
is that…possible?
can people, human people, really get away with that?

so she stops and it’s my turn to talk right? but i didn’t know what to say. i mean, i can’t tell her that everything will work itself out. and i can’t tell her that her boyfriend is right, there are better things to spend money on. and i can’t tell her that she’s a spoiled brat for needing to go to tanning bed and making work wait for her EVEN THOUGH SHE ALREADY LOOKS LIKE SHE’S SPENT A WEEKEND AT THE BEACH.

totally. cannot. relate.
thank you, lord.

4.28.04
so lately dad and i have been talking to each other like we’re gangstas. except we really have no idea what we are talking about. ‘cos we’re white folk. still, it’s fun to call each other G, brah, and Money. as an added bonus, since we’re both so sick to death of the Oldies Station and the Classic Rock Station we have taken to listening to the Pop 40 Station that happens to play the same 5 rap songs over and over. so now we know all the words to the newest ludacris song. as well as those other rap songs by those other black guys. like, the one about ‘chillin’ at the Holiday Inn’ which we don’t understand but still, we sing along with it adding, “uh!” and “ho!” every so often.

so every 96 seconds one of us shouts “when i move you move!” to which the response is “just like that?” and lemme tell ya, my dad loves the ‘hell yeah’ part. and i nearly fell off my ladder when at some point in the song the guy bitches about the waitress not bringing him his drinks and dad let out a HUGE, “beeyotch!”

and we’re not sure why ‘urbody in the club’ must get tipsy. we figure it’s one of those things you don’t get unless you’re there…at the club. you know, gettin’ tipsy? urbody? and does it happen urday?

and it’s weird ‘cos we found that we can handle hearing the same rap song 5 times a workday but hearing the sheryl crow song more than twice makes us want to bite down really hard on our own teeth until they all snap. ishn’t daht veird?

ooh. but they played an eminem song. and i’m not sure how my dad knew it was emimem, but he did. and he lost it. it was whatever song has the aerosmith song “in the background”. anyway halfway through dad was all, “what a little bitch! eminem is such a whiny little bitch! if he were here right now…i’d slap him and call him a little bitch.”

i would totally give up my beer money FOR THE YEAR to see dad slap eminem and call him a little bitch. cos yeah, eminem? you are a little bitch. RECOGNIZE THAT, MUTHAFUH!

4.27.04
so i’m talking to Mr. Fleegan on the phone and he’s going on and on about playing his xbox. how cool it is. and the whole time i’m like, “yeah.” “uh huh.” “really.” and he’s going on and on about this game called… Halo? and how he needs xbox live…or maybe he’s already got xbox live? i don’t know. but i’m trying to think of a way to get him not talking about stoopid video games when he says, “see. you should buy an xbox so we can play each other all the time.” so i respond in a sexy voice, “but i’d rather just play the game while sitting in your lap.”
“…”
“…”
“yeah but then you gotta play split screen. and you know how lame that is.”

brick wall, y’all.

4.26.04
i finished The Donkey Show.

i’m now reading The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. because i must temper my fiction reading with literature and nonfiction. and i mean, i just read two fictions in a row. harold bloom would be spinning in his grave…if only he were dead. he must be a vampire or something. he’s like, 400 years old.  

so far i’ve learned that Samuel Taylor Coleridge and i share a birthday. and that the author of this particular edition hates abstract expressionism, color-field, PopArt, and anything that isn’t Realism. oh, and he basically calls Alexander Calder a tool. i cannot stand it when people (who have been educated) dismiss all art that isn’t realism. i mean, millions of people have heard of alexander calder. but i’m certain only mere thousands have probably ever heard of this blowhard author…who you can tell wants to be Harold Bloom. and only a complete and total assclown would want to be Harold Bloom.  

i know what you’re thinking, “why does the author feel the need to express his opinion on modern art when he’s writing an annotated version of a Romantic poem from the 1800s?” yes. i asked that myself. because he chose to use Gustave Dore’s illustrations. and apparently at the time (1960s) he was afraid that people would make fun of him for using those illustrations rather than something more modern. so he cuts them to the chase by being all defensive and then making fun of all other art. personally i think he must have a small penis.

