Art Gallery

I made this illustration in honor of one of my friends co-workers who apparently has a misbehaving parrot.
Hope you like it! And tell a certain someone to get well soon!

RC:2 Musings of the original food whore.

Musings of the original food whore.

“Even Gwen Stefani has to Poop.”

I found that article in Details magazine about 5 years ago. I tore it out and kept it with a modge podge of other random objects that conjure laughter such as: the Altoids Boy, a picture of butter from the museum of art in D.C., and the above picture of MATT, who apparently while skiing has the ability to make someone moan like a cow with his huge..umm personality.

I have a boundless amount of stories to tell of Nikki, Nicole, and Tiesha. These were my second year room-mates.

I would have to go on record saying that my sophomore year of college has to date been my favorite year of my life. I can’t remember having so much fun during a confined time. Not to say that another year won’t surpass it, but that one is the one I see in my dreams when I try to pick a way I want my life to be. During that year, everyone was genuine. Everyone was NEW.

"Man, your refrigerator is awesome, Sissy." He was of course was referring to Trooper's stash of nachos, potato chips, and various chocolate chipped cookies. These cookies were a valued addictive commodity, much like crack. They caused me at one point to admit that I was indeed visiting her just for cookies, coke, and nachos; because, as many of you know I am a foodwhore.

Trooper confirmed that her diet was indeed a diet of queens and kings by inviting Larry and the fam to her famous nacho bean dip dinner. Bean dip to normal people is an appetizer. To a college student, it is the a la carte item of a fine eloquent meal. You see bean dip if made correctly, requires the oven. Which in Leslie speak means that you are cooking.

After Tiesha drove off, and waved I felt sorta oddly forlorn about the whole situation. All of my girls were gone. All I knew was that the “girls” had broken up and even though I would try to make things like it was I knew it never could be again.

So it is without further adieu, I bring you the Room-Mate Chronicles.
The Women’s Liberation Front.

I was the last one left at the end of sophomore year. It’s a bit of a ritual for me in that I was the last person to walk out of my 3 previous residences and I always prefer it that way. You have to linger about in a place that used to be a home and question why it isn’t anymore in order to move progressively forward. With no T.V., no posters, and sigh no remaining friends, I set about on my clean-up mission of the chores assigned to me: mopping, vacuuming, and mirrors.

It was when MATT came off the wall that I wandered outside of my apartment to see signs of life from the others staying in the on-campus apartments. Powhatan during the last week of school resembles something of a ghost town during that final week. No one around anywhere, and I was staring upstairs into the windows of the elusive gentlemen of apartment G-8.

I’d had a crush on Matt from G-8 since, a random ass Frat party where I was greeted with an unexpected hug and 5 five minutes of conversation. Now, while this is not enough to build any lasting relationship from, it is the kinda stuff that feeds my delusions for months. I’m not saying I wanted to marry him or anything, but he was pleasing on the eyes. Matt would later become “Cheesy 80’s Matt” and loose his appeal after using the poor word choice “tall glass or water”, and then worsening the situation by telling someone randomly that “that girl is choice P***Y” at a party.

Matt had 3 room-mates John, Chris, and Brian. All of which semi-bomb in their own right. Brian was a blondy short military guy, he sorta fancied an English Rugby player. He spoke to me on two separate occasions in the conditioning room on the importance of ROTC training and how it could help me with my college money situation. As most of you know, it isn’t a situation: it’s a condition - so to speak. John was a dark haired, Tiger Woods dressing kinda guy. He was very nice but nice in that no lady is anymore special than the next kinda nice. Yeah, he liked you, but he liked your friend and her friend, and your best friend.

Chris was tall and Italian looking. He had dark curly hair and bright blue eyes. These are basically the only things I knew about him. He was cute by merit of “I live with attractive people, thus I am cute.” Cute by association is not a bad way to earn the title.

Outside my apartment the light in G-8 was flashing on and off. Not a strobe light flashing but an odd sorta S.O.S purposeful flashing. “Are they signaling me?” I thought. Then came an odd whooping and whistling noise. I would later understand that sometimes when boys do not know what to say they make animal like noises to express their interest. It’s the truth I seen it on the discovery channel!

“Hey, Leslie! Is that you down there?

I couldn’t really make out the face through the window, so I just kinda waved blindly in the dark for a minute and then went back in the house. The window yelling was normal there was a lot of that, but rare few incidences where an actual encounter ever ensued. I was feeling too depressed to carry on a real conversation. In 24 hours, I was heading back to Covington and it would really be a moot point anyway.

