Oh, Christmas.

I had an idea that I thought was absolute genius. I don't know... maybe it's already been done, but not by me.

I thought that this year our family, instead of exchanging gifts, could take the money that would be spent, all tolled, and each of us buy something magnificent for ourselves. The gifts would be wrapped, waiting under the tree, and we'd open them Christmas morning in a kind of 'unveiling ceremony'. A grown up 'show and tell'... Each person could say why they thought they deserved the gift they bought, and how long they'd wanted for, etc ... Suddenly, you're looking at a scenario where there would be NO room for disappointment, and no one would receive any ill fitting pajamas, (unless that's what they fancied for themselves) or any books that didn't involve gothic murder scenarios...

We got snow, and it might even stick around for the holidays! Overwhelmed with joy, I did a sort of Davie Jones dance in the shower the other night while singing to my dog, when suddenly my heal hit a conditioner slick. My legs shot right out from under me, leaving me flat on my back! My ass hit the fawcet on the way down, and my shoulder blade and middle back hit the two taps, (with their scalloped edges),  leaving behind what looks like two long purple claw marks... think Bruce Lee, Enter the Dragon... I think as well as major bruising, I might also have mild whiplash. My head still aches.

Yesterday in the lobby at work, I ran into a hairdresser who I used to work with many years ago. He asked me if I was all finished my Christmas shopping. I told him I was, and that it had been an easy task, as I only had to buy one gift this year. He looked at me quizzically....  I told him about my big gift exchange idea, and although no one else agreed to it, no one could stop me!

I told him that I bought myself the Holy Grail of gifts! A white 100 year old stuffed chihuahua...  'Of course you did!' He said... 'Isn't everyone asking for one of those this year?' he asked.... We got on the elevator along with about nine other folks. The doors opened on the fifth floor, and before he made his exit, he turned to me and said, 'If I don't see you, Kelly, have a wonderful Christmas!'   'You too' I said... then just as the doors closed,  he turned and added   ... 'and enjoy the dead dog.'

I stood surrounded by strangers, who suddenly all began to clear their throats, and gaze at their shoes. I thought I should perhaps address such a statement, ensure they didn't imagine for a moment that he was making reference to any kind of meal... or any other terrible way you could possibly enjoy a dead dog... but I figured it best to remain silent. Only one man stayed on the elevator up to the eleventh floor, stopping me before I made my exit... 'Ummm, excuse me... did that man just say 'enjoy the dead dog'?'  I told him yes, but it was in reference to taxidermy. The man looked puzzled, so I went further and said, 'For my collection. I collect dead things from the Victorian era.'   He stepped slowly backwards, saying, 'that's very interesting...' as the elevator doors closed. Not sure how I always end up looking like a tool. Things we do all seem so normal 'til we catch a glimpse of ourselves through a stranger's perspective...

I don't know where I'm going with this... other than wondering if maybe the universe is punishing me for my greed... I guess I still have a few shopping days left til Christmas to redeem myself, and purchase a ton of crap no one needs (or possibly wants)... I turned on my car stereo this morning, and there were George Jones and Tammy Wynette singing 'God's Gonna Get You for That'...

All I want for Christmas (as well as that 100 year old white holy grail of dead dogs) is to have God NOT 'get me for that', for JUST THIS ONCE! A 'free pass' to be as assholish as I want,  for a little spell... until it passes...

Merry Christmas, anyway, everyone!

Terry's mom came to visit and asked if any of our dogs ever had accidents in the house. I said they did not, so it shouldn't have been a surprise to wake up to a puddle of dog piss on my favorite silk Persian rug. I did my detective work, flipped all three of the girls over to see who had the 'telltale wet bits'... and Chelsea was the offending party, most definitely. I wish dogs could talk, and you could tell them why it is NOT cool to relieve yourself on someone's precious things, unless they maybe owe you alot of money, stole your wife, or some business like that.

On my way to work this morning, I passed an old homeless man sitting outside a produce store. Just minding his own business. I wonder why we don't adopt humans... we rescue cats and dogs... What if you lost your grandpa, and somewhere out there is a suitable and lovely replacement! I think with careful consideration, and professional evaluations, this could work.... just an idea...

I recently got back from a trip to London. It was most inspirational. I don't really like how those Brits are so quick to label people as 'nutters'... a term I heard THREE times! Break into a pet cemetery, or ask to see freshly cleaned hundred year old dead dogs in the back room of the Tring Museum, and taking photos of them still wrapped in plastic, or dragging friends to see medical museums stacked full of jars and jars of preserved bits of people, fetuses and such... and well, I guess that makes one a 'nutter'... hmmm...