the illustrations are very fitting to the text. so i think he really just wanted to be snarky in his preface. i mean, he called mark rothko boring. obviously he’s never tried to make his own color-field painting. it’s really honking hard. the one i tried looked so bad that i immediately painted over it so that no one would see it and say, “what the hell is that supposed to be?” no wait. i didn’t paint over it. it’s hiding behind some other canvases. but it NEEDS to be painted over. besides it was just a study. i would need a much larger canvas to really do one. which i won’t ever do. because it’s really honking hard.   anyway, i’m dying to skip the preface ‘cos this author is a tool. but it’s a long preface and i probably need to read it all. but really, let’s get to the drugged out poem already! buzzkill.  

4.25.04
heh.

*****

the cat just freaked out. she was sleeping peacefully on one of my books on the bed (she hates books. well, she hates when i read books. if i’m reading a book she gets real pissy and gets all up in my face and lap and meows and meows and MEOWS and she’s all in my face saying, “JESUS CHRIST WHY ARE YOU READING THIS SLOP? PET ME! I’M GONNA LIKE, DIE IF YOU DON’T PET ME!” then she’ll flop all over me and pout and the fact that i haven’t thrown her against the wall by now makes me think that at some point i’ll probably make a great mother.), and so she’s sleeping on the book, which is her statement of, “yeah. you could read this book if you wanted to, but you’d have to wake me up first. and if you wake me up i’m gonna flop all over you and meow until you pet me or get so pissed that you finally turn off this damn light so we can get some sleep.” she’s so passive-agressive. or maybe it’s aggressive-aggressive. anyway she’s dead sleeping then all of a sudden she meows. LOUD. and i turn and look at her and say, “what?” and she starts meowing all staccato and urgent much in the same way i imagine she would do if she were on fire. but she’s not. on fire that is. but continues to meow all, “MY GOD. MY GOD. HELP. IT BURNS.” so i think maybe she wants outside or some food. but she doesn’t.

and so what i think happened was that she was dreaming and she meowed out loud and it woke her up. and she was all, “oh my word. how embarrassing! i must not let jaimie know that i meowed so loudly in my sleep. i’ll act like i’m on fire and she’ll be none the wiser.”

*****

i finished Joe Jones. i liked it a lot. but i guess i’ve had too much therapy or something ‘cos the whole time i’m screaming, “all of you characters are SUPREMELY co-dependent! STOP IT!” and so on.
but i loved all of the conversations that the characters have. great stuff.

and laura brought by some books she stole from the paper. i guess people send the paper books to do reviews on, but they don’t realize that Small Town Newspaper in the Middle of the Bible Belt probably can’t review books that have the dreaded F Word splattered throughout it. and the more i think about it, the more i don’t like calling it a Small Town Newspaper. ‘cos that makes it sound really lame. and it’s not that lame. really.

she brought me The Donkey Show by Michael Patrick Welch which i am reading right now and absolutely adoring it.
and Walking to Canterbury by Jerry Ellis which is a “Modern Journey Through Chaucer’s Medieval England” says the cover of the book. laura said, “i thought you might read this since it’s kind of…historical.” which is just really nice of her. ‘cos what she means is, “i thought you might read this since you’re a total geek who reads tons of nonfiction. nobody at the paper wanted to read it.”

laura, you are too good to me.

4.23.04
went to the library and checked out three (3) books. i will tell you two of the titles. i’m ashamed of the third one.

Joe Jones by Anne Lamott
an annotated version of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge er, i’m assuming the annotated parts were not written by Coleridge. derp.

the third book will not be mentioned.

4.22.04
leetle brahther said that i was cold and heartless.
“yeah, but you laughed didn’t you?”
“hell yes. that message was hilarious.”

mom was worried that i was gonna cause a feud or something.
“jaimie! you’re gonna make your brother feel bad!”

oh for the love.