While I was sweeping and pondering how I would work when I got home. I heard a pecking at my window. It was Mr. Cute by Assosciation Chris. I’d had no real conversation with him, so I assumed he wanted to borrow the communal Powhatan vacuum cleaner of course and let him in.

I’ll summarize this part to say that I received a very, very, unwanted smooch. That left me questioning whether it was ever safe to offer someone a drink with your back turned.

When he kissed me I was left feeling like Bridget Jones at the end of “The Edge of Reason” when she finds out Rebecca is in love with her and not Mark. (which by the way was NOT what happened in the book). He was promptly excommunicated from the apartment (by force). *Don’t worry-it wasn’t thaaat bad I wasn’t hurt, it was just icky.

At this point I went to G-8. CA’s party pad to enlist trauma support.

“We’ll start a women’s liberation front! Now! Tonight!
“But Nikki, It’s after midnight!“ I said.
No, RIGHT NOW!
CA: LET’S GO!

It was futile to ever really ask CA just where we were going. It’s part of her whole appeal. We may be on some sorta tentative schedule, but at any moment it was subject to change. This usually involved high speed running, smashing up glass, and at some point finding your feet in a pool of water.

At this point CA begins bounding across campus. I say bound because it was a march of intention. Not so much a stomp as a cross between and stomp and the Fraggle Frock stride.

Nikki gets her sombrero (don’t ask) and I look right to left as if being watched and follow behind her and CA.

After a tirade on the tribulations of confused men, we found ourselves at the mini lake in front of the oceanography building. In Nikki’s attempt to help a frog back to the water from the sidewalk, she wound up mauling him with her foot. Nikki played the perfect Shakespearean tragedy, by trying to help the frog she had crushed it and threw herself into a hilarious state of dismay. I nearly laughed so hard I almost peed! We fled the scene of the crime to frolic in the Webb Center front lawn.

I get hazy at this part, but I remember someone sitting on the ODU sign..whether CA or Nikki I do not remember. Then yet another mad dash to 7-11 where we tried to act sober in front of Campus police. Trooper’s screwdiver consisted of 3/4 Aristocrat and enough orange juice to tint it yellow (not for the week at heart).

Whilst fleeing the po-po, I realize that maybe the only friends I need to start a liberation front are the comedians I’m running across this campus with.

It’s with a kinda sadness that I fell asleep that night to awake to a very different year 3. I often wish for the WLF to invade my job and go on some crazy adventure again.
Maybe it’s time for a new chapter.
Fin.

Destiny Awaits!

Am in spectacular mood today for no apparent reason. Some girl drove through the naval station sign this morning and my sad sense of humor found it funny. Not because of the accident itself, but just merely trying to figure out how you randomly drive your car through a sign that is not in anybody’s way?
(The driver was okay, she was sitting up on the grass.)

So I went to Barnes yesterday.
Random witty banner with Ms G. inspired my new goodbye for the optimistic. Instead of goodbye, say “I’m off to meet my destiny.” With this thought in mind I went to graphic novels sections and seen fanboy spralled out in the aisle and thought…Is THAT MY DESTINY?” I started laughing to self and scared him and few random goth chics away.

Was mildy embarrassed that I had to ask who wrote “The Chronicles of Narnia” (hey the mind lapses sometimes). I knew on some level that C.S. Lewis wrote it. It just wasn’t coming to me.

I did find it mildy comical that they girl with long granola hair, a Starbucks cup, and an apron sorta mocked me, in a mildy accusatory tone.
“Oh you mean, C.S. Leeewis, yesss”..’ – Granola Girl
“Whatever, I just need a new series to read.” – LP
“Well those are in the children’s section…” –GG
“Umm..okay, WHERE?”-LP
“Can I recommend Artemis Fowl?” –GG
“Who, no that’s fine, I’m good now” –LP
Would you like a B&N book card?- GG
“No, really, that’s fine, THANK YOU!” - LP

I need to get a subscription to Print and Lucky mags. Lucky keeps me dressed well, while Print keeps the brain sharp. That stuff if 10 bucks a pop!
I need to at some point join AIGA.

Man 6 Feet Under was crazy last night. I haven’t been that surprised since Mulder left the X-Files.

Mrs. Jones and Me!

So apparently the theme is Police Academy: Citizens on Lockdown?

Here's an excerpt from Netscape News this morning-
Tasered Mo. Grandmother Gets Probation (from the AP Press)

KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) - A 67-year-old grandmother who was shocked with a Taser stun gun after she honked her car horn at a police cruiser has been given a year's probation for sparking a quarrel with officers.