Prints of my work are hanging in the gallery where I went tonight... I stood behind a couple, and listened to the girl critiquing my work... 'This one is just fucked, and this one just makes me sad... blah blah blah'... But, then a nice older fellow said he thought my work was just delightful!  THe gallery owner offered me some red wine, but I said I didn't drink, so she gave me a can of redbull... which I only briefly considered NOT drinking so close to bed time.

On my way home, I nearly ran over a pantless hunchback. A dark floating shape emerged from between two parked cars... two white naked legs swiftly swung out from under the shape, gliding across the street... a sparkling silver shoe on each foot. I shit you not. If it hadn't been for the mental alertness promised and provided by that highly caffeinated beverage, I could have never swerved in time.

Now for the promise of tomorrow... until then, I shall lay awake... wide eyed, and vibrating until sunrise.

I have been promising my dad that I would help him hang pictures in his new home. His Parkinsons' makes his hands pretty shakey, so a hammer and nails are likely not a good idea for him. He finally pegged me down to a date, which happened to be today after work. (...was supposed to be my day off.... which is of no relevance, I just like to beak off about the injustices of life...) 

I hadn't seen his place all set up, and gosh, am I glad I got my lazy ass in the car to go help, because it was a nightmare. I told him that when I got there, it looked like the home of a garbage collecting asshole, but by the time I finished, it looked like a super cool guy lived there. (I used an old saddle as an end table, which I must say, looked really good, and tied in with his Western theme) I even made him a little gallery of all his autographed photographs of celebrities who he's worked with on different movies. He can lay on his couch staring and reflecting back on his good times....

(One of the photos was of Michael Keaton, who gave my dad some expensive towels, which he'd only used a few times.... My dad didn't need towels, so he passed them on to us, and whenever Terry uses one to dry off after a shower, I ALWAYS accuse him of trying real hard to catch a whiff of 'batballs'....)

My dad was so excited about how his place came together, that he finally gave me two paintings of ships from the early 1800's done by my great great grandfather... (I have been pining for them for years...) AND then he even washed my car.

Driving home, peaceful and content, Frances in my lap, I stared out at the meadows and trees, which were awash in the golden light of sunset. The sun as a giant pink globe in the sky.... which suddenly jolted me into a memory from first thing this morning...

His raven black hair was as long as the day, clipped neatly over his ears... He wore a black leather vest, over a black Tshirt, and his legs were fish belly white, if fish had patches of dark hair scattered at random.... He wore high top runners. I know he had high top runners, because when I stopped for the red light, he glanced back over at me, pulling one leg up onto a bench to do up his shoelace, though, when he lifted that leg, one giant, shiney, swollen pink ball swung loose from the confines of his teeny tiny Daisy Duke cutoff jean shorts....

Oh my. I squinted to see if I was imagining things ( my eyes still burned from a late night of deer head restoration, painstakingly gluing on single false eyelashes)

I hadn't imagined it. My mouth fell open, and this Frank Zappa looking man smiled, and the whole incident will haunt me to my dying day. Now I can't even enjoy an exceptional sunset without thinking about the roundness, and the pinkness of this lone escaped ball....

Further, if one feels the need to wear microscopic cutoffs as a result of the dreadful heat, WHY pair them with a leather vest? Lose the vest, lengthen the shorts, contain the balls. I guess that's just another life lesson.

If only I had my own balls TO contain.

Balls.

Walking my dogs today, I noticed a crow sitting atop a postal storage box... He was plucking some stringy stuff up out of something and eating it, so I thought I'd go in for a closer look. He flew off, leaving behind a little bird carcass, laying on its back, legs up, entrails spilling out... it was kinda sad, but what really struck me was that its head was missing...  Gone!

 I thought, 'Hmmm, that's funny! I do the exact same thing to my chocolate Easter bunnies'... you feel less guilty without those little eyes watching you. I wonder if it's some kind of crow easter today...

Well.... Happy 'Creaster', everybody!

I never have had the good fortune to be a person who sleeps well, or sleeps through the night. I say this all the time. When I do sleep, my dreams are so intense, that I sometimes grip my own arm so tightly that I leave bruises... the other day I asked Terry to take a picture of my bruises for me, and he said, 'I ain't falling for that!"  (evidence for a frame up? hmmm... )  

SO, my new angle has been this: anything that makes me lay awake thinking, 'I should be more like this, or more like that'... I simply become that thing (more organized, for example)   And anything that makes me say, 'I really should do this, or get that done..'   I no longer procrastinate, I just get the thing done!  It feels good, I admit..  But, still... there's been an underlying nagging feeling eating away at me, just enough to never let me feel exactly 'just right'... until today, it's all become clear to me!    ....  thanks to BoBo Hubbard.