4.21.04
toonces Whorecat came back.
she couldn’t stay away.

i downloaded a shotgun blast. then i called my brah’s cell. left him a message.
“heeeere layla! heeeere girl! good girl! *chik-chik KABLAM, chik-chik KABLAM!*”

it’s weird. i’m pretty good at revenge (ask me about the magnets sometime), but if someone were to ask me if i was any good at revenge i’d be all, “me? no. no. i don’t think that revenge is a good way to handle things. and i’m really nonconfrontational.” so not only am a good at revenge, but i’m also a hypothetical liar.

4.20.04
i left a voicemail for leetle brather telling him that my cat was still missing and that if he brings that dog back i’m gonna kill it.

later i got a voicemail from him. “meow. meow. meow.” was all it said.

it’s on.

4.19.04
mr. fleegan and i went to Mentone, AL on saturday to meet with our peeps and we spent the night at this dude ranch and it was okay and the beds sucked like so much ass and that’s all there is about that.

but.

the way to get to said dude ranch was kinda funny ‘cos we used internet directions from like, yahoo! or something. luckily i had called liz the night before to see if she had any problems finding the place and she said, “no, we took a wrong turn but other than that the directions are fine. oh. wait. um, let me just warn you that the county road #whatever? yeah. it’s a dirt road. for like, 10 miles.”

it wasn’t just a “dirt road”. it was a bumpy, twisty, hole-filled, curvy, fish-tailin’ dirt road. on the way there it was uphill. on the way back it was downhill. and the jeep (my baby!) did a fantastic job. i figured she would fall apart or the gas tank would drop or something. nay! when it was all over i wanted more dirt road. “jimmy!” i said, “i gotta get a wrangler! with like, those big tires!”
“uh huh,” he said.

who knew off road would be so fun?

so when i got home (just in time to get back in the car to go to church. no shower. sorry church.) i washed the jeep and sprayed that cool stuff that makes the tires all shiny. of course, it’s covered in pollen already, and a bird shat on the windshield, but the tires still look good.

*****

my brother and his girlfriend and their bitch dog came for the weekend. and since mom and dad already have two stupid dogs, you throw in a third stupid dog and what do you get?
dogfights.

yes.

fights. as in plural. as in are we f***ing rednecks or what?

as in justin, you ever bring that damn dog back here and i’m gonna kill it. for real.

and P.S. Toonces Whorecat has not been seen in over two days.

WHERE IS MY CAT?

if my cat, the one that your stupid, retarded, dog tried to eat, doesn’t come back, then i’m gonna drive up to TN and kill your dog. for real.

it’d be a favor to you. because like, that dog is gonna maul a small child. and those kinds of law suits are really expensive.

beeg seester loves you, but hates your dog.

TOONCES WHORECAT! COME HO-OME!

4.15.04
i was poking around the interweb and ended up at gwen’s site which happens from time to time and she had a link to this site which you really must go see. i hate to make fun of artists (except for a certain mr. kincade) but really, i think that it’s safe to say that this particular artist is stuck in a rut (and now that i think about it, you could say the same for mr. kincade. wait, mr. kincade? wasn’t he a character on the partridge family? anyway.) and i couldn’t help but laugh as i perused the site. i didn’t want to laugh. i mean, that chick has talent, she can draw portraits very well. and she’s pretty creative with some of the backgrounds and outfits and all. but still, the subject matter was really funny to me. and honestly, i don’t want to poke fun at her work. really.
skknt!

stop it. really. i don’t want to go on and on about how slightly crazy that site is. it wouldn’t be right. i mean, people pay her to draw pictures of them posing with stevie nicks. so what’s the punchline? i mean, how could that even be funny? it’s art.
skknt!

oh now come on. stop looking at me like that! that artist is really talented! for real! i mean, look at what a good job she did drawing stevie and that guy…and stevie and that really ugly girl…and stevie and that guy’s housecat. amazing likeness! brilliant! in fact, i wish that i had thought of it first. i mean, what a genius idea! there must be oodles of stevie nicks fan out there who would be willing to pay real money for a portrait of themselves with stevie and her flowing magic hair and interesting head pieces. and as soon as that tax refund comes in you know i’ll be ordering one of stevie nicks and my jeep. or stevie nicks and jimmy’s mom.

