Missing!

I've lost my sense of taste.  I noticed yesterday morning that "the best strawberry preserves in the world" that I had on my leftover matzo tasted, well, fairly crappy.  All day, everything tasted blah and it was making me pretty grumpy.  And then, I realized, while it is barely there, I seem to have lost my ability to taste sweet.  And now it is branching out to more flavors... I think umami might be going too.

I suppose it is also possible that it is not lost, but was actually stolen... though I have no idea what someone would want with my sense of taste, unless they lost THEIR sense of taste and were looking to replace it, knowing what good taste I have.

(On a serious note, for those who worry- I am fairly certain it is either a side effect of one of my medicines, or a new migraine symptom... if it continues, I shall talk to my doctor, scout's honor. I hope it passes quickly though, I have lots of Easter candy to consume and I would like to taste it.)

Fight or Flight? I choose hiding.

In the event of a zombie apocalypse or an alien attack, I would most likely be toast.  I have a strong survival instinct, that is not a problem, in fact, I think my survival instinct is a little too strong thanks to my neurosis. Instead of gallivanting across fields and shooting zombies in the head when the zeds attack, or coming up with clever ways of infecting aliens with UTIs, I think I would be most inclined to be curled up in a little ball trying not to move or make any sound at all, so as to not attract the attention of anything that might want to eat my brain and/or lay eggs in me to propagate their species. Yes, fortifying and staying put sounds like the best plan for me. And I would need a bathroom nearby at all times.

These are a few more of my favorite things!

I received this award from Mollie at OK in UK a bit ago (check another off my list of goals, though, I am glad to accept many more... many more... who would like to be my award coordinator intern?)

And it was supposed to come with the caveat of listing 10 of your favorite things, but that was waved for me since I am clearly too famous and important to play by the rules (which is not at all true, but I am a bit of a bastard and the point is, I was planning on doing these anyway, and it was convenient, though it took me a couple weeks to motivate myself to actually do my illustrations... otherwise, I may have taken the out and looked like the jerk I really am... which you now know I am from reading this... shit.).

So, my 10 favorite things in the following categories:


Food:

Bacon

Color:

The color of your eyelids when you close you eyes and turn your face to the sun on a warm day.

Sound:

A tie between

Get sound effects & royalty free music at AudioMicro.

The sound of a ratchet

and 

The call of a mourning dove

Smell:

Dank Mud *scratch and sniff* 

(I kid, leave your poor monitor alone!)

Cleaning Product:

Mr. Clean Magic Eraser- still...

80's Cartoon about underwater creatures:

The Snorks

Flavor of Pudding:

Butterscotch... mmmm.

Letter to write in cursive:

That's an L.

Kind of cheese (suggested by Bonnie at the FB fanpage):

Gouda... or Butterkase, which is really plain looking and not very fun to draw.

And finally, my favorite video game:

Na na na na na na na na na na, Katamari Damacy!

And... If you wanted to answer your favorites in these categories (with illustrations) on your blog, I will happily come and look at them if you direct me to the post! 

Thanks again, Mollie... and I look forward to working with you voluntary unpaid award coordinator, whoever you might be! 

She's Crafty!

So the other day, I became very motivated and spent several hours aggravating myself by doing crafty projects for the blarg. I say I aggravated myself because, at heart, I am a painter or at the very least, a drawer... one who draws, not a sliding receptacle for your socks, underwear, and shirts (yes, yes or any of the other things that people put in drawers, I am not a drawer, I am a draw-er).  What this all means is that I am a complete slob when it comes to art, and so, trying to get things to actually look neat and ordered pushes the boundaries of my boundaries, and by that, I mean my patience.  And I am pretty damned patient, unless I am trying to sew things and the thread ties itself into knots to taunt me, or I think, 'oh, yes, I need to put the needle through here though I am not completely sure it will work... oh, no it won't work, that looks like crap... FFFFFFFfffffuuuu... undoing needle stitches through felt now results in me sewing backwards, awesome.'  Or something not nearly as specific.