A charge of improper use of the horn against Louise Jones was dismissed Wednesday in Kansas City Municipal Court. Her husband, Fred, 76, who became involved in the fray last year, also got one year of probation for the same charges - resisting arrest and attempting to inflict injury on an officer.
The only condition of the probation is that the couple obey all laws.
The incident, which resulted in a change in department policy and the disciplining of two officers, happened in June 2004 as police were responding to a disturbance call across the street from the couple's home. Officers said they approached Louise Jones after she honked her horn, thinking she had reported the disturbance or perhaps was in trouble. A defense witness testified the honk was accidental.
``She immediately became hostile to us,'' Officer Ryan VanDeusen testified. He said that she continued the verbal assault when the officers returned to their squad car.
``It was very loudy, it was antagonistic, it was very derogatory toward my partner and I,'' he testified.
Officer Cory LeMoine said he told Jones he could give her a ticket for honking the horn, and that a physical confrontation began after she wouldn't show him her driver's license. He said he and his partner struggled with Jones both inside and outside her house. The officers said that while VanDeusen was trying to handcuff her, Fred Jones came down the stairs and leveled his shoulder into him.
VanDeusen said he used the Taser on Louise Jones when his partner couldn't get her under control.
The Jones disputed the officers' account. Louise Jones and other defense witnesses said she wasn't confrontational and that the comments she made were directed to a friend, not to the officers.

``She says something to the neighbor across the street and the officer didn't like that,'' said defense attorney Basil North. ``He decided he was going to teach her a lesson.''

Louise Jones said she pulled away from the police when one of the officers grabbed her arm, and her husband said one of the officers had his knee on his wife's chest.

Municipal Judge Marcia K. Walsh told the couple they should fulfill their sentence easily, pointing out that Fred Jones' criminal history was perfect except for a traffic ticket.

``Your record is even better,'' she told Louise Jones. ``You don't even have a ticket.''

The couple's attorney said they plan to appeal the decision. North moved for dismissal of the horn-honking charges on grounds that the ordinance involved was worded vaguely, and the prosecutor agreed to drop it. --fin


Okay people - She was 76! even if she is talking loudly (?) Why would you need to taser her? What the heck is improper horn use? Is that a real charge. I mean I thought the handcuffing of the 5 year old was bad!

Does anyone else see our civil liberties slowly getting sucked from us?


Like Flava Flav says - 911 is joke!

Totally pointless, but I have been given a deadline!

Ok, so I watch a bit of reality shows. Not many, and I don't usually sit and watch them all the way through, but I just caught a little of the Hulk Hogan's daughter wants to be a singer show, you know? And I have to say, I think one of the funniest things I have heard is Hulk Hogan saying that some dress his daughter tried on looks too much like "pajammies!"

I once heard the rich dashing aristocrat Reese Watson from fantabulous "Designing Women" (check your local listings for the current Lifetime schedule) say "put on your jammies" to Julia Sugarbaker, and almost died laughing. But that was scripted you see, and this was not. Plus, Reese was distinguishedly gray-haired and mustached, wearing a velvet smoking jacket, not a massive ex-wrestler with a doo-rag covering his bald-on-top, white hair around the sides head, carrying a dress bag in one hand and some blue fluffy thing in plastic in the other, complete with pinky sticking up in the air. Fantastic!

There's 1.5 minutes of your life you'll never get back.......Ha!

Monday Absurdity: MS Paint Edition

So over the weekend I was talking to one Ms. Leslie Paxton, and conversation drifted (as per usual) towards a mutual acquaintance of ours and this individual's tendency to self-sabotage. She totally cracked my shit up by remarking, "Yeah, she'll ride that pony right into the lava pit."

So, here we have my fantastic illustration, as I'm way too impatient to wait for the actual artist in the group (re: Leslie Paxton) to make a real picture. Plus, I'm marooned at the front desk for an hour and am trying to break myself of that nasty Snood addiction.

I move that "riding that pony into the lava pit" become the new catch phrase for self-sabotage. Like "jump the shark" is for crossing the line of watchability for a tv show. Thoughts?

Subdued Part Deux

I did do a follow up to the whole situation. They did not catch my evil twin apparently. So she's still out and about, but hopefully not in my neighborhood. Apparently the police assessed me as a threat b/c I very well could have been the assailant and their safety comes first, not the suspects. Announcing they are police is a judgement call based on the situation at hand.

The advice I want to dole out is kinda silly, but simple. I don't advocate carrying a weapon of sorts as safety-in my situation the running option was taken away after seeing a gun. Not only that but fighting was moot b/c it was in fact 4 against one. I think it's as simple as letting your voice be heard. My neighbors came out b/c it was loud. Loud or not I had witnesses. My advice is carry something that makes a loud noice or at least scream.