and i also thought about stevie nicks and she’s holding a mirror so there’s two stevies (for the price of one! you fools!) and one of the stevies is snorting a line off the mirror.
i’m just saying.

and honestly, (for real) i think that it’s a great site and i’m so glad to see an artist actully working and making money from said art (which is tons more than i can say for me) and i’m glad to see that she’s “making it” in her own way. you gotta admit, she’s not lazy.

and laura, i hope to goodness that we don’t have this conversation one day:

l: what are you doing?

m: um, just doodling.

l: really? what?

m: nothing.

l: oh god. you’re not drawing another stevie nicks are you?

m:…no.

l: liar!

m: i’m not!

l: you mean you’ve finished the stevie and now you’re drawing the stevie paraphanalia, right?

m: what… shut up.

l: a white winged dove? hmm?

m: shut

l: wicca symbols? tambourines?

m: i hate you!

l: jaimie, you gotta snap out of it! there’s more to portraiture than just stevie nicks!

m: no! i’m not listening!

l: for the love put down that pencil!

m: i won’t! not for you! it’s all for stevie! *sob* oh god why?!

l: get a hold of yourself!

m: i’m trying!

l: you don’t even like fleetwood mac!

m: yes i do!

l: …

m: *wail* no i don’t! oh god! look at what i’ve done!

l: hmm. you’ve drawn stevie holding an american flag in one hand and a coca-cola in the other.

m: what have i become?

l: …why is the wolf wearing a scarf?

m: it’s stevie’s wolf, duh.

i really hate to poke fun. really. well, obviously not enough to not poke fun.

no wait! i got it! i’m gonna get one with stevie nicks and R2D2! oh yeah! rock on gold dust woman!

4.14.04
according to my mood and my eating habits for today (eating everything in sight, and anything in the cupboards and ‘fridge plus all the other food hide-outs like the cookie tin and um, i guess technically those Little Debbies® were hiding in their box) i’d say that My Aunt Flo will be visiting shortly. i hate to cycle-up the blog here, but anyway shut the hell up, you misogynistic bastard. get yer own blog.

oh the things i ate today…
would have killed dr. atkins, that is, if the Scarlet Letter wasn’t there already. so i guess he was rolling over in his grave as i ate a GIANT piece of homemade bread (toasted wif butter) for brekkers this morning.
then i had a slightly warmed (but not too warm. luke cold.) bowl of leftover spaghetti for lunch. with another GIANT piece of toasted homemade bread (and butter, you fools!) and oh hell, since this is Lunch Confessions i’ll go ahead and admit to scarfing TWO bowls of sketti.
YOU WIN.

and for dinner i had to wait until after bible study to stop at the store for some food and i ended up in the Frozen Foods Section of Eternal Peril which i never purchase items from (except ice cream, you fools!) because i think somewhere in my upbringing my mother ingrained into my head that Frozen Dinners Are Only Eaten By Children Whose Parents Hate Them. i don’t remember her actually saying those exact words but there must be something to that because i never buy frozen dinners. and when i see grown people buying Frozen Dinners i think, “oh honey, did your parents hate you?” i never even peruse the selection. it does not exist in My World.

which is odd because Thee Ol’ Roomate used to eat the frozen dinners. and i’m pretty sure that her parents didn’t hate her. and so on several occassions we had Frozen Dinner Lasagna (not bad) and Frozen Pizza (also not too bad) but for the most part we cooked. and i find it odd that i still judge Frozen Dinners as evil and sick, and that i think that eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches everyday for 6 weeks would be ok and entirely normal.
i know. i’m working on it.

so imagine my surprise when i find myself plucking an Uncle Ben’s Rice Bowl of Doom from the shelf and quickly running to the register before i can change my mind and decide that NAY! A FROZEN DINNER FOR ME? I THINK NOT!
i say, “quickly run” but you guys know me, i’m not going to run unless something big and horrible is chasing me. so when i passed a display for CHEEZ-ITs® and they were special twister CHEEZ-ITs® well, you better believe i picked out the nastiest flavor combination and ran (walked, you fools!) to the register and checked out and drove home and put the Frozen Dinner in the microwave (by the way, there was a huge debate about whether to nuke it or bake it in the “conventional” oven. it went something like this:

me: ok. i bought a Frozen Dinner. but like hell i’m nukin’ it. i’m not going to stoop that low.