And then I switched to clay... I took classes in pottery in college and my teacher asked me if I was planning on taking any more. My resounding "No!" was met with a not too nice, "Oh, thank goodness!" Now, that is work with cups and saucers and teapots and all that crap, and I have a great respect for people who can and desire to do that, but I can't and don't... mostly because it is beyond my boundaries of patience (I feel like we've been through this before), and so I just slap things together and hope not to fail (if I am being graded). I am fairly good at figure work, and animals... though again, my sculptures do show my special touch of impatience, which I now declare as a stylistic choice, if things don't go exactly as I expect them to.

So without further ado, my cheesy crafts (which will be placed for sale later, once I am able to procure a ruler, because there doesn't seem to be one in this house, and having the knowledge that you had a green see-through ruler, once, when you were in fifth grade, 20 years ago, while interesting doesn't really help me much when I want to measure something for a proper description now):

Narwhal Magnet (heart not included- except for in the picture where it obviously is)

Mini Narwhal Figure Thingy (man, my thumb is wrinkly)

Felt Narwhal Barrette (the clippy good kind)

Llama Magnet (it's stylistic, not sloppy!)

There will be more coming in the future... there has to be, because I bought all the things to make more so I am determined to use them and get better at things I am not great at, which is the theme of my year.  And I take suggestions... though, unless you're actually paying me, I'll make what actually strikes my fancy.

Bring out your dead!

I tried to fix my camera and ended up killing it.
I am usually good at everything and can fix anything given basic instructions, but, I might as well have had hammers for hands when attempting this repair.

I have a newfound respect for camera repair people because, while I did manage to avoid breaking down into to tears while trying, for 30 minutes, to get the 3rd of 5 orange cables back into its tiny silver toothed home after possibly successfully replacing the LCD screen (that I broke by dropping it), I did not avoid yelling "GET IN YOUR HOME!!!!!!!!!!!! AUGH!!!" or wishing everything and everyone dead in exchange for it JUST GETTING IN THERE, about the time when the black bar that snuggly holds the evil orange cable in place snapped off in my hand (or well, at the end of my finger because it was not even as wide as my finger and about the width of three hairs- and it was the biggest of the 5) and then snapped in half after that, as I delicately tried to put in back in to the almost microscopic hole it popped out of on my 40th attempt to get the damned cable back in.

So my adorable pink camera who served me well for almost 5 years is caput.  My friend was kind enough to procure me a new one so I could continue the photographic work I was doing with the now-dead one (see my cooking site), but I would like to be able to pay him back for it, so if anyone needs some llamas drawn for them (and is willing to exchange monetary credits for said drawing), let me know.


AND, a challenge.  Peep horror movie scenes… see Cheeseblarg’s Facebook Page for details!

Hoppity Hop Hop!

I would have drawn you a llama bunny, but Cadbury already beat me to it with the real thing:

And, I tried really hard to do this without digitally manipulating the image, but... we used natural dyes (red cabbage and beets) and, as it usually is with nature, it does what it damned well pleases. Instead of bright blue and purple eggs, and I ended up with blue green eggs and grayish green eggs, and all of the llamas and narwhals and loving sentiments I drew on them completely disappeared. So... it's better than nothing.
With that said, Happy Easter! Hope it is all you wish it to be... and I can't wait to buy half off Peeps tomorrow!

How I learned not to jump at solid objects.

Today's post is guest illustrated by my darling friend Vez, who is also (or actually) my darling friend Rhea, who has a link to her Etsy shop featured on the side of the blarg.  Check out her art blog here! And now to our regularly scheduled program!

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In middle school, my logic centers were not nearly as strong as they are now. This is best illustrated by the time I went to my friend, Marie Silva's, house one summer afternoon to go play in her pool.  They had a giant pool in a screened in area and it was awesome because it had a diving board AND mosquitoes couldn't eat you.  So, we were all playing in the water and taking turns jumping off the diving board, merrily as can be.  It was her little brother and sister and the two of us, and playing in the pool turned from just jumping off the board, to a frenzied race to be first off the diving board, up the ladder, around the pool, and back over to the diving board. So we jumped, and swam, and ran, soaking the pool deck, scrambling back on to the board to jump off again, quicker and quicker. After a few turns of this, I got it into my head that the best way to get out of the pool faster was to jump closer to the ladder.  Unfortunately, there was some sort of mathematical failure in my head (I probably forgot to carry the one, somewhere).