I'm seeing the police in a new light this week. Not as protectors of my safety but people that aim first and question later. Even more so with the murder of the guy in Briton who was an innocent who merely did not speak the language. The reports I was watching were 50/50. His family is right though, I'm sorry does not cut it when you "accidently" kill a member of someone's family. My thoughts are with them and every other person whose been scared shitless or killed by a case of mistaken identity.

Time to catch the repeat of Six Feet Under on HBO West, I was a little jarred at the ending considering I missed the whole episode so I figure time to see the rest.

Subdued, but hanging in there

I guess we do have a life CA or at least a few minutes to piddle onto my new other friendship (a.k.a myspace.com), although at times less fantastic than others.

As many of you know, I had quite the evening out Wednesday night. I thought I'd use OEF as my Soapbox for a few moments for our skirt blowing audiences time.

So after 4 hours of gossip with some of my old college chums. I returned to my house during the witching hour of 11:00 o'clock. I noticed on old bummy Taurus passing on the opposite side of the street. Although I could not see the drivers general appearance really well, I did note that he was staring extremely hard at me and in a very "suspicious" manner. Seeing that I am a female travelling alone at night, I always try to move with haste to my front door. I'm not saying Nofo is the most dangerous city, but it's not exactly Mr. Rodgers Neighborhood either.

So I take a moment to scoop all my stuff into one huge pile-a target bag, a purse, my camera, my keys, my cell--etc.. I get out of the car to find my suspicious character has driven directly in front of my car.

My first instinct is to bolt or at least walk very quickly to my house literally 20 feet from me. To my (horror) he and another person exit the taurus with haste. Another car speeds in behind me.

The guys get out of the cars and rush towards me. They yell at me to stand still and shut up although at this particular moment I haven't said anything. I (thinking I'm getting robbed) offer my purse, my keys, anything in exchange for a safe passage to my house. I ask repeatedly, "Are you police? Are you police?" Only to get my response on the 4th try. A yes. So at this moment I feel mildy relieved to know I'm not getting robbed and that I'm glad I didn't run.

I guess my frustration comes in at this point because they were not telling me anything. I was not getting accused only yelled at to "shut up and stand still". I retrace my day to think of ANYTHING that may have been something to merit this treatment. "A bad email, a late utility payment, student loans, running a red light, failure to pay for dinner"--but I couldn't find anything wrong.

My neighbors hearing the yelling came out to watch my debacle on the front stoop. Although very embarrassed, I was happy to see them just to witness me getting treated so poorly.

Next came the questions: Where are you coming from? Can anyone verify this? Is this your car? Why are you parked far from your house? I answered honestly (albeit cautiously) to all the interrogating questions. It bothered me that they were smug and distrusting and still unwilling to tell me why they were harassing me from going into my house. Somewhere in the midst of all this the receptionist radios one of them to let them know that I did not match something. At that moment the "I'm sorry's" begin.

Apparently I matched the description (exactly) of a female that only a few hours earlier had assaulted someone at gunpoint down the street from me.

I get a complimentary walk to my house in which the officers carry all the stuff I dropped. They were still watching me while I opened the door to make sure the key was mine and it was indeed my house. It was only after going upstairs to my room that I wasn't being interrogated anymore.

Hindsight is perfect. I realize at this point the way I shoulda handled the entire situation. But the truth is I was really just happy not to have been raped, beaten, and mugged first off. And secondly happy not to have went to jail for something I didn't do.
I have no issues with police tracking down suspects that put the innocent in jeopardy. I only wished that I would have been innocent until PROVEN guilty and that they would have identified themselves as officers.

If I woulda ran I can only assume that this story would have taken a different turn.

So for the record, Police do not always identify themselves as such. When they are not in uniform they look just like you and me. I guess my whole thing is I'm just not sure what you should do when guns are involved. My saving grace were my neighbors.

I've got more thoughts on the subject, but my tuna sandwich is looking mighty tasty. I would put it in the drawer, but I remember how THAT turned out last time.

Anybody home?

Despite an usual (hah!) spike in search-engine derived traffic lately (people yahoo-ing themselves, some random perv looking for the phrase "my skirt blew up" and ms. paxton delivering, etc.), not much has been goin' on around here...holy crap we must all have lives. It's time for a progress report! BUUUUUUTTTT...I do actually have to go somewhere this shiny Saturday so I promise my electronic friends & enemies, tune back in tommorow sometime & we'll have a new game.

Happy Birthday!

I'm still workin out the kinks (the leash) and a suprise piece for print.
But there!
My first non-stick figure illustration....
Happy Birthday!