FUCKIN' FRIDAY!

It's my fuckin' birthday too. What a sucky way to spend a birthday. In pain, in bed and a crazy 8 year to boot.
What's a crazy 8 year you ask?
There is a little bit if a story there, if you really must know.
You really must know now?
It's not that exciting of a story...really it's not.
You still want to know?
Well, you asked for it.

See, when I was about 7, I became intrigued with the idea that I would be alive at the turn of the century. I'm sure some teacher brought up the whole concept, maybe my dad now that I think about it. Whoever it was set in motion a train of thought that still chugs through my mental station every 10 years without fail.
At the tender age of 7 I calculated how old I would be when the calendar changed from 1999 to 2000. The ripe old age of 28-which every 7 year old knows beyonf a shadow of a doubt is ancient indeed. So with thoughts now focused on my inevitable extreme elderliness just 20 short years away I began the process of breaking that up into more managable chunks of time-tens of years rather than twenties-after all every almost 8 year old longs for the day she turns 18 right?
The following 10 years did not exactly fly by but without my planning any great thing away they did fly. At 18-not when I graduated highschool nearly 6 months earlier-I finally felt emancipated and well, officially "grown up" and did what any self respecting teenage girl does...I got in a fight with my mom(just a day or two after "the big day" if I recall) and vehemently moved out.

The following 10 years did not fly by but once again without my planning any great thing away they did fly. I had somehow accumulated a child, a mortgage, two dogs, two parakeets and a lover leaving for China so I did what any self respecting almost 28 year old does and vehemently moved to China.

Fortunately my mom and I had made up by then and though she wouldn't take the greyhounds or(at first)the mortgage she did agree to keep the child for me.

There I was, in China, in 1999 partying like well, like it was 1999 when it hit me...I was about to become old, ancient even. Yup. I was about to be *gasp* 28. Just ask Big Daddy D-I was very traumatised by my 20 year obsession with the number 28 in combination with the number 2000.

The following 10 years did not fly by and still with no great planning I find they have once again flown away. I have some how managed to accumulate a husband, two more children, a couple more dogs, several cats, innumerable fish, three parakeets, a couple of hamsters and another mortgage. I've lost plenty along the way-a child and most of the pets but not(unfortunately) the mortgage and like any respectable now 38 year old, I wonder...

What am I going to vehemently do now?

My my my, my tattoo...

Okay. Take the two top pictures and then combine the best of both and then place the base of the limb at the inside of my left elbow with branches extending down the inside of my forearm, the tips ending at my wrist. Then imagine that the limb has a fork in it and that the second limb branches up to the outside of my upper arm.

You might have to squint your eyes a bit to get the picture but that is OK. I don't want something too stylized like the first forearm pic, or as dark as the second forearm pic and the branch is going in the wrong direction in each of those. The upper arm tattoo pictured above is altogether too dark and masculine for me but it serves for illustrative purposes.

I really love the loose yet realistic style and colors in the acrylic painting and the stamen detail in the photograph.

So that is the idea of what I want. It will cover a lot of area without being heavy and well, it just feels right.

Cherry blossoms have different meanings depending upon which culture you ask, and all of them are appropriate.

In Japan they represent the beauty and transience of life. In China they represent feminine beauty, strength, and grace. There is an element of remembrance in every interpretation and I like that too.

I am ready.

Because that's what Easter is all about...

Ok, Ok.

I moved the Jesus doll beside the Barbie. They were meant to be together don't you think? Though Barbie may be rooting for the tall dark and chocolate professor on the other side. Or heck, maybe she wants 'em both. She could be freakier than we ever knew. Or maybe it's me that is the freaky one since I took the picture and made up the nice stories to go with it. I will keep my imaginings to myself this time. You make up your own.

I hope you can hear me laughing right now.

I am also enjoying my super clean house right now. Suddenly I feel a little free-who knew that knowing there was dust lurking in corners was weighing me down.

Watching these ladies work took me back to my days working on the dude ranch in AZ. I was a maid there, making beds and scrubbing toilets. Gosh, I was all of 19 when I did that.

Ya wanna hear how I ended up in Arizona? It is a twisty tale so buckle in.

Technically an 18 year old can't run away from home but that is essentially what I did. I was attending a small local college and had recently gotten engaged to a young German fellow who I had realized terrified me. There is a bit of a story there but let's just say if I had gone back to Germany with him I would be typing this from the grave I am sure.

So I did the only thing any sane young woman would do and cleaned out my checking and saving accounts -a whopping $500 I believe-drove to a bus station in a neighboring town dropped my dad's truck keys in the mailbox and bought a ticket to Tulsa Oklahoma.

You guys would have done the same, right?

I had dreams of finding a cowboy and falling in love and riding across the range forever(I had a thing for Sam Elliot-still do-that man's voice well, I'd love to "talk"to him on the phone=} ) .

The romance of youth.