In fact, my brilliant idea of jumping towards the ladder did not work out as I had planned at all and actually turned into gracefully smashing my face into the metal ladder, biting nearly clear through my lip, and almost knocking myself out, as my chin hit the step.

This is also the day where I learned the lesson that other people's parents don't want to take you to the emergency room, as I was ushered into Ms. Silva's car and driven across Miami, past at least three hospitals, where I was unceremoniously dumped on my doorstep so my own mother could take me to the ER.

 Once there, we waited for a several hours, with a sock full of ice on my face, so they could tell me that I didn’t need stitches because I failed at biting through my lip all the way, and I just needed a butterfly bandage and a better respect for the laws of physics.

Let My People Go!

It's Passover, which means, it is time for Matzo-related injuries.  If you've never had Matzo, let me clue you in... it is some stabby shit. Think 'stabbing power of Doritos if Doritos were twice as thick.'  And I am not talking about the rounded-edged Doritos that they likely switched to because they were undoubtedly getting sued for injuring so many unsuspecting customers, I am talking old school, 'put it in your mouth wrong and bleed for half an hour' Doritos.

On the first night of Passover, while eating a buttered piece of Matzo, I managed to puncture my mouth, and my throat, as well as stabbing myself in the face with it when I missed my mouth whilst I was complaining about stabbing myself in the mouth area.

Of course, I like to think that the sharp edges are part of the lesson.  "You think being stabbed in the mouth by a bland cracker made of only flour and water is bad... try being a slave.. try wandering around the desert for 40 years... now complain about a freaking piece of unleavened bread, you ungrateful bastard!"

But my people are well known for making the best of a bad situation, so, to take advantage of their natural properties, I think I will work on fashioning my own line of self-defense items made of Matzo... Jewish Throwing Stars, anyone?

It's really hard to nibble the hole out of the center though...

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On another note, I have lost one of my followers in the influx of other awesome followers and I want to find you again.  Your blog is pink, it might have princesses in the title. You once dressed as Rita Skeeter for Halloween, and it was your profile image for a while but not any more... You have great recipes. I need the link to your blog again, please!

Ess You Cee Cee Ee Ess Ess

You can have frolicking llama stationery, too. It is at my zazzle store! 

If you thought I was a freak before...

I, now, am both afraid of telling you guys things about me that are "controversial," since I lost at least 6 followers for revealing that I don't want to procreate, and I, alternatively, want to tell you things to weed out the people who just can't read things by people who _______________ (fill in the blank).  That being said, I have a terrible secret to share with you all, and if you have to go, I understand (actually, no I don't.... but, whatever) so here goes:

I... I don't drink coffee OR alcohol.

I know, start throwing crap at me now, but not literally, that is super gross.

For the record, I like coffee, it tastes hella delicious, mostly-- when heavily diluted with cream and sugar, but drinking it makes my stomach and/or intestines wage war on me.
Alcohol, on the other hand, does exactly the same thing to me but also makes me feel like I am completely drunk from the moment it touches my lips and though I have only been actually drunk one time in my life for real, a time when I threatened my friend with a knife while doing dishes because he tried to convince me to be logical when I was having a total emotional freakout, which is what brought on the drinking of Chambord and cream in the first place (see, I can't even make logical decisions of what kinds of alcohol to drink), I decided I probably didn't need to test my ability to act not completely insane while drunk, ever again.

I found out, recently, that both aversions are actually the result of a food intolerance, but that doesn't make up for the fact that not drinking coffee or alcohol really cuts down on your ability to socialize.  Nobody asks people out to go get a glass of bacon (and if they did, I assure you I would be totally up for it) it's always chatting over a cup of joe, or a glass of wine, or a fifth of whiskey.

But really, if  you're still reading this and haven't decided that I am so untrustworthy that you can't bear to ever read my blarg again, ask me to hang out and chat over a hot cup of bacon. I'm totally there.