me: good idea. hold on, it says it’ll take 60 minutes to bake.

me: fuck! it’s already 8:30!

me: i know!

me: dammit. i’m torn.

me: i don’t know why you even bought the thing. it’s not like your parents hated you as a kid or anything. plus, it’s gonna taste like plastic.

me: shut up, me. i’m sure that Frozen Dinners have come along way in taste.

me: is the glass half full, hon?

me: don’t pull that bullshit with me.

me: i’m just sayin’

me: shut it! i’m gonna nuke it! and you’re gonna eat it!

i know. i’m working on it.) and of course, while it’s nuking i rip open the box of CHEEZ-ITs® Twisterz (by the way, the flavor i picked out is ‘hot wings and bleu cheese’. yeah, in cracker form. i know. it sounds sick. i must be pregnant to pick out something that gross sounding. well, maybe i am pregnant, but those things are AWESOME. i shit you not. JUSTIN ARE YOU READING THIS? LISTEN DUDE. IF TN HAS CHEEZ-ITS® TWISTERZ CRACKERS YOU MUST GO BUY THE HOT WINGS AND BLUE CHEESE FLAVORED ONES. I KNOW. IT SOUNDS HORRIBLE. I WAS AFRAID THEY WOULD TRY TO MAKE THEM TASTE LIKE CHICKEN BUT THEY DON’T, ‘COS THEY’RE SMART. THEY TASTE LIKE BUFFALO SAUCE AND CHEESE. OH MY. OH. IF YOU CAN’T FIND THEM I WILL MAIL YOU SOME.) so anyway, yeah, i couldn’t wait long enough for my food to cook before i started eating, more starches by the way, as if the Rice Bowl i was about to consume wasn’t going to top off my Incredible Day of Dietary Starches.

and. because i’m a retard at Frozen Dinners, or Child Hater Meals as i will now refer to them, when i took the first bite of my Uncle Ben’s Rice Bowl of Fire and Strange Meat* my tongue shriveled and burned away into a small, black corpse.

*i did not eat the meat. thus assuring no protien for jaimie on this day!

so anyway, i dunno what happened to me today. i usually don’t eat a lot. and i mean, hello? hot wings flavored snack crackers? have i lost my mind? i can see me nine months from now:

“miss pickle, you’ve just given birth to a 6 pound queer ulcer…holding a daquiri?”

*****

the whorecat has taken off her collar and hidden it somewhere outside. never to be found i’m sure.

4.13.04
i now have fluorescent yellow hair. it is glorious.

*****

i put a collar on the whorecat today. i’m guessing it will last until i look away from the whorecat. so far so good. it is purple with stupid jewels on it (the collar not the whorecat). i think she secretly likes it but is pretending to play it cool like, “whateva.”

i’m trying to get her used to wearing a collar so that when we move downtown people won’t think she’s a stray cat and shoot her. this way they’ll know up front that she’s somebody’s pet before they shoot her.

*****

i need a color printer but i don’t have space for one anywhere near my computer, and i think if i plug one more thing up in my room i’ll blow a fuse. so i guess i need to “borrow” a color printer, for like, 15 minutes.

*****

my dad is currently making a birdhouse out of a baseball cap.
if you know him then you know that that is completely normal.

*****

painted at the Holy Moly today. i love that place.
there’s a lady who works there and her name is Dottie. that is the only name that fits her. well, maybe she could be a Vi or a Mags. she’s got this gruffish voice. anyway, she is so funny. she was telling me this story and she said, “you know, my dearly departed ex-husband, lessee…yeah, we were divorced at the time…anyway, he said to me, “dottie, i always liked your hair better when you had it your natural color.” and i said, “fool. you wouldn’t know. you’ve never seen it my natural color.”

oh man. it would have been the perfect commercial for hair color.