Instead I ended up accidentally leaving my teddy bear and favorite boots in a hotel room-what you guys don't travel with your teddies?

Hush now, I still have a way to go with this tale.

With no cowboys turning up in Tulsa I decided(after only 2 or 3 days)that I needed to move on to a smaller-and cheaper- city. Enter Muskogee Oklahoma, located right outside the Western Band of Cherokee's Nation. If I remember right, I decided to turn my attention to snagging me an Indian boy and hey, I am 1/16th Cherokee anyway right?

It was in Muskogee that I discovered temp agencies and can't tell you how grateful I am for the ladies at Kelly Girls who took me under their collective wings. They made sure I had work and helped me find a safe place to stay. They invited me into their lives and, looking back, watched over me until I found my feet.

Dovey and Carmen, wherever you are, Thank You.

I worked at a Coca Cola plant on the Gatorade line-this was when they still used glass bottles- and have not willingly had a sip of Gatorade since(so glad it wasn't a Dr Pepper bottling facility). I worked at a jelly company and at Bush's Best canning factory. If you are going to buy beans or vegetables in a can-BUY THE MOST EXPENSIVE ONES YOU SEE! Seriously. The Bush brand itself is fine too. I worked a few other jobs there, as a nanny, and also a finisher of furniture at a local BareWood store. I even took a job for a brief period of time as a door to door salesperson selling cleaning supplies and made it as far north as Wahoo Nebraska before I got sick of it and got my free bus ticket home-well back to Muskogee anyway.

All this and no cowboys or Indians!

So once again I did what any sane young woman does and answered an ad from the help wanted section at the back of a Western Horseman magazine. Two, actually, and took the job in Arizona before I had heard back from the ranch in Colorado.

The Circle Z Ranch in Patagonia was and may still be a lovely place. I worked for room and board and $350 dollars a month. It was not an especially hard job and I do have some pretty good stories from the four months that it lasted.

Wow. I think I'll save those stories for another time. It's later than I thought- and even though I don't have any cleaning to do- there is still some supper to think about and get started on.

History Part One, or My Love of Scissors

The question was asked "How do you do it?" and "What inspires you?"

To answer the first I should explain a few things.

First scissors.

I love scissors, the way they look and the power they contain.

Such a simple tool(though not a simple machine) that enables the bearer to permanently alter the Universe.

Seems a bit melodramatic doesn't it?

Think about it though.

What scissors cut can never be the same again. Mended, re purposed perhaps but the very fabric of reality has changed-forever.

I had many paradigm moments in my early childhood. Realizing the power of scissors and through their use a bit of the nature of the universe and the laws of physics when I was four or so is still a vivid memory. I am not embellishing. A whole new way of thinking was opened up to me and I can't even begin to relate the many ways in which I consciously explored ideas of cause and effect, irrevocability, responsible use of power, and of course, the wonders of creativity.

Let's not forget the sounds of scissoring. I love the sounds produced as my scissors pass through paper and fabric. It is the sound of possibilities to me. If you concentrate you can feel the textures through the blades and almost sense the molecules of your material separate as you are cutting and your scissors break the laws of attraction.

We are talking serious power here people.

Scissors and their use have changed the world-not just my young life.

In an effort to keep me from destroying the house in my experiments my (step)mom provided me with material from her scrap bag and I cut with abandon. I would start with a largish piece of material and see how many times I could cut it in half-lessons on infinity there because I knew, I just knew that I could cut it to the point that I wouldn't be able to see what was left and my inability to see the tiny pieces were all that prevented me from cutting it even smaller.

I cut endless chains of paper dolls and hundreds perhaps thousands of snowflakes in my quest to find out how much of something I could take away without destroying it's integrity.

I still love my scissors. I have several pairs-do you know why scissors are a pair? Well, even if you do I can't see you nod your head so I will tell you. Scissors are a compound machine consisting of two levers-sharpened to wedges-whose fulcrum acts as the pivot point. So scissors are a pair of levers. Tah Dah! Isn't that fun? Still not sure about the pair of jeans though-I think it might be because way back when your pants actually consisted of two separate leggings that kind of crossed over each other and tied to your belt. Ladies just went commando under their skirts. Whoa, I digress.

Back to my scissors. And yes, all the scissors here are mine and I make them available to those who can tell me how they intend to use them and when I can expect them back. I don't censor their use beyond what my (step)mom did-making sure it's not the drapes or perhaps the doggies ear or a power cord in the sites of the tool user. I can think of many occasions with B where we sat down and just cut paper for ever to hear the sounds and see the little bits of change falling from our fingers.

My special scissors, the scissors I use in my art, are different. I don't think they have been touched by anyone but me since I bought them. In some strange alchemical way they have become an extension of self as I use them and so they have become too precious to be casually used by another.

And so ends Part One.

This is me talking to you.

I snagged this from Lyvvie and just had to share it with you. I know it's long but it might be the best use of a quarter hour today!