Offer for social engagements of bacon consumption are subject to terms and conditions. May not be available in your area. Candy can be substituted for bacon in some situations.

Nerd Love- Star Wars

I just watched Star Wars this morning and I was reminded of the following:

OMG, I LOVE R2D2!

Yup, that's it. 

And yes, I did fall asleep during it...

Dirty, dirty baby-hater!

I don't have any children.  I don't want to have any children. I’m not going to have children.

I like kids just fine (as should be evident by how much I adore my nephew), but I like kids when they are able to reliably use the bathroom on their own, and are able to be reasoned with.
Little itty bitty babies, on the other hand, scare the living hell out of me.

In the past, people have given me the "OMG how can you not like babies!? You were once a baby!" argument and I don't even know what kind of logic that is supposed to be. If I once had the flu, would I have to like sick people? Because I don’t. I can commiserate with them that we both were sick (or babies) once, but that doesn’t make me like them by default.

In actuality, I once had a boss threaten to fire me because I let it be known that I don't like babies.  It's not like I was punching babies, or threatening to eat babies, or had any plans to be menacing towards babies, I just simply said, while doing an exercise talking about fears "GHA! I hate babies, they scare the crap out of me!" which I didn't realize was such a controversial statement until I was counseled the next day for being a 'dirty dirty baby hater.'  I MIGHT have also drawn a picture to go along with the exercise personifying my fear (which was also part of the assignment- to draw your fear as a monster) that looked something like this:

But I still assert that it does not make me fire-worthy.

Let me make it clear, it is not like I sat down one day and made a conscious choice not to enjoy babies. I didn't have any baby trauma, they just aren't my thing and never have been.

And again, I am not against the idea of babies. I don't sit around thinking about ways to conquer babies. I have no problem with other people having them, and loving them, and being excited by them, except that people get very upset with you if you don't actively participate in the sport of adoring the crap out of them… and I don’t.

To PM or NOT to PM, that is the question!

To me, private messages on Facebook are for things that you don't want to discuss aloud.  It is like a whispered conversation.  As such, it is immeasurably creepy when you ask an innocuous question of someone, or send them a birthday wish, and they see fit to answer you with a private message.
Here are some scenarios in which it is both appropriate and inappropriate to private message someone.

Times when it is appropriate to private message someone:

OR anything that is actually private or doesn't need to be shared with everyone you know...

Times when a private message is inappropriate:

OR

OR

Yeah, this one... don't do that... if it is SO creepy you know it is inappropriate for the general public, just keep it inside, please.

Limitations

I learned today, while sitting in front of my computer, that I do not have the ability to eat a chicken soft taco using only one hand.

Mothra

Sometimes, I get the feeling that I am part moth.  I usually get this feeling when my retinas are being burned because there is an uncovered light bulb somewhere and I am repeatedly staring at it despite my desire not to do so.

Movie-Induced Narcolepsy

I suffer from a terrible affliction. I've found no medical evidence of it, but I have coined it "Movie-Induced Narcolepsy."  This is a condition in which watching movies in the comfort of my own home (or that of close friends) puts me, almost immediately, to sleep. It has never happened in a movie theater, not around strangers, only when relaxing and watching a private showing of a feature-length film, no matter the time of day.

There are many theories floating around as to why this happens, however I think it boils down to this:  I usually use subtitles, because I have another medically invalid condition called "What the hell did he say?" which occurs when any background noise is of a similar volume level to that of the dialog, wherein I am able to hear what is said but my brain refuses to interpret it (and I fully expect medical people who read this to now tell me that I have terminal ear cancer or a nerve deafness brought on by something that is equally terminal).

This triggers yet another issue, known as "Reading makes me tired," wherein reading... makes me tired. Yes, I know, I clearly am going to die.  But as a result of my afflictions, it took me a day and a half to finish watching Indian Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark last summer because I fell asleep every 25 minutes, and I really wanted to watch it, because all I could remember of it from when I was four years old, was being in the theater with my sister and having her cover my eyes towards the end so my face wouldn't melt on the advice of our cousin who had already seen it, but had somehow managed to escape face melting, to tell her that shielding was necessary. And of course, the part with the ball was mildly familiar from the spoof of it in UHF...