4.12.04
got my hair cut.
bleached my hair.
will sleep with globs of conditioner on my hair tonight.

tonight jimmy and i went for a walk. instead of walking around the block i asked if we could “kick it up a notch” and walk to the library so i could drop off some books in the book suppository (yes. terrible, old joke. i know.) he said sure.

so we walk and while we pass city hall i notice this patch of clover. and they were SO BIG and i made jimmy stop and wait til i found a four leaf clover (which took all of 6 seconds ‘cos i’m one of those sickos who can find a four leaf clover just by looking down. it’s a gift i’m sure.) so i put the clover behind my ear and off we were to the library.

right as we were approching the deposit box the staff door opened and out poured a bunch of librarians. they were locking up the place and going home and two of the librarians said, “hi jaimie!” and i said hi and talked to them ‘cos they are nice ladies and jimmy was all, “the librarians know you?” and i was all, “i guess.” it was kinda surreal.

so on our way home i said, “wow wasn’t that crazy when all those librarians came out of that door?” and jimmy said, “yeah. what if they put a spell on us?”

‘cos i mean, yeah.

4.08.04
when we were in college (when i say “we” i mean “laura and i” ‘cos we had our jr and sr years of college together. if i had said, “when i was in college” that would be my freshman/sophomore years. like you didn’t know that? you suck! anyway.) we were asked to do this orientation thing one year. it wasn’t our orientation day (although THAT* is a story in itself) it was basically the newbie art student’s orientation and dr. henricks had asked us to go with her to do this orientation so that the new kids wouldn’t just have to talk to some professor, there would be actual students involved to answer any “real” questions. i mean, i guess that’s why we were there.

hell. laura? why were we there?

anyway there was a new student being accepted** to the art program and her name was Destiny. and she was pretty cool but kinda anal retentive in that Freshman Way. i think she was pressured by her parents. who cares. the point is, she was one of the only lowerclassmen that we actually knew by name. not that we were snobs or anything. it’s just that usually freshmen weren’t allowed to take Drawing III until they had had I and II first. and since we didn’t really hang around after classes (we sped back to our homes in the next county over like our lives depended on it) we didn’t know all the people in the building. hell, who am i kidding, there were people i would paint with in the painting room all semester and not know their names. huh. was i a snob?
no. just painfully scared to talk to anybody. artists are freaks.

ANYWAY. destiny.

poor destiny.

EVERYTIME that poor girl was walking behind us or ahead of us or anywhere NEAR us we would say in an ominous voice-over, “look. dessstiny is behind us!” all dramatic-like. she totally tolerated it, but you know it had to get old fast. like she hadn’t heard that crap all her life.
“it’s DESTINY!”

*i had to go to an orientation even though i was a transfer student. and it was SUPPOSED to be an orientation SPECIFICALLY for transfer students, in that they weren’t supposed to treat us like dumbasses and do all the stupid rah-rah crap they pull out for Freshman Orientation. basically they were supposed to hand us a map and give us a handbook i guess. but apparently they didn’t tell the lady in charge so she went throught the WHOLE she-bang and it was boring and horrible and the fact that we didn’t all bum-rush the stage and rip out her blathering thorax let’s you know that they probably served good snacks. so there was this guy and either he was teh “leader” of my group or just in my group. who knows. andyway he found out my last name was pickle and was all, “i bet you’ve heard them all, eh?” and i was like, “yeah.” and he was all, “yeah my name is jacques snow. so i was always jacques cousnow.”

well about once a semester i would run into jacques cousnow somewhere on campus and it was always, “pickle!” and i was all, “hi!” and then we would go our separate ways. and would you believe 3 years later laura and i shot his wedding? small damn world.

that is how it happened, right laura?

**she turned in an application.

4.07.04
new “weekly”!

i think i have 5 pounds of pollen in each eye. so gritty.

i was cleaning my room the other day (although it doesn’t look like it) and i found my Louise Nevelson postage stamps that laura gave me for my birthday or christmas one year. and when i found them it was like, “oh man! i remember these! fun!” gosh, i love Ms. Nevelson. her’s was the first art that i saw and thought, “oh. that’s it. that’s art. that’s what i need to do.” so i would definetly say that she is an Influence (capital i) in my art. and i’m glad that i majored in painting and not sculpture ‘cos i’d totally try to rip her off.