Yes. When we were kids, BoBo (my brother's best friend), my brothers themselves, and the rest of their 'gang'... used to slide their finger in between the back of girl's legs, scraping their upwards bent index fingers along unsuspecting crotch lines... and as they did it, they'd say 'FISH-HOOK!"  ... and then make a run for it. The risk of having your ass kicked for one quick finger graze on a place you were dying to touch was a fair trade off... (I won't even get into BoBo's big sister's game of 'weiner snatcher'... a game I never played with her, because even at 8, I felt it was wrong... though, admittedly, if she played it today, I would most probably join in.)

ANyway...  dearest BoBo entirely missed the point of 'fish hooking', as evidenced by one fair day when he disappeared for hours, toiling away in his father's garage, building the ultimate machine. He came over to call on my brothers, and they all quietly snuck down to the basement for his grand unveiling of  'THE FISH-HOOK MACHINE'. Yes. He'd fashioned a coathanger into a super enlongated metal 'finger', and a rubber band to hold it tightly to your wrist. Everyone laughed and called BoBo an idiot...

But, today, I started thinking, 'Thank God for the lesson that BoBo Hubbard has brought to us all!"   How easy it is to lose sight of the reason WHY we do the things we do, and why we do them THE WAY we do...  and all the ways those things bring us joy. We all seem to be in such a hurry that we're continually looking for faster, easier, more convenient ways to do things, or getting caught up in looking for an end result, without enjoying the process... Even painting, which normally brings me so much joy, until i decide to try to just get things done, whether it be for a show, or finishing a commission... I feel like I've been going through the motions without actually FEELING anything ... i just hunker down, and 'get 'er done' ... 

..... BUT NO MORE!!!! ... I'm tearing the 'fish-hook machine' off my soul, and getting my greedy little finger back out to grope the 'crotch of life'... (metaphorically speaking...) Thank you,  BoBo Hubbard!!!

Holy Goodness. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten a whole cherry pie...  there's always a problem when I have too much sugar.

"Fish.... hook!"

Holy God.

SO, I am trying to quit drinking diet pepsi (again) and, every day for the past week, I’ve been having an iced latte.. Until yesterday, I got myself a large, with an extra shot of espresso... and then two hours later, a client called on her way up to see  if I wanted anything from Starbuck’s, and I said, "YES!! A large skim milk latte, with an extra shot of espresso!!!"  (making it a total of 8 shots of espresso.... )  

I just blew through my day in record time, and even had the energy to colour my own hair after work. I had to dance while the colour was proccessing, because my legs were so twitchy... could also have had something to do with the fiddle music coming up from the St. Patrick’s day celebrations on the street outside... ) I was in awe of coffee! It seemed like some sort of miracle juice!!!  However, I have since discovered  some drawbacks... and there are probably a few clients I should phone to apologize for some things I MIGHT have said... and for some inappropriate dancing and hand gestures I MIGHT have made... a couple of clients said they could barely understand me, because I was speaking so fast, and I was getting aggitated, wondering why the whole world was moving in slow motion!

 I got home and started thinking of a client who told me she knew her hair was longer than it’s ever been, because while she was having sex with her boyfriend, he reached down and pulled it... then, when I asked how much she wanted me to cut off, she pinched her fingers together, showing me the WEENSIEST little milimeter.... Seems she was keen on the hairpulling! I told her she was on a slippery slope, and that she’d next be asking her man to punch her in the face....  another client talked about a girl we both know, and said she was probably a ’starfish’ in the sack...  I laughed and laughed, picturing this girl just laying there, blinking... then, another client spoke about her ex-boyfriend who was a firemen, and we talked about some girls who only want to date firemen, and i wondered if anyone wants to get down and dirty with clowns...   then, sadly, the ’dream seeds’ were planted...

When I finally laid my head on my pillow, I was sure I’d fall fast to sleep. My eyes were on fire, my body was so exhausted, every inch of me ached. I even had a nice hot bath before crawling under my covers...

I closed my eyes, but NO SLEEP WOULD COME.  I laid awake replaying some of those conversations of the day, thinking about how some people really do only dig firemen or cops... while others would prefer sex with priests or vampires, and some people would even have relations with Batman! I was trying to work it all out in my mind... putting ’fetishes’ into categories... for example, the cops/firemen, and UPS guys obviously go into the ’uniform fetish’ grouping, while priests, vampires and Bob Dylan go into another.  (I couldn’t find a suitable name for this grouping,  as ’the supernaturals’ doesn’t seem quite right)  ... anyway, I was also trying to work out what these different desires might say about a person... I have some theories, as I well should! I contemplated it all Goddamned night, until I got out of bed at eight O’clock this morning. I didn’t get one wink of sleep, but I can tell you what I think it means if you want to have sex with a dead person, or a rock star. (Or both, in my mom’s case... she loves her Mick Jagger...)

Now, being fearful of the coffee, and still not wanting to get back into the diet pepsi, I’ve got a caffeiene withdrawl headache. I think I’m going to have to get into the ’wakeups’ little pink caffeiene pills, and ween myself off the stuff. I’ll take four today, three tomorrow... and so on... until I don’t need any.