This post is not meant to poke fun at or belittle actual sufferers of Narcolepsy (or ear cancer, or terminal nerve deafness). Seriously. Don't yell at me.

Comment Marauder

It has been pointed out to me that I am strange in my habit of reading comments on other people's postings.  I do this for pieces of art, blog posts, videos, facebook pages... pretty much anywhere someone posts something to solicit comments, I am going to read the comments.  To me, the reason for sharing things on the internet is to interact with other people and as such, the interaction is part of the experience.

The response that I get when I tell people this is usually, "Well, I read my comments!"

Yes, I read your comments too. I want to hear what people say about things that I take the time to read, for the most part. Comments are really interesting, often funny.  There are whole websites dedicated to seeing people's replies (for Facebook, at least).  So yes, usually, I click and read everything that everyone says to my friends.  I even go back when I have nothing better to do and check if there are more comments.

Okay, fine, maybe I am just a creepy stalker...

And hey guys, my friend, Pat, is looking for support for a short movie he is trying to make.  If you would be interested in helping out a beginning director with his horror movie, please check out this link.

Yesterday was Thursday!

I'm sorry, it is shameful, but I love "Friday" by Rebecca Black. It is just so terrible. Terrible to the point that it is hysterical. Terrible to the point that it is wonderful, and wonderful, in part, because it encourages creativity in others.

If you've not watched the original, it is important endure it to enjoy the remakes, even if it may be painful... it will make the joy so much more joyful after:

Here are some of my favorite alternative versions and references:

Oh Conan, I heart you!

Barney! Barney! 

(thanks for the link Vez)

And this wholly inappropriate and very coarse-languaged (read: f-bombs out yo butt) video of Hitler's reaction to the song:

I mean, it's Hitler.  It's not gonna be nice.

So thank you, Rebecca Black, for the vast amount of enjoyment I garnered from your song.  It probably was not what you imagined, but you've made so many people happy, and that is what is important (which is what we artists say to ourselves when people are making fun of us like big jerkheads).

p.s. For those of you worrying, OMG YAY, found source for new LCD screen for my camera so hopefully it will be fixed within a fortnight (because I can't afford expedited shipping). Hooray!

Road Trip

Drove to Washington from Montana today. Here is a recap of my trip.

1st hour:

On the MP3 player: Cars Greatest Hits

On the road... only not like the book... which I half read in college because I was bored by it.

• Got stuck behind a slow-assed truck for many miles because I was on a two lane road and I am terrified of passing.
• Also terrified of rocks hitting my windshield, I have found.
• Thoroughly picked my nose.

2nd hour:

On the MP3 player: Cars Greatest Hits- For crap's sake, how long is this album!?

I think there is a bunny staring at me from the rock formations on that hill.

• Begin having mini panic attacks because I suddenly become incredibly aware of my body.  
• Wonder if combination of the Imodium, headache medicine, and gas-x I took before leaving was somehow having hallucinogenic effects.
• 1st rest stop... toilets are made of metal.
• Washed hands thoroughly.
• OMG WIENERMOBILE!

Metal Toilet... very airplane like.

3rd hour:

On the MP3 player: Cyndi Lauper (She's So Unusual and True Colors Albums)

Random snowy pass, where construction soon intervened.

• The hour of construction... it just went on and on and on.
• Began contemplating how incredibly strange driving is... just sitting in a box that is moving me along in space based on where I move my hands and feet.
• Got gas in Missoula, MT.

4th hour:

On the MP3 player: Dirty Dancing Soundtrack

Trout, up the wazoo!

• Second rest stop.
• Visited the Trout Museum.
• Drop my camera on the bathroom floor, hence breaking the display and making me sad.
• Try to get picture of the Idaho sign but fail, because the display of my camera is now broken and I cannot see where the camera is pointing. 

5th hour:

On the MP3 player: Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, F-Boys (80's punk band my sister's bf was in), and Gnarls Barkley

• Make it through the rest of the mountain passes, in snow, Gojira attacked but unfortunately, the camera was broken so I couldn't capture it.
• Fail again to capture Washington sign because of broken camera.