4.06.04
i have been painting a fence for the last two days. that’s it. fence. for two days. and it looks like i’ll be painting it for the next two days as well (actually i think it’s supposed to rain on thursday. please god. rain.). it’s a brown fence. actually it’s tobacco, or the sherwin williams variation thereof. and i gotta tell you, if you said, “tobacco” i would picture a totally different color than the one i’ve been painting. it’s really more of a lightish dark greybrowneen.

the good part about painting this fence is that i’ve become even bigger friends with my iPod. the only bad part about painting with the iPod on is that

a. i get paint all over everything. the iPod is no exception and
b. i can’t hear my father’s screams if he falls off the roof and
c. can you believe i made an ’80s playlist? gah. what was i thinking?
d. i can’t hear the bees buzzing my head. so i don’t know they’re there. until, you know, they’re on my eye. and then starts the Crazy Bee Dance where i flail around and scream BEEEEEEE! BEEEE! BEEEEEE!

oy the bees. but today i decided that i wasn’t going to be scared of bees anymore. that i’m not going to “lose my cool” when bees are near me. i figure that i’ve never even been stung by a bee before so really, what am i worried about. it can’t be that bad. i mean, i’m sure that having an arm severed is much more painful than a bee sting and it’s not like i go around all panicky that my arm is going to be severed. AIEEE! CAR DOOR!

and so, because i was all alone (dad was on the other side of the house and on the roof. i was, you know, painting a fence. two miles worth of fence.) i was talking to god, because sometimes that happens. and i was all, “hey god. how about making a bee come over here and sting me so that i can totally get over my fear of bees?” 4 seconds go by. “wait! listen god? that was stupid. okay? no bees okay? i don’t know what i was thinking. it’s really hot out…and…i’m a moron. no bees. thank you.”

so anyway. no more Bee Fear. so now, when a bee dive-bombs my head or buzzes around my workspace i’m all cool like the Fonze. i snap my fingers and i’m all “heeeeeey. stoopid bees better MOVE IT OR LOSE IT! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL PAINT YOUR WINGS AND YOU’LL FALL TO THE GROUND AND NEVER FLY AGAIN AND YOU’LL DIE SLOW AND AGONIZING UNLESS I STEP ON YOU! DIE, DARKMAN, DIE!

gosh i hates me some bees.
love that iPod though.

04.05.04
well, chalupa has stolen the only thing that is good and pure in my life.

coffee.

i was getting away with drinking just a little bit in the mornings. but he/she’s taken away even that. why? why, chalupa, do you take and take from me? all i want is a little caffienated boost in the mornings before i leave the house to go and PAINT FOR 7 HOURS. IT’S JUST A LITTLE WAKEY-WAKEY PICK-ME-UP THAT I ENJOY FOR ALL OF THE FOUR SIPS I GET. BUT NO. THAT WASN’T ENOUGH OF A SACRIFICE FOR YOU WAS IT? NAY. YOU HAVE TO HAVE ALL MY ATTENTION, DON’T YOU?

FINE. I DON’T NEED COFFEE.

bullshit. i need coffee. what’s more, i WANT coffee.
it’s warm and comfortable and i have little flavors i put in it to make it even more special, or if i’m feeling all business, then i drink it black. it’s my happy morning friend.

WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME SO?

if i had a Home Surgery Kit i would so have cut your souless gob out by now, and i would have put a cup of coffee in your place. and when you finally die, and you will (so help me, i’ll take us down to some faith-healer’s tent if i have to, and we’ll drink whatever snake juice they have and if it doesn’t kill me it’s bound to kill you. and probably my colon as well.), there will be such a cry of victory and also a party. a coffee party. i’ll bring the coffee.

IT’S ONLY FOUR SIPS, YOU SELFISH HO!