I am wearing my green sweater, green leather belt, and green panties... (I had them all picked out, folded and waiting on my bedroom chair ever since Valentine’s Day) ... I couldn’t wait for St. Patrick’s Day, only now, I am tired and grouchy as hell,  and I keep seeing dark spots... I have found NO joy today thus far. I know the day isn’t over yet... and I still have my annual ’grasshopper’ to drink.. (I don’t care for alcohol, but once a year, I feel I should honor my Irish heritage.) But, tonight, something is telling me to JUST DRINK WATER.

In conclusion, I believe coffee quite possibly could be turning normally nice people into assholes. (I think my mom drinks quite a bit... and she’s quite difficult to deal with as of late... I told her she was hyper, and aggressive, and needed Ritalin for her behavioural issues... she said I might be right, but now that I think of it, she should probably just lay off the coffee.)

Blah, blah blah... Happy St. Patrick’s Day. I’d be thankful to be Irish if I wasn’t so tired. Even my eye skin looks all crickelly. I hope that goes away after some sleep... because if it doesn’t, then this is officially the beginning of the end... Dammit all to hell.

Maybe just being Irish turns people into assholes too!

A few days ago at work, a client and I were discussing what we want to have happen to our bodies after we die. She's a very nice Italian lady, and she told me that she is so clausterphobic that she can't stand the thought of being in a coffin... (her thick Italian accent just kills me) She told me that her husband said she was crazy, and asked what does anything matter if you are dead. She said that she looked into different things, and in one place, people take their deceased family members up a hill, cut them into pieces, and let the condors, eagles, and other 'big birds' eat them. She said, 'Doesn't that sound so beautiful? You become part of the birds and soar above the earth?"  I said it sounded ok, but I'd prefer a super high gloss robin's egg blue coffin, with turquoise velvet and satin lining... AND Frances has to be buried with me...  Or, if I had a terminal disease, I'd go to the zoo, sit on the railing after I took sleeping pills, and gently fall into the bear pit... for them to eat me... anyway... then, she tells me the one glitch in her plan is that while her husband said he would take her up a hill, he would leave her there in one big piece. He said he couldn't bring himself to chop her up, which made her immediately think of me... and she wondered if I would do that for her...

Hmmmmm.....

Yesterday I went for sushi with my cute little cousin. (when I say 'little', I just mean short.) We talked about art shows, and different artists that we love... stuff like that. A fellow sat at the table next to us. (in very close proximity) When we were finishing up, he started talking with us, and he asked me if I ever ate raw salmon. I said no. He told me he fished alot, and that he once took a bottle of soy sauce down to the lake, and made himself some sushi right then and there. He said he was lucky he didn't get a tape worm, though, if he had, it wouldn't have been the worst thing, (and he patted his belly) I told him that I think you have to swallow raw meat on a string to lure a tape worm up out your mouth... He laughed and said he'd never heard that.

Then he asked me if i ever tried eel, and I said no way. I hate squiggly things. (My Italian client who wants me to chop her into bits also asked me if I'd ever eaten deep fried frogs... what's with people and their taste for creepy crawly things!?).... Anyhow.... the fellow next to us insisted that I try a piece of eel sushi. I felt like I was on 'Fear Factor'... I DO NOT LIKE GREEN EGGS AND HAM... He would not take 'no' for an answer. He said it was his treat, and ordered one for me to try. I choked it back, and thanked him for the 'big adventure', and i told him that it actually wasn't half bad! He looked so pleased. It tasted like salmon, only squishier, but there was a bit of a muddy aftertaste to it... I didn't gag until I thought about it later.

As usual, I don't have anything particularly interesting to say. I am basically sitting here typing away because my tummy hurts too much to stand up. I had a fried egg sandwich, jelly donut, and big drink of diet pepsi. I didn't want the jelly donut, but i'll be damned if that son of a bitchin thing wouldn't stop screaming my name! (I probably should have been a cop!)

Maybe in a few more minutes of contemplating having to chop up my client, and having to eat filthy little water creatures... I'll go for a bike ride to clear my head.

(I pulled out my big red bike the other day, put air in the tires, and took it for a spin.... It has flames painted up the sides!) As I rode up the street, Terry yelled after me, 'Be CAREFUL!"   I went up and down the roads where I live, feeling the cold wind whipping through my hair. It was magnificent! Then, I saw a man getting out of his car, and I smiled at him. He smiled back and said, 'Be careful!" (Does it look like my training wheels just came off!?)

Sometimes I wonder how I've gotten through life so far... Maybe there is something that somebody has failed to tell me. I feel like one of those super happy retards, who don't even know they're retarded....

But, are beginning to wonder...