04.04.04
got another e-mail from wendy:

hi jaimie,
  in my continuing obsession with numbers, i just wanted to wish you a happy 4-4-04!
xxx
wendy

i love getting e-mail from wendy. and i’ll tell you why.
her e-mails are so interesting and often full of science. she likes science.
and lots of times she sends tons of links. and they are cool links. and, more often than not, her e-mails are just like the one above, short and sweet and very undemanding.

and bonus: she never tries to sell me penis enlargement pills.

wisconsin wendy
she knows things about physics
and is an artist

wendy haiku!

04.03.04
i just finished reading C.S. Lewis’s Out of the Silent Planet. i’ll admit, i’m not that fond of science fiction. but lucky for me, it was written before technology was invented*, making all the “sciencey” parts easy to understand or skip altogether without missing what was going on. i’m a girl, okay? i’m totally entitled to hate sci-fi. i don’t like hating a whole genre, but the tediousness of the technical explainations really bores the vomit out of me. and you have to admit, it’s a very male-dominated genre that caters to a mostly male audience. so really, what would be my motivation to read more sci-fi?

however, if any of you know of any “good” sci-fi that isn’t filled with techno-geekery, that has an actual plot/theme not dealing with mankind needing to take over another planet because we’ve destroyed Earth, and it has the emotional connection that, as a woman, i need in my fiction**, then by all means let me know the author and title as i would love to read more fiction even/especially sci-fi.
and yes, i’ve read all the Hitchhiker’s Guide stuff. jjpickle at cybrtyme dot com

anyway, Out of the Silent Planet was very creative. but the first 100 pages were boring.

now i’ve got to trick laura into reading it so we can discuss it at length.
“so what did you think of it?”
“eh.”
“yeah. pretty much.”

i mainly want to know if Mars was the Silent Planet or Earth. anyone?

*ha.
**this coming from the girl who loves anything Ayn Rand, the most emotionless writer ever, has ever written. oh, it is to laugh.

04.01.04
it’s mister fleegan’s birthday!

so anyway. my pet boyfriend (and yes, i realize that i’m 26 and should not be wasting my time at the seventeen magazine website. step off.) was noah. some totally made up geek whose favorite movie is rushmore and favorite band is coldplay. ugh, but he’s into chess and poetry? please.

mr. fleegan doesn’t know how to play chess. he’s never played it. ever. he’s into tennis, computers and model airplanes (the ones with engines that fly) and i ask you, how has he never played chess? he’s got to be the only chessless geek out there.

me: you’ve never played chess?

him: nope.

me: ever?

him: not ever.

me: buh…how is that possible?

him: i played football. i’ve played checkers though.

me: jimmy, the dogs could play checkers.

APRIL FOOL’S ENTRY PART THE SECOND what is it about allcaps that makes me want to vomit?

so working at the Holy Moly and the mail came early! in fact, it came while we went down the street to eat lunch at this little cafe place that has good food but stinky service. the waitresses are goodnplenty but i guess there’s like one guy and a goat working the grill or something. anyway i get back to work and notice that the sign at the front desk has been turned around to say MAIL IS HERE in giant red letters (to make it easy for the old peeps to read from the elevators. that way if it says MAIL HAS NOT COME they can just push the button to their floor without having to step off the ‘vator. simple pleasures) and i say to the lady at the desk, “hot dog! the mail came?! let’s raise the roof!” and i proceed to do just that, raise the roof.

so there i am, in my paint splattered jumpsuit, roof raising. i’m certain my jig went unappreciated.

WARNING: the end of the world is nigh:

Dear Bob Dylan,

So, i see you’ve made a pact with lord satan. Well, i must say i’m quite surprised. Why Bob? i thought you weren’t going to work on Maggie’s Farm no more. Don’t you see, that by making the End of the World Deal with the devil that you will, in fact, be working on Maggie’s Farm for all eternity? And it’s not just Maggie in hell, Bob. There’s her ma and pa and her brother too.

And you’re gonna be their slave all over again.

Why Bob? Why are you in a Victoria’s Secret commercial? How could an old, ugly, pasty, whinebag like you get on a Victoria’s Secret commercial?
Obviously you signed the End of the World Deal.

Thanks a lot, you selfish wank.

Love,
Jaimie Pickle

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